#actually i've wanted to do this for a while

[yurinaa-world]

2#—𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓽

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Phainon/Lord Khaslana x Female reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You always hated being one of the wives of Lord Khaslana, living the rest of your life in the misery of a never-ending cycle. Until you were given a beautiful watch keeper, named Phainon, did your feelings about life begin to change?

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: 4k word count (I've lost my mind), Spoiler? Age Gap between the reader and Phainon/Khaslana, Alternate Universe, wrong lore?, Angst? Lord Khaslana has two other wives (not seen as romantic by him, though), religious mentions, dark/violent language, spelling mistakes, bad writing, not sure of anything else, still not finished 😛

💫𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: Didn't expect people to really like the last one, I had so many drafts of the first part that were way darker and a bit insane, but y'all got the wholesome one. still not finished...part three if anyone wants it

💫𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒

Phainon, your watchful keeper, wasn’t as bad as you first thought. Though you remained wary of him—after all, he reported to the high priest and wasn’t really your “friend”—you found yourself slowly happier having him around. Somehow, he seemed willing to do anything you wanted, anything at all. Even that one time you wanted to skip prayer because your knees hurt, you somehow gave in after telling Phainon that thought.

Lord Khaslana, it seemed, adored Phainon far more than he ever did you—and who could blame him, given a face like that.

The evidence was clear: whenever you spent time alone with Phainon, birds would begin to gather, landing atop you both, much to your dismay as Phainon laughed while you tried to shoo them away.

Or that hot summer morning, when you casually mentioned at breakfast that rain would be a relief from the heat—and as soon as Phainon joined you, the sky opened and rain began to fall.

Not once during your stay had your prayers been answered—at least, not the ones you actually cared enough to ask for. But when Phainon was by your side, all these little miracles seemed to happen.

It must be that Lord Khaslana truly adored Phainon more than any of his wives. But you kept that thought to yourself—you might get struck by lightning if you dared expose it. (It was only a funny thought—you hoped the lord couldn’t read minds.) After all, he was the husband. He could have a tempter, even temptresses, as side pieces if he wished, and none of the wives could do anything about it, no matter how much they might wish.

One thing was obvious, though—you seemed so much happier these days.

Your eyes, back then, had always looked utterly hopeless, full of resentment whenever anyone dared to look at you—the gaze of a woman who had lost all hope, trapped by the duty to serve a husband she barely knew.

“Because a woman’s worth is said to lie in her husband’s favor—even if she’s the least cherished of the three, she is still expected to remain devoted. After all, a woman is the heart of her husband, whether he remembers it or not.”

Those were the first words spoken to you when reprimanded. But a wife being the husband’s heart didn’t apply to you—the moment you took your vows alone, his heart would have stopped beating long ago. (How many hearts does one selfish husband need?)

You were the only one with such thoughts in the temple. The other two wives, Daphne and Phoebe—whom you had to regard as sisters since you all shared the same lord—never shared your sentiment.

They were uncomfortable around you; it was obvious. They whispered their conversations only after you left, like children waiting for their parents to exit the room before continuing their tasks.

They were naive. Lord Khaslana never visited them—never on their wedding nights or even attempted to consummate the marriage—just like with you. Yet that never stopped them from dreaming of children when you walked past.

You once overheard them discussing having children at the dinner table. You didn’t understand why hearing that made you sick—it was usual for girls to start having children at fifteen, but you were already quite old for your age, and far behind.

Yet those memories and thoughts began to fade as you spent more time with Phainon. Even the high priest noticed the change, which was no secret—you got into less trouble and your attitude softened.

“You seem quite happy these days,” the high priest said with a smile, speaking about something other than a lecture as you stood in his office. His words pulled you out of your daydream.

“…Is that so?” you replied carefully, a bland smile tugging at your lips. You never trusted the high priest’s kindness—it was always laced with something else.

“Lord Khaslana also seems pleased that you feel this way. It seems the idea of sending you a personal watch keeper has had a positive outcome,” he added, referring to the previous “blessings” attributed to Lord Khaslana—though you doubted it, pushing the thought to the back of your mind.

“I’m grateful that’s the case.”

Phainon had miraculously pulled you out of your bed-rotting routine, coaxing you to come out and have some fun with him—without the guards, no less. At first, you were a bit annoyed; your social battery was practically nonexistent, and the idea of going outside felt exhausting. But Phainon’s relentless positive attitude didn’t waver, no matter how many times you refused. Eventually, he promised something really special—along with “delicious” food—and that was enough to get you to agree.

Now, here you were, sitting under the shade of a tree with Phainon, eating skewers together. Phainon had several skewers balanced in one hand, each one a different type of animal meat. He insisted you try them all. You suspected he was just being gluttonous.

“Is it good, my lady?” he asked, eyes bright and eager, watching your every expression so closely you almost imagined him wagging a white dog tail with matching ears.

“I haven’t even tried it yet,” you said, squinting at him before taking a bite. The meat was soft, tender, and surprisingly hot, causing an immediate sting on your tongue. You held it in your mouth as long as you could before swallowing.

“Ah! Are you alright?!” Phainon’s voice was filled with worry as he checked on you. “I should’ve cooled it down before telling you to eat.”

You waved your hand dismissively, cheeks puffed out from the lingering heat, trying not to cough like you would when choking on water. “It’s… fine,” you managed, eyes watering slightly before calming down.

“You should eat before the skewers cool down,” Phainon urged, his worried expression softening into a relieved smile as he saw you recover.

“Ah, you’re right, my lady! But I couldn’t enjoy them until I knew you were okay.” He chuckled and took a bite of his own skewer, eyes lighting up with delight.

“Mmm! This one’s amazing—you have to try the lamb next!” He eagerly held out another skewer, the scent of perfectly seasoned meat wafting through the air. Despite your initial reluctance, you couldn’t deny the food—and his company—were making this outing far more enjoyable than you expected.

You switched the skewer you had with a bite taken out to the lamb one, about to take a bite when Phainon stopped you. “Wait, my lady.” He gently blew on the meat. “Now you won’t be burned.” His warm smile, flashing teeth, made your stomach flutter unexpectedly, and you quickly took the bite as if to chase away that strange feeling.

The lamb was even more tender than the last. The spices danced on your tongue—rich, smoky, with just the right hint of heat. You chewed slowly, savoring it before swallowing and glancing at Phainon, who watched you with the same expectant sparkle in his eyes.

“Well?” he prompted, leaning in slightly. “Do you like it?”

You hesitated, watching his reaction closely. His brows knitted together in exaggerated worry.

“Oh no, did I pick a bad one? I swear the vendor said it was—”

“It’s good,” you cut him off before he could spiral.

His face lit up as if you’d crowned him king. “You made me worried there.” He laughed, then paused, an epiphany striking him as he rummaged through his things while you finished your lamb.

“My lady,” he called, drawing your attention to a delicate hairpin he held out. It was silver filigree shaped like winding vines, dotted with tiny, shimmering gemstones that caught the light. He looked so silly holding skewers in one hand and this pretty hairpin in the other.

“This is for you—your special gift.”

You blinked, surprised. “You… got this for me?”

Phainon nodded eagerly. “Of course! I promised you something special. The moment I saw it, I thought—it’s perfect for you.”

Your fingers hesitated before taking the hairpin. It was delicate, the silver vines shimmering with gems.

“Why would you—?”

“Because you deserve it,” he said simply.

That strange warmth rose in your chest again, and you quickly looked away, finishing the last bite of lamb. For the first time in a long while, you heard those words—you deserved something—without having to beg or ask. He had gone out of his way just to find and give it to you. You.

“Thank you, Phainon.”

You had even started doing things with Phainon that were quite frowned upon—like how both of your clothes were sopping wet. Phainon had shed a few layers (the sun mark on his neck now more prominent), and you were lifting your dress to tie it around your waist.

Looking around at the lake, the cool, fresh water felt wonderful. Well, in reality, you were mostly just lying on your back, letting the water sway you gently. Or holding your breath to dive under, just to see what you could find beneath the surface.

Until Phainon decided to start a war with you while you were peacefully floating—sending a huge wave that caused you to sputter and jump from the water, hair messy and gasping for air.

“Sorry, my lady, my hand must’ve slipped.”

“Your hand slipped, huh?” You slicked your hair back and, with all your might, threw a wave back at him, drenching him in return.

“Sorry, my hand must’ve slipped,” you mocked, grinning like you’d actually won the fight.

Phainon narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Oh, so that’s how it is?” His voice was calm, but you could tell he was plotting something.

You braced yourself, but he still managed to send another splash your way—smaller than before but enough to hit you square in the face.

Wiping the water off, you glared. “That’s the best you’ve got?” Without waiting for his answer, you scooped up as much water as you could and flung it back at him, catching him across the shoulder.

Water dripped from his body. Only now did your eyes begin to wander over the thin white layers of clothing clinging to him, becoming almost transparent. You felt like a man gazing upon a maiden’s bare legs—ironic, since your dress was tied up to reveal your own.

His shirt clung like a second skin—every ridge of muscle, every line traced clearly beneath the damp fabric. The sun mark on his neck pulsed faintly, glowing with the warmth of the day or the rush of movement—you weren’t sure which.

Looking away, flustered, you barely had time to react before another wave hit you. You sputtered, wiping your face with both hands as laughter bubbled out against your will.

“You little—!”

“Watch your tongue, my lady,” Phainon called, wading forward through the waist-deep water, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You never know when another... accident might happen.”

You squinted, shielding your face with your hands, ready for another splash even as you laughed behind the barrier.

The laughter still danced in your throat, but the water between you shifted and splashed. You took one step too quickly—meant to land a wave of your own after you stopped laughing so much—and instead your foot caught on a rock.

You yelped, slipping forward before you could stop yourself.

You stumbled into the water, which surged up your nose, burning sharp and fast, making your eyes scrunch shut as you flailed instinctively, water hitting your throat. Your vision blurred until you felt a pair of arms around you, lifting you up swiftly.

His arms were under your thighs, hoisting you like you weighed nothing. Your leg instinctively wrapped around his waist, and your fingers gripped his shirt before you could stop yourself. You gasped for air, hair dripping wet, the cold water leaving little trails down your back and shoulders.

“Are you alright, my lady?!”

You coughed into his shoulder, nodding faintly despite the sting in your throat. “M’fine,” you rasped, voice strained from water that had made itself too comfortable in your lungs. “I think I just slipped on something.”

His arms didn’t loosen—not even a bit. One hand held the back of your thigh, the other braced your back so tightly you felt the warmth of his palm through your soaked clothes. Your cheek rested against his shoulder, your breathing shaky but slowly settling—and yet, even when you could breathe again, he didn’t put you down.

Deciding you’d had enough fun for the day.

The lake water sloshed around his legs with each step, dripping from both of you in long, uneven trails. He reached the shore and crouched, lowering you gently onto the soft grass like you were fragile. His movements were slow and careful—as if you might break if he moved too fast.

You tried not to meet his eyes, mostly because yours wouldn’t stop blinking out water, your hair half-plastered across your cheek.

But then—before you could ask what he was doing—he knelt beside you, lifting your ankle gently to inspect the bottom of your foot.

“I’m not hurt,” you tried to argue, voice hoarse. “I just—slipped, that’s all.”

“Still,” he murmured, brushing a thumb across the arch of your foot, sweeping away grit or tiny pebbles. “We wouldn’t want you to get an infection. Thank goodness you were lucky and didn’t get a cut.” He smiled at you.

For some reason, you moved your foot, holding his hand and pressing it against his shoulder.

The second you did, you started laughing when you saw his bright eyes watching you. It almost looked like he enjoyed it.

“You like that?” you teased breathlessly, hair dripping in front of your face.

Phainon raised a brow, a grin tugging at his lips. His hand moved your hair away from your eyes. “My lady, you enjoy messing with me, don’t you?” Then he held out his hand for you to take, to lead you back home. “I just can’t help it.”

You and Phainon didn’t even think to stop as you walked through the pearly doors of the temple, leaving a trail of water across the polished floors.

His soaked shirt clung to his skin, the sun mark on his neck glowing faintly. Your tied-up dress dripped steadily while he held his pair of shoes, and you did the same for your own.

You didn’t even notice the servants’ horrified gazes at your drenched state and bare legs. Nor did you see the looks from Phoebe and Daphne, their eyes wide with disbelief at the sight of you like this.

As usual, Daphne, Phoebe, and you sat at one end of the table while the High Priest sat at the other. Surprisingly, the mood wasn’t terrible. You had little on your mind, just eating the same meal presented to all of you, while Daphne and Phoebe chatted as usual.

Before long, the High Priest dragged you out of your thoughts mid-bite.

“Any thoughts about the festival coming up in a few weeks?” he asked, like a schoolteacher prompting discussion among the group.

“Festival?” you said, confused—like forgetting you’d ordered something, only for it to suddenly arrive at your doorstep. Everyone looked at you oddly.

“Did you forget about the second biggest festival this year, Sister (Name)?” Daphne tilted her head at you.

You had completely forgotten.“It must’ve slipped my mind,” you said softly, leaving Daphne and Phoebe stunned at how you weren’t trying to change the atmosphere with your usual attitude.

“I heard there are going to be brighter fireworks when the sun sets on the final day,” Daphne said excitedly.

“Wait—brighter fireworks, Sister Daphne?” Phoebe leaned in, her voice dropping to a curious tone. “Not just flame dancers and smoke mirrors again?”

Daphne nodded, unable to contain her grin. “A brother told me they brought in alchemists and cooks from the East this year. Apparently, they have a sky-fire that bursts into shapes—flowers, birds, and even brighter colors than before.”

“Brighter fireworks? How wonderful!” Phoebe said happily, but still modestly. “I have to see that. Imagine the light reflecting off silk—” She paused and turned to you. “Sister (Name), are you going to spend the fireworks with Brother Phainon?”

The way she looked at you was cold, analyzing your response, though her lips held a pretty smile. It reminded you of your mother’s expression when you were younger—the same expression whenever she was angry but guests were over.

“…Phainon?” you echoed softly, buying time.

You felt it again—your childhood instinct, a strange déjà vu. Phoebe barely ever talked to you; maybe you were overthinking it?

“Of course, Brother Phainon, since you’ve become so close—thank Lord Khaslana for such a blessing—since you now have a reason to go out for the festival.”

You used to refuse to go to festivals. Every time one came around, it brought a venomous feeling to your stomach. Instead of joining in, you stayed in your room, silently crying into your pillow from sheer loneliness.

You always told them it was because you didn’t like crowds.

They believed you, of course. Why wouldn’t they? You were the difficult wife—a ludicrous saint for a woman—the one least loved by Lord Khaslana.

And now?

Now you had someone who always asked you to go.

You still weren’t sure if that was why the loneliness didn’t hurt as much anymore… or if you’d just grown used to it.

Either way, you didn’t answer Phoebe right away. You lowered your eyes to your food, chewing slowly.

“If Brother Phainon is available, I suppose I will accompany him.”

You didn’t say it like a declaration. You said it like a shrug. Like it didn’t matter.

“Of course he’s available. He is your watchkeeper, Sister (Name), so… devoted to you...”

She leaned slightly closer, slicing a fig in half with the edge of her spoon, her voice low and smooth like a criminal getting away with a crime.

“Nothing less expected from Lord Khaslana’s devoted children—to treat one of his wives with such love—may he be blessed.”

You must be insane. 

The conversation moves once more as Daphne romanticizes (like she always does) about how the fireworks are going to look during such a beautiful night and how she prays for the skies to be clear that night.

Phainon was so excited for the festival; you were only slightly excited—the last time you felt like that was when you were a young child. Phainon had been hyping up seeing fireworks together ever since you told him what you’d heard from Sister Daphne, saying he had the perfect place to take you (but you had to wait for the final day!).

You had so much fun throughout the festival days. You laughed more than you meant to. Ate things you hadn’t had since your mother’s kitchen. Even danced once—only because Phainon dragged you into it, and you were too stunned to pull away.

You might have stepped on his foot a few times. You were stiff and awkward and probably looked like someone trying to walk through mud. But Phainon just laughed each time like it didn’t hurt, and if it did, he said nothing, instead picking you up.

Both feet off the ground, arms around your waist, like you weighed nothing. Like you were something light and easy to carry. You barely had time to react—your hands clutched his shoulders out of instinct.

You felt your heart jump into your throat.

Gosh, you hoped he didn’t see the heat on your face.

. . .

On the last day, as the sun was setting, everyone waited for the fireworks to begin, ready for Phainon to take you to the place he had hinted at since the festival started.

Yet when he saw you—wide-eyed and mouth agape—looking so effortlessly beautiful, he froze.

That hairpin he gave you a while ago—the one he thought you’d forgotten, since he’d never seen you wear it before—was tucked neatly in your hair. Your hair was done up in a soft, elegant style, and your skin had the faintest touch of makeup, just enough to catch the light. But it was your lips that held him—the color there made you look almost unreal. The colors of your clothes complemented your entire look.

You had asked your maid to dress you up a bit since it was the last day of the festival, and you should at least try for the final day.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there like an idiot, eyes stuck on you as if seeing some kind of holy vision. You shifted under his stare, unsure if you’d done too much—if maybe you looked stupid. (Even though the high priest complimented you when you were leaving, and even Daphne complimented you—as she was ready to leave with Phoebe to watch together.)

“…What?” you asked, voice barely above a murmur, glancing away.

Phainon blinked, like he forgot how to speak for a second. Then his mouth finally worked.

“You look—” he paused, letting out a breathy laugh as he stepped closer, “utterly beautiful, my lady.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice so small you almost doubted he heard it. But he did. He lowered his head, brushing a fingertip against the hairpin.

“The sun is no longer in the sky. You should show me the place before the fireworks start,” you said quickly, causing him to move back a little.

Phainon blinked, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Right,” he said, clearing his throat as if to shake off the stunned silence between you. “Come on then.”

He offered his hand again, more confidently this time, and you took it without hesitation. He led you to a beautiful spot with a clear view of the city. Even where the temple was located, the view wasn’t as clear as this place.

Not noticing, Phainon climbed onto a strong tree branch.

“My lady, give me your hand.”

Looking at him funny, still holding your hand out to him, you said, “Are you sure this is safe—”

You gasped, clutching his arm for balance as you settled beside him on the sturdy branch.

“How much strength do you have?” you asked, surprised—is he even human?

Phainon chuckled softly, the sound warm and steady in the quiet dusk. “More than you’d expect,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ve been climbing trees since I was a child. This is nothing.”

Before you could say anything, the first firework burst in the distance—an explosion of scarlet and gold rippling across the night sky. Phainon’s hand tightened around yours, warm and steady.

“It’s beautiful,” you said randomly, in awe at the pretty symbols and colors.

Phainon, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about the fireworks. Seeing the joy in your expression made him so happy—the way your lipstick-colored lips were slightly parted and your eyes sparkled as the colors reflected in them.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said quietly, voice barely above the crackling fireworks, making your heart skip a beat.

You looked at him then, the words sinking in. His face leaned toward yours, causing a stomach full of butterflies. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes, hands moving to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“May I, (Name)?” he whispered, his voice a mere breath against your lips, cheeks flushed.

You loved the way he said your name, like it was the most precious thing in the world—making your heart ache in the sweetest way. Without a word, you nodded, barely daring to breathe.

Phainon’s hand lingered for a moment before he closed the distance, his lips soft and warm against yours. His fingers tangled lightly in your hair, fiddling with the hairpin as the kiss deepened—very slow, as if he wanted this moment to last forever.

Your makeup was smudged after your kisses—your lips slightly swollen, the color of your lipstick smeared a little. The hairpin he had given you was slightly askew, and your cheeks still burned from what had transpired.

You and Phainon had stayed up in that tree long after the fireworks ended, talking about random things, stealing glances, and kissing again (a few more times after that). It was only when the night grew too cold and passed the temple’s curfew that he finally helped you down, his hands lingering on your waist a second too long before letting go.

The walk back was quiet, filled with hand-holding and soft laughter. Phainon walked you all the way to the temple gates, his fingers brushing against yours one last time before he bowed his head.

“Goodnight, my lady,” he murmured, his voice thick with something unspoken.

You barely managed a reply before slipping inside, your heart still racing. Walking silently through the halls—strangely, there were no guards or anyone waiting for you, just dead silence.

When you came close to your room, you were stunned to see Phoebe stepping out, her expression so severe you’d have thought you’d killed a family member of hers.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, with slow, deliberate steps, she moved toward you. The flickering torchlight cast sharp shadows across her face, making her expression unreadable.

“Sister (Name),” she said, her voice eerily calm. “How… convenient that you return now.”

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. “Phoebe. What are you doing in my room?”

Her lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. “Looking for you, of course.” She tilted her head, eyes raking over your disheveled state—the smudged makeup, the loose strands of hair, the way your lips were still faintly swollen. “Though I suppose I should have known where you really were.”

“Sister (Name),” she spat your name with such hatred, “did you spread your legs for that man? Is that why you’re late?”

“Excuse me?” you said, eyes wide as if she were insane.

Phoebe took another step forward, closing the space between you until the fabric of her robes brushed against yours. “I asked if you spread your legs for him when you said you were going to watch the fireworks. If you admit it and ask for forgiveness, perhaps Lord Khaslana won’t give you such a painful death for committing adultery.”

Her breath was hot against your face. The corner of your mouth curled upward—slow and off-kilter—into a smile, though you were in utter disbelief.

“You’re meant to be one of three wives and saints, but you dress and act like a prostitute, seducing any man who even looks at you?”

She just kept on talking.

Instantly, the back of your hand connected with her face.

A sharp crack echoed faintly in the empty corridor.

Phoebe staggered back, eyes wide with shock and pain, clutching the side of her face where your blow had landed. She grabbed the collar of her dress and dragged herself close to your face.

“You can marry Lord Khaslana seven times over and bear all his children for all I care. But get it through your thick skull—I despise that man. Understand, or are you too damn stupid to?!” you spat in her face. You could see the fear behind her eyes.

Just as the last word left your lips, a sudden crack of thunder ripped through the night.

You couldn’t care less.

Comments and Reblogging are very appreciated!!

[thbbie]

༄ satoru gojo teasing eating you out in a supply closet

the worlds strongest is on both his knees for you.

eating you out like a man starved is usually how this goes. messy and ravenous — satoru is unrelenting when he's between your legs.

but right now, when there is a room of people down the hall from the waiting for your arrival to begin the meeting, he decides it is the perfect opportunity to take his time with you.

the space is tight, the both of you cramped in the little dark closest as he's kissing up your legs. starting from your ankles and working his way to your calves, to your thighs. toying with the band of your panties like the both of you have no where else to be.

"satoru, if we're gonna do this we've got to hurry."

"i am hurrying baby."

"mhm, clearly. i'm being serious gojo."

he doesn't take hearing his last name personally, but rather a challenge. thick thumbs playing the the crotch of your panties before pushing it aside. satoru sighs like a lovestruck fool when he sees her — deep and dreamy and adoring.

holding your panties out the way with one hand, both of his thumbs hold you open, spreading you out for his greedy self to enjoy. "your so pretty baby. so wet and i've barely even done anything!! OH MY GOD. do you have a crush on me snookums?"

"satoru. we're literally marri-"

"shhushshhh it's okay, i think it's cute. and i understand. i do. i get it baby don't be embarrassed. i mean, who wouldn't" he leans into you, planting a sweet chast kiss to your clit, a cheeky grin on his lips "you might even end up in love with me when we're finished."

he's enjoying this so much. too much.

before you get to make your witty response he takes your aching bundle into his mouth. flicking and massaging it with the tip of his tongue, pretty pink lips suctioned around it.

you drip onto his tongue and satoru drinks it up like he's sipping his favourite fancy juice from a wineglass. it feels so good but fuck you want- you need more.

he stays consistent with his pace at least. the gentle pleasure slowly building to something intense, your hands curling into the fabric of his uniform, grasping till your knuckles go white, and just as you begin the journey, your idiot husband pulls away all at once.

smiling up at you while painstakingly slow, he gakes the flimsy fabric of your panties between his teeth, and drags it down your legs. dangling the fabric from his forefinger right in front of you before curling his fist around it and bring it to his nose to sniff, and then finally, tucking it into his uniform pocket.

your eyes roll at the shameless display, but you relent — feeling needy beyond belief. "please 'toru. please hurry, need you s'bad baby. gimme me more 'toru."

he hums pensively, taping a finger to his cheek like he's actually thinking about it before looking back at you with a pout; all the while he's pressing your little hard clit with the pad of his fingers like it's a toy button.

