#i don't really know how to tag trigger warnings

[cercess]

Beneath New Skies - Chapter III

Death's Door

𖤓 Tags: Depictions of violence, mentions of death, depictions of injury, depictions of blood, angst 𖤓 Rating: Explicit 𖤓 Word Count: 3.3k 𖤓 Notes: hey all! Sorry or the time it took to get this out, I really struggled writing some parts. I want to add a trigger warning for this chapter: it depicts scenes of the city being attacked, as well as descriptions of a wound on a character's arm. If these make you uncomfortable in any way, please skip this chapter. When I upload chapter four, I will include a summary so you don't miss any critical information moving forward. I'm hoping to get chapter four out either tonight or tomorrow, because I know this one took me a long time. This chapter isn't my favourite writing-wise, but it was important for events that will come later. Please excuse any clunky parts, as this is not the type of story I typically tell; I'm much more of a slice of life/romance author. Thank you all for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! 𖤓 Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 𖤓 Read on AO3

The day started like any other, with you working the counter at the apothecary. Kyros, the restaurant owner, was browsing the wall of dried herbs, while your father helped Akmonides with some ailment in the back room. 

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Kyros asked as he smelled a vial of crushed ginger.

“Is gossiping about the gossip-monger really a good idea? He’ll find out eventually.”

Kyros laughed, as he added the ginger to his basket, “not unless you say anything.”

“That depends on how much coin he offers.” 

It was just a cough. You knew because your father had grabbed eucalyptus on his way back. In your business, the answers to people’s suspicions were often much more boring than what they’d imagined. One day, you planned on taking over your father’s position and treating patients yourself. But, seeing as the man was still as spry as ever, there was still time before that happened. Sometimes he’d test you pool by simply stating the ailment. It was then your job to figure out what ingredients needed to be used. After doing it your whole life, mixing the proper tonics and ointments came as naturally as breathing. Peppermint for colds, feverfew for fevers, valerian for insomnia, ginger for mild pain, and poppies for severe pain. Those were the common afflictions you saw, but every once in a while, there would be a curveball, and you’d have to consult your journal. 

“These are pretty,” Kyros held up a blue flower, “maybe I could use those as a garnish.

“Those are flaxseed flowers, and we use them as laxatives. Probably not something you want your customers eating.” You grin as you fiddle with the necklace Phainon had given you.

He would have found that funny. 

It had been a few days since he’d left for the ruins of Janusopolis, and you’d spent most of your time yearning for his return. It was almost sickening how much you longed for him; like a lovesick teenager who had to be glued to their partner’s side at all times. 

The door behind you opened, and out walked Akmonides and your father. The former held a vial of what you assumed to be a tonic for his cold. The other telltale sign of his affliction was his nose, which had been rubbed raw from wiping mucus away.

“Could you run to Demetria’s?” Your father asked, placing a hand on your shoulder as he slipped behind the counter. “We need oranges.” 

You nodded and hopped off your stool, taking the opportunity to emphatically stretch your arms and legs. He sometimes sent you on errands throughout the day, knowing that you appreciated a break from the mundanity. 

As overwhelming as Marmoreal Market could be, you could never shake your love for it. You had lived your whole life with the bustling stalls right at your doorstep. The sound of customers haggling echoed in the back of nearly all your childhood memories. 

The walk to Demetria’s was short, and when you arrived, the grocer was quick to welcome you with a hug. 

“Have you grown since I last saw you?” She asked. 

“Maybe,” you say brightly, knowing full well you stopped growing years ago. 

When you placed the oranges in your basket, she took a long pause, before adding a bundle of grapes. “That doesn’t quite seem heavy enough, here. A treat from me.” 

“Thank you,” arguing with the old woman was futile. She was too kind for her own good. 

Before returning to the apothecary, you made a detour to find an old friend. She was usually easy to find, as she spent her days running along the streets. 

“Serena,” you called down a row of plant-adorned homes. It wasn’t long before she poked her head out from behind a pot. You waved, beckoning her closer. 

She scanned the street before running over to you with a smile on her face.

Gaining the girl’s trust had taken considerable effort. The first time you met her, she robbed you blind. After returning home from The Grove, you were unfamiliar with certain changes, namely the orphaned children that used the market as their hunting ground. When you told your father, he merely laughed; apparently everyone had fallen prey to her antics. At the time, you were angry, and spent two days searching for the thief. After clamouring over the rooftops, you eventually found her hideout on a balcony overlooking the market. Your anger immediately subsided when you saw her huddled in the corner, surrounded by empty boxes and various stolen mementos. A sudden appreciation for your stable childhood had blossomed since then, especially as more desperate children arrived from Castrum Kremnos.

Serena was from Icatus, and had no means of supporting herself. She insisted her parents would return, but the disillusionment of maturity told you otherwise. Since then, you made an effort to leave her food whenever you could. When you and your father had leftovers, you’d set them outside the shop for her, and in the morning there would be a flower on your windowsill. 

“Were you looking for me?” She asked, trying to get a better look at the gift you held behind your back. 

You laughed, and showed her the bundle of fresh grapes. “I thought you could use a treat on a hot day like this.” 

The little girl’s eyes widened with excitement, and she snatched the fruit from your grasp. She looked at the gift like it was a rare gem, “this is all for me?”

“Of course, I-”

An earth-shattering scream cut through the gentle moment like a knife. Instinctively, you pulled Serena behind you, her hand tightly grasping yours. “What was that?”

“Stay close, and don’t run ahead,” you instructed in a harsh whisper. 

Keeping your back against the wall, you carefully shuffled to the end of the building to peer down the main street. The lone scream had multiplied into an overwhelming rumble of panic. Ahead, people were fleeing a towering figure clad in blue and white. You’d learned of the Titankin through Phainon, but had never laid eyes on one. It’s marbled skin was exactly as he had described, and the golden dagger it brandished was far from an inviting image. 

“What’s happening?” Serena tugged at your arm. 

Primal fear overtook you when the Titankin turned its head in your direction, it’s stiff, inhuman movements only adding to your terror. Had it seen you? Was it coming your way?

“We need to run,” you pulled the girl further down the street, away from your possible assailant. 

“To where?” She asked shakily as she struggled to match your pace. 

You slowed down slightly, needing a moment to think. What you needed was to get to your father. For all you knew, he was alone in the shop. He was not a trained fighter; neither of you were. A feeling of hopelessness began to gnaw at your confidence as you realized the dire nature of the situation. 

“We need to get to my father,” your attempt to keep your voice steady failed. Getting to your father meant returning to one of the main roads on opposite ends of the street. The southern road was blocked by Titankin, and the other route would still be a gamble, especially with Serena in tow. Still, you refused to abandon the child. 

“We can get there from the roof!” Serena pointed to a set of stairs leading up to a nearby balcony. 

A low groan sounded from around the corner you had previously checked, and it became abundantly clear that you had to make a choice; risk finding more Titankin on the main road, or follow Serena’s plan. While you had about a hundred logistical questions about Serena’s route, you decided that a petty thief probably knew all the cutie’s secret passages better than you. 

“Up the stairs then, and don’t look back.” 

She nodded, and led you up the nearby building. From above, you could see the extent of the chaos. It turned out following Serena’s idea was for the best, as a particularly burly Titankin stood guard on the northern road. 

“What are those things?” The little girl was trembling, so you knelt down to meet her eye. 

“Those are Nikador’s Titankin. They are very dangerous, and want to hurt us. If one gets close, you run. Do you understand?” You hated how grave your voice sounded, knowing it would only make her more afraid. But fear no longer mattered; survival was your only priority. “Can you still get us to my father?”

To your surprise, she didn’t cry. Instead, Serena furrowed her brow and led you across a nearby canopy. You rushed after her, eager for your feet to once again stand on a solid building. 

“We can climb down here,” she gestured to the ledge below. 

You realized that she was pointing at the protrusion under your bedroom window. The route you had taken must have been how Serena left flowers for you. 

The girl scrambled down the side of the building, using the uneven stone as foot grips. Given you were larger than a child, the drop was a nonissue. You thanked yourself for leaving your window open, and slid inside your bedroom after Serena. 

“Let’s find my father,” you instructed as your anxiety became almost unbearable. You had no idea what you would find, and prayed that the worst case scenario had not yet occurred. 

The two of you crept down the stairs to the shop, the sound of your racing heartbeat thundering in your ears. Everything was painfully normal; the herbs neatly arranged, the phials on the alchemy bench perfectly in order. The only thing out of place was your father, who was nowhere to be found in the main area. 

Serena trailed you, her eyes widening as she took in the shop. If it were any other time, you might have felt a bit of pride at her reaction. Alas, posturing was hardly appropriate during an attack. 

“I need you to stay ducked behind the counter, I’m going to check the exam room.” 

She nodded and did as she was told, curling into a ball. You took a breath, and opened the door. Inside, your father sat at the desk, hunched over a book. 

“Father! What are you doing?” You asked, equal parts relieved and dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think it would take you so long to get back, I-“

“Do you not realize what’s happening? The city is under attack by Titankin.” 

He adjusted his glasses, “if this is some kind of joke, I do not find it funny.” 

Exasperation threatened to overtake you, but the urgency of the moment far outweighed your irritation. “No, it’s not a joke. We need to run now.” 

Your father rose from his chair, and followed you out into the shop where Serena remained under the counter. “You’ve found a child.” 

“Father, this is Serena. I was visiting her when the attack started. She got us here safely.” 

“Then I owe you my thanks.” He smiled warmly at the girl.

“Where do we go now?” 

Before your could respond, your father jumped in, “I suspect they've started evacuating the market. We need to get out while the guards still have a foothold. Otherwise, we’re trapped waiting for the Titankin to find us.” 

You were relieved to have the pressure of responsibility lifted from your shoulders. It was something your father always bore well, and you trusted his intelligence wholeheartedly. 

“Stay in between us,” he guided Serena to stand in the middle of himself and you. Then, your father addressed you, “did you notice where the Titan were gathering? 

“There's one on both the south and north road. We almost had a run in with the southern one.” You shuddered at the thought of that encounter going any other way. “It was farther up, though, so if we make a run for it then we may reach the guards quicker.”

“Good idea,” he nodded, “it’s also closer to the gates. Follow me.” 

The two of you trailed your father as he exited the shop. “Leave the door open. We don’t want to make any more noise than necessary.” 

He crept forward, checking around the corner as you had earlier. The angle of the building made it difficult to see the rest of the street, but you noticed him straining to see past the restaurant. 

“Now,” your father instructed, grabbing Serena’s hand. They took off down the street with you floating close behind.  

As you ran, you found yourself clutching your necklace, your grip so firm that it left star-shaped indents in your palm. If Phainon were here, you’d all be safe. If you can hear me, please come home. I need you. 

The sudden realization of your own mortality was frightening. You thought of everything you had left unsaid, to your father, and to Phainon. He’d never know just how proud of him you were; how lucky you felt to call him yours. All of the little things you were too afraid to say would die along with you.

Your thoughts were soon interrupted by your companions coming to a stop. By the time you slowed down, the cause for their interruption was clear. A Titankin, larger than the other two, blocked your way with its massive sword. 

Serena trembled behind your father, her shaky hand clenched around his pant leg. 

As for the man himself, he slowly raised a hand, “we mean you no harm! Just let us pass.” 

The Titankin’s growl seemed to encapsulate the area in cool air, freezing everyone in their place. At its feet were discarded weapons; a warning for any who wished to challenge its mighty authority. 

Your eye was drawn to a spear that laid a few feet away, its blade shining in the midday sun. It called to you like a weapon of legend, beckoning you to be the hero your father and Serena needed. 

If I die today, I will make him proud. 

You lunged for the spear, albeit not as gracefully as you would have hoped. Still, when you regained your footing, the spear sat in your hands, sharp blade pointed towards the looming Titankin. 

It shifted its attention to you, sword prepared to strike. 

“What are you-“

“Run!” You interrupted your father as the monster lifted its sword high in the air. 

You shut your eyes, bracing for the impact against your defensively positioned spear. The weight that bore down on you was unbearable. Upon impact, you were sent stumbling backwards, but your spear remained raised. 

The Titankin grunted, and shifted more of his weight to the sword. You could hear the wood of the spear splintering under the force, and you focused on moving out of the way of the opposing blade. 

Behind the beast, your father shouted your name. His desperate tone almost brought tears to your eyes. You wanted to tell him you loved him, but the Titankin had successfully broken through your spear, causing you to lose your balance. 

The weapon’s two halves stared up at you sadly, and you almost felt the need to apologize for reducing the beautifully crafted weapon into such a sorry-state. However, there was no time for that, as the Titankin had raised its sword once again. 

You scrambled backwards, holding your arms in front of your face. The pain that exploded through your left forearm as the blade cut through your skin was unbearable. A pained cry escaped you as your vision blurred. Had you been hit elsewhere? You dropped to the ground, cradling your injury close to your chest. 

“Don’t touch them!” Your father cried, before a loud thump echoed through the streets. You wanted to go to him, to see if he was alright, but your legs wouldn’t work. 

Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the end to come. I love you father. I’m sorry I failed to protect you. I hope I made you proud Phainon. I’m sorry I never told you-

An awful sound, like nails on a chalkboard, overwhelmed your senses, but the impact never came. You blinked open your eyes to see a blade sticking out of the Titankin’s chest. It stumbled as that sound filled the air once again, and collapsed into a pile of dust. 

For a moment, the debris shrouded your saviour in mystery, but when they ran forward and took you in their arms, you knew your prayers had somehow been answered.

“What are you doing? Your arm, it’s…” Phainon’s voice trailed off as he observed the gash in your skin. You wanted to wrap your arms around his shoulders and never let go, but decided upon remembering your bleeding injury and his white coat. 

“Phainon?” His name fell pathetically from your lips as tears clouded your vision. Your whole body numbed, until the pain in your arm was nothing but a dull ache. 

“I’m here,” he cupped your face in his hands, “I should have gotten here sooner, I’m-“

“Ahem,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in, interrupting your tender moment. 

Behind Phainon stood a beautiful woman with golden eyes. She held some sort of stick in her hand, its shiny material covered in the same dust-like material the Titankin had been reduced to. Her short skirt and accessories were unlike anything you’d ever seen in Okhema.

“Are you going to introduce your friend?” She grinned down at you and Phainon, slugging her weapon over her shoulder. 

“Leave them alone, Stelle.” An equally exotically dressed man called as he helped your father to his feet. You noticed he had a small scar under his right eye, although it did nothing to detract from his handsome features.

“You’re no fun,” the woman huffed, nudging his shoulder.

You turned your attention back to Phainon, who was watching the duo with as much confusion as you. “Who are they?” 

Before Phainon can speak, the grey woman responded: “we’re visitors from beyond the sky, come to rescue you in your hour of need.” 

Once again, the man tried to real-in his companion. “You can’t tell everyone that,” he hissed, which was met with the woman—Stelle—rolling her eyes. 

“Is she being serious?” You asked Phainon, as he and your father hoisted you off the ground. 

“Yes… Kind of,” Phainon answered once your feet were securely on the ground. “They really are from beyond the sky. And they helped me get to you.” 

You and your father exchanged confused looks as he examined your arm. “It’s nothing major, but we need to get this stitched up.” His hand lingered on yours. 

“The path ahead is cleared, find the guards, and get yourselves to safety.” Phainon orders, having adopted his “hero” persona.

“What about you?” 

A mere touch momentarily shatters his mask. “I’ll come back to you, I promise. We need to clear out the rest of the city and get to Nikador.”

“Nikador is here?” Your father suddenly seemed uneasy. 

The man from beyond the sky ushered Serena to the exit, “leave the Titan to us, sir. Get your children to safety.” 

“You’re facing Nikador? Now?” Your voice wavered with emotion. 

“The Chrysos Heirs will defend the city from this threat,” Phainon’s words were rehearsed, his mask slipping back into place. 

“They’re right,” your father placed a calming hand on your back. “We need to get to safety. Let the Chrysos Heirs do the fighting.” 

Phainon patted your hand reassuringly, “we’ll be okay. I promise.” 

There was much more you wanted to say, but the pain in your arm had returned. Your head was starting to feel fuzzy, and from the trail you left behind while walking, it was clear you were losing too much blood. 

“Good luck,” you told Phainon as your father led you from the market. As you left, the city’s mortician passed, but said nothing. 

Death had come to Okhema, and all you could do was pray that Phainon remained on its good side. 

[bugbxyjunk]

screaming

[serpentinegraphite]

So, first off, this is not an attempt to kink shame (dubcon and noncon are great!) but I do keep seeing a thing in fics (I do NOT see this irl in kink spaces nearly as often) where like. A character will interrupt the flow of the scene to check consent

And I don't mean in an "are we still green?" Or "what's your color?" kind of way, but I mean. The author has tagged the fic and indicated via prose and/or author notes that they are doing their Due Diligence to make sure this fic is Righteously Consensual from top to bottom, No Question About It

And a character will ask for full sexual consent either directly or indirectly or renegotiate the boundaries of the kinks being practiced AFTER the sex acts have already begun.

Here's the thing: horny brain isn't great at making decisions! irl in kink spaces, there's often a lot of emphasis on negotiating BEFORE the scene begins, perhaps even with a space between negotiation and the scene if it's with a new/unfamiliar partner (maybe it's a few minutes while things are set up, maybe the partners negotiate a day or more in advance! It depends!), and not changing the parameters of the scene after someone is already horny or god forbid already in subspace.

Again, these are perfectly fine rules to break in fiction, when the author is aware of it (most characters are not going to be fully familiar with safe, sane, consensual practices and the traffic light system, nor would we want them to be!) but I'm increasingly finding fics where the author DOESN'T seem aware, which takes a normal fic (in-character, with reasonable but perhaps even somewhat dubious practices, which the author isn't emphasizing or preaching about) into Red Flag Territory (a character, OOC, yanking me out of the scene to behave like a PSA about consent instead of conforming to the horny tone of the scene, and perpetuating unsafe practices anyway)

If you are writing a master manipulator or someone who wants to have a gotcha, you totally said it was okay on a character they are trying to bone (which is well in the realm of non/dubcon) that's fine! This PSA is not aimed at you. But if you are trying to write someone who Cares Strongly About Consent, then perhaps be more aware of when is an appropriate time to escalate the situation (sexually speaking) or ask for consent!

[nexus-nebulae]

so. for A Long While now we've considered officially pursuing converting to judaism. and we've finally really started the whole research process and getting familiarized with the religion and everything and. does anyone have tips on how to feel comfortable in a new religion when you've been so harmed by specific religious groups in the past (especially when the religion you have bad history with is so close to the one you're converting to, like being another abrahamic religion)

[sideblogforweirdshit]

Whump Reference Post for Fingernail Removal Torture

 Hi whump writers of Tumblr! I recently made a little introduction post in which I said I’d be making reference posts. This is one I already had typed up, because for some reason this was the first thing I thought of.

There are no images attached, but I’m putting the rest of the post under a readmore since the majority of the content is semi-graphic written description of the how-to’s and wherefore’s and such of fingernail removal torture.

To be clear: I will be going into as much depth as I possibly can without using images. The content of this post will be purely academic. There will be no artistic liberties taken. This post is meant to be as accurate to (and descriptive of) a real-life situation as possible.

I hope some part of this post eventually winds up being a helpful resource for someone!

1) Not as painful as it’s made out to be

-It's painful, but definitely not to the extent it’s shown in movies or whatnot. A lot of the "pain" comes from the shock factor of seeing your body without something it’s always had, as well as the inherent "wrongness" that comes with experiencing a part of your body being removed.

2) There is very very thin film of skin between the fingernail and the finger.

-If one is careful in removing the fingernail by peeling it back slowly, one can preserve this thin piece of skin. -If one pulls the fingernail back quickly and without taking care, this thin film will rip, and the nail will pull away with bits of flesh attached.

3) The flesh under the nail will be vertically striated.

-If one uses the peel-back method, and is careful to not let the thin film of skin between the nail and the flesh rip, the skin/flesh underneath the nail will be as visibly striated as the fingernail itself. If you look closely at your fingernail right now, you’ll see that there are many tiny grooves from the tip of your nail to the base. This is true for all human fingernails. If the nail is peeled back with sufficient care, those striations will be echoed on the skin underneath the nail.

4) The  “peel entirely off” method versus the  "peel back and then stop" method versus the "pull out entirely" method.

-The “peel entirely off” method is how I will refer to the method of grasping firmly the tip of the fingernail in some sort of vice (usually pliers) and then peeling it backwards, moving the pliers from the nail at the tip of the finger towards the hand itself. Using this method, the nail will remain firmly grasped in the pliers the entire time. The movement of the pliers only stops when the base of the nail is ripped entirely out of the finger. This will necessarily result in ripping out a fair bit of skin past the cuticles, as the technical base of the nail (aka “nail matrix”) is generally around half a centimeter hand-wards past the cuticles (and follows the curve of the nail, so is deeper than the cuticles as well). Due to the nature of skin, I would expect a tear reminiscent of an extremely deep hangnail that goes from the base of the cuticles to at least halfway between the first and second knuckle (and at most goes to the second knuckle). In this case, it is not guaranteed that the nail will grow back. There is a chance it’ll come back, but there is also a chance that the nail matrix is permanently damaged and will not be able to grow a new nail. Since every human is different, there’s not an exact science to determining where a person’s nail matrix is before it’s ripped out. A (very) general rule of thumb is to follow the curve of the existing fingernail, and draw a point on that curve before it hits bone. Obviously, this is extremely subjective.

-The “peel back and then stop” method is how I will refer to what is essentially the previous method, but one stops before the nail-ripping goes past the cuticle and snips off the peeled part, leaving a milimeter or so of fingernail existing on the nailbed. In this case, it is assured that the nail matrix is undisturbed, and the fingernail will grow back. This is the method I will assume is taken for the future steps

-The “pull out entirely” method is how I will refer to the situation where one grasps the protruding part of the nail firmly, and applies force away from the hand and in the direction the finger points. In this case, there’s a large chance that the nail will rip. This depends largely on the care taken with the pulling object (pliers, usually) to grab the nail exactly parallel with the sides of the pliers. If any part of the pliers digs into the nail at a singular location, this will create a point at which pressure will build up, and the nail will likely rip at this location. The strength of the individual’s nails also affects the ripping. The individual’s nail strength can vary based on nourishment as well as on a general person-to-person basis. Personally, I do not recommend this method.

-If one wants to make the removal definitely permanent, there’s the possibility of peeling it back all the way down and out, and then chemically burning where one assumes the nail matrix is. (Some serious irl hikers do this to their toenails on purpose, to reduce the chances of getting ingrown toenails from being laced into hiking boots for days on end.) Removing the nail permanently will obviously reduce the opportunity to peel it off again, but will give a permanent Horrific Aspect to the victim.

5) For the first three days, the exposed flesh will be painful.

-The entire tip of the finger will be a constant deep and throbbing pain. Any deviation from this norm will be an increase in pain, never a decrease (save medication or an ice-bath-for-full-minutes immersion to the point of numbness).

-Any contact with the exposed nailbed will increase the pain. Knocking the exposed flesh against anything, even extremely gently, will result in a visible bright red welt under the thin layer of skin (bright red on light skin only! on darker skin, the welt will still be visible, but will show as a dark red-brown). It is a visual similar to an extremely tiny, non-protruding blood blister. Knocking the nailbed against something less gently will result in fully scraping off that delicate outer layer of skin.

-Using the finger for anything will be painful (though not unbearably so), and it may even be painful to bend the finger at all.

-Any moisture on the exposed flesh (including anything from regular water to antibiotic ointment) will hurt a lot. This will intensify the throbbing at least twofold across the entire nailbed, and will also result in an amount of stinging as if one had just realized one had been stung by a bee.

6) For treatment and healing thereof (if quick healing is desired)

For those first three days, any bandaid application is inadvisable -The exposed flesh will be so tender and vulnerable that any bandaid (even the non-stick kind) will stick to the exposed flesh and rip it upon removal. I can only assume this is in part due to the curvature of the finger, which means that any wrapping-around type bandaid will inherently put pressure on the nailbed, resulting in sticking.

-To promote healing, the first three days should be without any sort of covering on the wound.

After the first three days, a scab will form. -At this point, the pain will be much less. it might be uncomfortable to bump the nailbed into objects, but it will not be the same pain as in the first three days.

-The wound will also be much less sensitive to moisture.

-When the scab starts to crack (usually a vertical crack), one should apply antibiotic ointment and a bandaid. At this point in the proess, it is desired for the scab to remain as consistently moist as possibly. This will help the scab fall off when it is ready to do so.

-At this point, the finger can be used normally (within reason) without much (if any) pain.

After two or three days with the bandaid covering, the scab will start to fall off.

-One may expedite this process if one is careful.

-At this point, the skin on the nailbed is sensitive to the touch, but not to the point of pain.

-There will be some dry, loose skin around the edges of the nailbed.

-The previously visible striation will no longer be there.

-Pressure on the exposed nailbed will not be necessarily painful, but it will feel decidedly Odd. Though not painful, It will be an extremely sensitive area.

-The nailbed will be a delicate pinkish color.

Around a week after the initial scab falls off, there will appear to be another scab. It will be a relatively thin layer of dry, dead skin.

-If the nail is allowed to grow normally, it is likely that it will cover this second scab before it has the chance to fall off.

-If the stub of the fingernail is trimmed routinely, it is possible for the scab to fall off, leaving only relatively smooth unblemished skin where the nailbed is. This skin will be roughly the same color and texture as the skin on the tip of the finger. 

7) The rate at which fingernails grow back is extremely slow

-The average growth rate is about 3.5 milimeters per month. There are several factors that can cause this to vary:

-Fingernails on the dominant hand grow back faster than the nails on the non-dominant hand.

-Fingernails grow back faster than toenails.

-Nails grow back faster in warm weather than in cold weather.

-Depending on the nail and the aforementioned conditions, one can expect a total regrowth time of anywhere from three to six months (or more).

8) Life Without Fingernails

-Fingernails affect a large part of our everyday lives. We mostly use them when we’re manipulating objects with our hands, and we use them to scratch. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but it’s a lot. It’s hard to explain just how weird it is to not have fingernails to someone who’s never experienced it, but here goes:

-Fingernails are the Hard Backs used to brace our fingers against a hard shell when we manipulate something with our hands. If you pinch your fingers together right now, you’ll see a white band along the top of your fingernail. This is where the pressure from the pinching goes; it’s braced against your nail.

-Picking something up without fingernails feels extremely odd the first few hundred times you do it. It takes a long time to get used to it.

-Writing is even worse. Without the hard shell backing your fingers, the pencil tends to slip out of your grip more often. If you usually have long enough fingernails that you balance your pen/pencil on them, you’re extremely likely to have the pencil completely slip out of your grip multiple times a sentence.

-You don’t realize how much you unconsciously scratch itchy parts of your body until you no longer have the ability to do so. If you’re only missing a few nails, you have to consciously adjust your hand so that you can scratch with the existing ones. If you’re missing all of them, you have to actively find an external object to alleviate the itch.

Some places on the body one can scratch with their teeth, but for most places, one needs to either find an “itch stick,” or rub that part of their body on something scratchy. A lot of clothing is scratchy enough to work for this. One needs to learn how to vary the pressure so that one can alleviate the itch without tearing through the skin or scratching themselves.

Pros:

-Body horror

Fingernail removal is a more mentally significant mutilation than cuts or burns, if only because it draws on the "that was there and now it's not" aspect of body horror.

-Can be inflicted more than once

Since fingernails grow back, they can be removed again and again and again. Though it may take some time for the nails to regrow, it isn't even close to the type of permanent that’s chopping off a finger or a toe.

-Helplessness

Since it takes a few days for the nailbeds to heal enough to be able to use one's fingers, a complete removal of all fingernails will take away one's ability to use their hands. Even after this initial period of extreme sensitivity, the lack of fingernails is something most people aren’t prepared for. The previous section explaining how fingernails affect daily life is significant here.

 Cons:

-Can’t repeat often.

Once a fingernail is off, it's not coming back for at least three months (likely longer). It doesn't have the relatively quick reset time that burns or cuts do.

-Relatively short amount of time in pain

All of the pain is in the first few days. It is inconvenient afterwards, but there is little to no pain at this time.

-Amount of care needed

One needs to be relatively careful inflicting this. Fingernails are not as resilient as you'd think, and the likelihood of them ripping before you can finish ripping them off is fairly large if you're not being careful.

If you have a short-tempered or impatient whumper, this might not be their particular wheelhouse.

 Conclusion

Overall, I’d say that the effectiveness depends entirely on the desired result. The time it takes for the fingernails to regrow versus the amount of time in which the subject is in pain is not a very productive ratio, so if you’d want your whumper doing a particular torture regularly, I wouldn’t recommend this.

However, if the whumper’s goal is to appeal to the body horror aspect without permanent damage, this is a great option. The fact that it takes nails so long to regrow gives the victim a sense of horrified freakishness. It also has the added benefit of reducing the victim’s maneuverability far after the fact.

The semi-visible nature of this method of torture can be effective if one wishes to horrify characters outside the whumper/whumpee relationship. You don’t immediately look at other people’s hands when you meet them, and as such it might take a while for outside characters to notice the lack of fingernails (especially if they’re past the three day mark). But once they notice, it will be hard to look away.

[wildflowercryptid]

something that's been weighing on my mind ever since learning about the situation with ezra / toonimal is seeing how these predators will take the active hostility that is frequently directed towards minors in online spaces to their advantage and use it to prey on vulnerable children. i think that we as adults in online fandom should probably come together and maybe rethink the language / manner we go about interacting with kids bc clearly the way things are rn is causing active harm.

like obviously, if you're an adult and aren't comfortable with minors interacting with you or your content, you should be allowed to set that boundary and should be vocal about it, ( especially if the content you create isn't safe for them to consume. ) but i don't think talking to them like they're a blight on all that is good and holy is the way to go about it. maybe just saying you're an 18 plus account will suffice, you don't have to tell them to fuck off.

[hikeyzz]

.

[a-really-cool-blog-name]

Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room a rubber room with rats, the rats made me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy onc- *Gets shot*

[ladsonlads]

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part Two

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> I'm sorry it took so long. I have been obsessing over trying to make part two perfect but I don't think I can. It's time I share my baby with you, and I really hope you enjoy it.

Tags -> Angst, fluff :)

Trigger Warnings -> Character death, heavily mentions grief. Some parts are suggestive but there is no smut.

Word Count -> 18.8K (it got kinda crazy)

Late October

It was cold, dark and gloomy; the weather a perfect pathetic fallacy to the narrative of your life. The freshly disturbed patch of grass failed to convey the significance of who laid underneath it. It was vexing, how the world continued to spin on it’s axis despite the fact that it stopped spinning for you. 

It hurt to think about the events that led to your undoing. The weeks prior to the moment your mother drew her last breath. You were a cracked vase filled with wilting flowers and overflowing regret. Every breath you took consumed more energy than you could spare and yet the world just. Kept. Spinning. 

“I brought you flowers. Yellow tulips, by the way.” The words felt like lead on your tongue. It was one thing to accept your mother was never coming back, it was another to try to act normal about it. “I know you never cared for them, but I didn’t think leaving a pack of cigarettes on your grave was very tasteful.” You bitterly smiled to yourself at the memories of your mom sneaking a cigarette in the backyard when she thought you were asleep. It was a nasty habit you did everything to rid her of. A fruitless attempt to protect her from the inevitable. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t figured out your epitaph yet. It’s just so hard to condense your entire life into a few words. Plus, they charge by the letter, so I’m trying to be really selective.” It felt weird, speaking into empty space, but you read online that it helped with grief, so you tried anyway. 

That was how you approached most things nowadays. Eating, drinking, sleeping, they all seemed meaningless. But, you knew you couldn’t survive on just antagonism and mourning, so you did it anyway. 

“Zayne called again. I know you told me not to hate him and that it wasn’t his fault, but I can’t bring myself to agree.” 

The moment Zayne told you that the heart that could save your mother’s life was going to someone else replayed in your mind like a scratched vinyl stuck on an aggravating note.

“I got so frustrated by his constant calls that I threw my phone into the ocean.” You let out a sad laugh. “Guess that’s the last time I bring anything with me when I’m walking along the coast.” 

