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umathurwin · 6 months ago

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get what i want ’cause i ask for it (not because i’m really that deserving of it)

rafe cameron x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Rafe is so close to receiving the CEO title of his father’s company, he can taste it. But before he can have his dream job, he has to complete the most grueling task he’s ever been given: watch over the bratty heiress of their partner company, who’s decided to make his life hell.

He’s persistent. But so is she.

A/N: tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

“So,” Rafe started, striding into his father’s office and getting way too comfortable in the chair. Ward’s clients would expect nothing less than Memory Foam under their pompous asses, of course– how could you not sink down and kick your feet on the desk? “What’s next for me? Corner office with big windows? Company Lexus? A solid-gold bathroom?”

“I’ll be frank. What the hell are you talking about?”

“When I’m CEO of Cameron Development. Duh. I’ve been hearing the rumors about Maurice retiring, and you’re gonna need someone to fill his role…”

“Easy . You haven’t even been working here a whole year,” Ward reminded him, smacking the peppermint gum Rafe hated. “And your office has big windows!”

“I’m just being cliche. It’s the title that I really want, Dad.”

“Why should I give it to you, though? You’re barely even old enough to be out of college, if you’d gone.”

It stung, when his father reminded him that he hadn’t gone to school. He swallowed anyway. “Don’t need to, not with my work ethic. I take the job you gave me really seriously. All the departments love me, we’ve had great numbers the last three quarters, I’ve secured five deals that we’ve missed out on in the past,” he ticked off. “Tell me why you shouldn’t give it to me.”

Ward leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk rapidly. “Okay, you’re right. I agree. And I actually think I have something in mind that’ll really prove to me you’re worthy of totally running this company with the CEO title.”

Rafe all but purred. “Name it.”

“I should warn you, this is… probably gonna be the ultimate test of how loyal you are to Cameron Development.”

“Jesus, am I gonna have to fight a Jedi, or something?”

“Remember when I ran errands when you were younger, and you acted like it was inhumane torture to watch Sarah for 45 minutes?”

He sulked, already rubbing at the space between his eyebrows. “Oh God. You hired her, too, didn’t you? And here I thought my job was a special offer. Are you giving one to my cousin Tristan, too? Y’know he sits down when he pees?”

“I’m not hiring your sister. Or… your cousin,” Ward sighed. “We have a huge offer coming up soon. We’re teaming up with Kerrington Design to build on the northern side of the island, meaning we’d have properties in every zone. I cannot stress enough how important this bid is, Rafe. Josephine Kerrington will be working with us for the next month or so while we iron out details.”

“This all sounds great so far,” Rafe said. “Where do I come in?”

“Josephine mentioned that she was bringing her young daughter, and that she doesn’t feel comfortable with her being alone. I offered for you to watch over her while she’s here.”

“What?!”

“Look, I know you—”

“Hate dealing with kids? Yeah, I do,” he groaned. “Dad, you realize I have actual work to do around here? I have that O’Brien meeting coming up! How am I supposed to get stuff done with someone playing Webkinz in my office?”

“You love Webkinz.”

“Good Lord. Sure, when I was six!”

“Like I said before,” Ward started, tone carrying a warning out to his son that matched his tilted head, “this is an ultimate test. I’m counting on you to be a good babysitter.” Ward’s phone trilled, forcing a wince onto Rafe’s face, and the older man leaned forward to glance at the screen. “Ah. That’s her now. They’ll be arriving today, so be on the lookout for them, eh?”

Rafe stood up, smoothing out his pants. “Yeah, well, if there’s gonna be a child on the premises, I’m getting a cup of coffee right now.”

“Probably a good idea,” Ward conceded lowly, waving his son out of his office. “Mrs. Kerrington, good morning, it’s so great to hear from you…”

Rafe stepped out and went to the floor’s coffee station, noting an unfamiliar young woman getting herself a cup from the stack of thick cardboard. The company rarely hired people under the age of 25, so he was pleasantly surprised to see someone his own age.

“Morning,” he greeted to get her to turn around, and fuck, she was cute. “I don’t recognize you. New here?”

“You could say that,” the girl cocked her head a little. “Do you know every person who works here?”

He smiled. “Oh, I do a lot of paperwork on all levels. Surely I would’ve remembered you.”

She returned his grin. “You’re sweet. I’m Y/N.”

“My name’s Rafe. Your morning been good so far?”

“So far,” she repeated him in response, returning to her empty cup. “How about yourself?”

“Fine. Just dreading later,” he sighed, reaching behind the supplies in the cabinet to find the mug he’d hidden back there.

She made a little humming noise. “Why? What’s later?”

“Ah, nothing, I just have to babysit some CEO’s daughter for a few weeks. I hope to God I’ll be able to get any work done with a kid running around here, but I’ve got a little sister. I think I’ll be fine.”

The girl nodded, a little slowly to be seen as normal, but she was cute enough that he brushed it off. His eyes trailed down to where she was about to pour the coffee into her cup and he reached out to hold her wrist and stop her actions. “Wait, whoa!”

She gasped, jumping back. “Hey, watch it!” she shook her head, pouring her cup while still a few feet away from him. “It’s hot coffee, dude. What’s your deal?”

“If you pour the powder creamer first, it dissolves when you pour the coffee in,” he explained, shaking his head. “Too late now. You shoulda listened to me.”

“Well, it really doesn’t matter when y’all have thousands of these,” she reached for a coffee stirrer. “You micromanage a lot of shit around here, or am I special?”

He scoffed. “I practically run this place, sweetheart. You should be thanking me for bestowing my wisdom on you. Now, don’t you have something, I dunno, administrative to do?”

“Administrative?” the girl parroted, setting down the stirrer. Her tone was amused, but her eyebrows were still in her hairline. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk to women like that?”

“My step-mother,” he corrected, “is a useless witch. So, no.”

Her mouth fell open. “I guess this company is run by an absolute pig.”

He clenched his jaw. Who is this girl, and how dare she speak to him like that? “You better watch how you talk to me before I–”

“Rafe!” Ward called, interrupting his son’s threat and joining the two young adults at the coffee bar. “I see you’ve already met your partner for the next few weeks. How are you, Miss Kerrington?” he turned to warmly address her, reaching out to take her hand politely and shake it. He either didn’t notice the horrific tension between them or was desperately trying to cut it.

The girl smiled. “I’m doing just fine, Mr. Cameron.”

“Please, call me Ward,” he insisted, stepping aside to grab a cardboard cup.

Rafe finally found his voice. “So, Josephine Kerrington…” he started, anxiously looking between her and his father.

“Is my mother,” Y/N finished, tilting her head smugly. “Rafe, was it? Why don’t you show me to your office?”

***

He tried to keep his back straight as he showed her where he worked, and she looked around nosily the second she was inside. While she snooped around his belongings and photos, he took another look at her.

She was wearing a lavender floral dress that was just too short to be considered professional, though those rules clearly didn’t apply to her. When she spun back around to look at him, he had to snap his gaze back up quickly to not reveal he’d been staring at her ass.

“So, Y/N,” he started sheepishly. She set her coffee on the table and he ran over to put a coaster under it. “I think we got off on the wrong foot—“

“Water under the bridge,” she interrupted. “Could you Airdrop the Wifi?”

Rafe stared at her face, expecting her to burst out laughing at him. “I understand all of those words, separately.”

She sighed. “You have wireless internet here, no?”

“We do.”

“And I assume it’s password protected?”

“That’d be a correct assumption.”

“And I also bet it’s harder to type than ‘cameronwifi’?”

He scrunched his face. “It’s some combination of letters and numbers, so yeah.”

She pressed her lips together. “Figured. Open up contacts on your phone.”

Rafe obeyed, though he didn’t know why. Curiosity, maybe? She put in her number then guided him to the Wifi tab and held her phone up. The password to the internet auto-filled on her device and she was already skipping away to use it.

“What? I don’t get a ‘thank you’?” he snorted, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Why? You didn’t even do anything!” She flopped on the couch. “Feel free to text me, now that you’ve got my number.”

He scoffed. “Are you hitting on me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yeah right, nerd. If I did hit on you, I’d probably comment on your Marlon Brando slicked hair. Heavy gel, in this decade, it’s a sexy and modern choice.”

There was no holding back now. “You’re a brat.”

“Get used to it.”

“Why should I? It’s not like you do anything.”

“You say that like I’m not important.”

“Of course you’re not important here. You—You don’t even have a title!”

“Ah, that’s just not true,” she corrected. “I’m a CTA. Chief Tactics Associate.”

Rafe rubbed at his forehead. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means what I say, goes.”

He snickered. “Is that so?”

“Glad you find it funny. Why do you think I’m even here? My opinion means a lot to my mother, and if I run to her and tell her I don’t like how things are run at your company, she’ll pick up her business and run to the next development firm that’s eagerly waiting to spring properties up on the island.”

Rafe’s stomach turned. With how important this deal was to Ward, she really had the upper hand on him. “Fine. Just stay out of my way while I work, and we should get along alright.”

A smile curled up on her face. “I’ll try my best, sir.”

***

She did not.

When confronted by his son, Ward was not sympathetic. He eventually gave a half-hearted apology but not before bursting out laughing in Rafe’s face. His only defense was something like, “Josephine’s exact words were ‘young daughter’. How was I supposed to know she’s able to vote?”

“I sure love finding you in my office all the time,” Rafe announced sardonically to the girl lying on his comfy leather couch watching loud Tik Toks.

He knew why she hovered, of course. Even if his father hadn’t twisted his arm into watching her, he was one of the few people in the building within ten years of her age. It made sense that she’d linger around him, even if she was a nuisance most of the time.

She didn’t look up from her phone. “It has the best view. Big windows.” She reached into her shirt, dipped into her bra and pulled out what looked like a USB until she brought it to her mouth and sucked.

Rafe reached down to snatch it from her hand and stuck it in his lapel pocket. “Not in my office.”

She waved her hand around annoyedly, letting the tiny wisps of smoke escape from her lips. “Vibe killer. I’ve got another one at home.”

“I’m sure you do,” he muttered, sniffing the air. “Wait. Is this mint? They don’t make JUUL pods in that flavor anymore.”

“I get ‘em from Europe,” she explained impatiently.

He huffed. “How stupid of me,” he noted before stalking over to his computer. He looked around his desk and noticed things were not as he left them. “Goddamnit, quit messing around with my stuff! I’ve told you before, I care ab–” he stopped himself, and the pause actually garnered her attention.

Rafe picked up a stack of documents and inspected them carefully. “Wait. These are the quarterly verification logs?”

“I know what they are. Title at the top and everything.”

“Y/N, I’ve been trying to get these back from credentialing for months. I email them twice a day, they don’t even blink at me. Is this what you did during my meeting?”

“Yeah. I saw you typing one up earlier, so I paid their department a little visit when I was bored. Can I have my JUUL back as a prize?”

Rafe laughed. “I thought you had another one at home.”

“You called my bluff.”

He rolled his eyes, but still reached into his jacket and tossed her the stick. She caught it and took another rip, looking behind him and shaking her head wistfully. “Just imagine what else you could get done if you had a pair of tits to weaponize with every half-witted employee you have crawling around here.”

Hmm. Maybe he didn’t have to imagine.

***

His least favorite part of what he did was dealing with the shareholders, by far.

He gets it. A critical part of the job was kissing rich ass despite them knowing the least about what’s best for the company, because money makes the world go round. But the meetings he was forced to sit in on were like pulling teeth, and every minute he sat in those rooms was a performance. He nodded along, looked over papers and presentations, pretended not to notice the older men had no idea where they were, and shook hands until they slapped their thighs and announced it was time to head out.

Today, the meeting ran over, because none of those antiquated bastards have any concept of time. His skin itched, watching the clock tick minute after minute when he should already be getting back to work. When they finally noticed, Rafe pretended to receive a critical phone call to escape without dealing with their falsely pleasant goodbyes.

Rafe rested his forehead on his office door before going inside. For a moment, he forgot everything that was going on in his life, and prepared himself to enjoy the rest of the day in peace and quiet.

Except, he couldn’t, because Y/N was sitting in his chair, feet kicked up on his desk, with one of his lollipops in her mouth. He deflated, walking over to see what she was doing. Rafe groaned when his eyes landed on a coloring book and some crayons in her lap, and was especially peeved that she was too focused on Aurora’s hair to look up at him.

“What are you, five?” he sneered, picking up a completed Ursula and Ariel sheet off his desktop. “That’s you,” he said, pointing to the villainous witch.

Y/N’s eyes flicked up annoyedly and she took the sucker out, letting it clack on her teeth. “Yeah, and you’re so mature.” Without breaking eye contact, she placed the glistening lollipop right on his desk.

“Damnit, you–,” he sputtered, picking up the candy and remorsefully throwing it away. He swiped at the wet spot that remained and brought his fingers to his lips without thinking. It looked like the wood was too dark to show a stain anyways. “You win. Just, please get up.”

She waved around to the many empty chairs in his office. “Sit somewhere else.”

“It’s my office,” he scoffed. “Get up. Or you can sit in my lap, if you want,” Rafe added with a smirk.

Y/N grimaced. “Do I need to go to HR?”

“Best of luck with that, doll. The Lead HR lady is my godmother.”

She paused her coloring to look up at him. “Tell me, is there anyone in this building you don’t have a familial relation to?”

“Our CTA.”

“You’re funny.”

“I know. That’s why I thought you’d jump on the offer to sit on my lap.” She ignored him again, returning to coloring the pink dress. Rafe glanced at the stack of manila envelopes on his desk and an idea popped into his head. “Say, has my father shown you the mail room here?”

She lifted an eyebrow–he almost laughed at how easy she was to entertain. “Mail room?”

He nodded. “Yeah, real shiny place. There’s tubes all over the building that we shoot letters into that all lead to the mail room downstairs. It’s a really cool set-up, and I think you’d like it.” He looked at his desk again, feigning surprise. “Oh, hey! And these need to be sent out anyways. They don’t fit in the chutes, so you have an excuse to snoop around there.” He picked up the stack and held them out to her, fully expecting her to snort and tell him to shove them up his ass. It’s what his sister would do.

But to his complete surprise, she nodded wordlessly and set her colors down. She took the envelopes and skipped out of the office on a mission.

Shit. Maybe he could make this work.

***

Two hours later, Rafe burst out of his own office, crashing right into his father.

“Hey, I was just coming to check on you,” he greeted before noticing Rafe’s sour expression. “Whoa, what’s wrong?” Ward asked, holding out a hand to his son’s chest to slow him down.

“Oh, nothing. Just that Y/N painted her nails in my room earlier,” he huffed. Likely because she wanted to cover up the scent of her dab pen, he really wanted to add on. “I made her count reams of paper to make her leave, but the room still smells like chemicals. Getting a migraine.”

“Did you open a window?”

“No, Dad, and I also didn’t try spraying Febreze, so don’t ask,” he snapped.

Ward pressed his lips together, eyebrows lifting softly. “Come sit in my office for a little?” he offered.

Rafe nodded, pressing the up button himself. His phone in his pocket chirped to indicate a text message, but he didn’t move. The phone buzzed over and over, beeping so many times that they were cutting themselves off.

Ward blinked. “Gonna check that?”

“Nope. I know it’s just Y/N.”

“Why is she sending you so many texts?”

“I made the mistake of giving her my number in case she needed anything. Now, she sends me fifty iMessage games if I’m not paying attention to her.” The elevator doors opened again to the top floor. “Dad, you don’t realize. She’s the most annoying pest I’ve ever had to deal with.”

“Worse than your sister?”

Rafe hesitated. “She gives her a run for her money.”

***

Y/N bounded up to Rafe the following day, looking from the phone nestled in the crook of his neck to where the cord led back to the desk. She brought a freshly pink-tipped finger to the hook switch and pressed it, ending his call.

“I got the signatures from the guys in accounting,” she announced, pulling the papers out to show him. “Have you actually seen them? They are literally the palest people I’ve ever met.”

Rafe sputtered with anger, slamming the phone back in the cradle. “You didn’t have to do that! I was on hold with a stupid robot.”

“I wanted your undivided attention,” she shrugged.

He massaged at his temples. “Whatever. Thank you for the signatures, I suppose. Say, are you having any trouble with the Wifi?”

To his dismay, her face brightened. “Oh, right! I wanted to ask IT if you can change the password for only the router in your office, and the answer is yes,” she giddily explained, pointing to the white box pinned to the ceiling above her.

“Um, okay. What’s the new password?”

“It’s ‘misskerringtonlovesanal420’, no caps, no spaces.”

He sighed. “Are you serious?”

“Well, I’ve never actually tried doing it. But I wanted to see if I could make the IT guy squirm and he totally–”

“I meant, is it seriously the password?” he stopped her, tired of being reminded that every touch-starved man on the premises was at the sheer whim of this girl.

“See for yourself.”

Click click click. “Ugh, really?”

“Tell me you wouldn’t do this shit if you had the freedom to.”

He didn’t respond to that. It seemed he’d have to try a little harder to keep the girl busy and out of trouble. Rafe slipped a hand into his lapel pocket and pulled out a folded $20, extending it out for her. “If I give you this, will you go to the cafeteria downstairs and get us both turkey sandwiches?”

She took the money and slipped it in her bra, already on her way out. “Yes, but we’re getting rotisserie chicken. They’re so much better.”

“Wait, I want turkey!” he called after her.

“Too bad!”

***

Rafe woke up late.

He’d spent the last week working double time to make sure Y/N stayed out of trouble and his normal tasks were fulfilled. It was no wonder that at some point he’d break and the back-up Pinball alarm would fail him. Why the fuck this had to happen the morning of his O’Brien meeting, he’ll never know.

He ran into his building in such a hurry he felt the soles of his shoes wearing down. He didn’t stop for the doorman, the HR intern, and sure as shit not for his father, who all tried to strike up a conversation.

“Dad, please, I can’t talk right now,” Rafe huffed out to the last one, clicking the elevator button over and over. “I’m super late to a meeting with–”

“This is slightly more important,” Ward insisted. “There was a cyber attack. IT is taking care of it, but something got in through our Wifi, and our emails have been a mess all d–”

“Wait,” Rafe interrupted, ignoring the car arriving at the ground floor. “You said the Wifi?”

“Well, yeah. They said there was a leak at our security company, and any routers with passwords that haven’t been reset in the last month were affected. They’re routinely reset four times a year, so we just got unlucky.”

Rafe was so stunned he had to be pulled onto the elevator by his father. “Is everything alright?”

He tossed around what to do here. If he admitted Y/N dicking around had accidentally protected his router, he’d run the risk of exposing not only how he’d been getting her to do his work but also how he really hadn’t been monitoring her too strictly. Hell, she could’ve done the opposite and totally fucked over their security if she wasn’t careful.

“Yes, actually, I was having trouble and changed my own router last week,” he lied, words fumbling out in a jittery string. “Guess I just got lucky. God, how is this elevator so slow?”

Ward raised his eyebrow at his bouncy son. “Is everything alright?”

“O’Brien meeting in negative two minutes,” he shouted, looking at his watch and slipping through the crack between the barely-open doors. “Damn Irish.”

“It’s funny because we’re actually Scottish!” his father called after him, but Rafe really didn’t care.

He threw open the doors to his own office and waved off a dazed Y/N to run behind his desk. “Hey, Bossman,” she greeted him, clearly oblivious to the rush he was in. “I had a great idea for us to do.”

Rafe dug through his desk drawers, sorting through Sharpies and Post-Its looking for the USB drive holding the O’Brien floor plans. “Lemme get back to you on that.”

“Are you sure? It’ll only take a minute.”

“Y/N, I can’t right now. I’ve got a meeting that I’m already late for, and it’s really important that I–”

“Oh, that? I moved it.”

He halted in his tracks, blood colder than ice. “You moved my meeting with the O’Briens?!” he asked, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“Yeah,” she answered bubbly. “I wanted to get a chocolate croissant at that bakery down the street but they close early in the day, so I called and asked those guys if they’d be okay with the same time tomorrow. All I had to do was say it conflicted with Kerrington business, and they were cool with it. Ready to go?”

Rafe was… fucking flabbergasted. Not only did she take it upon herself to move a career-altering meeting without his permission over a fucking baked good, but she’d used her name to persuade the O’Briens into compliance. He thought back to the wifi– she’d just unintentionally saved his ass, twice, in the same fucking day.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I looked at your calendar first. You’re not busy.”

He couldn’t help himself. Rafe lunged forward, taking her face into his hands and planting a big kiss on her lips. She made a surprised squeak before relaxing into his touch and returning the favor.