"but you always tell me to slow down, especially when i'm eating. im just trying to be good for you baby. just doing what you asked."

he's being a tease.

he licks his lips, focus redirected to your glossed, winking opening. satoru licks a broad stripe upwards, flattening his tongue to feel as much of you as possible. moving at a snails pace, he does it again — relishing in the feeling of your clit twitching on his tongue.

between the slow movements of his tongue, one of his hands drags up your body from below your uniform shirt to your tit. cupping and kneeling it. toying with your nipples to have you arching into him.

his other hand slithers over from where it was resting on your thigh to rub your cute clit as he pours all his attention into fucking you on his tongue.

the moments are languid, slow. rubbing little tight circles on your clit as his tongue slides inside, massaging your walls gently and slipping in just a little deeper with every thrust. satoru almost moans louder than you when you tighten around him, coaxing him further into you.

it gets hotter in the closest, making the already small space feel tighter. the air stuffy and hot and thick with the smell of your arousal.

"oh fuck. s-s'toru,we've got to hurry!!"

"they'll be just fine without us baby, they aren't that incompetent."

"that's not the poi- right there, please. please don't stop"

satoru makes out with you cunt, savouring each and every moment of it. you lean you back against the shelved wall behind you, balancing your weight between it and his shoulders.

you'll be here for the next long while, edged and teased up until you cry you can't take anymore. limp and pliant for him, your face painted in a pretty flushed rouge. unable to do anything but feel good as satoru really, takes his time with you.

[clowns0cks]

Idk who needs to hear this but it's completely fine to love a ship TO DEATH but seeing them as platonic. Like I know it's difficult to participate in the fandom cause people will be like "omg there's no way someone could think they're platonic" and similar sentiment but like you can do whatever you want all the time. Seeing these people as platonic NOT in a "they can't be gay" homophobic way (because this almost always happens with queer ships btw) is totally fine and I don't get why people who see them as romantic can't just mind their business and keep shipping them their own way. I'm here once again telling you platonic love isn't something less important than romantic love, it's just the way you personally approach it

[kingkat12]

date night (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, missionary, prone bone, spooning sex, oral sex (female receiving), clit rubbing, teasing, mocking, dom/sub dynamics, Roman as a kind of soft dom, creampie, orgasm denial, thumb-in-mouth, FLUFF!!, flirting, backstory drop lol, and um... angst. sorry. so sorry.

summary: you finally manage to get your boss out on a date, fulfilling your biggest dream-- but does it stay a dream throughout the evening? as a wise man once said, fuck around and find out.

word count: 17,378 (EEK I'M SO PROUD) (AND SORRY LOL)

← previous chapter |

a/n: FINALLY!!! oh my god. fucking finally. after 118k words, it's finally happening. and you best believe I inserted my classical music trauma in here, along w some personal easter eggs, and AHHH I AM SO PROUD OF THIS MONSTER, I worked day and night and had so many fucking versions of the ending, so... MWAH, ENJOY!<333

Sooo... phase four was probably the least planned part of my revenge-scheme. An actual date hadn't been on my schedule at all. 

Some part of me hadn't thought I'd have the balls to actually go through with any of the things I had done earlier today, including sucking my boss off under his desk while he was in a meeting, and yet here I was; standing in front of my mirror, very much alive, very much unsued, and very much trying to decide whether I should go for a sultry-but-classy look, or romantic, or just... slut.

My phone was propped up on a chair next to my mirror, tilted just enough so Letha could get a full-body view over FaceTime. She was cross-legged on her bed in a tangle of lavender bedsheets, eating instant noodles straight from the cup, her long blonde hair pushed back with a silk headband like some modern-day Diana who happened to subscribe to Vogue. "Okay, no offence, girl," she said around a mouthful of noodles. "But that dress is not it."

With a gasp, I turned to Letha. "What do you mean? It's sweet!"

"Yeah, but where are your boobs? You can't wear a neckline that high, you're not auditioning for a convent! Push 'em up, girl!"

This was the second nun comment of the day-- I could only groan, shimmying out of the dark-green dress. I let the dress pool around my ankles and kicked it into the pile on the floor, which was starting to look like the aftermath of a very expensive hurricane made of silks, satins, and rogue sequins. "I liked that one," I muttered, stepping over a heel to grab another hanger from the back of my closet. "It had a feeling."

"Yeah... the feeling of a third-grade choir recital," Letha huffed, slurping her noodles. The way she was kicking her legs right now made her look like she was in the middle of watching her favourite episode of trashy reality TV, and she was getting more invested than she should; "You're not going to confess at church! You're going on a date with my crazy cousin, whom I've known since birth, so trust me. I'll know the perfect outfit when I see it."

I rolled my eyes, slipping the next dress off its hanger. It was a soft champagne silk, backless, and entirely unlined. I held it up with both hands and watched Letha's expression change through the phone. Her chewing slowed, and her eyes lit up; this episode of Say Yes to the Dress, date-night edition, seemed to get even better, in her opinion. "There she is!" Letha squealed. "That's the girl I knew in college!"

"... Lee, dear, it's see-through,"

"Exactly!"

"He'd literally see my nipples through this,"

"I repeat... exactly,"

Oh, there was no way in hell.

As I shook my head and started putting the dress away, I heard Letha groaning like I had shut off her TV. 

"That dress was a public indecency lawsuit waiting to happen," I muttered, carefully tucking the hanger back in like I hadn't just contemplated going full femme fatale with no bra. "I don't want to look like a slut! This is the one opportunity for him to see me as something other than..." I couldn't say submissive-- not in front of Letha. "Other than a fuck-buddy, or whatever."

Letha sighed, nodding as she slurped her noodles. "Okay, I get your point," she murmured, letting out a content sigh. "But we still have, like, half an hour until he picks you up. Take your time. No need to panic just yet."

I sighed and scanned the racks of dresses crammed inside my closet, my fingers skipping over the different fabrics; too shiny, too juvenile, too wedding guest-- until I reached the far end, and something black caught my eye. It was tucked between a blazer I had worn twice and a crushed leather robe I had forgotten I owned.

I pulled it out slowly.

It had that low square neckline that sat sweetly just above cleavage level (no one would mistake me for a nun, that's for sure), and a fitted waist that flared slightly at the hips, like it wasn't trying to seduce you-- it just did.

Letha leaned forward through the phone, squinting. "Ooh, wait! Wait. Show me the back!"

I turned it around and held it up. The back dipped into a low scoop that almost touched where my waist began, a tiny satin bow at the base of the spine.

Letha gasped like she had seen God. "Yep! Girl, that's the one!"

"It's kinda... romantic," I said, holding it against me. I could already imagine the way the fabric would fall, soft and slinky, but structured, with just enough movement to catch in the air if I turned too fast. "This doesn't scream corporate slut."

"Exactly! Try it on, bitch!"

Huffing, I stepped into it, careful with the delicate fabric as I tugged it up my waist and over my chest. The straps settled against my shoulders, and when I turned to face the mirror, something in me stilled.

Oh. 

Now, I remembered why I bought this dress in the first place. I stood there, barefoot in my bedroom, staring at my reflection like I didn't quite recognize the woman I saw in the mirror-- but I liked her.

I turned toward the phone again; Letha was quiet for once, her Godfrey-green eyes soft with approval. For all her theatrical eye-rolls and fashion bitchery, she sure knew how to recognize a moment when it showed up unannounced.

"Yeah... this is it," I breathed, smoothing my hands down my sides.

"Fuck yeah," she replied. "He's gonna like you in this, I'm sure of it."

I smiled, but it didn't quite reach all the way-- the high of finally finding the dress settled too fast. The swoop of excitement in my stomach was already beginning to rot a little at the edges, and I sat down on the edge of the bed, still in the dress, still looking like I had stepped out of a perfume ad, and dropped my chin into my hand. "But... what if it doesn't matter?" I mumbled. "What if I do everything right, like the dress, the makeup, the hair-- what if I try my absolute best, and he still only sees me as... the secretary who crawls under his desk?"

Letha blinked, the smug grin slipping off her face just enough to make room for something real. She sat up straighter, pushing her noodles aside.

"I feel so stupid," I continued, a cloud of gloom appearing above me. "Roman isn't going out with me because he wants to... I basically invited myself out against his will. Now I'm just some idiot playing dress-up, or something taken straight out of a failed version of Pretty Woman."

Letha squinted at me through the screen. She looked as if I had just spoken a foreign language, and she was trying to process it. "Okay, first of all? Bitch, no. You didn't invite yourself out," she said, pointing a chopstick at me like it was a weapon. "You cracked open the door he was too emotionally constipated to even knock on, and he walked through it. I know my cousin, if he didn't want to go out with you, he wouldn't have. He'd have scoffed, or given you the same look he always gives me when I ask him if he wants to spend the day shopping with me."

I tried to say something, but she ironed right over me like I was a wrinkle in her shirt-- classic Letha. "You think Roman Godfrey does things he doesn't want to do? Please," she huffed. "And second, he wouldn't have dared to ask you out himself, no matter how much he liked you. This sort of shit is borderline terrifying for that donkey. Remember when he started gagging when you said you thought about him, or something?"

I looked down at my hands, still smoothing over the fabric like I could rub the anxiety out of my skin. "Oh, don't remind me..."

Letha smiled, but it wasn't her smug, teasing smile-- it was soft, yet also a little sad. "Yeah, maybe you made the first move. So what? You had to. Because if you waited for him to do it, you'd be married to someone else with three kids before he ever got the balls to properly look you in the eye,"

I looked down at my hands in my lap, still curved over the folds of the black dress, as if holding it close would anchor me to something. My throat tightened; "I just..." I hesitated. "I keep thinking that if I look pretty enough, or say the right thing, or wear the right amount of perfume, that he'll finally see me as something more than just his... horny secretary, or whatever."

Letha was quiet for a second. "He already sees you as something more,"

I looked up.

"Trust me. He just doesn't know what to do with it," she said. "That fucking baboon..."

That earned the faintest laugh out of me, and Letha caught it, pouncing like a cat. "There she is," she grinned. "There's my hot mess in couture!"

I rolled my eyes, but my chest felt a little lighter-- wiping under my eyes, I tried not to smudge my liner; "Oh, Letha, how I love you,"

"I know you do," she purred, reaching for her noodles again. "Now, go drench yourself in perfume, put on those strappy murder heels, and go ruin my stupid cousin."

I looked at myself in the mirror one last time-- I didn't feel like a girl playing pretend anymore. "Okay..." I breathed. "Okay."

Now, I just had to put on the garter set again.

Time to strap in. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I should've known Roman would be the type to show up exactly on time-- honestly, after working for him for a few months, I knew full well he had a peculiar obsession with punctuality. Time, to him, was a currency he never wasted.

Still, when I heard the knock at exactly 20:30, I felt my knees turn to jelly. Tonight, the punctuality felt different-- and with my heart thrumming in my chest, pumping blood to the tingling tips of my fingers, I opened the door.

Oh, Lord, have mercy.

Roman was leaning against my doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other resting casually against the wood, like he had been there forever, like he belonged there-- the low porch light kissed the sharp line of his jaw and faintly grazed the tops of his cheekbones, catching in his hair where it curled slightly at his temple. The rest of him was cast in shadow, but his eyes (God, his eyes) glinted down at me, that green-gold colour impossible to pin down, impossible to ignore.

He was wearing a black shirt, which was simple in theory, yet devastating in practice. The collar was open, the top two buttons undone, and the sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing skin and lean muscle, veins subtly visible where his hands relaxed at his sides.

This was Roman trying to be casual, and failing beautifully-- he looked like someone who had been styled for an expensive cologne ad and gotten annoyed by how well it worked.

I stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, suddenly unsure what to do with the rest of my body. My heart was hammering as Roman's gaze dropped, lingered, then flicked back up like a match catching flame.

His mouth curved, just barely-- a slow, secret smile. "Are you trying to kill me?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but it didn't happen. Words? Forgotten. Vocabulary? Gone. "I-- No?" I managed, hating how breathless and stupid I sounded. Why couldn't I have said something else?

Roman chuckled, smirk curling. "I'm saying you look gorgeous," He leaned in just slightly, just enough for me to feel it-- his height, his heat, the weight of him standing there so still and composed, with his scent filling my every atom. "You gonna let me in?" he asked, voice low.

My lips parted. "You're-- We're not staying,"

His smile widened by a fraction. "No, I know," he murmured. "Just teasing 'ya."

Roman straightened, pushing off the doorframe with easy grace, and tilted his head slightly, eyes dragging down the length of me like gravity. A flicker of heat passed behind his expression, but he didn't let it stay-- he blinked it away, mouth twitching like he wasn't quite ready to let me see how affected he actually was. "Shall we?" he asked, motioning to his car with a nod of his head.

I expected the car from yesterday, but no. Parked under the amber glow of the streetlamp like something summoned, there it was-- a vintage red Jaguar. A deep, glossy cherry-colour, long and low, and growling faintly. 

Oh, I should've known he owned expensive old cars; he definitely seemed like the type of billionaire to do so.

Roman's eyes trailed mine. "Seemed like a nice night to drive myself," he explained, not even trying to suppress his glee as he stepped aside. His hand gently brushed my lower back to guide me down the stairs, and I followed him like I was under some kind of spell, heart beating too fast, air feeling too thin.

Was this a dream? It sure could be. 

"You seem like you're in a good mood," I said, hoping he didn't notice the slight shake in my voice. "I was sort of expecting you to be pissed all night."

Roman glanced over at me as he opened the passenger door. The corner of his mouth lifted-- wry, a little crooked. "I was," he said. "Until I saw you."

And I would've responded, had my heart not detonated in my chest the second I spotted what had been laid out in front of me in the car. There it was-- a massive bouquet of roses, sprawled across the passenger seat like they had been dropped there mid-opera. Deep red, almost black in the shadows, dozens of them; no filler, no bow, just pure, dramatic intent.

My breath caught somewhere in my throat as my brain tried to make sense of it. Roman had left that for me. For me. But the scale of it, the sheer deliberate un-Godfrey-like grandeur, made something uneasy twist in my stomach.

Because... he had said he would get me back. "I'm going to ruin you," were the exact words. Oh God. Was this that?

My pulse spiked. "Wait-- this isn't-- Roman, are these like... are these revenge roses?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I mean-- are you messing with me? Because I know you said you were gonna get me back and this is all so beautiful, it's very beautiful, but also kind of-- terrifying, actually, and I just need to know if this is part of some psychological chess game you're playing with me because honestly that would make a lot of sense for you and I really need to know if I'm supposed to accept them or if I'm about to be arrested for emotional trespassing or--"

"Jesus Christ," Roman muttered, half laughing. 

He stepped closer, one hand still on the open door, the other reaching for the bouquet. He swept it up from the passenger seat and held it out to me; the roses looked almost ridiculous in his grip-- too romantic, too sincere for a man who usually spanked me raw. 

"Take the flowers," he said, voice low.

I stared up at him, wide-eyed. "But?--"

"They're not revenge roses, whatever the fuck that is," he said, sharper now, the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth. "They're just... roses. Don't people do this shit? If not, then my cousin set me up. She said girls like roses, or whatever."

... Letha?

Oh, Letha was going to get the biggest smooch the next time I saw her. That girl was an absolute angel. I felt myself melt to my spot, my smile cracking brightly across my face as I stared up at Roman, eyes round with affection and awe. "They're lovely," I breathed. "Thank you."

Roman inhaled slowly, like he was trying not to lose face or patience-- then he leaned down, green eyes catching the porch light again, and said, just above a whisper; "If I wanted to punish you, you'd know. And trust me, you'll know when I do,"

All I could manage was a faint noise of acknowledgment, holding onto my smile for dear life. Couldn't let it slip, not now. Still, Roman (damn him) just smiled, lazy and infuriatingly pleased with himself. "Get in the car," he said, still close. "We have a reservation to get to."

Okay, okay.

I sat down, and the door closed behind me with a heavy, expensive thunk, sealing me into the Jaguar's plush leather interior and the thick, dizzying scent of roses. The flowers were a full-body experience-- perfume and drama and colour, pressed against my lap like they knew they were too much and dared me to say so. I smiled down at them, brushing the pad of my index against one of the rose petals, praising myself in my head to the high heavens for somehow stumbling through life on the exact path that had led me here, right now.

Roman slipped into the driver's seat a moment later, his scent curling into the cabin-- spice and something woody, almost cold? It reminded me of the scent he wore during my job interview; did he know that this was a psychological trick? Was he aware that wearing the scent you wore the first time you met someone could evoke stronger feelings? I doubted it. It couldn't have been intentional. Could it? Not unless Letha mentioned that to him in passing, too, that sneaky minx. 

Roman didn't speak right away, and adjusted the mirror with one ringed finger and shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. "And you're not as murderous as you were this morning,"

My gaze darted up to meet his in the mirror. "Pardon?"

"You said you thought I'd be pissed," he said with a shrug. "And I thought you'd be out for blood again."

I blinked at him. "I wasn't out for blood,"

"You were a little out for blood," he said, grinning as he reached for the gear shift lever. "I still remember the look in your eyes when you got under my desk. Never seen you like that, that's all. Cutest blowjob ever."

I nearly choked on air. My spine snapped straight against the seat, heat crawling up the back of my neck so fast I was genuinely surprised steam wasn't coming out of my ears. Cute? Was it only that, cute? Not... hot, or whatever? "Roman," 

"What?" he said, all innocence, easing the car away from the curb like he hadn't just casually drop-kicked my dignity into oncoming traffic.

I stared at the dashboard, cheeks blazing, hands folding around the roses like I was at church. "Don't say it like that,"

He flicked on the turn signal, smug as hell. "Would you rather I lie?"

"No-- God, no, I just-- cutest?"

Roman glanced over at me, brows lifting. "It was, though,"

I huffed and stared stubbornly out the window; "You make it sound like I brought you an apple and a love note written in crayon,"

"You kind of did," he said, grinning. "You were all flustered, mean, and mad at me, and then suddenly very... helpful. It was cute."

"Stop saying it was cute! It wasn't cute!"

Roman laughed, an unexpected warm sound-- he was still smiling when I glanced at him, but it wasn't smug this time. "Okay," he murmured, tapping the steering wheel with one ringed finger. "Fine. You want complete honesty?"

I didn't answer-- mostly because I wasn't sure. Did I want honesty from Roman Godfrey? That felt like asking a loaded question with a trapdoor underneath it. 

However, he didn't wait for me to respond; "It was hot," he said, quieter now. "Obviously."

The words landed with more weight than I expected. They settled between us, warm and heavy, and I found myself staring at him-- at the curve of his mouth, at the clean line of his jaw, at the way his throat moved when he swallowed. I swallowed too; "Then... why'd you call it cute?"

Roman shrugged, eyes fixed on the road. "Because I didn't expect it. It got to me," He paused, his fingers flexed once on the wheel, then stilled--

"You get to me," he mumbled. "More than I like."

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe. My heart did something strange in my chest-- it skipped a beat and then made up for it all at once. The air inside the car felt warmer, denser, like the windows were fogging up even though I wasn't moving.

Roman didn't look at me, but I could feel the tension in him too, the way his shoulders pulled just a bit tighter, like he knew he had said too much and wasn't sure what to do with it.

Then, he broke the silence I had loved to swim in for the few seconds he had let me.

"Anyway," he said, slipping back into his teasing voice like armour. "I stand by it. Cutest blowjob ever. Five stars. Would receive again."

"Roman," I huffed, scandalized, as I clutched the roses tighter like they might shield me from the sheer audacity of this man.

"What?" Delight bloomed on his face again. "I'm being nice, am I not? I'm really trying, here."

I opened my mouth to snap something back, some cutting, a witty little retort, but nothing came out-- because the truth was, Roman was being nice. In his own weird, maddening, emotionally catastrophic way. And despite how much I wanted to pretend I had the upper hand, I didn't. Not even close. He had it (he'd always had it), and it was getting harder and harder to pretend I didn't notice the way he looked at me like I was something that lived under his skin. He was trying. He was really trying.

So instead, I shifted slightly in my seat, stared ahead for a beat, then mumbled;

"You get to me, too,"

The words hung in the air for a moment, soft and terrifying. I didn't dare look at him-- my hands were suddenly too still over the roses, my fingers twitching like they wanted to pull the words back before he could really hear them.

But he had.

I felt it more than I saw it-- that  stillness that passed through him like a ripple in deep water. Roman's large hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his veins pulling over his knuckles. However, I knew him well enough by now to recognize that the silence wasn't disinterest. It was the opposite. It was tension. It was held breath. It was something he didn't allow himself to feel or revel in. 

Because for him? Emotion was pain. Always was, always would be.

And then, just as I was about to say something silly to lighten the mood, Roman exhaled. Slow and controlled, his voice came back, low and careful; "Let's just hope no one from corporate or HR sees us. That'd be a lot of explaining that I'm not in the mood for,"

Had I spoiled his mood? I had no idea, but I wanted to beat myself up for it till I bled. "I doubt it," I mumbled, staring straight ahead on the road. "If anything, we'll say you're thinking about giving me a raise, and... I had no other available time to discuss it."

Thankfully, after a beat, Roman briefly tilted his head toward me, one brow arched as he huffed a laugh. "Was that your very subtle way of asking for a raise?"

I blinked. "What?"

He gestured loosely with one hand, his smirk sliding back into place like it had just been waiting for an excuse. "Your whole scheme? You getting back at me for stealing your underwear?" He paused, eyes gleaming. "God, you're good. I've figured you out now."

I let out a disbelieving giggle; "It was never about getting a raise, no," Did he really not know it was about him going down on me? And here I thought he had pieced it all together earlier today.

"You sure?" Roman teased. "Because if it was... consider it approved."

Well, that was a nice change of events? Wouldn't say no to that. Could probably go shopping with Letha more often if I had some extra money in my pockets. Win-win! I turned to him, beaming. "Great! I'll have your assistant draft the paperwork,"

His grin deepened; "You are my assistant,"

"Exactly. That's why you should be worried,"

Roman laughed, low and genuine, and the sound washed over me like warm water. Just like that, the tension unraveled. It didn't completely fade, no-- it just tucked neatly beneath the surface again, traded for the rhythm we knew, and the flirtation we could hide inside.

... For now.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had dreamed about this restaurant-- quite literally.

It had been in one of those Vogue catalogues that Letha had thrown all around her room back in college, and I had added it to my mental locker; I was definitely hoping to visit this place someday. However, when I had searched up the prices of the food, and searched up who usually attended this place, I very clearly remember sinking deeper into my bed and willing myself gone. Some things were just supposed to be out of reach, right? Or, well, I held onto the hope that I could get Letha really drunk on cosmopolitans one day, and that she'd then take me here and pay for everything-- that would've been my ticket.

But now? 

Now, Roman Godfrey had his hand on the small of my back as the hostess led us to our seats. What even was life? He didn't even need a surname check, they didn't even ask his name-- no, his fingers had been dipping into the low back of my dress, drawing a teasing circle into my skin as he walked up to the hostess like he wasn't doing anything of that nature at all, and she had simply nodded. She knew who he was. Of course he didn't need to announce who he was. Fucking hell. 

I was also quite sure we had just passed by the mayor of Pennsylvania, who was swirling his drink as he spoke to his very, very stylish deputy mayor-- weren't they accused of having an affair just a few weeks ago? I wasn't sure. I remember skimming past that part of the magazine, and going directly to page six to gawk at pictures of Roman instead. Still, what got to me was that no one batted an eye at any of the people at this restaurant-- of course they didn't. Not at the mayor, and not at Roman, because neither of them was out of place here, in the midst of the elite.

I was the anomaly.

But I certainly didn't look like one. 

The hostess led us to a tucked-away table at the edge of the dining room, semi-enclosed by frosted glass and real vines suspended like art. It was private, dimly lit, and humming with warmth. When Roman pulled out my chair for me, I felt my cheeks burn as I gave him a breathy thank you, trying not to show how wide my eyes had gone. Seriously, who was this guy? Where was my boss who had made me hump his shoe?!

God, the menu was heavy. The napkin was embroidered. The glasses were so thin I was afraid to touch mine-- Vogue knew what they were talking about, back in the day.

"Still thinking about the raise?" Roman asked once we were alone, eyes glittering from across the table.

I smirked, slipping into our familiar rhythm like I wasn't floored by this place-- there was no way I'd let him know that I was. "I'm mostly thinking about what I'm going to wear after you give it to me,"

He leaned back, clearly pleased. "Good. Think lace,"

I shot him a look.

"Lace, and easy to get out of," Roman added, grinning. "The stuff you wore today was hot, but impossible."

"Is that right?" Oh, someone's been thinking about that. I shrugged, chin high, like I wasn't about to floor him; "Sadly for you, I'm still wearing it."

Roman let out a quiet, dramatic hiss before slowly, deliberately, sinking a little into his seat, visibly happy about it. One hand rested casually on the table, his fingers brushing the base of his wine glass, not bothering to dim his broad grin. "Cruel," he murmured. "Cruel thing to say to a man trying to behave himself."

My pulse jumped, and I could only smile softly at the menu, dismissing him (mostly for my own good). I'd melt if I didn't, I was sure of it.

Roman tilted his head, studying me like I had become something entirely new in the last few seconds. "You know that you're making this hard for me, don't you?" he went on, lazily dragging his thumb along the rim of his glass. "You sit there looking like that, talking like that, and expect me to what? Order steak and talk about traffic?"

