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can i say something so controversial. i dont feel bad for americans who move to japan to teach english and then have a bad time. i genuinely saw someone complain, saying "imagine living somewhere where the street signs, menus, and everything are in a different language" bitch. you moved to japan.
they are also complaining about it being rural japan and away from the cities. yeah.... they have schools outside of the cities too....
Summary: Jeonghan played a role he was never meant to keep. Until he finally found a place to call home—where the performance ended, and he could simply be himself..
Jeonghan was so fucked.
Completely, utterly, irreversibly fucked.
When he stepped out of the car, one he borrowed from Seungcheol, because no way was he pulling up to a charity event in his own, he expected something… intimate.
A modest gathering of well-dressed elites, or maybe… a quiet dinner with polite applause between speeches. That made sense. It fit the image he had pieced together of you—humble, grounded, refreshingly normal.
Oh, how wrong he was.
The moment he looked up at the grand entrance, lined with press and security, his stomach plummeted. Cameras flashed as reporters whispered among themselves. Then, right by the entrance, he spotted a display showcasing the event’s purpose—complete with a blown-up image of the host.
The prime minister.
Your father is the prime minister.
Jeonghan went rigid. The weight of realization crashed down on him like a damn tidal wave. His mind scrambled, trying to recall every conversation he had with you, every small clue he should have picked up on. The ease with which you carried yourself, your careful yet casual way of speaking, your quiet but unmistakable air of authority—it all made sense now.
Ji Y/n. Ji Jaekyung.
He should’ve connected the dots. He should’ve questioned why someone as well-educated and sophisticated as you chose to teach at a cram school. Instead, he had been too preoccupied judging your practical outfit and your unpretentious behavior during your first date. Now, he was standing in front of a nationally broadcasted event, fully aware that he had walked straight into the lion’s den.
And he still had time to run. He always ran.
Running was easy. It had saved him more times than he could count. But as his feet itched to turn back, he hesitated. Because now that he knew who you really were—now that he had seen you not as the prime minister’s daughter, but as someone warm, self-assured, and unexpectedly real—walking away felt... wrong.
He had promised you he’d come.
Jeonghan was no one. Just a man who navigated the world of the elite through charm and carefully crafted interactions. His life revolved around dating the daughters of the wealthy, women whose mothers he conveniently befriended in art and culinary classes. A charming conversation, a well-placed compliment, and he’d find himself indulging in designer gifts, chauffeured rides, and exclusive experiences. It was a delicate game—one he played flawlessly.
When the relationship inevitably fizzled out, he stayed just long enough to soak in whatever luxury he could before moving on. It wasn’t about love. It was about survival.
He had never met you before, only your mother, who had gushed about you during a cooking class.
"My daughter is really pretty! She's also a very intelligent woman. You two would get along well!"
And then that night, you stood before him—dressed in a crisp yet simple blouse and slacks. Your hair was slightly disheveled, and the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead suggested you had rushed to get here.
"Thanks for waiting," you said, a polite smile on your lips as you caught your breath. "The commute was a nightmare."
Jeonghan blinked. Commute? His past dates never commuted. They arrived in sleek black cars with drivers waiting outside.
With a deep breath, Jeonghan climbed the ballroom stairs, nodding at the suited staff by the door. He gave his name, expecting them to glance at a guest list and wave him through. Instead, they barely checked before stepping aside with smooth efficiency, as if he were someone important.
It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of the guest registry that his breath hitched.
His name was written under the family list.
Not as a guest. Not as a friend.
Ji Y/n’s plus one.
A sudden weight settled onto his shoulders. His fingers twitched at his sides. He was no stranger to high society, but this was an entirely different league. A world of power, scrutiny, and unspoken rules.
He schooled his expression, squared his shoulders, and walked inside. If he was already in this deep, he might as well make it look like he belonged.
Your mother was the first to greet him, her poised smile barely masking the subtle scrutiny in her gaze. She wasted no time in informing him that you hadn’t arrived yet, her tone carrying a hint of exasperation as she sighed.
"That daughter of mine," she muttered, shaking her head. "Always prioritizing those students of hers over her father’s business. She should be here already."
Jeonghan hummed in response, unsure whether he should agree or defend you. He had barely opened his mouth when she looped her arm through his, effortlessly pulling him into the crowd.
Before he knew it, he was being paraded around the room, introduced to your mother’s circle of socialites. Wealthy figures, business moguls, and politicians—each one scanning him with polite curiosity, trying to place him in their world. Jeonghan smiled when necessary, nodded at the right moments, but his mind was elsewhere.
Then he saw you.
The moment you stepped through the entrance, the noise around him faded.
Gone was the casual, practical look from your date. Tonight, you carried yourself with quiet elegance, dressed in a modest but effortlessly stunning gown. The soft lighting of the ballroom caught the delicate shimmer of your makeup, accentuating the natural beauty he had already memorized.
For a second, Jeonghan forgot to breathe.
Because this—this poised, graceful version of you—was the one that belonged in this world. And he was just starting to realize how many time you had surprised him just by tonight
"Jeonghan," you called, your voice smooth yet carrying a warmth that was out of place in such a formal setting.
He straightened up instinctively, feeling more exposed than he ever had. You looked so different, so composed—so belonging in this world. And yet, your smile when you reached him felt exactly the same as the one from your date.
"You actually came," you said, tilting your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes.
"I did promise," Jeonghan replied, trying to appear unfazed. But the weight of his name being listed under your family’s guest list was still pressing down on him. "Though, I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting… all of this."
You laughed softly, leaning in just enough that only he could hear. "You thought it’d be a small charity gathering, didn’t you?"
He exhaled, shaking his head with a lopsided smirk. "I really should’ve done more research on you."
"Probably," you teased, then slipped your hand through his arm with ease, guiding him further into the event.
"Come on, my father would like to meet you."
Jeonghan stiffened. Meet your father?
Yeah, he was so, so screwed.
*
"Your dating game has officially reached Ji Jaekyung level."
Seungkwan slid a file across the café table with the kind of flourish that made Jeonghan’s stomach twist. He knew that look—pure mischief, the kind that ended with him either losing money or losing his dignity. Probably both.
Jeonghan didn’t touch the file. Instead, he took a slow sip of his coffee, giving Seungkwan a blank stare over the rim. "You couldn’t possibly be threatening me. I practically rescued you in college, remember?"
Seungkwan scoffed. "Rescue? Please. You groomed me, hyung."
Jeonghan choked on his drink. "Don’t say it like that, you little menace." He set his coffee down with a thunk, glaring. "That makes it sound illegal."
Seungkwan only grinned, completely unbothered. He tapped the file again. "Go on. Open it. I promise it won’t explode. Just a little light reading. Oh, and a delightful photo of a power couple moment.."
Jeonghan sighed but flipped it open anyway, already bracing himself.
There it was. A nightmare in high resolution.
A perfectly timed shot of him and you, walking arm-in-arm out of the event, looking like a picture-perfect elite couple. Elegant. Respectable. Utterly fabricated.
Jeonghan tapped his finger against the page, then flicked his gaze up to Seungkwan.
"This—"
"Yes?"
"Burn this before I burn your entire journalism career."
Seungkwan burst out laughing. "Hyung, you can’t even burn calories properly. What makes you think you can burn my career?"
Jeonghan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hated that Seungkwan had a point.
"You know," Seungkwan continued, stirring his drink with exaggerated nonchalance, "people are very interested in the life of the mysterious son of Yoon Group. And now that you’re linked to the prime minister’s daughter? Oh, the clicks, the engagement, the public fascination—it’s all very compelling. The media lives for this kind of narrative, and you, my dear friend, are the perfect headline."
Jeonghan let out a long, suffering groan, rubbing his temple. "You are insufferable."
"But I’m employed, though," Seungkwan shot back with a smug grin.
Jeonghan scowled. He knew where this was going, and he already hated it.
Seungkwan leaned in, lowering his voice to something much more devious. "How about a deal?"
Jeonghan really didn’t like the way that sounded.
"Help me get some inside details on the election," Seungkwan said smoothly, "and I’ll make sure this never sees the light of day. I can be very discreet. Your name? Wiped clean. No suspicions. No drama."
He paused, letting his words settle before adding the final blow.
"Especially from your family."
Jeonghan stiffened. His fingers curled slightly on the table, the weight of the threat pressing down harder than he wanted to admit.
Seungkwan just smiled knowingly.
Jeonghan exhaled slowly, narrowing his eyes. "You think I’d trust you with something this sensitive?"
For the first time in the conversation, Seungkwan’s expression turned serious. He met Jeonghan’s gaze without his usual playfulness, leaning forward until their faces were inches apart. Then, with all the dramatics of a third-rate romance drama, he reached across the table and placed a hand over Jeonghan’s.
"You can trust me this time, hyung," he whispered, eyes glinting.
Jeonghan stared at him for a long moment.
Then, with a heavy sigh, he muttered, "I hate you so much."
Seungkwan beamed, squeezing his hand like they’d just exchanged vows. "Love you too," he chirped before casually swiping a fry from Jeonghan’s plate.
Jeonghan sighed, yanking his hand away from Seungkwan’s grip like he had just touched something contaminated. He picked up his coffee and took a long sip, as if the caffeine could somehow prepare him for the rest of this conversation.
“For the record,” he muttered, “I just found out about her father last night.”
Seungkwan blinked. “You just—hold on.” He set down his drink, looking utterly baffled. “You’ve dated the prime minister’s daughter and you just found out?”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “I don’t Google people before I date them, Seungkwan.”
“You should start.”
“Noted.”
Seungkwan leaned back, still trying to process it. “But, she's like… I don’t know, humble?”
Jeonghan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s because she is.”
Jeonghan exhaled slowly, staring into his coffee like it held all the answers to his problems. “I might have to end things with her.”
Seungkwan raised an eyebrow. “You want to end things without ghosting her?”
He tapped his fingers against his cup, gaze softening for just a second. “She’s not caught up in all of it. She teaches because she wants to, not because she has to. She doesn’t use her father’s name to get ahead, doesn’t expect special treatment. She’s just… her.”
Seungkwan eyed him, a slow smirk forming. “You sound suspiciously fond right now.”