When he pulled away, her eyes were still shut for two seconds too long. “Yeah, I could go for a Kouign-amann. After you,” he said, waving his hand out to the door.

***

Rafe had just finished the yellow cross on his Rubik’s cube when his father knocked on the door of his office. He waved him in with two fingers but went right back to diligently solving his puzzle.

“Where is Y/N?” Ward asked, taking a seat in front of his son’s desk.

“Out to lunch with her mother.”

“And you didn’t go with her?” he teased.

This got Rafe to look up from the cube, but he still shot his father an exasperated glare. Not only did that sound like a nightmare and a half, he was a little uneasy about being around her.

He’d acted a little rash yesterday when he was pumped full of adrenaline and stress, he’ll admit it– though, if he had made her uncomfortable with the kiss, she didn’t act like it. She went right back to the hellion force of nature she was before (like forcing him to play 20 Questions with her, and when the person was revealed to be Ghandi, going on a long rant about his problematic behavior as if she hadn’t chosen the man herself). Kinda why he was enjoying the rare peace and quiet he just lost.

“Why’d you stop by?” A much more pleasant way of saying why oh why are you in my office and what’s the quickest way I can get you out.

“At some point I want you to complete the follow-up for the Carroll’s. I know they’re a-holes, so feel free to not put this high on your priority list. I could care less if it gets done by the end of the week, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, so you haven’t been honest before?” Rafe snapped, getting too frustrated and slamming the Rubik’s cube back down on the desk. “And you mean you couldn’t care less,” he tacked on.

Ward pursed his lips together and tried to hold back a snort. “Okay, let’s make a deal. I won’t use either of those phrases anymore, and you quit taking out your annoyance with Y/N on me.”

“Not really fair, since her antagonism in my life is very much your fault.”

“C’mon, you’ve been doing a great job so far! Is she that hard to get along with?” Ward sighed. “She’s a cute girl who could charm birds out of trees and y’know, she reminds me a lot of you.”

Rafe winced. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Oh, hush. You’re both hardworking, loyal, and heirs, obviously.”

“How is she hardworking? All she does is traipse around the office and make messes for me to clean up.”

“Really? Because, from what I’ve heard around the office, you’ve turned her into your little administrative assistant. Are you sure that’s what Mrs. Kerrington wants?”

“I don’t know what Mrs. Kerrington wants!” he groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “If you didn’t notice, she kind of dropped a teenager off at my doorstep and made me figure out how to balance watching her and work.”

“She’s an adult,” Ward muttered, sinking down in the chair.

“Those are not mutually exclusive,” Rafe snapped back, then shook his head. He leaned forward and started working on the Rubik’s cube again. “Whatever. I’m over it. Not really, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” His eyes darted up to the clock on his wall. “You’ve got a Zoom call with the West Coast in ten minutes, anyways.”

Ward checked his watch and jumped up when he realized his son was correct.

***

“How did you even manage to get into my computer?!” Rafe shouted, slamming his hands on his desk and standing up.

“Your password was literally your last name and birth year, doll,” she explained, far too casual for someone who hadn’t just turned his entire desktop set-up to various shades of pink and purple. He didn’t fail to notice how she was picking up on his mannerisms these last few weeks. “And the password hint was ‘name and year’. Have you ever taken a computer safety class in your life?”

“Stop talking to me like I deserve to have you snooping around my stuff! Change it back!”

“Absolutely not. How could you work with it before? It was so dull and… default settings.”

Rafe scrubbed his face with his hands, realizing it didn't relax him at all. “I am genuinely so tired of your presence,” he admitted, waving a hand and trying not to clench it in a fist when she giggled at him. “I’m serious! You constantly get in the way. I don’t even know why I put up with you.”

“Because my say is the last stop in this agreement, and you’re in charge of keeping me happy.”

He grimaced at the reminder. “Right. You’re the gleaming epitome of nepotism. I get it.”

She all but gasped. “Are you joking? And just what does that make you?”

“Hey, I actually work here. I’ve put in effort to get where I am.”

She barked out a laugh. “Yeah. And I’m sure daddy had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m on the Board of Directors here!”

“Which your father also assembled!” she shouted, then shook her head with a smile. “Actually, y’know what? I get it now. You hate me because I’m you.”

He spat at the assumption. “We are completely different.”

“No, we’re not. We’re both spoiled nepotism babies who overvalue our importance. I just don’t give enough of a fuck to lie about it. Tell me, do you hate seeing yourself when you look at me? Is that it?”

Rafe exhaled heavily through his nose, trying to refrain from storming out and knocking over a vase on his way out. “Is there any particular reason you’re always such a pain to me and an angel around everyone else?”

Y/N raised herself up on her tiptoes to (unsuccessfully) get closer to his height. “Because I like making mean guys suffer. And because you’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“And you’re just cute enough to get my shit done for me.”

Yeah, that was fucking dumb to say. Her jaw dropped the moment the words regretfully tumbled off his tongue and not even slapping his hand over his mouth could save him.

“Wait, that’s what you’ve been doing? You were using me to get your fucking work done?”

“Y/N, no, I–”

“And just when I thought we were kind of getting along for a minute. Do you think I’m just a tool for you to use?”

Kind of. His mouth hung open dumbly for too many moments, because she scoffed in disgust and pushed past him.

He called at her and tried to grab her arm, but she yanked away again. “If you follow me, I’m telling my mom what a chauvinistic louse you are.”

Rafe waited for the mischievous grin to creep on her face, but it didn’t. She was cold. He’d fucked up.

In immaculate timing, a new secretary hire knocked on the barely open door of his office. “Mr. Cameron? Miss Kerrington? The board meeting starts in four minutes,” the intern informed the two, just poking his head in enough to get the words out before disappearing.

She huffed one more time, spinning around and marching out of the room. He was conflicted, since he was mandated to be at the meeting but was terrified of pissing her off. He chased her down the halls, wanting to at least be present for his own damnation.

He only caught up to her just as she joined the groups of execs, far too late for him to attempt to stop her again. He held his breath as he watched her take her seat next to her mother. His face was hot, waiting for her to spill the beans and get his ass in immense trouble.

She… didn’t, though. She just sat down, looked at her phone under the desk, and shifted in the chair to get comfortable.

“Rafe? You alright?” he heard, and he looked down to see his dad waving him towards the table. “Let’s get this started.”

***

“And to recap, these are the outsourcing companies we plan to use. Contracts are already underway…” Mr. Henthorn droned. Or… Hawthorn. Who gives a crap.

“Why isn’t Upwards Lumber on this list anymore?” Josephine asked. “I thought we agreed on them in our earlier phases.”

Ward hesitated, looking around to his team before answering. “Well, last week we were informed Upwards wasn’t able to handle projects of this size anymore.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed. “I thought they worked with the Ambetter building downtown?”

“They did. But apparently a year and a half ago, they were heavily audited and half their workers were laid off due to failed drug screenings. Upwards is really only able to handle small commercial projects until they rebuild their crew.”

Drug screens are just elitist, targeting bullshit, Rafe thought, and Ward looked over with a stern blink as though he could read his son’s mind. Probably not the time to be making any kind of statement anyways.

Josephine stiffened. “Well. Bullet dodged, I suppose. Kerrington doesn’t tolerate drug use of any kind, at any level.”

Ward agreed with her imperative demand, but Rafe had to hide a smirk behind his fist. It was one thing for Y/N to obnoxiously hit her JUUL in his office, but if mommy saw the dab cart that sometimes stuck out of her bag, it’d be a little harder to explain.

He looked up to Y/N. Sure, she was fuming and likely going to snitch on him any minute now, but she still had a sense of humor, so he expected to share at least a moment of amused, knowing eye contact. To his surprise, though, she was completely slumped down in the chair. Her gaze was down on the table and she picked at her fingernails, hiding from everyone else in the room. Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked over to Josephine, who was shooting her daughter a fiery glare.

The daughter who was a bratty, uncontrollable mess. The one who had pretty condemnatory dirt on Rafe and, knowing her character, was being oddly silent about it. The one who’d been dropped off for him to essentially babysit for the last few excruciating weeks.

Babysit.

The pieces assembled themselves in his brain so quickly he nearly got vertigo in the swivel chair. That’s why he’s had to fucking watch her this whole time– because she needed watching. No wonder she didn’t snitch on Rafe for whoring her out for paperwork. She was never there for him to entertain and keep happy; he just had to make sure she wasn’t sneaking off to do drugs. And really, he hadn’t done a great job at it.

He didn’t bother beating himself up, since his directions were incredibly unclear and he’d been expecting to watch a fourth grader to begin with. Regardless, the tension in the room was palpable and the respective girl’s face had already turned a burning pink.

The moment the meeting was over, Y/N did the least annoying thing she’d done since the first day she stepped into the building. She stood up, stormed out of the meeting room, and disappeared for the rest of the day.

***

Showing up to the office in the dark had a much different energy than during the daytime. The area was quite nice, so it wasn’t like she felt particularly unsafe going in, but without the doorman greeting her and pulling open the massive front door, something felt off.

Although, it was nice that no one was there to watch her vomit in the receptionist’s trash can. Helena would be pissed come Monday morning, but Y/N was currently more concerned with how much better she felt after getting that out of her system.

Muscle memory is the only thing that got her in the elevator and pushing the right button. When she reached the desired floor, a wave of his aftershave and cigarette smoke hit her nose. She floated on the scent, lost in the way it wrapped around her, until it carried her right into the office of the man she was looking for.

Of course, she didn’t barge in. Rafe didn’t notice her arrival right away so she remained in the shadows to watch him work. It was outlandish, how attractive he was—he was focused hard on some stack of papers with one hand scrubbing at his temple and the other occasionally taking the cigarette that rested between his lips and ashing it. The smoke escaped his mouth in aggravated sighs, curling around his head before disappearing into the room. He’d cracked open a window in some attempt to hide the smell, but it only breezed its way into the hall. This close, it wasn’t even nauseating, but more like a cologne.

From her spot, she could see that he’d unbuttoned some of his shirt to reveal his lean chest. It was strange, seeing some indicator that he was capable of relaxing. He’d had a stick up his ass since the day she met him, so imagining him exhausted and popping the top few buttons on his shirt was almost… endearing.

Her balance was, as expected, not up to par. She leaned a little too far one way, and before she knew it, she stumbled right into the light as well as Rafe’s eyeline. He called her name confusedly, and when her head snapped up, she caught him stubbing out the cig as he stood.

“It’s cute,” she noted, nodding at the ashtray and trying not to trip over her own feet as she got back up. “You, putting out the cigarette. Like I don’t smoke in your office when you’re not here.”

Rafe waved his hands around and tossed the window open even further. “Lighting a cigarette is more serious than hitting your stupid Brass Knuckles pen. What are you doing here so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here,” he bit back. His gaze trailed down her body, taking in her immodest party dress and heels. “I see when you go out, you wear even less than you do at work. Astonishing.”

“I can wear even less, if you’d like.”

His eyes narrowed, and he ignored her flirting. She was speaking far too quickly and clearly to be just drunk. Rafe took a step forward and inspected her eyes. Sure enough, her pupils were blown wide to accompany her pink cheeks. “You didn’t only drink, did you?”

Y/N’s lips curled up gently. “Would you be mad if I didn’t?”

“Of course not, sweetheart, but…” he straightened her clothes and made sure she was okay otherwise, “were you planning on going home like this?”

She shook her head. “I was out with my friend Mona and figured I’d crash at her place. Which I was going to do, until I noticed I was near your office and decided to pay a visit.”

He sighed. “Well, I’ve got to get you home safely.”

Her eyes flew to the back of her head. “What’re you, my dad?”

Rafe bristled. “No, but mine is in the building, and so is your ball-gripping mother. We kinda need to get you the fuck out of here.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, they’re not on this floor, though. That’s why you felt comfortable doing this.” Y/N reached into his lapel pocket and pulled out a solid red Bic lighter. She brought her thumb up and spun the dial, sparking it just a little too close to their faces.

He annoyedly snatched the lighter out of her hands. “Why did you come here?”

She bounced up on the tips of her toes and pulled at the back of his neck for a kiss. It felt good, charged, but his rational brain pushed her away immediately. She pouted.

“Y/N, stop. We absolutely cannot do that.” He wasn’t sure how to finish his sentence, but a Rolodex of options cycled through his mind. Because you’re barely 18 and I’m about to be 22. Because I’m basically your babysitter. Because our parents would kill us. Because you look like you’ve taken both cocaine and molly and it seems you’ve forgotten you were quite mad at me eight hours ago. Because the charge I would catch would be astronomical. Take your pick.

“Why not? We’ve kissed before. I thought it was a good kiss. I think about it a lot. Don’t you?” She still had a firm grip on the nape of his neck, so she toyed with the hair that brushed against her fingers.

Rafe weighed his options, quickly doing the math of when she’d probably started partying to when it should wear off and she’d crash. “Of course I do,” he admitted, honestly, because there’s a chance she’d forget half of this night anyways. “But not here. Is it alright if we go to my place?”

She smiled, letting her hand fall around his shoulder and down his chest. “You don’t still live with daddy, huh?”

He let out a soft laugh, reaching behind himself to grab his wallet and keys. “Nope. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

***

By Rafe’s estimation, she only had about five more minutes of hyperactivity before she crashes and the alcohol takes over her system. She’ll lose interest in trying to get in his pants, and want nothing more than a warm bed, which Rafe conveniently had to spare. His apartment was seven minutes away, so the timing should work out perfectly.

But that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him.

She was relentless. Playing with his tie in the office elevator, winking at him when he opened the car door for her, reaching to rub his thigh while he pulled out of the garage onto the streets. He couldn’t very well stop her without revealing his plans to dump her off and go right back to work, but holy fuck she was making it really hard to focus on driving.

Getting her inside his apartment was easy enough, like she was trying to remain casual in public. As soon as they were inside, all bets were off and she was back to being the horny brat she was in the car.

He got her in one of the guest rooms, and she seemed oblivious to his attempts to get her asleep. Y/N tried pawing at his clothes, but he stopped her, taking her wrists with a tight grip. “Ah-ah. Listen to me,” he ordered, and she obeyed with an impatient sulk. “I have some questions. Can you answer me, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded impatiently, and he smiled when she held a long blink. A good sign.

Rafe guided her backwards, switching her wrists into only one of his hands. “Which of your friends does your mom like the best?”

She froze. “I– what?”

His now-free hand came up to stroke her cheek, gently moving back to card through her hair. “Just answer me, pretty girl.”

“Her name is Samantha.”

Rafe nodded, pushing once more until the back of her knees hit the bed. “Good girl. Does she live in town?”

Y/N nodded, eyes big and innocent. “Yeah, uh, she does.”

He finally led her down until she sat on the mattress, and she took the initiative to climb in herself. He carefully joined her, not lying down with her but remaining close to keep her on the line. “Have you seen her in the last month?”

“Yes… why are you aski–?”

He shushed her, having her get comfortable and continuing to pet her hair. “Don’t worry about it. I’m trying to help you.”

Fortunately, she was already shutting her eyes and wiggling down further into the bed. He placed a kiss on her forehead and brought the throw blanket from the foot of the bed to her body. It probably wasn’t comfortable to sleep in that dress, but it did not feel right to undress her in this state.

And now, it was back to the office.

***

The elevator stopped at the third floor, which confused Rafe, since most everyone on that level should be home. His back stiffened when the doors opened to reveal Josephine Kerrington. She looked exactly the same as she did during the day, not a pin out of place. It almost amazed Rafe, how kempt she looked even this late at night.

“Oh, hello, Rafe,” she greeted, a warm yet hollow smile on her lips. “You’re here quite late.”

He hummed, watching the doors shut and ignoring the air between them warming up. “As are you.”

“Well, your father is a busy man. He loses track of time so often you’d think he doesn’t know what it is. I had to use a bathroom on another floor or he’d try to pitch ideas while I pissed.”

His eyes widened, and he didn’t try hiding the chuckle. Damn, Y/N’s mom was pretty funny. “Yeah, working with Y/N has been the least intense job I’ve gotten from him since I was fifteen.”

She looked at him. “How is she doing, by the way?”

Rafe inhaled, thinking back to the last couple of weeks, and to the last hour and a half he’s had. “Y/N… is a delight. She’s fun to be around, but sometimes distracting because of her charm.” Okay, okay, dial it back. “Fortunately, she’s out of my hair for the night so I can get some work done. Said she was at a friend’s house, a… Sarah? Savannah? Samanth–?”

“Samantha?” Josephine asked, turning back with a pleasant nod. “Good to hear. She’s got some terrible influences, like that friend Mina.” Damn, can’t even get the name right, Rafe thought. “You’re a lovely young man, and I hope you’re rubbing off on her.”

He winced at the innuendo, but smiled politely. “Thank you Mrs. Kerrington.”

When the doors shut, he all but clicked his heels together in glee. “Rafe Cameron, CEO. Good ring to it.” The elevator beeped in agreement.

***

Y/N wasn’t in much after that. Josephine made semi-regular appearances, but the deal seemed to be coming to a close and there was little reason for them to be around anymore. He would rather rake hot coals over his body than admit this, but he really missed the chaotic energy she brought. Things almost felt dull without needing to chase her around the building making sure she behaved.

And, y’know, without his unpaid intern.

It was Ward’s idea to have a celebratory closing banquet in the office building, but Rafe was almost certain that it was Y/N’s idea to make it casino night-themed.

Some poor team of interns had been tasked with turning the office into a Vegas-adjacent venue and knocked their job out of the park. Employees were given chips and sent out among the poker, craps, and roulette tables stationed with stiff-standing dealers clad in maroon bow ties. Cocktail waitresses went around taking drink orders and accepting chips as a tip (playing along pointlessly, as the chips were clearly from a children’s game).

He heard her before he saw her– a fake laugh laced with discomfort only he could detect in her voice. His head whipped over to see Y/N, clad in a ridiculously fitted red dress, clutching her clear plastic cup tight enough to force the color out of her knuckles while she spoke with her mother and others.

He grabbed his drink and abandoned the Texas Hold ‘Em table to pull her into the shadows. Josephine was so wrapped in her conversation he didn’t even need to request he borrow her daughter– no wonder she was so out of control.

If she didn’t want to be alone with him, she didn’t make a point of it. She was quiet in the elevator as he observed her and sipped his drink, leaning against the railing in the car, nervously bouncing her toe in her heel. When they arrived at the floor, she skipped out in front of him and beat him to the unlocked door.

Rafe drained the rest of his vodka soda and tossed the cup into his trash, pushing his hands into his coat pockets. “You lied to me,” he started, and she lifted her shoulders. “About why you were here.”

She didn’t waste a moment denying this. “And? You would, too.”

“No, I would not!”

“Really?” she raised an eyebrow. “If you were in my shoes, you’d run right to your caregiver and tell him how your mother won’t allow you to be alone for literally five minutes? That she’d requested a watchful eye on you? Or would you find a way to get them to tolerate your every whim without pushback? Frankly, the idea kinda handed itself to me when you were a misogynistic dick to me the first time we met. That was just dumb luck.”

“Dumb luck, huh?” he asked, stepping towards her. “What would you call having a coked-out teenager stumble into your office and beg you to fuck her? Is that just luck?”

She didn’t respond. He could see in her eyes she was trying not to look away, to show any apprehension, but he’d spent just too much time around her to not notice.

“Had anything to drink tonight?” he asked, taking one more step towards her until they were less than a foot apart.

Her attitude was back in a flash. “With my mom around? Yeah, a Coke Zero.”

He smiled even though he’d just been snapped at. “Good. You don’t need to be using that kind of stuff anyways.”

“Okay, Father Holy,” she rolled her eyes, and he had just about had enough of her shit.

Rafe grabbed her shoulders and pinned her between his body and the wall forcing a gasp from her. “I try to help you, over and over,” he sighed, almost disheartened. “And you’re still a little brat.”

His hands were all over her and she whined, arching into his touch and trying to get a feel of her own. He held her wrists tight and shook his head. “Yeah, right. Try behaving for once in your life and maybe you can touch me.”

Her hands fell down to her sides without fighting, and he ran his hands along her nearly-bare chest. His fingertips slipped under the straps and hem of the fabric as he savored the feeling of her skin under his palms, and he watched as goosebumps erupted over her collarbones. “You want this?” he checked, another chance for her to back out before he began to ruin her.

She nodded fervently, but when he just raised an eyebrow, pleading affirmations spilled out of her lips like a stream.

With the green light, Rafe tugged down the top part of her dress until her breasts were exposed in the cool office air. He played with her tits, switching between sucking on one nipple and using his fingers to toy with the other.