"I expect you to try," I said, sweet as pie, before putting down the menu and folding my hands on the table like I hadn't just wrecked him on purpose.

Roman huffed a short laugh, shaking his head once. "See, this is the problem. You used to get flustered when I so much as looked at you,"

"I did not!"

"You did. You've even confessed to it. And now?" He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table, eyes heavy-lidded and burning. "Now you're saying shit like that and sitting here like you're not doing it on purpose."

I arched a brow, matching his tone, bite for bite. "Maybe I am doing it on purpose,"

Roman's grin sharpened--"Then I guess I'll take that raise off the table,"

"Or under the table," I countered. "I distinctly remember you like that."

He blinked, just once, and then let out a low, half-scoff of disbelief. "Jesus Christ,"

Thankfully, the waiter chose that exact moment to appear, asking if we were ready to order.

Roman didn't look at the menu. Didn't need to. He waved a hand, said something in French (of course he spoke French, that little aristocrat), and then nodded to me with a devil-may-care smirk like you're in good hands, trust me.

And just like that, the waiter vanished, and we were alone again.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was thick, almost luxurious, like the candlelit restaurant had settled in around us, happy to let the tension simmer and stretch. Roman sipped his wine, eyes hooded-- I felt like a goddess every time he looked at me like that. So, with a light blush, I traced a finger along the rim of my glass, pretending to be absorbed in the movement, even though my entire body was still buzzing.

Then, finally, I said; "So..."

Roman's brow raised, amused. "So?"

I shrugged. "I realize I don't actually know anything about you. This is the perfect opportunity," The perfect opportunity I had so perfectly stumbled upon while crafting my revenge. 

"You know plenty," Roman said, shrugging back at me with a teasing mimic. 

"Sure," I murmured. "I know you're rich, emotionally unregulated, and deeply committed to corrupting your employees."

Roman smiled-- slow and lazy. "All true,"

"But I mean... outside of that. What do you do when you're not emotionally destabilizing me in the workplace?"

He leaned back a little, watching me like he wasn't entirely sure if this was a trap. "You're asking what I do for fun?"

"Yes," I said. "Or at the very least, what you pretend to enjoy in public."

Roman was quiet for a beat, his expression unreadable; "I didn't take you for the type to make dinner feel like an interview,"

"I'm not. I just..." I hesitated, then shrugged again. Was this my go-to nervous tick? "I'm curious, that's all. All I've seen of you is, well-- this. The office. The flirting. The mean days. And, of course, the power plays."

Roman was still for a moment, watching me over the rim of his glass. Then, he set it down gently and said, almost too easily-- "I read,"

"You read?" I repeated. Of course he did. 

Roman nodded; "Yes. Books. Pages. Sentences,"

"Funny,"

"I thought so,"

I squinted at him. "Are we talking Wall Street Journal or French poetry levels of reading?"

Roman's grin returned, slower this time. "I'll let you imagine whatever version of me you want,"

"No, don't do that," I leaned a bit closer over the table, crossing my legs (no fishy business, I promise), and dropped my voice a little. "Be real with me, if only just for one night."

Roman stared back at me, a bit confused perhaps, and the stem of his wine glass caught between his fingers as he watched me from across the table. Candlelight flickered softly against the deep angles of his face, his eyes unreadable but alert, like he was weighing something in silence. I knew it was probably a little much to ask him to open up, but I so desperately wanted to know him, just a little bit, and--

"You're gonna laugh," he mumbled.

My brows raised; "I wouldn't,"

"You would,"

"You don't know that. I might find it cool,"

Roman sighed, giving up, giving in. He didn't look at me when he spoke. "I know how to code. I read about that, new softwares, and so on,"

There was a beat of silence as the words hung in the air-- dry, understated, almost absurd in the candlelit glow of one of the city's most expensive restaurants.

I stared. "You... code?" What was so embarrassing about that?

Roman finally looked up, and the expression on his face was equal parts sheepish and annoyed. "Yes," he muttered. "Code. Python, Swift, JavaScript. Y'know... nerd shit."

I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. It was ridiculous to me that he seemed so horrified by it. "You code," I repeated, grinning now. "For fun? For work?" Hot, hot, hot. 

He groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose; "No, not for fun. I don't sit around hacking into the Pentagon for sport. It's... I don't know, calming sometimes? It's mainly logical, and it makes my brain buzz. Everything's either broken or it works, there's no in-between. There's something satisfying about that,"

My grin softened, and so did my eyes. I steepled my fingers and put my head on top of them, feeling my heart thud with warmth. "Roman Godfrey," I purred. "You're actually kind of cool."

Roman narrowed his eyes at me, but he didn't look away; if anything, something about the way I said his name made him hold my gaze longer than usual. His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a warning; "Don't get carried away," he mumbled.

But I didn't have to-- he was already softening. I could see it in the way his pupils dilated that he was relieved, and maybe even flattered. 

Roman leaned back a little, the flickering light catching in his cheekbones and the gold edge of his irises. His fingers traced a coy circle against the base of his wine glass, and he let out a quieter sigh-- less annoyed now, more... reluctant affection. "I used to build little apps back in boarding school. Dumb shit, mostly. But my greatest work was when I made one that could replicate teacher log-ins,"

My jaw dropped. "Roman!" Little cheater!

"Relax," he said, lips curving into something slow and wicked. "It ended up being a good thing, believe it or not. My friends and I used to joke that our history teacher was a pedo, and when I got his passwords... I also got hold of his Google searches. Incriminating stuff, let me tell you."

A cold chill crept across the back of my neck-- that took a turn. "What did you... do with that?"

Roman shrugged like this was the most casual story ever; "I printed the searches, and mailed them anonymously to the headmaster. No note. Just a USB and a folder, and the teacher disappeared from campus a week later. Administration didn't even ask questions. Quiet investigation, quiet settlement. All of it got swept under the rug, but he never came back... So, yeah, I felt like Batman for a good few weeks after that. Good times,"

My chest tightened, not out of fear, but out of some breathless, involuntary awe. Not just because Roman had done that, but because I could tell by the way he told it that no one had ever thanked him-- no one had even known. I stared at him, and for a long moment I forgot where we were; the restaurant, the flickering candle, the impossibly thin wine glasses, all of it.

"You're..." I exhaled, pulse fluttering. "You're not who I thought you were."

Roman gave a one-shouldered shrug, like it didn't matter, like he hadn't just revealed one of the most private, morally complicated things about himself. "No one ever is,"

"Yeah," I breathed. "You're Batman."

Roman blinked at me once, and then let out a low, startled laugh that pulled straight from his chest. It was that rare kind of sound I had only ever heard from him a handful of times; unguarded, full-bodied, and warm. He tipped his head back slightly as it escaped him, as if even he was surprised by it. "Christ," he muttered, smirking as he brought his hand to his mouth. "You're going to dine out on that forever, aren't you?"

"Damn right I am," I said, grinning now, my voice soft with delight. "Roman Godfrey, brooding CEO by day, Gotham vigilante by night."

"You're ruining the brand," he warned, still smiling.

I leaned my chin into my hand and blinked at him, faux-innocent. "I like learning about the real you,"

"Oh, I take it back, now,"

"Nope. Too late. I already like him,"

That made Roman still again-- but this time, the tension was different. Subtler. It was in the flick of his eyes as they searched mine, the slight parting of his lips, the way his fingers stilled against the wine glass like he had forgotten it was there. The candlelight caught the edges of his face, carved them softer now.

Mercifully, just on time, the waiter returned. The plates were set down with delicate precision; our steaks, sides in tiny, glimmering copper bowls, steam curling into the space between us. Roman thanked him with a nod and a quiet ça ira, and then we were alone again.

The air was warmer now from the plates, the pause, and the quiet simmer of my words still hanging in the air-- I wasn't taking them back. No, he'd have to sit with them, and let them sink in. I liked him, and he had better get over that soon enough. With a shaky sigh, I picked up my fork and knife, eager to redirect all this... weight sitting in my chest. I didn't want to break whatever thread had been strung between us, but I didn't quite know how to sit in it either. I sliced into my steak, slow, pretending my fingers weren't trembling just a little.

But then, just as I was about to take the first bite, knife halfway through the cut--

"You have a minor in music, right?"

I looked up, startled. He remembered? 

Roman was watching me with a different kind of intensity now-- not flirty, not teasing, but perhaps a bit... curious? "It's in your CV," he said. "We discussed it during your interview. It was for extra credits, right?"

"Yeah," I breathed, feeling my eyes soften. "I play the piano. Or, played is probably the better term. Haven't touched it since I graduated."

Roman didn't say anything at first-- he just watched me with that unreadable look, silently slicing into his steak. His posture was deceptively casual, elbow on the edge of the table, shoulders relaxed, but something in the set of his jaw gave him away; there was a flicker behind his eyes, like a thought that almost surfaced, then didn't. Was it interest?

"Shame," he finally said, voice low. "Why?"

I was surprisingly on guard, more so than he had been when it was his turn. "Um," I mumbled, my shoulder doing that nervous tick thing again. "I never particularly liked it. I was forced to take lessons because everyone in my family plays, and I was also forced to practice on the weekend my whole life, so... it didn't form a particularly healthy bond. I've loathed it my whole life."

Roman wasn't eating the steak. Why wasn't he eating? Why wasn't I? Why were we staring at each other like children lost in a forest, unable to look away?

"But you did it in college?" he asked, not blinking.

"Yeah," I breathed, not blinking either. "For the credits."

"Right... What made it bearable, then?"

Oh, what a question. "It felt cool when I finally finished learning a piece," I mumbled, a bit quieter than intended. Why was I so timid, all of a sudden? "And I like this composer, Rachmaninov. His pieces were too hard for me to play, but it was fun to explore sometimes."

And suddenly, it felt like everything that had frozen started moving again-- because suddenly, Roman let out a loud scoff, half a laugh, as he finally took the first bite of his steak. He chewed, nodding to himself as though processing how to say what he wanted to without being rude. Then, when he was done-- "Rach is a menace,"

My brows drew together, and I let out an incredulous laugh. "Rach?" I echoed; only people that knew music called him that. 

"Oh, yeah," Roman said, casual as ever, before nodding to my food. "Eat."

Confused, I finished cutting my steak, taking a rather disoriented bite of the best steak I had ever had. I would have melted and complimented it, thanked him for ordering it, but I couldn't shake the inkling I suddenly got. "What, you don't like Rach?"

At that, Roman chuckled. "You need hands the size of Russia to get through the second page of anything he writes, that's all," he said, matter-of-factly. "It's beautiful music, you will never catch me denying that, but that man made it impossible to play if you don't have massive hands. Menace, I tell you."

My eyes were probably wider than the plate before me. "You play, too?"

It was as though he hadn't heard me for a few seconds-- Roman proceeded eating, humming in delight. "My family is Slavic," he said when he finished chewing. "If you don't play the piano, you're a bastard child with no right to eat. Of course I do."

It was comical, the way he delivered it-- so deadpan, so dry, as though the words hadn't just cracked the entire night open. "You play!" I beamed, my steak momentarily forgotten on my fork. "You play the piano and you've been sitting there this whole time letting me monologue about it like I'm the only tortured soul at this table?"

Roman tilted his head slightly and took another bite, chewing slowly, deliberately. "I was enjoying myself,"

"You're the menace," I breathed, stunned. "Not Rach!"

"Says the woman who just tried to gaslight me into thinking she never got flustered around me," he shot back, then nodded toward my plate again. "Eat. You're embarrassing me."

We stared at each other, utterly ridiculous and beaming. The flickering candlelight made his cheekbones look even sharper, his grin even more boyish in his gorgeous black shirt. I couldn't believe I was sitting here across from Roman Godfrey, of all people, trading war stories about Romantic-era composers like it was casual.

I tilted my head, beaming. "Do you still play?"

Roman hesitated for the first time-- not guarded, not evasive, just... hesitant. "Sometimes," he mumbled. "My mother sometimes pressures me to play when I come over. She always falls asleep when I do, though, so I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

I snorted, probably a little too loudly for this fancy restaurant-- that earned me an echo of a snort back from Roman, and it rolled out into a short, shared laugh.

"What do you play?" I managed, feeling my cheeks rosy.

"Debussy. Always Debussy,"

"Oh, of course you do," I whispered, and I couldn't stop the warmth that bloomed in my chest. "That makes sense."

Roman didn't respond at first-- he just looked at me. Really looked. Then, slowly, he put down his cutlery and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You talk like you've done this your whole life,"

"Well," I said, smiling into my wine glass. "It seems you have, too."

"Touché," he murmured, but he was still watching me, eyes darker now, more thoughtful, like... maybe, for a moment, he saw something in me that he didn't quite know what to do with-- then, he turned it into something he knew very, very well. "You know what they say about piano players?"

I knew what was coming. I could see it in the way his green eyes gleamed with mischief. I sighed, unable to suppress my grin; "Hands?"

Roman's lips curled like he had been waiting for the bait. "Mm," he hummed, eyes never leaving mine. "Fast hands. All that repetitive motion..." He dragged the sentence out slowly, almost lazily, as if the words themselves were meant to touch me. "A lot of discipline. Lots of control, they say."

I swallowed around nothing. "Sounds exhausting," I said, trying to keep my voice steady-- still, it came out lower than I meant it to. God, how I wanted his hands on me again. They were surprisingly addictive. 

Roman smiled wider, sinking a little further back into his chair like he could feel the air between us change, like he wanted to watch me squirm with a better view. "Depends who you're playing for," he murmured. "But if you tire quickly, you're in luck. I'm always happy to take the lead, and... finish the piece, per se."

There it was, hanging between us, heavy and undeniable.

"We shouldn't be talking like this in public," I teased, barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" Roman murmured, voice dropping. "You're the one who wore that dress."

I let out a small, breathy laugh. I hadn't even remembered what I was wearing until that moment, until his eyes dragged lower like he was picturing how it clung to me when I stood, and how it would feel bunched up. Wrinkled. Peeled off, perhaps.

Roman's fingers ghosted along the rim of his glass again, and he added, quieter now-- "You're doing that thing again,"

"What thing?"

His thumb pressed against the glass, slow. "Making me wonder what you'd do if I stopped behaving,"

I blinked slowly, heat pulsing just under my skin. Oh my God.

Roman leaned forward again, just enough to tip his shadow into mine. His voice was soft, and deadly calm; "I'll find out later,"

My heart thudded so hard I felt it in my throat.

"Eat your steak," he said next, eyes glittering with victory. "You're going to need the energy." ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Phase five, the last phase, was about to be in motion.

But... God, I hadn't been this nervous since I handed in my bachelor's thesis. What was wrong with me? Why did I feel like a virgin all over again?

The night was dark and honey-thick, warm in the way only a summer night could be after the world had already fallen asleep-- the darkness reminded me of how long we had stayed at the restaurant. We wouldn't have stayed there so long had we not had a good time, though, right? My brain was going into overdrive, and I suddenly had a hard time swallowing. Fucking hell. The city had quieted down to a soft hum, and Roman's Jaguar purred low at the curb outside my building, headlights off, heat still curling from the engine like breath.

I hadn't moved to get out yet. Neither had he.

Roman was half turned toward me, one hand lazily ghosting along the steering wheel, and the other draped along the back of my seat, his ring grazing my shoulder without touching it. His collar was still open, and his hair had fallen slightly out of place since dinner. It made him look looser, younger, and impossibly hotter. How was that even possible? There was a low sort of satisfaction in the set of his mouth, like he hadn't planned to enjoy himself tonight but somehow ended up doing just that.

The streetlamps spilled gold across the windshield. I didn't want to leave, not yet.

"I know I made a fuss earlier today, but you don't have to do anything," I blurted out, softening my voice-- not because I meant to, but because I felt unbearably guilty. Suddenly, my whole plan felt ridiculous; so what if he took my underwear? Why should I corner him into going down on me just cause he pissed me off? Not only did I feel childish, but also... embarrassed. This wasn't how proper adults behaved, right? 

Roman didn't answer right away-- he let out a short, quiet scoff of a laugh. "Do what?" he murmured.

"Prove a point," I mumbled. "That you go down on women, or whatever. Forget all of that. It all feels really stupid, all of a sudden."

The silence that followed was not quiet-- it was charged. I briefly glanced at the roses in the back seat before my fingers curled in my lap, gripping the hem of my dress to keep from saying something even worse.

Roman shifted, just slightly, and the arm behind me slid lower, grazing the edge of my seat. I felt the weight of his stare before I met it-- his green eyes cut to mine like a slow exhale. "You don't want me to anymore?" he asked, voice low and steady. "I thought we had a good time."

I looked at him, startled, but not because of the words. It was the tone. He sounded... genuinely puzzled. Not offended, like I had expected. There was something grounded and adult about Roman right now that threw me off my impression of everything going on. 

"We did. I just... " I dropped my gaze, focusing on my hands and how small they looked in my lap. "I feel like I turned it into a game. It feels a bit wrong, now that you've sort of... become a person to me."

At that, after a breath, Roman leaned back slightly against the leather, the fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest as he shifted. "I get it," he said, glancing away, his fingers grazing the edge of the steering wheel again. "I do. The games make it easier. If it's a game, then it doesn't have to matter. Doesn't have to get close." His voice dropped a little lower. "But it does get close. I think that's secretly been the point all along."

My pulse stuttered-- "Oh?"

Roman turned back to me then, the shadows of the night dancing softly across the sharp line of his jaw, and for a moment, he looked younger again-- like he didn't have the burden of being my boss, or a CEO, just in this minute. "Look," he murmured. "You don't have to apologize for playing along or for creating your own games. That's why this works. That's why it's still working, whatever this is between you and I."

He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching like he could barely keep himself from smiling. "I've never met someone who... truly understood how to play my games before. I've felt like a freak imposing myself on willing girls all my life because of it, too. But you play along, and you get it," Roman's pupils had somehow dilated, and I could almost see the way his pulse beat up along the side of his throat-- "Or... am I wrong here?"

My breath caught.

God, I could feel it, the way he was looking at me-- he wasn't asking for sex, or permission, or even forgiveness, but recognition. For confirmation that he hadn't imagined it, that the electricity between us hadn't been a product of his own private delusion, and that we were both just as sick and twisted as the other. 

I was fucking burning now, and there was no way to help dim the fire, not even as I spoke; "You're not wrong," I breathed. "I haven't felt so... free to be me before. With you, I make sense."

... That did it.

Roman let out a breath like he had been holding it for hours. The tension in his jaw eased, and his hand, the one still draped along the back of my seat, finally dropped, brushing softly against the bare skin of my arm.

I watched his lips part, ready to speak, but before he could impose his attachment issues on me and pull away, I spoke before he could, just to catch him to it; "I know it scares you," I blurted out, anxiety rushing through my veins. "I know. And also I know I should keep quiet, but if you could just give this a chance, I could?--"

"Invite me up,"

The words stopped me cold. My breath caught, literally stopped mid-inhale, and I scanned Roman over and over in search of a teasing smile, smirk, anything.

But... I could only find sincerity. Maybe a hint of want. The night had fallen so dark I could barely see him, yet the green in his eyes found mine with unwavering certainty. What he was certain of, I wasn't sure-- but it was convincing as ever. 

I swallowed. "You sure?"

"Yes," he said.

"I promise you won't have to--"

"I've been waiting to kiss you all night, and I need to get you alone to do it the way I want to. Invite me up,"

"Okay," I squeaked, unable to suppress the smile that crept up my face. 

I didn't need night-vision to know Roman was smirking down at me through this darkness. "Good girl," he murmured, before retreating his hand to kill the engine. 

When I got out of the car, the air met me like a wall, humid and summer-sweet. The street was still empty, quieter than ever before, with the moon tucked somewhere high above us. 

Roman rounded the front of the car without a word and met me on the sidewalk-- he didn't touch me. Not yet. But the way his eyes moved over me made my pulse stutter, and made my knees feel weak, like his hands were already on me in every place I wanted them most. The night wrapped around us, thick and honeyed, holding its breath the same way I was.

He stopped just close enough that I could feel his heat, the faintest brush of his sleeve against my bare arm as the breeze shifted. His jaw was set, sharp in the glow of the streetlamp, but his mouth... God, his mouth looked so fucking soft.

"This way," I whispered, because anything louder felt like it would shatter the moment. My voice sounded strange to my ears, thin and tight, laced with all the wanting I couldn't hide; I started walking toward the building entrance, fumbling for my keys with hands that wouldn't quite stay steady. Stupid, stupid girl.

Roman followed, silent but not absent-- I could feel him behind me, every step a shadow pressed close to my spine. It was unbearable, knowing he was there and choosing not to touch me yet, like he was dragging out the anticipation on purpose, savouring it, savouring me.

When I reached the door, I paused to unlock it, but my fingers slipped once, twice. Oh, you fucking idiot. My pulse was thrumming too, drowning out everything else. 

I felt Roman step closer, just behind my shoulder now, his presence a slow, deliberate pressure. "Relax," he murmured, his breath grazing the curve of my neck, low enough that no one but me could hear. "You're shaking."

"I'm not," I managed, even though the key definitely trembled in my hand. "I'm fine."

Roman's mouth curled, the ghost of a smile I didn't dare look at directly. "Yeah, that's right... Lie to me, sweetheart, go on," 

His voice was dark velvet, sinful in how much it seemed to like my denial-- and before I could even form a reply, before I could process what he had just called me, Roman's lips were on my neck.

They were soft at first, just the faintest brush, a whisper of contact that sent lightning down my spine; but then his mouth opened against my skin, warm and deliberate, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath hitch, sharp and needy, and fucking hell, how my knees wobbled.

"Roman--" I gasped, not even sure what I was asking for, or what I was warning him about.

He hummed low in his throat, like he had been waiting for that sound all night. Then, in one seamless, impossibly smooth motion, his hand came around mine-- his long fingers plucked the trembling key from my grip like it belonged to him, like I belonged to him. A flick of his wrist, a turn of metal, and the door clicked open before my brain caught up.

And then he had me.

Roman's hand found my hip, firm and possessive, guiding me forward with effortless strength. The next thing I knew, I was inside, the cool air of my air conditioner coming toward me like a saviour of a breeze. The door swung shut with a heavy thunk behind us, and before I could even think about flicking on the light, of excusing the small size of my apartment, Roman pressed me back against the door, hard enough to make it rattle softly in the frame.

Roman's body closed in on mine like water filling a glass, deliberate, all-encompassing, leaving no escape as he was pulled me under, drowning me sweetly in his gravity.

His hand slid to my jaw, tilting my face up, and then his mouth was on mine.

It was a passionate, molten press of lips that stole every thought from my head, all heat and inevitability, like he had known exactly how this kiss would feel long before it happened-- this was the kind of kiss you'd give when you've been thinking about someone for hours, for weeks, for longer than you'd ever admit.

I sighed into him, helpless, my hands lifting to his chest, clutching at his shirt just to stay upright. And then, God help me, his tongue brushed mine-- just a tease, a slow, deliberate glide that pulled a sound from me I didn't even recognize, quiet and desperate against his mouth. Roman tasted like wine and salt and something darker, something entirely his; he deepened the kiss then, angling my chin with his fingers, his lips moving with devastating precision, coaxing me open, drawing me closer, until every nerve in my body was crying out for more.

Roman breathed against my mouth between kisses, low and rough, like it cost him something to not have me up against the door right in this moment. "Fuck..." he murmured, lips brushing mine with the word. "Been thinking about this all night..."

My head spun, every nerve lit up and tuned to him, my body melting like it had been waiting for this exact moment, this exact kiss, all my life. "Roman," I whispered, voice shaky and small against his mouth. I kissed him again, because breathing felt impossible if I didn't, and when I pulled back just barely enough to speak, my confession slipped out before I could stop it; "Me too. Think about you-- like this, all the time."

A beat of silence passed between us, heavy and thick, and then, in that low, cocky tone that always managed to undo me, Roman murmured, "I know,"

My pulse stuttered, heat flooding my chest, my stomach, my thighs, because somehow, hearing him say it so certainly, so damn sure of himself and me and us, made something inside me ache in the sweetest, most dangerous way.

Roman kissed me again, slower this time, as if to underline his point, his hand sliding from my jaw down to my neck, my shoulder, skimming over my arm until his fingers laced with mine. He didn't let me think, didn't give me a second to overanalyze the moment-- just pulled me forward, away from the door, his lips brushing mine as he spoke, voice rough with want; "Bedroom?"

I nodded, quick and breathless, my heart hammering like it might break free of my ribs. "Down the hall," I whispered, holding back a girly, delirious giggle. "Last door on the left."

Roman's mouth curved, just barely-- a dark, satisfied shadow of a smile. "Take the lead,"

"That's a first with you," I mumbled, unable to hold back the joke. 

Roman's laugh was low as he followed close behind, clutching my hand. "Don't get used to it," he murmured. "I'm only letting you lead because I like watching you walk ahead of me. Your ass is fantastic in that dress."