Jeonghan shot him a look. “Shut up.”
“I won’t shut up,” Seungkwan said gleefully. “Because this—” he gestured between them, “—this is very interesting. Yoon Jeonghan, the guy who never gets emotionally involved, actually likes someone?”
Jeonghan groaned, rubbing his face. “I will burn your career.”
Seungkwan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, hyung. Let’s make this easy for you.”
Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “I doubt that.”
"Stay with her for a little while," Seungkwan said, his tone almost too casual. "Just long enough to get some information about her father’s election plans. I mean, she’s his daughter—she must know something useful." He tapped the file on the table, the sound deliberate, calculated. "And in return, I’ll make sure this never sees the light of day. Your family stays blissfully unaware."
Jeonghan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. This was getting way too complicated.
Seungkwan, ever perceptive, leaned in, resting his chin on his hand. "Come on, hyung. You’re already halfway in. Might as well make it worth your while."
Jeonghan shot him a look. "You make it sound so easy."
Seungkwan grinned. "Because it is easy. You charm people for a living. Just do what you do best—stick around, ask a few innocent questions, and when it’s over, you walk away. No harm, no foul."
No harm. No foul.
Jeonghan exhaled through his nose. “So you want me to spy for you?”
Seungkwan grinned. “Oh, spy is such an ugly word. I prefer exchanging favors.”
Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “You’re a little monster.”
“And you like it.” Seungkwan shrugged. “Look, you’re planning on leaving her anyway, right? Might as well get something out of it. Once you give me what I need, you can walk away, clean and easy. No drama, no messy emotional entanglements. Just another chapter closed.”
*
“You’re Yoon Jeonghan, right?”
After the meeting with Seungkwan, there had been no real conclusion—no agreement, no refusal—just Jeonghan leaving with the weight of a choice he wasn’t ready to make. Not yet, anyway.
Then fate, in its twisted sense of humor, shoved him a little closer.
He’d crossed paths again with your mother during one of his classes, her arrival as poised and deliberate as everything else about her. Without much preamble, she handed him a neatly wrapped package—an assortment of meticulously prepared, nutrient-balanced meals from the town’s most exclusive chef. The kind of thing that cost enough to pay someone’s monthly rent.
It wasn’t just food. It was… an opening.
At that moment, Jeonghan realized something dangerous—maybe, just maybe, he could make this work. Keep the charade alive for a while. At least two months, enough time to enjoy the perks before he quietly severed all ties.
So when your mother invited him to her birthday party—completely unprompted, with you blissfully unaware—he accepted without hesitation. He didn’t tell you, of course. This was no longer just about you. The connection was shifting, evolving into something more strategic… a mutually beneficial arrangement between him and your mother.
He told himself it was just another role to play. Another part in the game.
A game he controlled.
Or so he thought.
And then—
“Yoon Jeonghan! Long time no see!”
He froze.
That was Kim Jeni. Senior high school classmate.
And she was standing in the middle of your mother’s birthday party.
Why is she here? Is she related to you?
His mind raced through worst-case scenarios like flashcards. What if she remembered too much? What if she casually mentioned his less-than-polished past to the wrong person? What if she recognized that he didn’t exactly belong here?
And seriously—why did she have to remember him at all? It had been years. People were supposed to blur into the background after high school.
But no. Here she was, smiling like they were about to swap embarrassing memories over champagne.
And here he was, wondering if tonight was about to turn into a very public disaster.
Jeonghan’s first instinct was to look away, pretend he hadn’t heard.
But that was how amateurs got caught—by making the wrong move at the wrong time.
So instead, he smiled. The easy, slow kind of smile that said of course I remember you, even though in reality, he barely did.
“Kim Jeni,” he said smoothly, sliding into the familiar rhythm of a man who’d never been cornered in his life. “You look… exactly the same.”
Jeni laughed, touching her hair in the way people did when they weren’t sure if it was a compliment. “I should hope so. Although, I did finally grow out of my bangs phase.”
He chuckled like he remembered it perfectly. He didn’t.
“What brings you here? Are you…?” He gestured vaguely toward the crowd, buying time.
“Oh, my aunt is friends with Mrs. Ji,” she said, tilting her head toward your mother across the room. “I didn’t expect to see you here, though. Still in touch with our old classmates?”
Danger. That question was danger dressed in small talk.
“I move around a lot,” Jeonghan replied lightly. “Not much time to catch up.” Which was true, if “move around” meant hopping from one wealthy circle to another like a very well-dressed nomad.
Jeni’s gaze sharpened—not hostile, just curious. “And here I thought you’d left all this behind.”
His pulse ticked up. “All… what?”
She smirked. “The social scene. The handshakes, the networking, the pretending to care about canapés. You used to hate it.”
Jeonghan gave an easy shrug, as if the question amused him. “Hate’s a strong word. Let’s just say I’ve learned to… appreciate the art of it.”
Before she could dig deeper, your mother swept by with a glass of wine, laying a hand on Jeonghan’s arm.
“Darling, there you are! I want to introduce you to someone.”
Jeonghan flashed Jeni an apologetic smile. “Excuse me. Duty calls.”
And just like that, he was pulled back into the current, leaving Jeni in the eddies of polite conversation.
Still, he could feel her eyes on his back—curious, maybe suspicious.
One wrong move tonight, and she could turn from a harmless blast from the past into a problem he didn’t need.
Jeonghan hated mirrors at events like these.
Not because he disliked his reflection—he’d sculpted that image to perfection—but because they had a habit of showing the man beneath the polish. And tonight, his eyes betrayed him. They were restless.
When Jeni drifted away, her perfume fading into the hum of conversation, a shadow trailed behind her in his mind. She’d been there—at that party, the one after his graduation. The one that ended his place in the Yoon family like a guillotine blade.
It had been a warm June night.
The kind of evening where expensive champagne flowed like tap water, and music bled into the gardens. She was there—the woman—draped in pearls and wearing a smile that could make a man think dangerous thoughts. She was also the second wife of one of his father’s board members, the kind of man who wore power like a tailored suit.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Or maybe he had. The line blurred somewhere between flirtation and defiance. But there had been a camera. A flash.
And in a family where reputation was currency, one picture was enough to bankrupt him.
“Leave quietly,” his father had said, not even looking at him. “Before you take our name with you.”
That was six years ago.
Since then, the Yoon son became a ghost—spoken of in murmurs between wine sips. A scandal in a silk suit.
He learned to live by trading charm for survival. Socialites were his currency now. Wealthy, restless women who wanted a man to make them laugh between luncheons and look devastatingly good on their arm. In exchange, they gave him access—rooms he had no right to enter anymore, deals he could skim a percentage from, networks he could weave into a safety net.
And the first time he’d met you, he’d assumed you were naïve. A daughter shielded by privilege, unaware of the games her parents played. But he’d watched you—just a little—and realized that wasn’t it. You weren’t ignorant of this world. You simply refused to play by its rules.
He couldn’t decide if that made you foolish or dangerous.
It intrigued him, in a distant, intellectual way. Not attraction—Jeonghan had long outgrown such things—but curiosity. The same kind of curiosity that had once ruined him.
So when your mother had invited him tonight, he’d said yes out of calculation. A good connection, a potential ally, a well-placed woman with influence. You were a variable, but not a threat. Not yet.
Except now, as the evening unfolded, you were nowhere to be seen.
Guests murmured your name lightly—something about work, or disinterest, or perhaps distance between you and your parents—but no one seemed certain.
Jeonghan swirled the wine in his glass, watching the room’s glow blur through the deep red.
He didn’t look for you.
But he did wonder—what kind of daughter avoided her own mother’s birthday party?
For a man who’d spent years mastering the art of appearances, that question alone was enough to make him uneasy.
*
By the time the orchestra switched to slower jazz and most guests had migrated toward the dessert table, Jeonghan had already pieced together what he needed to know.
You weren’t coming.
It wasn’t just that you were late—your absence had settled into the air, quietly acknowledged, politely ignored. Your mother laughed too brightly whenever someone mentioned you, deflecting with graceful excuses about your “tight schedule.” The kind of lie polite people told when they were embarrassed.
Jeonghan understood that kind of silence.
He’d lived in it.
He took another sip of wine, watching the reflections ripple in his glass.
He didn’t care where you were. He told himself that twice, just to be sure. You were another variable, a missing piece in a puzzle that didn’t concern him.
And yet—somewhere deep down, under the weight of years and cynicism—Jeonghan wondered what could drive a daughter to abandon a mother who still smiled for her in front of a hundred people.
He stayed until the cake was cut, clapping when everyone else did, smiling at the right moments, before quietly excusing himself.
No one noticed him leave.
The next afternoon, the same corner café buzzed with weekend chatter, the scent of roasted beans lingering in the air. Jeonghan arrived first, as usual, claiming his preferred seat by the window. He liked the anonymity the place offered—dim lighting, a soft hum of conversation, nobody who cared enough to recognize him.
He was halfway through his espresso when Seungkwan arrived, slightly out of breath, a camera bag slung over his shoulder and the same smug grin plastered on his face.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Seungkwan said, sliding into the seat across from him.
“I didn’t,” Jeonghan replied, voice flat. He stirred his coffee idly. “You told me to keep an eye on her family. I did.”
Seungkwan’s grin faltered. “And?”
“She didn’t show.”
The journalist’s brows furrowed. “At all?”
“Not a glimpse,” Jeonghan confirmed. “Her mother covered for her all night. Smiled, laughed, pretended nothing was wrong. But people noticed. They just pretended not to.”
Seungkwan leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “Weird. Ji Y/n’s not exactly the rebellious type. At least, not publicly.”
Jeonghan arched a brow. “You’ve done your research.”
“I’m a journalist, hyung. I research before I blackmail.”
“Charming as always,” Jeonghan muttered, setting down his cup.
Seungkwan ignored the jab. “So, what do you think happened? Argument? Scandal? Secret boyfriend?”
Jeonghan scoffed softly. “You think I care about that?”
“Usually, no. But you’re the one who noticed her absence before anyone else.”
He hated when Seungkwan said things like that—too perceptive, too accurate.