This wasn’t enough for either of them, so his attention and desperate hands went downwards. He got sick of trying to pull down the panties without undressing her fully, and ripped them right off her legs. He stuffed the torn fabric into his coat pocket and she gaped. “You owe me a new pair,” she breathed, moving her legs apart for him anyways.

“If only I could afford it,” he muttered, bringing his fingers to her now-exposed clit. “Do you know why I put up with your shit?”

“‘Cause I’m cute?” she smiled, but it quickly dissolved when his movements sped up.

“Oh, yeah. But also, I got a little promotion this morning,” Rafe said, leaving a fat wet kiss anywhere his lips could reach on the exposed skin of her collarbone. “You inadvertently made me CEO. Everything in this building is mine.”

Rafe used his legs to push hers even further apart, open her up for him even more.

“And in this moment,” he smacked her clit, and she cried out. “That includes you.”

He expected a snarky comment at this point, but he seemed to subdue her enough to continue rambling.

“I’ve dreamed of how I’d handle your ass for weeks,” Rafe admitted. “I think the only solution is to keep you under my desk with my cock down your throat. Put that smart mouth to some good for once, mm?”

She whined, pushing back against him for more friction.

“Fuck, you like that?” he asked incredulously. “It’s one thing for you to let me tame you, but you’re taking enjoyment in this? Kinda makin’ it hard for me. Never would’ve guessed you like being used like a doll so badly.”

“You’re mean,” she pouted, actually pouted at him and he grinned wolfishly.

Rafe shook his head. “No, baby, being mean would be binding your hands together with my tie and forcing you to cum until you cry.” She had no counter to that.

The fingers on his other hand pushed into her mouth, past her teeth, and she involuntarily sucked. “Good girl,” he cooed, not letting up on the strokes to her clit. “That mouth has done nothing but cause me trouble the last few weeks. Show me what good it can do, hmm?”

She nodded softly, obediently, and flicked her tongue over the digits, allowing him to pet at the inside of her cheek. She whimpered when he dipped his other fingers into her cunt, bringing them right back to her clit to keep her on the edge.

He thrusted against her thigh and gave her another little slap right where she was most sensitive. Rafe toyed with her swollen, glistening clit until she was breathing heavily and her legs were losing their stability. Had he not pinned her body tight against the wall, she’d collapse into a shaky pile of pleasure. He noticed her eyes rolling back into her head and pulled his fingers away, watching her gasp and whine at the loss of contact.

“What?”

“Need more,” she sniffled.

Rafe shook his head, almost chastising. “I know what you need.”

He was going to return to what he was doing, he wasn’t that mean. But he must’ve had her closer to orgasm than he’d anticipated because she got shameless.

“Please, please, Rafe, oh my God,” she whined, squirming under him. Her hips bucked up to try and get traction against his hands but he pulled away just in time. “Touch me again, please, I’ll do anything. I need it, please.”

His eyebrows had never been higher. He pushed his tongue along his bottom teeth amusedly. “Sweetheart, I didn’t even have to ask you to beg,” he pointed out, voice light and adoring. “But since you did anyways, I’ll help my girl out.”

She preened again, this time allowed to make contact with him. He placed a hand on her hip and pulled his cock out, already flushed and leaking and really fucking hard. Rafe dragged the precum on the tip along the entire head before bringing it to her cunt, dragging them together slowly. She cried out again at the new contact.

“Doesn’t this feel good, pretty girl?” he asked, angling just right to apply pressure on her clit. Judging by the full-body shudder he got out of her, the answer was yes.

“I want– oh fuck– more, please,” she said. He laughed a little. She knows what she likes.

“Tell me exactly what you want me to do, baby.”

“I want your cock inside me,” she begged, blinking up at him with long, fluttering lashes. “Wanna feel you stretch me open. Don’t you wanna use my cunt however you like? That’s all I want.”

Good fuck, who could resist that? He buried himself to the hilt, sending his brain to a skittering halt and hers into a frenzy. She grabbed at his back, whimpering with every inch, every drag that he stretched her open. He didn’t even register that he was getting scratched by the same nails she’d obnoxiously painted in his office just a couple weeks ago.

“Oh, wow,” he finally groaned, withdrawing and thrusting back in, letting his brain adjust to the feeling of holyfuckI’minsideherwereallyshouldn’tdothis. “I could fuck you forever. You sure you don’t want an administrative job around here?”

Her fingers made their way back up to his shoulder, head thumping against the wall. “Bite me.”

“If you insist.” He leaned in and gently sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck, kissing the skin right after. He led all the way up to her ear until she was shivering and his strokes didn’t miss a beat.

Y/N’s cunt clenched around him, and he saw white. “Goddamn, sweetheart, if we’d been doing this sooner, I would’ve let you do whatever the hell you want,” Rafe groaned, moving her hair out of her face.

She can’t let anything nice stay nice, though. “Slut,” she teased, smirk disappearing with a deep stroke.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m the slut?” he asked, pulling out and forcing a whine from her.

He moved her over to his desk, shoving her over the edge and pinning her there. Rafe pushed her head against the solid wood by the nape of her neck. “I’ve wanted to bend you over like this since I laid eyes on you,” he muttered, removing his hand and sliding it down her back.

She turned back, batting her lashes at him as he lined up his ruddy tip at her core. “Mm, you should’ve. So forbidden, would’ve been so hot.”

Rafe didn’t answer, just pushed his cock into her and a soft cry escaped from her lips. She tried to bite down on them but he laughed and sank all the way in until his hips were flush with hers. “We’re over three floors away from the rest of the office. Be as loud as you want, princess.”

And she did. Honestly, it wasn’t the best advice, because hearing her cries and whimpers for his cock further in her was only making him lose his rhythm and chance of lasting more than five minutes. He felt her reach down and play with her clit, and normally he’d reprimand her for doing this without permission, but it seemed like torture with how close she already was.

Feeling her cum around his cock was un-fucking-real. He finished shortly after, pulling out to paint her inner thigh with his own spend. He amusedly watched it drip down her skin, down the legs she could barely even stand on.

“Job’s still on the table, baby,” he reminded her, tucking himself back into his trousers. “Anything to keep you here and doing that more. Blackjack next?”

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe x reader #outer banks #obx #obx4 #obx netflix #outer banks fic #outer banks smut #outer banks netflix #posts at 9 am like a totally normal person lmfao #umathurwin writing

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notiddygothgf · 2 months ago

Text

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ This can’t be anything.❞

★ c.w.: drinking, yearning, PTSD

★ a/n: im back again lol.... i couldnt stay away! i just love aki too much lol. anyway! here's my little present to make up for my asbence, a few chapters of delicious juicy aki goodness. enjoyyyyy!! keep commenting and spamming as always, yk they make my day lol

★ w.c: 12k

for your love ; chapter index

THE OFFICE SMELLED faintly of old coffee and wood – familiar, sterile, steady. Captain Aki Hayakawa sat behind his desk, his posture as straight as the file in front of him. He turned a page with quiet precision, eyes flicking down the résumé.

“You're from Osaka?” Aki asked, not looking up at the new hire.

The young man nodded from the other side of the desk. He was a lean fellow – only a few inches shorter than Aki himself. If his resume was correct, then he lived up the street from Aki himself. In the same development. "Yes, sir. Born and raised."

Kaito Nakamura.

Aki’s eyes didn’t lift. He skimmed through the page, scanning over a short but solid record – civilian law enforcement, two commendations, and a recent transfer request. It was all clean. Impressive for someone barely out of his teens.

“You’ve got good references,” Aki said. “No disciplinary action. Physical scores are decent.”

“Thank you, sir,” the kid replied, a touch nervous.

That’s when Aki finally looked up – eyes level, unreadable. The kid couldn’t have been older than twenty, with a freshly shaven jaw and a half-practiced sort of confidence. Eager. Green.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” the man added, as if to fill the silence. “Before I applied here. Everyone says you're sharp. Not just anyone gets to run a place like this.”

Aki blinked once. “Is that so?”

Another hum passed between them. Not quite amusement. Not quite anything.

His eyes dipped back to the résumé. Scanned the personal section. There it was.

“Married?” Aki asked, glancing down again. “You’re a bit young for that, aren’t you?”

The man smiled – an easy, casual thing, like this was a story he liked telling.

“It’s funny you bring that up, actually,” he said. “I’ve heard you and my wife have the same birthday coming up. November eleventh.”

A beat. Aki’s pen paused against the folder. He didn’t look up right away. Didn’t need to.

“What an odd coincidence,” Aki murmured. Then, after a beat, he closed the file neatly and stood.

“You’re approved. You’ll start on Monday,” he said simply. “Orientation in the morning. Patrol rotation in the afternoon. We’ll ease you into city routes.”

The kid stood too, eyes bright with opportunity. “Thank you, sir.”

Aki took the offered handshake. Firm. Polite. Distant.

He waited until the door clicked closed again before his gaze shifted—to the thin corner of the folder where the wife’s name was printed in small, neat letters.

November eleventh.

He didn’t smile. Just sat back down, leaned an elbow on the desk, and stared at nothing in particular as the city hummed just outside his window.

Late night walks were Aki’s favorite thing to do when sleep failed him. Whenever it slipped through his grasp, leaving him laying on his back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to some question he didn’t even know how to ask – whenever his roommates drove him up the wall, a walk never failed to clear his mind. Some nights he didn’t sleep much at all. Others, he would be chased by nightmares into the early hours of the morning.

It never stopped.

He’d had them since he was a child, but they had grown significantly worse over the course of his career as a Public Safety officer. Blood, gore, loss painted his memory like streaks of red over a blank canvas. Perhaps the greatest loss of all was the one he still couldn’t wrap his head around – the loss of his partner, Himeno.

Their relationship was… strange, to say the least. But it worked. For every pound of misery he carried into work, there she would be, all wide-eyed with that stupid grin on her face. She had feelings for him, he knew that much, and though he had never returned them, she had become the closest thing he could have called family. After her passing, he kept the dog tag necklace she used to wear under her uniform. Love was the word, though not in the traditional sense – there was no yearning, no longing for anything other than to hear her long-winded stories, to carry her drunken body home one final time. It was greater than worldly desire.

She was the first person to see him as something more than a machine, a person. She’d been his first kiss – though, admittedly, she was wasted beyond comprehension and he had no interest in doing such a thing with her. She was the first person he ever opened up to about his childhood, about his family, about the Gun Devil. She was the one who offered him his first cigarette. And, with the exception of his family some fourteen years ago, she was the first person he ever cried over. His first experience with loss as an adult – fresh and brutal and unexpected.

One minute she was there, clasping a hand over his back, telling him not to die on her. The next, the only thing left of her was a pile of clothes and an eye patch where her body had once been – the physical remnants of her sacrifice, her selfish decision to give her life up so that he could live.

And, fuck, he had spent the past two years wondering why. Why she had gone and done that when she knew he would be completely lost without her – why she had left him after promising that it would be the two of them against the world for however long they would live.

Often, he wondered if what he felt for Himeno was love – not the familial kind, but the kind you felt when your heart would kick up a beat whenever someone was around. But there was no racing of his pulse, no dreams about her – save for some brutal retellings of her death. She knew that he was incapable of loving her the way she needed and, yet, still, she chose him.

She chose his life over hers.

Easy revenge was the only thing she’d left behind. That, and a confusing horde of emotions he didn’t know how to cope with.

Aki stepped off of the porch of his house and into the empty street. He was wearing a black tee shirt and some sweatpants – still, as he had only climbed out of bed a few minutes prior. From his pocket, he fished out his lucky carton of cigarettes and his lighter – the one Himeno had left him. He popped a cigarette between his lips – the motion both soothing and familiar – and flicked the wheel twice until the flame took to the end of it. Once he heard that familiar sizzle, he took a deep breath in, letting the nicotine swirl in his mouth, invade his lungs, ease his tensions away.

I hope you’re doing well down there, He thought, pulling a long hit from the end of the cigarette before letting it all go – breathing his worries out into the midnight air, pretending they left with the smoke, because he knew there was no way in hell that she made it to the pearly gates. Too many drunk mistakes and dead bodies for that.

No, there was no promised land for Devil Hunters. He knew that.

In fact, he had long since given up on his dream of finding the Gun Devil. Losing her radicalized him, made him realize that protecting his family was the only thing that mattered.

His family, of course, being his two pin-headed roommates, Denji and Power.

The pavement was still damp from the afternoon’s shower. Out here, it was quiet. In fact, save for the sounds of traffic only a block or two away, the only sound he could hear was the sound of his Converse crunching against concrete. That, and the sound of… birds?

Aki furrowed his brows as he took another puff of smoke. Since when did we have birds out here?

His eyes trailed the source of the sound until they stopped on the only house with its lights still on – the one at the end of the street. The warm rays of light seemed to be coming from its side. Curiously, he inched towards it.

45, the mailbox read. If his memory served him correctly, then this was that rookie’s house – Kaito Nakamura, the one he’d interviewed today. The one with the wife who had the same birthday as him. It was as normal and unassuming as the man himself – painted with a neutral yellow exterior, having no real distinguishing features other than the chirping noises coming from the doorway.

His feet carried him right up to the side of the house. There was an open porch, one at ground-level, so he felt a whole lot less awkward than he probably should about approaching the bird cages that dangled off of the roof. There had to have been at least ten of them, each made of a different kind of metal, each containing a different kind of bird that he couldn’t have named if you paid him to.

Slowly, he approached the perpetrator – a yellow bird with red dots on its cheeks. It had its beak open, squawking into the otherwise quiet ambience.

Little shit, he thought, already pulling another hit from the smoldering cigarette between his fingertips.

Without even thinking about it, he breathed out – letting the smoke float into the bird’s cage. Really, he had no business jeopardizing the life of someone else’s bird, he knew that much. Still, it was mindless, something he didn’t fully realize he had even done until after the smoke materialized.

A voice called out behind him, “The bird doesn’t like that.”

Aki damn near jumped out of his skin, whipping his body around and coming face to face with you – a woman he could only assume to have been Nakamura’s wife. You were the picture of innocence, looking to be a year or two younger than Aki himself – hair tied back into a messy bun, cheeks a little flushed from the breeze, donning nothing more than a cotton nightgown that hugged your curves.

And you had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.

Stop ogling your subordinate’s wife, He chastised himself, quickly flicking the cigarette onto the floor and smothering it out with his foot.

“I’m sorry, I–” He began, but the words fleeted him. “I’m not a fan of birds.”

None of that explains what you’re doing here on her porch blowing smoke at her pets, asshole, He thought.

“It’s alright,” You breathed out, wrapping your arms around your chest, as if you were self conscious beneath his gaze. He thought that there was entirely no need to feel such a way, especially given the fact that you looked like you crawled right out of a dream, all dewy lashes and blushy cheeks. “He gets… fussy when people are near him. You didn’t need to put it out on my account.”

“I did it for the bird,” He replied, though it was entirely a lie. He couldn’t give less of a shit about what the bird felt. “Didn’t mean to bother him.”

You shrugged, a little awkward, “He’ll puff up and squawk for a while. He’s kind of dramatic, honestly.”

“He’s not wrong,” Aki couldn’t help the half-smile that settled over his face.

It was rare for him to smile these days, truthfully. So, the fact that you managed to pull this much out of him already was… a little disconcerting.

Still, rather than leaving – like he definitely should have been doing – he offered his name to you, “Name’s Aki Hayakawa. I live up the street.”

“You’re… from Public Safety, right?” You tilted your head at him, and it was the strangest thing – your hair fell down over your neck, your chest, and his heart skipped a beat.

She knows who I am.

“Yeah,” He replied, rendered completely breathless by the motion. You were gorgeous – the kind people wrote poems about. Nakamura was a lucky man. “I work with your husband, I think. Nakamura, right?”

“Right,” You nodded, “Sorry if I startled you. Didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t mean to trespass on your porch,” He sighed, “I just needed some fresh air.”

“You’re fine, I came out here for the same reason, actually,” You rushed out, waving your hands in the air, as if to dismiss his worries. “I haven’t slept well since we moved in here.”

There was a pregnant pause, then – during which Aki glanced down at his feet and awkwardly swung his weight back and forth, and you tucked your hair behind your ear.

Am I making her nervous?

“He said you were intense,” You broke the silence – and his train of thought. Your voice was melodic, sort of like an instrument. He didn’t think he’d mind standing here and listening to you talk all night. You had the strangest effect on him. “I don’t know what I pictured, but… you’re quieter than I expected.”

Aki proved your point only a moment later by answering quietly, “Quiet’s not always a bad thing.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” You retorted, clearly embarrassed by his remark. The prettiest blush dusted your cheeks, one that made his heart thrum a little harder. “Sorry, I’m not… I’m not really good at talking to new people.”

Clearly, I’m not either, he thought, then, Stop it. Behave.

His eyes betrayed his thoughts, dropping from your face down to the white nightie you wore, the way the fabric fluttered out over your hips, your bare legs. You were rubbing your thighs together – a nervous habit, perhaps? “Did I wake you?”

“No!” You shook your head, “No, I wasn’t sleeping. I just– I came outside for the same reason you did, I guess.”

“Is this where you grew up?” He asked, desperate to keep the conversation going despite the fact that he knew damn well how inappropriate it was to be out here with you.

“No,” You replied. “I moved here a few months ago.”

“You like it?” He asked carefully.

“I’m trying to,” You exhaled.

Aki observed you like an admirer would a painting – as if you would be damaged if he got too close to you. “I know what that’s like.”

“It’s different, being around all of these people I barely know,” You admitted, smiling faintly. Maybe it was the light from the moon, from the warm porchlight overhead, but Aki thought you looked beautiful. “The other housewives have been nice to me, though.”

“Yeah,” He replied, stupidly, “Takes time.”

You glanced at the cigarette on the ground. “Do you… smoke a lot?”

Huh, he thought, Looks like she’s trying to keep the conversation going, too.

“Too much, probably,” He admitted.

“That’s bad for you,” You noted softly, gently, your voice as quiet as the wind.

He replied, “So I’ve heard.”

“Still… It suits you,” The quietest hum left your lips, as if you were still trying to make sense of the interaction – and whether or not you wanted it to end – yourself. “You seem like the type.”

Himeno used to say the same thing.

“What does that mean?” He asked anyway.

“The kind who doesn’t care if he lives or dies if it means he finishes the job,” You remarked.

Ah. So she knew about his… history.

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a warning,” He furrowed his brows, though the corner of his lips quirked up at the way your eyes widened.

“Maybe both,” You answered, your voice only a notch above a whisper.

“You don’t seem like the type to go around scolding strangers,” He commented.

That pretty blush was back and brighter than ever, illuminating the slopes of your face like a horde of fireflies lighting up a dark field. “I don’t, usually, but it’s not every day that you find a Captain smoking a cigarette on your porch.”

“Touché,” He replied.

She’s cute, He noted.

A silence settled between you. Not uncomfortable — just suspended. Like neither of you was sure whether to step forward or away.

You glanced toward the door, fingers curling in the hem of your nightgown, the breeze nudging your hair loose.

“I should… probably head back in,” You glanced towards the door. You were a great deal shorter than him.

“Yeah,” Aki nodded, taking a step back, as if that would break him free of the spell you seemed to have cast on him. “Of course.”

With a soft, uncertain smile, you dipped your head in a bow, “It was nice meeting you, Captain Hayakawa.”

He nodded at you once more. Then, you turned on your heel, and made your way to the door. Just before your delicate fingers grazed the brass doorknob, he called out to you–

“Wait–”

You paused, your hand already on the door.

“I never got your name,” He clarified.

You hesitated for a beat, as if considering whether to give it. Then you looked back over your shoulder – the porch light catching in your eyes – and smiled. Not shy, not fully. There was something brighter underneath it now. Then, you told him your name, and his eyes couldn’t help but follow your lips as they formed the pretty syllables, as the name fell from your lips like butter.

A pretty name. One that suited you, he thought.

Then, without waiting for his reaction, you slipped inside, allowing the door to creak shut behind you.

Aki glanced back at the bird. Then back at the space where you had been only a few seconds earlier.

This one’s gonna be a problem, isn’t she? He thought.

That night, Aki had the same dream he always had – images of a snowy December day, of a smoking pit where his family had once been. He dreamt of a pile of clothes, an eyepatch that once used to accentuate the smile of his closest cohort.

Only now, there was a new picture in his head – pretty eyes and a timid smile.

It felt too quiet.

Himeno wasn’t there. That absence hit first.