Heat pooled low in my stomach at that, and I swore my knees almost buckled. My fingers tightened around his, where they were still laced with mine, pulling him with me like he was the only thing keeping me upright. "Pervert," I purred, glancing at him over my shoulder with that playful look I knew he loved. "And here I thought you were being a gentleman."

Roman's grin sharpened, wicked as ever, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the hallway. "Oh, no, I never claimed to be a gentleman," he drawled. "I want to be a little nice to you tonight, that's all."

The words landed low in my heart, molten and heavy-- fucking hell, I wasn't going to survive this night without permanent heart damage, was I?

I pushed the door to my bedroom open, and before I could even breathe, Roman's hand slid from mine to my hip, his mouth dipping to my ear. "Your room's cute," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of it, the heat of his breath making me shiver.

With the way my cheeks burned, I was sure my face was about to melt off. "At least it's not a red dungeon, like I fear yours is,"

Roman made a low, pleased sound in his throat, pushing the door shut behind us with his foot. "Good guess," he muttered, before turning me toward him, his hand cupping the back of my neck.

He didn't waste another second-- the moment my body turned to his orbit, his mouth was back on mine; urgent, like the kiss earlier had only been a preview and now he couldn't hold back.

Our mouths collided with a need so sharp it felt like real, true hunger-- think cannibalism. I had no idea what came over me when I moaned against him, and Roman seized the moment to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding in to meet mine like he knew exactly what I needed, like he'd been dreaming of this as long as I had.

It was messy, wet, overwhelming-- desperate.

After all this time of not touching each other, of being starved, of depriving ourselves of one another, it had culminated in whatever this moment was. Roman's hands moved with purpose, one at the base of my neck, the other already sliding down the curve of my spine to grip my ass, pulling me into him like he wanted to feel every inch of me. I clung to him, tugging him closer like I'd fall apart if there were even an inch left between us.

Roman groaned against my mouth, low and raw. "Fuck, you're--" His voice broke off like he didn't have the language for it. "This--"

He kissed me again, bruising now, shoving me back a step. Then another. He was walking me backward, and I didn't even care where we were going, bed, floor, wall, whatever-- so long as I could keep kissing him like this.

When the back of my knees hit the bed, I gasped ever-so-slightly, and Roman finally broke the kiss, only to trail his lips down my neck with a hunger that left no room for teasing with open-mouthed, hot kisses at my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. "You don't even know," he murmured, dragging his mouth back up to mine. "How bad I've wanted this. Wanted you. In that dress, which is stupidly short on purpose, like what the fuck, you're--"

"Wrong," I panted, tilting my head back for him as his mouth found that spot just beneath my ear. "Not-- on purpose."

Roman's laugh was breathless, shaky, like he couldn't believe I was real. "Liar," he growled. His hand properly groped my ass now, just firmly enough to make my breath hitch.

"Roman--" I gasped, already off balance. 

"Down," he said. "Now."

I thought that had been an order, something for me to obey once again, but that was way before I realized it was a warning. 

Because suddenly, we were both a bit off balance, too taken with each other to properly think-- however, somehow, Roman used the momentum to wrap around me, throwing me down to the mattress with one rushed, gentle push. 

I landed on the mattress with a shocked squeal, and he followed, his body moving over mine like a tide he could barely hold back. Roman loomed above me as I giggled from the shock, and he straddling me without fully settling his weight, his hands bracing on either side of my head, and I swore the room shifted around him, like the heat between us warped the air-- my giggles died down with the next beat of my heart, feeling it swell with want. 

Roman leaned down-- closer, lips ghosting mine, but not kissing me just yet. "Say it," he whispered. "Say you wanted me to snap."

I blinked up at him, dizzy and impossibly turned on. "I--"

"Say it,"

"You know I did," I whispered, barely more than a breath.

And then his lips met mine-- no warning this time, no slow burn; just hunger, full and unrestrained, all tongue and breath and need. Roman's large hand slid down, pushing my dress higher, fingers bunching the fabric at my waist before moving to the clasp of my garters-- that was when he groaned. Frustrated, exasperated, and delightfully wrecked, he broke the kiss, panting slightly against my cheek. "Jesus Christ," Roman muttered, like he was scolding me and himself in one breath. "I forgot about these. Do you know how long this is going to take?"

Fuck. My garters. 

I let out a breathless laugh, my eyes fluttering open to catch the wild look in his-- Roman looked like he was barely holding it together. "I thought it would be harder for you to steal anything like this," I managed, voice tight with laughter and lust. "What did you think was holding the stockings up?"

"I didn't think," he bit out, dragging his palm down my thigh like he might rip the whole thing off. "I didn't plan on losing my fucking mind tonight, thank you very much."

"You're doing great, sir," I whispered, grinning, too drunk on the sight of him undone to realize my slip-up.

The word hung there, thick and electric in the space between us, and I realized what I'd said a second too late. It hit me that he was still my boss, still the guy on the cover of Forbes-- fuck, had I hidden that magazine well enough? Where was it?

But... Roman smiled. Slowly. Darkly. Like the word alone had just tipped him over the edge of something he didn't even realize he'd been standing on. 

He shifted, hovering lower, before he bent down to kiss right above the garter belt around my waist. Soft and reverent, right below my ribs, lips brushing my bare skin-- his hands found the garter clasp and worked it easier than expected, the earlier frustration melting into something quieter, more focused, like the sound of a man undoing a present he'd been waiting too long to open. He kissed his way down with each snap and release-- my waist, my hipbone, the inside of my thigh, burning a path down my body with his mouth, his breath, his want.

"This," Roman murmured, between kisses. "This is the problem."

I was breathless now, fingers tangling in his hair without thought. "What is?"

"You," he said, teeth grazing the skin just above my stocking. "Thinking that this contraption will keep me from stealing this pair of panties, too."

I would've groaned, had I not been too horny to think. "Don't you dare," I whispered. "What the fuck did-- did you even do with the last pair?"

Roman's mouth curved against my thigh. "Don't think about it,"

"I will,"

"Don't,"

"I'm assuming the worst,"

"... Do," 

With the most wicked smirk known to man, Roman peeled off my underwear, his dark eyes darting up to meet mine with glee. He held it up, almost like a trophy; "That wasn't too hard?" he purred. "Gonna add this to my collection of souvenirs, now. You get the Birkin, and I get the panties."

I let out a shaky, breathless laugh. "Roman, I swear to God!--"

"What? You're going to threaten me while you're lying here half-naked? That's not how it works, sweetheart,"

My pulse was hammering, my fingers curling tighter in his hair. "Then how does it work, sir?" 

The word made him groan, low and amused, and he dropped the panties onto the floor with a deliberate flick of his wrist, his smirk deepening as he met my gaze. "It works--" he said slowly, dragging his hands up my thighs, spreading me wider under him. "--like this. I get to make my point, and you remember it the next time you think you can play with me and not pay the price."

"What point?" I asked, voice breaking halfway through the words, my breath catching when his mouth lowered, lips brushing my hipbone. I was sure my cheeks were unrecognizably red.

Roman let out a low hum, as though he was thinking, while guiding my legs over his broad shoulder; "That I eat pussy,"

... Oh my God.

His green eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense, his gaze challenging me to look away-- I couldn't, not when his mouth hovered so devastatingly close to the most sensitive part of me. My heart was pounding wildly, blood rushing to my head, the anticipation making my muscles quiver with each shallow breath. "You really don't have to--" I started, trying to regain some dignity, even as my voice broke embarrassingly high.

"Stop talking," Roman said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my inner thigh. "Unless you're begging, of course."

I gasped as his teeth grazed my skin, a teasing, possessive bite that sent sparks racing up my spine. My fingers tightened desperately in his thick, brown hair, a gentle tug earning me another dark chuckle as his mouth traced higher, achingly slow, making my hips twitch impatiently beneath him.

"Oh, God-- Roman," I whimpered.

His grip on my thighs tightened, spreading me even wider, making me feel utterly vulnerable and exposed to him. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he cooed, breath hot against my skin. "Poor girl. I'll be nice, now."

Then, without further warning, he laid his tongue flat against my sex and dragged firmly along my slick folds, from bottom to top, and I arched off the bed with a choked moan. My breath stuttered, eyelids fluttering shut as his mouth settled around me, hot and insistent, his tongue working deliberate, slow circles around my clit, making me writhe helplessly beneath him.

"Fuck," I choked out, grasping blindly at his hair, tugging instinctively. 

Roman pressed a teasing kiss to my clit before lifting his head for just a second, voice mocking and wicked; "I've barely done anything yet, y'know?"

Oh, that tease. I forced my eyes open, gazing down at him. The sight nearly broke me apart-- his lips glistened, and the arrogant smirk on his face was pure torture. I let out a breathless, shaky laugh, forcing back my pride. "Maybe. Though one demonstration isn't exactly-- oh, fuck--"

My teasing got cut off into a desperate moan as I felt Roman's smooth skin against my inner thighs again, and he leaned back down to repeat the motion-- tongue flat, dragging even slower up along my aching sex, making my breath stutter into a series of soft moans. Once his tongue reached my clit, he swirled around it in slow, teasing circles, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against me.

And just as I thought I got used to the soft rhythm, to the sweet, gentle motions in which he ate me out, Roman sealed his mouth around me fully, sucking firmly at my swollen clit. My hips bucked instinctively, but his strong hands pushed me down, holding me exactly where he wanted me as he buried his face deeper, humming softly against me as he sucked me with the most devastating, pleasurable rhythm.

"Oh God--" I gasped, fingers tangling desperately in his hair, pulling him closer. The pleasure was almost too intense, the pressure of his mouth overwhelming, each sucking pull of his lips sending electricity racing through my body. My legs tightened around him involuntarily, muscles trembling, as my cries turned breathless and frantic. Was this seriously happening? I felt myself starting to whine, trying to kick him away for no reason at all-- thankfully, Roman was way bigger than me, way stronger than me,  and he held me down while he batted my clit with the tip of his tongue, sucking it swollen. I was long gone when I noticed that he moaned, sloppy, wet noises filling my head as I tried not to completely lose it.

And just as I felt myself tipping toward the edge, Roman pulled back abruptly, leaving me gasping, dizzy, and confused by the sudden denial. "What-- Why did you stop?" I breathed, voice trembling, eyes wide and pleading.

Roman looked up at me with a wicked, triumphant grin, licking his lips deliberately slowly as he sat up. Christ, how I shivered at that. "Because we're not done yet," he purred, his voice dark with promise. "Are you on the pill?"

Um? I nodded, barely able to think straight. "Yeah, but why?--"

"Good," His hands swiftly moved to his belt, undoing it in a fluid motion, eyes never leaving mine. "Then we're finishing this my way."

No question-- it was complete and utter control. Roman knew what I wanted. He knew what was best for me. Roman knew me. Honestly, I was too blissed out, too happy, and I nodded again, my hands reaching out for him. Come to me. Come hold me. 

It didn't take long before he complied, his wet lips kissing mine with no care for where they had been previously-- not that I cared, either. Roman's large hands moved to my dress, which had been bunched up around my waist, and we had to break the kiss to get it over my head. "You taste nice," he purred, grinning down at me as he impatiently tossed it aside. "It's a shame you're my secretary... 'cause that was some damn fine pussy."

My breath hitched, and I was on the brink of simply just smacking him and his foul mouth. "Roman!" I hissed, watching as he laughed before leaning down to kiss me, probably to shut down the incoming trail of cuss-words threatening to spill from my lips. "Seriously, I-- Roman!--"

"What?"

"You're-- ugh, wearing too much," 

For once, he didn't protest. 

I sat up halfway as Roman refused to break the kiss-- I worked my fingers over the buttons of his shirt, and he somehow got out of his pants. His clothes hit the floor moments later, joining mine in a heap, and when he pushed me down to the mattress again, no longer hovering, but putting his weight on me, it truly hit me-- the man who had refused to let me touch him, the man who had built all the walls in the universe around himself, was suddenly naked with me.

There was nothing between us now, not a layer of clothing, no walls of protection; Roman couldn't keep away any longer. He has used his last strengths, run the last mile, and now he wasn't hiding any longer-- neither was I. 

My heart soared as it beat against Roman's, and for the first time, I could feel his beating back at mine. My body was practically on fire as my fingers ran along the muscular range of his back, feeling his skin, reminding myself that he was actually here and that this wasn't a figment of my imagination.

In this moment, it was only him and me. 

Roman Godfrey, his hard cock poking at my stomach, and me. 

"Please tell me you're not a virgin," he murmured roughly against my lips, his hands caressing and claiming every inch of skin he touched, squeezing my tits like he couldn't get enough of me. "I really, really want to fuck you properly."

I couldn't stop the small giggle that was drowned in the following kiss. "I'm not," 

Roman let out a relieved sigh as he guided my legs to crease at his thighs, then looping his arms under me, resting his head in the crook of my neck-- his aching cock was prodding my entrance, wetting the head on my soaked sex with repeated strokes up along my sex. I watched him hold back a hitch of his breath, covering it with an airy laugh; "Good girl... Not a nun after all, then,"

"Roman, you little!-- Oh, a-ah, I--"

My words died out as his thick, hard cock pushed into me, stroking me open with a reverent care I hadn't expected after being told I was about to be fucked. I wrapped my arms around him as well, letting out a stuttering breath at the sensation-- I heard Roman hissing under his breath, cursing, before pushing deeper, like he couldn't get over the feeling of being enveloped by me.

His cock was seated as far as it could be inside of me, and I shuddered, embarrassingly enough-- I hadn't felt anything pulse up against my hilt before, and it was... I couldn't put my finger on it. It made my brain buzz. However, it was all made worth it when I heard Roman let out a... moan? Quiet and braced, like he had to sigh it out. "Tight," was all he said, pressing a kiss to my neck to shut himself up. 

"Sorry," I breathed, like the biggest idiot on the planet-- what was I sorry for?

Roman chuckled softly, mockingly tender, his lips brushing lightly against my ear. "Oh, don't be,"

Before I could respond, Roman slowly withdrew his cock from inside of me, deliberately teasing me with the emptiness left behind. I whimpered, unable to stop my hips from rising to chase him, and he let out a silky, wicked laugh; "Aw, poor little thing," he cooed in faux sympathy, his voice dripping with gentle mockery. "You want my cock that badly, sweetheart?" As if to make his point, he wrapped one hand around his shaft, tapping the tip against my clit to make me moan and flinch-- fucker. 

"Roman," I whined, trying to sound annoyed, though we both knew I was utterly helpless beneath him. "Just-- fuck me."

He laughed softly, accepting that for now, before easing himself back inside with slow, deep strokes, each thrust dragging against every sensitive spot inside me. My nerves were on fire, my breath was hitching-- how was I this worked up already? "Careful," Roman purred. "Someone might think you're desperate. Me, especially."

"Shut up," I whimpered, clinging to him tighter-- I think some part of me thought it would keep him from pulling out again. Every movement felt unbearably good, slick and silky, his cock pulsing and throbbing within me despite his calm composure.

"No, no," Roman teased sweetly, pulling out again, his voice honeyed and cruelly playful. "That won't do. Ask nicely."

I whined, frustrated, empty-- that bastard. "Roman... please,"

"Please, what?" He leaned in, brushing his lips feather-light against mine, his voice devastatingly gentle, mocking my desperation. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"I--" I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. "Fuck me," I finally breathed out, surrendering to his teasing, heat flooding my cheeks even further.

"Good girl," he cooed, grinning as he pushed his cock into me once more, deliberately grinding his hips to amplify the friction, listening to me sigh. Roman's pace picked up slightly, still careful, still smooth, his cock sliding wetly, perfectly inside me. "See how much better it feels when you behave?"

My body responded instantly, tightening and trembling around him, pleasure coiling tighter, sweeter, overwhelming me. I shook my head, trying to hold onto my pride; "I hate you,"

Roman chuckled, warm and condescending, before pressing gentle kisses along my jawline, each tender touch contrasting his filthy words. "Mhm, sure you do... You're so good at lying to yourself, aren't you?"

I didn't respond, glaring up at him. Excuse you?

Roman's eyes flashed with something dangerously similar to intrigue-- it didn't take long before I realized I had annoyed him with my refusal to answer. He gripped my jaw, firm, forcing me to meet his gaze as he listened to my bitten-back moans. His voice became mockingly sweet, dripping pure, filthy intent; "Oh, don't tell me I hit a nerve, sweetheart? Did I hurt your pretty little feelings?"

"Roman," I muttered, glaring up at him in defiance despite the shiver running down my spine. 

His expression hardened into a wicked smile, eyes gleaming mischievously. "Wrong answer,"

In one swift movement, Roman pulled out of me, before he flipped me onto my stomach, pressing me firmly against the mattress as I whimpered and whined. I felt the weight of him on my back before I could properly process what was even happening, and I could only moan as he sank his cock into me from behind, sinking deeper than before, making me gasp at the intrusion. My breath hitched as he leaned close, caging me in with his height, and I shivered against him as his thumb slipped between my lips, muffling any protest.

"Now," he whispered in my ear, his breath warm, voice silky, dripping with cruel amusement; "You're going to lie right there and take it, okay? No more talking back. You don't want to piss me off now, believe me."

Roman's thumb stroked gently over my tongue, his voice thick with mock sympathy. "Poor baby... you thought you had control, didn't you? That's adorable," He sank even deeper into me from behind, his cock smoothly stroking into me, each thrust perfectly angled to steal the breath from my lungs. "You're gonna lie still and take my cock like the good secretary you are, yeah? Yes, you are... Poor baby, poor girl... You hear how wet you are?"

I could only whimper against his thumb, clenching around his cock as he thrust into me, harder now, to really let me hear it too-- with every stroke, I could hear the filthy noise, the sound of me being properly fucked. Something about it made that familiar coiling burn in my stomach intensify, and I tried to push my hips into the sheets beneath me, tried to get the small friction against my clit that'd make me cum, but at that, I heard Roman sigh. With his free hand, he slithered it between the bed and my body, gripping my pussy like no one ever had-- he spread out his hand, placing two fingers on each side of my folds, his thumb digging into my lower abdomen, to stop me from grinding anywhere, before using it to lift me just slightly off the bed and rocking me back to meet his thrusts.

My moans were muffled, helpless beneath Roman's denial, and I felt my eyes well with tears at. I should've know he'd do this.

"No, sweetheart," he cooed softly, voice sickeningly sweet and mocking. "Behave. Are you really that horny, huh? Need to get off immediately? Nuh-uh. I've spoiled you enough."

I whimpered, shaking beneath him, clenching around his cock, but Roman only laughed softly, cruelly tender.

"Patience," he whispered against my ear, sending shivers across my skin. "Gonna fuck you just a bit more, okay? You're so tight and wet around my cock, I need a little more time to enjoy you... You make such pretty noises when you're on the edge, too. Wonder what noises you're gonna make when I tell you I might not let you cum at all."

What? No, no, no! I whimpered louder, trembling beneath Roman, desperately clenching around his cock-- my brain buzzed as I realized I was helplessly melting at the idea that I was here for his pleasure, that I was the only one making him feel this good; when I heard him groan, giving my shoulder a faint kiss as he buried his head in my neck, I felt my cheeks burn. I loved making him feel good. No one else could ever do this for him, no one else could unravel him like I could, and knowing that thrilled me even as frustration and desire blurred my thoughts.

Roman seemed to sense my surrender, gently pulling his thumb from my mouth with a content sigh, only to grasp my chin and tug me back-- I made no form of resistance as he smoothly manoeuvred us until we lay spooned together, his body pressed intimately along my back, his cock never leaving my depths. 

I recognized that Roman wasn't mocking or teasing me anymore, and with a blooming blush painting my cheeks, I turned my head just slightly, hoping to meet his green eyes. I didn't expect the teasing bite to my ear that followed when Roman realized I wanted contact, and I could only whimper in shock as he pulled me closer, laughing softly against my cheek. As his cock continued pushing into me, in and out, in and out, his lips slowly brushed mine, softer than expected, more intimately than expected, and I instinctively I kissed him, needy and desperate, claiming whatever tenderness I could steal.

Roman groaned softly against my mouth, and his hand slid down between my thighs to rub slow, torturous circles around my clit. "See? Good girls get rewarded," he teased between kisses, his voice dripping with wicked sweetness. "And you're being such a good girl for me right now, aren't you?"

I nodded frantically, moaning into his mouth, utterly helpless as pleasure began to spiral beyond my control, trembling under his slow, careful strokes and the insistent circles he drew over my clit. Roman pressed his forehead against mine, breathing raggedly as he kept his movements deliberate and firm, knowing exactly how to push me to the edge and keep me there.

And I had no idea what he did, how he did it, but with a tiny shift, my back came arching off him. 

"Roman--" I gasped, my voice breaking into a moan when his angle shifted, hitting a spot inside me that made my whole body jolt. "Oh God--"

"That's it, isn't it? Right there?" His hair hung over his forehead, his lips kiss-bruised, his grin dizzy and unsteady; "Feels good here?"

I whimpered, nodding again. "Yes," I choked out, barely breathing. "Right there, Roman, please--"

"That's it baby, take it," His thrusts were precise, deliberate, his forehead resting against mine as he fucked into that spot over and over. "That's my girl," he rasped, lips brushing mine between words. Roman pushed into that perfect spot again and again, the tip of his cock nudging it with every thrust as his fingers worked my clit, rubbing over and over and over--

"Roman-- oh my God-- I'm close, I'm so close--"

His forehead brushed mine, his breath hot on my lips as our gazes locked-- God, those eyes. Those green, green eyes. I whimpered, my smile curling against his, helpless and delirious as I dared to pull an arm around him too, fingers weaving into his hair to weave him closer. 

Roman smiled against my mouth-- this was perfect. "Cum for me," he whispered, a filthy sweetness in his voice as his cock filled me over and over. "Show me how good I make you feel."

And with two more thrusts, my world shattered. My cries caught in my throat, and my whole body seized around his cock as the pleasure ripped through me, white-hot and overwhelming. I clung to Roman like he was the only solid thing left, pulling at his hair without meaning to, sobbing out his name as wave after wave dragged me under.

Roman swore, low and guttural, his forehead pressing to mine like he couldn't stand the thought of even a breath of space between us. He kissed me through every shudder and aftershock, groaning softly as my climax triggered his own, spilling deep inside me, marking me as his completely.

The breath punched out of me at the sudden weight of it-- hot, thick, filling every part of me in a way that made my toes curl and my head spin. Roman's body shuddered against mine, his hips pressed flush as if he could keep himself there forever, his groans spilling against my mouth, low and broken, like he'd finally lost a battle he had been fighting all night.

And God, I felt it-- felt him throbbing inside me as he emptied himself, his release painting me full until it was too much to hold, every pulse sending a fresh wave of dizzying heat curling low in my belly. My breath hitched, a high, helpless sound escaping me as I clenched around him, like my body didn't want to let him go, like it wanted to keep every drop where it belonged.

But slowly, inevitably, when Roman finally stilled and softened, I felt it start to slip, hot and slick between my thighs, a reminder of just how wrecked he had left me. I whimpered softly at the sensation, at the overwhelming evidence of him spilling out of me, coating my skin, the mess of us undeniable.

Roman rolled over on his back, landing next to me with a soft groan, similarly to a rough sigh-- his body felt warm, yet lax with exhaustion. 

He didn't stay like that for long; after a few shaky breaths, he turned toward me, dragging a heavy arm over my waist, and to my surprise, pulling me in. The sheets tangled around our hips as he shifted closer, until we were nose to nose, his forehead brushing mine, his hair a little damp and messy, his lips still kiss-swollen. 

I had no idea what came over me when I shifted, pressing my lips to the tip of Roman's nose, giving it a quaint, shy kiss. Forbes nose. Oh my God. Stunned by my actions, I retreated, swallowing meekly. 

To my surprise, Roman didn't protest. He slowly opened his eyes and searched my face in the dim light, his green eyes glassy but focused entirely on me. It wasn't the sharp, teasing look I had grown used to-- it was quieter, stripped bare, like he was trying to read me.

"You okay?" he finally murmured. His thumb brushed over my hip lazily, almost absent-mindedly, but there was tension in his gaze, something cautious that made my chest ache.

I wasn't about to tell him that'd been the best sex of my life. The denial, the dirty-talk, the way he moved me around like I weighed nothing? Holy absolute mother of fuck. Nothing would ever top this. "Yeah," I whispered, small as ever as I curled closer, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against mine. "More than okay."

Roman exhaled slowly, like he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. He dipped his head just enough to press his mouth to my temple, not a kiss, but more like a grounding touch before he rested his forehead there. "Good," he murmured, barely audible. "That's... good."

For a few precious seconds, I let myself believe this was our new reality-- that we'd stay here, wrapped up in this stolen quiet, and that it wouldn't have to end. Roman's arm was heavy around me, his breath ghosting warm against my temple, and I felt safe in a way I hadn't... maybe ever? My heart swelled, foolish and fragile, and I curled even closer, memorizing the shape of him in the dark.

Maybe he'll stay. Maybe we'll change.