Jeonghan leaned back, gaze drifting out the window. “Her parents—both of them—they move like people who can’t afford to blink wrong. Every word, every smile, measured. And then there’s her.”
Seungkwan tilted his head. “Her?”
“She doesn’t fit,” Jeonghan said simply. “She’s polite, grounded, but not… conditioned. You know? Like someone raised in that world but refused to be molded by it.”
Seungkwan studied him quietly. “You sound almost impressed.”
Jeonghan’s lips twitched faintly. “I’m curious, not impressed.”
“Curious,” Seungkwan echoed, dragging out the word like it was an accusation. “That’s how it always starts with you. You get curious, then suddenly you’re knee-deep in something you can’t crawl out of.”
Jeonghan met his gaze evenly. “Don’t romanticize it. I don’t get involved.”
Seungkwan smirked. “You say that now.”
They fell into a brief silence, broken only by the clinking of cutlery and low music playing in the background. Jeonghan’s phone buzzed once—an unread message from your mother, thanking him for attending the party. No mention of you.
He stared at it for a long moment before sliding it face-down on the table.
“Whatever’s going on,” Seungkwan said eventually, lowering his voice, “it’s not public yet. But it will be. If the prime minister’s daughter disappears from a major event, the press will dig. I can’t stop that.”
Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately. He swirled the last of his coffee, expression unreadable. “Then let them dig.”
Seungkwan frowned. “You’re not worried she’ll drag you into it?”
“She doesn’t even know I was there,” Jeonghan said with a shrug. “And I intend to keep it that way.”
Seungkwan hummed thoughtfully. “You’re playing with fire again, hyung.”
Jeonghan smirked, finally standing and reaching for his coat. “Fire’s warm, though.”
“I’m planning to stay out of trouble,” Jeonghan replied smoothly. “But if she keeps disappearing like that…” He trailed off, glancing out the window again. “…I might need to find out why. For safety. Yours, mine, and your precious headlines.”
Seungkwan’s grin returned, slow and knowing. “Sure, hyung. For safety.”
Jeonghan ignored him, dropping a few bills on the table before heading for the door.
But even as he left, that image lingered—the way your mother smiled too brightly, the way your name sat unspoken between everyone.
For a man who didn’t care, Jeonghan found himself thinking about it far too much.
*
By the time Jeonghan returned to his apartment that night, the city outside had quieted. The glow of streetlights painted long shadows across his floor, and the half-finished glass of whiskey on his counter had long since gone warm. He stared at his phone for a long while, thumb hovering over your contact.
He shouldn’t.
You hadn’t texted him since before the charity event. He’d already decided to stay detached, to play this role carefully until he could slip out clean.
But curiosity—it was always his undoing.
He finally typed,
“Are you free tomorrow?”
The message hung there for a moment before he hit send. No greeting, no context. He wanted it to sound casual, like a man with time to waste, not one caught between intrigue and necessity.
He set the phone down and exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
Because truthfully, he didn’t just want to see you—he needed to understand.
A daughter who skipped her mother’s birthday in a family built on image and influence? That wasn’t rebellion. That was strategy.
And strategy always came with motive.
His phone buzzed.
One unread message.
“Depends. Who’s asking?”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. You hadn’t changed—still sharp, still unbothered by his evasive way of speaking.
“The man who made it through your mother’s party alive.”
“You owe me coffee.”
A few seconds passed before your reply came through.
“I don’t remember owing you anything.
But sure. Tomorrow, 2 PM. Same café.”
Jeonghan set the phone aside, the small, humorless smile still lingering on his lips.
He told himself it was for Seungkwan.
For leverage. For the information that might keep his name out of a journalist’s headlines.
But beneath that, quieter and harder to ignore, was something else—an itch under his skin that demanded answers.
He glanced at the window, where the reflection of his tired face stared back at him.
“If there’s such a rumor like that in the prime minister’s family,” he murmured to himself, echoing Seungkwan’s earlier warning, “it’ll be lunch for the other party.”
And he couldn’t afford to be on the menu.
*
Jeonghan hadn’t meant to care about what he wore.
At least, that’s what he told himself as he buttoned the crisp white shirt that fit a little too perfectly across his shoulders. The navy trousers were pressed to a sharp line, his hair neatly styled back, and his wristwatch—an heirloom he rarely used—gleamed faintly in the café light.
He looked like a man who belonged somewhere better. Someone who hadn’t been exiled. Someone who still mattered.
The watch on his wrist pointed to ten minutes past the agreed time.
His other hand held his phone, thumb scrolling absently through old headlines, articles, and photos of you.
Ji Y/n — The Prime Minister’s Daughter Chooses a Life of Service
From Politics to Education: How Ji Y/n Stays Grounded Amid Power and Privilege
Each headline painted the same narrative: the ideal daughter, the humble prodigy, the perfect contrast to her family’s glittering political image.
Seungkwan was right. He needs to do some research before saying yes to a date.
Seungkwan’s voice echoed in his head.
“You’re too tempted by all the money and glory. You might be the most materialistic conglomerate son in the world.”
And Jeonghan had countered without hesitation.
“I was kicked out of the family, remember? I’m technically nobody’s son.”
It had shut Seungkwan up, but the words lingered even now—an echo of something he’d never quite recovered from.
The low hum of the café faded when he saw you.
You entered in a rush, phone pressed to your ear, brows furrowed, your expression tight with focus. You muttered something into the receiver, nearly colliding with a customer before catching yourself. The moment you hung up, you exhaled deeply—then your eyes found him.
Jeonghan stood automatically, hand lifting in a small wave. For a fleeting second, something unfamiliar flickered in his chest—relief, maybe. Or recognition.
You crossed the room quickly, still slightly out of breath.
“I’m so sorry, Jeonghan,” you said, sliding into the seat across from him. “One of my students fell from the stairs and broke his leg.”
Your voice carried that same calm warmth he remembered, even under stress. No embellishment, no dramatics. Just quiet concern.
Jeonghan’s brows lifted slightly. “Is he alright?”
You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He will be. I just came from the hospital.”
Of course you did. The prime minister’s daughter, tending to an injured student instead of attending a political luncheon. It didn’t make sense—and that’s exactly why Jeonghan found it so hard to look away.
He leaned back in his chair, studying you with the cool composure of a man who pretended not to care. “You’re quite dedicated, aren’t you?”
You smiled faintly, eyes weary but genuine. “Someone has to be.”
Jeonghan hummed, gaze dropping briefly to the faint ink smudge on your wrist, the kind teachers always had from grading papers. You didn’t belong to the world he’d seen in headlines. You didn’t fit the image. And that mismatch—it fascinated him.
He studied you a moment longer, curiosity tugging harder now. There was something in your tone—an edge beneath the politeness, a shadow behind the smile.
Jeonghan didn’t know yet if you were someone he could trust, or someone who could destroy him.
But for the first time in a long while, he wanted to find out.
The conversation had begun to flow more naturally than either expected. Between sips of coffee and light bites of cheesecake, Jeonghan found himself watching you more than he should—how your expression softened when you talked about teaching, how you smiled politely even when dodging questions about your family. You weren’t evasive, exactly. You just knew how to draw a line.
He liked that.
“You don’t talk much about politics,” Jeonghan remarked, stirring his coffee lazily. “That’s unusual for someone who grew up surrounded by it.”
You shrugged, lips curling slightly. “I prefer things I can actually change.”
A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “You sound idealistic.”
“I sound tired,” you corrected, smiling faintly.
Before Jeonghan could respond, a familiar perfume hit him—a sharp mix of jasmine and expensive regret.
“Jeonghan?”
The voice was sweet, practiced, and far too loud for the cozy café. Both of you looked up to see a woman in her forties approaching the table, dripping in luxury—diamond earrings, a glossy handbag that cost more than a small car, and a smile that belonged to someone who’d never been told no.
For a second, Jeonghan froze.
What should he call her?
A past companion?
A benefit from a darker time?
A victim of his own charm?
Whatever she was, she wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Wow,” she breathed, eyes raking him over with unhidden satisfaction. “You look more handsome than last year.”
You glanced between them, curiosity flickering behind your calm expression. Jeonghan straightened slightly, the easy mask sliding over his face. “Good to see you,” he said smoothly, voice stripped of warmth.
She leaned closer, manicured fingers brushing his shoulder. “I need to go, but call me if you need some entertainment, okay?”
Her wink was quick, practiced—too public to ignore, too intimate to explain.
Then she was gone, heels clicking like a punctuation mark on his past.
Jeonghan exhaled slowly, but before he could say a word, you let out a small, amused chuckle.
He looked at you, brows lifting. “What’s so funny?”
You shook your head, biting back a smile. “Nothing. It’s just… you didn’t strike me as someone who’d need entertainment.”
His mouth twitched. “I don’t.”
“Mm,” you hummed, unconvinced. “You just look like you used to.”
Her words, your tone—it all tangled somewhere in his chest. He leaned back, forcing a smirk to cover the discomfort. “You talk like you’ve known me longer than a week.”
You met his gaze evenly. “Maybe I’m just a good observer.”
That silenced him. For a moment, neither spoke—just the faint clink of spoons against porcelain, the quiet tension threading between curiosity and judgment.
And Jeonghan realized that for the first time in a long while, someone wasn’t dazzled or intimidated by him.
You were simply watching—reading him.
And that unsettled him more than any scandal ever could.
*
The relationship between you and Jeonghan had begun to bloom—unexpectedly, almost naturally. The two of you talked more often now, your texts weaving into his days like quiet background music. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he found himself looking forward to your messages.
It was ironic, really. Because when he wasn’t speaking to you, Jeonghan was living a life that couldn’t be further from yours.
His nights were spent drifting between yachts owned by bored socialites, women who craved charm more than truth. He knew exactly what they wanted and how to deliver it—a smile, a word, a presence. It was easy. Meaningless.
And yet, in between champagne laughter and the clinking of glass, his thoughts would always circle back to you.
What were you doing right now?
Had you eaten?
Were you still awake, reading, or lost in thought like you always were?
He hated how natural it felt to care.
“You look distracted, honey.”