The steps in front of HQ buzzed with noise — Denji’s shouting, Power’s demands to be in the center of the photo, Kurose quietly trying to coordinate it all — but none of it settled the way Himeno’s voice used to. She would’ve been loud, obnoxious, teasing everyone into line. She would’ve elbowed Aki and made him smile in that dry, reluctant way that used to come easier when she was around.

Without her, it felt... off. Lopsided. Like a room missing its light.

He shifted his weight. Rolled a cigarette between his fingers but didn’t light it. His coat felt too stiff. His shirt collar too tight. He didn’t know why he was in this picture. Or why the new guy was late.

The photographer was getting impatient.

Then the sound of quick footsteps—two pairs—echoed from the sidewalk.

Aki looked up.

And there he was: the new recruit. Breathless, still adjusting his collar. Twenty years old, fresh out of Osaka, married.

Your hand was in his.

Aki’s jaw tightened just slightly. He watched the way your husband smiled, too boyish for someone who claimed to be ready for this job. He apologized for the delay, and someone waved him into place.

But Aki’s eyes didn’t follow him.

They followed you.

You looked different in daylight. Different in this context—out in the open, visible, belonging to someone else. Your hair was done like you meant to impress, your expression polite and unreadable. You didn’t meet Aki’s eyes right away. And maybe that was for the best.

Because the second you did, it landed like a sucker punch. Like something in him twisted up and burned quietly behind the ribs.

You were smiling. It wasn’t for him.

He looked away first.

It was almost funny—how quickly everyone seemed to move on. You and your husband buzzed up the stairs, folded neatly into the group like you belonged there, like nothing about the last few weeks had ever happened. Aki didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stepped aside before the next photo and slipped out a cigarette.

No one noticed.

They never really did.

He lit up and turned his back to the rest of them, exhaling into the sharp morning air. The silence that followed felt louder than the chatter he left behind. It settled in his shoulders. Pressed into his chest.

And then he heard you.

Your steps were softer. Familiar in a way that made something behind his ribs tighten again.

You didn’t follow the others inside. You didn’t say a word. Just came to stand beside him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t need to.

He could feel you beside him — the heat of you, the tension, the weight of everything you weren’t saying. You weren’t supposed to be here. Not like this. Not now, not after walking in on someone else’s arm.

But here you were.

Again.

“They went inside. Are you coming?” You asked him in that pretty little drawl of yours, and he was a goner all over again.

“No, I was gonna take a smoke break,” He hummed, breathing smoke out into the air – to the side, because the last thing he wanted was the breathe it into your face – without moving the cigarette from his teeth. “Maybe a walk.”

You shifted beside him, your body angled just slightly toward his. “Can I come with you?”

That was the thing – he should’ve said no. He should’ve made up some excuse, nodded you back toward the building, sent you away like he was supposed to.

But he didn’t.

He flicked the cigarette away and watched it skitter across the pavement. “Yeah,” he said, quieter this time. “Okay.”

You didn’t smile, but something eased in your shoulders. And without another word, the two of you started walking.

The air was cool, the sky heavy with clouds that hadn’t yet made up their mind about rain. Streetlamps buzzed overhead, casting gold halos across patches of cracked sidewalk. Your footsteps were soft, and every few seconds, Aki caught the sound of your sleeve brushing against your side, the whisper of your breath.

You didn’t speak at first. He didn’t mind. Silence with you felt full, not empty.

Eventually, you broke it.

“So… do you always sneak out of photos, or is that just today?”

He huffed out something like a laugh. “Depends on the company.”

You tilted your head, glancing sideways at him. “Am I good company?”

“Better than the lot of them, honestly,” He glanced at you then — only for a second — and found you smiling faintly, looking down at your feet.

“I think I like it better out here,” you said.

“Yeah. Me too.”

A few more steps passed between you. The night was still, save for the rustle of wind through half-dead trees and the low hum of traffic a few blocks off.

“Do you like the city?” you asked.

“It’s alright.”

“That’s not a yes.”

Aki shrugged. “Better than most places.”

You were quiet again, and he could tell you were mulling over something. It took a minute for you to speak.

“I miss home sometimes,” you admitted. “It was… simpler.”

“You from the country?”

You nodded. “Small town. You could hear cicadas at night. You could see the stars.”

Aki looked up — out of habit, maybe — but the clouds were too thick. “Sounds nice.”

“It was. But boring, I guess. That’s why I left.”

He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment. “Boring sounds like a luxury these days.”

That earned a real smile from you. Small, a little sad. But real.

You walked a little closer after that. Not enough to touch. Just enough to notice.

And then it happened.

It was sudden – the shift in the air, the spike of dread in Aki’s chest that came a second too late. One minute the street was quiet, the next it was wrong. A cold ripple crawled up the back of his neck.

He grabbed your arm without thinking, jerking you behind him. “Get down.”

Before you could even respond, something tore through the alley ahead — fast, fast enough to blur. Aki caught a flash of teeth, a glint of claws. It was tall, lean, twisted in shape like someone had sketched a human and then scratched it out.

He reached for his sword.

Too slow.

The Devil moved with a whipcrack sound – not toward him, but you.

You gasped, stumbling back as it slashed – a wide arc of motion, like it meant to take your whole head off.

Aki’s blade was halfway out of its sheath when he heard the wet snap of impact.

And then your knees gave out.

He caught you before you hit the pavement, arms wrapping around you hard enough to bruise. You were gasping, hands pressed to your throat, blood already spilling between your fingers.

“Shit– hey. Hey, look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered, wide and scared and glistening.

“I’ve got you.” His voice was low, fierce, nothing like his usual calm. “Stay with me, okay? Just keep looking at me.”

He crouched with you, drawing you into his chest as he dragged the cursed blade free with his other hand, senses locked onto the devil now circling in the dark.

It hadn’t gone for him.

It had gone for you.

You were shivering, your breathing ragged. Blood slicked your neck, soaked into his uniform. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

He didn’t look at the wound. He didn’t want to see how bad it was.

“Don’t move,” he said, his voice lower now, steadier only because it had to be. “I– I’ll take care of it.”

You tried to nod, but the motion was small and weak. Aki let go of you gently, like you might break, and stood.

The devil rushed him again – fast, erratic – but now he was ready.

Raising a trembling hand up to the air, he pinched his thumb and middle finger together – finding the devil in the center, “Kon.”

Then, like it had done countless times before, the Fox Devil appeared, chomping the devil clean in half and leaving nothing more than a trail of purple goop in its path.

After a moment, it disappeared, and when Aki was certain that it was gone, he rushed back to your side.

He turned on his heel and dropped beside you.

Your eyes were still open. That was good. That had to be good.

“I’ve got you,” he said again, hands already searching for pressure points, for anything to stop the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay.”

You didn’t speak. Your lips moved, but no sound came out.

“You’re okay,” he said, and this time it sounded more like a prayer than a promise.

She’s okay.

You turned your head towards the concrete, hand flying up to cup your ear, “My earring–” You gasped. “I think– I think I lost my earring.”

You were right. On one ear, a gold hoop with a pearly charm dangled. On the other, nothing.

She almost died and she’s worried about an earring? He thought.

It was enough to make him crack a smile.

The knock was sharp – one, then two – like the man on the other side had been standing there for too long, thinking it over.

Aki didn’t look up from the paperwork on his desk.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open. Boots on tile. The air shifted.

When Aki finally glanced up, Nakamura stood there — still in uniform, still stiff-backed like always, but his expression was softer than usual. Tired. Haunted around the eyes.

“Captain,” Nakamura greeted with a short nod. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“It’s fine,” Aki said flatly. “Sit.”

The man didn’t – just hovered near the chair across from the desk, hands folded in front of him like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave.

“I just… wanted to say thank you,” Nakamura said after a moment. “For what you did. This morning.”

Aki blinked once, then set his pen down. The words didn’t sit right. Too formal, too tidy for what had actually happened. You’d almost bled out on a city sidewalk because of his decision – because he couldn’t say no when he should’ve.

“I didn’t do anything worth thanking,” he said. “I let her walk into a fight she wasn’t trained for.”

“You saved her,” Nakamura countered. “That’s what matters.”

Aki’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue. Not out loud.

“It won’t happen again,” Nakamura added. His voice was firm now, resolute. “I’ll make sure she keeps her distance from this stuff. It’s not her world.”

Aki’s eyes flicked up. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No,” the man agreed. “You could have gotten hurt, though. That’s enough.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly above.

Aki leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. He paused, carefully weighing the words before he spoke them.

“I’d like to apologize to her. In person.”

Aki counted the numbers as they climbed – his sneakers clicked rhythmically against the linoleum floor. This particular wing of the hospital was quieter than the lobby had been, though he did brush past a few nurses with carts on his way down the hall.

In his arms, a bouquet of flowers – because he wasn’t entirely sure what else to do. In his pocket, your lost earring. (He had bribed Denji and Power with gum to spend the evening searching the spot where you had lost it. Power tried to eat it).

908. 910.

912.

The door to your hospital room was closed. Nervous for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Aki raised his hand up to the door and knocked twice. Do I have the right room?

Then, your voice rang out through the door – “Come in.”

He took a deep breath, smoothing his hands over his Public Safety uniform and his hair before he actually turned the knob and stepped into the room. Immediately the smell filled his nose – almost too much to bear. It was sharp and sterile and suddenly, he was two years younger, sitting up in his hospital bed with his head in his hands after realizing that his partner was really dead. Then, lingering just beneath the surface, was something distinctly you – lavender, clean laundry, something homey. Something that brought him back to the present.

Something that brought his eyes up to where you were rested – tucked away in the corner of the room, gazing out the window. There was a white gauze wrapped around your neck, tainted pink in the middle where you had been nicked by the devil. When you heard the door creak open, you glanced over slowly, timidly, like you weren’t sure what to expect.

Then your eyes were on him and he felt his stupid heartbeat kick up a notch.

Calm yourself, he reminded himself, Subordinate’s wife, remember?

“Hi,” He breathed out, sounding a whole lot more breathless than he intended. Why did he feel hot, all of a sudden? “I– uh… I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

Your gaze dropped to the bouquet of flowers swaddled in his arm, then back up to his face.

“I never should have…” He trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words. This was a lot harder than he had originally thought it would be. “If I had just reacted faster, you wouldn’t have been hit. I’m sorry.”

I’m so fucking sorry.

You looked at him.

Not the way most people did – not polite or casual or distracted. Just… looked. Steady and soft, your lashes low, your body still beneath the blanket. That look landed in his chest like something weighted. He could feel it settle in deep, anchoring behind his ribs.

Your voice was just above a whisper. “The flowers need a vase.”

Aki blinked. For a second, he forgot what he was holding.

The bouquet in his hands — white lilies, a few roses, some baby’s breath — felt clumsy, too full in his grip. Like it didn’t belong. Like he didn’t belong.

But still, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “I’ll… find something.”

You nodded, and your gaze dropped to your lap. You didn’t say anything else.

He turned and left without looking back.

The hallway outside your room felt colder somehow, quieter than before. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and somewhere down the corridor, a machine beeped a steady, mechanical rhythm. But it was like all of it blurred into white noise. The only thing he could hear was the echo of your voice. The way it had hit him.

Aki found the nurse’s station just around the corner. He didn’t approach right away — lingered near the edge like he wasn’t sure how to ask. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Do you have… a vase? For flowers.”

One of the nurses looked up – a younger woman, her scrubs wrinkled, her hair pulled back into a high bun. She gave him a glance that flicked between his face and the bouquet in his hand.

“I think so,” she said after a second. “Give me a sec.”

She disappeared into a supply closet and returned with a clear glass vase and a small pair of scissors.

“You’ll want to trim the stems,” she added, holding both items out to him.

He took them without meeting her eyes. “Thanks.”

There was a single-stall bathroom nearby. He slipped in, locked the door, and stood there for a second, just breathing.

The mirror above the sink was slightly dirty. He caught his reflection in it – tie loosened, shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. He felt tired. But that wasn’t why his hands were shaking slightly as he set the vase on the edge of the sink.

No, he was nervous.

He filled it halfway with cool water from the tap, then turned back to the bouquet. One stem at a time. He didn’t know what he was doing – not really. He hadn’t brought flowers to anyone in years. Probably never like this.

He picked up the scissors and started cutting.

Snip.

Too high.

Snip.

He shifted his grip, tried again. His fingers weren’t steady, but he took his time, lining each stem up before trimming it at an angle. The act gave his hands something to do — something small and careful and quiet. And maybe that was why he did it.

God, what the fuck am I doing?

When the last stem was cut, he slipped the flowers into the vase. Adjusted them. Adjusted them again. One of the lilies had bent slightly — he turned it, trying to get it to face the light.

He wiped the vase down with his sleeve, cleaned up the sink, and carried everything back down the hall.

When he reentered your room, you were still propped in bed, eyes half-lidded like maybe you’d dozed off. But the moment he stepped in, you looked up again.

That same look. The one that never failed to take his breath away.

Aki moved slowly, crossed the room in a few quiet steps, and placed the vase on the windowsill – not too close to the edge, but where it could catch the afternoon light. It hit the glass and scattered across the water. The flowers looked better in the sun. Alive. Fragile.

He turned to face you.

You watched him, not speaking. Your fingers rested loosely on the edge of the blanket, the gauze at your neck stark against your skin. There was a single IV drip to your right, ticking slow.

He meant to say something — anything.

But the words caught somewhere behind his teeth.

Show her the earring, He willed himself.

Slowly, uncertainly, he reached into his pocket and produced the tiny ziploc baggie he’d kept stashed away in his pocket all morning. The one that held a tiny gold earring with a tiny pearl charm – the earring you’d lost.

And, fuck, the way your eyes brightened at the sight of it…

“You found it,” you breathed, eyes wide. Your voice was still soft, still hoarse from earlier, but the brightness in it nearly floored him. “I thought it was gone.”

He coughed, glanced down at the floor, then back at you. “It was near the… bench. Must’ve fallen out during the scuffle.”

Your smile crept slow and warm across your lips, and it knocked something loose in his chest.

“Thank you,” you said, gaze fixed on the tiny piece of gold. Then, after a pause: “Can you put it in for me?”

Aki froze.

Can you put it in for me?

Get your mind out of the fucking gutter.

His fingers went still around the plastic bag. The room felt smaller.

You tilted your head just slightly — exposing the soft line of your neck, the sweep of your hair pulled back behind your ear. It was damp in places, curled faintly at the tips. You looked… not well, no, but beautiful in a way that made his stomach twist. Soft and bare and open in a way you didn’t even seem aware of.

And you were asking him to touch you.

“Sure,” he said, quietly. He cleared his throat, tried again, steadier. “Yeah. Of course.”

He stepped forward, holding the bag carefully. Your eyes followed his every move.

Aki crouched beside the bed, knees cracking slightly under the strain. His hands were steady, but only just. He opened the bag, pulled the earring free between two fingers. It caught the light, casting a faint glint across your collarbone.

“I might be a little clumsy,” he murmured. “Don’t judge me.”

“I won’t,” you said, voice like breath. “I trust you.”

Holy shit. He nearly dropped it right then.

He reached up – slowly, carefully – and touched your earlobe with his thumb to steady it. Your skin was much, much warmer than he expected. He was so damn close, he could feel the pulse in your neck, see the faint flutter of your lashes.

You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. For a moment, he didn’t either.

He slid the post through the hole with a slow, practiced motion, and his knuckle brushed the curve of your jaw. The moment was small – technically innocent – but it jolted through him like electricity.

Fuck, I’m going crazy.

“It’s in,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

Your eyes were still on him. Unmoving. It was enough to make him self-conscious.

This is so wrong.

The earring sat perfectly in place. Like it had never been missing.

“You really found it,” you whispered.

He shrugged, looked anywhere but your face. “I can’t take all the credit. I had some help from my roommates.”

There was a long pause — the silence thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

You tilted your head again, just slightly. “You always do things like this?”

��Like what?”

“Keep pieces of people you’re not supposed to care about?”

His breath caught.

He met your eyes then. Really met them.

You weren’t smiling anymore.

Neither was he.

But god, the air between you – it was burning now. Not loud or obvious, but slow, like coals under ash. Just the weight of your gaze, the scent of lilies from the vase behind him, the trace warmth of your skin still on his fingers.

“He was mad at me, you know… After,” You broke the silence.

“Mad?” He repeated, still awfully careful to not upset you.

“He didn’t say it like that, but I could tell,” You sighed, “He didn’t like that I followed you out there. Thought it was reckless.”

Aki couldn’t help the frown that settled over his face, tugging his lips down at the corners, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe not,” You shrugged, “But I think he blames me anyway. He said I was lucky you were there.”

Aki could only blink, dumbfounded, “Did he?”

“I think I embarrassed him,” You added, “But I don’t feel embarrassed at all. I feel… safe.”

I’m going to lose my fucking mind in here.

Feeling an awful lot like an animal in a cage, Aki balled his fist up at his sides. He didn’t move – couldn’t move. “I was just doing my job.”

That damned smile was back on your pretty face again, “I saw your face after. You looked like… like you were scared.”

Then, much softer, Aki sighed, “I was.”

“For me?” You asked, like you were surprised that he even cared.

And, truthfully, he didn’t know why he cared.

“Yeah,” He replied.

But he could no longer deny it – he did.

More than he probably should.

Aki decided that he was losing his fucking mind. Standing in his office, shifting his weight from side to side, his gaze was cast outside of the window – onto the busy streets of Tokyo below. To his left, Denji was droning on about some bullshit he couldn’t give less of a rat’s ass about – something about how he was definitely gonna get a smooch out of Miss Makima at the upcoming Public Safety ball, the one Aki had been dreading. His blue eyes scanned the streets for pedestrians, for cars, for anything that could take his mind off of you.

But, alas, the world had a cruel way of torturing him.

Aki stood at the window, his eyes scanning the busy streets below, but his mind was miles away — lost in the thought of you. The way you smiled at him. The softness in your eyes. The way his chest tightened just thinking about how screwed he was. He had no business feeling this way, but the fact that he couldn’t shake it only made everything worse.

Denji’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts with a sharp, “Hey, you good? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

Aki blinked and straightened up. His throat tightened, but he quickly masked it. “Nothing,” he muttered, waving it off as if it was nothing. “Just... thinking.”

Denji narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. “Someone on your mind?”

Aki’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t let it show. He snapped back a little too quickly, trying to deflect the conversation. “Do you want to walk home?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

Denji fell silent for a moment – a blissful, beautiful moment – clearly taken aback by the sudden shift, but he didn’t press further. Not for long, anyway. Aki could hear him grinning already.

“Well, whatever,” Denji said, shrugging as he leaned back in his chair. “Guess I’ll stop asking. But you are missing out. I’ve been practicing my moves for Miss Makima at the ball. She’s gonna love it.”

Aki looked over at him, a heavy sigh escaping him as he watched Denji try – and fail – to waltz, dramatically flinging his arms around. Aki’s lip curled into a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Aki muttered, rolling his eyes. He turned away again, trying to block out the ridiculous sight of his roommate prancing around.

But it was no use.

He could see it already – his mind’s eye playing out the scene with you instead.

A slow waltz in a dimly lit ballroom. The soft brush of your fingers against his. The way you’d look up at him, and that soft, trusting smile of yours. It was all too easy to imagine, and far too fucking tempting.

He shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of the image. Focus, he told himself. Focus on something else.

Aki scrubbed the last of the plates in the sink, the warm water steaming against his skin as he methodically rinsed off the remnants of their late dinner. The kitchen was quiet, the faint clink of ceramic the only sound cutting through the silence. Denji was on the couch, not bothering to clean up after himself, as usual, his eyes glued to the TV. It was late – later than Aki had intended to stay up.

“Hey,” Aki called over his shoulder, glancing at Denji as he dried his hands on the dish towel, “I’m going out for a smoke.”

Denji mumbled something incoherent in response, probably too distracted by whatever nonsense was on the screen to care. Aki didn’t blame him.

He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door and stepped outside. The cool night air hit his skin immediately, refreshing, but it didn’t quite chase away the tightness in his chest. The cigarette between his fingers felt like a small relief, even though he knew it wouldn’t fix what was bothering him.

Before he knew it, there was a lit cigarette pinched between his index and middle finger, pressed right up against his lips. A nasty habit, he knew, but it was one he couldn’t shake.

He started walking without any particular destination in mind, his feet moving of their own accord. It wasn’t like he was planning on going anywhere specific — but somehow, he found himself heading down the quiet street toward your house.