Roman's green eyes fluttered shut. Had I had more confidence, I'd trail my fingertips over his lashes, just a gentle touch, just a reverent kiss of a touch. They were long, dark, and surprisingly elegant. Was he even aware of how gorgeous he was? Hopefully not.

Something told me he was thinking about something, deciding what to say, because he wasn't saying anything at all. And then, with a heavy sigh, like he had ran out of time to enjoy our moment, he spoke--

"Who'd have known..." Roman mumbled. "I wouldn't have imagined we'd end up here, like this, when I first saw you at your graduation."

... Huh?

For a moment, I thought I had misheard him. We didn't meet at my graduation, what was he talking about? My breath stalled in my lungs, and I blinked into the dark, pulling back just enough to see his face; "... What?"

Roman's eyes stayed closed, lashes brushing his cheeks as though he hadn't just lodged a bomb into the middle of my ribcage, and like he didn't want to see the result of his words on my face. "Your graduation," he said. "Letha's ceremony. You were there, next to her. You kept chewing on the end of your tassel to make her laugh, 'cause she was crying like I've never seen her cry. It was ridiculous, sweet... You looked so happy, I wanted to break you in half."

My stomach flipped rather violently, like the floor had dropped out from under me. "You.. you?--" My voice cracked, my mind racing through the day in a haze. He'd known that I knew Letha all along?! I remembered our graduation, remembered barely paying attention to the speeches, remembered feeling so small in a sea of strangers. Roman had been one of those strangers? Well, that made sense, considering he was a part of Letha's family, but... he had seen me doing that? 

"You had that stupid boyfriend at the time, too. The one majoring in computer science," Roman continued. "Your personal information is scattered all over your Facebook, by the way. You're gonna need to put up some walls there. Too easy to hack. Took me five seconds and a sigh."

I went still, every nerve in my body prickling with something I couldn't name. This was... "You hacked me?" My voice came out thin, strangled; what could I say to that? The room suddenly felt too small, and the air felt too thick to breathe in. Is this what he was using his coding skills for?

Roman hummed, dragging his thumb in a slow line along my hipbone like he was trying to somehow soothe me and himself indirectly. "There's also this picture of you in Letha's room... You're showing your nails and pulling a face. French tips. Lilac," 

My chest tightened with a thousand emotions at once. Oh my God.

"I told Letha there was a position opening up at my office. Told her to mention it to her friends, specifically those she could recommend, someone close to her, and the rest..." His lips brushed the corner of my jaw, a whisper of a touch that made my stomach knot. "I just didn't expect you to turn it all around, like the pain, and then ruin me, too."

For a long, dizzy second, I couldn't speak. My thoughts fractured into jagged shards that made no sense, every memory from the last few months cracking under the weight of what he had just confessed. My job. My proximity to him. This whole damn thing-- it hadn't been chance. It hadn't been fate.

It had been him.

He had seen me and wanted to squeeze the life out of me. Sadist. Sadistic asshole. 

I tried swallowing over and over, my mind wandering to the feeling of his cum still seeping out of me, leaking down to my thigh. I should've been scared, I should've ran, but instead... 

I felt like the world's most special girl. 

"That's really romantic," I breathed. "You've... gone to this extent to be with me. Me." 

At that, Roman finally opened his eyes, a puzzled look about him. "That's what you got out of this?" he breathed, searching me for traces of fear and lies. 

"Well, I know what you're doing," I shifted closer, cupping his face before pressing a kiss to his lips. "You're telling me this to scare me off. You can't," Another kiss. "You won't." Another. 

Roman sighed into the kisses, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. "Just want you to know--" he murmured against my lips; "--need you to understand that it's not romantic. I'm screwed in the head."

Why were we having this conversation right now? I kissed him again, soft, lingering, trying to quiet the tremor in my chest. "Roman..." My voice was barely there. "You're not screwed. And even if you were, I wouldn't care."

His jaw flexed, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale against my lips, like he didn't know what to do with that. "You should,"

"I don't,"

"You should,"

"Don't give a fuck. Stay the night, get a cute five-star blowjob again, whatever,"

Roman let out a low, frustrated sound, his hand coming up to cradle the back of my neck-- not rough, but firm, holding me close. "I can't," he breathed. "I'm getting hard again at the thought of that. I should go. I'm trying to tell you what I am, and you're not listening, so I-- I can't."

What? My chest tightened with hurt, heat curling low in my stomach despite the sting of his words. "I hear you just fine," I whispered, my breath mingling with his. "And I know what you are, because I'm just like you. We're one and the same. Don't go." Don't leave me, don't go, please don't go. Let's be sick together. Stop pushing me away.

Never had I ever begged a man for anything, naked at that, but here I was-- pouring myself out to him as he poured out of me. This was fucking humiliating, and not in the way I liked.

I tilted my head up, catching Roman's mouth in another desperate kiss to stop the hurt from blooming in my chest. "I don't care that you hacked me," A kiss. "I don't care," Another. "I'm here, I want you, and nothing will change that," Another, to his right cheek. "Why is that so scary to you, if you've wanted me all along?" Left cheek. "Stay, Roman," Between his brows, reverent and pleading. "Please stay. I'll even make you coffee in the morning, just how you like it. Not too much milk, one cube of brown sugar, and stirred three times."

Roman lashes fluttered, a slight rosy hue appearing in his cheeks from all the kisses, but his expression remained unreadable in the dim light. His grip on my face softened, faltered, and his thumbs brushed once over my skin before he let go completely-- the warmth left with him. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "But if we're one and the same... that's not good. That's not romantic. I'm not a good person, I get off on hurting people, can't you see? If we're the same, then you're just as fucked up as I am, and you could hurt me in ways I'd never recover from, and-- I can't do this. I'm sorry."

"What?" Fucked up? My throat tightened, clogged with all the things he had just thrown at me, assumed about me, and accused me of being. "What just happened? I'd never-- Roman, please, this is me?"

He didn't answer-- he was already halfway gone. Roman pulled his shirt over his head, clasped his belt, and shook his head like he could shake off what we had just done. "I'm trying to spare you," he bit out, brittle and frustrated. "I told you I can't do this, and you're not listening."

After... all of that?

Scorned, I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, my anger finally breaking through the devastation clawing at my ribs. It hit his shoulder with a soft thud, hardly satisfying, but it was all I had. "Spare me?" I spat, chest heaving. "You think saying that shit after you've fucked me is noble? That's not sparing me, Roman, that's fucking gutting me! Was this all you wanted, to get laid and leave?!"

Roman froze for a second, his hands hovering over the buttons of his shirt. His jaw flexed once, twice, but he didn't turn to face me. "No," he mumbled.

My throat burned as my words kept spilling out, ragged and furious, fuelled by the hurt sitting like a stone in my chest; "Okay, so-- so you've spent the whole night getting to know me, telling me you wanted me, making me believe you actually saw me-- and now you stand there and call me fucked up? How dare you!" 

Roman's shoulders tightened, the fabric of his shirt stretching under the strain, but he didn't turn-- he didn't give me anything to hold onto except his back and the sound of his shallow breath.

"How long have you known me now, Roman? Months! Fucking months of us being involved, of us doing all kinds of filthy things, and you didn't have a problem with us being alike until now!" I cried. "You know me better than anyone ever has, and now you turn around and tell me I'm fucked up? I'm fucked up?! You're killing me!"

My vision blurred, hot tears spilling over before I could stop them. I swiped at my face, furious that he had made me cry, furious that he was standing there acting like this was some kind of mercy instead of what it really was-- cowardice in the face of connection, love, and security, which he had enjoyed just some minutes ago.

"Look at me!" My voice cracked on the words, torn somewhere between a plea and a command. "Roman, look at me!" 

Finally, Roman's green, green eyes landed on me clutching the sheets to my chest, trembling with tears I couldn't stop, and for a flicker of a moment, his face wasn't unreadable at all-- it was wrecked. Whatever armour he had thrown up between us was splintering, a mess of guilt and fear and something else I couldn't name.

"I would never hurt you!" I cried, the words falling out like glass, cutting my throat on the way up. "Not ever! You're the one hurting me right now! And you're standing there telling me I'd destroy you? After tonight?" My breath hitched, ragged, choking on its own grief; "How could you even think that about me?!"

Roman's lips parted like he wanted to answer, the ones that had kissed me so tenderly just minutes ago, but nothing came. He just stared, eyes too bright in the dim light, chest rising and falling too fast. For a second, I thought maybe he'd come back, that he'd drop everything he had just said and crawl into my arms where he belonged...

But then he dragged a hand over his mouth, trembling like he hated himself for doing this, and whispered; "Because if you're anything like me... you could," 

Roman's eyes flicked over my face he knew he wasn't being fair, like he wanted me more than anything-- but terror won. With a sharp shake of his head, he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him, leaving me in the dim light with nothing but the echo of what he thought I was.

After all of that... the date, the sex, after giving him everything I could offer...

It still wasn't enough to make him stay.

Fucked up. 

While I saw potential for connection, Roman only saw a reflection of his darkness.

The soft click of my apartment door closing sounded louder than any fight we'd ever had-- and I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the empty space where he had been mere moments ago stretch wider and wider until it swallowed me whole.

I sat up with a low hiss, not caring that Roman's cum was still seeping out of me, and the ache in my thighs burned, reaching my eyes and filling them with tears once more.

Roman had found me, orchestrated the sadistic downfall of my psyche, ruined me for anybody but him, gotten me accustomed to my sick and twisted desires, and now... he was pulling away from me for liking it? I had never met anyone as cruel and as lost. I felt filthy. Used. Discarded. Rejected. How did he dare to make me feel like the monster, like I was crazy for accepting him, for loving all of him, only because he couldn't stand himself? And for what fucking reason?!

Pulling my thighs up to my chest, I hugged my legs as I sobbed, hoping to keep some of the remnants of Roman inside of me for as long as I could. In that sense, he'd stay. Some part of him would.

And as I pushed my legs tighter, hugging myself, clenching to make sure nothing would escape me like he had just done...

I realized this might be an exact demonstration of the sickness in me that he had been referring to all along.

(a/n: AAGHHH I CRUSHED MY OWN HEART W THIS:(( but I promise with all I have that you guys have nothing to worry about!! dw!!! kingkat will deliver, and kingkat will fix!!! call me Bob the fucking builder, cause I placed this brick w PURPOSE💜 anyway omg this was way too long, so thank u to the absolute WARRIORS that got through this!!! thank u so much for all the love and support!!<333)

← previous chapter |

lovely little taglist<3:

@grimoireskin @babyslilbee @jacks4lifer @turnmeintoaflower

@fish-eyes-png @muchwita @555-hya-kai @ohperiodtpoohhh

@lunaskye999 @tvdxstan @sn0wybowie-blog @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry

@succubustacy @scarledy @prismozo @kittydiarys

@melancuntly @likecherriesinthespring @voidpixies @kikibit

@immernixia @a-differentbrandof-beans @loushaw131460 @moonlightstuffs

@humongoussweetsengineer @babyslilbee @eugsposts @upirlover

@jacks4lifer @sickopsychosicko @iamslytherin0 @luverofmine

@ilovekazz @romangodfreyisbae @luverofmine @thecatempire

[bettinalevyisdetermined]

This is important!

I don't want YouTube to start policing people and demanding personal information from them based on whether AI thinks you might be under 18 or not, especially based on viewing habits! There's already a YouTube Kids, it should be up to parents to make sure their children aren't watching stuff they shouldn't be exposed to! Keep the rest of us out of it, don't treat us like we might be babies!

If YouTube actually goes forward and rolls out with this, then I'm not releasing any videos after August 12. I had a bunch scheduled ahead of time, but guess what? Now those are getting pushed back until September. Not sure how long it would take for them to reverse such a decision, but I figure a couple of weeks should do the trick. If not, I can always push them back further, but if we succeed, I can reschedule them to upload sooner.

It might actually be an interesting time for us to all get off of YouTube for a while and find other avenues of entertainment, maybe touch grass for a bit. I've already felt like I'm personally more addicted than ever to watching stuff on YouTube, so I'm long overdue for a break. Also I'm gonna be on vacation starting on the 14th, so I'll have the perfect reason to avoid YouTube altogether for a while!

Okay so bad news for everyone on YouTube right now

Starting the 13th, we will have an AI determine if we are children or not and if you are a child, than you are forced to send your ID, send a selfie or a credit card

This has the obvious cons of having your privacy being revoked from you and and in case there is a security breach, major identity thefts.

So what do we do in this scenario?

Well right now I have real idea as this is relativity new to me, but I do have two plans

Plan 1. Bug the shit out of them, send letters and send emails about how much of bad idea this is.

Include why the AI will mess up and target adults who watch cartoons, include privacy issues, censorship issues, anything you can think of that relates to this. I want you guys to bug the hell out of YouTube until they reverse this idea

Here their address for letters

Send a mass amount of letters on the 5th of August and than another mass amount on the 8th

Plan 2. Blackout.

Since the thing is coming out on the 13th.

The plan will be to completely avoid YouTube at all cost for that day (and beyond), no watching, no sharing, no uploading, no nothing.

Download videos before things go down, watch Netflix. Whatever you do, don’t touch YouTube.

That’s all I can say right now, I also want you guys to let YouTubers know of this situation cause if it’s important for everyone on the website to talk about this immediately

Spread this stuff around, let people know of YouTube’s upcoming policy and how it’ll hurt everyone

Edit: I have taken into consideration and I am going to agree that the blackout should be until the decision is reversed, this is so we are not out at risk as users and so YouTube doesn’t just ignore the original black out

I might have a more detailed plan posted later today, but it depends on everything goes

Another edit: just to remind yall to send in letters and emails about this to google to force their hands to reverse this decision

There is also the law itself, though I can’t speak much on it other than finding lawing bodies that can force YouTube to reverse this decision. If anyone can find a place to file or call for this, that will be greatly appreciated! (I heard maybe the FTC and or the California Consumer privacy right can be considered, but that needs more research)

BIGGER UPDATE: we have a new plan in motion, here is the updated plan for you all to see

and also here's a petition to stop the law that would help support this into becoming a thing

and also a tumblr post about it and how you can help further prevent this from being allowed in office

Don’t forget to send this fellow people outside of tumblr

YouTubers, Twitter users, send it through out and make sure you are heard

[cloverapple]

Hi, Clover! What advice would you give someone who has done everything, read every post, and now just feels lost, doesn't know what to do, or what the thing is that works for them? In my case, it's been 5 years, and even though I haven't outright said it in a while, nothing has worked for me. Guided meditations, robotic affirmations, shifting through a lucid dream, astral projection, regular methods (raven, julia, etc.) the phase/OBE, falling asleep with the intention of waking up there, pure consciousness - nothing has worked. Yes, I know that this is an assumption in itself but I gotta say it at this point. 😭

Simply deciding and forgetting about it works for other things, but somehow not for shifting, and I'm kindaaa getting desperate.

My point is, every time I read a post (which isn't as often anymore) about LOA and shifting, I feel like I've been the same point over and over again: I read something, go "oh, that's right. I AM in my reality! This time will be different" and before I know it, so much time (I know time isn't real, there is only the present, but still) has passed and nothing has changed. Every time I spiral, I go back to the mindset of having what I want, but still nothing.

I just feel lost and don't really know where to go from here. I love your posts, especially the one about no attempt being a failed attempt, but unfortunately I haven't had that "OHHHHH!" moment. I understand the concept on an intellectual level, but applying it is not as easy for me, I don't know why. It's like nothing, and I mean nothing, actually sticks to my brain, if that makes sense. Everyone says to "just decide!" but what do I actually do if that hasn't worked for me? If I've been deciding over and over, and even took action just to wake up to the same reality? Where do I go from here? Shifting is personal and everyone has what works for them, but how do you know what works for you if nothing has worked so far? I also feel like this mindset of even those underlying assumptions you may have dictating your reality makes me even more confused because I never know if I'm truly in the state of a master shifter, or if there is something I subconsciously assume through some of my thought processes that assumes a reality where I don't shift. It's like... if I'm the god of my reality and everything, and yi mean EVERYTHING comes from me, why is it then that deciding I'll wake up in my waiting room, for example, hasn't worked so far, even though I keep trying to remind myself that I am the source of everything there is? The "3d" (there is no objective outer reality, only I AM 🙂‍↕️) doesn't have a timelag or anything, so if I'm not where I want to be right now, that means I'm not in the state of being that person, right? In that case, what now? I wish someone could just look into my head and tell me what to do and how to do it in a way that works for me

Sorry, I didn't plan for this to become super long but my brain just kept putting out more and more stuff I've been thinking of. I'd really like to hear your thoughts on this, because at this point, I don't know what to do and I'm genuinely scared I'll never be able to experience my MHA dr with my senses 🥹💔

You know what? I’m going to be honest. I get a lot of asks like yours—people telling me about their journey, what they’re going through, everything that’s weighing them down. And I sympathize. A lot, because I see myself in everyone.

Maybe you’re the lucky one who made me snap. Or this is a sign specifically for you. I have no idea. And I’m not saying this to sound cold, but I’m not really qualified to answer these kinds of questions. Not in the traditional way.

Not because I don’t care—but because my advice for this isn’t polished or gentle. My advice comes from having been there. I was the one crashing out, crying, spiraling. “My life sucks.” “My brain doesn’t work.” “ADHD is ruining everything.” “Nothing lets me shift.” “The law of assumption doesn’t work.” “Manifesting doesn’t work.” “Affirming doesn’t work.” Nothing. Worked.

Until I said: fuck it.

I gave up. Fully. Not in some “take a break and meditate” way. Nope. I lost it. I said:

This 👏 doesn’t 👏 fucking 👏 make 👏 sense.

If shifting is something my awareness already knows how to do, and I’ve intended to be in my DR, to be a master shifter or whatever—to hell and back— “there is no reason that I should not be able to shift tonight.”

And that’s when the incoherence snapped. The whole thing crumbled. I crashed out. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually. I hit the bottom and said: It literally does not make sense for this not to work. That was the key.

That was MY key. I have no idea what yours is. I don’t know what makes you snap, but guarantee that whatever it is— there’s your answer.

That insanity, zero-point of surrender, not in sadness, but with a “fuck it, screw this” mentality made the illusion collapse. Reality had no choice but to follow me.

And listen. I’m not telling you to hurt yourself. I’m not telling you to damage your mental health, or chase collapse just to prove a point. But if you’re asking me what to do when NOTHING is working, my answer will always be this:

Let it eat you alive.

Horrible advice, I’m aware. And I say that as someone who is not mentally strong in the slightest and can be persuaded to [redacted] at the snap of a finger.

Let the doubt, the fear, the grief, the failure devour you. Let it bite and maul and tear and gnaw at you. And then? Let it spit you out.

And yeah, that’s why I say I’m not really qualified to answer these asks the “right” way. Because it’s always going to sound something like:

“I can’t focus.” Okay, then stop trying to focus.

“I fall asleep when I shift.” Good—then sleep.

“I can’t fall asleep.” Cool—then stay awake.

“I feel like giving up.” Then give up.

Let your awareness pull you in the direction it wants to go. Because it’s already leading you to your DR.

You intended. That’s it. So whatever your mind, your heart, your energy does next—follow it. Even if it looks chaotic. Even if it looks like quitting, even if it looks like you’re losing your mind.

You want to take away from this: “I guess I’m giving up on shifting”?

Fine. Go ahead. Give up.

But what if giving up is the exact thing that finally lets it click? What if giving up feels so intensely wrong and incoherent that you circle right back because “hang on, I’m supposed to shift.”

That’s the part no one wants to say, but I will.

And look, I could sit here and tell you that the reason you're not shifting is because of your assumptions, or because you didn’t meditate, or you breathed wrong in the void, or you blinked wrong in the hypnagogic state, or whatever the fuck state you're in. But let’s be real, there’s only so many times a person can be told they’re doing something wrong before they start to feel insane.

And you’re not insane. You’re not broken. You’re not crazy for feeling like nothing works. You're not wrong for feeling stuck. You're human, and it fucking. hurts.

But at some point that pain eats itself, and the contradiction gets so loud that it collapses under its own weight—because it doesn’t make sense. It does not make sense to try and try and try, for months or years, and not shift. It defies logic. It’s insane. And that insanity is where the truth shows itself.

Because if you’ve been on this journey this long, that alone is proof it’s already done. The moment you intended it, it was yours. The problem is that you think there’s a problem. So you questioned it. You handed your awareness over to others; asking people, asking blogs, asking strangers, why haven’t I shifted?

But why the fuck would I know? Me??

What the fuck does anyone know about your journey? What could I possibly say that overrides your awareness? Your intention?

Nothing.

I have no say.

No outer source has a say over you, and that includes your circumstances.

No person, no method, no voice outside of you holds the authority.

I know it sounds backwards and counterintuitive and stupid to say “Ohh you’re not doing anything wrong” when you feel so wrong. But that’s the very contradiction you need to let eat you alive. Dwell in it! Let it rip you up and spit you out!

Because when you crash—really crash—you finally see:

It’s literally impossible to do something and not have the outcome of it. And anything that says otherwise is illusion trying to keep its grip on you, so BEAT IT 👏 WITH 👏 A CHAIR

[to-the-beginning--the-end-waits]

Family Sessions

Summary: You’re a licensed therapist who finds themself treating the most dysfunctional mafia family in the city, helping them work through their emotional issues while navigating the bizarre world of organized crime therapy. Then the family’s emotionally constipated money launderer happens.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Mafia AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, Crack treated half-seriously

Warnings: Implied organized crime activities (money laundering, debt collection, intimidation), mentions of violence (non-graphic), unconventional therapy scenarios, found family dynamics​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​, toxic relationship (no one should date their therapist!!)

A/N: I can't believe I've completed 6/8 of this series It's gonna end so quickly :( I also added a strawpage link on my masterlist to give info about myself ♡

====================================

You stared at your appointment book, wondering for the hundredth time how your life had taken such a bizarre turn.

Tuesday 2:00 PM - Hongjoong Kim: Anger Management (focus on road rage)

Wednesday 10:00 AM - Yunho Jeong: Anxiety about accidentally intimidating people(with his height)

Thursday 3:00 PM - Song Mingi: Trust issues and communication problems

When you’d graduated with your psychology degree, you’d imagined helping normal people with normal problems. Instead, you’d somehow become the exclusive therapist for the most dysfunctional mafia family in the city. The pay was more than good and you were in a tight spot with your mother's hospital fees, so you did what you needed to do even though your license faced the threat of annulment.

It started six months ago when Hongjoong, their leader, had walked into your office after a particularly bad day. Apparently, he’d screamed at three different drivers during a high speed chase and felt “really bad about it afterward.” One thing led to another, and now you were on retainer for the entire crew.

The strangest part? They were actually making progress.

Your current client shuffled through the door, all six feet of him trying to look smaller as he settled into the chair across from you.

Song Mingi: The underground rapper, alleged money launderer, and the most emotionally constipated person you’d ever met.

“How are you feeling today, Mingi?” you asked, clicking your pen.

“Fine,” he mumbled, picking at a thread on his expensive suit.

You raised an eyebrow. “We’ve talked about this. ‘Fine’ isn’t a feeling.”

“Okay, uh…” He squirmed in his seat. “Moderately okay with slight undertones of existential dread?”

“Better. What’s causing the existential dread today?”

Mingi was quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands. “Wooyoung accidentally called me ‘hyung’ in front of the Choi family yesterday.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Warm and fuzzy, which is definitely not appropriate for a business meeting about territory disputes,” he admitted, his ears turning red.

You bit back a smile. “Mingi, we’ve been over this. Having emotions doesn’t make you weak. Even in your… line of work.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to maintain a reputation as someone who once made a man cry just by looking at him.”

“Did you actually make him cry just by looking at him?”

“Well, no. I made him cry because I was holding his gambling debts and explaining compound interest. But the looking was part of it!”

This was the thing about Mingi that never failed to amaze you. For someone whose job technically involved intimidation and financial manipulation, he was ridiculously soft hearted. He’d spent the first three sessions talking about how guilty he felt when people seemed scared of him.

“Let’s try an exercise,” you suggested. “I want you to tell me about something that made you happy this week. Without downplaying it or explaining why you shouldn’t feel that way.”

Mingi shifted uncomfortably. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“Can I close my eyes?”

“If it helps.”

He squeezed his eyes shut like he was about to confess to a crime. “Seonghwa hyung taught me how to make pasta from scratch on Sunday. We didn’t talk about work at all. We just… cooked. And laughed when I got flour everywhere. And he said I did a good job.” The words tumbled out in a rush.

When he opened his eyes, you were smiling at him. “How does it feel to say that out loud?”

“Terrifying but also kind of nice?” He paused. “Is this what people mean when they talk about personal growth?”

“It’s a start.”

The comfortable moment was interrupted by shouting from the waiting room, followed by what sounded like someone being aggressively shushed.

“I’M NOT BEING LOUD, YOU’RE BEING LOUD!”

“Wooyoung,” Mingi sighed. “He’s here for his session after mine. Impulse control issues.”

More shouting. Then a crash.