A woman’s voice pulled him back. She was beautiful—of course she was—dressed in silk, her manicured fingers tracing the rim of her glass.
Jeonghan blinked, forcing a smirk. “Do I?”
She tilted her head. “You’re not feeling well?” she asked, recalling what he’d said last night about being under the weather—an excuse to avoid following her to her room.
The ocean breeze rolled over the yacht deck, soft but cold, brushing his hair and cooling the drink in his hand. He looked at her, sitting on his lap with the practiced ease of someone used to being wanted.
And suddenly, he felt sick.
Because in that flicker of a second, he imagined you there instead.
Crazy.
Absolutely insane.
You, with your clear eyes and deliberate words, would never set foot in this world. And even if you did, you would never look at him the same way again.
You were the Prime Minister’s only daughter—an emblem of grace, the family’s shining jewel.
And he…
He was the son who had been exiled.
Cast out after a scandal that nearly ruined his father’s reputation. He’d paid for it with his name, his home, and every shred of privilege he once had.
“How about going back to your family?” Seungkwan asked one night, his voice echoing through the line.
Jeonghan sighed, eyes fixed on the dark waves outside the yacht window. “It’s complicated.”
“Too complicated, or too cowardly?”
He chuckled dryly. “I’m still a man, Seungkwan.”
“Yeah?” Seungkwan shot back. “Then act like one. A man keeps his promises. You promised me a cup of tea and the full story about Prime Minister Ji.”
Jeonghan leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “And you promised to stop nagging me.”
“Not until you tell me why the Prime Minister’s daughter texts you at midnight.”
Jeonghan’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because she doesn’t know who I really am.”
And maybe, he thought quietly, that was the only reason you still did.
The morning broke harshly—sunlight slicing through half-drawn curtains, the faint hum of the city seeping into the luxury suite he’d fallen asleep in. Jeonghan’s head ached faintly from the night before; too much noise, too much pretending.
His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
One call after another, a stream of names he didn’t want to see—women he barely remembered, old acquaintances from the club scene, and one from Seungkwan.
He rubbed his face, groaning. “What now…”
Then his screen lit up with a notification from a news outlet.
And his world stopped.
‘The Yoon’s Mysterious Son Revealed — Never Leaving the Scene: Living a Life Among Socialites’
The headline sat above a collage of photos—him on a yacht, laughing beside women in designer dresses, champagne in hand. The shots weren’t just candid—they were curated. Deliberate. Someone had been watching him for months.
The phone rang again.
“Jeonghan!” A familiar female voice burst through the line. It was one of the women from the article, her tone both scandalized and gleeful. “You didn’t tell me you were that Yoon! Do you have any idea how many reporters called me this morning?”
He hung up.
Another call came. Then another. Each voice brought the same mix of curiosity and accusation. His pulse quickened with every word, the weight of exposure sinking into his chest.
And then—Seungkwan’s name flashed on the screen.
Jeonghan answered immediately. “You wrote about me?” His voice was low but sharp, every word laced with accusation.
“What?” Seungkwan sounded genuinely startled. “No—Jeonghan, I would never!”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not!” Seungkwan’s voice cracked slightly, the sound of hurried typing in the background. “I just saw it too! It’s everywhere! Someone leaked your pictures. The article’s not even signed—it’s a ghost drop, probably from an independent outlet.”
Jeonghan stood up, pacing across the room, the floor cool beneath his bare feet. His thoughts spun faster than he could control.
He’d worked for years to stay off the radar. To bury the name Yoon Jeonghan under layers of half-truths and fleeting company.
And now, everything was out.
His hands clenched. “You told no one about me?”
“Of course not,” Seungkwan shot back, indignant. “You think I’d ruin my own source? Jeonghan, listen—this isn’t my doing. But someone knew where you were and who you were with. Someone’s feeding this.”
Jeonghan’s jaw tightened. He turned toward the window, the city sprawling beneath him, glittering and cold.
He hadn’t even finished processing the article when another call came through.
This time, the caller ID froze him mid-step.
“Secretary Min — Father’s Office.”
Jeonghan’s pulse kicked hard against his ribs. It had been years since anyone from that number dared to call him. For a moment, he considered letting it ring out, pretending he hadn’t seen it. But curiosity—or maybe masochism—won.
He answered.
“Kim— I mean, Jeonghan speaking.”
The secretary’s voice was clipped, businesslike, but there was a tremor beneath the tone.
“Mr. Yoon. The Chairman would like to have a word. It’s urgent.”
Jeonghan’s throat felt dry. “About what?”
There was a pause, then the quiet rustle of papers.
“About the news. Not only the one from this morning.”
His heart sank. “There’s another one?”
“Yes, sir,” the secretary replied. “Apparently, the Prime Minister’s daughter was mentioned. You were seen together at an event. The headline reads—”
Jeonghan could almost hear the man hesitate, as if choosing the least damaging way to say it.
‘Disgraced Yoon Heir Seen with Prime Minister Ji’s Daughter — A Scandal in the Making?’
He went still.
Completely still.
The ocean outside, the faint hum of the city, even his own breathing—all of it faded into a dull, buzzing silence.
“I see,” he said finally, his voice even, detached—like a man already used to ruin.
“The Chairman requests you come in immediately,” the secretary added, his words precise but cautious. “He said… if there’s even a grain of truth in this, it could cost both families dearly.”
A bitter laugh escaped before Jeonghan could stop it. “He cares about the family’s name now?”
“Sir, I’m just relaying the message.”
“Of course you are.”
He ended the call before the man could say another word. For a long moment, he stood in the middle of his room, the phone still in his hand.
It wasn’t just about him anymore.
Your name was in it.
You—who had nothing to do with his past, who had only shown him quiet kindness—were now tangled in his chaos.
And that realization hit harder than any headline ever could.
*
You swiped the incoming call from Jeonghan to the left without hesitation, the screen dimming just as your reflection caught in the polished surface of the dining table.
It wasn’t the first call you’d ignored tonight. Or this week.
You had done it deliberately, under Mrs. Ji’s strict orders.
“Don’t you dare mess this up,” she had said earlier, her voice carrying that cold, commanding edge she never let her socialite friends hear. The kind of tone that could freeze air.
Now, sitting across from her and the Prime Minister, you kept your hands neatly folded in your lap. You hadn’t touched the food. The clinking of silverware and the low hum of polite conversation between your parents filled the silence that wrapped tightly around you.
Mr. and Mrs. Ji looked perfectly composed, pleased even. They were savoring their dinner, their expressions calm and satisfied—the unmistakable faces of people whose plans had unfolded exactly as intended.
“With his son’s scandal, Yoon Daemun will never be able to enter politics,” Mr. Ji said, cutting through the air with calculated satisfaction. His tone was casual, but his words were sharp, deliberate. “The timing couldn’t be better.”
Mrs. Ji dabbed the corner of her lips with an embroidered napkin, her expression softening with the kind of smile she reserved for strategy. “We’ve prepared a statement for your response, Y/n. Make sure you show up in public looking… a little heartbroken, perhaps?”
You stared down at your untouched plate, the gleam of silver cutlery blurring in your vision.
‘Victim of manipulation.’ That was the phrase they’d chosen for you. The headline they had already fed to the press.
You—the fabricated daughter of the Prime Minister—were to be portrayed as the naïve woman deceived by Yoon Jeonghan, the disgraced heir.
It was all theater. Every word, every tear, every silence rehearsed. And just like every performance before, you would play your part. Because that was the role you had been chosen for.
It had been ten years since you first met Mr. and Mrs. Ji. Back then, Mr. Ji was merely a Seoul mayoral candidate, still polishing his image. They were looking for a bright, idealistic student from the National Seoul University to elevate their campaign—someone with a clean past, a sympathetic story, and a face the public could love.
They chose you.
A parentless girl raised in a foster home. No blood ties. No history. No one to ask questions. A perfect daughter for a perfect family.
“You’re Ji Jae Kyung's daughter? Woah…”
You could still remember the awe in their voices—the way their eyes gleamed with admiration. Compliments came easily, falling like confetti around you. Some went to him, the respectable politician who raised such a brilliant daughter with perfect manners and flawless grades. The rest went to you—the quiet, low-profile daughter of a man everyone wanted to impress.
But none of it was real.
It was all staged.
Every smile, every headline, every carefully constructed image.
And behind it all stood Ji Jaekyung and his wife—the masterminds who turned you into what the public wanted to see.
You were never their daughter.
You were the performance.
The story they wrote to complete their picture-perfect life.
Ten years later, the role still clung to you like a second skin. You’d played it so long, you weren’t sure where the lie ended—or where you began.
*
You were just about to put on your coat when a voice stopped you near the cram school gates.
“Excuse me—Miss Ji?”
You turned. A man you vaguely recognized from Jeonghan’s circle stood a few meters away, his expression unsure yet determined. The streetlight above flickered faintly, painting both of you in amber.
“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he began, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “I’m Boo Seungkwan. I’m… Jeonghan’s friend.”
Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. “I know who you are.”
He nodded, a faint sigh escaping him. “Then I’ll be quick. I just—wanted to ask if what the news said about him was true.” His voice softened. “That he manipulated you. That he used you.”
You said nothing.
Seungkwan studied your face for a moment, as if searching for a flicker of the girl Jeonghan used to talk about—the one who laughed too easily, who didn’t care about names or titles.
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” he continued carefully, “but… Jeonghan doesn’t deserve this. He might have his flaws, but that’s not who he is.”
You looked down at your shoes, at the way the shadows of the streetlight split across the pavement. Every word he said pressed against the guilt you had tried to bury since dinner.
“He hasn’t been the same since the article came out,” Seungkwan said quietly. “He keeps saying it doesn’t matter, but we both know it does. That kind of lie—” He paused, catching himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t assume it’s a lie.”
You finally met his gaze. His tone wasn’t accusing—just heavy with confusion and the quiet plea of someone who wanted to believe the best in his friend.
“I didn’t write it,” you murmured.
“I believe you,” Seungkwan replied almost immediately. “But maybe you can tell the truth. Even a little of it. It might help him stand again.”
His words lingered in the cold air long after he bowed politely and walked away. You stood there for a long while, watching his figure fade down the street, your throat tightening.