You paused for a moment, feeling stupid. But you had so much to say to her, it all just began spilling out.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I might lose the house. I burned through all my paid leave, and the idea of going back to work for Sylus makes me want to put my head through a wood-chipper. I know I have to, but how can I focus on work when I have nothing left to work for?” You tasted the tears before you felt them, the saltiness reminded you of your weekends at the beach with your mom. You did everything to get out of joining her, you hated the beach, but it was her favourite place to be and in a desperate attempt to cling on to whatever was left of her, you forced it to be yours too.

“I’m sorry I never got you that house you dreamed of, or the dog. I’m sure there are lots of dogs in heaven, and at least the dogs there have been screened. With my luck any dog I would’ve gotten you would’ve been evil.” You teetered around the grievance you truly wanted to apologise for. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t spend much time with you before you passed away. I was so sure you would get the transplant. I tried so hard to save for it. I should’ve been with you. If I knew—” The sobs raked through you with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat down next to her tombstone, leaning your head against the chiseled rock. 

There were moments when you’d wake up, and in the haze of your muddled mind you’d forget she was dead. But then the ache in your body is deciphered by your mind, and you’re reminded of just how much you’ve lost. Maybe that’s why they called it mourning. Grief dawned on you like the rising sun.

Life had a way of being entirely unfair, and there was nowhere to hide from fate’s piercing claws. And as if to ensure you hadn’t forgotten just how cruel life could be, your head whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind you to find the last person you wanted to see.

Sylus was dressed in a long black coat hanging effortlessly off of his broad shoulders, a black dress shirt that really should’ve been buttoned up to the top, and a pair of black slacks that made his long legs look impossibly longer. He looked every bit the cunning grim reaper, and it wasn’t just because he was surrounded by graves.

“I didn’t know you were back in the N109 Zone.” The words came out harsher than you intended as your head returned to it’s position against the rock. 

Sylus stopped in front of you, lowering himself to his haunches so that you would be face-to-face. It stung to look at him, so you focused on picking at the grass instead. 

“I only got back a few hours ago. I heard about your mother. I’m sorry.” Having been deprived of his voice for over a month, you cursed the butterflies that coursed through you like muscle memory. Part of you wished he’d returned disfigured, but you knew it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Ugly or devastatingly beautiful, the storm that was Sylus could not be stopped, only weathered. 

“Sorry that she died or sorry that you weren’t there?” The bitterness in your tone was unfamiliar to you. Even though you knew it was unfair of you to expect him to have stayed, he left immediately after he dropped you off at the hospital and you hoped he’d have been there just a little longer. It didn’t help that you didn’t hear from him until two weeks later, and by then you were too engrossed in your battle against Akso hospital’s medical board to respond. 

“You haven’t been answering my calls; they’re not even going through anymore. You haven’t blocked me, have you?” Sylus countered your question with one of his own. If you cared enough, you might’ve called him out on his diversion. 

“No, my phone broke.” That was an understatement if there ever was one. 

“How long ago?”

“A week.” That much was true and since you couldn’t afford a smart phone, a shitty $30 flip phone weighed down your pocket. 

“And all the times I called before then?” Sylus’s eyes perused you with intensity, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. You weren’t dressed well, in a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you and a matching hoodie. Grieving people were allowed to dress terribly without judgement, Y/N. It’s okay.

“I didn’t feel like picking up.” The grass continued to bare the brunt of your nerves as you answered. The you that wasn’t effectively an orphan would’ve made up some excuse to protect his feelings, but you were resolved to change that. Your mother was strong, independent, and she never backed down from a fight. Not against men like Sylus, and not against her illness. If you wanted to honour her memory then you had to live your life the way she’d want you to.

“Do you have a phone now?” 

You reached into the pocket of your sweatpants to take out the grey flip phone. You watched as Sylus bit back a laugh.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t need you to get me anything.” You quickly retorted.

“You’re going to need a phone from this century if you’re working for me, Y/N.” He said it so casually, as if you were put on this earth solely to serve him as his accountant. 

“Right, about that…” Your determination to be confident and unapologetic began to dwindle as you wondered how to tell Sylus you needed more time.

“No. Resigning is not an option.” Twelve minutes. It took Sylus twelve minutes to return to his usual controlling self. You were impressed, truly, it was a new record after all. 

“We don’t have a blood pact, Sylus. I can resign if I want to. Besides, that’s not what I was going to say. I need more time off.” You didn’t sound very convincing, but it wasn’t like you could change who you were overnight. It would take a lifetime to unlearn your bad habits. 

Sylus looked conflicted, as if he didn’t know what to say. When he chose to finally open his mouth, you wished he hadn’t.

“I’ve given you a month, Y/N. That’s enough.” His statement came out so matter-of-factly, you wondered if you had imagined it. A month was not nearly enough to recover from losing your mom, but you figured a man who killed people for a living wouldn’t understand. 

“It’s only been two weeks since she died. And I’m sure the temp you’ve got is perfectly competent.”

“The temp doesn’t know the company like you do and I haven’t bothered teaching him on the premise that you were returning. If you’re not back soon I can’t promise you’ll have a job to come back to.” 

The tension in the air dissipated as you began to laugh. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Hysterically. 

“You— You seriously think I care whether or not I have a job? I can barely will myself to eat right now—employment is not my priority.” You wiped back the tears that began to spill out. Their origin unknown, between your hysteria and sorrow, your eyes were constantly puffy.

“People die all the time, sweetheart. It’s no reason to throw your future away.” Sylus stood up straight at the end of his statement, holding his hand out to you. 

The angel on your shoulder whispered that in his own peculiar way, this was his attempt at comforting you. But you stopped listening to that angel when they buried your mom under six-feet of dirt, and you couldn’t help the word vomit that escaped you like water barrelling out of a splintered dam. 

You pushed away his hand, and stood up to look at him with a ferocity you didn’t know you possessed.

“I get that something really dark and twisted must have happened in your youth to make you so heartless, but most people have shitty childhoods, sweetheart. We choose not to be terrible, insufferable people because of it.” The unbridled rage you’d spend so long trying to suppress seeped out of you uncontrollably as you screamed at Sylus. You walked toward him, your anger taking hold of you as you began to push him away. A few months ago you would’ve given anything to touch him, now all you cared about was making him feel a semblance of the pain he instilled in you. 

“Some of us choose to feel our emotions in their entirety, regardless of how much it hurts, because we’re not scared to love and lose. You’re a coward, Sylus and you may think that my mother dying is just an inevitable consequence of life, but my world will never be the same.” In an attempt to calm down, you took a deep breath.

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.” The word vomit continued, and when you saw the hurt flash briefly within his eyes, you felt the arms of regret begin to sink their claws into you. 

You shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t you.

But before you could take it all back, Sylus’s phone began ringing and you figured from the urgency in which he answered it must’ve been her. 

“I lost track of time, I’ll be right there.” He spoke in a low voice in what you could only assume was an attempt to mask the fact that he was leaving you for something more important, again. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Just go.” You waved him off and turned back around to face your mother’s grave, though now the tears welling up in your eyes couldn’t be entirely attributed to the grief. 

Early November

You weren’t sure time could heal the gaping wound your mother’s passing left behind, but grief had settled into your life like an imposing aunt. It was in your home, touching your things, ruining your food, and never once leaving you alone. It didn’t feel so all-consuming anymore, but it clung onto you constantly like a shadow. 

You were watching the third Harry Potter movie at 8am when you received the eviction notice via Email. You’d been expecting it, ultimately you were behind on rent, but the reason plastered on the paper was exponentially worse than your own incompetence.

…Selling to developers…suburban expansion project…

As if losing your childhood home wasn’t bad enough, they were planning on destroying it. Memories were bound to decay with time, that was an inevitable consequence of being human. Sooner or later you’d forget the way your mom dressed, or the smell of her perfume. Tangible things like photographs, places, they kept those memories anchored. You couldn’t lose the house, it wasn’t an option. 

You spent the next hour trying to reason with your landlord over the phone, but he was committed to selling. He rejected every single one of your proposals, though even you knew they were weak at best. The developers were offering significantly more than market value, there was no way you could beat that. Stupid gentrification. But, your landlord told you he was sympathetic, and the deal hadn’t been finalised just yet. If you could match the developer’s offer by the end of the month, he’d gladly sell it to you instead.

Of course the developer’s offer was $800,000, and by the looks of your financials, you were about $796,312 short. 

Desperate for a catharsis for your unending frustration, you screamed into the throw pillow on your couch until your throat felt raw. Then, you opened up your laptop to figure out a plan. 

30 minutes later you had:

Sell your kidney to an organ broker and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score. 

Dabble briefly in prostitution and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.

Become a squatter and protest the demolition of your home environmental-activist style. 

“Wow, Y/N. Graduated top of your class and this was all you could come up with, huh?” You muttered to yourself as you stared at the list of terrible ideas. Your mind hadn’t come up with something so horrific since the bed-in-breakfast Mother’s Day fiasco when you were 11. 

The only option that didn’t end in bodily harm or a prison sentence was to work as many jobs as humanly possible for the next few weeks in hopes you could somehow manage to accumulate the deposit for a loan. You could probably sell some appliances too, and maybe revisit the kidney idea if it came to it. 

Despite it being a long-shot, you had to try. You changed into a pair of flared leggings and a sweater. It was basic and borderline mismatched but traversing your explosive closet was a large undertaking you tended to avoid. You dug a copy of your old resume out from your file drawer, after all, it wasn’t like your experience as Onychinus’s accountant was going to do you any good. Further, listing Sylus as a reference would ensure you never got a job again. 

You figured the easiest place to start was the central district of the N109 zone, bars and restaurants there were constantly hiring and from what you’d heard their only requirement was that you had two functioning legs and arms. But when you tried to leave through the door to begin the job search you collided with a formidable wall. 

Since when was there a—

“Where you headed to, Y/N?” The familiar voice was so surprising it made you jump, the action accompanied by a shrill scream.

“What the fuck? Why are you just standing outside my door?” You rarely ever swore and you were sure that if your mother was still alive she’d throw her shoe at you for using the devil’s language. But of all the things you expected to see that morning, Sylus outside your door was not one of them. 

“Is that any way to welcome your old employer?” Sylus stepped into your home without an invitation. Conclusive proof against your theory that he was secretly a vampire. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked again, still staring at Sylus like he sprouted a second head. You couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d show up at your place of residence, he never did while you were still his employee.

“I need you to come back.” You choked back a laugh at his ridiculous request. Was he insane?

“Go to hell.” Your vicious response didn’t sway Sylus. 

“I’ve fired an accountant every week since you left. The accounts are in complete disarray, half my businesses are behind on their bills, the other half have been paying the wrong amounts to the wrong companies. My investors are unhappy, my debtors are one week away from assuming I’ve gone bankrupt and I haven’t slept in weeks. Come. Back.” While it stroked your ego to hear that the organisation was suffering in your absence, you couldn’t just forget the terrible way he’d treated you in and out of the workplace. 

“You insisted I was especially replaceable and now you’re saying you can’t replace me?” You chose to remind him of just how horrid of an employer he was, an action he didn’t appreciate. 

“If you’re going to dwell on the semantics I’d rather just cut to the chase. What’s it going to take to get you back?” Sylus’s tone suggested he was truly trying to negotiate with you. Of course a man like him didn’t know how to take no for an answer. 

“Pigs to fly.” You quipped, opening your door in hopes he’d get the hint and leave. 

“Y/N, I’m serious. We can’t survive without you.” His desperation went straight to your head, but you stood your ground. 

“Then die.” You tried to shove him out of your doorway, but he was about as easy to move as a truck. 

“Everyone has something they desire, sweetheart. Name your price.” While you were ready to fire up a quick retort, his suggestion reminded you of the very reason you were about to leave the house. 

Perhaps this was a sign; you could swallow your pride if it meant you got to keep your home. 

You pretended to give it thought, sighing loudly in contemplation. “Fine. I want a sign-on bonus. Or in this case, a re-sign-on bonus, I guess…” You trailed off, unsure if he would agree. 

“Alright, how much?” He was quick to accept your terms, and you decided to test the waters of just how desperate he was for your return. 

“A million dollars.” 

“Done.” 

Dammit, you should’ve asked for more. 

“I want a personal driver too, I’m sick of biking to work.” You would’ve been okay with just the bonus, after all, it was insanely generous. But you’d be a fool not to milk this opportunity for what it was worth.

“Anything else, princess?” The condescending nickname only added fuel to the fire as you fired off more requests. 

“I don’t want to share my office with the twins anymore, they’re loud and annoying and they have no respect for the sanctity of my monthly budgets.”

“Okay.”

You masked your shock at his sudden magnanimity. “One last thing. Since you’ve come to the realisation that I am, in fact, a valuable asset to your organisation, you’re not allowed to be a dick to me anymore.” 

“Elaborate.”

“No more calling me stupid or other degrading insults, threatening my job security, threatening my life — just no more threats in general — and if you’re going to assign me extra work that is beyond the scope of my job description, a please and thank you would be nice.”

“You’re pushing it, Y/N.” Of course treating his employees like human beings was the most difficult request. 

“You just agreed to give me a million dollars and being nice to me is where you draw the line?” 

Sylus sighed, deliberating in silence for a moment. When he saw that your resolve was unrelenting, he begrudgingly agreed. He wasn’t sure where your newfound confidence was coming from, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it the slightest bit attractive. 

“Alright, you’ve made your case. I’ll agree to your conditions. Now, please fix it.” 

It took every fibre of your being not to break out into song and dance at your victory. “Let me get my coat.”

______________

You stared at the horrific mess your beautiful spreadsheet had turned in to. This was a disaster. A colossal, unfathomable disaster. “How could you let it get this bad?” Your voice was dripping with fear, it was like staring a train wreck. 

“It wasn’t like it happened on purpose. Besides, if you’d never—” Sylus interrupted his own sentence which you were sure contained an insult, and you could almost hear the evil chuckle resounding in your head at the sight of his obedience. This was going to be fun. 

“This is going to take forever to fix.” It would actually only take the day, but you didn’t need to tell him that.

“I need it fixed by the end of the week. Please.” He looked pained as he added the nicety. Soooooo much fun.

“Add on a massage chair for my office and I’ll get it done by Wednesday.” You wondered just how far you could push his desperation. 

“Deal.” He held his hand out for you to shake and when you did, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Now you could tell people ‘How to Tame Your Dragon’ was loosely based on your life. 

“You know, Sylus, I’m liking this new dynamic.” Your shit-eating grin couldn’t be wiped off of your face no matter how hard you tried.

“Oh I can tell. Now, get to work.” Sylus made a show of pulling out your office chair for you, and when you sat in it for the first time in two months, you felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And for once, the recollection of your past didn’t hurt as much as it usually did.  

Mid-November

This time around, your employment under Sylus was much more pleasant. Surprisingly, he’d actually adhered to your conditions. 

The twins were slightly offended that you no longer wanted to share your office with them, but their gratefulness for your return trumped any antagonism they had for you. You were kind of a celebrity in Onychinus’s executive team, their saviour, if you will. 

But, the enjoyment of your newly established status could not be savoured. Undoing months of mistakes was turning out to be positively exhausting. You were an accountant; socially awkward, stuck to her Excel sheets, spent most of her free time indulging in shitty rom-coms. You were not built for briefing CEOs, Chairmen, investors, subsidiaries and of course, debtors, on your commitment to stability via video call.

Sylus insisted it had to be you, even though he usually handled the bureaucratic part of the organisation. Something about him not being able to answer their questions regarding the numbers. You told him you would tell him what to say through an ear piece like a spy movie, but he responded with a resounding no. 

It was more like ‘hell will freeze over before I turn into a glorified puppet, Y/N, blah blah blah’.

Every single one-on-one conference call made you feel like you were getting hives. Not to mention the active effort it took you to refrain from making stupid jokes at every opportunity. When the last one with the representative from Onychinus’s main bank was over, you had officially smoothed over all bad blood between Onychinus and it’s stakeholders.

Giving yourself a moment to recalibrate from the sheer amount of social interaction you had been subjected to, you glared at the shared calendar event. ‘Miss Hunter’s Birthday in 13 days’.

You tried to distract yourself from that familiar sinking feeling in your gut with your work. Sylus never remembered your birthday, but it wasn’t like it mattered. You were his accountant, he was your boss. That was the extent of your relationship, even though you’d both said things to each other that would cause your HR department, if you had one, to self-emulate. But in the chaos of buying your home, going back to work and learning how to navigate life with your unwanted companion; grief, you’d forgotten all about your feelings for Sylus.

They weren’t gone but they were muted, like a voice screaming out to you while your head was underwater. Most of the time they were easy to ignore, but in times like these they were too loud to overlook.

You couldn’t dwell on your self-pity for long because there was a knock at your door. No one ever knocked on your door, people just tended to barge in.

“Come in?” Confusion dripped from your voice. When the door opened to a pair of twins with shameful smiles, you knew they were about to ask you for a favour.

“We… fucked up.” Three words you never wanted to hear coming out of either Luke or Kieran’s mouth.

“What have you done?”

“Long story short. Boss sent us to pick up a gem for Miss Hunter’s birthday. It’s really rare. The man who owns them is this older, heart of gold type old guy who refuses to sell to nefarious people because of his outdated principles. He wouldn’t give it to us, said something about us being part of Onychinus. We knew if boss didn’t get this gem today he’d have our heads displayed on mantels in his office, so we threatened the old man with a gun and then an entire arsenal of security appeared out of thin air and we were blacklisted from the property.” Kieran’s explanation left you astounded. 

The twins had their fair share of asinine mistakes, but this one might have taken the cake. 

“You threatened an old man with a gun…” 

“Yes.” Kieran responded. 

“Over a gem?” You asked in disbelief. 

“A very rare gem!” Luke corrected. 

“Huh. How am I supposed to help?” It was a genuine question, you didn’t really see a way out of this one. 

“Can you go and convince the old man to sell the gem to you?” Kieran’s request made your eyes widen in protest.

“No way! I’ve had my fill of uncomfortable business meetings.” And wasn’t that the truth. If you had to see one more man in a business suit ask you ‘if you even knew what you were talking about’ you might throw your laptop into the first body of water you could find. 

“Please, Y/N. Sylus will kill us. Do you want our deaths to hang over your conscience?” 

Luke’s question was an innocent hyperbole, but at the mention of deaths hanging over your conscience, you were reminded of your mom. Your face dropped, your fingers slowly forgetting what they were supposed to type. Kieran, the more observant twin, elbowed Luke.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, I’m not going to burst into tears.” You weren’t sure that was true quite yet, but fake it till you make it, right? 

“Will you help us? Please. We’ll owe you big time.” The line was clearly rehearsed since they said it in unison, or maybe it was some weird twin telepathy thing. Either way, it freaked you out so much you agreed. 

“Fine, what’s the address?”

_____________

You knocked on the large wooden door of a beautiful home. It was classically designed, a perfect intersection between modernity and the timeless complexity of archaic house designs. It was rare to see homes like these in a society that prided itself on progress. 

When you heard the sound of soft feet shuffling toward the door, you felt the guilt eat at you internally. You were tricking an old man into selling a gem to people he very reasonably did not want to sell to.

“Y/M/N?” 

Did he— why did he call you by your mother’s name?

“That was my mother, I’m her daughter, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank god, I was beginning to think I’d finally lost it. Come in, come in.” 

Your interest had been piqued, and you forgot all about the gem as you entered the old man’s home.

“I must say, I’m surprised you’re here. Did your mother send you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “She passed away just over a month ago.”

“Oh god. I’m so sorry, dear. Are you alright?” The question was filled with so much warmth it made tears well up in your eyes. Your mother never had any friends, and you were estranged from your extended family. You were all alone in your grief, and hearing someone who knew your mom in some capacity ask you if you were alright felt bittersweet.

“Yeah. I’m doing okay. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you know her?”

“You don’t know? I figured that was why you were here.” 

Right. The reason you were here, the gem.

“No, I’m actually here entirely coincidentally, I came to acquire a gem.”

“Which gem were you after, dear?” He asked the question as he looked around his living room for something.

“The Painite one.”

He stopped pacing and turned to you with an accusatory stare. “This wouldn’t happen to be related to those two rowdy boys who came by earlier, right?”

“Well…” You couldn’t lie to him. He looked like the old man from ‘Up’, it was entirely unfair. 

“I’m afraid I can’t sell to you. I’m concerned you’ve even gotten yourself wrapped up in such a terrible organisation.” He shook his head, his disappointment evident in his tone. 

“Look, I know what you’ve heard, but most of the rumours you hear about Onychinus don’t have a modicum of truth to them.”

“Then why hasn’t your boss cleared them up?” A great question. 

“In this business its good to have a reputation that instills fear in others. You’ve seen what people do for Protocores and black-market items. Onychinus serves as a… regulatory body of the underworld, the only people they harm are those that harm others.” The practiced speech came from years of listening to Sylus give it to yourself and others. 

“I don’t know dear, I’ve heard some horrific things about their leader, Sylus.” You were probably responsible for a few of those rumours…

“The only horrific thing about him is his sharp tongue. Seriously, he has a way of finding your worst insecurity and then using it to drag you through the dirt.” Recognising the unhelpful tangent, you digressed.

“But when it comes to business, he’s fair and when someone hurts the people he cares about, he’s merciless. He has a good heart, it’s just encased under a very thick layer of stone.” When he didn’t look convinced, you continued. 

“In fact, he wants this gem for a woman. She’s special to him and its her birthday in a few days. She’s a hunter, by the way, she saves lives. So, even if you don’t want to sell to Sylus because he’s probably half demon, you should sell it to her. You know, by proxy.” The argument was a stretch but you couldn’t help your rambling. 

“You are the spitting image of your mother.” 

The comment caught you off-guard.

“You think so?”

“I knew your mother when she was your age. She used to sing live at a bar I frequented with my friends. It was a simpler time, before wanderers attacked. I was head over heels in love with her, and I knew she felt the same way about me. But, she got wrapped up with the wrong guy, a real bad man, and it took finding out she was pregnant with you to break it off with him.” He recounted his past as he continued to search his drawers for something, when he came back to the couch in front of yours, he handed you a photo.

It was of your mother, except she was much younger. She was on a stage performing, a part of her life she never told you about. She looked happy and was glowing with the kind of ethereal beauty that never dwindled with time. He was right, you looked a lot like her. 

“Can I keep this?” You looked up at the man, and he gave you a small nod. 

“Of course. You know, I offered to help her when I found out, said I’d raise the baby as my own, but she told me I was destined for more than she could give me. Said she had to do this on her own. She was stubborn but she loved boundlessly, Y/N, just like you.”

You were confused, this man hadn’t known you for very long, how could he know such a thing? “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what that Sylus man has done to deserve your adoration, but I can tell you love him. And for you to come here on his behalf to convince me to sell him the rarest gem in the world for another woman? You truly do have your mother’s heart.” 

His words sprouted doubt and introspection. Why were you trying so hard to get Sylus such a romantic gift when it was meant for someone else? Were you secretly a masochist?

“If it’s alright with you Y/N, I’d love to get to know you. Your mother was my first love, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to about her.” 

You gave him the sincerest smile you could come up with. “I’d like that. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about her either.”

“As for the gem, I’ll sell it to you but only if you promise to love a man who will go to these lengths for you, not someone else.” 

“I promise.” You’d promise to try, at least. You told the man, who you now knew was Dr Jeffery Hunt the geologist, that you needed to get back to work. You exchanged contact information with a promise to catch up later and trade stories about your mom. 

You left the house with the rarest gem in the world in one hand, and an infinitely more valuable picture of your mother in the other. 

___________

You walked toward your office where Luke and Kieran should have been to find the door slightly ajar. You stopped just outside the door when you heard Sylus’s voice from inside your office.

“You sent Y/N to get the gem? Was the task too difficult for the two of you?” You tried to sympathise with the twins, but it was kind of funny to see Sylus berate someone else for once.

“The owner said he wouldn’t sell to Onychinus—” Kieran’s attempt at an explanation was shot down instantly.

“So you pick some random person off the street and send them in instead. You don’t send the girl the gem is for to go retrieve her own present. You have completely ruined the surprise.”

Wait, what?

“No, it’s fine, we sent Y/N not Miss Hunter.”

“Miss Hun— why would you assume it’s for her?” The question hung in there for an uncomfortable moment, after all you assumed the same thing. 

“Her birthday’s in a few days.” Luke timidly added. 

“How do you know that?” 

“It’s in the shared calendar.”

“Fuck.” 

With your ear plastered shamelessly against the door, you smiled to yourself. He had a bad habit of putting personal events in the shared calendar.

“The gem was for Y/N. Thanks to you imbeciles I have to figure something else out.” 

Why was the gem for you? Was it poisonous? You started down at the velvet box in your hand and wondered if the gem was secretly a teeny tiny bomb. 

“Is it Y/N’s birthday soon too?” Kieran’s question offended you. Your birthday was in March and both he and Luke were at your celebratory birthday dinner last year. 

“No, that’s in March. It’s to celebrate her 3rd year with Onychinus. Although now I’m wondering if your time here has come to an end.” It was kind of sadistic, but it was comforting to know that Sylus threatened other people’s job security over minor inconveniences too. 

“No! Please, we promise we’ll make it up to you.” 

You stopped listening to the conversation as you opened the box in your hand. The gem glistened under the artificial lights as questions fired off in your brain. He wanted to give this gem to you? How did he even remember the day you started at Onychinus? And he knew your birthday?

Before you could search for the answers, the sound of footsteps approaching the door made you panic. You tried fruitlessly to escape the long hallway but Sylus stormed out before you could.

“I um, got that gem for you.” You pretended you weren’t eavesdropping and held the gem out to him, but he pushed it back toward you. 

“Thanks. I was going to have it turned into a necklace, but since the cat’s out of the bag, you can decide what to do with it.” He clearly knew you’d heard everything and gave the twins a pointed glare as they scurried out of your office. 

“It’s really too much. Most employers get their employees a gift card or something.” You tried to hand it back again, but he was unrelenting. 

“I’m not most employers, and you definitely aren’t most employees.” The loaded compliment made you bite back a smile. 

“In that case, a necklace would be nice. I have a photo of my mom when she was my age, she wore a necklace with a similar looking gem. Do you think you could find someone who can copy the design? It would mean a lot. I’d pay for it, of course.” You kept the photo in your wallet now, it quickly became one of your favourites. When you passed the photo to him, he looked at it for far longer than necessary. 

“Consider it done, and your money’s no good with me. Save it for something else.” He paused for a moment, took a photo of the necklace on his phone and returned the photograph. “I see where you get your beauty from.” The comment was so nonchalant and inconsistent with Sylus’s usual dialogue that you were left speechless. Your heart battered against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape and mount itself onto him instead. Traitorous organ. 

You watched him turn around and walk toward his office. The sight of him walking away from you brought back memories of that day in the graveyard and what you’d said to Sylus before he left. 

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.”

The guilt was eating away at your conscience, and you knew you had to let him know that you didn’t mean what you said. Especially not now. 

“Sylus, wait.” He stopped just as his hand reached the doorknob of his office door and looked up at you expectantly.

You raked your mind for the right thing to say, and Sylus didn’t make a sound as you prolonged the silence. 

“If you died, I’d mourn you.” And you meant it. You maintained eye contact despite the urge to look away from his intense gaze in an attempt to convey your sincerity. 

He shook his head with a slight chuckle in response, and walked into his office wordlessly. 

You figured he hadn’t given what you said a second thought. It was foolish to think you could ever hurt the impenetrable Sylus’s feelings. You weren’t even sure he had feelings. 

But, unbeknownst to you, when Sylus closed the door behind him, he felt himself let out a breath that alleviated a pressure in his chest he didn’t know he’d been carrying. What you’d said to him in the graveyard weighed on him like an uncomfortable tumour. 

Sylus knew you were right, but the idea of no one caring for him never bothered him before, not until you said it. It dawned on him that the only person who’s idea of him actually affected how he thought of himself was yours. 

Late-November

“Finish up, we have a reservation at six.” At the sound of your boss’s  voice, you looked up from your computer screen. Your eyes were watery from staring at the ledger for hours but you still couldn’t reconcile the $15.70 that was missing. It was driving you insane.

“Was there a meeting I forgot existed?” The calendar looked empty from where it stood on your second monitor. Well, it was empty now that Sylus deleted the shared calendar event for Miss Hunter’s birthday which should’ve been yesterday. 

“No, it’s just us. I’m taking you to dinner. Now hurry up.” You couldn’t help the frown on your face. There was surely an ulterior motive. 

“Taking me to dinner? Are you asking me out on a date?” You were teasing; hell would freeze over before Sylus would ask anyone out on a date. Though, maybe he already had, after all he was busy yesterday…

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re celebrating your third year with Onychinus. As an employer I believe rewarding long-term employees can strengthen their loyalty to the company.” He regurgitated the words like they were toxic. 

“You stole that from the last issue of Forbes magazine. I would know since I was the one who gave you the article.” It was titled ‘Ten foolproof ways to make your employees like you’ and you thought it would be funny to leave it on Sylus’s desk. 

“And I’m responding to your feedback like number 4 on that list suggested. Now, do you want to go to this dinner or should I ask someone else?” 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat, you couldn’t miss out on a chance to see Sylus actively try to be a regular boss. Who could say no to dinner and a show?

“No, no, I’ll go.” You grabbed your bag off of the floor and followed Sylus out of the building. You asked him a series of questions about where you were going, when you’d be back, if you were getting paid for the time you were forced to spend with him, but he answered none of them. 

Sylus was driving for all of 2 minutes before you began to draft an appreciation letter to the inventor of seatbelts in your head. 

“You know, you may be harder to kill than a regular person, but I will die if you crash this car.” Pleading for your life in an expensive sports car was not how you expected to go. 

“It’s a little early in the night for your theatrics, Y/N.” Sylus’s deadpan tone did nothing to soothe your concerns as he turned yet another sharp corner with aggressive speed. 

“It’s also a little early in my life to die.” You unhelpfully added.

“Relax, will you? I’ve never crashed before.” 

Well, there’s a first time for everything. You thought as you tightly gripped the handle of the door. You found yourself suddenly missing the middle-aged man who would grouchily drive you to and from work. At least he drove like he valued his life. 

 _______

When you arrived to the place in one piece you felt severely under dressed. Sylus was wearing his regular attire, a suit without the tie, and you were dressed in linen pants and a turtleneck. Sylus never enforced a business dress code, though in that moment you found yourself wishing he did.

The restaurant was multi-level and sat at the top of a mountain. The exterior screamed affluence and you were sure everyone who dined there was in a different tax-bracket. Sylus reserved a table on the rooftop which unfortunately meant you had to ascend four levels in your mediocre outfit that made you stick out like a sore thumb. 

When you eventually reached your table, you quickly hid in your seat. While it was unrealistic to assume anyone would pay you any attention but your embarrassment was usually irrational. Nor, did it help that Sylus naturally made heads turn wherever he went. He was freakishly tall and unnervingly handsome; next to him anyone struggled to look attractive.

“You’re in a rush. Hungry?” Sylus asked across from you as you buried your face in the menu. You didn’t feel like explaining how being out with him made you feel insecure, so you forewent a response. 

The waiter quickly returned with a bottle of wine. Of course Sylus’s favourite wine was known universally. Why wouldn’t it be? He practically ruled the N109 Zone.

“Thanks, she’ll have a mojito.” Before you could tell the waiter not to bring you your favourite cocktail, he was gone.

“I’m not drinking.” Your protest fell on deaf ears. “Drinking with your boss is like number 1 on the list of things you shouldn’t do if you value your job.”

“You don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me, Y/N. You’ve done that plenty of times sober.” Sylus smirked as he made the dry joke and you held back the urge to step on his foot under the table.

Never mind. You needed a drink pronto.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Artichokes! I said the artichoke salad looks good.” You could tell Sylus wasn’t convinced, but he dropped the matter anyway. 

“Order whatever you’d like.” 

“There’s no prices on the menu.” You flipped it around every which way but not a single price appeared.

“Sweetheart, the people who can afford to dine here aren’t too concerned with prices. Don’t worry and order what you wish.”