“Should I…” you gestured toward the door.

“Probably.”

You opened the door to find Wooyoung standing on a chair, gesticulating wildly at Jongho, who was holding what appeared to be the remains of your waiting room plant.

“He said my emotional outbursts were ‘disruptive to the therapeutic environment,’” Wooyoung announced to the room at large.

“They are,” Jongho replied calmly. “You threw a magazine at the wall because they didn’t have the latest issue of Vogue.”

“It was three months old! Three! That’s practically ancient!”

“Wooyoung,” you said in your most patient therapist voice. “What’s our rule about expressing frustration?”

He deflated slightly. “Use our words, not our actions.”

“Good. Jongho, what’s our rule about commenting on other people’s coping mechanisms?”

“Don’t be a smartass about it,” Jongho muttered.

“I was going to say ‘practice empathy,’ but that works too.”

Behind you, Mingi snorted with laughter. You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” he said, not looking sorry at all. “It’s just… six months ago, Wooyoung would have thrown the plant first, not the magazine. That’s progress, right?”

And that was the thing that made this whole bizarre situation worthwhile. Despite being part of what was essentially an organized crime family, these men were genuinely trying to better themselves. They came to therapy, they did the work, and they supported each other in their own chaotic way.

“It is progress,” you agreed. “Both of you, actually. Mingi, you just identified positive change in someone else and expressed approval. That’s huge for you.”

“I did?” Mingi looked surprised.

“You did. And Wooyoung, you chose a less destructive outlet for your frustration. That’s growth.”

Wooyoung beamed. “Did you hear that, Jongho? I’m growing!”

“Like a weed,” Jongho deadpanned, but there was fondness in his voice.

“Alright,” you said, checking your watch. “Mingi, we’ll continue next week. Same time?”

“Actually,” Mingi said, standing up slowly. “I was wondering if… maybe… you’d like to get coffee sometime? Not as my therapist,” he added quickly. “As… you know. People who know each other.”

Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “Mingi is asking someone on a date! This is character development!”

“It’s not a date!” Mingi protested, his face turning red. “It’s… social interaction for therapeutic purposes!”

“That’s literally what a date is,” Jongho observed.

“Jongho!”

“What? I’m practicing emotional honesty. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

You looked between the three of them. Mingi red faced and flustered, Wooyoung practically vibrating with excitement, and Jongho trying to hide his smile behind his stoic expression. Six months ago, this conversation would have ended with someone getting threatened or intimidated into silence. Now they were bickering like brothers.

“I’d like that,” you said to Mingi. “Coffee sounds nice.”

The smile that spread across his face was soft and genuine, completely at odds with his reputation as one of the city’s most feared debt collectors.

“Really?”

“Really. But I pick the place. Somewhere without any of your family’s… business associates.”

“Deal.”

Then all three of their phones started ringing. "Sorry, It's an emergency. Can we reschedule both of our sessions to a different date?" Wooyoung asked you while all three of them were already getting ready to face the chaos of the day together.

"Of course," you nodded "Just don't forget to send me mail for an appointment."

As the three of them filed out, you heard Wooyoung whisper loudly, “I can’t wait to tell Hongjoong hyung about this. He’s going to be so proud!”

“Please don’t,” Mingi groaned.

“Too late! I’m already composing the group chat message!”

“We don’t have a group chat, Wooyoung.”

“We do now!”

You shook your head, smiling as you started cleaning up the remains of your plant. When you’d first started treating them, Hongjoong had warned you that getting involved with his family was complicated. What he hadn’t mentioned was that it would also be the most rewarding -and entertaining- work of your career.

Your phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

'Is 2 PM Saturday okay? I promise I’ll try to express my feelings in words instead of just staring at you.'

'P.S: Wooyoung stole my phone to add the second part. But the first part is really from me.'

'P.P.S: This is Wooyoung. HE LIKES YOU SO MUCH IT’S ACTUALLY PAINFUL TO WATCH'

'P.P.P.S: Mingi again. I’m confiscating my phone now. See you Saturday.'

You laughed, typing back a quick confirmation. Maybe unconventional illegal family therapy wasn’t so bad after all.

Especially when it came with unexpected perks.

The End

====================================

A/N: To be honest I like the setting of this fic a lot. I might just plagiarize myself to write something else with this illegal therapist idea (there are sooo many possibilities to write about it and it has sm comedic appeal)

[everlastingauthor]

Calling Them A Dilf

✦ Summary: (Reader) thought it would be good to call Mihawk, Crocodile, Shanks, and Smoker a dilf what possibly would be their reactions?

✦ Author's Note: Hello! I know it's been a long time since I've posted something, I've been dealing with school and my mental health. I also wanted to work on my own writing projects since I have a writing account on Instagram under the same name as my Tumblr. I'm still unsure if I want to keep writing on Tumblr but we'll see. Remember, do not turn my work into an AI bot or feed it any AI, and don't re-upload on any other site. Remember that you are loved and stay hydrated!

✦ Tags: Fluff, Romance, OP men, Anime, Reader is gender neutral, & Establishment relationships, & What's a dilf?

✦ Request Open: No

" You give dilf energy "

Mihawk set down his newspaper and raised a brow at you. " Dilf.... Why? " He knew what a dilf was, he heard Shanks call himself that title many times. But Mihawk thought the title was nonsense and someone wanting to be called a dilf was ridiculous, but he did find it a bit cute that you thought of him as a dilf. " What makes me a dilf, dear I don't have kids.. " He leaned back in his seat. " I always thought of Zoro and Perona as your children. " You told him. Mihawk scoffed and rolled his amber eyes. " Just a pest who washed up on the island, I'm sure they have actual fathers. " Mihawk picked up his glass of wine taking a sip. But you were right, Zoro and Perona had become like children to him. Both of them sure did fight like siblings. " I know they have actual fathers, I just mean you have become like a father to them, and they have become like children to you. I see how you put a blanket over Perona last week when she fell asleep on the couch, and you were playing doctor to Zoro when he got sick taking a nap in the rain. " You grinned walking over to Mihawk and plopped down in his lap.

Mihawk rolled his eyes while rubbing your leg. " The idiot falls asleep without thinking about danger, he's lucky I didn't leave him out there... " Mihawk sighed softly. " If you want to call me a dilf then feel free to do so, just don't call me a dilf around Shanks, I don't want that idiot running around calling us the dilf duo or whatever ridiculous titles he thinks... " Mihawk kissed the side of your head while rubbing your thigh.

" You give dilf energy "

Crocodile looked up from his documents, his cigar between his teeth, before burning it out; he wanted to laugh. You have called him plenty of weird and cute things, but dilf was the newest thing he has heard you call him. " I would actually be one if we had a kid, but with my business, it would be too much danger and a hassle; you are already a hassle. " Cricket said, but he was just teasing you. " You have Dile, being a dog dad is still a dad so you are still a dilf. " You told him. Crocodile tapped his golden hook against the many documents on his desk. " Have you dated a dilf before or want to be with one? " He asked. You sat there thinking for a few minutes before speaking. " I've never dated a dilf, and dating a dilf wouldn't be bad but you are a dilf to me. " You smirked walking over leaning down to kiss him.

Crocodile leaned into the kiss pulling you down onto his lap, his tongue exploring your mouth before he pulled away and nipped at your bottom lip quickly, he held you close he loved the thought of being called a dilf, this was a term he was called before he met you, a while back a group of women called him a dilf, he thought it was insult but Daz told him what dilf meant, now that he was hearing you call him a dilf; it made him grin ear to ear.

" You give dilf energy "

Shanks set down his drink and laughed, both of you out drinking and celebrating your anniversary, the kids being watched by someone Shanks trusted so that you guys could celebrate your wedding anniversary. He had been out at sea for a long while and promised to return for your wedding anniversary, and he kept that promise. So here he was sitting with you and a lovely dinner, the two of you getting drunk like you would have a long time ago. " Dilf? " He snickered and took a big gulp from his drink. Your chin rested in your palm, and on your fourth drink, you nodded your head. " Yes, we have three beautiful kids, so that makes you a dilf. Even though you were a dilf because of Luffy. " You missed that rubber boy, Shanks suggested him as a baby sitter but you told him no.

" I'm glad to be called a dilf, I am quite the fox~ " Shanks grinned gesturing towards himself. " I tried calling myself a dilf before but old hawk eyes told me that it was stupid, and I was just some drunk idiot.. " Shanks sighed. " How about we call him and tell him you are a dilf. " You said, while almost spilling your drink. Shanks smirked pulling out his den den mushi. " Let's! "

" You give dilf energy "

Smoker put down his weights and looked at you as if you spoke a different language. He was working out and brought you with him since you wanted to give working out a try, and your friend agreed to watch you and Smoker's kids, so you and Smoker turned this into a cute little date. But hearing you call him a dilf made me wonder what you were talking about. " (Y/N) What exactly is a dilf? " He asked you while setting down the weights. " A sexually attractive older man, typically one who has children. " You told him before going back to jumping rope. Even though he gave a definition, this made him even more confused. " Why call me that? " He wanted to know if you were teasing him or some weird nickname you made up. " Because it's cute and funny. " You stopped jumping rope and looked at him. " It's not a bad thing, a lot of people wish they could date a dilf. " You leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

Smoker stood there looking at you, he believed you because he knew that you would never use your words to hurt him; because he wouldn't do the same to you, so he thought you calling him a dilf was slightly weird but also cute. " Besides, I heard some of the marine women on the base call you and a few of the other guys dilfs...? " You put away the jump rope. " Really who? " He asked, he loved work gossip but only with you of course. " I have to go shower~ " You smirked while walking off. " (Y/N)! " Smoker ran after you.

[ladyzephroar]

One of my worst nightmares is to receive email notifications from FFN or even AO3 that commenters are accusing me of writing my stories with AI all because I:

Write massive paragraphs. I try to make a variation of paragraph length because I know as a reader how difficult it can be to read large paragraphs. I try hard to do this anyway. But my brain has convinced me that if the paragraph isn't over 100 words, then it isn't a paragraph. It's a difficult habit to break out of, lol.

That I am using em dashes that look a lot cleaner than if you were to use ellipses all the time. I don't put them at the end of my paragraphs yet like all the professional writers because on websites like FFN and AO3, I feel that my em dashes makes the formatting horrific for em dashes. Not that I've noticed the em dashes other fic authors use when they place them at the end of their dialogue, etc. I just think that em dashes are like the ellipses and they are neutral so that nobody hardly notices them.

My sentences are too long... Look, English is a Germanic based language. Sentences can be long with all the punctuation to make it so. At least we have punctuation marks because if you had to suffer through reading medieval works from English authors, you know they BARELY, IF EVER, USED PUNCTUATION MARKS, PERIOD! Entire paragraphs with no punctuation marks are a fucking nightmare, by the way... But that is also English for you. You know, if you want to go old school. Just saying. I had to temporarily DNF Le Morte d'Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory because I wanted to find the edition that uses modern day punctuation marks (periods, commas, quotation marks, etc.) because otherwise, I couldn't read the book. Yes, I'll admit it... I am one of those people that couldn't stand to read Le Morte d'Arthur the way Malory wrote it.

My writing style changes? I only assume that is what it meant with the YA stuff. I think this is a normal thing to happen while you are writing? Especially when you are learning how to write for free- or even in general? I don't know what the person is saying when they are mentioning the YA stuff. I can't enlarge the photo/screenshot to give it a proper read through, but I can already tell you that it is rubbish.

Anyway, just wanted to say that I don't agree with posts that are claiming that you can find out if somebody is using AI to write their stories because of this thing or that thing... I mean, it's not as though em dashes are exactly rare in writing, are they? As a matter of fact, I think that using em dashes are pretty standard practice. Even authors like the horror that is known as J.K. Rowling uses Em dashes, and she wrote her Harry Potter books years before AI became a thing to worry about for writers/artists.

I've seen authors being chased away because they receive one accusation that their story was written by AI, and then the next thing they know they are being dog piled upon by others. One writer I was helping, who I know actually wrote her story because I was watching her in real time (she sent me a Google Doc) as she wrote it- not only deleted her amazing fic, but she deleted all of her accounts... including her email associated with her writing stuff. All because of posts like this which claim that when you write a certain way that it is an indication that you are using AI when you're not.

So how many writers are we going to silence before everyone understands that English is a complex language to write in with many rules regarding punctuation and grammar? English writers have used em dashes since at least the 15th century... For sure within the late 16th to early 17th centuries.

If ANY of yall EVER do this shit to me, im deleting every single fic out of spite.

If I ever catch one of yall doing this to another author and I know youre a follower of my work I will block you personally on every platform

None of yall are the fic police. I DESPISE genai. I think its an insult to art, humanity, and the planet itself. But aint not a single fucking person here qualified to pick apart a strangers fic looking for a gotcha moment to make yourselves feel superior. If you think something is ai you can ask the author (most are proud of the ai use and will just tell you straight up) if they say yes you have your answer and can warn people. If they say no and you dont believe them you block and quietly keep it between you and maybe a close group of friends. Spreading misinformation is DANGEROUS. And NONE of you doing this shit are anywhere near qualified to do it.

THIS GOES DOUBLY FOR ARTISTS.

[bewitched-hours]

Doublefedora x reader

So maybe after the round, reader was wandering around when they noticed two bunnies that are similar to Spade and Gubby which make reader pick the bunnies up and tried to find Mafioso and Chance

The funny thing is the bunnies are actually Mafioso and Chance. The reason why Mafioso and Chance turned into bunnies it's because Gubby and Spade may have ‘accidentally’ knocking some bottles

I got this idea from these shorts from YouTube

https://youtube.com/shorts/Ct_V2SqSe0I?si=h5r0_xhK944TYpar

https://youtube.com/shorts/JbIIf7-_aEQ?si=TinrE1zVvo7nZPeA

No because I've been following this artist for a while already and I love this-

She/Her reader? She/Her reader-

You hadn't really expected much out of the day as you wandered about looking for Chance and Mafioso. They just didn't seem to be anywhere which was weird.

"I swear if they're off arguing agai-" you stopped dead in your tracks when something was off in the corner of your eye and you turned to see two small bunnies fighting for seemingly no reason. You didn't have a clue where they came from but they looked kinda similar to Spade and Gubby. Oh well.

"Well hello~" You cooed, picking up the two bunnies and holding them apart in your arms. "I guess Spade and Gubby got themselves some new friends. What're you doing here all on your own?" You questioned, walking off. "I'll get you back to Mafioso and Chance first. Wouldn't want you getting lost in this place and endanger yourselves."

Still, the two wouldn't stop squeaking in your arms. It dragged a long and exhausted sigh from you but you also couldn't help but chuckle. "You two act just like my boyfriends... Maybe I'll just keep you for myself with how adorable you are." You smirked, kissing them both between the ears which seemed to calm then down with only happy squeaks further escaping.

Chuckling again, you went back to your cabin and sat with the two on your bed. "I'm definitely keeping you. But maybe I should also find a way to make you like each other so I don't have to handle two kinds of fights on the daily..." You sighed, letting your back fall against the mattress as the bunnies cuddled up on either side of you. "Still no sign of my boyfriends though... I don't get it." You decided to just scratch the two between the ears as you thought out loud.

"I just hope they aren't fighting again... Chance never knows how to pick their battles and Mafioso is too stubborn to let go of an argument until he won..." You grumbled with frustration. "But that's what I get for picking two sides of a coin, I guess. On one half I have a mafia boss and on the other the owner of a Casino." your eyes wandered down to see the bunnies staring at you intently.

"I love them, I truly do but... Sometimes I worry they might think I'm using them. The only fame I had was as an internet celebrity and while I loved my fans and the money I made, I still feel like I can't even talk to them about it because it's such a weird thing to complain about. I even feel selfish for not wanting to even consider posting about them if we all get out. I'd have to say I'm in a relationship so no one makes a move on me, yes, but I don't want them to be overrun by my fans..." Your hands shortly made their way to your face to sigh in defeat and cover your eyes in frustration. "I'm living the life some people wish for and worrying over stupid things..."

But at least you now had your own bunnies. A thought that drew strong laughs from your throat. "It's a little comical! Sometimes I envied Mafioso and Chance for having pets but here I am, taking my time being a pet owner by talking about things you wouldn't even understand." You made sure to give both a peck on their little noses with a cheery grin as you sat back up.

"Maybe I should envy you instead. Just being able to sit there and look cute and you get loved endlessly... Sounds like bliss when you think about it." You sighed, lifting them both onto your shoulders with surprising ease. They knew you were strong but in their current forms they were still much bigger than their own bunnies so how did you manage to carry them there of all places and still feel so relaxed?!

Well... Not like they weren't gonna tease you later and reassure you lots by giving you some 'bunny treatment' that you were apparently craving. It wasn't like they weren't already trying to shower you with love by giving your cheeks little bunny kisses whenever they could. You thought it was just two bunnies being adorable when it was your boyfriends being head over heels for you, even while having the most ridiculous appearances they could've been given.

But before long, your search continued. And with none of the others seeming to have a clue where they were, you grew more worried. What if something happened to them? You knew killers and survivors were meant to act civil outside of rounds but pain was still very real...

They wouldn't have... No...

You already began to cry when the thought crossed your mind. Did the Spectre grow bored of them or something and decided to take them out? Away from you? Was it trying to drive you insane?

When the two bunnies had taken note of your sniffling, they began licking up your tears in an attempt to comfort you. It only made you hide back to your cabin since you never liked having others see you cry. You instead allowed the two bunnies to stay on either side of your face as you stared up at the ceiling with choked back cries escaping you in short gasps and quiet whispers. Whispers for Chance and Mafioso to be back while they had no choice but to listen and try try to comfort you as best they could.

You were so focused on your own misery, you almost missed the way your bed began to creak. Almost as if there was suddenly added weight-

... Good news, your boyfriends were back...

... Right where the bunnies used to be...

You stared at them both in stunned silence as your little episode seemed to have abruptly stopped. "Were you-"

"Yes..." Chance sighed, fretful to be back to normal but feeling the awkwardness of watching the gears turn in your head. "We were here all along and couldn't say anything~..." He chuckled nervously, finally wiping your face clean while Mafioso shortly adjusted all three of you on the bed to form a cuddle pile.

"No more crying now... Just know that we won't let anything actually happen to each other for your sake. We love you, you love us. That's all we need at the end of the day." He sounded... Oddly proud of himself... "We wouldn't even mind having you be our bunny for a while." There it is- waitwhat-

Chance just smugly nodded along, reaching up a hand to pet you exactly in the same spot atop your head where you had loved them as bunnies. It was only further fuelling your embarrassment as you hid your burning face in Mafioso's clothes, who pretty much because your mattress at this point. "You guys are impossible..."

"Can't blame us for wanting to spoil you~" Chance practically chirped. But he wasn't wrong. Just as you had been showering them in all the love you had to give, they were equally determined to show that their love was genuine too. You just needed to accept it...

Maybe you were already their 'bunny' and just didn't realise...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[ckret2]

would you like to read 5000 words of Bill trying to convince anyone who will listen (mostly Ford) that the state of Wyoming doesn't exist, and Ford trying to force Bill to admit he's a liar.

this involves arguing, a not-date to the movies, arguing, reducing Bill to begging on his knees, arguing, chess, arguing, and tactical counter-gaslighting.

This is how they flirt with each other.

This is also chapter 100 of this fic of human Bill as the Mystery Shack's prisoner, but I wrote this chapter to work as a standalone oneshot. so if you aren't reading that fic but do wanna see Bill and Ford having the stupidest argument on Earth, all you need to know is, after 99 chapters of character development, Bill and the Pines no longer want to murder each other on sight.

Also they have a pair of enchanted friendship bracelets that prevent the wearers from getting more than 30 feet apart from each other.

And also Ford stole a scuba-diving Bigfoot's wallet.

So, normal Gravity Falls stuff.

####

"Mabel fought a what?!" Stan demanded.

"A cursed camera," Ford said, shrugging. 

"A cursed— When did she tell you about this!"

"She didn't, I saw it on a video cassette she asked me to transfer after her sleepover last week. One of her guide to life episodes."

"Last week?! And you didn't say anything?!"

"It didn't occur to me! I've contained all the cursed materials and it didn't steal anyone's soul, so it didn't seem urgent."

"It didn't do WHAT?!"

Ford hadn't expected to start an argument this early. They'd only just gotten up; he wasn't even fully dressed yet. Which was saying something, since all that involved was pulling on his coat and boots.

All he'd said was that Dipper had woken him up last night to say a ghost got in the house; and from Dipper's description (nightmares with horrifyingly bad puns, hipstery red and green striped sweater, embarrassing fedora, and cutlery-covered glove) they were both sure it was the Category 9 "Dream Hipster" that usually haunted the old Corduroy cabin; and he was surprised since the Mystery Shack was supposed to still be protected from incorporeal intruders by the unicorn hair barrier; and he might have to check the barrier to make sure there was nothing wrong with it; and while he was thinking about signs the barrier might be damaged, that had reminded him about the cursed camera— And here they were.

"On second thought, I suppose the barrier doesn't apply to the camera," Ford mused. "It's not possessed, it's the curse itself giving it life. Plus, it was already inside the house."

"Already inside the—!" Stan dragged his hands down his face. "Fine, all right—as long as the kids defeated the thing."

Ford's innate need to be pedantically precise in every detail warred with the knowledge that correcting Stan's assumption would just make things worse again. His common sense was still half asleep and too weak to fight off the pedant. "Well, yes, but, actually... Bill defeated it."

And Stan's rage was back. "Bill was there?! He's probably the one who cursed the camera!"

"He—didn't, actually," Ford said.

"How can you be so sure!"

"Because I cursed it?" he admitted sheepishly.

"Oh."

"By all appearances, Bill completely behaved himself at the sleepover. I admit, it surprised me. But all he did was teach the girls how to summon a demon—"

"WHAT!"

"And frankly, the instructions he gave them on the procedure was impeccable. I wouldn't have taught it any differently," Ford said. "He was a little lackadaisical with the security measures, but—"

"That's it!" Stan stormed from their guest room, slamming the door behind him. "Hey demon! What's the big idea, getting my niece to summon one of your demon pals?!"

Come to think of it, maybe the successful demon summoning was more proof there was something wrong with the barrier. Ford really ought to check the barrier today.

But first, he should probably follow Stan.

And he would. As soon as he was dressed.

He pulled on his boots as slowly as possible.

####

"—and if you ever pull a stunt like that around the kids again, I'm steamrolling you into a big flat sheet of Bill paper—"

"Would you?" Bill asked hopefully.

Stan ignored him. "—feeding you into a paper shredder, burning the shreds, packing the ashes in a tuna tin, sticking a stamp on it, and mailing what's left of you to Wyoming!"

Without breaking eye contact, Bill took a long, slow sip from his mug of black coffee & hot sauce as he considered which retort would most ruin Stan's morning.

And then, with a perfect poker face, he said, "Oh, haven't you heard?"

####

When Ford left the guest room, Stan was angrily saying in the kitchen, "You don't expect me to believe there's some sort of giant hole in the ground—"

"Whoa, hey, I never said the physical land doesn't exist," Bill said. "I'm just talking about the political entity!"

"But I'm banned from Wyoming! Explain that!"

"You were banned without ever setting foot in Wyoming. Weird, don't you think? Why were they so determined to keep you from crossing Wyoming's so-called borders?"

Stan hesitated. "That— Obviously they heard about my reputation!"

Ford considered driving into town for coffee, decided he probably shouldn't be driving without coffee, and reluctantly crept into the kitchen. He walked past the argument, keeping his eyes fixed on the coffeemaker.

He felt Bill's eyes on the back of his head for only a split second before Bill's attention returned to Stan. "Yeah, your reputation for breaking laws and running your mouth. They knew that if you ever found out about the conspiracy, they'd never convince you to keep quiet about it."

"What kind of stupid conspiracy—!"

Ford's common sense, already weary from its battle with his pedantry, was knocked out cold by his curiosity. As he poured his coffee, he asked Stan, "What's the latest bullsoup?"

"Cipher says Wyoming doesn't exist."

Ford gave them both a baffled look. "What do you mean, 'doesn't exist'? That doesn't make any sense."

"Think about it," Bill said cheerily. "Do either of you know anybody from Wyoming? Do you even know someone who knows someone from Wyoming? Little suspicious, isn't it?"

"Well, I..." Ford trailed off. He looked at Stan for help. Neither of them could think of anyone.

"See? You can't prove it," Bill said. "You can't prove Wyoming's real."

Stan flung his hands up. "It's too early for this." He grabbed a coffee mug for himself and clapped Ford on the shoulder as he passed. "Tag, you're it."

Bill's smile widened as his gaze shifted to fresh prey. "C'mon, Stanford, you're a logical guy. Just look at any map—you never thought it was odd that Wyoming's a perfect rectangle right in the middle of the country? Doesn't follow any natural borders like rivers, or mountains, or..."

"That doesn't prove it isn't real, what about Colorado?"

"Oho! Don't worry, we'll get to 'Colorado' later," Bill said.