You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t Jeonghan who manipulated anyone.
It was you—
or at least, the version of you that the Jis had created.
You glanced at Seungkwan’s face — he looked too sincere, too out of place standing in front of a cram school after hours, holding nothing but good intentions. That made it worse.
“I think there’s a misunderstanding,” you said finally, voice calm but distant. “Jeonghan and I… we were just friends.”
Seungkwan blinked, as if trying to make sense of it. “Just friends?”
“Yes.” You tightened your scarf. “We met a few times, talked about work, shared coffee. That’s all.”
There was no tremor in your voice, but something in your eyes must have betrayed you, because Seungkwan’s expression shifted—disbelief shadowed with pity.
“I see,” he said slowly. “Then the pictures, the dinner, the event—”
“Coincidence,” you cut him off. “The press twisted it.”
He looked at you for a long moment, weighing whether to push further. But there was something in the way your gaze avoided his—composed, but fragile—that made him stop.
He exhaled softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… Jeonghan’s been through a lot. I wanted to understand what really happened.”
You froze for a fraction of a second.
But before he could say more, you bowed politely, murmured, “Good night, Mr. Boo,” and walked past him into the drizzle-soaked street.
He stood there for a while, watching as you disappeared into the blur of city lights. Something about your words didn’t match your expression—the kind of contradiction that Jeonghan had mentioned before.
When Seungkwan finally pulled out his phone, he hesitated before typing.
“She said you were just friends.”
*
The chauffeur’s eyes in the rearview mirror said everything Jeonghan didn’t need to hear. Pity. Disgust. Fear of being associated with the wrong Yoon. The mansion hadn’t changed — white pillars, too much marble, the smell of money and order. Yet when Jeonghan stepped inside, he could almost hear the echo of that night six years ago, the one that tore his name from the family register.
The housekeeper didn’t greet him. She bowed, eyes lowered, and walked away. In the dining room, his father was already seated, posture like a statue carved from ice.
Yoon Daemun, the man the country admired, the man Jeonghan could never please. “Sit,” his father said, without looking up from the newspaper.
The headline lay sprawled across the front page:
THE YOON HEIR SCANDAL CONTINUES — LINKED TO PRIME MINISTER’S FAMILY. Jeonghan took the seat across from him, his movements deliberate, controlled.
“So,” Daemun began, folding the paper neatly. “You managed to humiliate me again.”
Jeonghan’s lips quirked upward. “I’d say the timing was convenient for you. The Prime Minister’s name on the same line—good distraction for the party board, isn’t it?”
Daemun’s gaze sharpened, the kind that used to make Jeonghan feel twelve years old again. “Still the same. No shame. No sense of consequence.”
“You taught me that, didn’t you?” The silence that followed was heavy. Only the faint ticking of the antique clock filled the room.
His father finally leaned back. “Do you know what happens when your name appears next to a politician’s scandal?”
Jeonghan didn’t answer.
“It ruins both sides.” Daemun’s tone was calm, almost too calm. “But it’s not you they’ll remember. It’s me. The man who couldn’t control his own son.”
Jeonghan clenched his jaw. “I didn’t ask to come back.”
“No. You were summoned because I’m still cleaning up after you.” His father’s voice rose a fraction. “And this time, Jeonghan, there won’t be a next time. You’ve already cost this family enough.”
“I stopped being part of this family six years ago,” Jeonghan said quietly. “You made sure of that.”
Daemun stood. The air between them felt sharp enough to draw blood. “You’ll fix this,” he ordered. “You’ll meet with the press, issue a statement—say you lied, that it was all fabricated to harm the Prime Minister’s reputation. They’ll buy it if it comes from you.”
Jeonghan let out a humorless laugh. “You want me to destroy myself for your seat in Parliament?”
His father’s lips tightened. “For once in your life, do something useful.”
The words sank deep, the same as they always had.
When Jeonghan left the mansion, the night air hit him hard. He stood by the gate, hands trembling around a cigarette he didn’t light.
He had promised himself never to come back here again. And now, he realized, nothing had changed — not even the way his father still called him son only when it served a purpose.
Across the street, reporters were already gathering, their cameras flashing faintly in the dark. He straightened his collar, tucked his hands into his coat pockets, and walked away from the house without looking back. This time, he wouldn’t run. He would play the game his father started — but on his own terms.
*
An exclusive interview with Yoon Jeonghan appeared on the front page of The Daily Standard, written by none other than Boo Seungkwan — a name the political and corporate world had learned to both admire and fear.
The article was a masterpiece of restraint and precision. Seungkwan had fought tooth and nail with his editor-in-chief to have it published uncut. It wasn’t a defense piece, nor was it an attack. It was simply truth, stripped of bias — and that made it all the more dangerous.
“He was just a man looking for love one night,” the article began, “and somehow became a family scapegoat by morning.”
Through Seungkwan’s words, Jeonghan’s story unfolded not as a scandal, but as a slow dissection of how narratives were manufactured by power. The way a single whisper could become a headline. How a name could be tarnished to save another.
Every paragraph carried Seungkwan’s voice — calm, analytical, and sharp as glass. He wrote about Jeonghan’s fall from grace, about the exile that followed his first scandal, and how his father’s silence had been louder than public condemnation.
But what caught everyone’s attention wasn’t Jeonghan’s tragedy — it was the twist.
“Mrs. Ji herself had insisted Jeonghan meet her daughter,” Seungkwan wrote. “Even sent gifts, meals, and handwritten notes — tokens of gratitude, or perhaps, persuasion. Who does that for a stranger?”
It was phrased like a question, but the implication was clear. The spotlight had shifted — subtly, cleverly — from Jeonghan’s so-called manipulation to the Ji family’s orchestration.
By the second half of the article, Mrs. Ji was no longer the grieving mother of a deceived daughter; she was a woman who had played the public like a symphony.
The nation devoured the story. News anchors repeated excerpts with caution, as if afraid the words themselves might bite. Political commentators speculated whether Boo Seungkwan had overstepped, or whether he had just cracked open something no one dared to question.
And Jeonghan — sitting alone in his dim apartment with the paper spread across his coffee table — couldn’t decide how to feel.
The world was finally hearing his side of the story.
But the irony was, it didn’t feel like victory. It felt like standing in the eye of a storm that was only beginning to turn.
After the article, Jeonghan disappeared again — not in shame this time, but in pursuit of something real. For the first time in years, he stopped attending events with rich women's names printed on the invitation. No more charity galas where everyone smiled with their teeth clenched. No more private dinners where the wine was expensive but every conversation was a transaction.
He sold all of his luxury things and moved into a smaller apartment on the edge of Mapo. The windows were cracked, and the heater worked when it felt generous, but it was quiet. His kind of quiet.
He started from the bottom — as a project consultant for a small local architecture firm that took contracts no conglomerate would touch. His job wasn’t glamorous: long meetings, stubborn clients, coffee that tasted like burnt wood. But there was a strange comfort in it. Each blueprint, each rejected proposal, each late-night revision — it all belonged to him.
He refused to take calls from people who once claimed to be friends. When invitations from the “rich circle” arrived — networking parties, art auctions, political birthdays — he left them unopened. He no longer wanted to be someone’s favorite scandal, someone’s well-dressed pawn.
For months, Jeonghan worked in silence. He kept his hair shorter, his words simpler, his gaze level. He didn’t try to charm anyone anymore. He didn’t need to. People at work found him odd — polite, reserved, sometimes intimidatingly composed. They whispered about his past, about the man who once made headlines. But they couldn’t deny his efficiency. He had a way of solving problems others didn’t even see.
And when a construction site mishap almost cost the firm a major deal, Jeonghan was the one who stayed overnight, reorganizing the logistics report by hand. The next morning, his boss found him asleep on the office couch — tie loosened, pencil still in hand, a faint trace of graphite on his jaw.
For the first time, Jeonghan’s value wasn’t built on his last name. It was built on effort. Still, every now and then, he caught himself looking at the city skyline — the one his father’s empire had helped shape — and wondered if redemption meant cutting ties completely, or learning how to stand on his own without hating where he came from.
“Do you want to hear what I just found?”
Seungkwan’s voice came through the phone one quiet night. Jeonghan answered without much thought, assuming it was another late update — a joke, a story, something light to end the day.
But Seungkwan’s tone was different. Too steady. Too careful. “There was a report that Ji Jaekyung’s daughter had passed away.”
The words didn’t register at first. They hung in the air like smoke — shapeless, heavy, unreal. Jeonghan froze, the pen in his hand slipping onto the desk.
“What?” His chest tightened. His mind went blank — except for the image of you: laughing behind a cup of coffee, brushing your hair from your face, the way you used to hum when you thought no one was listening.
“Y/n… had passed away?” The words barely escaped his mouth, trembling, as if speaking them might make them true.
“It’s not what you think,” Seungkwan said quickly, his voice low. “It wasn’t her. Not Ji Y/n. The report says a girl — eighteen years old — died by suicide ten years ago. The attending physician confirmed it.”
Jeonghan’s pulse roared in his ears. “What are you trying to say, Seungkwan?” He spun in his chair, the room suddenly too small, too bright.
“I’m saying,” Seungkwan breathed out, almost afraid to finish, “Ji Y/n isn’t Ji Jaekyung’s real daughter.”
Silence. The world seemed to tilt — slow, then all at once. Jeonghan sat there, hearing nothing but the echo of that sentence. Every moment he’d spent with you — every glance, every half-truth, every piece of you he thought he knew — cracked open in his mind.
If you weren’t Ji Jaekyung’s daughter… then who were you?
*
“I wake up every day thinking I’m nobody’s child. Just myself, doing the things I’m best at — teaching, meeting my students, seeing my friends. That’s the real me.”
That’s the real you…
Jeonghan could still hear your voice — soft, certain, echoing in the quiet of his memory. It had started as a casual conversation, one of those late-night talks that drifted aimlessly until he’d asked, almost teasingly, “What’s it like to be Ji Jaekyung’s daughter?”
You laughed faintly before answering, “Whosever child you are won’t define you. Your own work will.”
Those words had stayed with him longer than he expected.