Aw, how sweet. Sylus thought you enquired about the prices because you were concerned about overspending. As if. You knew that man’s financials inside and out, if anything, you wanted to order the most expensive things on the menu. 

“Jeez, my bad Mr One-Percent.” Your joke was not well received.

“Can we have one night without your incessant sarcasm?” The plea sounded genuine, but it was denied. 

“We could, but that’s no fun.”

“I find you painfully unfunny, Y/N.” You smiled to yourself at his blatant lie. Everyone found you funny. 

Before you could think of a retort, Sylus pulled out a large velvet box and slid it toward you on the table.

“What’s this?”

“The necklace.”

You opened it up eagerly and the sight of it brought pure bliss to your heart. It was exactly like the one your mother wore, and it was even more beautiful in person.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” Feeling slightly remorseful for your attitude prior to the gift-exchange, you gave him a sheepish smile.

Sylus watched you lift it up to put it on, but quickly interjected. “Allow me.” He stood up, walking toward your seat. Flushed, you clumsily turned around so your back was facing him. You felt goosebumps on your skin when his cold hands bunched your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers leaving a trail of wired nerves in their wake.

You took your hair from his hand to hold it up, the mere feeling of your fingers brushing his gave you heart palpitations. The act was way too intimate, and despite how it good it felt to have him so close, your brain knew it was safest to pray it would be over soon.

When Sylus was done he spun you around to face him and shamelessly observed his handiwork. “It looks good.” Your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes met his, so you sat in front of him in complete silence.

The moment was rudely interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Sylus? Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!” You both turned to the source of the voice to see Miss Hunter in a beautiful baby blue gown. As if you didn’t feel bad enough about your choice in attire. You began to smile until you noticed that the arm linked with hers belonged to your mortal enemy. Dr Zayne. 

You got up to greet them, despite your primal urge to push Zayne off the roof, but Sylus beat you to it. “Miss Hunter, always a pleasure.” You tried not to gag at the sight of Sylus being so gentlemanly. It became particularly hard when he kissed the top of her hand. 

“I didn’t know you knew Dr Zayne.” The comment slipped out of Sylus’s tense smile with a twinge of what you thought was hostility. Was he jealous that she was with Dr Zayne? Were you jealous that he was jealous? Are you in a soap opera?

“Oh, he’s a childhood friend andmy doctor! I’m very lucky. How do you know him?” Before you could whisper to Sylus to make up some excuse, he was firing off information about your personal life to the last two people you wanted to discuss your personal life with. 

“He was Y/N’s mother’s doctor.” Everyone went tense, everyone except for Miss Hunter, of course. 

Your eyes followed her as she turned to you, praying she wouldn’t ask about your mother’s health. Instead, she praised your nemesis. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”

You wanted to scream in protest. You wanted to swing a chair into Dr Zayne’s head, and then use the broken scraps to beat him to a pulp. But you opted to force a painful smile instead. 

“He’s definitely something.” You looked right at Zayne, hoping he’d understand the implications of your backhanded compliment.  

“Well, we were just here to celebrate my birthday yesterday, but the hostess said it was all booked out and silly Zayne forgot to make a reservation. We just came up to the rooftop to get some pictures, but you guys should enjoy your dinner!” Miss Hunter’s polite dismissal was the perfect opportunity to end the painfully awkward interaction and move on with your night. 

“Thanks.” You were about to return to your seat when Sylus decided to continue with his commitment to ruining your life.

“You guys should join us, the more the merrier, right Y/N?”

The question you had no idea how to answer only poked at the jar of pent up murderous rage you were trying to suppress. It wasn’t like you were subtle about your hatred for the Doctor, why the hell was Sylus inviting them to stay?

“Right.” You couldn’t have sounded less sincere if you tried, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had to focus on making it out of this building without a homicide charge.

When Miss Hunter happily agreed, Sylus quickly waved down a waiter and made them transform your two-seater table into a four-seater. Unfortunately for you, the seating arrangements somehow ended up with you next to Zayne and Sylus next to Miss Hunter . 

Zayne could feel the hostility radiating off of you in waves, but he was too scared to do anything about it. 

“Happy birthday, by the way.” You offered Miss Hunter the nicety, since she was really the only innocent person at the table. Your unfounded hatred for her took the back-burner when Zayne was around. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I love your necklace, where did you get it?” Yet another question you didn’t know how to answer. If this was how the entire night was going to be you might as well cut your losses and take your chances with jumping off the roof.

“It’s um, custom made.” You avoided Sylus’s glare. 

“Well it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment. Her sunshine-y attitude could rival yours. 

“Sylus knows the guy who made it, I’m sure he could get one for you too.” You glanced at him only to see him quirk an eyebrow at your response. Was he seriously mad? You were practically the world’s greatest wingwoman. 

When Miss Hunter turned to look at him, he quickly shut her down.  “He retired right after making that piece, actually. Something about getting arthritis.” 

He was definitely lying. You weren’t sure why he was gatekeeping this jeweller and you never got the chance to ask. 

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Hey Zayne, you’ve been awfully quiet. Say something!” Miss Hunter gave him a playful push on the shoulder as she teased him. The sight would’ve been adorable if it weren’t for satan’s incarnate sitting inches away from you.

“Yeah Zayne, how was work? Steal anymore hearts lately?” You asked the deceivingly innocuous question while breaking apart a piece of bread. The double-entendre was like a secret you both shared; though the idea of sharing anything with that waste of space made you inscrutably angry. 

Sylus silently observed the interaction with curiosity. Your passive-aggressiveness was a trait he thought you only reserved for him. You were always nice, to everyone. Seeing you treat Zayne so coldly was like witnessing a beaver play the piano. It was unnatural. 

“Work went as well as expected.” Zayne’s clipped reply left no room for further discussion. The conversation came to do a lull, and you took it as the opportunity to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You immediately beelined away from the table that currently situated your nightmare blunt rotation and toward the women’s bathroom that was positively Zayne-free. 

The bathroom was just as extravagant as the rest of the restaurant but you didn’t get to admire it before you splashed water on your face in an attempt to cool down. There was no way you could last an entire dinner next to Zayne. Maybe you could say you were feeling sick. Probably a bad idea when he’s a doctor. Work emergency wasn’t plausible, your boss was at the table. What if you just ran away? You could live with the shame and embarrassment.

You looked up at the ceiling and silently cursed the heavens for your terrible luck. Seriously, you must’ve been a serial killer in your past life to deserve this fate. It was a never-ending series of unfortunate events, and you were desperate for a break. 

When you eventually left the bathroom, Zayne was standing right outside the door. He startled you, but the moment the shock wore off your face morphed into a deadly glare. 

“Look, I know you think I’m a terrible person but—”

“Monster is the term I’d use, but go on.” You rudely interrupted Zayne. He chose not to acknowledge your comment. 

“I rarely get to spend time with MC and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t ruin her birthday dinner because of me.” It didn’t take long for you to realise that MC must’ve been Miss Hunter’s first name. 

Zayne ruined everything he touched, he needed no help from you. 

“I’m sorry, does the fact that I’m angry at you for letting my mother die put a damper in your dinner plans?”

“Yes it does, actually.” Zayne responded quickly. He either didn’t understand sarcasm or was an even bigger dick than you thought.

“Then might I suggest you take her someplace else. It’s your fault you couldn’t get a table here. Why should I have to suffer because your incompetence knows no bounds?” You couldn’t think of a time you’d insulted someone so much in such quick succession. Dr Zayne brought out the worst in you, but you could reflect on your actions later. Right now you were at war. 

“We are perfectly capable of having an amicable dinner.” 

You rolled your eyes at his condescending tone. “You might be, I’m not that mature.” 

“Y/N. We’re both adults.” He pleaded.

“Bite me.” 

Before Zayne could open his mouth again, Sylus interrupted.

“Everything all good here?” For once in your life, you were grateful for Sylus’s interruption. 

“No.” You said.

“Yes.” Zayne also said, at the exact same time.

“Zayne you should head back to the table. Miss Hunter's waiting for you.” Zayne didn’t think twice before taking the out and you internally flipped off his retreating form.

Sylus grabbed you by the forearm, his grip tight as he dragged you to a secluded part of the rooftop and away from the bathrooms. 

“What’s going on with you?” He asked the moment you stopped moving, his hand still gripping onto your arm like a vice. 

“Can you let go? You’re hurting me.” He quickly released you, his eyes washing over with something you couldn’t recognise as you soothed the part he’d rubbed raw. 

“Why are you acting so childish?” His question would've angered you had you not been angry already.

“I hate his guts.” The response did not help your case, but you weren’t very articulate when you were upset. 

“What did he do to you?” Sylus’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a low tone that was laced with danger. You didn’t think too much of his strange reaction, Sylus acting strange was pretty much the only consistent thing in your life lately. 

You gnawed on your lip, unsure of how to respond. Your grievance against the world-renowned doctor was one you’d always kept to yourself. After all, everyone had nothing but praise for the brilliant Dr Zayne. 

“Y/N, if he touched you I’ll—” Your eyes quickly widened in shock at his interpretation.

“No! Nothing like that. It’s just, a few days before my mom died, a heart came in that was a match. But there was this other guy who was younger and needed it just as badly. The policy was that the hospital's medical board would vote on who got the heart and the entire board, Zayne included, unanimously agreed that the heart should go to the other guy.” They said it wasn't personal, that it had everything to do with survival rates, but there was no way to detach personhood from medicine.

You realised that when you said it out loud, your hate seemed unfounded. “I know it wasn’t entirely his fault, but he didn’t even try to give my mom a fighting chance. He didn't say anything to sway them, he just silently agreed. He was supposed to be her advocate.” The frustration began to boil over, and before you knew it there were tears welling up in your eyes.

“God, I spent every last dollar of my paycheque to make sure she got the greatest medical care money could buy. Everyone said he was the best, but when it really mattered, he did nothing for her. I was such an idiot.” There was an uncontrollable fountain of tears streaming down your face, and you were grateful for Sylus’s decision to drag you to somewhere secluded. 

The familiar tendrils of an oncoming panic attack began to wash over you as you began to hyperventilate. No matter how much you wanted to blame Dr Zayne, or the universe, or your shitty luck, the only person you could really blame was yourself. You sent her to that hospital, you convinced her to hold on for a transplant, you spent her last months on this Earth slaving away in another city instead of by her side. There was no way to get that time back. 

“Y/N, look at me. It’s not your fault.” Sylus’s voice was like a beacon of light that led you through the dark tunnel you were trapped in. He cradled your face in his hands, wiping away your tears as they continued to stream down your face. But when your tears showed no signs of slowing, he pulled you into his arms, his hands holding your tear-stricken face against his chest.

He ran his long fingers through your hair as he whispered everything you wanted to hear. "It’s not your fault. It’s okay to hate him. It will get easier."

You weren’t sure how long you spent with your face buried in his chest, but by the time you’d returned to reality, his white dress shirt was slightly transparent where your tears soaked through the material. 

You laughed a little at the sight, and the corners of Sylus’s lips raised ever so slightly at the sound. When he saw you were okay, Sylus began to speak. “Don’t move. I’ll grab your bag and we’ll get out of here.”

Before he could leave you tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Hey, I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.” You truly were. Sylus did not deserve to be subjected to yet another one of your meltdowns, but he seemed to have a habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

“No it's my fault, I ruined it by inviting them to join us. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Sylus then manoeuvred through the restaurant toward the nightmare table. When he returned with your bag in one hand and the other outstretched toward you, your heart skipped a beat. Or two. He played the role of the knight-in-shining-armour quite seamlessly, and he looked every bit the handsome prince charming. You tried to remind yourself why it was so dangerous to be attracted to a force like Sylus, but when he smiled at you like you were the only two people in the room, all caution was thrown to the wind. 

_____________

In the spirit of making things up to you, you made Sylus take you to a restaurant of your choosing. It was a hole-in-the-wall dumpling place that charged so little one would question if they were serving real meat. But you never found better dumplings, so you took the risk anyway.

The dynamic was completely subverted as you sat on the table that was slightly sticky with cheap cleaning chemicals. Sylus was the one who looked out of place, his suit was unarguably the most expensive thing in the room and it brought joy to your miserable night to see him out of his comfort zone.

“How did you find this place?” The question was warranted, other than you two, the only other occupants in the restaurant were a few middle-schoolers.  

“I used to come here a lot with my friends in high school.”

“Did they all die from food poisoning?” Sylus seemed proud of his quick-witted joke. You gave him a pointed glare to convey just how unfunny that joke was. 

“Funny, but no. We just drifted apart after we graduated.” The clipped reply shut down any further inquiry. You thought back to the fond memories you had in that restaurant. Things were different when you didn’t yet know the cost of failure; before you knew what you’d be losing. And while everyone may have moved on from this small town in the N109 Zone, you never left. 

“Do you even have any friends?” You choked on your drink at the question. He was genuinely asking and the worst part was, you really didn’t.

Your constant struggle to make ends meet and maintain a high GPA for your academic scholarships made it impossible to have a social life. It didn’t help that you went to a college you couldn’t afford. It was hard to find people to relate to when everyone had grown up with silver spoons. Then after you graduated you landed at Onychinus, and it wasn’t exactly a friendly environment.

“Of course I have friends.” Your lie was a feeble attempt to preserve the last of your dignity. Sylus had seen you at your absolute worst, but there was something extremely dehumanising about letting him know you were insanely lonely.

“Really, who?” His genuine surprise only made your insecurity worse.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked. Plus, you wouldn’t know them.” 

“Try me.” Of course he wouldn’t drop it. When has Sylus ever let something go?

“Well, there’s Mr Demir, and Luke and Kieran, and my newly acquired friend Dr Hunt.” In a desperate attempt to keep up your lie, you pretty much just named all the people you knew. 

“Y/N, that’s the man who sells you your sandwiches, my assistants, and a geologist who sold you a gem.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that no one likes a know-it-all?” 

“I think you should get out more. Maybe tone down the sarcasm and you might just make a friend or two.” Your jaw-dropped in faux shock at his unsolicited advice.

“You’re one to talk, your best friend is a mechanical crow.” You snuck a dumpling off of his plate while he was distracted.

“I don’t need friends, they’re unnecessary burdens.” He took a swig of his beer. You thought he’d burst into flames if he drank anything other than red wine, but he adapted to his surroundings with little effort.

You put a hand on your heart as if in pain and jokingly gave him a solemn look.“Then why would you wish such a cruel fate onto me?”

“Because I hate seeing you this miserable, Y/N.” The amusement from your banter died a quick death at his confession. You thought you kept it together most of the time, though bawling your eyes out in the N109 Zone’s hottest restaurant probably didn’t do that facade any good. But for the most part, you handled the death of your mother relatively well. 

“I’m not miserable. Not all of the time at least. Like right now, I’m only mildly annoyed!” You tried to change the topic the only way you knew how, with humour, but Sylus wasn’t budging.

“You take care of everyone but yourself and all it’s done is isolate you. There needs to be a give and take, sweetheart. People don’t like feeling useless.” He spoke to you softly, as if he was scared the timbre of his voice would cause you to shatter into a million pieces. 

There was a sinking feeling in your stomach that followed his oddly specific guidance. He seemed to know more about you than you thought he did, and you were torn between feeling seen and feeling judged. 

“That’s sound advice. Guess you’ve been reading more magazines.” You were grasping at straws, willing to try anything to get the unwanted spotlight off of your inadequacies. 

“You also need to learn how to accept help without downplaying your problems.” 

“Okay, okay. You sound like my mother. Has her soul possessed you?” There you go Y/N. Play the dead mom card, that’ll work. 

He chuckled at your joke. You knew he found you funny.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Yeah, the manufacturers didn’t include an off-switch. No refunds, sorry.” You stuffed a dumpling in your mouth as the tension subsided. 

“Oh, I’m not returning you, sweetheart. They’ll have to pry you from my cold dead hands.” While you knew he was probably referring to the value you brought his company as his accountant, you couldn’t stifle the butterflies that wreaked havoc in your stomach.

You didn’t move when Sylus’s car stopped outside your house. 

“Thanks for tonight, I had fun. Sorry it didn’t go to plan.” You turned to him after you unbuckled your seatbelt and the tight confines of the car felt even smaller.

“It’s fine, I liked this version of events better anyway.” His low voice reverberated through the small distance between you, nestling in your heart that was beating unhealthily fast. 

“Me too. Next time you take a girl to dinner you ought to let her know if she’s supposed to dress like she’s going to the met gala.” Your advice had a bitter undertone because part of you still wished you could be the only girl he’d take to dinner. 

“I usually do, but this particular girl doesn’t need a fancy dress to be the most beautiful girl in the room.” The candid compliment made the butterflies do summersaults, and while their gymnastics routine continued, you found yourself at a loss for words.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Sylus leaned over the centre console and opened the door for you, completing the chivalrous act of opening the door for you in his own unique fashion. He was so close, all it would take was one small move and his lips could’ve been on yours.

“Goodnight.” You barely got the word out through the sudden bout of breathlessness you were experiencing. And when you were finally encased in the familiar four walls of your home, you thought about every moment you shared with Sylus and how different he seemed from the man you knew before. 

The weekend passed by in a blur. The necklace that looked like a carbon copy of your mom’s was nestled on your neck. A permanent reminder that made ‘Operation Sylus: No More’ infinitely harder to achieve. 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked him to stop being a dick, because what you thought would be an easy feat was beginning to feel like climbing a mountain with a peak you couldn’t even see. 

You were staring at the list on your notes app on your brand new phone in hopes of searing it into your memory. 

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November. 

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly. 

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants. 

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You violated step 5 that Friday when you let him take you to dinner and you were reaping the consequences of your mistake. There was no way you could survive the free-fall if you couldn't get your heart to obey your mind. The disconnect between the two vital organs might be the thing that kills you.

When you heard something shatter in the hallway, you quickly put your phone down and went out to investigate.

The door opened to Mephisto standing on a side table where an empty vase used to sit. The vase was now on the floor in pieces in front of your feet. 

“You did this on purpose.” You pointed an accusing finger at the bird, but all he did was tilt his head to the side as if he couldn’t understand you. You knew he could understand you perfectly well.

The cold war between you two started in your first week at Onychinus when he would swoop at your head spontaneously for no reason. Sylus told you he did it to everyone he didn’t trust and that he’d be over it in due time, but you were too vindictive to let it slide. 

Several back-and-forth pranks later, the bird seemed to have remembered the tradition you managed to forget. “If this is your way of saying you miss me then you take an awful lot after your owner.” Your words faded as you made your way to the kitchen to find the broom. However, upon your return you saw that the floor was flawless and the door to your office was closed.

You rushed in with unparalleled speed to see your worst nightmare; Sylus leaning against your desk in his usual model-like fashion with your phone in his hand.

Panic coursed through you like never before as you remembered what had been left open on your phone when you set it down and the painful fact that you left it unlocked. 

Prayers for a sinkhole to open up and consume you in that very moment went unanswered as Sylus looked up at you with a smirk on his face.

“Is my laugh really deadly?” He looked amused. 

Come on sinkhole. Anytime now. 

When you didn’t answer, Sylus moved toward you. When he was close enough to touch you, he leaned down to make sure your eyes were on his.

“Your deadline is fast approaching, Y/N. Care for a progress report?” The taunting question made heat rush to your face.

“It was stupid, I wrote it months ago.”

“Then why did you have it open?” 

You couldn’t exactly tell him that his willingness to change his cold and cruel demeanour just to keep you as his accountant revived the feelings you thought were long dead. You definitely couldn’t tell him that the necklace that suddenly weighed down your chest made your heart skip a beat every time you touched it. And there was no way you were telling him that the dinner you shared was the happiest you’d felt in a long time.

“I was going to delete it when I heard Mephisto break something in the hallway.”

“Delete it? Guess you don’t need it anymore.”

“Nope.” You popped the P on the word for emphasis. “Can I have my phone back now?” He placed the device into your outstretched hand. 

“So how do you feel about me now, sweetheart?”

You tried your best to appear unperturbed by his taunting. “Mad at your blatant violation of my privacy.”

“Forgive me. I saw my name on your phone when I went to check in on you and I was curious.”

“Mephisto told you I broke the vase, didn’t he?”

“Don’t deflect. Do you still have feelings for me?”

“No, they’re gone. Can we please drop this? It’s embarrassing.” You lied in favour of self-preservation and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see through your act.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Y/N. Many women confess their love for me every month.” You rolled your eyes at his ardent display of over-confidence and narcissism, though you knew he wasn’t exaggerating.  

“Okay, brace yourself there bachelor. No one said anything about love.” It was true, you never said you loved him. Whether or not you did, well that was a secret you’d take to the grave. 

“So then which feeling are we discussing?” The loaded question came out of his mouth so casually, like someone ordering a latte. A display of power that reminded you of just how little this mattered to him. 

Your feet felt like they were grounded in their place by an invisible force and you were sure your cheeks were beet red. You knew your mouth was slightly agape in shock, but you couldn’t even close it. Meanwhile, Sylus was unfazed, treating your feelings like a game. 

“Since when do you even care about how I feel?” The sudden outburst was accompanied by your hand running through your hair out of frustration.

Sylus’s jaw clenched and for a moment he said nothing. There was no hint of amusement left on his features. 

“You think I don’t care about you?” He seemed irritated by the premise, but you couldn’t figure out why. You thought Sylus was proud of his clear disregard for other people’s emotions. 

“You treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of your boot for years. What reason did you give me to think otherwise?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I pay you more than my highest ranking footmen. Or that I had Mephisto tail you when you used to bike to and from work to make sure you got home safe. Hell, I invented the lunch budget when I hired you just to make sure you were eating— I even banned mushrooms from my kitchen in case you wanted to eat here. Not to mention the bullshit extra work I’d assign you just so you would stay longer.” 

Choosing not to dwell on the implication of his silent acts of kindness, you interjected. “Hey, I took those tasks seriously!” The twins thought you were crazy when you asked if Sylus was making those assignments up. You knew you were right. 

“Don’t interrupt me.” Your mouth clamped shut at his rather reasonable request. Sylus wasn’t a big talker, so when he monologued, it was important. 

“Your kindness, your humour, it all caught me off guard. No one ever treated me like you did and I had no idea how to feel. The little doodles you sent back to me on the notes I left you delineating tasks? I kept every last one. When Mephisto complained to me about that time you put corn-starch in his water fountain and almost destroyed his wiring, all I could do was laugh. I treated you like I treated all my men because I didn’t want people to find out that you were my weakness.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but the pressure wasn’t budging. There was so much you didn’t know about Sylus, so much you completely misunderstood. This revelation caused a series of chain reactions to go off inside your brain and the weight of what he was trying to say felt suffocating.

You dreamed of a time where Sylus would reciprocate your feelings, but the reality of it was more daunting than you realised.

“All my threats are empty with you, Y/N. You’re the only one who gets away with the attitude you give me. You tell me you crashed a car worth over half-a-million dollars and all I could think about was if you were okay. I even offered to buy your house for way more than it was worth just to get you back. Do you seriously think I don’t care?” 

All sound came to a stifling halt. 

“Wait, you were the ‘developer’?”

The inklings of betrayal wove their way through your skin as the pieces began to fall into place. The timing of the eviction notice, the fact that he’d shown up at your house the day you received it, the way he was so quick to agree to the ridiculous bonus. 

He manipulated you like a puppet on a string and let you think you were in control the entire time.

“Don’t look at me like I’m some traitor.” His audacious demand made your blood boil.

“You are a traitor! How could you do that to me?” You yelled.

“You were going to leave me like I was nothing!” For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus raised his voice to match yours. Your entire body went cold at his vulnerability. He was afraid of being abandoned, and that was a fear you both shared.

“Not seeing you every day made my heart feel like it was being ripped out of my chest. I could barely focus, all I could think about was what you were doing, who you were with. So imagine my surprise when I come to find that while I’m being tortured every minute I’m away from you, you needed more time.

“I knew I was being selfish, I knew that your grief had nothing to do with me, but I’ve never been good at putting my feelings into words. That day in the graveyard when you wouldn’t even look at me, I thought I’d lost you for good. It ate at me like a parasite. I had to get you back and I won’t apologise for not playing fair. There isn’t a rule I wouldn’t break for you, Y/N.”  

It was hard to hate him for what he did when you understood where he was coming from. You were two sides of the same coin. While you overcompensated for the lack of love in your life by becoming the ultimate people-pleaser, he avoided it at every turn, saw it as a weakness. But at the core of every human being was an innate desire to be loved and an inherent fear of being abandoned. 

People couldn’t leave your life if you never let them in. That was a philosophy you saw both your mother and Sylus live by. It was lonely and difficult, and if you had the power of hindsight you would’ve tried harder to convince your mother she was worthy of love. You couldn’t make that same mistake again. 

You loved Sylus, that much was ingrained into the flesh of your heart. For all his rugged edges, he had a way of making things happen that was akin to magic. His determination, his grit, it was admirable.

His intelligence was infuriating, you couldn’t get anything past him. If he received the Greeks’ horse instead of the Trojans, you were sure he’d have seen right through their ruse. 

His desire to make the N109 Zone a better place stemmed from a sense of altruism you could only hope to possess. And when Sylus did things for others, he never expected anything in return. 

But for all his greatest traits he had some difficult ones too. He’d hurt you more times than you could count, and even if he’d changed drastically since your mother’s death, you couldn’t quite trust that he wouldn’t hurt you again.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You confessed. It was no secret you wore your heart on your sleeve, despite your mother’s constant reminders that the world was filled with terrible people who’d take advantage of your candour. You chose to see the good in others, it boded better than the grim lifestyle that came with perpetual pessimism. 

“Then why are you fighting this?” His question came out pained, and it was one you could answer. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Sylus. I loved you even though you insulted me, ignored me, reminded me I was replaceable every chance you got.

“I told myself it was just how you were, that it wasn’t personal. But when you walked out on me in the hospital when I needed you the most, I loved you a little less.”

Sylus felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest, like someone took a needle to his heart. He left that hospital because he wasn’t sure you’d even want him there, and it pained him to see you so distraught over a problem he couldn’t fix. When MC came to him with an important mission in Skyhaven, he saw an out, and like the coward he was he took it. If he knew that you’d lose your mother while he was away, he never would have left your side. 

“When you didn’t call until weeks later, when you showed up only to tell me I was being dramatic for grieving, I loved you even less. Every time you screwed me over you made it easier to live without you.”

It hurt to remember the pain you were in back then, the immense pressure of the burdens you carried. But if there was ever a chance of you and Sylus working out, he needed to know the truth. 

“I’ve only ever loved two people, Sylus, and in one month it felt like I’d lost them both. I still love you, I’m afraid I couldn’t stop if I tried, but I don’t know if I can be more than your accountant right now.” You couldn’t survive another heartbreak, that much was for sure. 

Even though Sylus looked like he was going to be sick, you continued. 

“I thought I was okay with you treating me like everybody else, thought I was strong enough to take it. But when I saw you with Miss Hunter and the softness with which you spoke to her, it broke me. I saw that you were capable of being gentle. You just didn’t think I was a worthy recipient of your kindness.”

He was quick to correct you. “That’s not true, sweetheart. Not at all. She has something I need, something I can’t take with force. It’s why I’ve had to adopt unusual methods. If I’d known it was causing you so much pain I would’ve explained. Fuck, Y/N, you deserve so much more than just my kindness, more than I could ever give you. I can’t even think of a person on Earth who deserves you at all.” 

When Sylus saw the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, he resisted the urge to wipe them away.

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, anything but letting you go. There’s nothing so broken it can’t be fixed, Y/N. You taught me that. Let me fix this.” He tested the waters by taking your hand in his and when you let him, he pulled you into his arms. 

For a moment, the room was silent. You listened to his heartbeat through his chest and it might have been even faster than yours. It felt like deja vu, reminding you of that moment in the restaurant, or that time in his hallway after Zayne’s phone call. Sylus was there to comfort you more often than not, why were you so scared of letting him in?

“I want to believe you, I just don’t know that I can.” Your voice was small, timid. As if you were afraid something you’d say would shatter the sanctity of this moment and you’d find out it was all a dream. 

“I won’t stop trying until you do, sweetheart. You’re it for me, there’s no one else.” He kissed the top of your head with a softness you didn’t know he possessed and the words were like bandages wrapping around the wounds inflicted by your own envy.

In the comfortable silence, Sylus made a vow. “I don’t have regrets — you know that quite well — but I regret the way I treated you. I’ll spend every lifetime repenting for my mistakes, Y/N, and I promise I’ll never let anything hurt you again.” He squeezed you tighter and the comfort his warmth brought you was a welcome change to the cold you lived in all the time. 

Desperate to diffuse the overwhelming angst of the situation, you pulled away from his embrace and clapped your hands together. “Okay then, as of today we commence ‘Operation Sylus: The Redemption'.”

His loud laugh resounded through your office, and it was a sound you’d never get tired of hearing. He grabbed your chin. “Have you always been this corny?” 

“I watch a lot of movies, okay? Now, shake on it.” You shook his hand off your face and held out your hand with an invitation that he instantly accepted. With his warm hand encasing yours, you whole-heartedly hoped this operation would be a success. 

Late December

You assumed the dynamic between you and Sylus would drastically change following your impromptu heart-to-heart. But the changes came in small waves. 

It started with the middle-aged man who silently drove you to and from work with a permanent scowl on his face being replaced by Sylus himself.

Then there was the sticky notes he’d usually place on documents explaining the task and deadline, now with an added addendum.

— That necklace was the best decision I’ve ever made.

— Your hair looks especially nice today.

— Did you switch perfumes? I like it.

�� That new lipstick suits you. Your lips are all I can think about. 

You saved all of them in a drawer at your desk. 

He had someone bring you your lunch every day and spent your entire lunch break with you. Somedays you talked until your tongue felt like it was going to fall off, other days you just sat and ate together in silence. And every Friday afternoon, instead of taking you straight home, he’d take you to visit your mother’s grave with a new bouquet in his hands. 

You were glad he was taking things slow. His small gestures made your heart flutter without overwhelming you, but it had been a month since your confrontation, and he didn’t even try to touch you. 

While your inexperience with love, lust and romance never impacted any significant aspect of your life before, it was growing increasingly difficult to wait for Sylus to make the first move. He didn’t want to scare you, that much was understandable. But you were growing angsty waiting for him the tension between you two hit a boiling point.

The glorious plan came to you while you were shopping with Luke and Kieran for Onychinus’s annual Christmas gala. It was a networking event masked under the guise of a holiday celebration where the people hiding in the shadows of the underworld could spend one night communicating on the surface.

Every year, Sylus insisted he couldn’t outsource waiters for the event because of potential security leaks, so you, the twins and a couple other of his staff were forced to fill in as the help. Sylus told you that you wouldn’t have to participate this year, but you began to look forward to the event. It was like an unorthodox Christmas tradition.

Your eyes drifted to the costume section of the party store, and when they landed on a short red Santa’s helper dress, you felt a lightbulb turn on in your head. Maybe you had to give Sylus a little nudge.

“Hey, aren't you guys kind of bored of the slacks and the dress shirts he makes us wear?” You sowed the seed of doubt into your unwilling accomplices.

“Duh. I hate dressing like a butler.” Luke’s eyes continued to scan the aisle for decorations. The hall was professionally decorated, but you added your own little details every year. It made things less drab and it gave the twins an excuse to spend hours in the party supply store. 

“What if we went with Christmas themed costumes this year?” The twins turned to look at you with confusion, but they quickly warmed up to the idea when you pointed at the wall of seasonal costumes.

“I’m Rudolph!” They made their declarations in unison before breaking out into an argument in the middle of the party store.

“Just flip a coin!” You desperately suggested, taking a coin out of your wallet and placing it on your thumb, ready to flip. People were beginning to stare.

“I’m heads!” They said in unison, again.

“Kieran you’re heads, Luke you’re tails.” You assigned them the parts of the coin alphabetically and watched it flip through the air. When it landed in your hands, it displayed tails. You silently hoped they would move on from this unnecessary battle and restore peace to your shopping trip again.

“Sorry Kieran, Luke’s Rudolph.” Kieran complained for the rest of the day about how annoying being an elf was, and how, since he was an inch taller than Luke, it only made sense for Luke to be the elf instead. 