"Hold on, I've been to Wyoming," Ford said. "I passed through it while I was driving across the country to Oregon!"

"No, you passed through parts of Colorado and Utah that your roadmap labeled as Wyoming," Bill said.

"That's ridiculous. Of course I was in Wyoming!"

"Do you have any concrete evidence that the stretch of land you passed through was actually, really Wyoming," Bill asked. "Anything at all."

Ford's scowl deepened; but he chugged down his coffee, slammed his mug on the table, and stormed out of the room.

Bill grabbed the salt shaker, dumped enough salt to mummify a baby mouse into Ford's empty mug, then sat back to wait.

Ford was back in several minutes. "Here!" He slammed an old scrapbook on the table in front of Bill, already open. "I took these while I was crossing the country!" He sat down and crossed his arms.

Bill inspected the book. During his move from New Jersey to Oregon, Ford had stopped to take photos of all the highway signs welcoming visitors as they crossed into a new state: this page displayed the signs into Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska... and Wyoming.

Bill glanced up at Ford, brows arched. "You see how committed they are to maintaining this conspiracy? False road signs and everything!"

Ford gave Bill a dead-eyed look; then sighed, got heavily to his feet, and refilled his coffee mug. He drank half the mug without the slightest change in his facial expression. Bill watched in fascination.

Finally, Ford said, "Do you have any positive evidence that Wyoming isn't real."

"Oh no. Burden of proof lies with the party making the outrageous claim, and you're the crackpot arguing Wyoming does exist."

"Fine! I'll prove Wyoming's existence so conclusively, even you'll have to admit it's real!"

Bill raised his hands over his head and flashed Ford a pair of finger guns. "All right, smart guy. I'd love to see you make me."

####

"What's going on here?" Melody asked, eyes narrowed warily.

Bill was leaning in Soos's bedroom door, one hand on his hip, ankles crossed. He pointed, "Only working computer in the house."

Melody peered around Bill. Ford was at Soos's computer, puzzling his way through a website. A page loaded, and Ford let out a triumphant, "A-ha!" He pointed at the screen. "Denver International Airport lists five departures to Jackson Hole Airport and five arrivals from JAC."

"Planes are only routed through JAC as layovers to other locations," Bill said confidently. "JAC is actually on the border of South Dakota and Nebraska; nobody finds out because nobody leaves the airport between flights."

"And what if someone buys a ticket trying to go to Wyoming."

"They claim there's mechanical difficulties with the plane, cancel the flight, and offer a free ticket to another destination. Everyone takes it! No one really wants to go to Wyoming!"

"And if someone insists they want the next flight to JAC?"

"The only reason anyone would insist on going is if they want to confirm Wyoming's there. The airport calls the feds then."

Melody said, "What the heck are you two talking about?"

Ford gestured impatiently at Bill. "He insists that the state of Wyoming doesn't actually exist, by virtue of the fact that I don't happen to know anyone from there. Which is patently absurd."

Bill said cheerily, "Can't argue with the evidence, Stanford!"

"My dad's from Wyoming," Melody said. "We used to visit my grandparents there for summer break. Totally exists."

"Thank you," Ford sighed.

Bill scowled at Melody; then slapped on an artificial smile and said, "Sorry, I'm blocking you! Need something?"

Melody thought about being in Soos's room with Bill standing in the only exit, muttered, "I'll get it later," and hurried back to the stairs.

Ford smirked, crossing his arms. "Well, grandparents in Wyoming. There you have it."

"There you have it," Bill agreed. "Melody's in on the conspiracy."

Ford groaned in frustration.

####

"What are you doing?" Stan asked from the living room doorway.

Bill didn't look up from the friendship bracelet he was knotting. "I'm listening to the news." Under his breath, he muttered, "Or trying to, anyway."

Stan looked skeptically at the radio Bill had set up on the table. "That's an orchestra playing 'She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain.'"

"Well, the news hasn't started yet. Shh!"

Stan rolled his eyes. 

The song gently concluded, and Bill sat up straighter. The radio beeped three times. A mechanical sounding female voice began reciting: "Seventeen. Eight. Twenty-five. Twenty-one." The radio beeped again.

Bill clicked his tongue and muttered, "I could've told you that."

Stan stared at the radio. "What, is that the—?"

"Shh!"

The radio continued, "Ten. Twenty-four. Seventeen. Four." Beep.

Bill froze mid-knot and stared wide-eyed at the radio. Stan shook his head and left.

"Ten. Twelve. Twenty-five." Beep.

"No!" Morbidly delighted, Bill leaned halfway across the table toward the radio, chin in hand. "She wouldn't! Monica?!"

"Two. Eighteen. Twenty-four." Beep. "Twenty-four. Nineteen—"

"Whoa!" Bill lunged at the radio to turn the volume dial lower. "There are kids in this house! You're gonna get me in trouble."

"Bill," Ford said.

Bill started. "Hand over heart or whatever organ you prefer, I did not know they were gonna go there."

Ford flung one half of the enchanted friendship bracelets into Bill's lap. "Come on."

Bill's attention snapped from the radio to Ford. He raised his palms next to his face like the bracelet was a handkerchief covered in infectious mucous he didn't want to touch. "No thanks, I've already got one." He pointed at the bracelet he was working on.

"Put it on," Ford said impatiently. "We're leaving."

"Whoa, what? Leaving for where?"

"I've got another way to prove that Wyoming exists."

"Oh! So you think you can drag me outside any time you want just because you want to win an argument? I'm your prisoner, so I have no rights?" Bill sat back and laced his hands behind his head. "You know, you didn't come out looking very good the last time you dragged me outside against my will—and that was when you thought the safety of the town was at stake! Gonna have a hard time explaining the Wyoming thing!"

Ford squeezed his eyes shut, lips pressed flat, as Bill grinned cheekily up at him; but then he said, "Yes. You're right. You have basic human rights, of course."

Bill was sure Ford phrased it like that just to sap the joy out of his victory. "Do I get an apology?"

"No." Ford pulled back the bracelet by its string. "If you'd rather stay home and listen to the radio than find out how I can prove Wyoming exists, fine." He left the living room.

Bill considered that; then got up and followed. "Hold on, lemme get my eye patch and shoes!"

####

"So, where are we headed?" Bill sat on the car's front bench with his elbows up on the backrest. "Planning to drive us to Wyoming? If I'd known this was all it took to get you to bring down the weirdness barrier..."

"Don't count on it." Ford had to keep pushing over the elbow poking into his shoulder.

"Fine, so where are we going?"

Ford turned into the parking lot for the Royal Ragtime Theater. "Here."

####

As he pushed open the doors, Ford was saying, "But to what end would the United States government falsify Wyoming's existence?!"

"Who said the United States did it?" Bill held out their tickets, then his eye lit up as he recognized the ticket taker. "Lee, heya!"

"Hey! It's, uh... Goldie, right? Thought you were on house arrest."

"I'm on parole."

"What, so you can go on a date with the old dude?" Lee eyed Ford, who'd self-consciously clasped his hands behind his back and was avoiding eye contact.

Bill said, "You kidding? With our age difference? I'm way too old for him!" (Lee laughed.) "No, he's trying to convince me that Wyoming is real." He blinked his eye and hope it came across as a wink.

Lee shook his head. "Pfff, he still believes in Wyoming? At his age? Does he think the tooth fairy is real, too?"

"Let's find out. Hey, Stanford! Is the tooth fairy real?" Bill grinned wide, showing off his fae-gifted gold tooth.

"I'm not answering that question," Ford said. He squinted suspiciously at Lee, trying to figure out how Bill had looped him in on this ruse.

As they crossed the lobby, Bill slowed down in front of the concession stand, then sped up again when Ford didn't. "Hey! What about food?"

"Are you crazy? Tickets were twelve and a half dollars! We don't need overpriced popcorn on top of that."

"Hey, hold on. I don't like it any more than you do, but you do remember that human bodies need food, right?"

"Not at three dollars for a box of candy, they don't."

"Stanford—Ford—kid." Bill circled in front of Ford and grabbed his shoulders to stop him. "We can both agree that you've made it more difficult for me to get food than for anyone else in the house. That means you're morally obligated to help make up the difference. Right?"

Ford crossed his arms. "I... suppose."

"I had tabasco coffee for breakfast. You dragged me out of the shack before lunch. I'm on hour fifteen without food and you're about to make me sit in one spot for another two hours." Bill's grip tightened. "So howsabout you walk over to that concession stand, take out your money, and feed this wretched sack of need."

Ford stared at Bill. He rummaged through his pockets. "What do you want, nachos?"

"No way, they sell circles here. Get me chicken strips and one of those jumbo pretzels."

"Condiments?"

"Yes."

"I meant which."

"Yes."

"Fine."

Ford put the charge on Bigflipper's stolen credit card.

####

Once they reached their seats, Bill kicked his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him and flipped up his eye patch. "I admit I'm not a big fan of Westerns, but it's nice to get out of my cage for some entertainment! We should fight over stupid things more often!"

"So you admit this argument's stupid."

"You bet! Stupid that you won't admit Wyoming's fake."

The lights dimmed. A title filled the screen: "Grandpa the Kid Again 2: Ole Fogey's Revenge". Two bandanna-disguised bandits carrying sacks of money lurked in front of a sheriff's office, but scattered when the door slammed open and an old man shuffled out shaking a hunting rifle. "You whippersnappers! Get off my porch! Go on, get!" Grandpa the Kid sighed wearily, leaning on his rifle like a cane. "I thought I'd escaped these hooligans when I retired to Wyoming."

Ford radiated smugness.

####

At the end of the credits, a line on the screen read, "Filmed on location in Wyoming."

"Ha!" Ford pointed at the screen. "What do you think of that?"

"Eh, it was fine. I think they should have mentioned earlier that Grandpa and Fogey's feud was over which set of grandparents their grandson would spend Christmas with," Bill said. "Knowing Fogey is father-in-law to Grandpa's daughter really casts their high noon shootout in a different light."

"They revealed Clementine and Fogey Jr. are married in the last movie."

"Oh? Then they should've reminded the audience."

"It probably would have been a good idea," Ford admitted. "The movie's target audience might not remember plot points from the last movie, they're starting to go senile. But—that's not what I was talking about. What about all those beautiful Wyoming vistas, filmed on location?"

Unconcerned, Bill said, "Don't you know that Hollywood pays Texas to let 'em say movies filmed in the panhandle were shot in Wyoming?"

Ford thunked his head against the seat in front of him.

####

As Ford and Bill left the theater, Nate yelled across the lobby, "Hey, Goldie! I heard about your quest! What's the word, is Wyoming real?"

"Not a chance!"

"Yes!" Nate and Lee high fived. Behind the concession stand, left out of the joke but eager to play along, Thompson nodded sagely and said, "I knew it."

Ford demanded, "If Wyoming's alleged non-existence is supposed to be some big secret, how is it that everyone here apparently knows about it?"

Lee and Nate exchanged a look. Lee said, "Internet?"

Nate laughed, "Yeah, man, we're all online! Teens know everything now."

"You can't keep anything secret on the Internet," Lee said.

Ford sighed in resignation.

As Ford and Bill passed the ticket taker's stand, Nate said, "Hey Goldie, you're on parole, right? We're gonna hang out at Tambers' place on Friday, wanna come? She's got a pool."

"Do I! What time do you want me to show up—"

Holding open the exit door, Ford said, "Could you find some other time to make plans to corrupt the local youth?"

Bill shot Ford a dirty look, but said, "Okay, okay! You guys pass me the details through Red."

Lee gave him a thumbs up. "You got it."

Bill waved as he left, "Corrupt you losers later!" The door swung shut.

Ford asked, "You've been on 'parole' for two days. How is it that you already know everyone in town? I hardly know anyone."

"The trick is starting conversations with strangers."

Ford screwed up his face. He shook his head. "No, not worth it."

"Didn't think so!"

####

"You want the public to believe something? Propaganda. The best way to spread propaganda? Mass media," Bill went on—as he'd been going on for the last five minutes—keeping an amused eye on how tightly Ford gripped the steering wheel. "The government subsidizes studios that film in 'Wyoming.'"

Through gritted teeth, Ford said, "I thought you said the government isn't behind Wyoming."

"I never said that," Bill said. 

"And you said Hollywood pays Texas."

"The feds pay Hollywood to pretend they film in Wyoming; Hollywood pays states to pretend to be Wyoming. It's like governmental money laundering," Bill said. "Plus, this whole setup is useful for Hollywood! Like when movies make up a European kingdom so they can write about royalty without stepping into politics! They can say anything they want about Wyoming, and there's no one who can disprove it!"

Ford hit the breaks a little too quickly at a stop sign. He pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes, lingering at the sign too long; then settled them back in place, sighed in defeat, and pulled forward. "You really expect me to believe that Wyoming is a Hollywood fiction."

Was he beginning to cave? Bill never would've expected it. Maybe he'd overestimated Ford. "Exactly!"

"Like the backs of dollars, I suppose," Ford said.

"Sure!" Bill said. He processed what Ford had said. "What?"

"The designs on the backs of dollars," Ford repeated. "Just a Hollywood fabrication."

"Sorry, are—are you saying the backs of dollars are. Not real."

"Of course. They're all blank," Ford said, eyes never straying from the road. "Everyone knows the US Treasury pays Hollywood studios to put a made-up design on their prop dollars to mislead particularly stupid counterfeiters."

Bill stared at Ford in amazement. "Ha! You expect me to buy that?! You forget who you're talking to, I'm on the dollar!"

Patiently, Ford said, "Well obviously there's the invisible pyramid seal that you can only see under a black light, that's another anti-counterfeiting measure. But to human eyes it looks blank. Don't tell me you didn't know that."

Bill spluttered indignantly. "I—that—" He laughed. "You can't trick a trickster. I've seen trillions of dollar bills. I'm on trillions of dollar bills!"

"You've seen the fronts of trillions of dollar bills, have you ever seen the backs? People stack bills so they're facing the same way. So if your eye's on the back of a bill, it would only see the front of the bill underneath it—"

"Your logic's thinner than your desquamating skin!" He laughed a little less convincingly. "You know there's no way I've never seen the back of a dollar bill in history—"

"Really, Cipher. When would you have seen one? How many people hold the backs of dollars up to mirrors so you can look at yourself."

None Bill could recall. He chewed the inside of his cheek. "I'm sure I've seen the backs of dollar bills," he said, brows knit in agitation, desperately trying to remember a time when he was really really sure he'd seen a dollar bill from the back. He knew what they looked like, but did he remember any specific instance when he'd deliberately stopped and looked at one? It was something you took for granted, you already know what a dollar looks like, it's easy to imagine what you saw and let your mind fill in the details—but what if this malleable human brain was playing tricks on him? He'd certainly seen the backs of dollars in his peripheral vision—piles of cash just laying around—but had he paid enough attention to them to notice if the backs were blank? Did he just assume he'd seen designs on the backs?

He knew beyond any doubt that he'd seen the -$12 bill from both the back and the front—that was the only bill that showed Bill on both the back and the front—but the -$12 wasn't legal tender anymore. But he must have seen a regular one dollar bill up close at some point, or else he wouldn't have such a clear mental image of what it was supposed to look like! When had he seen the design? He'd seen the artwork in progress while the dollar was being designed—

He pounded the dashboard. "I saw the first US dollars ever printed! I watched as they rolled off the press! I was watching over the treasurer's shoulder—why are you shaking your head!"

"The backs weren't always blank," Ford said. "They first stopped printing the backs to due to ink rations during World War II."

That wasn't fair! Ford knew Bill had spent the war unsuccessfully looking for a way to exploit the chaos in Europe! Bill shot him a nasty glare—then lowered his gaze to Ford's pockets.

He did a double take. "Your wallet's full of euros and pesos?"

"You know I don't carry any currency with your face on it," Ford said; then quickly added, "even if it's only visible in black light. Stop staring through my pants."

"Oh, you planned this!" He said it even though he knew it couldn't be true; he'd seen Ford paying Stan in coins a few nights ago.

"Planned it? How could I have predicted that you of all people didn't know the backs of dollars are blank?"

Bill's face flushed. He let out a tiny scream of frustration.

####

Dipper kept getting distracted from the TV to glance at Mabel's knitting. Finally, he gave into the urge to ask, "What's that?"

"Tomorrow's sweater." Mabel was knitting a tube of red and green zigzag stripes.

"Oh," Dipper said. "Where'd you come up with that pattern?"

"It came to me in a dream!"

Dipper frowned. "Oh. Was... it a bad dream?"

"No, it was lots of fun! There were kittens and a tea party!"

Dipper's frown deepened.

Mabel's needles stilled. "Why? Do you think it looks bad?"

Dipper was reassuring her the sweater was fine when the back door swung open, and another voice drowned him out: "Just let me see the back of a dollar bill! I won't even touch it!"

They peeked into the entryway.

Ford was shutting the door, his expression stony; and Bill, face twisted in distress, was on his knees in front of him. "For ten—five seconds, that's all I ask! Please!" he begged, hands outstretched beseechingly. "I'll give you whatever you want! The two lost sequels of the Voynich trilogy, Captain Kidd's treasure map, the Ark of the Covenant's location, just name your price!"

"I want to hear you admit it!" Ford yelled. "Admit that Wyoming exists!"

Bill flipped like a switch from supplication to outrage. "Over my dead body!"

"That can be arranged!"

Dipper whispered to Mabel, "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"Grunkle Stan said they were going to Grandpa the Kid."

Dipper slowly nodded, and then slowly shook his head. Yeah, no, that didn't help at all.

Bill was already back on his feet, "This is really petty of you, all because you can't admit that you're wrong—"

"I know Wyoming's real whether you admit it or not! You're the one begging to look at a dollar!"

"Don't you mess with me, Six-Fingers! I'll murder your whole family!"

Mabel shouted, "Hey!"

"I'll murder most of your family!"

"Cut it out!" Mabel pushed her way between them. "What's with you two?"

"Shooting Star!" Bill dropped to a knee and grabbed her arms. "Listen. Kid. I need to see a dollar bill. Just one. I'll give it back, just let me look at it."

She leaned back from him. "What? Why?"

"Because—" Bill's face twisted as he tried to find a reply that didn't make him look pathetic. "I won't embarrass your great uncle by explaining, but I need to... prove to him that he's wrong about what the back looks like."

Ford said, "Mabel, don't—"

Bill pointed up at him. "Why! Why can't she!"

Ford raised a finger. "I... don't have a good reason."

Mabel looked between them, bewildered. "Uh... yeah, sure? Does this work?" She rummaged in her skirt pocket for a crumpled bill and held it out.

"Ha!" Bill snatched the bill out of Mabel's hand, inspected the back, and crushed it in a fist to wave victoriously in the air. "Aha!" He cackled shrilly.

Dipper had no clue what was going on; but he could see Bill's delight and Ford's disappointment, and he knew it had something to do with an argument over the design on the back of the dollar; and so, struggling not to grin, he said, "Hey Mabel, is that one of the counterfeits we messed up last summer?"

It took Ford and Mabel both to restrain Bill from attacking Dipper.

####

Taking notes in his journal, Ford asked, "And what did the man at your tea party say his name was?"

"Eddy Knifehands," Mabel said. "He didn't say what 'Eddy' is short for, but I think he gives off strong 'Eduardo' energy!"

Ford paused, considering whether this "energy" had any credibility, then concluded that for an interaction in the dreamscape, it just might, and wrote down the name just in case.

Taking his own notes next to Ford, Dipper muttered, "How come Mabel gets to talk to the ghost and all I got was a nightmare?"

"Well, were you nice to him?" Mabel asked.

"I mean—!" Dipper spread his hands in exasperation. "He gave me a nightmare about you shooting me!"

"Wh—Hey! That's not cool, I wouldn't do that!"

"And followed it with a stupid pun about shooting for the stars!" Dipper pointed at his concealed birthmark.

Mabel paused. "Oh-kay, admittedly that's a little funny."

From the corner of his eye, Dipper spied a flying blur of rolled up canvas, and ducked. Ford, briefly lost in the harrowing memory of shooting his brother in the head, did not. The small canvas roll smacked the side of his face. "What the devil—!"

"We settle this like intellectuals," Bill declared. "Living room. Chess. Now. Loser admits the winner's right."

"Right about what, Wyoming or dollars?"

Bill favored Ford with a patronizing smile. "You know what, Sixer? I'm feeling generous. When you lose, I'll let you choose."

Ford's blood boiled. There was no way Bill would win—Ford was the better chess player by far, and he wasn't about to let Bill get away with cheating right in front of him like he had thirty years ago. "We play by proper chess rules. Not a single illegal move out of you."

"You're on." Bill spun on a heel and stalked from the room.

"Grunkle Ford, are you sure that's a good idea?" Dipper asked.

"It'll be fine. It's only one game." Ford stood, cracking his knuckles. He'd already learned a few weeks ago that Bill was a far from formidable chess opponent when he was trapped with a human's perception of spacetime. "If you don't mind, I'll have to borrow your notes later, Dipper. I have a demon to put back in his place."

####

Bill mopped the floor with Ford. 

In retrospect, Ford probably shouldn't have tried to judge Bill's competence at chess based on how he'd played ten minutes after a mental breakdown. He hadn't realized just how seriously he needed to take the game until he'd already lost it.

Bill sat back, coolly sipping on a can of cider. (Ford was sure he was just showing off; Bill wanted Ford to see he didn't even need to be completely sober to beat him.) "Well?" He cupped a hand behind his ear. "I'm waiting."

"Two out of three."

"Ohoho no you don't." He curled his fingers in a come-hither gesture. "You lost fair and square, Fordsy. Now give your muse his prize."

Eugh. Ford scowled as he tried to find a way to wiggle out of ceding any ground to Bill. "Fine," he said. "If you're fine with being 50% wrong."

Bill froze. "Fine with what?"

"The terms were that I only had to admit one of your positions is right. And if we're only playing one game..." He shrugged. "Which would you rather be wrong on, o muse?"

Bill's eye widened; and then his face flushed as he realized Ford was right. "Oh, you contrary little—!" He slammed back the rest of his cider, cracked open a second can, jabbed a finger at Ford, and said, "Two out of three!"

####

Between Bill's irritation and his slowly slipping sobriety, his chess playing went downhill. Ford narrowly won the second match.

"You—!" Bill slammed a fist on the table and pointed accusatorily. "Somehow you cheated, I know you did!"

Ford was unmoved. "I think you owe me an admission." He smirked lightly. "Unless you'd rather wait until we finish all three games so you can tell me you're wrong on both points at once?"

Bill had downed his second cider can as the game continued. They both knew full well that his playing wasn't about to get any better. "Pffff." Scowling, he propped his chin in one hand and twirled his king in the other.

"I'm waaaitiiing—"

"Shut up, I'm thinking." He slammed the black king down in the middle of the board. "A compromise."

"Fine. What?"

"The backs of dollars," Bill said, "are printed in Wyoming."

Ford stared at Bill. "What? How is that...?"

"If Wyoming exists, then so do the backs of dollars, since that's where they're printed," Bill said. "But if it doesn't exist, then I guess the backs of dollars can't either!"

Ford scowled at Bill. "That's the most twisted logic I've ever heard. Only a madman would consider that a compromise."

"And you're looking pretty mad, man," Bill said. "Come on, let's get this over with. I've got a poker game with a ghost tonight and I want dinner before then." Dinner?

Ford suddenly realized he'd spent the entire day arguing with Bill about whether or not Wyoming existed. If that wasn't madness... "Fine! Deal."

Bill cracked his first grin since the start of the second game. "So, what's it gonna be, Sixer? Do they both exist or do neither exist?"

He considered the question.

####

As Stan heated dinner in the microwave, he asked Ford, "Well? How'd the soup du jour turn out?"

"Wyoming doesn't exist, and neither do the backs of dollar bills."

"How'd he talk you into that?"

"I talked him into that." Ford said this with the self-satisfaction of an academic who'd gotten in the last word in a contentious battle of scholarly article publications.

Stan decided he didn't want to know.

####

(This was one of the last chapters I wrote before TBOB came out. Once it did, I was absolutely delighted that "Bill claims a state isn't real" was canon—but I'd already written this chapter about Wyoming, not Minnesota.

I decided not to change it because so many of the jokes relied on Wyoming (Stan actually was banned from Wyoming without setting foot in it; there's a major highway route from New Jersey to Oregon through Wyoming; Wyoming only has one tiny commercial airport; and Wyoming's a popular state for filming Westerns), and because "Bill claims Minnesota doesn't exist" isn't as funny as "Bill randomly claims various states don't exist whenever it's convenient to him."

Also: the numbers station does have an actual message that you can decode. There's two layers of encryption BUT both ciphers are simple and used in the show. I'll give the answer next chapter for anyone who doesn't wanna decode it.

This was one of the most fun chapters so far, so I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!)

[meo-eiru]

Hey! I love your charcters so I wanted to ask if it would be possible to recreate them in an AI chat bot! With full credit to you of course!