He’d spent years buried under the weight of his family name, letting it dictate who he was supposed to be. When the burden grew too heavy, he rebelled — escaping through decadence, luxury, and fleeting attention. Drowning himself in everything that dulled the ache of being a Yoon.
But none of it had ever defined him.
“Hyung, you’re one of the smartest, most quick-witted people I know,” Seungkwan once told him. “You just need to use it for yourself — not to prove anyone wrong.”
And that was what he finally did.
He started small — late nights, small contracts, learning the bones of the business from the ground up. Day by day, Jeonghan built his own name, one that carried no trace of his father’s shadow.
“This,” he murmured to himself one morning, staring at the blueprint on his desk, “this is what defines me.”
A few months later, his phone rang. It was Seungcheol.
“I need your help with a new building for our firm,” he said.
Jeonghan didn’t know it then, but that call would change everything — the first stone on the path that would carry his name further than his family ever imagined.
Katalk …
Seungkwan: You need to see this.
He frowned, clicking the link. The screen opened to a live stream — a press conference, crowded with reporters and flashing cameras. And there you were, standing behind the podium, composed but pale under the harsh light. The banner above you read:
Your voice trembled at first, but you steadied yourself, eyes gliding across the sea of cameras.
“I was raised under the Ji family for ten years,” you began. “But I am not Ji Jaekyung’s biological daughter. The truth is—” you paused, swallowing hard, “the real Ji Y/n passed away ten years ago. I was… chosen to take her place.”
A low hum of whispers rippled through the room. Cameras clicked like rain. Jeonghan leaned forward, his heart pounding, his hand gripping the edge of the desk.
You exhaled shakily before continuing, “I was an orphan. I didn’t have a family or a name that mattered. I was offered a home, an education, a life that didn’t belong to me. And I was too young to understand what it truly meant.”
Reporters began raising their hands, their questions overlapping into chaos.
“Who orchestrated this?”
“Was the Prime Minister aware?”
“Why are you revealing this now?”
You didn’t flinch. “Because the lies have gone too far. And someone else has paid the price for them.”
Jeonghan could feel his chest tightening. You didn’t mention his name — but everyone knew who “someone else” was.
He could barely hear Seungkwan’s voice over the call when it came seconds later.
“She’s doing this for you, hyung.”
But Jeonghan couldn’t answer. His mind was spinning. You — the woman who once told him not to let his family name define him — were now standing in front of the world, tearing down the false identity that once defined you.
The screen flickered as the conference ended, replaced by a headline that felt like a scream in his chest:
“Prime Minister’s Daughter Admits to False Identity — Public Shock Ensues.”
The room was silent after the live broadcast ended.
Jeonghan sat still, staring at the frozen image on his screen — your bowed head, your shoulders straight despite the weight of everything you’d just confessed.
You didn’t defend yourself.
You didn’t accuse anyone.
You simply told the truth.
And somehow, that humility hit him harder than any scandal ever had.
He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, the city lights flickering against his tired eyes. For the first time, Jeonghan realized how small his own pride had been — all those years spent hiding behind charm, rebellion, and fleeting company. He’d called it freedom, but it was just fear wearing expensive clothes.
You, on the other hand, had stood in front of the nation stripped of everything — your name, your protection, your image — and yet you looked freer than he ever had.
“She doesn’t owe them anything,” he murmured under his breath. “And she still chose to be kind.”
It humbled him.
It changed something inside him that no lecture or consequence ever could.
That night, Jeonghan opened his window to the chill of the city air. The same wind that once carried gossip about his downfall now felt strangely cleansing. He poured himself a drink, not out of habit, but to think.
He replayed your words in his head, line by line.
“I’m just myself, doing what I’m best at.”
He understood it now.
It wasn’t about running away from a family name. It was about building a life so honest that no one could ever take it away again.
A small smile tugged at his lips. “You win, Y/n,” he whispered, half amused, half proud.
For the first time in years, Yoon Jeonghan didn’t feel like the son of anyone — not Daemun’s mistake, not society’s scandal. Just a man finally ready to start living right.
*
Jeonghan swore he wasn’t imagining things when his eyes landed on a woman he hadn’t seen in years, running across the school field with a group of children. His client—perhaps the principal, or maybe the chairman of the school foundation—kept talking, explaining how they wanted to preserve the school’s historical character.
“This school was founded before the war. We’d be grateful if your team could— Jeonghan-ssi?”
The two of them stopped walking. Jeonghan remained still, his gaze fixed on the field. His client probably assumed he was simply watching the children.
“Who’s that woman?” Jeonghan finally asked.
The chairman followed his gaze before smiling, seemingly misunderstanding the reason for the question.
“She’s new here. She moved from Seoul. Oh—aren’t you from Seoul as well?”
Jeonghan nodded absentmindedly. “Yes…” But he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had seen it all unfold.
The media had talked about it relentlessly—and perhaps they still were. Ji Jaekyung had fallen from his political pedestal. It had become the nation’s biggest headline. Questions spread everywhere—from conversations between neighbors to comment sections and online forums.
How long had Ji Jaekyung replaced his real daughter with another girl to play the role of the perfect daughter?
Seungkwan had made sure to send Jeonghan countless articles and conspiracy theories. Some claimed the real daughter had been assassinated. Others insisted she had escaped years ago.
Jeonghan had eventually called him. “Isn’t a journalist supposed to be busy?” Seungkwan had stopped sending them. At least for a few days.
If Jeonghan was being truthful, he had been terrified for you. Proud—but terrified.
What you did was incredibly risky, especially so close to Ji Jaekyung’s election campaign. It wasn’t because you could ruin his chances of winning. It was because it could cost you your life. Ji Jaekyung had turned out to be a complete psycho—someone who wouldn’t even spare his daughter.
So Jeonghan had tried to find you. To contact you. Maybe offer whatever help he could. But he couldn’t. You had disappeared. And that frightened him even more. Because he had no idea whether you were safe or not.
Now, you were only a few strides away. Yet Jeonghan couldn't find the courage to walk over and say something as simple as hey.
Because hey was never simple when it came to you. It could never be, not after years of searching, asking around, following every lead he could find… And, perhaps, missing you.
Maybe Seungkwan had been right all along. Jeonghan really was a great pretender whenever your name came up.
"You know," Seungkwan had once said, "you deny it better when we talk about her than when your neighbor asks you to fix their toilet."
"She thought I was a handyman!" Jeonghan had shot back immediately. Another denial.
His phone rang while Jeonghan was driving home.
It was the grandmother from next door—the one who particularly adored, or perhaps nagged, him so much that he had started wondering whether she genuinely liked him or simply pitied him. Somehow, she had convinced herself he was a handyman with no real job, just a man who stayed home all day.
"Yes, Grandma?"
He was greeted by a suspiciously sweet voice. Too sweet. Not the usual one that told him to eat more or complained that he worked too slowly, but the gentle voice she reserved for her own grandchildren.
"There's a young woman who just moved in next door, and her gate isn't working properly. Could you help fix it?"
She continued, enthusiastically explaining what a reliable handyman he was.
For heaven's sake. He had studied engineering, not so his elderly neighbor could recruit him as the neighborhood repairman.
Jeonghan sighed. "I'll take a look. I'm on my way home anyway."
He heard her chuckle. She must be in a good mood, he thought. She had been oddly pushy yesterday while handing him containers of side dishes. Kind, as always—but with an unusual edge to it.
"Go check on her," she insisted. "She looked worried because the gate won't lock properly."
Very pushy.
By the time Jeonghan reached the house next door, he immediately crouched to inspect the gate. The lock was rusted beyond repair. It had needed replacing for quite some time. Pulling out his phone, he ordered a replacement lock online. He'd rather spend the money now than endure another week of the grandmother pestering him about it.
He was still standing by the gate, scrolling through the order confirmation, when the sound of footsteps behind him pulled his attention away from the screen. He turned, expecting to see the new homeowner. He was already rehearsing what to say—that the lock would hold for tonight, that he had arranged for someone to replace it in a few days, and that there was nothing to worry about.
But the words never came. His mouth went dry. His eyes widened. God really had a twisted sense of humor.
"...Jeonghan?”
*
After getting help from a very reliable lawyer, you finally received the compensation you had demanded from the Ji family.
It was finally time to find a place of your own instead of continuing to stay in the tiny studio apartment Minseo had generously lent you. You had been her unexpected roommate for almost three months now, and although she had never complained, you knew you couldn't impose forever.
Or maybe she didn't mind. Her boyfriend, on the other hand...
So, after weeks of searching, negotiating, and stretching your budget as far as it could go, you finally found a place at a reasonable price. A house, even. You can only afford a detached house in this economy if something's terribly wrong with it, you thought. The suspicion was confirmed the moment you saw it in person.
It definitely needed a lot of work.
...Or maybe your eyes needed fixing too, because standing in front of your new house was a figure you never expected to see again.
"Y/n?"
He sounded just as surprised as you were. Thank goodness.
"You're the handyman Grandma from next door was talking about?"
Jeonghan immediately shook his head. Then nodded Then shook it again, waving both hands in surrender.
"No—I mean... she thinks I'm a handyman."
You nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. She told me all about how you fix things around her house."
Jeonghan let out a defeated chuckle. He glanced between you and the old house before asking quietly, "So... you live here now?"
You stepped closer, following his gaze toward the weathered building. "Yeah." You sighed. "The listing forgot to mention it's one strong wind away from collapsing."
He studied the house for another moment, hands tucked into his pockets. "It's surprising someone actually bought this place."
"Because it's me, or because it's the house?"
The question escaped before you could stop it. The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to take them back. Obviously because of the house. What a strange thing to ask.
Jeonghan looked at you. Then back at the house. Then at you again. "...Both." A beat passed. "But mostly because it's you.”
That night, your phone buzzed just as you were unpacking another box.
"Hello?"
It was your lawyer. Or rather, your old junior high school friend. Choi Seungcheol. He called to check on your settlement after the case had officially concluded, but mostly to give you an update on the Ji family's situation following the trial and the media storm.
"I'll send over the final documents," he said. "Legally, you're Choi Y/n now."
You laughed softly. "So... we share the same surname now."