It was stupid. It was reckless. He knew it. But here he was, as usual, walking toward a place that seemed to hold a gravitational pull over him.

And there you were. Sitting on the porch outside, completely at ease, cutting fruit. The soft glow from the porch light illuminated you in a way that made everything else fade away. You had on a pink nightgown, this time – a lacy one that he felt he was unworthy of seeing. It was cold out, and he couldn’t help the way his eyes flickered down to your chest, the peaks of your nipples that just barely poked through the fabric, before glancing back up to your face.

Behave, he reminded himself.

You were focused on the task, oblivious to his presence, and for a moment, Aki just stood there, watching you.

It wasn’t until you noticed him, in fact, that you called his name. “Captain Hayakawa.”

Fuck, I’ll never get over the way my name sounds coming from her mouth, he thought.

“You’re up late,” He commented – and, really, it was rich coming from him. “What are you doing outside?”

“Can’t sleep,” Was all you said before returning to your fruit-cutting mission. “My husband is upset with me. He didn’t like dinner.”

I would like anything you made me, Aki thought, but decided that it would be better to shut the hell up about it. Instead, he offered a half-hearted, “That so?”

You shrugged, “Not a big deal.”

Sounds like a big deal to me.

“I don’t think I’m very good at that sort of thing,” You continued – more abashedly, this time, “Being a housewife.”

Then, you laughed – a sweet, melodic sound. It reminded him of your pet birds, the ones that sang into the wee hours of the morning. He concluded that he would do whatever it took to make you make that sound again, even though, reasonably, it was none of his business. Still, there was something here – that much he couldn’t deny. There was something that lingered in the air whenever the two of you spoke, something like a magnet that kept drawing the two of you closer and closer together. He couldn’t help the way he felt about you, truly, and something about the way you peered up at him through those pretty lashes of yours told him that he wasn’t the only one who felt nervous.

Still, you were a married woman. There was no way that anything more could come from these small interactions. No matter how deeply he read into things, none of it changed the fact that you already had a man.

You were already spoken for.

He squinted at you, bringing the end of the cigarette up to his lips and letting the smoke fill his mouth. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s bad at anything.”

You laughed again, and he had to pat himself on the back. “You don’t know me.”

No, I don’t, he thought. But I would like to.

He could get used to the sight of you – that was the most frightening part. He could get used to the way your pretty, rosy lips formed the sound of his name, the way you listened earnestly, head tilting to the side whenever he said something worth noting. He could get used to you.

Still, getting to know you would be a pleasure he would never know. You were married. To his subordinate, nonetheless.

“Maybe not. Just calling it how I see it,” He answered back, and the words felt dry on the back of his tongue, like there was so much more that he wanted to say and no way to say it. He took another puff, blew it out. The warmth of the cigarette rivaled the warmth in his cheeks, “There’s a Public Safety thing going on… a ball, later this week. You going?”

He had no right to know, honestly – let alone a right to ask.

“Yeah,” You answered. You dropped the last slice of the peach you had been cutting into the bowl on your lap. Then, tentatively, you reached for another. Your hands, gentle and small, like the porcelain fingers of a doll, looked like something he wouldn’t have minded holding. “He wants me to go.”

Her husband, right. He thought. The one that could come out here any minute now and see his wife talking to his Captain in the middle of the night.

“Figured,” He tilted his head back, craning it up to the ceiling, then blowing a spout of smoke up into the chilly air.

You tilted your head to the side in that adorable way of yours, “What about you?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” he answered honestly, and, really, it was true. He was expected to come to those kinds of things. It would be seen as a sign of disrespect if he didn’t. While, under any other circumstances, he would have preferred to be in bed early, he figured that he wouldn’t mind going if it meant that he got to see you. Not even to talk – to watch, to observe, to admire. He would be okay with that alone.

“Do you ever?” You asked him, “Captains don’t usually get out of things like that easily, do they?”

He huffed out something between a sigh and a laugh, “Rarely.”

“It’s formal, right?”

“Yeah,” He added, “Dinner, speeches, dancing… the whole nine yards.”

Truthfully, he’d been dreading it before you rolled into town. A while earlier, and he would have thought of nothing more than how insufferable some of his coworkers were – especially with a little liquor in their system. He’d resigned himself to standing off to the side all night with a drink in hand, avoiding eye contact and waiting for it all to be over.

But now?

Now, all he could think about was you.

You – in some quiet, elegant dress that clung to your frame just enough to keep him staring longer than he should. Your cheeks, a little flushed from wine or champagne, glowing under the lights. Your lips painted something soft, something subtle, something that would undo him if he looked too long.

He imagined the way you'd move – not rehearsed or polished, but easy. The way you'd laugh when your heel caught the floor, or when your husband’s hand led you into a turn too fast. He imagined you being spun in a slow waltz, the skirt of your dress fanning out just slightly, your eyes catching his for half a second too long across the ballroom.

Fuck, he was screwed.

“Do you know how to dance?” He found the words slipping out before he could stop them.

“I learned the waltz in school. Ages ago. I doubt I remember any of it, though. Why?” You gazed off somewhere in the distance, like the question took you back. He wished he could see into your mind, see what occupied it.

See if he was on your mind nearly as much as you were on his.

“Just curious,” He admitted, flicking some of the ash from his cigarette into the bush. “It was a stupid… thing.”

Great conversational skills, Hayakawa.

He watched you carefully through the corner of his eye, almost afraid to meet your gaze head-on. You were still slicing fruit like you hadn’t noticed the way his hands were trembling slightly, like you couldn’t hear the quiet wreckage inside his chest.

The tension shifted – not thick, not heavy – just… different. Softer, maybe. Or sharper. He couldn’t really tell.

“I also have a stupid thing to tell you,” you said at last, voice barely louder than the night air between you. “I keep thinking about when you visited me at the hospital. I guess I… enjoyed it.”

And just like that, the floor tilted beneath him.

Fuck.

His breath caught somewhere behind his ribs. He felt like someone had hooked a hand into his sternum and pulled. Every coherent thought was flattened by the sound of your voice, by your honesty, by the impossible fact that maybe you’d thought about him, too.

Enjoyed it? Enjoyed him?

He stared straight ahead, afraid that if he looked at you, his face would betray just how undone he felt. Betray what you did to him.

Then, so casually it made his head spin, you added, “Here, take a peach. They’re good for smokers.”

He blinked down at the fruit you held out to him. His hand moved on autopilot, reaching for it. Your fingers brushed his – just barely – and he swore it fucking lit something on fire beneath his skin.

He brought the peach to his lips, but forgot to bite. You had no idea what you’d done to him.

Or maybe you did, and that was even worse.

Still, he knew better. He knew better. He should say thank you and walk away. He should forget this ever happened.

Instead, the words slipped past his restraint.

“All day long,” he said, voice hoarse. “I think about you all day long.” He paused. His throat was dry. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be saying this.”

There it was – the confession. Small, broken, way too fucking real.

He expected silence. Or discomfort. But when he dared to glance at you, your hands had stilled their cutting, and you were staring at the peach like you were trying to remember how to breathe.

What the hell was wrong with him?

She’s married, his mind screamed. She’s off-limits.

And yet, he couldn’t take it back.

Fuck.

I’m a fucking idiot.

You turned toward him slowly, the knife stilled mid-slice, juice clinging to your fingers. Your hair shifted ever so slightly with the movement, catching the moonlight just right — soft and iridescent. Something flickered behind your lashes, unreadable. Vulnerable. Dangerous.

“That’s not stupid,” you whispered.

The words slipped between you like a thread pulled taut.

Aki forgot how to breathe. Just for a second – no longer – but long enough that he felt his chest hitch beneath his ribs. The air around him thinned, turned hot despite the night breeze. You weren’t looking at him anymore, not really – your eyes were cast somewhere to the side, like you were nervous to hold his gaze, but still, he felt pierced by the sheer weight of it.

He felt it again, that thing in his chest blooming fast and reckless – like fire catching on dry brush. It wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t safe. But it was there all the same, climbing higher into his throat, pressing in from every side.

God, he thought. I’m so fucked.

What was he supposed to do with that? With you sitting there on your porch with your fruit and your pretty nightgown and your quiet honesty, like you didn’t know you’d just upended his whole fucking day?

No. Not just his day. You’d tilted something inside him – Something he’d worked hard to keep buried. He wasn’t supposed to want things – not like this. Not soft, domestic, impossible things, and certainly not married things.

Then you looked at the lighter in his hand – his stupid, scratched-up lighter, the one Himeno left him – and the air shifted again.

“Your lighter. It’s nice.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown. “Yeah?” he said, trying not to sound as shaken as he felt. “You like it?”

You nodded once, gently as all hell.

Something possessive flickered in him. Not in the ugly way – more in the I-want-to-give-you-everything kind of way. He didn’t even think twice before pressing it into your hand.

“Take it,” he said.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“I want you to have it,” he said again, lower this time. His voice felt too soft, too full. “Really.”

You took it slowly, fingertips grazing his as you accepted the little rectangle. You turned it over in your palm, thoughtful. “Okay,” you whispered. “Thank you, Captain.”

Captain

He should’ve let it end there.

But your voice, saying his title like that – formal and warm and intimate.

“…Aki,” he said, pulse loud in his ears. “Just Aki.”

You looked up at him, still holding the lighter.

“Aki,” you repeated, quiet as a promise.

And damn it all, he wanted to hear you say it again.

Aki dreamt of something pleasant for the first time that night. He dreamt of you.

The morning sun crept lazily across the floor, pooling in soft gold near his feet, but Aki didn’t move right away. He stood in the center of the living room, the coffee on the table growing cold, the silence stretching thick around him. The apartment was still. Too still.

He should’ve been getting dressed. Polished shoes. Starched collar. But instead… He was thinking about you.

The way you’d smiled last night when he asked if you knew how to dance. The soft laugh you gave when you said you’d learned back in high school – a half-shy little thing, like you were embarrassed to admit it.

The image hit him before he could stop it. You in a dress, something soft and clinging, swaying with the turn of a waltz. Your hand in his.

He exhaled through his nose, Delusional. That’s what this was. Stupid, dangerous, completely inappropriate. But it didn’t stop the vision from burning behind his eyes.

And before he could think better of it, Aki shifted his weight. Moved his left foot forward. Then his right, side-step. One-two-three. One-two-three.

He found himself tracing the steps slowly across the floor, the echo of your imagined laugh haunting his ears. His fingers flexed, like they could feel your hand in his already. One turn. One pause. The gentle rhythm of a song that wasn’t even playing. Something in him ached at the thought of holding you like that – of having you close, even for a single dance, even if he knew it would be inappropriate.

Aki stepped again, more sure this time. A full circle. A spin that was almost graceful.

And then…

“Are you seriously dancing right now?”

The voice came to him like the sound of nails on a board.

Aki froze mid-step. Slowly turned.

Denji was standing in the hallway, shirtless, hair a mess, holding a half-eaten rice ball in one hand and gawking like he’d walked in on a crime scene.

Aki’s jaw tightened. “No.”

Denji squinted. “Bro, you were spinning.”

“It was stretching,” Aki said flatly.

“Oh yeah? That what you call it now?”

Aki reached for his coffee, brushing past him with a glare. “I’d shut up if you didn’t want me telling Miss Makima what I found on the computer after you used it.”

Denji made a dramatic zipping motion across his mouth.

Aki hated balls. Just as he suspected, this one was painfully dull. Though the scenery was nice – a lush ballroom with golden chandeliers over marble floors – he stood off to the side, in his usual spot. In his hand, he nursed his fourth glass of whiskey. He was only half-interested in the conversation he was engaged in – one with two commanders from Kyoto and Osaka and the Chief.

“I’m telling you,” the Kyoto commander was saying, “--we’ve tracked three of the Devil traces to that northern corridor. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Gun Devil’s proxy is using the route for something.”

“Could be a trafficking line,” the Osaka one chimed in. “But it’s strange. Too clean. No collateral. Makes you think it’s either something new or someone’s gotten smarter.”

Aki nodded slowly, letting his gaze drift across the ballroom. He didn’t offer much in response. He’d heard it all before – theories, scraps of intel, half-assed leads that led nowhere. More often than not, it was just noise.

The Chief chuckled and sipped from his brandy glass. “That’s the thing about these bastards. They evolve. Just when you think you’ve cornered them, they slip right out of your hands.”

Aki hummed in agreement, eyes settling on the entrance of the ballroom as the doors opened.

His stomach dropped as you walked in.

And even with your husband beside you, your arm loosely hooked around his – you had the presence of someone who didn’t belong in any man’s shadow. He thought – briefly, of course – that you would look much better next to him.

What?

The dress you wore was bold. A deep neckline that clung to your figure, hugging curves he had no fucking business looking at. It was a risky choice, especially for someone like you – soft-spoken, reserved, the kind who rarely wore anything that drew attention. But tonight, you were the center of attention.

Well, his, anyway.

Your husband placed a guiding hand on the small of your back, possessive in its casualness. Aki’s jaw tensed when he saw you gently brush it off.

He felt a strange sort of satisfaction about it.

The Chief caught sight of you and broke into a wide, indulgent grin. “Well, well,” he said, loud enough for Aki to want to sink through the floor. “Look at this. The belle of the ball herself.”

You approached with a small, polite smile that didn’t touch your eyes. Aki’s grip tightened slightly around his glass. Oh, God.

“Goddamn,” the Chief added, eyes dragging a little too slowly across your silhouette. “Where on earth did you find her?” He slapped your husband’s shoulder with a laugh. “She’s got poise.”

Nakamura laughed along stiffly, adjusting his collar. “She cleans up nice.”

“Do you dance?” the Chief asked, this time addressing you directly. “You’ve got the look of someone who knows how to waltz.”

There was a beat. You glanced – just for a moment – in Aki’s direction.

And it was enough to ruin him.

He straightened slightly, chest tightening beneath his suit. He couldn't look away. Is it hot in here?

Your gaze drifted back to the Chief. “I learned once,” you said softly, “in high school.”

The same thing you’d told him earlier that week.

The Chief grinned wider. “Well then, may I?”

The question wasn’t directed at you. It was directed at your husband.

Misogynistic asshole.

I have to save her. He wanted to say something – had to – but it was the Chief, and you were certainly not his to publicly defend.

Aki spoke, sharp and sudden. “Chief – about the proxy route. You mentioned something about the tracing going quiet near the border district?”

It was transparent, even to himself, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted the attention off of you.

The Chief turned his head, barely. “Mm?” Then he laughed, eyes still on you. “Later, Hayakawa.”

Fuck.

Your husband leaned down, whispered something low and clipped in your ear. Aki couldn’t hear what it was, but he saw the way your jaw clenched, the twitch in your brow, and he knew it was something harsh. Still, you turned toward the Chief and nodded.

“I’d be honored,” you said.

The Chief extended his hand. You took it.

Aki felt his stomach sink as the two of you stepped onto the floor. Your husband watched with a smug sort of pride, satisfied.

If you were mine, I would never let another man talk to you that way.

Aki didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until he forced himself to look away.

The string quartet picked up.

And then you moved.

It wasn’t the Chief’s lead that made the dance beautiful—it was you. Even with your expression unreadable, even when your hand rested lightly in his, you glided like you belonged in a painting. Light caught in the curve of your neck, spilled along the exposed line of your shoulders, and Aki…

Aki felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe.

Then your gaze lifted, and it found him.

He froze.

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t coy.

No, you looked at him like he was the only thing tethering you to this place. Eyes wide. Helpless. A wordless plea passed between you, like maybe, if he were braver, he’d storm over and take you away from all of it.

But he couldn’t.

Your husband stood nearby, watching with a drink in his hand and a lazy, smug grin. As if this was all some game he was already winning, as if he were content with selling you out as long as it meant he would get on the Chief’s good side.

Aki's grip on his glass tightened. His chest twisted.

I can’t take this.

He turned on his heel, cut through the crowd, shoved open the first door he could find.

The bathroom was empty, quiet, too white. Too bright. He staggered to the sink and braced himself on the edge, setting his glass to the side.

God, help me, he thought. He was lost – gone beyond reprieve.

Cold water. That’s all he could do. Cold water to his face, again and again, like it might rinse you out of his system. He ran the faucet on its highest settings, cupped his hands beneath it, and splashed the water onto his face. It was brisk, it was refreshing, but it did nothing to calm the incessant thought of you.

He gripped the edge of the sink, chest rising and falling too fast, too sharp. The cold water dripped from his chin, down his collar, and into the front of his shirt, but he didn’t move to wipe it. Didn’t even look at himself in the mirror. Just kept his eyes down, his knuckles pale against porcelain, breathing like he’d run a mile uphill.

He had no right to feel this way.

You weren’t his.

You’d never been his.

And yet – the sight of you, in that dress, in someone else’s arms, looking at him like you wanted him to do something, anything – it had twisted something inside him so hard it still hadn’t let go. He was pathetic. Weak. He didn’t even have the spine to look away when he should’ve, let alone stop it from happening.

The room tilted just slightly, the floor seeming to slope beneath his feet.

Probably the alcohol, he thought. He hadn’t had much, but he hadn’t eaten either, and his head swam just enough to make the edges blur.

If Himeno were here…

She’d slap the back of his head. Tell him to get his shit together. Maybe hand him a glass of water and a cigarette, call him an idiot for letting a girl and a couple of neat whiskeys undo him like this. And she’d be right.

He thought of your face again. The way your eyes found him across the ballroom, wide and unreadable, the way you looked like you wanted to be anywhere else but in that man’s hands. And the worst part?

He couldn’t do a goddamn thing to fix it.

He stayed like that for a moment, maybe longer, just breathing through it, willing the ache in his chest to dull, willing the image of you to go the hell away.

And then, after what had to have been a few minutes too long, the door creaked open.

Aki didn’t move. Didn’t lift his head. But his entire body went still.

He looked up slowly, eyes flicking to the mirror. And there you were.

His breath caught.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not now. Not when he was trying so hard to forget the way you looked at him out on that dance floor. Not when he was still reeling from the sight of your husband’s hand on your back. Not when every instinct in his body was screaming at him to stay the hell away.

But you didn’t stop. You came closer.

Closer.

His pulse climbed with every step you took. You stood in front of him now, the space between your bodies taut with unspoken things. Your perfume was subtle — something soft and sweet that made his head swim. You tilted your head slightly, like you were about to say something, but the words never came.

Just that look.

Open. Waiting.

And then – God help him, like a magnet was strapped to his chest – he leaned in.

God, you were intoxicating.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a shift of weight. Just curiosity.

But when your breath mingled with his, soft and warm and so very close, his composure crumbled. His restraint, already threadbare, snapped entirely the moment you stood up on the tips of your toes, until your mouth brushed against his.

It wasn’t a clean kiss. It was probably muddied by the copious amounts of alcohol in his system, but it was real. It knocked the breath from his lungs.

And, fuck, you kissed him back. The way you kissed him – slowly, like you’d been imagining it – made something inside him break. His hands found your waist, tentative at first, until your fingers curled in the fabric of his coat and tugged him closer.

I feel like an animal.

Then it changed. The kiss deepened. Grew desperate, and he lost control of himself entirely.

He slid his hands up your sides, palms gliding over the curve of your back, and the high-pitched noise you made against his mouth nearly brought him to his knees. It was something like a whimper. He pressed you gently, but firmly, back against the sink, breath warm, heart hammering, mouth grazing yours again and again, like he couldn’t get enough of you, and fuck, he really couldn’t.

She’s kissing me. She’s kissing me. The thought bloomed in his mind, disbelieving, delirious.

And God, she tastes so fucking good.

The warmth of you. The way you felt against him. It was too much.

It was everything.

He wanted to stay there forever, in that suspended moment where none of it mattered. Where the only thing that existed was the feel of your body under his hands, the flutter of your breath, the soft, almost pained sound you made when he kissed you just a little deeper, a little harder.

But then– your hands. On his chest.

He paused.

You broke the kiss, slowly. As if neither of you really wanted it to end.

You looked up at him, dazed. Eyes wide, lips parted, breath shaky. His own heart was threatening to beat out of his chest.

And just like that, you were gone.

You slipped out from his arms without a word, leaving him cold and dry. Just a final glance at him over your shoulder, something swimming in your eyes that he desperately wanted to understand.

Tell me you need me. Tell me you need me the way I need you.

But, no, instead, the door clicked shut behind you.

Aki stood frozen. The space you’d left behind was still impossibly warm.

Then, with a harsh breath, he dropped his head to the sink, groaning.

Fuck my life.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He hadn’t even meant to kiss you. He’d meant to stop it. Really.