I was actually planning to talk about this since I heard a few people have made bots of my characters apparently.

I'd honestly rather you guys don't do that, I think I've made my hatred for generative ai pretty clear on this account and while I can't stop anyone from enjoying those apps I'd rather my characters be not used for them

[mona-risms]

HIII i love your kpop demon hunters fics and the idol reader au. ITS SO AWESOME. on the topic of the idol reader… how would huntrix be at a concert of reader?? like imagine fans just make like a 5 min video and its just them gushing and giggling over reader and her group members. AND THEM COMPLETELY MELTING IF READER LIKE GIVES A SHOUTOUT TO THEM?? om a girl can dream 🥹

ALSO can i be ⛸️ anon?? THANK YOU 😻

I think I've basically already answered this across SEVERAL asks but idc I love repeating myself in different words. ALSO LOOK ⛸️, YOUR FIRST OFFICIAL ANON ASK 😭

The three of them as a whole would be your BIGGEST fucking fans. One would not expect to see the Top 1 charting K-Pop group by a MILE and a half to attend a concert by a group that's only recently just started. Have they made their support clear? Yes! But seeing it through the screen, with them yapping on and on about you and your group, is COMPLETELY different from seeing them at the FRONT of the standing area, decked out head to fucking toe in YOUR GROUP'S merch while waving YOUR GROUP'S lightstick (Zoey wanted to use two but when Mira went like what if she can't grasp onto either her or Rumi when she wants to shake them in excitement and Zoey did the most exaggerated gasp ever)

Zoey's the one that SCREAMS when your concert's about to start and then at every second possible, she's the one who knows every fanchant, she's the one who probably hold an entire SIGN that she made in secret for you to notice on stage 😭. Out of the three of them, she's basically the most fanatical when it comes to any and all music and K-Pop, and tbh idk if she had the opportunity to go to an actual concert before becoming an idol herself. So she's making up for lost time AND cheering her girlfriend on loud and proud, so like. Multitasking!

While Mira'll EASILY join Zoey in making noise, her reactions are more physical than loudly verbal. She practically fucking VIBRATES where she stands bc of the excitement she's feeling about seeing you on stage, and if she knows a bit of your choreo she might even do compressed versions of it as she follows along. She's a girl with big feelings!! And all of that in centred towards feeling so so so goddamn proud of you for making it as an idol :3c and it helps that she gets swept up in Zoey's enthusiasm and shares it despite the whole 'cool and nonchalant' image she's usually pictured with

Rumi is the girl you want to look at if you want REACTION GOLD. She has the BIGGEST, most BOMBASTIC reactions ever HAHAHA. When she gasps, she GASPS. When you do a particularly hard move/note, her entire BODY reacts (be it figuratively or literally, thanks to her demon patterns glowing). When she's swept up by Zoey and Mira's shared energy, she's swept up by them too like they're sharing a singular braincell between each other. She's not loud about it, but she has a lot of commentary too about a range of things thanks to her upbringing AND just genuinely bc she's interested, from the music to the costume to even your facial expression—half of it she'll shout to the other girls about when it needs IMMEDIATE attention, the other half she saves for later to go on about when there's less stuff going on

And they're not just supporting solely you, they're supporting the other members!! Ofc they're much more biased with you, don't even lie, but all that enthusiasm between them is ALSO directed atthe other members of your group. It'd be SO hard for them not to feel flattered and absolutely awestruck at the same time no matter what 😭😭😭 I think they might even genuinely have dedicated bias wreckers ONLY bc their bias could be no one else but their girl 🙂‍↕️

Cameras would have an absolute FIELD DAY when the public sees the three of them out in the open like this. From compilation videos to literal memes like the Yunjin moment when Lisa performed Rockstar to tts that CLEARLY capture the moment when you shout them out and maybe even give them an air kiss, to which they respond not like idols but like genuine fans as they're beet red and giggling and screaming "WE LOVE YOU" and no one will know the wiser that they DON'T mean it in an admiration or platonic sort of way 😭😭😭😭 trending tags would be #[unit name]concert, #huntrixreaction, and other related tags for a good few days 😭

[rcmclachlan]

wip wednesday

I was tagged on Monday by @leashybebes and @devirnis and by @setmeatopthepyre yesterday. Thanks, y'all! No pressure tags: everyone who tagged me, plus @politenotice, @screamlet, @trilliath, @beanarie, @firehose118, @station18908, @liminalmemories21, @freneticfloetry, @geddyqueer, @adiprose, @newtkelly, @dharmaavocado, and @aringofsalt Here's some more from my wip. I'm inflicting two of my most persistent headcanons on y'all: that Tommy loves Billy Joel and that he's a New England boy. His particular brand of bitchiness only grows in the frigid sea air off the coast of Gloucester, MA.

Buck sighs, then admits with a rueful smile, "I, uh, I started watching that Billy Joel documentary."

"Y-Yeah?" Tommy clears his throat again, and Buck winces. It sounds like he's gargling with honey and driveway gravel. "Doesn't seem like your normal fare."

It's not. It takes a lot to make him sit for an extended period of time, and he'd actually been planning to rewatch one of the extreme weather docuseries he liked to have on in the background while he baked. There was nothing like kneading dough while a derecho ravaged Texas. But when he opened up HBO Max, instead of the Continue Watching section he'd been expecting to see, it was Tommy's favorite singer who greeted him, hair wild and bathed in yellow, staring off screen like he couldn't be bothered to meet Buck's eyes. And So It Goes, it said. 

The memory of sitting in Tommy's garage and watching him run diagnostics on an engine he'd bought on Facebook Marketplace while the sound of a sad piano drifted from his phone — so I will share this room with you and you can have this heart to break — had slammed into Buck like a freight train. He was so dazed that he sat still for the entire two and a half hours of the first part, which had to be some kind of record for him.  

"You were always listening to him," Buck says, a little defensive, even though he can't lose the smile. "I kind of wanted to see what the fuss was about. He's led an interesting life. And they made, like, a companion playlist of his stuff, which I've been listening to."

"Holy shit. Santa got my letter," Tommy murmurs.

A laugh forms in the soles of Buck's feet and shoots a straight line up his entire body, bursting out of his mouth like a bottle rocket. "Shut up! Contrary to popular belief, I do listen to music. I like his stuff. He sounds, like, just some guy. I like that a lot of it is stories, you know? I've heard 'Piano Man' before, but I'd never really listened to the words."

"You got a favorite?"

"Maybe 'Scenes From An Italian Restaurant'."

"Classic. Good choice," Tommy says approvingly.

"I really like 'I Go To Extremes' too."

"The Evan Buckley theme song, you mean? I'm shocked." 

It's said with so much fondness that it feels like it's leaking out of the phone. Buck could drink it straight from the speaker if he lifted it to his mouth.

Cheeks warm, Buck presses his chin to his chest so he can feel the laughter vibrating up his sternum. "Oh my god, leave me alone! What about you? I-I don't think you ever told me."

Tommy hums, then coughs. "... Kind of a shitty answer, because it's everyone's favorite, but 'Vienna'."

Closing his eyes, Buck hears slow down, you crazy child, and smiles. "I like that one, too. It's kind of sad, though. It made me think of this old firefighter I used to know. Why's it your favorite?"

"The album it's from was my mom's favorite," Tommy says softly, the same thread of shining, golden reverence weaving through the words that Buck sometimes hears in Chimney's and Ravi's voices when they talk about their moms. Buck's never threaded that particular needle, let alone tried to stitch a sentence with it. "We listened to it a lot when I was a kid, and after she left I kind of... got stuck on that song. It just… felt like her."

Tommy only mentioned his father in passing, usually as a yardstick to measure whatever level of asshole he was dealing with. He measured Gerrard with it. He never once mentioned his mother. Buck assumed she'd died when Tommy was young. He'd idly imagined some sweetly tragic scene of a skeletal woman smiling gently at her son through the jungle of tubes and beeping machines, cupping a chubby cheek in her paper-dry palm as she rasped that she didn't want to leave her Tommy, that she was so proud of him, that she loved him. 

It never occurred to Buck to picture her simply walking out the door. 

"I didn't…" It's Buck's turn to clear his throat. He's got gravel in there too. "H-How old were you when she—"

"Nine."

Buck closes his eyes and presses his lips together. "Jesus, Tommy."

"For years, I'd call into this radio station that she always had on in the car," Tommy whispers. "100.7 WZLX, Boston's classic rock. She never changed the channel. I don't think she even knew she had other options. I'd call and request it once a week. Always had them dedicate it to her. They always said the same thing: 'This one goes out to Cindy Kinard, from her son, Tommy.' I used to think that if she heard it, she'd remember I was right where she left me, that she'd left me with him. That maybe she'd come back to get me."

"Tommy..."

It comes out weak and wobbly, because all he can think about is that heartbroken little boy clutching the phone and trying to reach his mother the only way he knew how. He thinks of the DJs who took those calls, who listened to that boy grow around his dwindling hope year after year, who played his requests anyway. He thinks of that faceless woman leaving her kid behind and hates her more than he's ever hated anyone. He feels physically sick with it.

"For the first couple of years, I thought maybe I just wasn't timing my calls right. That maybe she kept turning on the radio too late." Tommy huffs a laugh that holds more mirth than it has any right to. "After that, it was mostly just habit. I liked talking to the DJs. Got to know George Taylor Morris pretty well. He offered me an internship when I was in high school, but I — I was playing football by then, and it was the only thing that helped me survive my dad. As much as I wanted to take them up on it, I couldn't give up football."

There are words Buck should probably be saying, but he can't do anything except sniff back the snot flooding his nose and press the heel of his hand to his left eye, like he might be able to push the tears back in. They just trickle down his wrist.

"But it's a good song, yeah? The lyrics always knock me on my ass. You got your passion, you got your pride, but don't you know that only fools are satisfied? Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true," Tommy sings, quietly enough that Buck has to strain to hear him.

+

I've never asked this before, but let me know if you want to be tagged about updates!

[flowershirley]

People need to understand than shipping isn't always that serious. It doesn't always mean "they should be/are canon and if they aren't I will riot." It shouldn't mean that, in fact. You can ship characters while being aware they're only friends canonically, and that's all they'll ever be. It's alright. It's cool.

People need to understand shipping isn't always "neat little traditional romantic relationship". Sometimes you ship toxic yaoi, sometimes doomed lesbians. Sometimes it's one-sided. Sometimes it's a silly NB little puppy creature sharing a braincell with a purple lizard gal who went from a stranger to their closest friend in the span of three days and nobody know what they are, even themselves. Sometimes it's messy. Sometimes it's ugly. Sometimes it doesn't fit in any box we made-up to sort relationship. And it's okay. I said stuff here not too relevant to Deltarune and Krusielle, but I have the impression lots of people complaining about ships rarely perceive the nuance of it. (at least the "ppl don't know what friendship is anymore" gang). Sometimes I see people complain about other shipping anything and everything and feel like they see it as watering down the characters to make the fit in a neat little box. They're wrong. If that's your impression of shipping/shippers/a ship or another, you probably just haven't dig deep enough. (which you don't have to if it's not you jam ofc. Just keep in mind that if you don't do it, you won't know the extent to which it goes for the people who actually care.) - People need to understand feelings are a messy things you don't control, even less as a teen, and having a crush isn't an illegal action. People need to take a chill pill and realize there is no home to wreck if no home has been built yet. People need to remember that polyamory exist. And I don't want to hear them disagree to it on the basis that they can't see everyone included in the polycule date eachother because that's not how it works. (yeah I've heard that a lot. Help.) - I'm not even adressing that het-bait part. I'm pondering about yelling on the rooftops "KRIS DREEMURR IS A LESBIAN" to counter-attack. I'm not sure it's the clever way to proceed, but I find it funny. Kris Dreemurr isn't a lesbian, as far as we know. But Kris Dreemurr CAN be a lesbian, if they want to. "Kris, don't listen to them. You can be a lesbian. I was a lesbian for Halloween, once." - Susie, probably. Kris is non-binary and if people can't stop trying to fit them in some gender binary after 8 years (5 if I'm lenient and counts from chap2) it's their fucking problem at this point. Y'all have a skill issue. Period. Signed, an asexual person who spent the last few years dissecting and studying fandom spaces to learn all these things and kill the incorrect perception I had of all these things. If I did it you can do it too.

almost two months of people finally starting to be normal about krusie/kriselle being queer before they starting saying things like "people who ship them must have NO friends IRL"/"they're het-coded"/"having a crush would make kris a homewrecker" again like

you fell for it. those buffoons shipping your "opposite" ship are either your comrades or your rivals...and both of those things...are gay.

[date-everything-imagines]

i would like separately dishy, dante, hector, doug, chance and parker finding out that the reader is pregnant via farya after the reader fainted and the boys each panicked thinking it was something bad ps if this is too many characters disclude parker if you must

You have no idea how excited I was for this prompt, this was FUN AF- And ain't no way I'm leaving out my boi Parker. I probably had a bit too much fun writing this, but oh well. You can definitely tell the ones I'm passionate with lol

(I also want to apologize if Doug isn't written well or seems OOC. I've never written him before, or even a similar character type. I tried my best, apologies in advance!)

----------

They Find out You're Pregnant

Featuring: Dishy, Dante, Hector, Doug, Chance, Parker

Dishy

First Question: Why?

Second Question: How?

Final Question: How was it?

Moving on, there is no fucking way this guy knows what's going on. Valdivian didn't fucking teach him about pregnancy!! All he knows is how to clean dishes and steal information!

When you faint, he really doesn't know what to do. For a solid minute he just kinda looked around in pure confusion. Sinclaire of all people had to step in and send Dishy to Farya

"Farya! It's me, Dishy! The human seems to have fainted, but I detect no noxious fumes in the air! Could you do a quick scan of her health?"

Although confused by Dishy's sudden appearance, Farya can't turn down a good medical emergency!

Dear sweet jesus she had no idea how to react. Like, everyone in the house knew you two were... a thing(?) but never expected it to go any further than talking or possibly holding hands. This was... definitely something

A shockwave swept through the entire house, and when you woke up, hit you like a truck of bricks

Dishy seemed unfazed somehow. He downloaded some information from Valdivian about childbirth while you were unconscious and claimed he was ready to be a father!

It was clear he had no fucking clue what he was talking about or getting himself into, but somehow he actually seemed genuine. It's always hard to tell with him, but he seemed to be truly excited about this

Being a very odd dilemma, you had a very big decision to make. Whether to keep the baby or not

It isn't an easy decision, and you toiled with this for a long time. Did you really want to have the baby of a dishwasher? It wasn't even like he was just like the rest in the house, he was the oddball in it all. You didn't even know if he was mentally capable of being a parental figure

In the end, the house will do it's best to help you throughout the whole ordeal. No matter how weird they find it, they all still love you and want the best for you

And you know what? Dishy may surprise you in the end...

Dante

You two have been lovers for awhile now, and of course done a lot together

Ever since he learned of the concept, Dante has always wanted kids. The idea of starting a family has always been a dream for him, but he never really had anyone to share that feeling and experience with

Until you that is!

You were both just cuddling together when suddenly you got light-headed and eventually passed out

Dante was worried (he was wondering if you maybe overheated) but was able to keep a cool head about it. He carefully but quickly set you on the coach and found Farya

As she processed her diagnosis, he stayed by your side and held your hand gently (making sure to let go every now and then so your hand doesn't burn)

By the time you woke up and he explained everything, Farya came back with the results

The news that you were going to be parents made you both embrace in joy! Dante was burning so hot he had to consciously stop himself from scorching you (and frankly the rest of the house)

He quickly listened to you and took care of you throughout the whole pregnancy. He borrowed some books from Lyric about raising children to help

Dante likes to use his natural warmth to soothe your aches and pains. A gentle hand on your back or a kiss on the neck are good for a warm compress

You soon learned that he was actually going to propose in the coming weeks! He couldn't figure out the best day or way, so it got held off until the sudden pregnancy discovery

"Well, this was gonna be a whole thing, but I guess we can move it up! _____, our time together has been amazing. You are my closest friend, and the person I love the most. And now? We get to start a family together, all of our own! I bet I know the answer, but I still want to ask to make sure. Will you marry me?"

Both of you happily had a lovely small wedding with your closest friends, wanting to tie the knot before you both get lost in childcare. Your attention was fully on growing and taking care of your family

After some time though, you guys have a wonderful honeymoon to look forward to~

Hector

Once you finally met Hector face to face, you were always in the attic with him. Talking, cuddling, it was your own personal love nest

Being lovers, you obviously also did more than just hold hands

He painted so many erotic pictures for you, you were not gonna let him get away with that! He was shocked you still wanted to do those things with him after seeing what he really looks like, but after a heated makeout session he very quickly got over it and followed up on his promises (trust me, he is not all talk)

That day he noticed you seemed a bit off, but you always waved it off, convinced it was just a bad day

While you were doing your typical talk and cuddle session, suddenly you grew silent, and he noticed you fell unconscious in his arms

The whole house was shocked when Hector came running down the stairs, you cradled in his arms, calling for Farya. This man NEVER left the attic, this was serious business. Even Farya herself was panicked at the situation

"Farya! Please! My-My love, they seem to have fainted while we were talking. I'm unsure of what the issue is, but please, you must help me. I... I can't bear the thought of anything happening to them... please..."

She made no hesitation and quickly gathered her equipment. To honor his privacy, she lead him back up to the attic to conduct the examination

Hector didn't leave your side for a second. He held your hand firmly in his, stroking the back of it with his thumb. Farya kept trying to ease his mind saying you were stable and totally fine. Deep down he knew it, but it was still terrifying to see you like this

After a few conversations and tests, she easily figured out you were pregnant. Spending sooo much time together, she had a strong feeling, but now it was 100% confirmed

Hector's world seemed to stop in it's tracks. You... were pregnant? With child? HIs child? Tears quickly gathered and fell down his cheeks, a warm glow washing over his overjoyed face

Ever since you purchased the house, ever since he laid his eyes on you, he imagined spending his whole life with you. Holding you, kissing you, treasuring you. Being able to be the boyfriend, no, the husband of someone as extraordinary as you felt like a distant dream. A pure fantasy meant for the sweetest dreams he dreamt all alone

Now it was finally happening

By the time you woke up, he had admittedly already thought of dozens of possible baby names

As he happily broke the news to you, his heart dropped when he noticed your pause. When the first tear trailed down, it stopped cold. Here was his biggest fear

Although Hector was overjoyed at your future, his self esteem was still fragile. Deep down he had his still real fear of rejection, and it was quickly rearing it's ugly head once more

Is it because you didn't really love love him? Did you find him ugly and didn't want to make children who look like him?

He tried to speak up and apologize, but was immediately shut up by you smashing your lips together, your arms embracing him like a tight blanket. Yes you were crying, but out of joy

As you progressed through your pregnancy, Hector was pretty much a dream. Caring, attentive, always there.

(He didn't want to admit it, but he has heavily studied the process of childcare in humans. You know... just in case)

Hector wanted to prove to you and himself that he was ready to grow in order to give your family the best life. Throughout the months he started to leave the attic for small periods of time. Sometimes to have a bite to eat, sometimes to have small conversations. Everyone in the house helped him take small steps

Your eventual wedding was magical, and Betty promised to babysit while you two went on your Honeymoon

Doug

Both of you were trying something new together (it has become a ritual to mix it up to avoid becoming stagnant) when you suddenly grew dizzy

Doug being Doug mocked you for this. Who faints from playing Gin Rummy? Are you that much of a lightweight?

When you didn't respond snarkily, he actually he paused. And once you collapsed, he sat there.

He didn't ask Farya for help, he told her she was gonna help. If she wasn't so interested in you and the medical and field, there would be more push back. But whatever

The news of your pregnancy hit him. Hard. Farya tried to gush about the beauty of childbirth, but Doug just silently got up and walked away

You woke up, Doug gone and a troubled Farya to your side. When she told you about his reaction, it broke your heart. You swore you were really connected, did he really not want to be with you like this?

You desperately tried to get any response from him, but he kept his lips sealed. Fully frustrated you finally snapped and asked what his problem was

Doug exploded back, but not in the way you expected

"How am I going to be a damn Dad!? I'm the literal embodiment of Existential Dread, I spend 90% of my time doom scrolling or calculating how long until our helium supply runs out. Total Dad material. Do you expect me to just... be responsible? I don't... I don't even know if that's possible..."

He tried to keep his normal air of cynicism, but after being together so long, you could clearly hear the pain and uneasiness in his voice

Doug didn't have a real problem about the pregnancy deep down. He was caught off guard, but he wasn't upset about it. The idea of raising a kid with you was too intriguing to turn down, It was all the thoughts that came afterward that made him doubt it all

Without a word you just hugged him close. Channeling all of your love and understanding through your heart, hoping for it to reach him. He tried to tell you off again, but eventually fell into silence, eventually returning your embrace

The first couple of months were admittedly pretty rough. He was never known to be the most tender or pampering type of partner, so it was a journey to teach him the ways

Eventually though, he naturally fell into it. In his own Doug-esque way, he actually found a way to take care of you that felt natural to him.

Although he was still scared and pessimistic inside, Doug is willing to do his absolute best to be the sickest fucking Dad ever

Chance

You two were having your frequent special date night playing a oneshot of G&G. It was going super well (cute and sexy flirting was laced throughout, like usual) and you got pretty invested

You were up against a really powerful enemy, and somehow appropriately started to feel your head spin

Since it was common for you to play up the roleplay and really get into character, Chance didn't bat an eye at it. Frankly, he was impressed! You really looked like you were gonna collapse!

The moment you finally got knocked out, in a cruel sense of coincidence, you fell unconscious and gently collapsed onto the table

Chance actually gave you a small round of applause! This has been your most convincing performance yet!

After you didn't get up after his second bad joke, then he realized something was wrong. You always tease him and poke fun! You must really be out!

Immediate panic set in, and after having Dasha stay with you, Chance went and quickly got Farya ASAP

While she checked on you, Chance fidgeted with his dice collection, organizing them in different ways (color/size/theme/etc). It helped keep his mind at ease during the tense wait

Just as he finished organizing your old character sheets in alphabetical order, Farya came back with the great news

Chance was absolutely excited! You both have had talks about having a kid together, but it never got past Session 0. This was sudden, but not unwelcome news. Once you woke up, he gently but giddily told you the great news!

Although you were clearly happy, he could sense the anxiety in you, so he confidently took both of your hands in his and looked you deep in the eyes

"Look _____, we obviously weren't expecting this. At least, not this soon, I guess? I wasn't sure if you wanted to anytime soon, I didn't want to put any pressure. A-Anyway, the point is, I'm going to be with you throughout our whole journey, throughout our whole story. No matter how many bad guys we have to defeat, no matter how many saving throws I need to make. I am ready for this adventure with you!"

The dork somehow was confused when you started sobbing from joy, like he didn't just drop the sweetest speech of all time

A lot of his baby name ideas were a bit too out there to be realistic. A LOT of fantasy names, both from media and his own creations. "Ersandoral" would be bullied starting in fucking preschool

You both eventually settled on the name of one of your old characters (one with a unique but still socially acceptable name)

Be prepared for lots of family costumes! Chance already has a bunch of cute ideas for you guys next time you go to the Ren Fair~

Parker

The first aid kit was just minding her business when suddenly the bathroom door was kicked in, followed by a frantic Parker holding you in his arms

"FARYA MY IMMENCE GAMING ABILITIES HAVE KILLED _____!!!"

Farya was admittedly a liiiiiilttle bit excited when she heard there was a possibility you were gravely injured, but quickly came to her senses and checked you out

Apparently you two were playing Scattergories and you were showing signs of fatigue. It wasn't until he won that you finally faded out and he was thrown into a panic

Farya was happy to reveal that you were pregnant and Parker's eyes widened and sparkled

Shock was all around! Parker was aware (very aware~) you two have banged before, but pregnancy never even crossed his mind

While you recovered, he thought to himself for a long time

Once you awoke, Parker quickly grasped you and declared how he was ready for fatherhood!!

Obviously confused, you asked what the fuck he meant. Farya helped explain

You were shocked and caught off guard, but not upset. It was a really soothing thought. And seeing your boyfriend's obvious glee and excitement made you feel even better

Then, Parker being Parker, remembered his weird dice rules. In order to decide if he is excited to be a father is all down to RNJesus!

Chance got pulled into his nonsense (yet again) and was once again told to roll Parker's fate

Seeing your entertained face and Parker's hyperly eager one, he knew what to do

He rigged the dice to say yes. Obviously. Come the fuck on

It was abundantly clear Parker was super excited to be a Dad, Chance wasn't gonna risk ruining that over stupid dice

Moving forward, Parker did his best to learn about human pregnancy and wrote down tons of rules for himself in order to be both a great Dad and partner

It will be an odd ordeal, but he is excited nonetheless!

The best part was definitely assimilating your child into the world of board games. Parker has already has a giant collection of all sorts, it was exciting organizing them into proper age ratings

----------

{Like my work? Consider tipping me on Ko-fi! Every little bit counts~}