"Hey, I don't mind." Seungcheol chuckled. "I told you before—it's an honor to handle your case. Having you share my surname? That's just a bonus."
Despite the joke, his voice carried genuine warmth. Seungcheol had been the first person to reach out after your televised confession. The moment he saw the broadcast, he called. The next day, he was standing at your door with a briefcase in one hand and coffee in the other.
"I'm taking your case."
There hadn't even been room to argue.
Known for his razor-sharp arguments and quick wit in court, Seungcheol had built quite a reputation as one of the country's most formidable young lawyers. And just as he had promised… He won.
You still weren't sure how to thank him properly.
"You helped me first," he said, as if reading your mind. "I'm just returning the favor."
Back in junior high, Seungcheol had been the stereotypical chaebol heir. Spoiled. Reckless. Completely convinced that money solved everything.
Until one afternoon, when a group of older students cornered him behind the gym.
You hadn't been strong enough to fight them. So you'd done the next best thing. You blasted a fake police siren from your phone. The bullies scattered before realizing it wasn't real. Seungcheol had laughed until he cried. Then he decided you were the coolest person he'd ever met.
"I also have a friend living near your new place," Seungcheol said, pulling you back to the present. "He's an architect."
"Oh?"
"Want me to introduce you?"
You glanced around the old house, where peeling wallpaper practically waved at you.
"He might actually faint when he sees this place."
"He'll probably renovate it for free."
You raised an eyebrow. "...For free?"
"Sure." His grin was audible through the phone. "If the two of you end up dating."
You sighed dramatically. "We both know I already have enough on my plate after everything that's happened."
"Fair point." His teasing faded, replaced by the quiet sincerity that had always made him such a dependable friend. "Then just focus on settling in."
You smiled to yourself. "I will."
"I have a feeling good things are waiting for you there."
*
Definitely not a good thing.
Seungcheol burst out laughing the moment he saw you and Jeonghan freeze like statues. His plan to visit his college friend, Jeonghan, and check in on his client, You, a week after you moved in had somehow turned into his favorite comedy show.
"How do you two know each other?" he asked, feigning innocence.
The moment Seungcheol had mentioned that his client lived nearby, Jeonghan's expression had changed ever so slightly. That was all Seungcheol needed.
Interesting.
He knew Jeonghan's history. He knew Jeonghan's "game." And judging by that reaction… Maybe you weren’t just another woman from Jeonghan's past.
Jeonghan let out a quiet sigh. "We met years ago."
"Yeah..." you echoed with a polite smile.
Neither of you elaborated.
Seungcheol looked from one to the other, a knowing grin slowly spreading across his face.
"Well then," he said, clapping his hands once. "Since we're all here, how about lunch?"
You smiled apologetically. "I'd love to, but I already promised to meet someone."
"No worries," Seungcheol replied easily.
After exchanging a few more polite words, you excused yourself and walked away. The moment you disappeared around the corner, Seungcheol slowly turned toward Jeonghan.
Then, with the biggest grin imaginable. "So..."
Jeonghan already knew what was coming.
"...Who was she to you, Yoon Jeonghan?"
He sighed so deeply it almost sounded painful before casually draping an arm over Seungcheol's shoulder.
"Let's get you something to eat first." He gently steered him toward the opposite direction. "You ask strange questions when you're hungry."
Seungcheol frowned in protest as he was dragged along.
"I do not."
"You do."
"I absolutely don't."
"You once asked a judge if he'd skipped breakfast."
"...He looked hungry."
Jeonghan laughed despite himself. "Exactly my point.”
Once the food arrived, the conversation drifted into comfortable silence. Jeonghan absentmindedly stirred his stew before finally speaking. "Do you remember lending me your car a few years ago?" he asked. "I told you I had to attend some political event."
Seungcheol frowned, trying to remember. "The one where you made me pick it up the next morning because you said you were 'emotionally exhausted'?"
Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh. "That one."
A beat passed.
"It was her."
Seungcheol froze, his chopsticks suspended halfway to his mouth. "...You're kidding."
Jeonghan shook his head. "I met her there. Mrs. Ji introduced us herself and invited me to the Prime Minister's event. I met her parents."
For a long second, Seungcheol simply stared at him. Then he slowly lowered his chopsticks onto the table. "Not her parents," he corrected quietly.
Jeonghan's smile faded. "I know." His gaze dropped to his bowl. "I only found out after everything was over."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Then Seungcheol's eyes widened as another thought struck him. "Wait..." He leaned forward. "So she was the woman from the scandal."
Jeonghan answered with nothing more than a small nod. He still remembered those headlines.
The photos of the two of you standing side by side. The articles that turned a few dinners and conversations into a fabricated romance. One picture after another, each one adding more fuel until the entire country caught fire.
"It didn't end well, then?" Seungcheol asked carefully.
Jeonghan gave a small shrug. "I don't even know if there was anything to end." He smiled bitterly. "Her mother was the one who insisted we meet in the first place."
Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. "...That's strange."
Jeonghan looked up.
"What's strange?"
"I was her lawyer." His voice became noticeably more serious. "I know almost everything that happened inside that house."
He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Her relationship with Ji Jaekyung and his wife wasn't normal."
Jeonghan's brows slowly knit together.
"They forced her to become someone she wasn't."
"They dictated how she dressed, what she studied, who she met, what she said in public."
Jeonghan's fingers tightened around his spoon. The words lingered heavily between them. Neither spoke for a while. Finally, Seungcheol frowned, more to himself than to Jeonghan.
"Which is exactly why none of this makes sense."
Jeonghan looked at him.
"If Mrs. Ji controlled every aspect of Y/n's life, why was she so determined to introduce the two of you?"
Jeonghan replayed those evenings in his head. Mrs. Ji invited him to events. Mrs. Ji encouraged you to accompany him. Mrs. Ji smiled every time they talked. At the time, he had assumed she simply wanted her daughter to meet someone.
Now, that explanation felt too simple.
"There had to be a reason," Seungcheol murmured.
"A woman like Mrs. Ji never does anything without expecting something in return."
Jeonghan stared at the untouched food in front of him. For the first time in years, he wondered whether meeting you had ever been fate at all, or just another move in someone else's game.
*
“So,” Minseo began after swallowing a spoonful of soup, “your lawyer came to visit… and the ‘architect friend’ he mentioned turned out to be him?”
She calmly flipped a slice of beef on the grill as though this kind of ridiculous coincidence happened every Tuesday.
You nodded weakly. “Apparently.”
Living with Minseo for three months had stripped away every layer of privacy you once had. She wasn’t even your closest friend from university. Yet somehow, she’d become the one person who knew everything.
Minseo had been there the night you confessed the truth—not to the nation, but to her. That you weren’t Ji Jaekyung’s daughter. Never had been. Just an orphan the Ji family had paid to become one. You still remembered the way she’d stared at you, speechless, before quietly asking only one question.
“Where are you staying tonight?”
When you admitted you had nowhere to go, she’d answered without hesitation. “Pack your things. You’re staying with me.” No pity. No unnecessary questions. Just a spare key pressed into your palm.
“It isn’t supposed to be a big deal, is it?” Minseo said, pulling you back to the present. “Meeting him again, I mean.”
You rested your forehead against your palm, your elbow nearly knocking over your glass of water.
“I know…” You sighed.
“But I still can’t shake the guilt. I dragged him into all of this.”
Minseo looked at you for a moment before laughing softly.
“Girl, you told me he used to be a player with no direction in life.” She pointed at you with her chopsticks.
“And now? He’s an established architect. From everything you’ve told me, he rebuilt his entire life after the scandal.”
“If anything…congratulations?” She shrugged.
You stared at her. “What kind of conclusion is that?”
“My conclusion is that you accidentally gave the man a character-development arc.”
Despite yourself, a laugh escaped. Minseo smiled triumphantly. “There she is. You’ve been making that guilty face ever since the trial ended.”
The smile quickly faded from your lips. “I still ruined his life.”
Minseo shook her head. “No.”
She spoke so firmly that you looked up. “Your mother did. That woman intentionally introduced the two of you because she knew exactly who Yoon Jeonghan was.”
You lowered your gaze. “She was trying to get rid of his father.”
“Exactly.” Minseo pointed her chopsticks again, this time for emphasis.
“She leaked your photos together and controlled the narrative. She made him the villain. Every single step was planned.”
You quietly stirred your soup. The words settled between you.
“You weren’t the one calling the photographers.”
“You weren’t the one writing the headlines.”
“And you certainly weren’t the one trying to destroy a political rival.”
You remained silent. Minseo sighed before reaching across the table to nudge your bowl toward you.
“Eat.”
You obediently picked up your spoon. After a few bites, Minseo spoke again, much more gently.
“You know what I think? I think Mrs. Ji underestimated the two of you. She expected you to keep playing the perfect daughter forever.”
She smiled to herself. “But she never imagined her ‘perfect daughter’ would bring down an entire political dynasty with one press conference.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “She definitely didn’t see that coming.”
“No.” Minseo grinned. “And judging by the way you described your reunion… I don’t think she expected you two to become neighbors either.”
You groaned, dropping your head onto the table. “Please don’t remind me.”
She raised her glass. “To the terrible house…and even more terrible coincidences.”
*
On his way home, Jeonghan noticed a few familiar faces working on your house. They were contractors he had hired before—people whose work he trusted enough to recommend without hesitation. Seeing them there, he couldn’t help wondering which developer you had chosen. Apparently, it was one he knew well.
The fact that the two of you still hadn’t spoken since Seungcheol’s visit last month proved just how hopeless you both were. Or perhaps it was just him.
Every morning, Jeonghan rehearsed countless conversations in his head. A greeting. A joke. Maybe even an apology. Yet the moment he saw you, all he managed was a polite bow and a small smile. Pathetic.
Night fell.
He had just finished dinner when rain began hammering against the windows. Within minutes, the entire neighborhood was swallowed by darkness as the power went out.
Jeonghan didn’t even have to think. He opened a kitchen drawer, took out a few candles, grabbed an umbrella, and stepped outside.
“Grandma? I brought some candles.”