They argued like the siblings you never had, and for all the pain and suffering they caused you, there was no denying you loved having them around. Besides, working for Sylus left the three of you trauma-bonded for life. There wasn’t really an out from this unconventional friendship. 

_________________

You failed to remember to clear the costume idea with Sylus before the gala. He was just so busy trying to organise the event, and you were similarly swamped with ensuring all the invoices were sent out on time to the right vendors. You barely saw each other in the days leading up to the big event.

The dress was shorter on you than you anticipated. Coming up just above mid-thigh, it was nothing like anything you owned in your closet. The little hat it came with was cute though and you pinned it to your hair. The make-up you wore was the same as your everyday makeup, barring the eyeliner you’d spent way too long trying to perfect and your lipstick. 

Other than the dress, you really did look the same as you did most of the time. Would Sylus even notice?

Right on cue, a knock on your door snapped you out of your train of thought, and you took a deep breath before opening it. 

As you expected, Sylus looked unfazed by your choice in attire as you moved out of the doorway to let him in.

“I see we’ve foregone the uniforms this year.” His comment was a welcome distraction from your insecurities.

“Whimsy is part of the Christmas spirit, you know.”

“It’s cute. Did you get that dress from the children’s section?”

The question came so out of left-field it left you were stunned. Once the shock settled in, you suddenly felt self-conscious.

“No… Why? Does it look childish?” You couldn’t help the vulnerability in your voice. 

Sylus closed the distance between you in a few long strides, his hands were on you in an instant. His palm was holding onto your waist the other tracing alone the edge of your dress. 

“Quite the opposite, I’m just wondering why they’d make a dress so short for adult women.” 

“Adult women can dress however they want, Sylus.” You chided.

“I know, but I’ll have my hands full if I’m trying to host this event and take care of the hoards of men that will be chasing after my girl at the same time.” He whispered the words seductively into your ear, the hand on your thigh slipping ever-so-slightly under the dress.

You ignored the warm, fuzzy feeling that bloomed through you at the sound of Sylus calling you his girl.

“There won’t be ‘hoards of men’. This will be the third time I’m working your annual gala and I’ve only ever gotten hit on like four times.” You knew from the way his eyebrows furrowed that you shouldn’t have told him that.

“Four times? Men hit on you four times while I was in the room and you didn’t tell me?” He was clearly angry, his rage unwarranted since it happened right under his nose. 

“I didn’t think you’d care. Most of them were like fifty, anyway!” That was true, and every time one of them placed a hand on your shoulder or your forearm, it made you grimace. 

“If men approached you in long pants and a dress shirt with a plate of refreshments in your hand what do you think they’ll do when they see you in this get up?” He walked you back until you were standing against the wall.

He had a point. Maybe it was too suggestive.

“I can change—”

“No. You never have to do that with me, baby. Just stay where I can see you, alright?” 

“Okay.” You felt a blush paint your cheeks. The tension was bubbling up between you. His hand was searing into your waist, his other one moving dangerously high on your thigh. You really thought this would be the moment he kissed you. But then the warmth of his hands was abruptly gone. 

“Okay. You ready to go?” He held the door open for you. That was it? Frustrated at your lack of results, you silently walked out of your house.

__________________

“Did you see Sylus’s date?”

“Of course, she’s definitely the hottest girl here.”

“I bet she’s had work done.”

“If so, I need the name of her surgeon.”

You eavesdropped on the hushed whispers of a group of women who were gossiping in a corner near the kitchen. The second you walked through the doors of the extravagant event hall, you both went your separate ways and you hadn’t seen him since. So much for not letting you out of his sight. 

All you heard about the entire night was his mysterious date and her envious beauty. He never told you he was bringing one, nor did he ever ask you to fill the spot. But before you could completely spiral, you reminded yourself of Sylus’s promise. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. 

“Now what’s a pretty girl like you doing working here?” Your train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a man. You turned around, expecting to see one of the many sleazy old men who frequented these events and saw you as an easy target, but all you saw was a young, attractive guy in a three-piece suit. Huh.

“Hors d’oeuvre?” You offered the plate to him in place of a response. 

“No thanks. I’ve had my fill, though I must say, the other servers aren’t quite as easy on the eyes as you.” His eyes shamelessly scanned every inch of you, head-to-toe, and you felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

“Oh, um thanks.” The blush on your cheeks was an unwanted biological reaction, you weren’t used to attention from men within your age range. It wasn't like you thought you were ugly, you were just a bit of a hermit.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” You were about to answer his question when someone did it for you.

“Y/N.” The voice belonged to the man of the hour who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. 

“Sylus, hello. Hors d’oeuvre?” Clearly you were running out of things to say if your default reaction was to offer everyone a snack, but it was hard to find the voice to speak when you saw the girl who had her arms wrapped around his. 

Miss Hunter. You should’ve known. Your eyes passed over her beautiful dress and pinned up hair. She lived up to the rumours, she was definitely the prettiest girl in the room. Next to Sylus the pair reminded you of a renaissance painting. They made sense, and clearly not just aesthetically if he brought her as his date instead of you.

Sylus saw the way your eyes trailed off to MC standing next to him. He saw the self-doubt turn your eyes glassy, and all he wanted to do was whisk you away to a private room where he could show you just how badly he wanted you, and no one else.

But his enemies were in attendance tonight, it was part of the reason he didn’t want you there. Sylus’s only weakness used to be his mortality, and even that was debatable. But now his biggest weakness was tangible, and she wore an adorable Christmas themed dress that made every man in the room brim with desire. Miss Hunter may have been the focus of all the women in attendance, but all the men could talk about was the sexy server in the little red dress. It was driving him insane. 

But MC was a hunter and if he endangered her, she could get out of it unscathed without his help. Their enemies were the same, which made them perfect allies, but it also made their loved ones easy targets. Sylus would never forgive himself if he let someone hurt you. So despite the excruciating pain that coursed through him at your hurt expression, he did nothing to quell your concerns.

But he couldn’t idly stand by and let this man make a pass at you either. It was clear Henry was not aware of Sylus’s newly established no-fraternising-with-the-staff policy. 

“Henry, not distracting my staff, are you?” Sylus directed his attention to his business associate. Henry ran a security company which supplied a large portion of their weaponry from Onychinus. The contract they shared was a substantial source of revenue that Sylus couldn’t afford to compromise. 

“I’m just wondering where you found such delectable staff.” Sylus felt his jaw clench at the way Henry undressed you with his eyes and your consequential discomfort. Fuck the contract, he was going to make that man pay. But he couldn’t inflict his revenge quite yet, so he played nice. 

“Unfortunately my staff are exclusively mine. I’m sure you understand how difficult it is to find loyal help.” Well, at least he tried to play nice. The subtle jab at Henry’s recent whistleblower scandal was a low blow, but he wasn’t above kicking below the belt.

Annoyed and slightly confused by the exchange, you rolled your eyes at the testosterone-fuelled men bickering and cleared your throat.

“I think I’m needed in the kitchen. Nice meeting you, Henry.” You gave him the kindest smile you could muster and gave Sylus no smile at all. It was the least he deserved for blindsiding you with his date. 

“I should check on the catering, excuse me.” Sylus followed you to the kitchen and the second he caught up to you, he pulled you into a nearby storage closet.

There was barely any room for the both of you in there, so you were pressed up against his body. You tried to create some distance between you two, but he just pulled you back in by your waist.

“What are you doing? I’m supposed to be working and you’re supposed to be socialising. We can’t do those things from here.” You berated him quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t really need anyone from the staff discovering you in this compromising position. You’d had enough embarrassment in one night for a lifetime.

“Miss Hunter is just here with me on business.” Sylus’s statement did little to comfort the tumultuous storm in your mind. 

“I don’t care.” In a sense, it was true. It seemed your mind didn’t care whether Miss Hunter was there with him on business or not, it still hurt all the same. 

“Don’t lie to me, I can tell when you’re upset.” Sylus tried to caress your cheek but you pushed his hand away. 

“Okay, fine. I’m upset. Now will you let me leave?” You tried to wriggle out of his grasp but to no avail. His hand squeezed your face as he forced you to face him. 

“If you’re upset, talk to me about it. Don’t antagonise me by flirting with other men. It won’t end well for them.” The fire in his eyes swore retribution and you did not want to be Henry right now.

“I wasn’t flirting!” You tried to defend yourself but you knew he’d see straight through your ruse. 

“That sweet smile of yours is reserved for me and me alone.” There was no way Sylus would’ve let that over-the-top smile slide and this was exactly how you expected him to react, but it only made you more upset.  

“Right, but I just have to make do with sharing you with Miss Hunter.” The irony of the situation was not lost on Sylus, but he had a laundry-list of crimes, hypocrisy was the least of them. 

“I’m all yours, baby. I promise it’s just business.” He sounded sincere, and you trusted him to tell you the truth. Sylus never lied unless it was out of omission, but when you asked him a direct question, he never failed to answer honestly. 

“I can help you with business.” You tried to reason, your palm resting against his pounding heart. 

“Not this kind, sweetheart. I’m just trying to protect you. I need you to trust me.” You trusted Sylus with your life, with your heart. Which was why you knew you wouldn’t like the answer to the question you asked next. 

“Did you sleep with her?” The mere thought of it tasted like acid on your tongue. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of Sylus’s past, but where the other women in his life came and left like the tide, Miss Hunter’s presence was persistent. 

You needed to know just how far they’d gone, even if it might destroy you. 

“Yes. It was one time when we first met in September. Before I realised how I felt for you.” The words pierced straight through you like bullets of radiation. Your palm slowly slipped off of his chest and you diverted your gaze to your heels. “Y/N, you know I only want you. It meant nothing to me.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t the fact that they’d slept together that hurt you so deeply. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, the way she got under his skin. Sylus may love you, but what if he wasn’t attracted to you?

The thought slipped out of you before you could mull it over. “How am I supposed to believe that when you were all over in seconds and you won’t even kiss me?!” 

A hint of recognition flashed through Sylus’s eyes as he realised the catalyst behind your frustration. For some odd reason that he could never figure out, you were insecure. Even though your charm bordered on lethal and your beauty was unparalleled, you still felt inadequate. It perplexed him how someone could look so divine and not be aware of it.

“I haven’t kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were ready, sweetheart. I was worried I’d scare you away, because I’m sure if I got a taste of you I wouldn’t know how to stop.” He sounded strained when he spoke, as if he was recalling his frustration at having to hold back. 

You watched him intently, his words dripped with a desire you both shared. With his body so close to yours, it was hard not to wish he’d just act on his primal instincts. 

“You’re entirely unaware of your affect on me. You have no idea how precarious the string holding me back from insanity has become. When I saw you in that dress, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hold back. But then you'd look up at me with those angelic eyes and I realise I can’t risk losing you.” 

Before you could even think it through, your desire became overwhelming and your lips were on his in an instant.

It was nothing like you expected, nothing like the chaste, sweet kisses you saw in your movies. It was heated, messy, desperate. His lips ravaged yours like a man on death row devoured his last meal. You felt his desire with every movement and all the doubt you had dissipated instantly. His hands were all over you, one softly held on to your neck, while the other held on to your waist like you might disappear. 

His lips moved to your cheek, your jaw and eventually the sensitive skin on your collarbone. When he bit a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you let out a whine. You hoped he hadn't given you a hickey. His face came up to yours as he looked at your lips which were red from the impact and the desire running rampant in your eyes. It might’ve been the most beautiful you’d ever looked.

“Well? I’m still here.” You whispered against his lips before giving him a chaste peck.

Sylus knew you weren’t just talking about this moment. You never left, even when he gave you a million reasons why you should. He didn’t know what he did to deserve such luck, but he knew he’d never give you a reason to walk away from him ever again.

“We should get out of here.” Somehow you knew he didn’t just mean the storage closet. He shifted to lead you out but you quickly stopped him.

“You can’t leave your own party! What about your date?” As much as the idea of MC hanging off his arm made your skin crawl, it wasn’t right to just leave her alone. 

“She’ll be fine. The only woman I care about is right in front of me, and I want to do so much to her than kiss her in a storage closet.” There was an underlying promise in his tone, and you felt the slightest bit of fear that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

“You’ve lasted this long, what’s one more night?” Your last ditch effort to escape the dangerous situation was unsuccessful. 

“Sweetheart, I can't wait another second.” He gave you a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed his fraying restraint. Your fear felt inconsequential when he was with you, you knew you could trust him wholly with every part of you. 

So, when he led you out of the storage closet and all the way to his bedroom, you never once felt scared. Or insecure. Or inadequate. Sylus worshipped you like you were his salvation and he never once let you doubt yourself again.

Later that night, as you laid in his bed underneath his covers, staring over at his peaceful sleeping expression, you realised he was your salvation too.

Christmas Day

“What’s the surprise?” You asked the same question for the umpteenth time. 

“Just be patient, we’re almost there.” You let Sylus lead you through what you thought was a building while you obediently kept your eyes shut. Eventually your feet came to a halt, and you were bursting with anticipation. 

“Alright, open your eyes.” When you opened them you were in the living room of a charming beach house. It was so bright it took your eyes a while to adjust, but when they did you noticed that it was decorated with splashes of your favourite shade of yellow. The large balcony doors opened to the sight of a familiar beach, and you felt a range of emotions wash over you all at once. Sadness, nostalgia, yearning. 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” Sylus’s voice behind you snapped you back to reality. 

“What is this place?” The awe in your voice could not be concealed.

“It’s yours. I know how much you hate being on the beach, but I also know it meant a lot to your mother. From this balcony it’ll be like you’re right there without actually being there.” He sounded almost nervous while presenting his gift to you, worried you might hate it. But there wasn’t a word that could describe the pure gratitude and love you felt for the man standing in front of you. 

“You bought me a house on my mother’s favourite beach?” The disbelief in your voice was almost tangible. 

“Yeah.”

“Sylus, all I got you was a pocket watch!” You thought that since you were both not very big on Christmas, you would exchange small gifts. Clearly small wasn’t a word Sylus kept in his vocabulary. 

“You gave me so much more than that.” The suggestion in his voice did nothing to soothe your guilt. 

“This is too much.”

“Y/N, you’re more familiar with my assets than I am, if this made a significant dent in my bank account I think you would’ve noticed when I bought it a month ago.” 

“You’ve had this for a month?” The shock persisted, but he was right. His expenses ranged from a box of paperclips to the purchase of a two-hundred-million dollar industrial complex. 

“Yes, I bought it the first time you asked me to take you to the beach after work.”

“But what if we didn’t work out?” A month ago that seemed like a palpable possibility, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without Sylus in it.

“I’d find a way to trick you into taking it anyway.” 

You all but rolled your eyes at the memory of his less-than-graceful plan to acquire your house until you ended up working for him again. 

“Right, of course. You’re quite good at that I hear.” 

“I’m good at many things, I’ll remind you later.” He drawled against your ear, but before you could force him to act on his promise he spoke up again. “For now, there’s one more surprise.” 

You let Sylus lead you out to the balcony with his hands on your shoulders, driving you forward. He stood behind you, his chest to your back. He pointed to a hill on the left of the house where a beautiful willow tree sat atop the beach on a cliff.

“I bought that plot of land too. I don’t want to overstep, but if you’d like, we could move your mother here. Have her final resting place be at the place she loved the most.” His voice kept you anchored as memories of your mother threatened to pull you away. It still filled your chest with overwhelming sadness when you thought of her, but the thought that she could spend forever in the place that brought her the most joy filled you with relief. You didn’t get to give your mother much, but at least Sylus helped you give her this. 

You couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your face if you tried.

Sylus had come a long way from that day at the graveyard, an even longer way from the day you met him. The fact that he grew to care about your mother as much as you did made your heart swell with love for him that expanded every day. Something you didn’t even think was possible.

“She would love that.” Sylus wrapped his hands around your waist, placing an ever-so-gentle kiss on your temple. “I wish you could’ve met her when she was alive, you would’ve loved her.” They were both the strongest people you knew, and it pained you that they never got to meet. 

“I’m sure I would have. After all, I am a huge fan of her work.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his cheesy joke. You were rubbing off on him, that was for sure. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face at the sound of your joyful laugh and you had to squeeze out of his grasp to make him stop. 

While you wished you didn’t have to lose someone so important to you to gain another, things always had a weird way of working out. Your future was still murky, but what you did know for sure was that ’Operation Sylus: No More’ could officially be declared a massive failure. And even though the physical hole in your heart still existed, the proverbial one shrunk to half it’s size; and you had the silver-haired man with the stone-encased heart of gold to thank for that. 

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Sorry if you were tagged but didn't get a notif, I think some of you might have your tags off because your blog wasn't coming up for me >:c

[dailynnt]

NO MERCY PART I: The dark pulls you under

𖥔 Summary: You are a strong and intelligent, a princess of a mafia clan who has been fighting for years against Jungkook, a dangerous and powerful enemy. Your enmity is mixed with tension and mutual desire. After you ruin an important deal for him, Jungkook kidnaps you to settle the score. An emotional confrontation erupts between you, where the power play borders on a dangerous attraction. But you both know that the first one to give in is the loser.

𖥔 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

𖥔 Age restrictions: 18+

𖥔 Size: mini series (7.6 k words)

𖥔 Tags: enemies to lovers, mafia au, domJungkook/subReader, stockholm syndrome, dark romance, kidnapping, emotional tension, obsession, possessive behaviour, dangerous love, protectiveness, forced proximity, broken characters, betrayal, manipulation, slow burn, angst with a hint of love, toxic romance, redemption arc, intense connection, forbidden feelings, survival, rough tenderness, detailed smut, sex, unprotected sex, table sex, mirror sex, possessiveness, defiance

𖥔 From author: Hello dear Army 💜 I wrote a new story in the style of the mafia au, which as you know I love very much 🖤 I came up with this story while writing chapter 14 “One night…” (this is how it happens when in the middle of the creative process a scene for a separate story appears in my head) and I decided to write it. I really hope you like it 🥺 A big request for those who will read and at some point you don't like my fanfic, or it seems illogical, not interesting or too fictional - just pass by. Respect the effort, time and resources I have spent for those people who will really appreciate my efforts. I sincerely thank EVERYONE who likes this fic, and EVERYONE who likes my work, I appreciate each of you for the weight of gold 🥺😭❤️‍🔥

𖥔 Dedication: I want to dedicate this work to you my BIGGEST LOVE @curse-of-art 🖤 For your support, endless love, faith in me, in the love of my version of JK 🤭 I love you with all my big heart ❤️‍🔥

𖥔 Warning: This story contains dark themes that may be triggering for some readers like table sex, mirror sex, possessiveness, defiance/bratty behavior, stockholm syndrome, and kidnapping. Please read with caution. If you are under 18, please refrain from reading this story. Also, English is not my first language, so you may notice some grammar mistakes or awkward sentence structures. I appreciate your understanding and kindness 🙂‍↕️

You have never asked for mercy. And you certainly weren't going to beg for it now.

Some time ago, you woke up and realized that you were in a dimly lit hotel room. It seemed to be a presidential suite, and you probably knew who it belonged to.

You were sitting tied to a chair, your hands tied behind your back, and a sneer playing on your lips. You knew who was coming. You knew this meeting was inevitable.

Jungkook entered the room quietly, but you felt him before you saw him. His presence was like an impending storm, like an electric shock in the air before a thunderstorm.

"Well, finally." You looked up at him when he came into view. "I was getting tired of waiting for you."

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a palm covered in tattoo ink that peeked out from under the sleeve of his shirt colour of night.

You knew that most of the drawings were hidden under his clothes. Once you could only see his tattoos up to his elbow, and you always wondered how they ended.

You remember how the tiger lily on the inside of his arm caught your attention the most - delicate, but as bold as he was. It was his birth flower, a symbol of pride, nobility, and strength hidden behind a reserved expression.

His light colored hair was slicked back carelessly, and above his ear it was shaved, so you could see that his hair color was actually black. This hairstyle emphasized his sharp features and jaw that could cut through the tension in the air. The black earrings in his ears glittered with every movement.

"You made a mistake, Y/N." He was approaching like lava, slowly burning everything in his path. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you had to behave with dignity.

"Really? From my side, it looked like a perfectly planned trap." You said, hinting at the reason you were here. You smiled at the corner of your mouth. You didn't want to show this man how he affected you.

He crouched down in front of you. He smelled of cold freshness after a shower, mixed with something more personal - the tart scent of leather and spices.

There was a slight hint of bergamot in his scent, subtly mixed with the smell of black tea and a little wood, something deep and rich. There was also a faint trace of musk, the kind that made the skin react as if it had just been touched.

This scent was not intrusive, but dangerous in its restraint, just like him. It was the kind of scent that would stay on your pillow, on your fingers, on the inside of your wrist if you let it get close enough.

"And who is trapped now?" he asked. You smiled as you looked into his black eyes.

"Caught doesn’t mean defeated." You say and see his gaze boring into your lips. Your breathing instantly became uncontrollable.

You've always played this game. You made him lose control. He made you feel your body burning with anger. You wanted to break him, he wanted to conquer you.

But predators don't subdue. They either win or die.

You remember the moment when everything went wrong. You were sitting in the VIP lounge of the club, waiting for your sister to celebrate your brilliant victory. The deal that Jungkook wanted so badly was now yours. That's when the door slammed open, and they came for you.

Everything happened in a flash. People in black suits easily dealt with your bodyguards. They grabbed you, clamped your mouth, tied your hands, and in a few minutes you were sitting in a car. Without a word. Without the right to choose. And only then did you realize...

Jungkook is angry. Really angry. And then the prick in your neck and the darkness.

He stared at you for a long time, too long. Jungkook towered over you before he spoke. His voice was low and steady, but it vibrated with a dangerous note that sent a chill down your spine.

"You have no idea how much trouble you've caused me." His voice sounded calm, but it was seeping with menace.

You just tilted your head slightly, playfully, with a self-assurance that irritated him.

"If you're talking about how I took the deal with the Japanese partners away from you, I was expecting more fireworks, to be honest."

Something dark flashed in his eyes, something you'd seen many times before - rage hidden beneath an icy mask of control.

You and Jungkook had never been friends. You had known each other for years, but you had always been on opposite sides of the war.

You were the princess of the “Violet Dragons” clan. Your parents were the leaders of the clan, so from childhood, you knew what the world of shadows was and how to survive in it.

Your family controlled part of the city’s illegal business — casinos, underground clubs, and exclusive weapons trade.

You grew up smart, cunning, and ruthless, just like your parents, who unfortunately became victims of mafia conflicts.

You possessed that dangerous beauty that made men forget you could destroy them with a smile on your lips.

You remember well when Jungkook appeared. It was when your uncle took over the clan and you became his right-hand man.

He saw your potential, trusted your sharp mind and strategic thinking. In the mafia world, a woman could not officially lead, but she could guide. And you did it brilliantly. You became an integral part of the top of your family's clan. You planned. You acted. You played the game.

And Jungkook... He immediately established himself as a strong player. He didn't just enter the business, he took full control of it. His name quickly became the law. His word was a verdict. No one worked in this city without his permission. Those who wanted to stay alive bowed their heads to him.

But not you.

You never bowed your head.

Even though your uncle wanted to cooperate with Jungkook, you were against it. You saw him as a threat. Not a partner.

Instead of submitting to his sudden and overwhelming power, you fought for your place, taking away his contracts, disrupting his deals. You've been fighting this war for years - over people, over money, over power.

But something more than just hatred has been burning between you all along.

Your gazes lingered longer than they should have. Your conversations were always too intense, too provocative.

Your bodies were always too close when you met at formal events.

You knew he wanted you.

He knew you wanted him.

But neither of you could allow it.

Because as soon as someone submits, this game is over.

But here you are. You're tied up in his hands. Completely at his mercy. Jungkook looks at your face and for a moment he thinks that everything you did was on purpose. In order to be here with him, giving him the opportunity to destroy you.

"You think you're here because you blew my deal?" Jungkook grabbed the arms of the chair, squeezing them so hard that his fingers turned white. His face came closer to yours. "It's not the business, Y/N. It's you. You crossed the line." He growled. You tried to remain indifferent, but somewhere deep inside you, something trembled.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, putting on a dramatic tone. His smile was dangerous. He had seen you play too many times.

"You know what I mean. Last night, your little performance..." He explains. Before you could answer, he abruptly lifted you up with the chair, leaning forward so that your faces were almost level. His breath touched your lips.

"You made a fool of me. In front of everyone. My credibility has been undermined... You're overplay, princess." He sounded threatening, dangerous.

"This is business, Jungkook." You said, using his words, the ones he said to you every time he took a good deal or partner from under your nose. You sounded mocking, but he shook his head.

"No, princess. It was a game you played with me without thinking about the consequences."

You were silent, not knowing what to say. The smile that was on your face a moment ago disappeared. Of course, you knew that sooner or later he would realize that the deal that had been broken was your doing, but so soon?

He turned away, sat you back down, and walked a few steps away. He took off his jacket, then his watch. He threw it on the edge of the huge sofa. You watched his movements and could feel the tension between you growing.

You couldn't let him do anything to you. You had to get out of here. You had to save yourself. So while he wasn't looking, you tried to untie the rope. You were trained to do that. The world of the mafia required you to be strong and able to defend yourself.

Jungkook turned to face you and started to roll up his sleeves. The tattoos caught your attention, and he noticed it. But why was he rolling up his sleeves? Was he preparing to torture you? Or did he have something else in mind?

"I was standing two meters away. And I was looking into your eyes." he laughed softly, almost hysterically, not believing that you could pull off such a scam, "The same ones that are looking at me so brazenly now." His voice surprisingly sounded silky, dangerously soft.

You froze. The events of the previous evening flashed through your mind, the moment you stole the deal he'd been working on for two years from under his nose.

Jungkook had been negotiating hard with Kaizen Securities, a Japanese corporation that would have given him monopoly control of one of the largest illegal arms supply channels in Seoul. This deal was supposed to raise his status to the level of "untouchable" among all other players.

Since you had a long-standing rivalry with Jungkook, you planted a spy in his clan, who worked successfully for three years. You followed the negotiation process, which Minhyuk reported to you, carefully studying all the details.

You decided to do the following: let Jungkook almost finish the job, and then take back what was yours from the beginning. What your family lost when Jungkook arrived in the criminal arena.

Your last move was on the day the contract was signed. You used a fake identity, the name Hanako Shimada, and introduced yourself as an assistant to one of the Japanese directors, specializing in translation, negotiation, and legal support.

You arrived at the hotel where the meeting was taking place with the delegation, bribing the real assistant, who was "suddenly" hospitalized. You thought out your image to the smallest detail, so that it had nothing to do with your usual style, so that Jungkook would not recognize you.

You were dressed in a white business suit, with lenses, makeup, hairstyle, gait, even your voice slightly altered. You spoke flawless Japanese (because you lived in Japan until you were 16). Your accent was perfect. You played the role of an official - restrained, without a hint of your characteristic audacity.

You looked convincing to the last detail. Who would have suspected?

"I heard your voice." His voice darkened with each word. "Heard you translate every phrase, calmly, dryly, perfectly. Saw you hiding in a white suit and pretending to be someone else."

You were so confident and competent in your performance that he saw you as just another functional "gray mouse" and missed the punch right under his ribs. And now that he's already caught you, when he looks at you, he remembers everything - your gait, your eyes, the slight tilt of your head, the subtle smile - everything was right there in front of him, and he didn't see it.

He rolled up his sleeves and approached again, towering over you. Jungkook looked at you with his black eyes piercingly.

"You set me up, and I don't understand how I couldn't see you play, not recognize you..."

You looked at him silently. Your heart was beating somewhere in your throat, but your face was impeccably calm. He had just admitted that you had defeated him. That you hadn't just taken the contract - you had misled him so that he didn't recognize you from a few meters away.

You couldn't contain your triumph. You slowly raised an eyebrow and with a slight smile, said.

"It turns out I'm a really good actress."

You changed the terms of the deal behind Jungkook's back, telling the Japanese that he would not provide security guarantees. Posing as a trustee of a fictitious investor, you offered better terms: higher profits and security. The Japanese believed you and signed the contract right in his presence.

How sweet it was to see him humiliated in front of the Japanese, because he didn't recognize the manipulation and lost a lucrative contract.

Jungkook's eyes narrowed, his jaw twitched, but you continued, quietly, as if afraid to break the silence.

"And you, Jungkook, have become overconfident. You used to always see everything..."

His eyes darted between yours, sliding down to your lips, then to your neck, then to your thigh, which was visible through the long slit in your dress. You could almost physically feel his gaze touching your body.

His eyes returned to you.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No," you answered evenly. "I'm just reminding you who's had the upper hand in this game from the beginning."

You paused, still fumbling with the rope, and then said with poisonous tenderness.

"What did you think? That you could play on my turf for years, promise the Japanese control of the port my family has owned since my father's time, and I would keep quiet?"

His pupils dilated.

"You knew about the port?"

"I knew everything. Even which of your men had been leaking information to the Japanese." You were silent for a moment, savoring his defeat, and then spoke. "I won fair and square, Jungkook. I took what was rightfully mine."

"Fair?" He laughed, but there was nothing merry about it. "You played dirty. You lied, you bribed people, you made my partners change his mind." He runs his eyes over your face and almost can't control himself. Your self-confidence in your victory has made him angry.

You lift your chin proudly.

"So what? This is our world, isn't it? A world where the strongest take what they want by any means necessary." You argument. Jungkook leans in so that your lips almost touch.

"Yes, but the difference is that I'm stronger. And now you will play by my rules." His fingers touched your face, and you held your breath.

"And what are these rules?" You asked. Jungkook smiled, slowly, predatory.

"I'll show you. But first you have to understand one thing..." His fingers closed on your jaw, forcing you to look directly into his dark eyes.

"Because of your stunt, you are now at my mercy. And believe me, you will not be spared." He almost whispered it to you. You felt his breath on your lips. Your heart beat faster.

His fingers slid down and stopped at your throat. He didn't squeeze, he just touched, making you feel how close the edge was. His gaze slowly moved down, studying you, as if he was already deciding how you should obey him.

Jungkook suddenly turned away, held you with a cold gaze, and then walked away. You continued your struggle with the rope. A little more and you would be free.

He walked over to the table where there was a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He wasn’t in a hurry. He poured it slowly and turned to you, taking a sip. He liked knowing that this time, you wouldn’t run away. He didn't take his eyes off you. You didn't take your eyes off him.

Jungkook sat down on the sofa, drinking a honey-colored liquid. He sating across from you, looking at you calmly, as if he had won the battle in the end.

"I never thought I'd see you in such a helpless situation." His voice was low, savoring every word. He took another sip without hiding his smile. You clenched your jaw, not letting yourself show the fear that was still present, even though you tried to hide it deep inside.

"Enjoying?" You asked ironically, but your eyes were full of anger.

Jungkook twirled his glass in his hands and smiled, slowly, too confidently.

"You know what's the most interesting thing?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I could have put a stop to your antics a long time ago."

You snorted. The laugh came easily from your plump lips.

"You could have tamed me much sooner? But you only did it when I made a fool of you?" You said through your laughter.

Jungkook didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, calmly, without taking his eyes off you, and there was something frightening in that look. Not brute aggression, but cold calculation. He enjoyed your resistance, knew that you would fight to the last - and that was what amused him.

"No. I was just wondering how far you could go. And now you've made your choice, princess." He finally said, twirling the glass in his fingers. "You played with fire, not realizing it could burn you." Jungkook took a sip of alcohol. He tasted the honeyed flavor, and smiled at the corner of his lips.

"Tell me honestly, you didn't think I was going to ignore this trick of yours like all the times before, did you? Let you play with me as you please?"

You lifted your chin sharply, even now not letting him see your weakness.

"You want to break me just because I defeated you?" you challenged. "Then you're much weaker than you look."

Something much darker flashed in his eyes. He put the glass on the nightstand, stood up and came closer.

"Do you think you've defeated me?" Jungkook repeated quietly, leaning in once more so that your faces were almost touching.

He always violated your personal space. He liked to keep you close, so close that you didn't have time to collect your thoughts.