But the moment had swallowed him whole – your mouth, your hands, the heat of your skin beneath his palms. It had felt like falling, and maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough not to.

Hell, maybe he didn’t want to.

He stood there a while. Just breathing. Replaying all of it – the sound you made against his mouth, the way you’d looked up at him when it broke apart, like something had cracked open between you.

He could still feel your lips on his.

Still feel your body under his hands.

Still feel the loss of it.

When he finally staggered out of the bathroom, he barely registered the crowd. The music had changed to something slower now, richer. Candlelight flickered against polished floors.

He walked like he was sleepwalking, caught somewhere between a dream and reality, adjusting his tie with a hand that still shook. But he made it back to the main floor. Back to his usual spot, where the chief was already mid-conversation with the same higher-ups from Kyoto and Osaka.

And your husband.

Of course.

You stood beside him, calm and perfect, looking like something out of a fucking oil painting. Your hair was swept just-so, your cheeks dusted with a pink hue, and your expression – demure, unreadable – gave no hint of what had just happened only a few minutes earlier in the marble bathroom down the hall.

You didn’t look at him, and that was worse somehow.

Aki felt like someone had hollowed him out and left him standing there with a drink in his hand, pretending.

The chief caught sight of him and waved him over with that wide, boisterous smile of his. “Ah, Hayakawa. We were just talking about heading out for drinks next week.”

Your husband chuckled and clapped a hand on one of the other men’s shoulders. “Yeah, I told the old man I’d come, and then I remembered I’d already promised my wife we’d go out that night. So I’ll just bring her along.” He grinned at you, clearly amused with himself. “She won’t mind.”

God, he’s such an asshole. Aki swallowed, but it stuck somewhere halfway down.

“Bring someone if you want,” your husband added. “A lady friend, or something. Could be fun.”

He glanced at you. You didn’t return his gaze.

Aki’s jaw clenched. He could treat you better. He wouldn’t humiliate you in front of a room full of people. Wouldn’t make you feel invisible – like an accessory to someone else’s night.

He’d remember your plans. He would never complain about your cooking.

He would actually listen to what you liked – what you needed.

But instead, all he could do was stand there, pretending he was just another man with a glass in his hand and nothing at stake. Pretending the way your husband put an arm around you didn’t kill him a little bit inside.

Pretending he wasn’t head over heels for you and that damned smile of yours.

a/n: oh my god i was so obsessed with this movie when i saw it. i would highly suggest you all watch it - its on tubi! i will say that the sex scenes are... ridiculously graphic, but i digress. this fanfic actually WILL BE SHORT i swear.... i have it planned out LMFAOOAOAO!!!! i wanted to slip you all a lil smth extra to make up for my negligence to post the pornstar chapter lol. please let me know your wants/likes/comments, as always, and i'll see you lovelies next time! muah!!!

credits: I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa , @xxpr3ttyk173rxx

wanna join the taglist? | for your love ; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆��˚#aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa #csm x reader #hayakawa aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki smut

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femnoah · 1 month ago

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Omg the idol au sounds hilarious! Do you have anything else about that particular au?

The thought of her running into fans on the world tour while in challenges sounds chaotic as hell XD

I do in fact! It's the au where I give my girls Sadie and Katie some love and actually flesh out their characters!

So yeah, Neha is in an idol group with her brothers and competes as a guy on TD because of the results of a poll. Somehow, only 2 people recognised her in the first season and Izzy apparently sensed her 'womanhood'

Eva totally gets hired as her bodyguard after the first season. She has no clue how Neha is famous or even that she was until she got mobbed when they were off the show, Eva instinctively punched a grabby guy before he could do anything and it's how she got the job. She gets a taser she affectionately calls her baby boy. She is in the 3rd season but not competing, she's working as staff so she can actually do her job Chris

Both Sadie and Katie were the first ones to figure it out cause I can totally see them being fangirls of an idol group of 8 hot guys and a girl. It's the main reason they don't leave Neha alone when they are eliminated in island.

Sadie manages to worm her way into an internship with the group's manager as it's her dream job. Katie doesn't really have a dream job but she is interested in fashion, makeup and has helped out as a stage hand on multiple occasions!

Just picture, manager Sadie X bodyguard Eva. Like, the potential???? They bond over cute male celebrities and beating up deranged fans while going on gym and shopping dates.

Both Sadie and Katie stay general fangirls but don't obsess over Justin and Trent anymore, Sadie because she has Eva and Katie because she decides to focus on a self improvement journey

Actually, Trent starting to like Katie after she stops obsessing over him and treats him like a normal guy would be solid gold. Like, the relationship developing behind the scenes on world tour

And she helps with the behind the scenes for his gigs njajsnskajshwhs

Speaking of world tour, Neha bribes Sierra to keep quiet with one of her wigs at the end of the season or an interview with one of her brothers and Heather assumes the two of them are in an alliance. It's actually just Sierra pestering Neha who's praying that she won't spill every time she opens her mouth

Sierra gets character development, she sees a crazy fan out in the wild (literally) and then realises that she's either just as bad or on the way to becoming that bad and gets a change of heart.

Somehow the other contestants still don't know.

Chris totally took advantage of the whole idol contestant + ex boyband thing and made the season a musical to rake in more views. Too bad Neha is sticking to the bit

The whole avoiding fans thing is because someone keeps leaking the destinations for the challenges. Like Neha goes to the toilet in the middle of a challenge and suddenly she's running from not-subtle-autograph-seeking-fans.

Like, imagine scooby doo style shenanigans in the Louvre or getting let off easier in a challenge because Chris' cousin is a fan or even the actors in the Amazon complaining that they didn't get the 'fun' team and not so subtly grilling team Amazon who have no clue what they're on about

Also, I don't know what idea is funnier, Alejandro has no idea who Neha is and keeps watching his teammate hide from people everywhere they go or he's secretly a major fanboy who acts all suave in front of everyone but geeks out in the confessionals at the most minor thing. There's so much potential chaos in both of them.

The masterpost

#td noah #female noah #tdi #alenoah #td alejandro #td izzy #chris mclean #td eva #td sadie #td katie #sadie x eva #idol au #chef #td trent #td sierra #td heather

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askgaloredigital · 1 year ago

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 3 months ago

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Hello!

I'm a big fan of your writing its so pretty :3 So, that said, may I request an Angel Dust x GN! Reader where Reader is Angel Dust's bodyguard, hired by Valentino. They're stoic, serious, tough, and completely unamused and unaffected by Angel's advances. At first, Angel's kinda annoyed that Val got him a babysitter, but after some time, he starts to develop a little childish crush on them. Fantasizing about them, writing and drawing about them, pretty much just being an overall simp, and he's never felt like this about someone before so he's pretty confused. They're a badass and great at fighting, so he'll purposefully get into trouble just so that he can be rescued and carried like a princess (he finds out rlly hot how strong they are). They don't do drugs, smile often, and they give off dom vibes.

Bonus: Angel sometimes fantasizes that while he's at the studio with other people doing things to him, he imagines *them* doing those things instead and he almost lets their name slip-

Preferred sfw but u can do nfsw if you want You don't have to write this if u don't want to sorry for writing so much but I don't wanna be too vague :> Be sure to drink water, eat healthy, and get lots of sleep! TYSM!! ~Blueberry 🫐🪻💜

Tough Love

A/N: HIII!! Thank you so so so much for your request!! Thank you for the compliments as well!

Navigation!!

Angel Dust had been through a lot of things in his afterlife—drugs, crime, sex, violence, you name it. But never in his wildest, drug-induced hallucinations did he think he’d be assigned a personal babysitter.

“Listen, Toots,” Angel sneered, lounging dramatically on Valentino’s expensive leather couch, one leg thrown over the armrest. “I don’t need no bodyguard. I can take care of myself.”

You stood across the room, arms crossed, an unshakable, unreadable expression on your face. No amusement, no annoyance, just pure, unbothered professionalism.

Valentino, lounging in his own seat with a smug grin, exhaled a puff of smoke and chuckled. “Not up for debate, sweetheart. You’re sloppy, and I don’t got time for you runnin’ off gettin’ your ass beat again. So, they’re gonna make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Angel huffed, flipping his hair dramatically. “Whatever, Val. Guess I got a new shadow.”

But you weren’t just a shadow. You were a presence. A solid, looming force in Angel’s life, always a few steps behind him, always watching. Your job was simple: keep him alive, keep him in line, and, most importantly, keep him from pissing off anyone too dangerous.

At first, Angel was pissed. You didn’t react to his usual antics. Every flirtation, every crude joke, every not-so-subtle pose he threw your way was met with the same cold, unimpressed stare.

“You alive in there, tough guy?” Angel teased one day, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “Or did Valentino hire a fuckin’ statue to follow me around?”

Nothing. Not a smirk, not an eye roll. Just a slow, unimpressed blink.

That should’ve been enough for him to lose interest, right? He lived for attention, for reactions. But you? You were a goddamn puzzle. And the more he failed to crack you, the more… interesting you became.

It started subtly.

At first, he’d just watch you when you weren’t looking. Studying the way you moved—controlled, confident, dangerous. You weren’t just some tough guy playing bodyguard; you were the real deal. Every muscle in your body was tuned for a fight, and Angel realized real fast just how powerful you were.

Then came the fantasies.

It was stupid, really. Childish. But he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. Imagining scenarios where you’d protect him—not just because it was your job, but because you wanted to. Where you’d pull him close, hold him like he was something precious. Where you’d tell him, in that low, steady voice of yours, “I got you.”

God, he hated how much he liked that idea.

And it only got worse.

From thinking about you while he was working, and realizing it was the only way he’d get a good shot, to fantasizing about you while Valentino had his fun with him. But even then, it still got worse. More personal.

Angel had never been shy about drawing. Usually, his sketchbooks were filled with crude doodles, lewd caricatures, and exaggerated self-portraits. But lately? Lately, his pages were filled with you.

You standing over him like an immovable wall of strength. You carrying him effortlessly out of danger, holding him in your arms like he weighed nothing. You pinning someone to the ground, eyes cold and lethal.

And sometimes… you looking at him. Not with indifference, not with boredom, but with something else. Something intense.

He’d slam his sketchbook shut, face burning under his fur. What the fuck was wrong with him?!

Angel wasn’t subtle. Not even a little.

The moment he realized how hot it was when you fought, it became his new favorite pastime to get into just enough trouble to make you step in.

At first, it was little things. Mouthing off to the wrong demon in a club, getting a little too bold with a mobster’s wife—just enough to stir the pot. He’d bat his lashes and play innocent, waiting for the chaos to start.

And like clockwork, you’d step in.

It was thrilling. Watching you move, precise and deadly, dismantling threats like they were nothing. And when the fights were over? When you’d grab him by the waist and haul him out of danger, carrying him effortlessly through the chaos?

Angel thought he might die (again) from how fucking hot it was.

One night, after you singlehandedly took down a group of thugs dumb enough to corner him, Angel threw his arms around your neck dramatically, grinning like a schoolgirl.

“Oh, darlin’, you saved me! My hero!” he cooed, batting his lashes.

You barely spared him a glance as you carried him bridal-style through the alley, your grip firm but effortless. “You put yourself in danger on purpose,” you stated flatly.

Angel pouted, twirling a lock of his hair around his finger. “Oh, come on, tough guy. Don’tcha wanna be my knight in shining armor?”

Silence.

And yet… he swore he saw the ghost of a smirk tug at the corner of your lips.

That was it. That was the moment he realized he was fucked.

Angel was used to people wanting him. He was used to being the center of attention, the loudest voice in the room. But you? You barely acknowledged his antics.

So he started trying.

“Ohhh, big guy, you ever smile?” Angel drawled one night, draping himself dramatically over the bar. “Or is that somethin’ extra I gotta pay for?”

Nothing.

He scooted closer. “C’mon, just a little one? For me?” He batted his lashes, pouting exaggeratedly.

You exhaled through your nose. “No.”

Angel groaned, flopping onto the counter. “Ugh, you’re killin’ me here.”

But goddammit, that tiny, almost invisible quirk at the edge of your lips? Yeah, that was enough to send him into a full spiral.

Angel had been with a lot of people. He knew lust, he knew desire. But this? This was new. This weird, fluttery, giddy stupid feeling in his chest whenever you so much as looked at him? That was terrifying.

He started catching himself staring at you for no reason. Imagining what it’d be like if you actually wanted him. Not just as a job, not just as another problem to handle, but as something more.

And the worst best part?

You didn’t do drugs. You weren’t like the other demons in his life, numbing yourselves to Hell’s bullshit. You were clear-headed. And that meant if you ever did look at him like that, if you ever did choose him, it wouldn’t be because of some haze of intoxication.

It would be real.

And that scared the absolute shit out of him.

One night, after another near-death experience (that may or may not have been entirely his fault), Angel found himself in your arms again.

But this time, instead of throwing out some cheeky one-liner, he just… looked at you.

The way your expression remained stoic, but your grip on him was firm, secure. The way you carried him like he was something that mattered. Like he was something worth protecting.

For once, he didn’t try to joke, didn’t try to flirt. He just rested his head against your chest, listening to the steady beat beneath.

And he realized—he didn’t mind being your problem.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin demon #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x reader #hazbin hotel angel dust #isuckatwritingsobenice

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solidity-io · 1 year ago

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thewinter-eden · 3 months ago

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Blood Sugar Virus (14)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, ages are based on current Ateez rather than the time at which the actual episode was filmed, zombies, language, some gore, death

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @furfoxsake22

< last chapter | masterlist | next chapter >

This is it.

This is the end of you.

You can’t lie under the affected crew member forever.

The zombies attempting to claw through him to get to you have already landed a few blows, nails scratching your neck, your cheeks, your arms.

One of them must be sitting on your shin because one of your legs is stuck and your foot is painfully bent.

Another one had managed to sink his teeth into your arm when you didn’t realize he could reach it, and you let out a scream before you remembered to bite your tongue and close your throat to silence yourself.

You can’t keep this up forever.

The zombie lying on top of you, shielding you from their flashing teeth and broken nails stopped moving a long time ago.

Not only are you scared out of your mind, trying desperately not to cry out loud, but now there’s guilt twisting your insides. The man you’d used as a not-so-human shield had been a person. From your crew or KQ’s, you don’t know. You never saw his face before you decided to use him to save yourself.

And now he’s dead.

Because of you.

Maybe you deserve to follow after him.

His blood is seeping out of his wounds, trickling into your clothes. You’re lying in a steadily growing pool of it.

Because of you.

Maybe you deserve to let them take you next. Maybe you should be ripped to shreds.

They’re snarling, growling, inhuman sounds coming out of their gaping, reaching mouths, and all you can think about is rolling the dead man off of you and letting them have you.

Before you can, before you can forfeit your life as penance for stealing another, the weight lifts from your foot.

Someone shrieks, and there’s a sound of something solid striking flesh, and a scurry of hard-soled footsteps.

More weight lifts off of you.

Now there’s a gap above the shoulder of the dead man, and another heavy blow silences the next inhuman howl. A zombie falls to the ground next to you, splashing blood as he twitches and falls still. You don’t know if he’s unconscious or dead, and you can’t check, because suddenly the pile on top of you is shifting, moving, scrambling away from you.

You hear shouts and claps and banging of furniture, and then the only weight on you is the dead zombie.

Gasping, choking, stunned to be alive and somehow free from grasping hands and snapping teeth, you wriggle yourself just enough to see around the body you’re still clutching. An arm enters your field of vision, and then the dead man is rolled off of you.

“Jimin?” Your voice comes out broken, ragged, soaked in terror, but then you’re being pulled off the floor and it’s Yeosang holding you.

“Come on.” He’s panting, shaking, smeared with blood. “Come on, I’ve got you.” And then he’s half-guiding, half-carrying you towards the door, because your legs are buckling, your brain too strangled with panic to manage more than a step before you’re tripping on the slick floor.

Shooting a frantic glance over your shoulder, you see the man you killed behind you, and two twitching, gasping zombies on the floor next to him. And there, thrown beside them, is the jagged chair leg, one side of it stained with red.

“Hold on, hold on.” Yeosang pulls you closer to keep you from stumbling out into the hall. “They’re still out there.” He tucks both of you just inside the door frame, and finally you can hear the stampeding of zombies out in the hallway.

It all happened so fast, you still can’t believe you’re standing. Part of you thinks you really did die there under that zombie, gone off into the void to dream about being rescued.

You should have died.

They left you.

They left you under a pile of zombies.

You should have died.

“Sugar?” Yeosang squeezes you gently, and you realize you’re doubled over, your muscles jerking with unreconciled tension. He eases you back upright and helps you settle your weight against the wall.

Your vision is a blur as you feel his hands on your shoulders. He’s scanning your body, fingertips brushing the stinging scrapes on your arms, fluttering over the scratches on your cheeks, peeling your tattered sleeve away from the new bite on your arm.

Reflexes jerk your head back when his thumbs push your lowering eyelids back, and you realize he’s checking you for infection or disease or whatever it is that made everyone you know turn into blood thirsty monsters.

Clarity is returning to you slowly, your body relaxing, your breaths coming easier. You lift your hands to grab his wrists, pulling his palms away from your face. “I’m okay.”

You’re not. You’re so far from okay.

But you’re not one of those creatures, and you’re not dead, so you’re okay.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to you, and wipes his hands on his shirt. A wet mixture of blood and your tears smears the white cloth, and you have the most ridiculous thought of apologizing for ruining his clothes.

You don’t even know why he’s sorry.

“I…” you lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes against another flood of tears. They spill down your face anyway. “I thought…”

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter that you thought you were going to die.

You didn’t.

“Thank you,” you say finally, and wipe your nose on what’s left of your sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

He leans against the wall next to you, just as rattled as you are. “Why are you sorry?” A breathy laugh follows his words, and he raises his arm to swipe at the sweat on his face. “We’re the ones who owe you an apology.” He checks around the corner again, but apparently the coast isn’t clear yet because he ducks back to his spot next to you.

You shake your head dismissively.

After everything, after being so close to watching yourself be eaten alive, you still have it in you to shake it off, at least on the outside.

“I’m sorry, Sugar.” He says again. “I thought we were toast back there, and you just came out of nowhere…shit, I’m pretty sure I’m only still alive because of you.”

At least it was worth something.

At least your moments of inexplicable insanity paid off and didn’t leave you dead on the floor.

God, what is wrong with you?

Did you really just hurl yourself at a hoard of zombies?

Laughter is bubbling up your throat, escaping your mouth in heavy breaths.

Beside you, Yeosang is stunned. He turns to you, watching you fall all over yourself with muffled but manic, whispered chortles, and all he can think is that maybe this is it.

Maybe you are turning, and you’re facing your demise with insanity.

“I’m so stupid,” you gasp. You meet his eyes then, and see every ounce of worried apprehension, and you’re laughing again. “God, I must be out of my mind.”

He’s probably agreeing with you.

“Who charges a bunch of zombies?” You press your hands over your face and sink into the slow realization that there must be something very, very wrong with you.

But you hear him chuckle softly next to you, relaxing once more. “That’s what I’m saying.” He nudges you with his elbow. “I think you’re crazier than they are.”

You fall all over yourself again, sinking to the floor against the wall as your body releases its frantic stress in the form of dazed laughter. “I’m so stupidly unbalanced. Namjoon is gonna kill me.”

Yeosang slides down the wall next to you. “If those guys can’t kill you, I don’t think anyone can.” He laughs with you for a few more decompressing seconds, and then grows silent. “But really, Sugar, I’m so sorry. Yunho…he’s just so protective. You scared him. And I…I let him make that decision for us. I’m sorry we threw you out. And I’m…I’m so sorry we left you in here like that.”

You lift your face from your hands and find him watching you with visible remorse.

“I probably wouldn’t have trusted me either.” You try weakly, but he shakes his head.

“You gave us every reason to. And more reasons after that.” He gestures to the chalkboard he had been pinned against when you tackled his zombie, and you follow his finger.

“I get it.” You try not to let your throat choke on the words, because it was terrifying to be abandoned by the only safe group in the building. It was terrifying to be abandoned in a room full of creatures. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” He argues. “And you don’t have to say that it is.”

A few seconds pass, and you shift your legs in preparation to stand again. “I think they’re gone. Please tell me Jimin and Seonghwa didn’t use themselves as a diversion.”

Somehow far more in control of his limbs than you are, Yeosang jumps to his feet and offers you his hands to help you up. You take them, because your thighs feel like jelly and you don’t trust yourself not to fall on your face.