"If it was really a victory, then why are you here - tied up, without any control over the situation, instead of celebrating your success?" his voice dropped to a velvety whisper, and every word penetrated your skin.

You pressed your lips together.

"You know it well. I'm not afraid of you, Jungkook," you said firmly.

He smiled, his eyes sliding over your face, and he straightened up. He liked to look down on you. His imagination painted scenes of you kneeling perfectly before him, and he looked down on you the same way. Something in his middle caught fire at the thought of your mouth on his cock.

But he calmed himself as quickly as he could and walked around you, standing behind you. You stopped untying the rope and clasped your hands together so he wouldn't see that it was loose.

Jungkook leaned down to your ear and said.

"This is good," he whispered. "Because fear is chaos. And I need order."

His fingers touched your neck, and you flinched. At his touch.

He slowly touched the collar of your dress, letting the fabric slip slightly off your shoulder. Your skin burned where his fingers had left a mark.

"It's time to teach you something really important."

"Ha-ha, teach? What can you teach me?" you asked with undisguised interest.

"Submission," Jungkook replied. The word came out of his mouth as easily as a breath. But there was power in it. A power that was frightening. "Submission." He repeated it almost gently, stroking your collarbone with his fingertips. "It's something you haven't known yet, but I'll take care of it." You felt indignation rising inside you.

"You're doing this again?" You said as if it were boring. "I'll never be yours, Jungkook." He smiled in a way that made you feel hot.

"Oh, don't you get it yet?" His voice was almost playful, but there was a metallic tinge of control in the deep timbre. "You are already mine, princess."

Jungkook was in front of you again. His hand grabbed your chin sharply, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

"Every fight between us, every moment when you woke up and thought about me, hating it... It all meant only one thing. You've always belonged to me."

Your breathing became heavier. And this time... you really felt that you were starting to suffocate, not just from fear. But also from confusing feelings that you shouldn't have felt.

He was taking over. He control a situation as a usual. But you hadn't lost yet.

All your emotions rushed out - and it was at that moment that you managed to escape. The rope slipped from your hands, and you hit him sharply, creating space for escape. His reaction was instantaneous, but you were already flying toward the door, half out of breath, consumed by a single desire-freedom.

Your hand almost touched the handle when Jungkook's fingers grabbed your wrist. You turned around, trying to strike, but he easily dodged. Your next move, a kick, was blocked.

In a second, you were pinned against a cold wall. Jungkook forced your arms behind your back, squeezing them to prevent you from breaking free. His body was pressed against you, and you could feel the warmth of his chest pressing against your back. His crotch was touching your buttocks, and your legs were locked with his.

"Want a fight?" he laughed low, touching your ear. You were both breathing heavily.

"Let go of me and I'll kick your ass in seconds Jeon," you said angrily. You suddenly felt his cock resting on your buttocks. He was aroused by your little fight.

"I think we'd better take this passion elsewhere," Jungkook said seductively, and he pressed in closer so you could feel the hardness of his cock even better. It was only then that you noticed a throbbing between your legs. And moisture was leaking onto your underwear. It was foolish not to admit that his proximity excited you as much as it excited him.

"You'll never have me, you bastard," you said, in defiance of your feelings.

Jungkook turned you around in one confident motion, still holding you so you couldn't hurt him. He smiled when he saw your hateful gaze. But you're pretending. He knows you want him.

"Oh, I can have you anytime. But you want it too, don't you princess?" he said, licking his lower lip. You stare at his lips, mesmerized. Fuck. You want to kiss him.

Jungkook finally let go of your hands, confident that you wouldn't fight anymore. He ran his fingers along your figure, lowering his hands to your hips. He slid his hand under your dress and squeezed your skin lightly. His touch was confident, almost possessive. Your hands rested on his chest, as if trying to push him, but your fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt.

"You're shaking, Y/N." He spoke softly, his voice hoarse and hot, seeping into your mind, making your heart beat even faster than before.

"You overestimate your influence over me." You tried to sound confident, but your voice trembled treacherously. "I will never play by your rules."

"But tonight you will," he lifted you by the hips, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist, and carried you to the table behind him. You felt the cold surface against your skin and only then realized how hot you were from what was happening between you.

Jungkook was breathing heavily, barely able to control himself. He suddenly smiled, pressing you tighter to his aroused cock.

"Give me a few minutes and I'll break you." He was serious. His lips barely touched your neck, taking his time, leaving no marks, just burning you with his hot breath. You could feel his palms resting steadily on your buttocks, his fingers flesh squeezing to remind you that the power was his.

"Why don't you push me away, princess?" He whispered it right next to your ear, his voice breaking into hot pulses that ran through your entire body.

Your fingers clenched into fists. You should have resisted. You should have told him it was a game, that he wouldn't make you submit. But when his lips finally touched your neck, when his hot lips sucked in your tender skin, leaving marks, you lost the ability to think.

"You've been playing strong for so long that you've forgotten what it's like to just give in." He said when he had left enough hickeys on your neck. His voice was quiet, but it filled the entire space between you.

You didn't like the feeling of being under his control. But what you didn't like even more was how much you wanted it. You squeezed his shirt, as if balancing the desire to push him away and pull him closer.

"Tell me I'm wrong..." His lips stopped right next to yours. You met his gaze. Full of lust, full of power to conquer.

"I..." You paused, inhaled. Your pride dissolved, burned under that look. "...I hate you."

Jungkook smiled.

"Little liar."

His lips finally covered yours, sharply, all-consuming, so that you forgot how to breathe. It was an invasion. A struggle.

You squeezed his shoulders, trying to hold back - but your lips responded. At first it was a protest. Then it was an explosion. The kiss became deeper, hotter, as if you were both surrendering to all the emotions that had been building up for so long and burning from the inside.

His tongue penetrated you without asking for permission, just like everything else he did. And you... didn't stop him. Because you wanted it too. You wanted it.

He tore the zipper of your dress open and it gathered at your hips. The sight of your perfectly taut breasts, erect nipples, and goosebumps made Jungkook want more. He uncontrollably took one of your breasts in his hands and squeezed it. His wet tongue circled around your bud, tasting the pleasant taste of your nipples.

You were moaning above his head, just from his caresses, so what would you sound like when he entered you? When he fills you to the brim?

"Feel that?" His voice was husky, heavy with desire. You didn't know what he was asking specifically, whether it was his hard cock resting against your needy pussy or his power over you. But you felt it all. His strength. His desire. His complete control over your every move. "You've always belonged to me." He whispered it right next to your ear, breaking into a hot breath.

His hands, which had been under your dress, boldly reached for your underwear. He stopped, his lips still touching yours.

"Are you finally admitting it, princess?"

Silence. Only your breaths. The pulse in your temples. Hot air, saturated with tension. But you didn't say anything. Are you really losing this war that has lasted so long?

His hand moved your underwear to the side. Your body shuddered as he ran his fingers between the damp folds, easily finding a spot that made you sigh softly.

Jungkook smiled triumphantly. He massaged your clit, with slow, blissful strokes. When he plunged a finger into your passage, you grabbed his free hand, squeezing it.

"So wet... Fuck, you're just dripping onto my fingers, baby." He whispered. In between kissing your neck, your jaw, your breasts. He wanted to explore every inch of your body with his lips.

Jungkook added another finger to your passage and fucked you with it. He created a friction that made you want to feel something more.

"I want to hear that…Tell me I won." He demanded. His voice was full of power, he knew you belonged to him completely.

You opened your eyes and met his gaze, heavy and piercing. And you had to surrender. You had to admit it. You belonged to him completely and utterly. You wanted to be his. You fucking wanted this man to fuck you.

"You win, Kook. I'm yours." You whispered. He stretched you, plunged into every cell of your body, took you over, made you forget where you were, who you were, and why you'd ever tried to resist.

His movements became deeper, more confident. And you couldn't fight anymore-your hands reached for the buttons of his shirt, and you pulled them open randomly, wanting to tear them off.

Jungkook slipped his fingers out of your passage and helped you undress him. In the dim light of the suite, his body was so hot and sexy. His skin was perfect, every muscle as if carved by God himself.

You gulped in a breath, as your eyes touched his torso. Elastic, well-defined chest, broad shoulders. His abs, like marble, consisted of perfect lines that stretched down, right to the place where your imagination was already drawing the most daring images.

Your fingers reached for his body, sliding over his hot skin. Now you knew what his tattoos looked like, the ones that were always hidden behind his clothes.

There was ink that seemed to come to life under your touch. First, you noticed the words "Rather be dead than cool" tattooed in italics on his forearm, a phrase that perfectly matched his personality: bold, unrestrained, living to the fullest.

Above, on his wrist, was a delicate drawing of a tiger and a lotus, symbolizing strength and purity - a contrast similar to his own.

And on his shoulder was a large black flower, and your palm slid over it, gently, almost reverently.

You barely had time to enjoy the sight of it when Jungkook pulled off your dress and then simply tore open your thin black lace thong. You gasped, not expecting such behavior from Jungkook, but it seemed he was losing patience.

He had a sly smile on his face. His eyes never left yours, hungry, dark, and without mercy.

"You know, princess... Now that you're mine, I'm going to make sure you can never forget this moment."

He knelt between your legs. His gaze slid down to your center and he licked his lips like a predator who had finally gotten his prey.

His tongue slid over your folds, gently at first, exploring, making you arch with pleasure, and then deeper, harder, rhythmically, until your moans became shameless. His hands held your hips tightly, not letting you escape, not letting you even think about resisting. He worked his tongue as if he could drive you crazy with it alone, and damn it, he did.

Your stomach was in a knot, wave after wave passing through your body, making you squirm and gasp. You grabbed his hair, trying to hold back, but...

"Fuck..." you cursed, barely recognizing your own voice.

He lifted his head, his lips glistening with your wetness. He flicked his tongue across his lower lip, tasting you. His chest heaved rhythmically, He was on the verge, just like you.

"I can't wait any longer," he said hoarsely and stood up, shedding the rest of his clothes. His cock was hard, tense, ready for you.

You didn't look away. It was perfect. Big. Erect. And all yours.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the table, supporting you under your buttocks, and ran his head between your folds. Just teasing. Just playing.

"Tell me again. Who do you belong to?"

You clutched his forearm, your nails digging into his skin, your body trembling with anticipation.

"You... Jungkook. I belong to you."

"Good girl."

You thought Jungkook was going to take you right now. He was teasing you with those movements of his cock on your clit, but he didn't come in. You weren't expecting it when he pulled back and pulled you to the floor. Your buttocks were resting on the table, and in a moment Jungkook turned you around, bending you over the table.

Your breasts were on the table, your hands resting on the perfectly polished surface. Your hot breath left condensation.

Jungkook came up behind you, pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, and thrust. You felt him penetrate. He had barely plunged into you when you screamed in pain. He stopped when he felt you were in pain. You were tighty, he could feel it as he stretched you.

"How long since you had sex?" he asked in a low voice. You pressed your fingers tighter to the table, so that they turned white. Jungkook moved back and forth, as if breaking through an invisible barrier.

"It's been a long time," you breathed out, but your voice sounded sharp, like the thorns on a beautiful rose. Jungkook smiled, still moving lightly at the entrance. He stroked your thighs, soothing you.

"When was the last time?" he asked. You raised your eyebrows, why was he asking? You should talk less and act more. Even though you were in pain, you needed him inside.

"What the hell does it matter, just come in," you couldn't stand it. You heard Jungkook's guttural laugh. And then his hand was right in front of your eyes. He leaned down and touched your cheek with his lips.

"You're not supposed to be a virgin, are you?" his voice vibrated against your skin, making you tremble inside. His cock was still in your passage, but not fully penetrating.

"Don't even dream about being my first, I had sex before you," you said indignantly. You turned your head a few centimeters. You saw Jungkook's lips and it was at that moment that you felt him enter you completely. It was not very sharp, but you screamed.

Jungkook plunged into you until his hips felt yours. His balls touched your pussy and he froze, still leaning over you. You were breathing hard and fast, feeling pain, but it was being replaced by the pleasure of being filled with his cock.

"You're such a tight princess that even if you did have sex, that idiot had a small cock." he laughed again. "Who was that?" he moved his hips and you bit your lip to keep from screaming again. "Your assistant Dongmin, or was it In-guk, that piece of shit who was always hanging around you?"

Jungkook moved his hips slowly but deeply. He was careful, and you could tell he didn't want to hurt you. His breath was hot, burning your skin, spreading over it in a stormy wave.

"That was Taehyung," you said. Jungkook froze. You smiled because you knew it would surprise him.

"Taehyung?" he repeated quietly, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper, and his gaze-though you couldn't see it-was probably as dark as a night storm.

His fingers tightened around your hips, and his breath came in shorter bursts. But instead of getting angry or pulling away, he slowly, almost painfully, moved inside you again, sinking deeper.

"I didn't know he had a small one..." Jungkook said it with a sneer, but you didn't laugh, because Taehyung didn't have a small one. Maybe a little smaller than Jungkook's. "Why... he?" he said hoarsely, as if he wasn't asking, but trying to understand.

You smiled out loud, a little cheekily.

"We had a common project, common interests, spent a lot of time together...and it happened." you said, holding back moans of pleasure.

Jungkook entered you, deeper and longer each time. His movements were slow but full of power. Jungkook felt a stab of jealousy that Taehyung was touching you. He saw the pleasure on your beautiful face, heard your moans... Before Jungkook did. That made he’s movements chaos.

Your fingers slid along the steamy surface of the table, looking for support. Your whole body merged with his in a rhythm that seemed endless.

Jungkook lowered himself, leaning even closer, almost completely covering your body with his.

His lips touched your neck, burning with every word he spoke:

"Shared interests?" he whispered, moving his hips so that you cried out again. "I wonder if he liked the way you squirmed under him too..."

You turned your head as sharply as your posture allowed and met his gaze defiantly:

"What, are you jealous?" you exhaled, trembling from the new thrust. "Maybe you're afraid he was better?"

His whole body tensed. In the next moment, Jungkook straightened behind you and abruptly, but not violently, withdrew from you almost completely... and then plunged in again, deeply, to the very core.

You screamed, clutching the edge of the table.

"Say it again," his voice was low, dark as thunder in the night, "and I make you forget who Taehyung, Dongmin, In-guk, and everyone else who ever dared to touch you is."

His hips pressed firmly against your buttocks again, and his hands were no longer gentle, but strong, saying: "now you are mine."

And you felt it - with every cell.

His fingers slid to your clit, stimulating you to unbearable sensations. He knew how to touch you, how to hold you to make you moan louder for him.

Your sounds filled the room. He picked up the pace, but didn't lose control. Your back pressed against his chest as he lifted you without leaving you. You could feel his heart - it was beating furiously, almost in unison with yours.

"From this night — you only mine," he said. You couldn't even imagine how much he liked the sound of that, "you should remember how you looked when I fucked you for the first time, so you never forget who was the best in you..."

With that, he pulled out of you. You felt your passage hurt. Your pussy was swollen and throbbing unbearably. You tried to normalize your breathing when you felt Jungkook grab you, throwing you over his shoulder. Your bodies touched again, raising the temperature of each other. His hand was on your bare buttocks.

"Oh my God, what are you doing?" you said in agony in front of his buttocks. He couldn't help himself and slapped your ass.

"Going to show you how amazing you are when my cock is deep inside you," he said playfully.

Jungkook carried you into the bedroom. It was dark, but not completely. The lights of the city at night illuminated it barely, but it was enough to see what you needed to see.

You saw Jungkook carry you past the big bed and set you on your feet. In front of a mirror.

You looked at your reflection and saw a girl who was naked, with marks on her neck and chest. She was disheveled with swollen lips.

Jungkook hugged you close. You saw his face and sly smile in the mirror. His big palm touched your stomach.

"Just look how beautiful you are," he said in your ear, not taking his eyes off yours in the mirror, "how beautiful you are when you give yourself to me," he whispered, squeezing you more closer. His lips barely touched your skin, but your body was already on fire from this touch. You looked in the mirror and couldn't recognize yourself.

He grabbed your jaw and turned you around, kissing you. His tongue went into your mouth as if he was the master. Your tongues intertwined, wrestling just like you had all those years before. Finally, he bit your lower lip and let you go.

Jungkook led you to the mirror and you reflexively grabbed the frame. You let him dive into you again. This time he went in less painfully but still deeply, keeping his gaze on your reflection.

"Don't look away," his voice was warm but commanding, "I want you to see what I'm doing to you. So that every time you think back to this night, you will remember yourself like this. Mine."

His hips started moving again, gradually speeding up. His arms held you tightly, one cupping your breasts, the other sliding down between your legs. He touched you gently and hard at the same time, mixing pleasure with fierce passion exists.

You were trembling, and every movement of his body made you forget how to breathe.

"So who's fucking you so good, huh princess?" he hissed, staring at your mirror reflection.

You didn't answer, just exhaled his name, shuddering at his fingers on your clit.

"You…" you hardly breathe, "You Jungkook..."

You held back moans from the intense stimulation, the feel of his big cock inside you. And Jungkook didn't like it.

"Louder," he grunted. "I want to enjoying your scream."

You listened to him. You couldn't hold back any longer. Your loud moans, almost screams, filled the entire space around you. They were intertwined with the sounds of your bodies hitting each other, and they were almost sinful.

His cock moving inside you, hot, hard, ruthless. And your whole body merged with him in this rhythm - wild, honest, real. As if he knew no mercy.

He pulled your hair to the side and kissed your neck.

"I'm going to cherish this moment in your memories, because this is just the beginning of our fun adventure."

You let go of all your feelings as your orgasm hit you like a storm. Your body arched in his arms, the last, loudest moan burst from your chest, and your mind exploded with white light.

Jungkook hit you hard a few more times and came out of you. He came on your ass with a hoarse, low growl.

He put his wet forehead against your back, which was covered with a thin layer of sweat.

Your breaths merged into one, your hearts were beating furiously. His arms did not let go, his body did not move away. All you could feel was the weight of his cock on your buttocks and his warm, thick cum dripping down your legs.

You moved, forcing Jungkook to pull away. His cum dripped down your legs, dripped onto the floor, but neither of you seemed to care.

You turned around to face him. Jungkook was still breathing deeply, but he had a satisfied smile on his lips. You smiled too, but slyly, playfully.

"So…it happened," you said first. Jungkook pulled you to him. His lips covered yours, completely. Absorbing you, just as he had done with your body. With your soul. Having enjoyed your lips enough, he broke the kiss. You slowly opened your eyes. They were sparkling.

"It happened, princess, are you satisfied?" he asked, carefully studying your expression.

"Do I have to tell you the truth? Or can I tease you?" you asked playfully. His fingers on your waist squeezed your skin tighter.

"Only tell the truth... because if you lie to me again, or deceive me... you will not receive my mercy, anymore" he warned in a soft voice not without a touch of menace.

"It sounds like a another challenge..." you said, "but if tell honest, I'm really satisfied," you kissed him on the lips, a short touch, and when you pulled away a few centimeters, seeing his eyes closed, you whispered, "you fucked me so good."

Jungkook opened his eyes when he heard your words, but you had already disappeared. He saw you hurriedly walked towards the bedroom door.

"I need to take a shower," you threw over your shoulder and disappeared behind the door.

When you got out of the shower, you didn't find Jungkook. You heard the sound of water coming from the other bathroom and knew this was your chance to run away from him. You put on the dress that was lying on the floor in the living room, but you sewed up your thong because Jungkook had torn it.

You grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and wrote him a short message. You signed it with a kiss and the first letter of your name.

You grabbed key card, opened the door of hotel room and left without being stopped.

Jungkook took a quick shower, replaying your sex in his head. He was excited and happy that you would finally be his. The way you moaned and screamed his name made his mind go wild. And he was going to get even more from you.

Jungkook walked into the living room and heard silence. He became alert, looking around for you because you weren't in the bedroom.

His eyes fell on the white paper left on the table. Nowhere to be seen was your burgundy dress, which he had taken off you somewhere around here. Jungkook laughed as he walked over to the table. Did you really run away and leave a note?

He held the white piece of paper between his two fingers, skimming the contents.

"You still didn't catch me, but I'll be more careful than today. I'm looking forward to your hunt for me. What will be our next meeting? I'm sure you're already waiting for it.

P.S. Thanks for the show anyway, guy with the dark eyes.

Y/N 💋"

Jungkook clenched the piece of paper into a fist. And then he laughed. He sat down on the couch with his head on the back of the couch and looked at the ceiling.

You run away again. You had outsmarted him again. Again made his thoughts boil with the possibility of knowing a way to get you. He closed his eyes tiredly, but a smile played on his lips was predatory.

"No mercy now, Princess. The darkness pulls you under before you know it..." was the sound in his head.

☰ Index: Ⅰ // Ⅱ // Ⅲ // Ⅳ // Ⅴ 𓏧

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

I'm not sure fandom babies understand how much info they generally get on fics on AO3. Especially the ones who complain about certain kinds of content. TIME WAS YOU COULD NEVER KNOW IF THERE WOULD BE SHIT YOU DIDN'T LIKE IN FICS.

Like, okay, take this header from a fic I loved in LotR fandom back in 2002, on the LotR forum/website I preferred:

That provides... essentially no info on what's actually in the fic, y'know? It's 6 chapters and appears to mostly be about Frodo and Pippin, and it's rated G, but other than that, take a risk, right?

Or take this header on Livejournal for a fic I posted in 2008:

This was actually an extremely in-depth fic header at the time. There were a lot of people who didn't bother adding notes, word counts, or even characters of focus. "Warnings" was an optional entry, and I only bothered adding it bc the fic had significant spoilers for an episode that had aired recently. There are other things I'd tag on it now, but those weren't "tagged" at the time by most people.

I'd show off an FF.net header but I can't actually get the site to load tonight.

Like, it was controversial that a fic challenge community I was in on LJ in '07 or so took down a fic someone submitted because they didn't warn for sexual assault. Because we had no rule about being required to warn.

And some of y'all bitch that AO3 allows thoroughly-tagged content that you can easily avoid and not accidentally read, and if you accidentally read it bc it's not tagged, you can REPORT it????

Nah. Fuck that and fuck you. AO3 should not censor content posted to it, but I have not seen a fic in YEARS that doesn't have more info about the content of a 100 word drabble than I would've ever given for a 4k word fic back in the day. Not because I specifically had bad habits, but because WE DID NOT PROVIDE THAT INFO AT THAT TIME.

Sorry just. I saw something earlier today being critical of AO3 and just. Y'all don't understand how good you have it. You really really don't. And on the one hand I'm glad that you always had this quality of tagging, but on the other fuck you for acting like it's not fabulously thorough for asking if there's common triggers in it.

[sevgilimsatoru]

Error 410: (Self Aware!AU, Caleb Edition) Part 2

Part: 1 Part: 3 Part:4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 A/N Summary: A self aware!AU with Caleb and NonMC! reader. Tags: Caleb x reader, Caleb x NonMC! reader, Caleb x fem!reader, Stressedout!reader. Hypersexual!reader Trigger warnings: Masturbation, Mentions of slight sexual themes? Disgust in response to said sexual themes? Word Count: 1k

Inspired by: @ittybittyfanblog A/N: Hi, first of all, thanks for all the support. I really appreciate each and everyone of you. The only thing that I want to keep constant with my reader or Non!Mc is that she is hypersexual. Hypersexuality: It is referred to as compulsive sexual behavior or sex addiction, It's an intense focus on sexual fantasies, urges or behaviors that can't be controlled.  I wanted my reader to be hypersexual because I feel like this is still a hush topic even in safe spaces for people who are suffering from mental illness. Hypersexuality is often a trauma response from the brain of kids who were groomed, S/Aed or just got the unfiltered internet access at a young age and saw things that they shouldn't. If you don't feel comfortable with reading it, it's alright. You can just scroll past that part and I will make sure it's not too long or too frequent but it will be present. Hope you enjoy!!

"The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he's in prison" "-Fyodor Dostoevsky"

Silence, finally. Sweet, calm silence. You never knew how much you appreciate silence until the screeching loudness of your alarm blared throughout the room.

God.., when did you even set an alarm? You were sure you had made to turn off all your alarms a few days ago. Ugh.. You slowly opened your eyes. Wanting to stop that annoying noise and sleep a little more.

But the dryness in your mouth was probably a good reminder to wake up and drink some water. You really didn't need the hassle of going to a doctor because of dehydration. Your hand reaching out to pick up your phone and shutting the damn alarm off. The noise you let out when you finally got off the bed was between a whine and a groan. Rubbing your eyes, you walked inside the kitchen. Pouring yourself a glass of water. You took a sip- the cold liquid flowing in your mouth and down your parched throat. Quickly finishing the glass of water, pouring yourself one more. The liquid dripped down your chin with how quickly you were drinking it. Like a man dying of thirst in the middle of a desert. You panted slightly, pulling a glass away from your lips, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Wow, that felt so much better.. Your mom would taunt you to death if she saw you like this. Maybe you should start taking care of yourself.. But first, you should make some breakfast- now that you thought about it.., did you have dinner last night? Opening your fridge, you were greeted with a sad sight, there was almost nothing inside except a few slices of bread, two eggs and a few vegetables along with a little more than half a carton of milk.

That was more than enough for you to feed yourself today- maybe you should ask your parents for money, stock up the fridge. Yeah, maybe.. they had insisted to pay for your expenses even after it had been a struggle to convince them that you could live on your own. Taking out the eggs and vegetables, you placed them on the kitchen counter. Running the tap water to wash the vegetables. "I can make an omelet, it'll be quick an easy," You thought, letting out a small hum. It did get lonely living alone.. Closing the tap of water, you walked over to your room, picking up your phone and unlocking it. "Omelet.. omelet.. hmm" You muttered, scrolling through your phone, opening youtube. One of the first few videos you saw was an omelet tutorial. Wow. Isn't that awfully convenient? Oh well, doesn't matter. It didn't take long for you to make the omelet, it was actually pretty good. Much better than any omelet you've made before. You still had to shower, clean up your apartment, clean the dishes, do the laundry. That was a lot of work but well, you can do all that.. slowly.

Time passed and before you knew it, it was afternoon. With a sigh, you laid down in your bed. All that work was unsurprisingly exhausting. But you had actually gotten things done, isn't that great? You deserved a pat on the back.

You scrolled through your phone- tumblr, reddit, youtube.. but there was nothing new, nothing interesting. You felt bored.., you felt empty. One of your hands slipping in between your thighs, tapping against the fabric of your sweatpants. The urge had been there all day to just.. feel good. You really didn't feel like doing it.., you had just showered, changed your clothes, done laundry. But it would feel so good..

You shouldn't..

It would feel amazing though. And that rush of dopamine would feel so great. But.. It'll be quick.. just once? You'll stop after one orgasm. Yeah, just once. Sure.. just once- it always started with just once. You couldn't help the disgust blooming in your stomach as you shoved your stained sheets and sweatpants in the washing machine.

This was gross and so were you. The high felt good.., it felt so so good. But when it was over- the feeling of nausea and disgust was enough to make you feel repulsive.

Getting yourself off wasn't a bad thing.. once, twice even three times a day wasn't bad but fuck, when you started you couldn't just stop. What the hell was wrong with you? What sort of guy would ever like a girl like you? ..Why did that even matter, who cares what sort of guy would like you. You were really loosing your mind, it was just a matter of time before you cracked, you were sure.

You sniffled, blinking away the tears that were starting to form. No. You were not going to cry over this. You wanted to do something else, anything else to stop this train of thought. Picking up your phone, you opened Love and Deepspace.

Running back to him, just like a dog. You always did run back to him for comfort ever since you first saw Caleb after installing this game. Replaying the few and far scenes he had when he first appeared in the game. Who cares what sort of guy would like you? Caleb would.. he'd like you- no matter how you were, right? He'd adore you like he adored the MC right? Yeah, like it mattered how a fictional character made of pixels in a otome game thought of you. As if it mattered more than how actual people did. You really were insane. But does that matter, if he loves you? When the game finally loaded up, Caleb looked different. Worried.. That frown on his face which you found so adorable, his eyebrows scrunched together as he stared at you. As if he cared..

"Why are you looking at me like that, Caleb?" You said, talking to yourself in your empty room, not being able to help the smile that graced your face when you saw him. But it wasn't as bright as usual.., rather tired. "I worry about you, you know..?" Caleb said with a sigh, looking at you with a hand on his hips. His words felt like he was replying back to you. Was that a new line? You didn't see anything about a new update.. How strange but you really had no complaints. Caleb walked closer to the screen, reaching his hand out like every other time when he patted the MC's head. And like a fool, you almost leaned your head forward. Like you could actually feel his touch, his warmth. Oh, the things you'd do for him to be real..

You smiled at his concern, your eyes glued to the screen, running over his worried face. "I'll be fine, pretty boy" You muttered, as if he could hear you.

I'll be fine.., as long as you are with me. Tag list: @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @aneertawrites @etsuniiru @demon-master-zero @angstylittleb1tch @mcdepressed290 @ittybittyfanblog @winwinwrites @alifyairl @huhleighna @calebsbeanpeeler @bookworrm1999

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.9 words you've been wanting to hear

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 15.6k (WHY DO THEY KEEP GETTING LONGER)

a/n. HELLO MY DEAR KICKOFF READERS IVE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH i am soooo sorry for the wait on this one. this chapter felt very vulnerable to write for some reason lmfao, but i really hope it was worth the wait :''') see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or some things don't make sense i'm so sorry i literally gave up on proofreading this i just ended up raw-doggin it and then posting it

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

an additional author's note. hellooo ellie here. there are some additional warnings/tags for this chapter, i added them to the tags above, so if you know you have any sort of triggers, please refer to them before reading! but if you don't have any and don't want to be spoiled ab anything then you can keep reading lol. thank youu <33

--

The restaurant address that Kai sent you was just a ten minute taxi ride away, save for the five minutes you spent trying to evasively maneuver through the hotel lobby in order to avoid running into people you’re not too keen on seeing right now, a list that stacks up to just one person at this moment.

It’s a Korean barbecue place, it’s been ages since you’ve been to one, probably since they’re way too expensive for any sort of outing you could afford these days, but the crisp sizzling sounds of the grills and the savory air has your mouth watering in a way that makes you indifferent to the cost. Anything to get this churning feeling out of your stomach. 

It’s instantly brought to your attention that Hana’s tipsy off of Soju because she’s slid out of the booth the second you emerge to the tablestide, and she’s onto her feet to pull you into a hug. You hug her back.

“I’m ssssoooooooo glad you’re—hic—here,” she says, voice sounding loud near your ear, but her embrace is surprisingly calming to you.

Her face appears flushed when you pull away, and you give her a smile and a kind hold of her elbow. “I’m happy to be here, sorry for coming late, I just decided I wanted to have dinner with you all.”

Minato is pulling on Hana’s arm to get her to sit down, which she finally agrees to, and you glance to the left side of the table where Kai sat, meticulously turning over pieces of meat on the grill. His eyes are on you, and the seat next to him is empty.

“You look nice,” he says, eyes falling to your lap under the table once you’ve taken a seat next to him.

Your eyes fall to your lap as well. “Oh. Thanks. I wasn’t really trying to look any sort of way, though.” Just faded jeans with a few rips & holes you made yourself, way back in high school when that sort of thing was trendy.

“I know,” he says, smirk heard perfectly through his words, “I like that.”

You ignore him, a fleeting thought passing through your head of how annoyingly forward men are to women they’ve met within a day, just something you’ve noticed recently, and then you’re accepting the glass of Soju that Minato’s poured for you. Quick to tip it back, you feel a burn on your tongue that’s just enough to distract.

“Today’s game was pretty interesting,” Minato speaks up, picking up a few pieces off the grill with his chop sticks and placing them on Hana’s plate first before taking some for himself. You find the gesture sweet. “The first half was intense.”

Hana nods enthusiastically, elbows rested on the tabletop as she waves her hands around in the air. “Uh huh, uh huh, the boys kicked the ball like whoosh. Goes all over the place! Can’t get a—hic—can’t get a single shot. No, I mean me, I can’t get a camera shot. Not them, they can get the shots of goals. The goals of shots? Huh.”

“Alright, you’ve had enough,” Minato grumbles as he drags the glass of Soju that she was nursing away from her. 

Kai lets out a laugh beside you, his knee bumping against yours under the table. “I’ve watched so many of these soccer games for this job, and I’ve still got no damn clue what the rules are.”

You blink down at your empty plate for a second before grabbing the silver chopsticks laid neatly on your napkin, and taking some food from the center of the table. “Really? I’ve only been to a couple, and I feel like I get the gist of it.” Maybe it’s because you had a personal interest, though.

Kai lets out a low whistle next to you. “Okay, you’re a smartass then.”

You give him a sidewards glance. “Maybe you’re just dumb?” 

Your own words startle you a bit. Minato lets a laugh out, but under his breath, while Hana does absolutely nothing to conceal hers. Kai’s eyes just widen. You bite down on a carrot stick.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Hana chirps, tapping at your wrist, “do you know any of the soccer players? Utahime said you doooo.”

You swallow slowly to buy yourself time, but give a preliminary shake of your head before answering, “no, not really.” You catch a whiff of the cologne on your wrist when you lift your glass to your lips.

“Oh,” she sulks her shoulders and then sinks down into the booth again, her head falling onto Minato’s shoulder. The man stiffens a bit and then there’s a content smile playing at his lips. A hint of a smile develops on your face too at the sight when you put two and two together. What an adorable little crush. It makes you feel sick.

Kai pours you some more Soju the second you drink down the last of it in your glass, and you nod to him as a thanks. “Pretty sure most of my photos from the first half are fucked,” he says, dragging the opening of the bottle against the rim of your glass before pulling it away, “didn’t realize until way later that my aperture was way off.”

You bring the glass to your lips, inhaling before taking a sip. You’re about to speak up about that when Minato beats you to it.

“Are you serious?” he asks, disappointed, like they’re suddenly talking business now. “I better see some good shots. Your side was where most of the action took place. Like that through-pass, tight behind the defensive line, from Nanami Kento to Gojo Satoru before he sunk it a couple mins before the half ended.”

You choke a little on your Soju at the mention of Gojo’s name, and then all three of them are looking at you. You wave a hand in front of your face. “Sorry.” 

Kai grumbles something under his breath and then stuffs a piece of pork belly into his mouth. “Yeah, whatever, man. I’m pretty sure I got some good ones. Don’t worry.”

Dinner goes on like that, where you count the number of times Kai thinks that someone saying something funny across the table is an excuse to press his thigh against yours, but at least the cute way that Hana and Minato seem to inch closer to one another all night is enough to put you at some sort of bitter ease. But that unsettling feeling in your stomach from a couple of hours ago still lingers.

The four of you stand outside the restaurant, heels rocking back and forth in the cold as you all take up the last chance to debrief the day, and then Minato’s glancing at his watch.

“Alright, it’s probably time to head back. We can all share a ride to the hotel, it’s cheaper that way,” Minato says. Hana’s clinging to his sleeve.

“Oh, uh, I was going to stay here. There’s a cool camera shop around the corner. I was gonna check it out,” Kai says, pointing over his shoulder before glancing at you. “Wanna come? I saw they’ve got used film cameras.”

You twiddle with the hotel key card in your pocket. It’s cheap plastic, could break easily with just the right amount of pressure. Like your resolve right now. “Sure.”

He smiles at you.

“Alright, well I need to get this one back to her room,” Minato says with a sigh, pointing to Hana, “so I’ll see you all at the next game?”

You and Kai nod at him and then watch as he walks away with Hana on his arm towards the curb, pulling his phone out to call for a ride.

“Where’s this camera shop at?” you ask Kai once the silence between the two of you stretches out a little too long. 

“It really is just around the corner,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He starts walking down the row of miscellaneous shops and establishments under dim street lighting, and you follow after him before the two of you circle to the adjacent end. A tiny shop in the distance catches your eye. The LED sign above the storefront was blinking sporadically, and read 17th St Camera & Rentals, except half the letters were extinct of any light. Next to it was a 24/7 liquor store.

It’s only when you walk right up to it that you realize the sign dangling behind the glass door that says closed.

“Oh. Bummer,” Kai comments in a flat tone. “I swear it was open before I got to the restaurant.”

You sigh, pulling your phone out to glance at the time. “Yeah, at 8pm? It’s past 10 now.”

He looks at you and taps the camera case still hung at his neck. “That’s fine. I’ve still got a camera to show you, anyways.”

You blink your eyes at him, suddenly feeling a bit exhausted and then glance over your shoulder at the curb of the street to see if Minato & Hana were still there waiting for a ride. You don’t see them anymore. 

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

Kai seems to know the area better than you, since he walks down the haphazardly lain sheets of concrete across the ground with more confidence than a tourist would. The thought occurs to you that maybe the newsletter photographers have eaten here before during their time in Kyoto.

“What made you start working with the newsletter?” you ask, glancing at him as the two of you walk down further, into what seems like a neighborhood.

He shrugs. “First job I could find out of college. I had a lot of freelance experience, so I’m assuming that’s why they hired me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “What about you?”

“I’ve known Utahime for a while. She was impressed with my work.”

“Ahh, connections,” he muses, “smart. That’ll get you far as an artist.”

He suddenly stops walking and peers off to the right, into a darkness that you can’t really make anything out of until you’ve spent a few seconds staring too. He walks in that direction, the loud echoing stomps of his boots on concrete no longer audible once he crosses the threshold onto grass, and you follow behind to what seems like a deserted children’s park. You wish there were more trees in the city. There are a lot here in the countryside, and it makes you homesick for something you’re not even sure of.

A gust of wind brushes through, rattling the set of swings hung on rusty chains. The wood chips underneath your feet feel stale, with no snap to them at all as you follow Kai through the playhouses set up in connected fashion. There are two picnic benches, one looks like it’s been freshly painted with faux effort to improve its image in the line of sight of the street, while the other has red paint peeled back to reveal bronze underneath the moonlight, neglected and tucked behind a few trees. The latter is what he chooses.

He slides into the bench, and he shakes his head when he sees you try to take a seat on the other side before patting at the seat beside him. “It’d be easier for you to take a look at my side.”

He has a point, so you sit next to him instead. Although at this point in the night, you were feigning interest. He zips his camera bag open and you take a better look at the lens. There’s no way it was as cheap as he told you it was.

“There’s no way this was as cheap as you told me it was,” you say.

He laughs, pulling the camera out and handing it to you. “Yeah, maybe the guy cut me a deal since I’ve bought from him before.”

You’re smart enough to put the strap around your neck, even though you’re only holding it a few inches above the table, because a camera like this deserves the care and respect. The material is minimalist and sleek, and it’s heavy in your hands. You click the shutter button, screen coming to life with a few mechanic chirps. “Woah. Is it LCD or OLED?”

“LCD.”

“That’s nice,” you say, “paying for the OLED just seems silly to me.”

“I concur, Canon. Color accuracy is king.”

He shuffles to pull something out of his pocket while you continue to inspect the camera in your hands, and you see him fidget with said thing over the table in the corner of your eye. The flick of something and the light of something makes you turn your head to face him, and he’s pinching the end of a joint to his mouth, lighting the other end.

He gives you a glance when you stare for too long, inhaling from it before pulling it from his mouth. “What?” You can see the smoke leave his mouth in the chill of the air.

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

You blink at him, and he places his elbow on the table to lean closer to you. 

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

“Wanna smoke with me?” Two fingers pinching the origin of smoke tilt towards you. “This is my good weed, though, so, I charge by the drag.”

“That’s ridiculous, and no thanks. It doesn’t suit me.”

He lets out a laugh, releasing whatever tension he was building in your space, and the smell of weed is nauseating, but at least it's a new sensation to you.

“You’ve gotta be the only film major on the planet that doesn’t smoke weed. How do you manage?” he asks, the orange flicker of his joint being the only color you can distinctly see under the similarly flickering street lights. 

Your finger traces the rim of the camera lens and is careful to not smudge the glass. “I think I manage just fine.”

“Yeah. With delusion,” he says, coughing, scattering smoke into the air this time instead of a clean blow.

You turn a bit in your seat to face him more, placing the camera down. “You’re extremely blunt.”

His eyebrow raises in amusement and you close your eyes with annoyance at the pun. You brush it off.

“I mean, seriously, I get you’re probably just looking out for me, I guess. I appreciate that. But do you really think my dreams of becoming a filmmaker are that far-fetched?” you ask. There’s a crack to your voice at the end that you didn’t like.

He sighs, setting his wrist down on the table. There’s a long pause where he thinks about what to say. Probably the most you’ve seen him consider what words leave his mouth next. “I was in the same shoes as you, y/n. A couple years ago. I, too, had big dreams of making movies. I was going to apply to film grad school as well, although you’re shooting higher than I was at the time. There’s no way I would’ve gotten into UTokyo’s.” He tilts his head to the side a few times while looking straight off ahead. “I sent scripts in everywhere. To every fucking production company, creative agency, you name it. Never got a callback, not even once. While all my fellow grads were landing decent, respectable jobs.” He brings the joint to his mouth again, but he doesn’t inhale, just bitterly bites it. “I could’ve went on like that, but,” his brow furrows, “I’ve seen my peers torture themselves for years for those dreams of theirs. I swore I wouldn’t be one of them. Because they’re all delusional fucks.” He finally glances at you. “Are you one, too?”

Your shoulders drop a little and your lips purse. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early to say.” 

“It’s never too early to say, if the outcome is all the same,” he tells you. 

You consider his words for a moment. It’s the easy way out. You should consider yourself lucky. Everyone wants a reason, a sign, to turn away from the one thing they’re scared to think about. And here he was, giving that to you on a silver platter.

But if what you wanted was really all that fragile, then it means there’s nothing to show for any of it. For all the effort it took you to get here, and all the effort you’re still willing to give. 

“I’ll keep going until I fail,” you say, “or until I succeed.” It’s not really something you say for him, but for yourself.

He juts his bottom lip out and raises his eyebrows, slowly nodding his head, like he’s impressed by you. But his posture remains lax. “I mean, you’re working this job. You’ve got some sort of plan, at least. It’s not like I’m your parent to tell you what to do and what not to do.” He finally takes another drag, eyebrows pinching together at the same time his fingers pinch close to the burn of his joint to pull it away. “What’s that one saying? You can take a horse to the water, but you can’t make it drink.”

“Wow. You don’t sound a day older than sixty-five.”

He smirks at you. “You’ve got a lot of attitude, Canon. Where does it come from?”

You sink a little in your seat, turning away from him to look down at your hands that were still messing with the features of his camera. “My annoying feelings lately.”

“Feelings about what?”

You consider telling the truth. But you don’t. “My car is in repair and I’m not sure I can afford to pay for the bill, since things keep coming up with it.” It was the thing at the top of your mind at the moment though, for some reason, so partially truthful.

He laughs. “Yeah, cars have a way of doing that when you’re finally getting caught up on bills.”

“At what point does spontaneously picking up random, obscure jobs go from omg I’m so excited to have this opportunity to I just need the money?” you ask.

“You mean you’re not already at that point yet?” he says with a scoff. “Soon, then.”

You sigh.

“Y’know I used to work at this lousy cinema a few miles away from Central,” he tells you, hand tapping the table with a rhythm that makes no sense. “Busted my ass working minimum wage on night shifts because I thought I’d catch a big break in conversation with a director, as if Martin Fucking Scorcese would choose to host his opening night at a random Edwards in Tokyo.” His tapping on the table stops. “Tell me that isn’t pathetic as hell.”

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

“The things you’ll do for money,” he says with a sigh. He sounds detached, like it’s really just a message for you.

You lick your lips, skin feeling dry from the wind that occasionally brushes by, and when you glance at Kai again, there’s a grit to his jaw.

“Should’ve been born as one of those damn college athletes,” he grumbles, sucking in fast through the joint that was close to withering away. “Those fuckers don’t pay tuition.”

The harsh colors of the soccer team’s color-coded practice schedule on your phone are visible when you blink, as well as the exhaustion under Gojo’s eyes in the warm lighting of the hotel lobby earlier tonight. “They work hard.”

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

“You work hard as well.” Just to include you.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, you can’t tell me that it’s fair.”

Your mind wanders to some of the people you’ve met on that team, who have been nice to you. You think of Gojo, and the memory of him makes you wish you were with him right now. Despite everything.

“I guess it’s not fair,” is all you say, a tactic to diffuse the conversation, one that you’ve had to use twice with him today. The sound of the swing chains clinking together from the wind in the distance runs a chill down your spine.

You feel heavy in your chest, and you glance at the joint pinched in between Kai’s fingers. He’s not keeping an eye on it, so it’s easy to steal, and you bring it to your lips before sucking in. You instantly let out a few coughs. He’s looking at you with surprise. And you’re still in desperate need of that distraction you’ve been craving.

“How long does it take for it to kick in?” you ask, coughing again and pressing a hand to your chest.

“Super long when you can barely stomach a single drag.”

You try again. He watches you. You swear you feel a buzz this time, and you hand the joint back to him. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

“No, really,” you sigh it. Even if it was, maybe your mind was just blessing you with a single moment of reprieve. “I feel…really good,” you say with your head in a haze. “Best I’ve…” you don’t know why you have to blink back tears, “best I’ve felt this whole week.”

Kai’s silent next to you. You look over at him, and he’s got a scrutinizing expression on his face. His eyes are glazed. “You seeing anyone right now, Canon?”

It’s the savory question you know has been on the tip of his tongue. Ignorantly asked, as if you would’ve been sitting here with him right now in the dead of night if the answer was yes. 

“No.”

He’s leaning towards you, and you’re dazed and also sleepy. His face is close now, there’s an urge to giggle, which means there’s no way this is all just placebo, and when his lips dip towards yours, you’re conscious enough to push him away by a weakly fisted hand pressed to his collarbone.

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow raised, still close to you.

“No. No thanks.” Because it felt wrong. 

He fully pulls away from you, and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving him. “Alright.”

You’re breathing faster now, surroundings feeling vague, like you’re in sweltering heat but the air only bites cold.

You stand up suddenly. “I…I want to go back.”

“Go back where?”

“To the hotel. To my room.” You pause. “I mean, by myself. Not with you. We can share a ride, though.”

He stands up too, hands reaching for you, gripping the straps of his camera still hung around your neck and he pulls it off to place it back into the case. You feel like you’ve lost favor with him somehow. “Okay. Sure.” 

“But not with you.” You felt the need to clarify again.

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

“Maybe you just need to fuck him aggressively without mercy.”

“I beg your finest pardon?”

You’re sitting in a booth inside this streetside KFC with Mina sitting across the table, waving a fry around in the air, and with Nobara next to you as she tries to open a packet of ketchup with her teeth. The hangout the three of you have been hyping up all week, just to be sat in the same place you always go to. You were about to take a bite out of your sandwich, but you set it back down on your tray.

Mina points the fry at you and shrugs. “I’m saying. Maybe you’re having such a hard time getting over Gojo because you got so close to fucking him in that bathroom, but you didn’t, and now you’re in, like, this constant state of edging.” She bites down on the fry. “The clit knows what the heart doesn’t.”

“Your theories never fail to amaze me,” you mumble, sinking further into the booth. 

“Perhaps it’ll take the edge off.” Mina sucks through the straw of her Diet coke. Nobara finally succeeds in opening her packet of ketchup.

“I doubt it. Besides, I technically already gave him an invitation to,” you say, fingers rubbing at your eye with a swipe as you wince from the memory, “and he rejected me, so, still swimming in the self hatred from that one.”

Mina hums. “There’s no way he’s not foaming at the mouth for it, y/n. Men never let a meal they were craving go unfinished,” she states, dramatically stabbing a chicken nugget with a fork.

“What kind of pigs do you guys associate yourselves with?” Nobara asks. She’s a lesbian, by the way.

“I raise another question. Why are we talking about this in a public restaurant?” you offer.

“Listen, babes,” Mina continues, like your words fall on deaf ears because she’s got some point to make, “it’ll either poof. Make your feelings go away like the drop of a hat because you find out he’s a bad lay. Or it’ll be so good that you realize you’re never getting over him and you’ll be thinking of his dick instead of your husband’s on your wedding night.”

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

Mina steals a biscuit from your tray. “If it ends up being the first outcome, then the whole thing was my idea. If it’s the second…then just know that Nobara has steered you wrong.”

“Why the hell do you have to drag me into this?” Nobara asks.

You’re about to take a bite from your sandwich again when you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. You pull it out and glance at the caller ID, then let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you mumble, slipping out of the booth and towards the restaurant’s exit, pushing the tense door open with a gust of fresh air brushed through you.

“Hello?” It’s the car repair man. “Really? I thought you said it was fixed.” Apparently something else came up. “Okay…how much longer will it be in repair?” Much longer than you had thought. “And how much will it cost?” Much more expensive than you had thought. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, really, I feel as though every time I’m on the line with you all, I have to wait longer to get my car back, and the bill just racks up higher.” They’re trying their best. “I know. Is it necessary to fix in order to drive, though?” State laws require it. “Okay…thanks for the update.” And then you hang up without another word, and with all the frustration in the world.

You head back inside and grumble about your car woes to Mina and Nobara, who try their best to respond with interest.

“Why can’t your insurance cover it?” Mina asks.

“Apparently they can’t claim it’s because of those rocks I drove over,” you sigh, “since it looks like it’s been a problem for longer than that.”

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

“Not really,” you say. “I’ll just have to postpone having my car for a bit.”

You sigh with a glance out the window of this fine dining establishment, into the blue skies just beyond, head drowning out the voices of Mina and Nobara as they continue to grill you about all sorts of questions that you don’t have the energy to answer right now. You had another student loan payment to make once you got home today, and just the thought of it makes your heart drop a little. And you realize you just can’t afford to be picky about your financial situation anymore.

—

“Thanks for helping me out with this,” you say, footsteps over familiar grassy hills as you head towards the UTokyo’s practice field, your digital Canon EOS hanging from your neck. 

“Sure,” Kai says as he keeps pace next to you, “why the sudden mission, though?”

You’re gazing off straight ahead, a nervous pit in your stomach since it’s been a while since you’ve walked across this landscape towards the field. 

“I just feel like I need to diversify my income somehow,” you sigh, the buzzwords leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you say them but it was the reality of your situation, “to make ends meet. When you mentioned freelance work during our conversation last week, it made me think it’s time for me to pick that up too.”

Kai hums. “Yeah, it’s a good plan. I’ll try to show you what I know.”

Once you’ve made it to the top of that hill, the one that oversees the field, your eyes instantly scan the field for familiar silhouettes, and your breath catches in your throat when you spot Gojo passively kicking a ball back and forth between one of his teammates for warm-ups.

It’s the second time you’ve seen him since that argument the two of you had in the hotel lobby, the first being at the post-game conference in which you did everything in your power to swiftly avoid him, and you plan on keeping that up. There’s also an urge to run away, but you’re starting to realize that’s not much of an option anymore.

“Honestly, you don’t really need to worry too much about shutter speed with freelance like you do for shooting sports,” Kai is mumbling next to you as he messes with the settings on his camera, the two of you making your way down the hill towards the field, and you’re not really listening because your eyes are on Gojo, who’s yelling something across the field to his teammates with a look of concentration on his face.

“Uh huh, I see,” you say. You see Kai glance at you in his periphery.

“You again!” you hear a familiar harsh voice call out, and you turn on your heel to face Coach Yaga who’s standing a few feet away in his custom UTokyo tracksuit with his arms crossed against his chest. “Why are you on my field?”

You hold your breath for a second. “Hi, Coach Yaga, so sorry, but I’m just here to take some more photos.”

He lets out one of his hmphs, unrelenting. “You’re a distraction. Get off my field.”

“D-Distraction?”

“Coach!” Suddenly, Geto’s in your line of sight as he emerges with a light jog up to your side. “You should really be nicer to our photographers, they give us a lot of publicity for our games. And publicity means funding.”

Coach Yaga narrows his eyes. “I need all my players focused right now. Even during practice.” He gives you a disapproving glance and you’re still confused, but also weirdly angered.

“Excuse me, Coach Yaga, but last time I checked, this field is technically open for all students. And I’m a student,” you say to him, crossing your arms across your chest now. “So, I can be here if I want.”

You have no idea if that’s true at all, but sometimes you’ve just gotta fake it ‘til you make it.

Coach Yaga grumbles something and then waves his hands in the air. “Fine! I’ve no bandwidth to argue about this anymore! Just don’t distract my players.”

You’re shocked that it worked, and Geto nudges you with an elbow to correct your expression so that Coach Yaga doesn’t catch on to the bullshit you just spewed. 

“Are you here to take some photos?” Geto asks, facing you. He’s got his hands on his hips, breathing slightly fast, some of his hair falling onto his forehead. 

“Yeah, I am, just for practice though. I’m here with—” you glance at Kai, who’s standing with his fists shoved into his pockets, “Kai. He’s also with the newsletter.”

There’s a moment where Geto studies the two of you for a second before speaking. “I know,” he says, extending his hand out for Kai to shake, which he does, “I think I’ve seen you around. Not sure if we’ve formally met, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Kai’s hand is then shoved back into his pocket.

You feel awkward suddenly, and then quickly say something to Geto about how he should probably get back to practice, which he agrees to, and then you’re standing at the chalk sideline with Kai as he shows you the ins and outs about digital photography.

“Have you tried shooting in burst mode?” he asks, switching the feature on your camera and then handing it back to you. You sling the strap around your neck.

“Hm…” you start, pointing your camera across the expanse of the field to multiple areas. The trees off into the distance, the goal posts, Coach Yaga’s yapping Pomeranian. “Not really…” The grass beneath your feet, the sky above your head, and then blurrily focused before settling on Gojo who stood in the distance straight ahead.

You see through your viewfinder that he’s caught sight of you too, a look of surprise on his face seen only by the level of zoom, and you glance up from the screen to make eye contact with him in reality. He’s fully staring at you, and you can barely see the way his expression relaxes from that one of athletic concentration to something wistful and strange that you’ve had a hard time reading lately.

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

“Huh?” you snap out of it and look at Kai. “Sorry. Could you repeat that?” You quickly glance toward Gojo again, and his line of sight points towards Kai now.

“I was asking if you’ve tried panning before,” he says, reaching for your camera, pulling it towards him, but the strap around your neck means you’re pulled closer to him too. 

“Satoru!” Coach Yaga yells in the distance. “Eyes on the ball!” 

“Just got to set your camera to manual mode first,” Kai mutters, confusion in his voice. “Where the fuck is it?” He’s turning your camera in his hands, which only has you stumbling with another small step towards him, your chest pressed flush to his arm, and he looks down at you for a brief second with a smirk on his face.

You hear the sound of a ball being kicked on the field, followed by the shout of one of the players.

“Ah, here, found it,” Kai says, handing your camera back to you, and just as you’re about to say thanks and you hold your camera up, you’re hit straight in the face by a flying object and fall backwards onto the grass with a painful thud.

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Okay, that’s dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.

There’s shouting in the distance as you hold your head with a groan, eyes shut tight with images of your life flashing behind your eyelids, and when you open your eyes again from where you’re sat up on the grass, you’re surrounded by soccer players.

Gojo’s suddenly in your line of sight, knelt down beside you and he’s holding your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him but you’re still blinking away the stars you’re seeing. “Fuck, y/n, are you okay?” he asks, and you register the concern on his face.

“Dude,” one of his teammates kicks the heel of his cleat, “where the fuck were you looking? It was clear as day I was tryna pass to you.”

Gojo grumbles something to him, his brow furrowed, and he’s lowering his head to try to make eye-level contact with you but you’re still holding your head with a wince.

“Oh shit,” Kai comments, “she’s bleeding.”

You pull your hand from your face to glance down at the wetness that you feel, and bright red color stains the tips of your fingers.

The next thing you register is Gojo picking you up off the hard grassy ground into his arms, and starts carrying you away down the field.

“W-What the hell are you doing?” you ask, his pacing across the grass is fast and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from getting dizzy.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says, voice strained in his throat, and you’ve never seen him look so worried before. 

“The hospital?! Please don’t, I don’t have health insurance right now.” His face is so close and you’re distracted from the pain of your headache.

“You’re bleeding on the face, I’m taking you whether you like it or not,” he grumbles.

You dig your nails into his shoulder through the nylon of his shirt, and he hisses from the pain before stopping in his tracks. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, Satoru, I just need a fucking bandaid.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“A concussion?!” You kick your feet for him to let you down but his grip on you only tightens. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me go, or I’ll bite you.”

He scoffs at that and continues walking forward. “You’re gonna bite me? That’s the most threatening thing you could come up with?”

“I’m being so dead serious, Gojo Satoru. No hospital.”

He grumbles something under his breath at your use of his full government name, and then says “fine” but he’s still walking down the grass until his cleats begin to tap on concrete, and then on what sounds like tile as he carries you into a building a few yards from the field.

He seats you on a cold counter, your hand gripping the faucet of a sink, and you finally take a comprehensive look at your surroundings. light blue, faint scent of chlorine in the air

“Is this…a locker room? The men's locker room?”

He sighs, bending his knees a bit to look at your face closely. You flinch when his hand reaches out, and he pauses, but you relax slightly and then he rubs his thumb over your cheek. You feel the smear of a droplet of blood. “Yes. I need running water.” He turns the faucet of the sink on to run his thumb under.

“For what?” you ask. His thumb is running over your cheek again.

“To take care of this cut.” He disappears behind a tile wall for a moment. You can hear metal clanking, probably of a locker opening and closing, and he re-emerges with a first-aid kit.

You slide your butt across the counter to the edge, about to hop off and make a run for it when he grabs your hips and puts you back into place. “Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles. He leans forward, grips you strongly, and you see that he’s still breathing heavily from practice, strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and you can practically taste the salt on his neck. 

You press your shin to the front of his thigh, desperate to put some space between the two of you. “I don’t wanna be in here. Men are scary.”

“Well I can’t take you into the women’s locker room,” he says, ripping the packet of an antiseptic wipe open with his teeth, “I’d get registered as a sex offender.”

You attempt at an escape again, and he’s quick to get his hands on you to stop it.

“Quit manhandling me, or I’ll scream,” you threaten through gritted teeth, because you’re still mad at him. For everything.

“Go ahead,” he says, using his knee to spread your legs apart, then finds a place to stand between your thighs to get closer to you. “I’ve got a lot of ways I could shut you up.”

You blink at him, breath catching in your throat, and the expression on his face tells you he’s not interested in dealing with your stubbornness anymore.

“Just hold still,” he grumbles, placing the packet down on your thigh and then stepping off to the side to wash his hands under the sink.

“What exactly happened?” you ask, watching him dry his hands off with a few paper towels. One moment, Kai was trying to explain good digital photography to you, and the next you were dizzy from being knocked back onto the ground.

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

“I know, but how?” You remember your camera hit your face from the impact too, and now you’re worried about it.

“I…wasn’t paying attention when my teammate passed it,” he admits with a sigh, finding his place in front of you again, the knuckles of his clean hand brushing across your cheek, caressing. Your expression softens slightly. He uses a hand spread across the small of your back to push you forward to him, then he gently passes the wipe over your wound.

“Oh okay so, you failed to protect me from a flying soccer ball.” 

He pulls his hand from you to read the lettering on the back of the packet. “I’m patching you up now, aren’t I?” he says, annoyed. “…oh fuck, I was supposed to go in with water first.”

“So glad to be in such good hands right now.” 

He gives you a pointed look, but you ignore it and turn your torso to see your reflection in the mirror for the first time. You had a small wound on your cheek, right over the bone, with some bleeding and it’s wider than it is deep. But when you look at Gojo again, who’s putting some ointment onto a Q-tip now, the look of guilt and worry on his face makes you feel satisfied for some reason, and you wanted to make it worse.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, brow furrowed, applying the cold gel to your cheek.

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he sighs, head dipping towards you slightly to get a better look, “can you feel this?”

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

His other hand is placed flat on the counter next to where you’re sitting, and you allow it when his thumb starts to run soothing circles over your hip.

“Hmm…” you start, wide eyes looking up at him as he seems to lean closer and closer to you with every word that leaves your lips, “I really wonder if it’ll leave a scar.”

He looks tortured. His hand that was maneuvering the Q-tip in his hands drops to the counter now, and he brings his other one to your face, cupping your cheek. His eyes dart from the wound, thumb pressing at the plush of your cheek, and this time, it hurts a little so you wince. His expression is tense, some sort of inner turmoil you could read across his forehead, and then his jaw hardens.

“Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?”

You blink a few, then tilt your head slightly. You feel like you’re on a game show, where there’s four options and only one right answer. New boytoy, gay best friend, fuck buddy, or— “He’s my coworker.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?” 

You almost roll your eyes. “No, dad, he hasn’t.”

“Woah. Say that again but make it daddy.”

“Hey just a quick question for you. Where do you get the audacity?”

His bent index finger finds a place under your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look at him. “It’s your fault, really. I can’t help it sometimes,” he says, voice lower now. You’re squirming a little, wanting to push him away but his lips get close to your cheek, brushing near your wound, like he wants to make it all better somehow. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, near your ear. There’s a whimper you have to stifle in your throat. He pulls aways just enough to where he can look into your eyes. “A cut…” he starts, thumb now passing over your bottom lip, “on your pretty face.” He sighs. You shouldn’t, but when he prods, you tuck his thumb under your front teeth and your tongue presses slightly against the padded skin of it. He looks like he’s being driven to insanity, and his other hand has no shame at all in pulling you towards him, to seat you at the edge of the counter, and you miss the texture of his thumb on your tongue when he pulls it from your mouth. But it’s so he can dip his head down to kiss you instead.

Of course the sensation of his lips on yours only lasts for a second, because the universe really fucking hates (or loves?) you, so the loud clanking of a metal water bottle against tile interrupts with harsh reverberation throughout the locker room walls, and he pulls away from you when you jump at the sound.

You both turn your heads towards the origin, located at the curved end of the entryway hall, and one of Gojo’s teammates is standing there with his duffle bag slung around his neck and hanging heavily to his thigh, his water bottle clutched in his hand. He blinks at the two of you.

Oh. It’s the one you kissed at that party a few weeks ago.

“What—…Why is there a—” his teammate starts, panicked, turning his head to double check the sign on the locker room wall as if he’s hallucinating, and when his eyes land on you again, they widen with recognition. His gaze shifts, and his chin tips down at the sight of Gojo’s irritated side eye from where he was still all up in your personal space. “…you know what. Nevermind.”

His teammate’s eyes are on you again, and you give him a shy little wave, just a fluttering of your fingers in the air paired with a small smile, legs swinging back and forth under the counter. He lets out an amused scoff from the entryway, lifting his hand to return the gesture, some cheeky grin on his face as he then scratches the back of his head before turning on his heel to leave the locker room, out of sight. You let out a sigh, hand dropping to your lap, and you don’t need to look at Gojo to tell that he’s staring at you with disbelief.

“What the fuck was that—”

“You,” you interrupt him, finger jabbing at the center of his chest, “have seriously got a lot of fucking nerve,” you hop off the counter, “to not only allow a soccer ball to sock me in the face,” he’s taking a step back with every harsh jab of your finger, “but to also hold me hostage in a mens’ locker room,” his back is pressed up against cold tile wall now while he just looks down at you with wide eyes and something akin to fear, “and then, oh my god, the audacity to kiss me?”

“I—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” you yell, which shuts him up. “You really are just a fucking player.”

He’s stiff, not wanting to catch a punishment from you right now.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you grumble, still drilling your finger into his ribcage with the intent to cause pain. You didn’t need to be this close, but his body is warm, probably due to the blood pumping from practice, and it feels nice to be pressed up against. “Because I don’t have feelings for you anymore, so just fucking get over yourself.” It was a lie if you’ve ever told one, but you wanted to believe it so much that it could come off as the truth.

His eyes narrow down at you, eyebrows flattening. “You don’t have feelings for me anymore?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes. “Why? Because you want me to keep suffering?”

He grabs your hips, then makes a motion that is evident of his desire to pull you flush to him, but he stops himself. There’s a moment where he just takes a few deep breaths and looks at you with a hardened expression, then a split second where his eyes fall to that little cut on your cheek, and every single feature of his face softens, and then he lets you go.