“They threw some furniture and made some noise, but they locked themselves in 2-3 as soon as the hoard locked on.” He assures you, and peeks his head out. A second later he snaps back around. “Wait, no. Not Jimin. Jimin left.”

Jimin left?

Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. Jimin left you?

You know why.

Of course you know why.

Your group had a job, and there’s barely any time before the next Fever Time.

Jimin had to go.

He had a job to do—a job that all of you were supposed to do.

But still, there’s a rotten disappointment in your heart knowing that he just left you like that.

“Oh.”

Anticipating your inability to properly move on your own again, Yeosang wraps an arm around your waist. “I know. I know how that sounds, but we thought you were dead. All we could see was the zombies, and all the blood, and the pieces of flesh in their hands—we thought you were dead. He thought you were gone.”

You should have been dead.

You should have let them kill you.

But instead, you let them kill another man.

You stomp out the disappointment.

Jimin was right to leave you.

Yeosang should never have come after you.

You deserve to be abandoned, to die.

“Okay, they’re at the other end of the corridor. For now let’s just cross over into 2-3, regroup, and figure out what to do from there, sound good? You okay?” Yeosang checks you one more time as you sway, lightheaded, away from him.

You nod, another lie, and force yourself to stand properly on your feet as best as you can.

“God, I can’t believe it’s only been like an hour. It’s almost midnight. I don’t think we have time to catch up to Jimin at this point. Unless of course he manages turn off the alarms, but he was kinda…uh…late getting there.” He keeps talking in a hushed voice, to distract himself or you, you don’t know, but you’re not listening.

Your entire world stops turning. Twisting half your body so abruptly that he lurches to catch you (even though you don’t need it), you find the clock on the wall.

Two minutes to midnight. “Crap.”

“What is it?”

“Crap, crap, crap.”

“Sugar, we have to hurry, they’re wandering back this way.” Yeosang makes a psst sound, like he’s summoning a cat, and you can hear the door to 2-3 sliding open slowly.

“No, wait, shit.”

How could you have forgotten?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe Jimin sorted it out. Maybe he’ll get there in time. It’s a convoluted process to get through the school’s system and deal with the controls, but he’s fairly technically savvy.

He should be able to stop it, right?

11:59.

Fuck.

You don’t know.

You can’t know until midnight strikes.

2-3 still isn’t open wide enough for either of you to slip through, the boys inside struggling to make it move with as much silence as possible.

You can’t just wait.

“No, stay here. Get out of the doorway.” You’re pulling Yeosang back, and his feet stumble backwards over the threshold at your efforts.

“What are you doing? We have time, it’ll just be another second.” He hisses.

But it won’t. Because they stopped the door as soon as it made a horrible wooden screech.

The zombies at the far end of the hall heard it, picking up their staggering to a curious run.

And since they’ve already heard you anyway, you let your voice ring across the hallway. “Shut the door and get back!” And then you slam 2-4 shut with a resounding bang.

Because, right at that moment, corrugated steel shutters slide down over every door and window in the building, trapping everyone exactly where they are.

“What the hell.” Yeosang steps back, staring at the wall of metal. He pushes against it, but it leans and groans and refuses to lift.

You sag against a desk, almost finding yourself relieved. “It won’t open. Not unless Jimin got there and can lift the lockdown.”

“What?” He turns on you, eyes wide. “What lockdown? What is this?”

You raise your arms helplessly. “Part of our program. The rules were to rescue Rosé and get out before 12.”

He blinks, and you can tell he vaguely remembers this information, but he’s still not understanding. “Wait, you were actually going to lock us into the school?”

“It was in the info packet,” you say weakly. “It’s meant to be an intensifier. A little bit more running and scaring before you go home defeated.”

“So we’re locked in here all night?” He’s a little pissed, you can tell. “Seriously?”

“All night is relative, considering it’s now midnight,” you offer a shamed wince. “But no. It’s only for an hour. And in all fairness, the zombies wouldn’t have been…like this.”

He relaxes a little, and runs a hand through his hair. “An hour.”

“Is it bad that I’m kinda glad for it? I mean, it’s a whole hour. No zombies, no stampedes, no near-death experiences. Right?” You can’t think about Namjoon, hoping he and Jongho got back to Rosé and Mingi before the lockdown, or the possibility that Jimin didn’t make it.

But he did make it.

Of course he made it. It’s midnight, and not a single alarm is ringing.

He made it.

He would have gotten locked in the control room, which is exactly where he needs to be to figure out the security system.

And your team all knows the codes and protocols, so he’ll be able to find it and lift the lockdown before the hour is up anyway.

“Yeah. An hour. No zombies.” He agrees, finally managing a half smile. “Yeah, okay.”

You both glance to the three zombies on the floor, still unmoving.

No zombies except them.

But still— “Can we sit in the back of the room?” You ask, already pushing yourself off the desk.

“Yep.” He’s in fast agreement, taking your arm and helping you to the opposite side of the room from the fallen creatures. “if Jimin made it there and turned off the alarms, and the others are safe in 2-3, then I guess everything’s really fine.”

Neither of you are whispering anymore, protected by the steel barrier between you and the hoard of zombies in the corridor.

“Right. Everything’s fine.” You settle yourself on the floor and let yourself breathe.

“Sorry I snapped at you,” he says as he joins you. “The lockdown is much appreciated.”

You tip a playful two-fingered salute and smile back shakily. “You guys would have won before midnight anyway. You were already ahead of a bunch of our previous clients.”

He stretches his legs out in front of him comfortably. “Really? You know, Stray Kids actually recommended your company to us.”

You vividly remember working with the group. “They were a lot of fun to work with. But, in their defense, they had a much different experience than you’re having.”

Yeosang laughs softly, a sound you haven’t heard since a day ago, when you all went out for your final dinner in the prep stages. “I would hope so.” He leans his head back against the wall. “I assume they got out before midnight?”

“Oh, yeah, they had our program knocked out in forty five minutes. We actually made it a little more intense after they plowed through it like that. The one we wrote for you was supposed to be a lot scarier, but not this scary.”

“It was plenty thrilling before all the actual biting started.” He assures you. “You had Mingi and San shaking in their boots.”

You laugh, remembering the early moments before it all went to shit, how the two younger boys clung to you at every opportunity. “Yeah, at least they didn’t throw me at a zombie to save themselves like Jongho did.”

Yeosang tenses at the mention of the incident, and the reminder of the incidents that followed, but he pushes through it. “Jongho will forever maintain that he didn’t know you were the one behind him.”

You shrug, rolling your eyes. “No hard feelings. Felix once accidentally hid behind me and got me fake-bitten during their program, and they hadn’t found any of the cure yet.”

He laughs again, a soft, rolling, almost-giggle that warms you from the inside. It’s such a normal, human sound compared to the animalistic noises that you’ve heard for the past hour. “Felix? Of all people, Felix is the last person to sacrifice someone.”

“I guess you don’t really learn those things about yourself until you’re in the thick of it,” you say, and it’s meant to be a joke, but he goes quiet.

You hadn’t meant to dig at their actions against you, but you should have known where the topic would lead. “Hey.” You nudge him with your elbow. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

For a long minute, he doesn’t answer. His jaw works, muscles clenching, and then he shakes his head. “No, you’re right. I’m not a huge fan of everything we learned about ourselves tonight. I really am sorry, Sugar. I didn’t want to push you out of the group like that. I would have spoken up for you—and I did, at first, but—”

“I heard you.” You interrupt, remembering his words in your defense back when Yunho first proposed kicking you out. “And I know. You trust your people. I don’t fault you for that. Any of you.”

He’s pinching the seams of his pants, fidgeting uncomfortably. “But we shouldn’t have. Not after you—”

“You saved me more than I did anything for you.” You remind him. “From Jin, then patching up my neck, then from Jin again—technically, I was slowing you down anyway.”

“People don’t slow you down, they’re the whole reason for trying.” He argues. “What were we supposed to do, just let you get attacked by your own colleague?”

You don’t have to answer. He’s defended himself without realizing it.

“It’s not just the fact that you could have been involved in some awful supervillain scheme to murder all of us,” he flashes you a wry grin. “It’s the fact that you could have been attacked and hurt or killed because we sent you out on your own. Even if I don’t have to be sorry for trusting a safe bet, I’m sorry for what the reality turned out to be.”

You don’t need to listen to him punish himself anymore, not when you survived and managed to make sure the rest of your friends did too. And who knows what would have happened if you had still been with them when the hoard got let into the building.

So you shift the subject. “I don’t like what I’ve learned about myself either.”

He lifts his head then, expression screwing up with disbelief. “Yeah, me neither, kinda.”

That hits you a little harder than you were expecting.

But then he tilts his head to level his gaze with yours. “Do you run into burning buildings, too? I mean, I heard you rescued Seonghwa from a zombie by yourself. And I saw you body slam a total of like four zombies just to get me and Yunho out of here. Is your brain unplugged or are you just a superhero?”

You can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you. “I’m pretty sure my brain is unplugged, honestly. It’s not heroics, trust me, it’s a preventative measure against survivor’s guilt.”

“Oh, I see.” He chuckles, nodding along with you. “Well, glad we could help you lower your therapy costs by surviving.��

You let the moment of enjoyment seep into your tired bones for a second before circling back to your point. “But that’s not what I mean. I…” your eyes find the zombie that still lays on the floor, torn to pieces. “I used that guy as a shield to save myself.”

Yeosang follows the direction of your gaze, seeing the mutilated corpse you left behind.

“I took that man—he used to be a man, with a life and a family and a home—and I trapped his body over mine so they would attack him instead of me.” Your throat tightens, eyes watering, and you feel like you’re confessing before a court. “I killed that man. I killed him to save myself.”

You feel Yeosang turn to you again, but you can’t look at him.

Tears spill down your cheeks. “You shouldn’t have come back for me, Yeosang-ssi, I don’t deserve it.” You expect him to move away from you. You expect him to get up and distance himself from the girl who let a man be torn to shreds to save her own skin. You hope your return to professional honorifics gives him permission to judge you as he should.

He doesn’t get up.

He swallows tightly, and grips the knees of his pants. “I clobbered those two with a broken chair leg.” He says quietly, nodding to the other two zombies. “I’m pretty sure they’re dead, too.”

You sniffle, blinking through the flood in your eyes, and take in the wounds on the zombies’ chests and throats.

But he did that to save you, not himself.

That’s different.

He didn’t choose his own life over someone else’s.

“And while we’re on common ground for a second,” he shifts closer to you and closes his hand over yours. “They weren’t people anymore. We didn’t do that to them. They were creatures, out of their minds, no longer who they were. They would have killed you. They would have killed me. It’s not a virtue or a moral obligation to let someone kill you.”

You feel a little stupid, hearing him frame it like that. “But what if they could be cured? What if they could have been saved? What if I stole that man’s life before he got the opportunity to get better?”

“And that gives them permission to eat you alive?” He shakes his head and squeezes your eyes. “I know we don’t really know each other, and I’m just your client, but if it helps, I don’t blame you for doing what you had to do.”

It does help, a little bit, but it won’t make a difference. If you survive tonight, you will always live with the knowledge that you used another person to protect yourself, causing him to die in your place.

Nothing will ever change that fact.

“I’m sorry you had to do that because of me.” You choke out, because now you also have to live with the other two who were killed because of you.

“Sugar.” His grounding voice brings your attention back to him. “If those guys were completely sound of mind, attacking you like that, I still would have picked up that chair leg. If I saw anybody being eviscerated like that, by a person, or a zombie, or an animal, I’d do whatever I could to stop them.”

You could cry all over again.

It doesn’t change the facts.

It doesn’t change your guilt.

But it’s a hell of a lot better than feeling like you’re alone in this.

In the quiet seconds that pass, he lets go of your hand and utters a deep sigh. “And it’s just Yeosang. It’s a little insulting at this point that you’re still using honorifics.”

You snort before you can stop yourself, which is pretty much the response he was hoping for.

You tell him your name, and he says it back to you. He knew it before, having seen it probably exactly once in the info packet, but with your stage name being so prevalent, it doesn’t surprise you that people forget your real name.

“Why do you go by Sugar?” He asks.

“It’s the nickname my dad used to call me when I was little. He died so long ago that it feels like all I have left of him sometimes.” You answer easily. You love your stage name. You love that you can hear your dad’s voice every time someone says it.

“It’s cute.” He says, and smiles at you.

It takes every ounce of rationality and professionalism to not let your brain respond that if anything in this room is cute, it’s the doe-eyed, fairy-featured superstar in front of you, but you manage to keep your lips shut.

“Sugar,”

You roll your eyes, uttering an amused huff. “Alright, don’t wear it out—”

“No, Sugar,” he grips your arm suddenly, pointing with his free hand to one of the bodies he’d struck down. “That zombie just moved.”

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hrizantemy · 5 months ago

Text

Weeks turned into months, and somehow, against all odds, Nesta was… good. The word itself felt foreign, strange even, as if it didn’t belong in the same breath as her name. Good. She whispered it in her mind sometimes, testing its weight, its truth. It wasn’t perfection—far from it—but it was solid, steady. It was enough.

She found herself waking up without that familiar pit in her stomach, the one that had made every morning feel like a battle before it even began. The days no longer dragged her down into the darkness she’d come to know so intimately. She didn’t dread every hour that stretched ahead of her. Instead, she lived. She moved through her days with something she had almost forgotten—purpose.

It wasn’t some grand transformation. There were still bad days, moments where the shadows crept back in, whispering doubts and regrets into her ear. But they didn’t consume her anymore. She didn’t let them. On those days, she let herself feel the weight, but she also let herself move through it, knowing it would pass.

And, much to her own astonishment, she was happy. That word felt even stranger than good. Happy had always seemed like something meant for other people, for Elain with her gardens or Feyre with her perfect little family. But now it belonged to Nesta too. It was small, quiet happiness—found in the warmth of sunlight through her window, in the pages of a book that drew her into another world, in the sound of laughter shared with someone who didn’t expect her to be anything but herself.

Taryn had a way of appearing just when Nesta needed her most, though she would never admit it out loud. She didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t pry or prod, but her presence was grounding. They had developed an unspoken rhythm, a comfortable give and take. Taryn would knock on her door with a knowing smile and a bottle of that smooth liquid Nesta had come to enjoy, or drag her out to hear music at the tavern, or simply sit with her in the quiet of her small apartment.

Nesta found herself smiling more often, laughing even. It still caught her off guard sometimes, how natural it felt. It didn’t feel like she was pretending or forcing it, like she had in the past. This happiness was real, strange and fragile as it seemed. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself hold onto it. She let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she deserved it.

Nesta had found a job, though she wouldn’t have called it that at first. It was more out of spite than anything else, but spite was a good motivator, perhaps the best one she had. The idea had come to her in the middle of a tense conversation with Cassian during one of his visits—if they could even be called that. He’d offhandedly suggested that maybe she ought to “find something to do with herself” instead of wallowing. The words had stung, as they always did, but instead of snapping back, Nesta had steeled herself. Fine. She’d show him. She’d do something, if only to shut him up.

The bookstore was small, tucked away on a quiet street she hadn’t even noticed until she’d been wandering aimlessly one afternoon. The bell above the door jingled when she stepped inside, and the air smelled of old paper and faint lavender. Shelves were crammed into every corner, some leaning precariously under the weight of too many books. A frazzled-looking woman, with hair coming loose from its bun, had glanced up from the counter with a harried expression.

“Looking for something specific?” the woman had asked, though she didn’t sound like she had the time or patience for small talk.

Nesta, on impulse, had said, “I’m looking for work.”

The woman blinked, clearly taken aback. “You want to work here?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” Her tone had been sharper than she intended, but she didn’t backtrack.

The woman had studied her for a long moment, her gaze sweeping over Nesta as if measuring her worth. Then, with a sigh that sounded like reluctant relief, she’d muttered, “Fine. You’re hired. I need the help, and you’ve got the look of someone who won’t run off after a week.”

Nesta hadn’t known whether to be flattered or insulted, but she’d nodded and accepted anyway.

Now, she found herself standing behind the counter most days, the faint hum of activity from the street filtering through the windows. It wasn’t glamorous, and it certainly wasn’t a grand calling, but it was something. She sorted through piles of books, rearranged shelves, and rang up the occasional customer. The work was simple but steady, and that steadiness was a strange comfort.

The woman, Amina, didn’t ask questions. She didn’t hover or pry, which Nesta appreciated more than she could say. In return, Nesta found herself working harder than she thought she would. She’d never imagined herself in a place like this—surrounded by books, of all things—but the quiet was nice. It gave her something to focus on, something to do with her hands and her mind.

And though Nesta would never admit it, there was a certain satisfaction in it. Spite had gotten her in the door, but something else—something softer, more hesitant—was keeping her there. Amina had trusted her, even when Nesta hadn’t trusted herself, and that was a kind of kindness she hadn’t been expecting.

There was one other worker at the bookstore, a girl who looked younger than Nesta—probably in her early twenties. Her name was Elia, and she was pretty in a way that seemed effortless: soft brown curls that always framed her face perfectly, warm brown eyes that sparkled with every smile, and an energy that seemed boundless. Nesta had taken one look at her on her first day and decided she wouldn’t like her.

People who smiled that much, who carried themselves as though the world was something to embrace rather than endure, always grated on her nerves. Elia was the type of person Nesta would have avoided entirely in another life, too bright, too cheerful, too… good.

But Elia had taken a liking to her almost immediately. From the moment Nesta stepped behind the counter, Elia was there, talking.

“So, you’re the new help,” Elia had said with a teasing grin. “You don’t look like the bookish type, but hey, I’m not here to judge.”

Nesta had scowled at her, crossing her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Elia had just laughed, like Nesta’s irritation was amusing rather than intimidating. “Nothing bad! Just that you seem… sharp. You know, like you’re more likely to tell someone off than recommend a good romance novel.”

Nesta had bristled but didn’t respond. To her annoyance, Elia had stayed, leaning on the counter as though determined to peel back her layers. Over time, Nesta realized Elia wasn’t just talkative—she was genuinely kind, with a knack for finding the good in everyone.

“Want to grab lunch?” Elia would ask during their shifts, despite Nesta’s clipped responses.

“Need help with that stack?” she’d offer, even when Nesta was clearly managing fine on her own.

Elia didn’t seem deterred by Nesta’s cold demeanor. If anything, her persistence only grew, like she’d decided befriending Nesta was some kind of challenge. And though Nesta wouldn’t admit it, there was something disarming about the girl’s sunny attitude.

Elia was always smiling, always humming under her breath as she shelved books or rang up customers. She seemed to carry a little light with her wherever she went, and though it was irritating at first, Nesta couldn’t help but notice how it made the small bookstore feel a little less suffocating.

Sometimes, Nesta would catch herself watching Elia out of the corner of her eye, marveling at how someone could be so unguarded, so at ease in the world. It was baffling. And though she hated to admit it, maybe even a little enviable.

Despite Nesta’s sharp tone and pointed glares, Elia hadn’t been scared away. If anything, the girl’s persistence seemed to double with every cold response Nesta gave. For a while, Nesta thought she’d crack under the weight of Elia’s relentless cheerfulness, but the girl never wavered, always meeting Nesta’s barbs with that same easy smile.

So, begrudgingly, Nesta had decided to let her in—not fully, but enough to stop snapping at her during their shifts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, not really. It just… happened.

It started small: lunch on their breaks. Elia would nudge Nesta toward the staff room with a playful, “Come on, you have to eat,” and despite herself, Nesta would follow. At first, they ate in near silence, with Elia doing most of the talking as Nesta focused on her food. But slowly, the silences became less frequent, filled instead with quiet conversation about books they liked, customers they couldn’t stand, or the day-to-day monotony of work.

Then came the book recommendations.

“You should read this one,” Elia had said one afternoon, sliding a worn copy of The Secret Garden across the counter.

Nesta had raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a children’s book.”

��It’s more than that,” Elia insisted. “Trust me, you’ll like it. It’s about finding beauty in the unexpected. You’re into that sort of thing, right?”

Nesta had scoffed but took the book home anyway. And to her surprise, she read it.

Before long, their camaraderie spilled out of the bookstore. Soon after their shifts, they were walking together through the city, stopping at cafes for coffee or tea. It wasn’t anything formal or planned—just an unspoken routine that grew between them.

“Do you ever stop smiling?” Nesta had asked one evening as they sat in a small, bustling cafe.

“Nope,” Elia had said with a grin, sipping her tea. “But I’ll tone it down if it bothers you.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes but didn’t ask her to stop.