You take a small step back, breathing heavily of your own, and you feel the ghost sensation of his fingertips wrapped around your hips. It makes you feel dizzy, and your thoughts are a mess. 

He sighs. “Sorry. For the soccer ball, and this locker room. But I’m not really sorry for kissing you, and if that makes me a jerk, then so be it.”

Your heart is beating fast. “You are a jerk, Satoru,” you say. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want you. A mantra played over and over in your head that you’ve started to hear it at night. “A real fucking jerk.” And you leave him standing there in a way that feels like the hundredth time.

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

2:34pm kaito (work): i had my guy look at your camera

2:35pm kaito (work): it’s pretty fucked up

2:37pm you: :( oh okay isee. does he have an estimate for the fix? the lens is okay though right?

2:39pm kaito (work): yeah lens is fine, you should really count your blessings on that. 

2:40pm kaito (work): but nah, fix would be around the same as the cost of it, so you’re better off getting a new one

2:42pm you: i don’t have thousands of yen laying around unfortunately. my car bill has sucked me dry

2:44pm kaito (work): well let me check with him. maybe he can hook you up with a good deal on a used one

2:45pm kaito (work): i got a 50% off on one of my canon cameras i bought from him a few years back. maybe he’s still got some like that

2:46pm you: yes could you check with him please? thanks so much, really

2:48pm kaito (work): sure. although i think the guy that kicked the ball to your face should be paying for your camera replacement

2:51pm you: they were just practicing. it’s their field

2:56pm kaito (work): alright. btw, you free tonight?

You blink at your phone screen from where you were sprawled across your bed. Before you have a chance to type out a response, your phone lights up with a phone call from kaito (work). You accept the call.

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Oh uhh, I was just about to check my schedule.” You shake your head at your inability to come up with an excuse on the spot.

“Okay,” he says on the other line. You hear the sounds of cars honking in the distance. “Well let me know. I just left my camera guy’s shop, and he was telling me about how one of his friends does visuals for a short-film director, and that the director is looking for an assistant.” Kai grumbles something about someone he walked past being rude. “I think the director’s agency is Verve Films, so.”

You sit up in bed, eyes wide at the mention of the name. “Oh, oh wow. That’s insane.”

“Yup,” he says, “anyways, apparently the director is busy as fuck, so he left the hiring process up to my camera guy’s friend. I told him I knew someone that might be interested. Are you?”

You take a deep breath in and out. “Yeah, I am. Most of my experience on my resume lines up with short-film, so I’d be able to—”

“Alright great,” he interrupts, “so we can hold the interview tonight.”

“We?” you ask.

“Well yeah, me, my camera guy, the hiring guy. Maybe go for drinks or something.”

Your brow furrows. “That hardly sounds like an interview.”

Kai sighs. “Well, it’s not an interview for a desk job or something. It’s more of like—well, like building connections. I know you know all about that, since Utahime got you the newsletter job.”

Well, yes. She put a word in for you, which helped get the interview, but you still went against qualified applicants. “I guess.”

“It’ll be like that. Most opportunities you’ll get if you still want to pursue filmmaking are going to be like that,” he tells you, “if it feels informal, it means you’re doing it right. You might not think so now because you’re still in school, where they practically serve opportunities to students on platters, but it’s going to be different in the real world.”

You lay your head back onto the pillow, feeling like you’re receiving a lecture you didn’t ask for, and your first instinct is to pretend that you know better than he does. But when you think about all the stress recently, all of the not knowing, and the unsure, you question if you should start leaning into the advice of the people around you, and start to accept this career path for what it’s known to be. Unruly, unconventional, and a lot of times, unfair. 

“I see. Well, can I think about it? Tonight is too soon, I’d need time to research the director, put a portfolio together, and also do some interview prep,” you say, pulling your phone from your ear to glance at the time.

“Well, tonight’s the only night that works since their team’s shooting abroad for the weekend and they leave tomorrow morning,” he says.

You purse your lips together.

“But also,” Kai says, “it’s the nice thing to do, y’know, since my camera guy is taking the time to look at your camera for free, you could at least help his friend out. By the way, he just texted me, he does have some used Canons available at discount.”

You close your eyes for a second, just trying to process this conversation right now. Kai was speaking too fast, hardly enough time for you to even think.

“So do you want to do the interview tonight?”

“Yes, sure. Okay. Just— just send me the details. I’ll be there,” you say.

“Alright cool, will do.” 

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

A few hours pass by, where you spend some time putting together a flash drive of a couple of your best short films you’ve worked on in the past with other directors, as well as a portfolio of some recently developed film photography. The last thing to do was grab your emergency stash of print outs of your resume, and then you stuff it all into a folder before glancing at the mirror to take in your reflection. It felt extremely weird to show up to a job interview in something as casual as what you were wearing right now, but Kai insisted to not wear anything business. But at least you opted for jeans that don’t have any DIY holes in them.

Your face is glued to the navigation on your phone screen the second you get out of the taxi, and you walk down the bustling nightlife streets of Tokyo to get to this bar that Kai sent you the address of. But just as you’re about to turn the corner to your destination down the bar strip, you bump into someone’s chest due to lack of paying any proper attention.

“Ah— I’m so sorry,” you say, your grip on your phone tightening when you realize it was about to get knocked out of your hand, and then you look up to see a familiar face.

“Oh!” Geto exclaims from where he’s standing right in front of you, “You’re everywhere, y/n. What are you doing here?”

You open your mouth to speak, hesitate for a second, and then continue. “I’m here to…get drinks with some of my friends.”

He gives you a smile. “That’s nice. I am too.” He points over his shoulder to behind him. “Nanami got into his MBA program earlier this week, so, Satoru, Choso and I are buying him a few rounds. Or possibly a million. The plan is to incapacitate him as punishment for giving up on playing in the national league with us.”

You humor him with a laugh. “That’s sweet. Or not? Well anyway, tell him I said congrats.” Your heart starts to beat a little faster, because from the direction Geto came from, it meant Gojo was likely just around the corner somewhere. “Where are you heading to now?”

“We’re bar hopping, and I think I forgot my phone at the last one we went to over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “So I’m going to go look for it.” 

“Oh alright,” you say. “Good luck with that. I’m going to go find my, uh, my friends.”

Geto tilts his head at you and had a slightly more serious expression on his face, glancing at the folder in your hands. “Thanks. And stay safe.” 

You nod at him and then walk past him to round the corner onto the street that had groups of people loitering in front of restaurants, bars and all sorts of establishments as they wait in the cold to get inside or be seated. You recognize the name on one of the signs hanging as the one Kai sent you in his message, and when you’re a few feet away from it, you spot Kai. He’s wearing his typical street photographer wear, with a red flannel over a gray shirt and pants that are possibly a size too big for him, but that’s likely the style he was going for. He’s standing with two other people.

“Hey,” you greet Kai first, who has a pleasant look on his expression before he greets you back and gestures to the two people he was with.

“Yo, this is Junichi, my camera guy,” he says. “Don’t bother shaking his hand, he’s a germaphobe. Gotta keep ‘em clean for the electronics.”

“Oh,” you say. Junichi is a big man, broad shoulders and thick muscles. His neck is almost as thick as his bicep, and he has no hair on his head. His arms are crossed. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for taking a look at my camera.”

He nods at you in acknowledgment. “Sure thing. Pretty Boy here says you want to buy one of my used Canons. I don’t refurbish them, so you’d better know how.”

Kai sighs, nudging Junichi a little with a fist. “Relax, dude, we can talk about that later. Also, stop calling me that.”

Your eyes flicker to the right, where another man stood, who you assume was Junichi’s friend and this Verve Films director’s visual effects specialist. He’s similar in stature to Kai, with that casual artist look, and he has a scuffle of facial hair littering his jaw in less of an intentional fashion but rather a five-o-clock shadow fashion. You vaguely register the scent of weed, familiar to the one that lingers in the photo lab on campus after class hours. He reaches his hand out to you first.

“Hi, I’m Ren. I work in visual effects for director Akira Ko at Verve.”

Your eyes widen as you shake his hand.  “That’s amazing. I’ve studied a lot of his contemporary works, I’d love to learn more about his process.”

Ren lets a fast exhale out through his nose. “Yeah, you’ll learn a lot under him.” He pauses to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Most of his assistants always do.”

“We’ve been waiting for too damn long,” Kai interjects before you could ask any questions about the assistant position, and he glances at his watch, “and there’s still a lot of people ahead of us.”

You glance around to the small groups of people gathered in front of this bar on a lively Friday night, eyes jumping from one area to the next, until a familiar silhouette catches your eye.

You see Gojo standing with Nanami and Choso a few strides away, near the lamppost. He’s mostly turned away from you, Nanami nudging his arm annoyed at something he said, and the sound of his laughter in the air makes your heart feel like it’s at stray. Like that was where you were supposed to be right now, not here.

You watch him from the distance as he sighs, shrugging his shoulders up and down slightly before crossing his arms when Choso gestures towards the entrance of the bar, and so he looks in that direction too. He’s frowning slightly and he brushes some of the hair fallen over his forehead away from his eyes, in that boyish way that makes your heart skip a beat, and you know he’s just doing it to see a little bit better, but it makes you want to cry. 

Geto walks up to them and rejoins their little circle, and holds his phone up in the air, and then there’s the melody of their voices bouncing off one another’s again. Geto rests his elbow up onto Gojo’s shoulder, leaning in a bit closer to tell him something, and when Gojo hears it, you see his entire body tense before his wide eyes are searching his surroundings, until those eyes land on you.

Your breath catches, and you hold his eye contact for only a moment before you look away, because it almost felt like too much to bear.

“What’s that folder in your hand?” Ren asks you, and you turn completely to face him so you can’t see Gojo in your periphery at all anymore.

“I just brought some of my work, for your—er, I guess Mr. Ko’s—reference if he’d like to see it after today’s…interview,” you say. “There’s a flashdrive, too.”

Ren has an amused look on his face and he shoves Kai’s shoulder with his palm. “Dude, you didn’t tell her?”

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

“What?” Kai asks, starting to sound annoyed.

Ren tips his chin up slightly to study Kai’s face, and then his look of amusement dissipates into one of understanding. “Nothing.”

“Tell me what?” you prod.

“Just that you didn’t really need to bring all of that with you,” he says. “Sorry for the trouble.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, but if you could still give it to him—”

“I’m surprised Kai suggested someone when I asked if he knew anyone,” Junichi jumps in, “I’m used to him grumbling on and on about how shit the work is in filmmaking. Would’ve thought he’d convinced you to look the other way by now.”

You blink at the gruff man, then look at Kai, and he’s just staring down at the dirt of his shoes. “Well, we had a conversation about it. But I’m pretty set on what I want to do,” you say.

Kai lets out a scoff. “Yeah, I don’t really know how else to warn you about the shit show you’re in for, but if you want to be in debt to grad school for the next couple decades of your life, then it’s up to you.”

“Hey, jackass, try to be a bit nicer,” Ren speaks up. “She’s got some goals. Big fuckin’ deal.” He turns to you. “Although, he’s got a point sweetheart, school’s not going to get you anywhere in this industry.”

You frown. “A lot of directors I look up to went through graduate schooling. Most, I would say. I don’t understand where this rhetoric is coming from.”

“It’s coming from real people with real experience,” Ren says, and you dislike the way he takes a step closer to you to reiterate his point, “honestly, you should save yourself some time and give up on applying. It’s not worth it.”

“I’ve already put my application together,” you say, brow furrowing slightly, “I’ve asked professors for my references, spent the past four years working on my profile—” 

“But working under a director, I mean really getting to work under one, beats all of that. Which is why you’re here, right?” Ren asks, but it’s not curious, it’s testing.

You feel a sheen of sweat build at your forehead, even in this cold, and you clench your hand into a fist once, twice, thrice. You’re breathing fast, and the three sets of eyes that are staring so scrutinizingly into your soul right now have you faltering, like if they took another step forward, tried to intrude what you thought you knew one more time, you’d fall backwards over the cliff.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around your upper arm, and when you turn your head to the left, you see Gojo standing there.

“Hey,” he says to you, sparing one single sidewards glare towards Kai, who immediately averts the eye contact, before Gojo’s eyes are on you again, “can I talk to you for a second?”

You look at the three men in your circle, who suddenly adopt skittish body postures, and Gojo doesn’t really wait longer than a few seconds before he’s pulling you away from them over towards the edge of the curb towards the street.

“What?” you ask once he lets go of your arm.

“What are you doing here with those guys?” he asks.

“I’m—…why does it matter to you?” you ask.

“It matters to me because of the fucking absurd conversation I just overheard,” he says, “now answer me.”

His tone annoys you, and you cross your arms. “Are you eavesdropping?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, taking a step forward to you, “who are those guys, and why are you here with them?”

You blink at him, furrowed brows relaxing slightly as you drop your crossed arms to your side, and you stare straight ahead at the blankness of the white t-shirt he’s wearing, as your mind runs blank to his question. Why were you here with them? Was it because you had no other plans? Was it because the opportunity sounded too good to be true, and you just had to see for yourself? Was it because you’ve been unable to sleep at night from all the stress, the financial worries, the rejection, and you just want to finally feel like you’ve done one good thing for yourself? To feel like you’re at least making one step in the right direction, no matter the cost?

“I’m here for a job interview,” you say to him. Your tone is flat, and you feel numb.

“A job interview?” he asks, with just about as much incredulity you would’ve expected to hear from him at that answer, “At a bar? How does that make any sense?”

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

“This doesn’t concern you, okay? I’m—…I’m just trying to make my goals work for me, Satoru, and I really don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why wouldn’t I understand?” he asks. There’s confusion in his voice, and maybe even a little bit of hurt.

“Because you can’t even understand how unfair and painful it is for me that you keep—” you have to purse your lips together briefly to fight back the knot in your throat, “…that you keep interfering with my life everywhere I go.”

His expression softens, and he silently stands in front of you for a moment. His eyes dart across your face, and then he reaches out to grab your hand. “Listen, if you still want to get drinks tonight, then just get drinks with us. But don’t hang out with those guys. They’re bad news, especially the dude with the flannel, and I don’t think you’re in a good place right now to see that.”

Your eyes see white fury at that, and you all but snap. Because the irony of this whole situation, is that you’re not in a good place right now because of him. Because of all the pain that he’s put you through, for promising to stay away but then always being near, for saying he doesn’t want you but then acting like he does. 

“You know what I think, Satoru?” you ask through gritted teeth, yanking your hand from his grasp.

He’s looking at you, studying. “What?”

You take a step forward, threateningly, and he takes a step back so that he steps off the curb and onto the road, and you’re at eye-level with him now. “I think that you’re jealous,” you say, eyes glaring daggers into his.

He blinks at you, almost dumbfounded for a moment before he says “what?”

“You’re just fucking jealous that I seem to be moving on after you rejected me, because for some weird reason, you think it’s okay to not want me, and yet not want me to be with anyone else,” you say, practically hissing the words. “You don’t like seeing me with any guys other than you? You don’t want to believe me when I say that I’m over you? You’re not sorry for kissing me? Even after knowing,” you take a pause to breathe, because you feel like you can’t, “even after knowing that I like you,” eyes blinking fast because you don’t want him to see you cry right now, “you know that I like you so fucking much, and that it’s hurtful, and that it’s wrong— and even after all of that, you act the same, and still won’t promise me any commitment of your own.”

He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read, but you’ve lost all interest in trying to understand it anymore.

“You don’t want me hanging out with them?” you repeat after him, “I’m not listening to that. Because it’s possessive. And it’s wrong.”

At the mention of them, Gojo clenches his jaw. “That has nothing to do with you and me, right now. What they’re trying to convince you of doesn’t make any sense, and it won’t help you achieve your dreams either, y/n.”

“You don’t know anything about my dreams, Satoru,” you say, just to hurt him. But you think about the sincere expression on his face the first time you met him when you told him that you wanted his help with your assignment. You think about the playful nudge of his elbow that night he stayed with you on the curb, and told you that you just had to try to put yourself out there, because you couldn’t accomplish anything without facing your fears. You think about how he’s always the first to like every single one of the slideshows you post of your pictures on Instagram. You think about the adoration in his eyes, reflected off the moonlight through the hotel window, when you told him about a little cottage on the countryside, one you’ve always wanted, and those eyes told you that he was really rooting for you. “You don’t know. Because you—” there’s an echo of words in your head. Someone else’s words, not yours, “Because you’re a college athlete. And—” you let out an exhale, “and you don’t pay tuition.”

His brow furrows. There’s a beat of silence as his confusion settles in. “What?”

“You were born blessed with talent, and you’re popular, and people adore you, and you don’t have to worry about internships, or jumping from job to job just to make something of yourself,” you say, picturing your life in your head along with all the strife, “or about all of the sinking debt, and the worry, and the— and the car repair bills,” you say, almost with a scoff, eyes sheening with tears, like you’re losing your mind, “all of the fucking car repair bills.” Your chest is heaving as you shake your head. “Because you’re set for life as long as you kick a fucking ball.” 

His lips purse together, like he can tell there’s more on your tongue to say, more hurtful words, and he wants to hear you say them. And so you do.

“You’ve never had to suffer or worry about a single thing in your life. So don’t pretend like you understand what I’m trying to do here tonight,” you say, inflection signing off on the end, to tell him that you’re done. 

He stands in front of you, practically motionless except for the slow movement of his chest as he breathes. His expression, tense and hurt, softens slowly, and you see him digging his nails into the skin of his palms through fidgeting clenched fists at his sides. And then he relaxes them, too.

“Does that make you feel better?” he asks.

His question confuses you, and for some reason, regret washes over you. “What?”

“Does thinking of me that way—…does it make you feel better about all of this? Between us?”

You’re breathing fast, eyebrows pinching upwards to look at him, and the defeated expression on his face makes your heart ache. He’s waiting for an answer, and so you give him one. “Yes.”

He glances down at the ground for a moment, then at your collarbone, before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry. For everything. And I—” the words catch in his throat briefly, “I’ll try to leave you alone tonight.”

His use of the word try doesn’t escape you, but you give him a furtive nod, and he studies your face for a few moments before he steps back up onto the curb and walks past you. You watch him walk all the way, no longer with that confidence or conviction you’re so used to seeing in him, as he steps back into his circle, to Geto’s side. Geto gives a small glance over his shoulder to look at you with discerning eyes before looking at Gojo again, and then he’s turned away from you. 

Heavy feet drag you back to Kai, Ren, and Junichi, and you feel feverish. They mention something about the table being ready, and you nod. The bar is rustic, with more tables than barspace, and the four of you are seated and then presented with a small food menu. You’re seated next to Kai, Ren is right across from you, and Junichi is to his right. You watch a waitress usher Nanami, Choso, Geto and Gojo to one of the tables as well, two away from yours, and you forcefully blur your vision so you don’t have to catch sight of the expression on Gojo’s face.

“So,” Ren speaks up as his eyes peruse the food menu and Junichi waves the waitress over to order a round of sake, “tell me more about your experience, sweetheart.”

You blink at him, eyes feeling heavy, heart feeling heavy. “I’d prefer it if you called me by my name.”

Ren lets out a coo, and you briefly glance at Kai who’s shaking his head with a sigh. “My bad, y/n. Your experience?”

Your hands play with the folder sitting in your lap. “I started writing screenplays for small-scale directors when I was a freshman, and was greenlit on a couple into my sophomore year. One of the films I worked on, I had directing credits for, and it was nominated for best screenplay at Etoile Film Festival the year following.”

Ren swallows slightly, shifting in his chair and pushing his shoulders back, like he’s trying to establish himself now. Kai is clenching a fist on the surface of the table.

Ren clears his throat before speaking again. “Wow, okay, so you’ve actually got some serious shit going on.” His voice is a faux octave deeper. “What do you know about being a good assistant? Ever worked in customer service? Secretary?”

“Oh, I mean I have worked in customer service, but I wasn’t done sharing about my experience—” you try to say but Junichi cuts you off.

“First round’s on me,” he declares, “for bringing her out here.” He tips his chin to you and then sends Kai a glance.

A waitress brings by a bottle of sake, and Junichi begins pouring drinks into the glasses, then slides them across the table. Kai gives Ren a pointed look. 

“Don’t get too wasted,” Kai says to him as he brings his glass to his lips, “you start running that mouth of yours a little too much when you do.”

Ren grins at him and immediately knocks down the glass Junichi barely finished pouring from him in one go, and the gruff man beside him is grumbling. “Whatever you say.”

Something had been bothering you since you came here. “Wait,” you say, pointing between Kai and Ren, “do you two know each other already? Because,” you turn to look at Kai, “on the phone earlier, you sounded like you didn’t.”

Kai’s eyebrows raise in surprise, as though he’s discovered you have some skill for foresight. You glance at Ren, and he gives Kai a puzzled look.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve known Kai for years,” he says, “we go way back. We went to highschool together.”

Kai shifts a little in his chair. “Sorry. Probably forgot to mention it.”

You glance down at the glass of sake in front of you, and the way it twinkles under the lighting of the bar. You slowly bring it to your mouth, taking a small sip, and the way it coats your tongue is less than pleasing. 

“Can you tell me more about the assistant position?” you ask Ren, who’s emptied out the bottle of sake and waving someone over to order more. He already has a slightly flush to his face.

“Yeah, yeah, will do,” he says, “but first, let me tell you about what I do in visuals.”

Another round of sake is dropped by, and then another, followed by another, as Ren continues to ramble on and on about what he does for work, and how it’s entirely integral to the final piece of the film, although you’ve never really had a terrible level of appreciation for visual effects in short-film craft, since it’s hardly much work. But you wouldn’t say that, you just continue to nurse your one glass of sake as the three men surrounding you knock back more and more, and there’s slurs to their speeches now.

“Sooo, I’m so sorry, sweetheart—I mean y/n, for cuttin’ you off earlier,” he says, “but what was that experience you wanted to talk to me about?” Ren asks from across the table, and his eyes are all traveling over you.

“I…” you start, “well, I started to work with one of my professors last year, she’s a two-time Cannes Film Festival winner, and she let me under her wing for one of her projects last year.”

“Who is she? Oh wait, nevermind, probably wouldn’t have heard of her anyways,” Ren says, but when you fail to laugh, he waves his hand in the air. “Joking, joking. What’s her name?”

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

“Oh shit. I have heard of her,” Ren says, followed by a shallow hiccup. Junichi shrugs his shoulders, and when you look at Kai, he’s nodding slowly and toying with the rim of his glass with a finger.

“Yes. Well, anyways—” you start up again, before Kai sets his glass of sake down particularly loud.

“This is all bullshit. Really. I told you, filmmaking is a waste of time. Just focus on your photography, and your freelance or whatnot,” Kai says, grit to his jaw, face looking red with possibly something other than just a tipsiness. 

Ren lets out a laugh. “Fuckin’ Kai. What a pessimist. Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” he says, slurred, and you furrow your brow at him with a glare, “sorry. Don’t listen to him. Trust me, you’ll learn a lot under Mr. Ko. He’s a suuuper nice guy.”

“What’s the compensation?” you ask. It’s a brazen question, one you’d never ask so soon in a formal interview process, but this table was hardly anything formal.

“Real good. Mmm I think like…5200 yen an hour, and then also, you get your foot in the door.”

“Oh,” you sit up a little in your chair. It was higher than most entry-level anything for undergraduates or even new grads. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawls when he sees you’re more interested. “Good stuff. Kai used to pick these kinds of jobs up, too, back in his college days. I remember. Although, he’s hardly Mr. Ko’s type, so I doubt he’d be any good for this one.”

Your head snaps to Ren again at his words, face tensing. 

“Tell her about what a job like this—hic—entails,” Ren says as he extends his glass out for Junichi to pour him another.

Kai glances at Ren once, and you watch him grind his teeth for a moment, and then there’s a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Oh. Y’know, clerical work. Stuff like printing scripts out,” Kai starts, Junichi filling up his glass and then he raises it into the air to watch the liquid swish around, “grabbing him coffee. Making sure his trailer is stocked.”

“Blowing him in said trailer,” Ren says. It’s something quiet, under his breath with a small laugh, where you could barely hear it across the table. But you heard it nonetheless. And your heart sinks to the core of the earth.

“Excuse me?” you say. The benefit of doubt sitting on your shoulder, watching in disbelief as well.

“He’s joking,” Kai says, quickly, “runnin’ his mouth.”

“Oh fuck off, Kai,” Ren says, throwing his hands up in the air, “don’t act like that’s not why you brought her here.”

Your head slowly turns to Kai, who can’t meet your gaze. Your eyes flicker to Junichi, who looks amused. 

Ren leans over the table, elbows resting on top, to look you straight in the eyes. He’s got a sleazy smile, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, and he dips his tone down low enough to where you can hardly hear it over the sounds surrounding you in the bar. “That’s how you’ll make it in this industry, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not, you’ll be working under those directors until you make it.”

You stand up so fast that your chair falls behind you, hand raised in the air, and you swiftly slap the man across from you so hard across the cheek that it leaves his skin even more red than the flush from before, and your palm is stinging. 

There’s gasps all around the bar, hushed voices, eyes on you, but you don’t care. There’s not a single thing in the world you care more about right now than the anger swelled in your chest.

Ren holds his cheek, surprised, blinking like a pathetic animal. He almost looks like he’s about to cry, and you let out a scoff at the sight.

You turn to face Kai, whose eyes are wide and he’s staring up at you. Your fists are clenched at your side.

“Is this why you brought me here tonight?” you ask. Your voice is trembling, anxiety at the wake, the white anger spotting your vision. But there’s also pain. So much pain, and you’re just so fed up with all of it. “Because your belittling, condescending words weren’t enough to tear my hopes apart, so you had to humiliate me in front of your friends instead?”

Kai holds his hand up. “Woah, Canon, relax. He was just joking—…” Kai glances at Ren, who’s still holding his cheek and biting down on his lip, and then his gaze hardens. “Y’know what? It’s about fucking time you get this wake-up call, y/n. I’ve been trying to do the nice thing to steer you in the right direction, and the least you could—”

“Steer me in the right fucking direction?!” you’re yelling now, registering the way your voice echoes in the bar. “You know what I think this is all about, Kai?” You grit your teeth, “You’re a sick, stupid, sexist fuck who didn’t have the balls to go after what he wanted. So miserably pathetic that you’ve got no other fucking business than to pull people down to your level.”

Kai pinches his eyebrows together, hand on the table clenching into a fist. 

You lean down closer, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Why don’t you go be his assistant instead? Since I’m sure you’re good at taking it up the ass.”

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

You grab his glass off the table and throw the alcohol into his face, eliciting another round of noises around the bar, and his mouth falls agape in shock before he gets up out of his chair, hand reaching out to grab for you. You close your eyes shut with a flinch to expect pain. Any sort of pain. But you don’t feel anything at all.

When you open your eyes, you see Gojo standing to your left, veins of his arm tense with the tight grip he has on Kai’s forearm, and you can see he’s practically shaking with rage. He steps in front of you, guarding, and you can’t see the expression on his face, but the fear in Kai’s eyes is enough to say it all.

“That’s enough,” he says, the clench of his jaw evident through the strain in his voice, “try to put your hands on her again, and I’ll split your fucking face in half.”

You can see Kai’s breathing pick up from where you’re peering over Gojo’s shoulder, and then Gojo shoves him backwards right as Choso kicks the fallen chair to his feet so he trips over it backwards then hits the ground with a loud and indignant thud.

Gojo’s hovering over Kai, his hands shoved in his pockets as he glares down at him, while Geto and Nanami put space between you and the other two men at your table. You feel a searing flush to your cheeks. You’re breathing fast, the peering eyes all around you are scrutinizing, looking at you with surprise, confusion, shock, and pity. Your mind is racing, and you wonder what your parents would think of all this. What your friends would think of all of this. What the people who support you would think of the fucked up situation you’ve found yourself in, and the humiliation courses so deep through your veins that you just want to run away and hide. The ground could swallow you whole right now, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You take one step back, then another, before you turn on your heel to rush out the door into the night, and you barely register that it’s raining. You can feel your heart thumping fast in your chest and in your head, that familiar knot in your throat twisting tight as you walk fast down the street and ignore Gojo’s call of your name from behind you.

You don’t want to see anyone right now. You don’t want to be seen by anyone right now. Especially Gojo, of all people, because he was right about everything, and the fact that you had shut him down about it, and the way that you had shut him down about it makes your head numb and your breathing pick up fast.

“y/n,” you hear him call out from behind you, his pace is getting faster and so you’re resorting to longer strides as well, puddles of water splashing under your feet with every step, “just wait—”

“I’m seriously,” you start, and the tears begin to fall, “I’m seriously so, so, so, so, so fucking embarassed right now,” you gasp out the words with no air left in your lungs to breathe as you continue to run away from him, “so please, just leave me alone.”

You can picture it all in your head. Something like I told you so from his lips, because after what you’ve been put through tonight, you just want to assume the worst in people.

But just as you round the corner into an alley, feeling lost with the sight of a dead end, you feel a hand wrap around your arm and then you’re being pulled into an embrace.

Your eyes are blinking with tears streaming, your face buried in a chest that is warm, with a heart beating so fast that it’s keeping time with your own, and the fragrance that surrounds you is so painfully him that it makes you sob even more.

Strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and Gojo rests his chin at the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you can feel the rumble of his voice, “I just needed to stop you from running.”

Your arms are weakly raised, an outline over his torso but not yet grabbing on, until you hesitantly do. And when you hold onto him, it’s so tight and strong, and you realize that after everything between the two of you, it’s the first time you’ve been wrapped in his arms.

“I feel so stupid,” you start, already hating the words because you want to be stronger right now, but you can’t.

“You’re not stupid,” he quickly corrects you, “those guys are fucking insecure losers. You’re just trying your best. You always have, for as long as I’ve known you, and it’s something you should be proud of yourself for.”

You don’t know what to say to him, you just cling to the damp fabric of his shirt in the rain.  

“Things are going to work out for you, no matter what, because I know you’ve got what it takes and you’re willing to work hard for it,” he says, his chin nuzzling so you’re tucked into him even further, “and if things don’t work out, that’s okay, you’re strong and you’ll always get back up. And I want to be there to help you through everything.”

You pull your face from his chest to stare up at him, droplets of rain falling to your face and making you flinch occasionally. “I’m confused.”

His hand comes up to cup your face, swiping at a tear on your cheek, or maybe it was rain. “I thought that—” he starts, his thumb briefly running over the small cut still healing on your cheek, his brow furrowing, “I thought that I’d be okay with watching your life from afar, through cropped pictures on a screen,” he says, a chill running through you, “but I can’t. It’s killing me. And I’m really sorry that it took me this long to tell you this, but I like you so much and I really want to be with you.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and you don’t know how to feel. You push your face into his chest again. His thumb runs circles at your side through the dampness of your shirt.

“There are a lot of reasons I didn’t feel like I could date you, or show up for you,” he says, “but the pain of not getting to be with you, of not getting to hold you, and just share my life with you is way worse than whatever reasons I kept trying to convince myself of.”

You nod slowly, because there was a part of you deep inside that knew that all along. 

His grip on you relaxes slightly and you take that as a request from him for you to look up at him, so you do. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of pain, and I’m really not a perfect person, but if there’s room in your heart to forgive me, I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make you feel happy and cared for.”

Your eyes study his face for sincerity. They’re words you’ve been wanting to hear, words you could’ve pictured in your head, but the adoration in his eyes makes you realize you never could’ve imagined the true sweetness of those words when they’re said from him.

You press your cheek to his chest again. You’re not crying anymore. “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. About kicking a soccer ball, and having it easy,” you bite down on your lip, because now there’s tears in your eyes again, “I didn’t mean it.” You sniffle a little, “I know you work hard. And it was a really mean thing to say.”

He sighs, holding you flush to himself. His cheek presses against the top of your head. “That’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But I do.”

There was no grudge at all. There was nothing withdrawn from you, nothing taken away as punishment. He just held onto you, exactly as you are, and you felt so safe in every second you spent in his arms.

You look up at him again. His hair is damp, strands clinging to his face in all the places they usually fall over, droplets of rain falling from his fringe onto your face and he does everything he can to wipe them away. “It’s too late,” you tell him, and he immediately knows what you’re referring to.

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

“I don’t have feelings for you anymore,” you say through a sniffle.

He knows you’re lying, and that you say it just out of spite, but he holds your head to his chest. “I know.”

“You’ll have to beg and grovel, and even then, I might not like you ever again,” you say, gripping so tightly onto his shirt for purchase, your voice sounding muffled as you breathe in the scent of him. “That’s your punishment.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. A firm press of his lips, lasting as he takes a few deep breaths. And then he kisses the same spot again, staying still in that position as he repeats himself.

“I know.”

--

a/n. phewww thank you for reading, i swear, this chapter felt like a goddamn war to write. my emotions were all over the damn place, i think cause i wrote from a place of bitter experience lol. i dedicate this chap to my lovely friend she’s a film major (she inspired me to create this story) and i srs wouldn’t be able to write kickoff without her 😭💕 dear M♥︎, i thought of you sm while writing this chapter, i can only hope i’ve captured even the slightest bit of the understanding i will always aim to have of you, and that you feel seen. i’m incredibly proud of you, always rooting for you, so often thinking of you, and terribly missing you so much rn (plsssssss visit meee😩💔 ) dedicated w sm love 💕 -bitchasshoe this chapter is also dedicated to anyone who’s going through a hard times n maybe just trying to figure themselves out :”) i am so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, there’s still so much to live and learn, and i hope the universe blesses you w everything you’ve ever wanted!! big thank u to my lovely m00t @quinnyundertow she pulled me out of my writers block for this chapter and also beta read a lot of it for me there’s only three chapters left for kickoff (i’m gonna cry just thinking ab it :”)) which doesnt sound like a lot but there’s still a lot i’ve got planned 😭 i’m just noticing that i very poorly planned the second half of this series. chapters 1-6 combined have less words than chapters 7-9 combined 😅✨ sooooo i may increase the chapters from 12 to 14 by splitting them up to make it easier on me, or just stick to the plan and come out with long chapters like the last two. idk. i’ll figure it out. thank u to everyone for reading i love you all dearly 😭💕 i’ll see you in the next one!!

➸ take me to chapter ten!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

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taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd @ronniebird @bloopsstuff @mwtsxri @witchbybirth @tetsuski @fffinskye @gh0ulkz @beabadobeee @mandysfanfics @erencvlt @laviefantasie @sukunamylovexoxo @girlkissersco @itzjuliana @yell0wdreams @1dimas7 @strayedjeno @mo0nforme @yungbloode @sullybrothersmate @oaooaoaoaoa @swagangelllamawolf @banenemilk @inniesblog

(hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

[eliasmelody]

Love Beyond the Surface

Part 2 !

Tag: Rafeyel x f!reader, Sylus x f!reader Warning: reader is not MC, angst, no comfort (yet), parallel universe(isekai), third-person, violence, suicide thought

"You're in love with someone who is not me." "How can you be so sure?" "Cause I'm nothing like her" "It's not the looks or personality that I'm in love with. It's the soul"

You know them, but they don't know you. Still, no barrier you erect can conceal the truth of their discovery.

Part 1! [Xavier, Zayne] x reader

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

You truly love the game, you really do. The atmosphere, the intricate details, the beautiful lighting that sets the perfect mood, and the voice lines that bring each character to life. It all comes together so beautifully.

The protagonist of the game is strong, smart, and undeniably beautiful, exactly like what you would expect in a game like this. And she’s nothing like you. Or rather, you're nothing like her. There are moments when you can’t help but feel a twinge of envy, but other times, you just push it aside and enjoy the ride.

But now, as you look at her across the street with your own eyes now, you're sure that you are definitely not her. You let out a quiet sigh, turning away and heading back to your temporary resting spot in this world. The weight of the different life is heavy in your thoughts. You need to find a way to get back.

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

🐠 RAFAYEL:

"When you go out, you have to return to me… Safe and sound"

Looking for inspiration is like chasing the horizon, no matter how far you go, it always feels just out of reach. 

He found himself standing on the beach, his feet sinking into the soft sand. The gentle pressure was a comfort, grounding him after the storm of life had left him feeling lost.

His favorite spot on the beach was hidden away, with the jagged rocks and crashing waves made it a dangerous place, it was where he went to escape, to think.

But today, as he reached the shore, he saw a girl at the water’s edge. The wind tousled her hair, and the fading light painted her silhouette. She seemed unaware of the danger. 

"Hello miss." He said but she didn't answer.

Drawing closer, he observed her as she silently watched the sunset, seemingly mesmerized by its beauty. For a moment, he caught himself staring at it too. 

"You know, I envy the sunset…" In a calm and suave voice, his words carried on the salty wind. He just had the urge to say something.

"Why?" She replies in a monotone tone.

Rafayel leaned against a nearby jagged rock. A faint smile played at the corner of his lips. "Because from where I stand, it looks like the sun is running away to escape the night." 

He paused for a brief moment before continuing. "Yet, no matter how far it runs, the night always catches up... eventually."

"... And which one are you?"

A hint of amusement danced in his eyes as he heard her question. The crashing waves provided a rhythmic background to their conversation.

"Well, aren’t you observant?" He replied, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Which one do you think I am?"

"... You're quite good looking, there must be a lot of people chasing after you. I'd say the sun." 

Rafayel chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Are you chasing after me as well?" His voice is low and velvety.

She tenses at his words, her eyes meeting his. It felt like something inside of her had been triggered, but she quickly composed herself "... You sound confident."

Rafayel’s gaze didn’t waver, locked with hers as a hint of mockery appeared on his lips.

"It’s not confidence, it’s merely stating the obvious." He said, a hint of arrogance in his tone. "After all, why wouldn’t anyone chase after me?"

She rolls her eyes fondly. "Of course you would say something like that." She replies, a hint of amusement in her voice.

His smirk grew at her response, enjoying the amusement in her tone. "Although, you have a certain... boldness, if I may say. Admiring my looks from afar?" 

"It's not a crime to appreciate beauty. That doesn’t mean I’m looking to chase after it, though"

Rafayel’s grin widened at her words, his gaze still fixed on her face. "Fair enough." He conceded 

"But why are you out here all alone... in a place like this?" His voice dropped a bit. Though he tried to make it sound playful, there was still a hint of worry beneath his words.

"And you?" Her tone was unamused as she raised an eyebrow.

"Touché." He murmured, his voice low and amused. "I guess we're both here for similar reasons then... seeking escape from... whatever it is we’re running from."

She let out a huff, unimpressed "You thought I'm gonna suicide or something?"

Rafayel stiffened at her words, his playful demeanor disappearing for a moment. "No, that’s not what I meant…" 

He paused, his gaze searching her face as the implications of her words sunk in, and he spoke again, his voice more serious this time. "Are you... Are you seriously thinking about... that?"

After a long pause, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Even if I am. What's wrong with it?" 

Rafayel's heart twisted at her words. He let out a sigh, his voice now carrying a hint of a plea as he spoke. "Don’t say things like that… I don’t want to hear that from your mouth."

She let out a small, mock laugh, her smirk widening. "Why? Can't handle the dark side, princess?"

His eyes narrowed at her smirk, her words striking a nerve. A hint of annoyance flickered across his face as he retorted.

"Watch it, I'm not a princess." He said, his tone a mix of irritation and annoyance. "And it's not about handling the dark side. It’s about not wanting to hear someone I–" care.

He paused, his words trailing off. The waves continued to crash relentlessly against the shore, their rhythmic sound a sharp contrast to the silence between them.

She glanced at him with a look of indifference, before shaking her head slightly. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away. He didn’t stop her, his mind raced, tangled in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

He didn’t know who this woman was, not really. But the words coming from her mouth... It cut into him somehow, deeper than he expected. It was strange… she is just a stranger... Isn’t she?

"You have to return to me." "I can't… I’m lost."

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

🐦‍⬛ SYLUS:

"You should know very well that I adore you. There's no love purer than mine."

He’s riding his motorbike, feeling the rush of wind against his face as the engine roars beneath him. Soon, the motorbike slows, and he pulls into the parking lot of a 24/7 convenience store. The neon sign casts a cold, bright glow against the night sky. 

He doesn’t usually smoke, never really found the appeal. But tonight, something about the weight of the day and the quiet hum of the road makes him reconsider. He hesitates for a moment before grabbing a pack. 

He doesn’t bat an eye as the cashier rings him up, barely glancing at her. With a quick, practiced motion, he pulls out a lighter, flicking it open.

"… I’m sorry, but you can’t smoke in here."

The words hang in the air, and for a second, he doesn’t react. His hand pauses mid-air, lighter still flickering. He looks up, catching the brief flicker of nervousness in the cashier’s eyes. 

The trouble in the N09 zone drained him today, hours spent with that damn rock hide, the one that never stays put. His evol tightens a bit, frustration crawling up his spine. The air in the store seems to shift, thickening, as if his mood is somehow pulling the atmosphere down with him. 

Her gaze flickers nervously to the door and then back to him. Finally, his hand twitches at his side, his lips barely curling into something like a smile, but it’s anything but reassuring.

"Don’t worry." He mutters, his voice low. "I’m leaving."

She slowly bows and murmurs. "T-Thank you for shopping here." The cashier doesn’t breathe easily until he turns toward the door.

He takes a deep breath of the cigarette, the smoke filling his lungs and mixing with the cool night air. The crispness of it cuts through the haze in his mind, sharpening his senses just enough to make the world feel real again.

A car pulls up nearby, the engine rumbling as it slows to a stop beside his motorcycle. A few men spill out of the car, their laughter loud and grating. They don’t look good.

He takes another drag off the cigarette, the smoke curling in the air as his gaze drifts lazily back to the ground. After a few moments, the quiet is shattered by a loud crash from inside the store. The sound of glass breaking, followed by shouting and the unmistakable thud of something heavy being thrown. His hand freezes mid-air, cigarette still dangling between his fingers. The sound cuts through the night like a knife, and for a split second, everything goes still.

He doesn't have time for this. It's not his problem. But then again, the poor girl cashier is working alone tonight. He can picture her now, young, probably too new for the job. Her nervous energy, the way she kept glancing at him earlier, tells him everything he needs to know. 

The decision hits him before he can even think twice. He takes a breath, steeling himself. With a quick motion, he heads toward the door.

The gangsters fight exactly how they look, loud, flashy, all show and no substance. He picks up a beer from a nearby shelf this time, uncapping it with a twist of his wrist and takes one sip. The cool bottle in his hand feels strangely normal against the chaos.

As the last of the gangsters stumbles away, nursing a bruised jaw, he steps over their mess, moving toward the poor girl behind the counter. She’s frozen, wide-eyed, and still shaking, her hands gripping the edge of the register like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

The silence presses in on him, heavy and thick, as he notices the bruise on her face. It’s subtle, but there, a faint purple mark along her cheekbone, probably from when they shoved or hit her. His gaze lingers on it longer than he means.

He doesn’t like the look of it. He doesn’t like how the skin around her eyes is still wide with fear, how she’s clearly trying to hold herself together but doesn’t really have the strength.

She doesn’t dare look up, but she can feel the weight of his eyes, cold and assessing. The longer he stands there, the harder it becomes to breathe.

Without a word, he throws a bunch of cash onto the counter, more than enough to cover whatever damage they caused. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost quiet. "Take it."

He watches her for a long beat. The air between them thickens again. And then, as if something inside him shifts, taking a step forward. He reaches for the counter, pushing the money just a little closer to her.

But the moment his hand moves, she flinches back, instinctively pulling away like she expects him to do something worse. For a split second, he freezes, his hand hovering just above the counter. His jaw tightens, his breath steadying. He retracts his hand slowly, pulling it back from the counter like he’s been burned.

"Lock up when you're done." He mutters then leaves.

Starting his bike, he tries to push it away, but her face stays in his mind. "Damn it." He mutters, pulling away. It lingers longer than it should, and for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel in control.

"There's no love purer than mine" "Your love scares me."

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦ Picture: belong to Love & Deepspace official (not me)

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

No hate to the MC. Her character is well-built, and i love her personality. And that is allllll. I love angst. Is this even consider an angst though? Should i write the follow-up?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (4)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You give the stranger your name but he just tells you to call him S. He seems a lot more important than you, so that makes sense. He must be if he's throwing around money so easily. A lot of money.

That seems to be on his mind too.

"Did you get the transfer?" He asks as he takes off his sunglasses.

You rub between your thumb and index nervously. You can't stop fidgeting. You glance around for what must be the dozenth time. You feel like everyone is watching you, that they all know you're doing something so stupid. Yet, nobody is looking at you.

"I... didn't check," you murmur. "I've just been waiting."

"Sorry again for making you wait," he puts his large hands on the table, framing the tall mug with his fingers. "You know what they say about meeting people online."

You snort, "ha, yeah."

You look out the window and exhale. That only stirs your nerves. You face him and sit back in the chair, folding your hands in your lap.

"I'm sorry. I think this was a bad idea." You say.

"Is it? We haven't even talked."

"Yeah, but... I should be looking for a job or... my mom. She's all alone..." you wring your hands.

"I want to help with that," he turns his hands and taps his fingers on the table. He sniffs. "I'm trying to figure out how to say what I want to say. And that's what it is. I want to help."

"But why? I don't know you. You don't me." Your teeth want to chatter, you're so nervous.

His chests rises and falls. His throat bobs. He resets his posture.

"That would be part of it." His blue eyes bore into yours. They're so bright and bold. "Getting to know each other."

You shake your head, confused.

"I could help with the medical bills and groceries. Whatever you need. It would just be..." he extends his fingers as he gestures with his hands. "An exchange. An arrangement. All you have to do is spend time with me."

You stare at him. Your eyes search his face. Your mouth slants. You want to laugh. It sounds absurd. Yet, he looks serious. You straighten your lips.

"By spend time you mean..." you shiver and mash your hands together in your lap. "They don't have people you can pay in New York."

He sighs. "It's not just... if physical things happen..." he pauses and his cheek twitches. "I'd prefer we just feel it out and see where it goes."

You look down. He can dress it up and say it as carefully as he likes. You've heard about these things. There's women on TikTok who post videos about new handbags or designer shoes and their 'daddies'. But they are so beautiful. They are interesting. You're just... afraid.

He coughs and shifts his chair closer. "I know it's not easy to be in your position. Sick parents are difficult. My mom... when I was about your age, she was really sick too. Still is but we manage."

You peek up at him. You don't know what to say. There's that voice in your head telling you that the answer is clear as day; no. You're not a prostitute. No, you have dignity. Then there's the other one, the louder one. You have nothing and you're about to lose even that.

"How about this? Before you make up your mind, let me take you around town. We'll just get to know each other. Baseline." He suggests. "We'll have our coffee, order some lunch, and you can show me around."

You bite your cheek. That's not too bad. He's not pushing you. If anything, he seems just as unsure. That makes you feel a bit better.

But can you really do this? Can you sell yourself like that? He's still just a stranger. Still just S.

Your head is reeling. What would your mom think? Well, you couldn't tell her, just like you never told her what you're really doing right then.

You bring your hand up to rub your shoulder. You hook your fingers around, shielding yourself, and nod.

"Alright, I'll try." You agree, keeping the rest of the sentence inside; I don't have any other options.

His cheeks dimple. The lines on his face only add to his good looks. He really isn't that bad. A bit older. Maybe a lot older.

"So, you hungry? What do you want?" He looks over at the chalkboard menu.

You follow his gaze. You focus on the menu. It's a bit easier to do that.

"My treat," he assures.

"Um, thanks," you scratch your neck nervously. If it were up to you, you wouldn't waste the money. "The veggie croissant sounds okay."

"Sure, anything else," he stands.

You push your shoulders back and and shake your head. "Thank you. That's more than enough."

"No problem," he turns and struts up to join the line.

You watch him. His shirt is taut across his shoulder blades and around his biceps. He's built better than any man you've seen before. Confident. He's cool as he waits patiently and steps up calmly to order. He slides out his wallet and swipes his card. Not a second thought. No tallying up rent or bills or even just the cost of a bag of rice.

He folds up his wallet and spins. You avert your attention to the table. He approaches and sits again.

"They'll bring it to us," he says.

"Okay," you accept. You can't look at him.

He shifts. "Look, I don't see you as just... I see you as a person. I hope you realise that. I really do want to help you."

"Yeah, I know." You swallow. "I'm sorry. I'm just... thinking."

"That's okay," he assures. "Not rushing you. So uh... I'll tell you about me a bit. If you want?"

You nod and make yourself look. His eyes are almost sparkling as they stick to you. You're a stranger to him too. How can he be so interested? Just you and your butterflies.

"I have a business. I have been running it for the last fifteen years. Before that, I did some corporate work but I really didn't like the politics, so started my own thing," he explains. "I live in New York, I watch baseball, I like to draw. Or liked to. I don't have a lot of time for that anymore." He pauses and holds up his finger. "One sec."

He reaches to his chest pocket and flips up the flap. He slides out a napkin. He unfolds it on the table.

"Got bored on the plane," he slides it over to you. It's a sketch of a butterfly. It's really good too.

"Wow, you did that?" You ask.

"Mm hm," he hums. "I'm a bit rusty."

"No, it's really good," you lean in to admire it. "Wow."

He's quiet. You put your fingers on the edge of the napkin as you look it over.

"My mom used to draw. Paint, too. She's really good. Like you."

You peek up at him. There's a subtle curve in his lips.

"It's... nothing but you can keep it if you want."

"I think it's more than nothing," you pick it up. "That's so cool."

"Ha, thanks. Think the real thing is cooler."

He sits back and looks over as one of the cafe employees approaches. She puts down your plates and tells you to enjoy. You tuck away the napkin.

"Looks delicious," S says.

It does and it smells even better. You hesitate as he picks up half his sandwich. You stare at yours.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

You think about your mom. She doesn't eat much these days but you wish you could bring her good food like this. You resist a frown.

"It's all good," you assure. "Thanks so much. It looks great."

You pick up half the croissant, careful not to let the contents spill out.

"So, where do you work?" He asks.

You nibble and swallow tightly. "Oh, just... customer service at a few stores. Nothing special."

"Hm, that must be stressful."

"It can be," you shrug. "Not the most stress I have right now... but er, whatever."

"Not whatever but I can understand not wanting to talk about it." He says. "Any other hobbies? Besides the butterflies?"

"No..." you drone. "Just watch some TV here and there. Go for walks when I can. There isn't too much going on around here." Not much you can afford.

"Any recommendations? I don't watch much but I'm always open to binge," he says.

"Not unless you're a fan of 90s sitcoms," you shake your head.

"Don't mind them," he says.

He leans forward to take a bite. You focus on your own sandwich. Your stomach is mulching painfully with each morsel. You only realise then how hungry you are.

🦋

S is even bigger walking next to him. You take him down the block to the park. You don't often come to this part of town but it's nicer than your neighbourhood. There's a fountain there.

You collide with S as he tries to follow the path but you find yourself distracted by the birds bathing in the water. You apologise and back up. He chuckles and turns to look at the fountain.

"Pretty. Peaceful," he says as he stops to watch them. "Different. New York is just... everything."

"Oh, it must be super busy there."

"Yeah, very," he agrees. "This is nice though."

"Probably boring to someone like you."

"Boring is nice. Boring is... easier," he says.

He starts toward the fountain and you follow. He stops at the edge and turns to sit. You do the same. The water trickles, the scent of it stirring the air.

You peer around. Another mother with her stroller, a couple and their dog, a brood of kids and their parents. It's all so nice and perfect and sweet. All these people are so happy. They don't have to worry about a thing.

You can barely remember the days when you weren't bound in anxiety. When you were the little girl skipping down the pathway. It feels like it's always been this.

You turn away to hide the gleam in your eyes. You don't know why you're thinking about that right now. You dab your eyes with your knuckle and sigh. You make yourself sit up.

"It's pretty here," you say.

He's watching you. You can feel it. Did he notice?

"It's gorgeous," he agrees but he isn't looking at the trees or the flowers.

You sniff and turn to watch the birds again. You make yourself smile. He shifts to see them too.

"Is your mom waiting for you?" He asks.

"She'll wonder where I am. She always does," you cross one arm across your middle. "I told her I was going to the bank to pay bills and do some running around."

He looks at you and nods.

"I didn't mention you. She doesn't know at all." You say. "It's just... I wasn't sure..."

"You weren't?" He wonders. "What about now?"

You clamp your lips and tilt your head. You open your mouth but can't find the words. You drop your shoulders.

"I don't know. I... I'm very lost right now." You look away.

He exhales. "I know it might not be very obvious, but I am too. I came all the way here and I was sure I was going to sit there alone all day. I kept checking your page thinking maybe you might delete and disappear with the money. Which is fine, that's fine. Your mom needs it but I just... the money is nothing to me." He sucks in air and laughs grimly. "New York is lonely. Being the boss, it's isolating. I didn't know what else to do and I... I just want something simple."

You listen, rolling around your thoughts on your tongue, poking your cheeks. You might be gullible but he sounds honest. Vulnerable even.

You hang your head and turn so that you're facing the open park path. You lean forward and wiggle your feet. "I just want my mom to be okay," you utter. "And if she isn't, then I don't want her to spend the time she has left like this."

He's quiet for a moment. You could wilt right then. All the stress crashes down on you and threatens to smother you.

"I can make sure that's not the case. I can help you keep her comfortable," he slides his hand across the stone and touches yours. "And you don't have to tell her about me."

"Yeah, she doesn't need to worry about me," you push yourself straight. You look him in the face. "I think we could try."

[adumbratrapedme]

“Caught, Almost!”

Pairing: kenma x reader

Synopsis: you and kenma. needy. school grounds. almost caught. ok? ok.

Warnings: “public” sex, smut, +18, p in v, etc. idk im too lazy to properly tag this uhhh, is my first time writing smut cuz i usually get too nervous while writting it ngl (i take constructive criticism, sooo point out what i could do better. thank you!). nyan!

╭⋅Tbh not even you know how you guys enfed like this huh ╭⋅You where supossed to JUST GO AND FIND YOUR BOYFRIEND that was skipping practice (again) ╭⋅He was tired you know?? You guys just finished exam season and! He got a new game! Common!! Let my man rest!! ╭⋅Anyways, you didn’t care, sorry ken ken, disadvantages of having a manager gf unu ╭⋅So, tbh i would never take kenken as someone that has public sex? But i mean lets try to understand him ok? A full exam week, no gf, no kisses and the only opportunities you had to get together he got cockblocked! Wether it was his or you family ╭⋅When you finally find him sitting in his desk playing with the psp you try to pull him away but he does not comply! ╭⋅Until well… you get irritated and start saying that you’d do anything he wants!! ╭⋅So here we go :3

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“Kenma~!” you called out, your voice echoing through the empty halls as you searched for your elusive boyfriend. Frustration bubbled inside you, and just as you were about to give up, a familiar mop of pudding-colored hair caught your eye through the window of an empty classroom. “UGH! THERE YOU ARE!!” you huffed, storming into the room, Kenma flinched at your sudden outburst, his eyes still glued to his handheld console. "You're still looking for me? So... practice isn't over yet? Great..." he muttered under his breath, clearly bothered by the situation.

"Honeyyyy~" you groaned dramatically as you wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. He didn't budge, his fingers tapping away at the buttons, “keEeeEn~” you whined, playfully trying to push him out of the chair.

"Come on! Kuroo is going to kill me if I don't bring you back!"

Still no reaction.

You leaned in closer, pressing your cheek against his. "Do you really want your beaaauuutiful girlfriend to fail at her manager duties, huh?"

Kenma finally sighed, his gaze never leaving the screen. "

...If it means

you'll leave me alone, then... sure."

"UGH! Kenmaaaa!" you pouted, slumping dramatically in front of him.

Dropping to your knees and hugging his legs you gave him your best puppy-dog eyes. "Please?"

His fingers faltered for a second.

"You're so annoying.." he muttered, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

After what felt like hours (okay, maybe just ten minutes) of begging and pressing Kenma to go to practice, you finally hit your limit. Refusing to stand from your spot on the floor, you crossed your arms and gave him your best fake teary eyes, complete with a trembling pout.

“Fine then… let them fire me from my manager position,” you huffed dramatically. Kenma finally glanced down at you, his expression flat. “Y/N… this isn’t a job. They won’t fire you.”

But then — ngh! — his gaze lingered. The sight of you sitting on the floor, all pouty and vulnerable? That triggered something in his brain.

Neurons? Activated.

Kenma? Horny

Y/n? Annoyed

Crops? Watered.

A faint blush dusted his cheeks as he averted his gaze, but his voice softened. “But… maybe there’s something we can do… if you really want me to go back to practice.” Your eyes lit up. “YAS! I knew it!” You leapt from the floor, wrapping your arms around him in excitement. “Come on, tell me! I’ll do anything you want!”

Kenma blinked, momentarily stunned by your enthusiasm, before a tiny smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Well… you know how we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately?” You nodded eagerly, not missing the way his voice dipped into a quieter tone.

“And how every time we try to be alone… someone interrupts us?” he added, glancing at you briefly before looking away again, the blush deepening.

“Uh-huh,” you murmured, heart thumping in anticipation. Kenma cleared his throat. “Well… maybe we can do it now.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait… here?” “The school’s practically empty,” he murmured, setting his PSP down on the desk. “Only a few clubs and… maybe a janitor. But if we’re careful…”

He finally looked back at you, and the heat in his gaze sent shivers down your spine.

“You serious?” you whispered.

Kenma leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Only if you want to.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

So... in the end, you gave in—how could you possibly resist that pudding-colored mop of hair? And now, here you are, in this exact moment.

You're leaning over his desk, your hands pressing against the surface.

Honestly, you feel a little exposed. Your boyfriend's behind you, and you can feel his gaze, while all you can see is what's right in front of you. You feel his cold hand lift your skirt, the breeze of his breath hitting your core, making you shiver just a little..

"just look at this, huh kitten? i barely even told you what i wanted and you are this wet already?” he said as he pulled down at your underwear, “ so eager to please me huh?” He said leaning into you and giving your ear a few kitten licks.

"P-Please, Kenma," you whispered, a hint of shame in your voice. Doing this in school? It felt so forbidden, so sinful. But deep down, you couldn't deny it — you'd been waiting for this moment just as much as he had.

To be honest, Kenma had wanted to tease you a little longer, but even he couldn't hold back. After the past week of restraint, he was too pent up to keep it inside any longer.

"So whiny..." he murmured while placing open-mouthed kisses on your neck, while one of his hands ran down your shirt until he reached your breasts, the way he squeezed them was very rough, but it was the right one for that moment, his hand was massaging them and the other was busy unbuckling his belt.

"I'm sorry darling..." he whispered into your ear while holding his member with one hand and rubbing it against your entrance earning a soft moan from you "you know that normally I would go slowly but... I don't think there's enough time for that right now"

You nodded in agreement, eager to feel him inside you, you hadn't realized how much you needed this, how much you missed his hands, his kisses and his caresses...

Just when you were lost in your thoughts a sudden pressure at your entrance made you yelp, Kenma's hands gripped your waist firmly, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulled you closer. His breathing was uneven, his gaze heavy with desire as he leaned in.

"Ahh... Y/N..." His voice came out low and hoarse, roughened by the tension building between you. He pushed in deeper, his movements purposeful, each one making you gasp as your body adjusted to him. "You're so tight... nghh..." The way he muttered it, half a groan and half a breathless confession, made your stomach flutter.

A whimper escaped you, soft and broken, your lower lip trembling as you tried to speak through the haze. "K-Kenma... it's so big, I-"

Before you could finish, he picked up his pace, each movement making you lose more control over your voice. You couldn't stop the sounds slipping from your lips, and just as quickly, he silenced you with a kiss - rough, needy, possessive. "I like you better when you just moan for me," he mumbled against your lips, his voice low and commanding.

The words sent a shiver down your spine, making you melt into his touch.

You could feel the tension in your body rising fast, and by the way Kenma gripped you, he could feel it too. The way you clenched around him made him groan softly, his head dropping to your shoulder as he trailed kisses along your neck, leaving faint marks behind.

Normally, he would slow down - tease you, drag things out until you were begging for more. But this time, he couldn't hold back. His own release was close, and it showed in the way his thrusts grew more erratic, rocking the desk beneath you as he pushed deeper.

"Fuck... baby..." His voice was husky, strained, filled with urgency as he buried himself in you. "I'm really close..."

You couldn't hold back your own moans any longer. The intensity of his movements, the weight of his body against your back, the sound of his voice — it was all too much. You didn't care if anyone could hear, if anyone walked by. All that mattered was him.

Kenma's fingers tightened their grip on your hips, his forehead pressed to yours as he pushed you both toward the edge. His heart was racing, his breath ragged in your ear, and you could feel the tension winding tighter and tighter.

"Kenma... please." you whimpered, your voice trembling as you clung to him, your body shaking from the overwhelming sensation.

He groaned softly at the sound of his name falling from your lips, his movements never faltering. He could feel how close you were — he always knew your body better than you did.

And though his usual control would have him drawing things out, this time he couldn't stop. His release was so close, right there, and he didn't want to hold back.

Twenty minutes in, and he already had you falling apart twice. But still, he kept going, chasing that final high — for both of you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Kenma's forehead rested against your back, his breath hot and uneven as you both tried to steady yourselves.

His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns under your skirt, a stark contrast to the urgency from moments before. There was a softness in his gaze now, something tender beneath the layers of intensity that still lingered in the air between you.

"Are you okay?" he murmured quietly, his voice softer, more familiar. The concern in his tone made your heart ache in the best way, and you nodded, lips curling into a faint smile.

"I'm okay," you whispered, though your voice still trembled slightly from the aftershocks, your body now fully resting in the desk in a weak attempt of catching your breath.

Kenma's lips twitched into a small smile at your answer. He wasn't always great with words, but his actions said enough. His hands lingered on your hips, steadying you before before turning you around, facing each other, his forehead brushing yours in a quiet moment of calm.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, filled only with the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint creak of the desk beneath you. His thumbs rubbed lazy circles over your skin, grounding both of you as you melted into each other. "I wasn't too rough, was I?" he asked after a moment, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. It wasn't like him to ask, but there was something different in the way he looked at you now — more vulnerable, more open.

You shook your head, cupping his face gently. "No... it was perfect," you said softly, and you meant it.

Kenma sighed in relief, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned into your touch.

His lips pressed a lingering kiss to your palm before he pulled you close again, wrapping his arms around you like he couldn't bear to let go just yet. "You make me feel things I never thought l'd want," he admitted quietly, his voice almost shy. "I've never... wanted someone like this before."

The honesty in his words made your chest tighten, and you couldn't help but smile as you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whispered against his skin. "You don't have to be afraid of wanting me."

Kenma's arms tightened around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His heart was pounding against yours, steady and strong.

What you both thought would be a peaceful moment didn’t last nearly as long as you had hoped. For a brief second, you let yourselves forget that you were still on school grounds, thinking you could steal a quiet moment together. But reality quickly came crashing back in the form of a loud, obnoxious voice that both of you knew all too well.

"KENMAAAAAA... Y/N!" Kuroo’s voice echoed through the hallways, sharp and unmistakable as he called out for you two. It was impossible to ignore. You exchanged a glance, both of you groaning internally.

"Come on, Y/N, I trusted you!" Kuroo’s voice whined from further down the hall, his footsteps growing louder as he approached.

"Shit," Kenma muttered, clearly irritated. He quickly pulled away from you, his eyes darting around in panic. "We should hurry," he added, his tone serious now.

Both of you scrambled to adjust yourselves. Kenma straightened his uniform with a quick tug at his collar, while you did the same at your skirt. You couldn’t help but glance at Kenma, biting your lip in a mix of amusement and slight concern.

"Do I have sex hair?" you asked, half joking but also genuinely curious, Kenma paused for a split second, giving you a once-over before shrugging. "Hmm... maybe just a little," he said nonchalantly, brushing his fingers through your hair to tame it.

"Great," you muttered, pushing your hair back into place as the sound of Kuroo’s voice drew closer. You had to think fast before he found you both in the hallway, and judging by the way Kenma was glancing nervously in the direction of the noise, he was already calculating your next move.

You both braced yourselves for what would surely be an uncomfortable encounter, wondering if this "moment of peace" was truly ever meant to be.