There was something disarming about the way Elia moved through life—bright and open, like she hadn’t learned to build walls the way Nesta had. It made Nesta feel a little lighter, even if she’d never admit it. Elia had a way of drawing her out, of coaxing her into moments of warmth she didn’t think she had left.

And though it was slow, almost imperceptible, Nesta began to realize that maybe letting someone in didn’t have to be as terrible as she’d always thought.

Nesta had never thought she’d make friends again. After everything that had happened, after the pain, the isolation, the walls she’d built around herself, she’d come to believe that the people she could trust were few and far between. She had her sisters, and that was enough. Friends were something people like her didn’t need.

But, somehow, Elia had slipped past those walls she thought were impenetrable. It wasn’t something Nesta had expected to happen, nor something she had planned for. At first, it was just… convenient. Elia was there, and she didn’t give up on her, no matter how much Nesta tried to push her away. Slowly, though, the exchanges had turned into something more. Something Nesta hadn’t realized she was missing.

It was the little things—those walks through the city, the spontaneous visits to the small cafes, the gentle teasing and the quiet moments where they simply existed in each other’s company. It wasn’t like anything Nesta had had before, not the toxic friendships of her youth or the false camaraderie she’d tried to form after her fall from grace. This was different, somehow softer, without strings attached.

But Nesta had never told Elia that. She hadn’t told her how much she appreciated the quiet persistence, the way Elia had never given up on her when most people would have. She hadn’t told her that she hadn’t expected to ever feel this way again.

Instead, she kept it locked away, hidden beneath layers of her sharp tongue and her guarded exterior. Because admitting it felt too vulnerable, too real. There was always that part of her, deep down, that feared being seen. Being cared for, in a way that mattered.

So, she kept her thoughts to herself, allowing the friendship to unfold without fully acknowledging it for what it was. The idea of opening up again, of letting someone in that much, was terrifying. But she couldn’t deny that she felt something—something more than she’d felt in a long time—and that scared her too.

And yet, every time Elia smiled at her, every time she made some quiet, offhand remark, it felt… right.

Nesta worked tirelessly, every day at the bookstore, taking on extra hours, and pushing herself harder than she thought she could. It was a quiet sort of determination that took root in her, born from a mixture of pride and the need to prove to herself that she could stand on her own. She didn’t need anyone’s help—especially not Cassian’s, especially not the weight of Rhysand’s favor hanging over her head.

The debts she’d owed, both in the form of alcohol she’d binged on to numb herself and the money she’d borrowed from Rhysand to cover it, were finally paid off. She did it slowly, scraping together enough to make the first payment, then the next, until she was free of it. It felt strange to be clear of that particular burden, but there was something else weighing on her now—a freedom that came with being independent. She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped resenting that debt and started using it as fuel, but now it was gone, and she didn’t have to owe anyone anything.

And then came the apartment. The cramped, dim space that had served as her sanctuary for months, but now felt more like a prison. It had never really been home—not after everything. It had been a place to hide, a place to fall apart. So, she left. She didn’t tell her sisters, not even Feyre. She knew they would worry, maybe try to convince her to stay close, try to check in on her, to keep an eye on her. And Cassian? Well, she certainly didn’t want him knocking on her door again, with that knowing look in his eyes, and that infuriating tone as he tried to “help” her, as though she couldn’t take care of herself. She didn’t want to deal with it, didn’t want him barging in, assuming that he had the right to manage her life when he couldn’t even handle his own.

Instead, Nesta rented a small, private flat. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. And she was damn proud of it. No more debts hanging over her head. No more constantly worrying about when someone would come to remind her of how she’d fallen. It was a place where she could breathe, even if the air still felt a little too thin. She didn’t expect anyone to understand, and she certainly didn’t want anyone to ask questions. She had no answers for them anyway.

The move had been easy—just a few things in a small suitcase and the most essential items. The books she’d been collecting over the months, the things she’d started to care about again, they went with her. She didn’t need the reminders of her past life, the way it felt to live under the same roof as people who had never truly seen her, never truly understood her. This was her new beginning. Even if it was only small, even if it was only for her.

And she didn’t say a word to her sisters. They’d find out eventually, when she was ready to let them in again. But for now, she needed the silence, the space to keep working, to keep pushing forward without anyone interfering. Without Cassian barging in.

She wasn’t sure if she was running from them, from her past, or from the very part of herself that she wasn’t ready to face again. But that night, as she locked the door behind her for the last time, she didn’t look back.

Taryn had helped her in more ways than Nesta had initially expected, though she didn’t admit it to herself at the time. When she’d found a new apartment, it had been bare, just like the one she’d left behind. The walls were empty, the floors felt too large and too cold, and there was only a mattress in the middle of the room—a grim reminder of how little she had. She hadn’t even realized how much it bothered her until Taryn casually suggested one evening that it was time to buy furniture.

“I’m coming with you,” Taryn had said. “No more living like you’re in a damn hotel.”

At first, Nesta had balked at the idea. She didn’t need help, she could manage it herself. She had no interest in filling the space with things she didn’t need. But Taryn had been persistent. Eventually, Nesta had given in. And, oddly enough, it hadn’t been as awful as she expected.

The two of them had ventured into the city one afternoon, and as they browsed through small furniture shops, Taryn had somehow made the experience feel lighter. She made the process bearable, even as Nesta couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable in the bustling stores. Her head kept spinning with all the choices, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this would really make her feel better or just create another false sense of comfort.

When they reached the second-hand shop, Taryn had spotted a small couch and immediately suggested it. “It’s perfect for you. Cozy and practical, just like you need,” she had said, grinning. But Nesta had hesitated, unsure if this was really what she wanted.

It had been Elia, of all people, who came to the rescue. Taryn admitted, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that her own apartment was sparse, that she didn’t know much about decorating, and that she needed help picking things out for Nesta. Elia, who always had a bright and energetic way of looking at things, had volunteered immediately. The two of them had met up at the store, and Elia had taken the reins without hesitation.

To Nesta’s surprise, Elia had a keen eye for interior design. She picked out colors that suited the space, offered suggestions for arranging the furniture, and even found a few small decorations that added life to the room. It was strange—she had never expected Elia to be the one to turn this mundane task into something almost enjoyable. The way Elia had seamlessly fit into the process, giving advice and showing her how to make the place her own, made the experience feel less foreign, less like a duty, and more like something that could actually be done.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Nesta had allowed herself to truly feel at ease. There was no judgment in the air. The stress that had lingered in the back of her mind started to melt away, replaced by something unexpected—gratitude, maybe even comfort. Taryn’s presence had always been a quiet support, and Elia’s unexpected skill at decorating had helped guide them both in a way that Nesta could appreciate. It had been a reminder that not everything needed to feel like a battle.

By the end of the day, Nesta had a couch, a small dining table, a few chairs, and a rug to soften the floor. The space didn’t feel so hollow anymore. It didn’t feel like she was just passing through; it felt like hers. It felt like something she had created.

Later, after they’d loaded everything into her apartment, Taryn had sat on the couch with her, and Elia had been the one to break the silence, offering an unexpected compliment.

“You’re really good at making a space feel like a home, Nesta,” Elia had said.

For a moment, Nesta had felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her. She hadn’t been sure if she was capable of that, if she even deserved to make a home for herself. But in that moment, she allowed herself to believe it.

It had felt strange to open up, to offer even a small part of herself. Nesta had spent so long guarding her secrets, holding everything inside, never giving anything away. She had been terrified that if she shared too much, she would be exposed, vulnerable, and it would only lead to more rejection, more pain.

But there, sitting on her new couch with Taryn and Elia, something shifted. It wasn’t the same as it had been with her family—there was no pressure, no expectation. They weren’t looking at her like she was a broken thing that needed fixing, and they weren’t judging her for the things she couldn’t control. Taryn, always quiet and steady, had never pushed, and Elia had simply been there, warm and understanding, in her own way.

It had started with something small, something easy—a fragment of her past, a single memory she had buried deep inside. She had told them about the Cauldron, how it had changed her, how it had made her into something else, something that didn’t fit in anywhere. About being made Fae, about the pain it had caused her, and how it had left her with scars that no one could see.

She had even told them about the bathtubs, something that had never quite felt right after the change. She had tried to avoid it, to force herself, but the discomfort still lingered, a constant reminder of what she’d lost.

It had been a small piece of herself, just a fragment of her past, but it had felt different when she said it aloud. There was no judgment in Taryn’s eyes, no disbelief in Elia’s. For the first time in a long time, she hadn’t felt like the world was collapsing around her, like she was carrying a burden that no one else could understand.

It had been strange, letting them in, but somewhere in the pit of her stomach, Nesta had realized that maybe, just maybe, this was what it felt like to have friends. To feel seen without being judged. To share something of herself without the fear of it being used against her.

And as she sat there, letting the words settle between them, she knew she had given them something important. A piece of her that she had never shared with anyone else. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Taryn had been the one to bring it up, a quiet suggestion one evening after they had finished dinner together. “I know someone who could help,” she had said, a flicker of hesitation in her voice. “He does this kind of work. A friend of mine. It might be easier than you think.”

Nesta had hesitated, as always. The idea of someone else seeing her, seeing the scars she carried from the Cauldron, felt wrong. She had lived with the discomfort for so long, had forced herself to manage, to adapt. But Taryn’s persistence had eventually worn her down, and after a few more gentle nudges, Nesta had agreed—though reluctantly.

The next day, they met with Taryn’s friend, a man who was quiet and kind. There was no judgment in his gaze, no probing questions. He didn’t need an explanation. That was the most important thing. He simply saw her as a person, someone who needed help, and that was all. No further inquiries, no unwelcome sympathy.

Instead of a bathtub, he had suggested a shower. Something simpler, more manageable for Nesta, something that wouldn’t bring the same sense of unease that had haunted her. The space was clean, comfortable, and the man had worked quickly, efficiently.

When the work was done, Taryn’s friend hadn’t asked for anything extravagant. Instead, he gave her a discount, offering it with such casual kindness that Nesta found herself slightly taken aback. It wasn’t something she was used to. People usually wanted something in return, whether it was money or gratitude, but he had simply nodded and said, “It’s no trouble. You’re welcome.”

It had been an easy thing, a small task that turned out to be a surprisingly freeing experience. But more than that, it had reminded Nesta of how, sometimes, help could come in the most unexpected ways. And for the first time in a long time, she realized she hadn’t had to prove anything to anyone. There were no expectations, no ulterior motives—just simple kindness. It had felt… normal.

Nesta had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, a routine that felt surprisingly stable considering everything that had come before. She and Taryn still frequented the tavern, a place that now held a different kind of warmth for her. The music was still beautiful, the sounds of the violins and voices weaving through the air like threads of a tapestry. And the atmosphere no longer made her feel on edge. It was a place where she could exist without expectations, without judgment.

She had limited herself to a drink or two, something she didn’t do out of obligation, but because she could. It was a subtle form of control that felt empowering, even if it was something small. She had learned to be cautious with alcohol, with herself, and the way it had once loosened her inhibitions now served as a reminder of how far she’d come. No more drinking until she couldn’t remember the night, no more finding herself in the arms of someone she didn’t know, someone who never saw her.

She had stopped going home with strangers, the kind of action that had once felt like a way to fill the emptiness, to drown out the voices in her head. It was a choice she had made, a silent vow to herself. She wasn’t ready to touch anyone, to allow herself to be vulnerable with anyone in that way. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the years of conditioning herself to think that her worth was tied to the touch of others.

She didn’t know when or if she’d be ready to open up like that again, or even if she wanted to. Her mind was still a maze, full of questions she didn’t have answers to. What did she want? Was it men? Women? Both? Her attraction to Taryn, the gentle way the other woman’s presence calmed her, made her feel seen without having to explain herself, left Nesta feeling confused. She had never allowed herself to think about this before. It was as if she’d been too busy surviving, too focused on just getting by.

One night, as they sat side by side at their usual corner in the tavern, Nesta had turned to Taryn, the question bubbling up before she could stop it. “Is it possible?” she asked quietly, unsure whether she even wanted the answer.

Taryn had looked at her for a long moment, her gaze steady and understanding. There was no hesitation in her reply. “Yes,” she said simply. “It’s possible to want both. Or neither. Or anything in between. It’s your choice, Nesta. And it’s okay not to have it all figured out.”

Taryn’s words had settled deep inside her, not offering clarity, but permission. Permission to explore, to ask questions, to take her time. There was no rush. No need for certainty. Taryn had never pushed her to define herself or to make sense of feelings that felt out of place. She had simply allowed Nesta to exist, to sit in her own confusion, and that was the most freeing thing Nesta had ever experienced.

So, she kept going to the tavern, kept listening to the music, kept letting herself feel the warmth of Taryn’s quiet understanding. For the first time in a long time, Nesta wasn’t in a rush. She didn’t need to have everything figured out right now. She could be confused, she could be uncertain, and that was enough. She had the space to figure it out on her own time.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Nesta began to feel… regular. Not extraordinary, not broken, but just ordinary. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one she didn’t quite know how to define, but it was there, creeping into her life in little ways. She was becoming a regular at a small coffee shop that sat on the corner of a quiet street. The kind of place with mismatched chairs and the comforting smell of roasted beans hanging in the air.

The owner, a woman named Mira, had quickly learned her name and her order. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a plain black coffee with a dash of cinnamon, but there was something so grounding in the routine. Every time Nesta walked in, Mira would smile, nod in acknowledgment, and immediately start preparing her drink without asking. It was simple, but it felt like belonging in the best way.

At first, Nesta had been hesitant, unsure of how she would be received, how she could possibly fit into a place like this. But over time, the warmth of the coffee shop, the quiet hum of the barista working in the background, and the lack of expectations had drawn her in. It wasn’t a bustling place like the tavern; it was quieter, calmer, a space that allowed her to just be, without feeling scrutinized.

Elia had been the one to push her, inviting Nesta along for lunch one afternoon and introducing her to some of her own friends. At first, Nesta had felt like an outsider, like she was intruding on a scene that didn’t belong to her. But her fears were quickly washed away by the gentle humor and kindness of Elia’s friends. They were welcoming in the way that felt natural, not forced, and that made all the difference.

It hadn’t been a sudden shift, but over time, she had found herself becoming a part of something that wasn’t broken or tainted. She could walk into the coffee shop now without the usual knot of anxiety in her stomach, and the faces that greeted her were ones she recognized. People who knew her by name, who asked about her day with genuine curiosity. It was simple, but it was everything.

She didn’t feel like Nesta Archeron, the broken sister or the haunted soul, here. She was just Nesta—someone who liked coffee, someone who sometimes talked with Elia about books, who sometimes just sat in silence, sipping her drink and watching the world go by. And for the first time, she didn’t feel the need to be anything more.

Her life was slowly becoming a mosaic of small, quiet moments. There was no grand change, no sudden burst of revelation. It was just… regular. And that, Nesta realized, was what she had needed all along.

As the months passed, a quiet shift began to take place inside of Nesta. She had spent so much of her life locked away in confusion, shame, and fear, unable to understand or accept herself fully. But now, there was a budding clarity that came with time and reflection, a soft assurance that crept into her bones. She had begun to realize, with no small amount of surprise, that she wasn’t simply attracted to one or the other. She was attracted to both—men and women. And for the first time, she allowed herself to sit with that truth.

It hadn’t been easy. There were moments when the weight of it felt too heavy, moments when she questioned everything she had known about herself. Her upbringing, her family, the way she had been taught to see the world—they had all wrapped her in an armor of expectations and judgment. Even now, when she thought about the whispers of her past, the lessons she had been taught about what was right and what was wrong, there was still a flicker of shame that tried to settle in her chest.

But it was different now. The shame was quieter, less able to consume her. She didn’t want to hide it, not anymore. She knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed, and yet, in the stillness of her apartment or when she was alone with her thoughts, it would sometimes creep in. Still, the fear that once held her captive was gone. She was no longer afraid of what she was discovering about herself, of the people she might be drawn to or the complexities of her desires.

In fact, there was a certain peace in embracing this part of herself. It wasn’t a choice, but a realization—a recognition of something that had always been there, quietly waiting for her to acknowledge it. She had spent so many years afraid to explore this side of herself, to even consider that she might be different from what she had once imagined. But now, she was beginning to understand that there was no right or wrong, no singular path she was supposed to follow.

She had met people along the way who didn’t bat an eye at her evolving self, people like Elia who never questioned or judged, who simply accepted. Taryn, too, had shown her a kind of unspoken understanding, never pushing her to be something she wasn’t, but always offering her space to explore. It was in those moments, in the warmth of these new relationships, that Nesta found the courage to let herself be. She didn’t have to choose between one or the other. She could simply be who she was, without explanation.

Though she still struggled with the remnants of societal expectations and the weight of her past, the fear of what might happen, of how she might be viewed, was slowly becoming irrelevant. For the first time in a long time, Nesta realized that she didn’t need to hide, to force herself into any box. She could like who she liked. She could be attracted to men and women, and that was okay.

It wasn’t perfect, not yet. There were days when the shadows of old thoughts threatened to take over, moments when her mind was clouded with doubt. But they didn’t have the power they once did. Slowly, with each passing day, she was allowing herself the freedom to be who she truly was, and it felt like an immense weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

It had been a quiet evening, the soft hum of music filling the air as Nesta sat beside Taryn at the tavern. The lively crowd around them, swaying and laughing, seemed distant as the familiar melody reached her ears. It was one of those songs that had an almost tangible pull, and Nesta felt herself swaying to the rhythm of it, her feet tapping gently beneath the table.

Taryn sat beside her, a little too still, her gaze lost in the distant flickering of candlelight. Nesta studied her for a moment, her heart beating just a bit faster than usual. The feeling was there again—the same flutter she’d felt when she’d first met her, the same uncertainty and desire tangled together.

The music wove through the space, thick and sweet, like it had a life of its own. Something inside Nesta stirred—a desire to step into it, to take a risk she’d never allowed herself before.

Before she could second-guess herself, the words were already tumbling out, surprising her just as much as they might surprise Taryn.

“Will you dance with me?”

Taryn turned to her, blinking as if she hadn’t quite processed the request. Her eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise, the corner of her lips curling up just slightly, like she couldn’t quite decide if she was being teased or if Nesta was serious. The tension between them seemed to shift, a brief moment of hesitation hanging in the air.

“You… want to dance?” Taryn asked, her voice laced with a touch of amusement.

Nesta nodded, her expression determined, though her stomach churned with a mixture of excitement and nerves. She didn’t know why she’d asked. Maybe it was the music, or the way the night felt alive with possibility. Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t afraid to act on something that felt right in the moment.

Taryn’s surprise softened into something else—a curiosity, maybe a hint of something more. After a brief pause, she stood, holding out a hand to Nesta. “Well, then,” she said, her tone light. “I suppose I can’t say no.”

Nesta’s heart raced in her chest as she stood up, her breath catching in her throat. The tavern had fallen into a low hum as she and Taryn moved toward the floor, the crowd parting for them like a tide around rocks. The music, that ever-present rhythm, wrapped around them, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

When they were finally standing together, close enough that Nesta could feel the warmth of Taryn’s presence, she felt a surge of self-consciousness, her hands unsure of where to rest.

Taryn, though, seemed unbothered, her hand finding Nesta’s, guiding her gently into the flow of the dance. The movement was fluid, effortless, the music a gentle current that pulled them along. They moved together in a way that felt natural, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. For once, Nesta didn’t feel out of sync, didn’t feel as though her steps were forced or awkward.

It was… comfortable. And for the first time in so long, she allowed herself to simply enjoy it.

The world around them became a blur—there was no judgment, no past, no expectations. Just the steady rhythm of their feet on the floor, the soft whisper of Taryn’s breath in time with the music. Taryn’s touch, her hand holding Nesta’s firmly, seemed to steady something within her, like she wasn’t just moving through the motions, but actually present, in this moment, in this dance.

The world outside might have continued to turn, but in this little corner of the tavern, Nesta had found something—someone—that made her feel like she wasn’t alone in the storm of it all.

And when the song ended, neither of them moved right away, the connection between them still lingering, the silence comfortable rather than awkward. It was a quiet understanding between them, something Nesta had never expected, but was grateful for nonetheless.

Taryn’s smile was gentle, a hint of warmth in it, and Nesta couldn’t help but return it. She didn’t need to say anything. The dance had spoken for her, more than words ever could.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites @viajandopelomar

#You thought this was going to be sweet? Think again.#Time to throw your expectations out the window.#anti acosf #anti acotar #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta #anti azriel #anti cassian #anti amren #anti morrigan #anti nessian #anti night court #sapphic nesta

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