The old woman shuffled carefully from her room to answer the door, smiling as she welcomed him inside. While Jeonghan lit the candles one by one, she complained nonstop about the blackout.
“Is it already the rainy season?” she grumbled. “Why didn’t they announce it on TV? If it rains this hard every day, I’ll go crazy!”
Jeonghan laughed quietly. “I think the TV is the least of your worries right now, Grandma.”
“Hmph. Easy for you to say.”
As she continued talking, his eyes drifted toward the window. Your house stood completely dark. Not a single light. He glanced down at the few candles still left in his hand.
“Grandma, you’re all set.” He picked up his umbrella again. “If you need anything else, just call me.”
The old woman nodded.
“Nari? Are you home?”
A few seconds later, the door opened. “Jeonghan?”
You blinked at the sight of him standing on your porch, rain dripping from the edge of his umbrella. “It’s pouring. What happened?”
He held up the candles in his hand. “I brought these.”
It took you a second to realize the entire house was dark. “Oh…” A sheepish smile crossed your face. “I completely forgot the power went out.”
Jeonghan chuckled quietly. “I noticed.”
You stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in before you catch a cold.”
He hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, carefully folding his umbrella near the entrance.
Your house looked even older from the inside. Half-unpacked boxes lined the living room. Rolls of wallpaper leaned against one wall, while paint samples and renovation sketches covered the dining table. It was messy—but lived in.
“I’m sorry,” you said, noticing where his eyes wandered. “I’m still unpacking.”
“It’s fine.” His gaze settled on the exposed ceiling beams. “They’re in better condition than I expected.”
“You can tell just by looking?”
“I’m an architect.”
“…Right.”
The corner of his lips lifted.
“So…”
You rubbed the back of your neck. “I guess you’re not actually a handyman.”
He let out a laugh. “I’ve been trying to convince Grandma of that for years.”
You laughed too.
For the first time since meeting again, the silence between you no longer felt heavy.
You took one of the candles from his hand. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
He lit the candle with a lighter from his pocket, shielding the small flame with one hand until it steadied. The warm glow slowly spread across the room, softening the unfinished walls and the distance that had lingered between the two of you for weeks.
Rain continued to drum against the roof. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to break the quiet.
“You’ve done a lot already,” Jeonghan said after a while, glancing around the room.
“I’ve had help.”
“The contractors outside earlier?”
You nodded. “They’re good.”
“I know.”
You looked at him curiously. “You’ve worked with them before?”
“A few times.” A small pause followed. “I trust their work.”
You smiled. “Good.”
The room settled into silence once more, but it no longer felt empty.
Between you, the candle gave a small, wavering pulse of light, its flame bending whenever the wind pressed against the old windows. The glass panes gave a soft, uneven rattle in their frames, as if the house itself were listening in. Outside, rain moved steadily over the roof and down the eaves, a constant hush beneath the occasional sharper tap of a branch against the siding.
Jeonghan’s gaze drifted toward the windows, his expression thoughtful in the candlelight.
“You should replace those before winter.”
You followed his line of sight, watching the faint tremor in the glass.
“I know. I've been telling myself that for the past two weeks.” A sheepish smile touched your mouth, small and apologetic.
He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm in the dim room. “I can make you a list.”
“You’ll charge me, won’t you?”
“I thought I was the neighborhood handyman.”
“Right.”
You tipped your head, pretending to consider it, though the corner of your mouth was already giving you away. “So… free?”
Jeonghan laughed, a little more openly this time, and for a moment the tension in the room loosened with it. “I walked right into that one.”
The laughter faded as naturally as it had come, leaving behind something gentler. For the first time, the quiet between you didn’t feel strained or careful. It simply existed, soft and unhurried, the kind of silence shared by two people who had run out of things to say and found they didn’t mind. The rain filled the spaces around you, and the candlelight moved over the table in slow, trembling gold.
“You’ve changed,” you said at last, your voice quieter than you intended.
Jeonghan looked up from the candle, his eyes catching the light. “I have?”
“You smile differently.”
He blinked once, as if turning the words over in his mind.
“I used to think you smiled because you enjoyed teasing people.”
“And now?”
“Now…” You hesitated, searching his face for the right shape of the thought. “It feels quieter.”
His gaze dropped to the candle flame, and for a moment the light softened the line of his mouth. “I got older.”
“I suppose we both did.” A faint smile crossed your lips, brief but real.
“You still bow every morning.”
“You never miss returning it.”
Another pause settled between you, but this one carried no sharp edges.
“I wasn’t sure if I should talk to you.” The confession slipped out before either of you could stop it, and once it was spoken, it seemed to hang there in the warm, dim air.
Jeonghan lifted his eyes to yours. “…Neither was I.”
A small laugh escaped you, half relief and half disbelief. “So we’ve been greeting each other like strangers for an entire month.”
“Apparently.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“It is.”
Outside, the rain thickened, drumming harder against the roof. Somewhere beyond the windows, the lights remained dark, the world reduced to weather and shadow. You traced the rim of your mug with your thumb, the ceramic cool beneath your skin.
“I thought you hated me.” The words came out so softly you almost wished the rain had swallowed them before they reached him.
Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable at first, then slowly shifting into something more honest, more tired.
Then he shook his head. “I did.”
You went still.
He seemed to notice your reaction and continued before the silence could harden into misunderstanding. “For a while.”
His fingers tightened slightly around the mug, the warmth of it lost beneath the tension in his hand. “I blamed you.”
“I blamed myself.” His eyes lowered for a second, then lifted again, steady and clear.
“It was easier than accepting I had no idea what had really happened.”
You swallowed, the weight of his words settling somewhere deep and quiet inside you. “I wanted to apologize.”
Jeonghan’s gaze sharpened, as if that had reached him more than anything else you’d said. “I looked for you.”
Your breath caught.
“I couldn’t find you. I asked people. I even asked Seungkwan if he’d heard anything. He worried too, you know.” A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips, softened by memory.
The room fell silent again, but this time the quiet felt different. It wasn’t the silence of distance or uncertainty. It was the silence of two people standing at the edge of something old and painful, finally beginning to see it clearly from both sides. The candle burned lower between you, its flame smaller now, but steadier somehow, as if it had settled into the shape of the night.
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky in a long, distant rumble. Inside, neither of you seemed to notice that the candles had already burned halfway down.
*
The final school bell rang just as Jeonghan and the principal finished their last inspection of the newly restored building. Jeonghan couldn’t help but chuckle every time a fourth grader came running over to complain.
“The tiles near the stairs are too slippery!”
“The sink by the football field is too tall!”
The principal immediately shooed them away with a laugh. “Off to class. You can file your complaints later.”
Jeonghan watched the children disappear down the corridor before turning to the principal. “They’re definitely the toughest clients to please.”
“They always are.”
“Teacher Y/n.” At the principal’s call, Jeonghan turned.
You stepped out of your classroom, your bag slung over one shoulder, clearly finished for the day. You bowed politely to both of them before smiling at Jeonghan.
“Amazing work, Architect Yoon.”
The principal blinked in surprise. “Oh!” He laughed. “I was just about to introduce the two of you.”
He looked between you and Jeonghan. “So… you already know each other?”
Jeonghan smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ve known each other for years.” He glanced at you before adding, “We’re neighbors.”
The principal’s eyes widened. “Neighbors?” He looked genuinely delighted.
“Then the two of you should’ve been going home together this whole time! No need for Teacher Y/n to take the bus anymore.”
Jeonghan smiled. “That works for me.”
You nodded, unable to hide a small smile of your own. “Then let me grab my things from the teachers’ room first. Excuse me.”
As you walked away, the principal let out a quiet sigh of relief before turning to Jeonghan. “To be honest, I still don’t understand why someone like Teacher Y/n chose our little school.”
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.
“Her résumé is remarkable,” the principal continued. “We’re lucky she even accepted our offer.”
Jeonghan smiled to himself. “She’s always been like that.” He remembered the woman who had once told him that a person’s work—not their family name—was what truly defined them.
The principal nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! She just came back from volunteering in Africa, and this was the very first school she applied to.”
He shook his head with an admiring smile. “Sometimes I wonder what kind of life she’s lived.”
Jeonghan watched as you disappeared down the hallway. A quiet smile settled on his face. “…An amazing one.”
The principal followed Jeonghan’s gaze before smiling to himself. “I suppose so.”
After parking the car, the two of you still had to walk another five hundred meters to the neighborhood. Jeonghan carried the box of materials you had brought home from school while you explained they were your students’ art projects.
For most of the walk, neither of you spoke. Then you turned to him. “I read it. Seungkwan did a good job.”
Jeonghan looked over and smiled. “He did almost too good of a job. My father must be pleased.”
“Your father is a good politician,” you murmured.
“He is.” A small smile lingered on his lips. “Not a very good father, though.”
You nodded. “That’s true.”
He looked ahead as the afternoon breeze rustled through the trees. “But… thanks.”
You turned to him.
“Because you were willing to tell the truth—even knowing how much it would cost you—my relationship with him finally got better.”
You smiled faintly. A month ago, Seungkwan had visited to ask for an exclusive interview for his feature, The Fall of Ji Jaekyung’s Legacy. It told the whole story. How the Ji family’s real daughter had been hidden. How you had been forced to take her place. How they had manipulated the media and used both you and Jeonghan in their attempt to bring down Yoon Daemun and several other political rivals.
“That was the least I could do,” you said quietly. “After everything I put you through.”
Jeonghan let out a small laugh. “Didn’t we agree to stop feeling guilty about that?”
You smiled apologetically.
“Besides,” he continued, “your mother was unbelievable.” He shook his head in disbelief. “How she even found out I was Daemun’s estranged son is still beyond me.”
You laughed. “I have no idea either. The whole family was… something else.”
Before either of you could continue, a familiar voice called from across the street.
“There you are!”
Grandma waved excitedly from her front yard. “I’ve been waiting for you two to come home!”
She pointed at Jeonghan. “Jeonghan! Help me with the plumbing. It stopped working again.”
Jeonghan groaned dramatically. “Grandma… I’m not a plumber.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I’m not a handyman either.”
Ignoring his protest entirely, Grandma grabbed his wrist and started pulling him toward the house.
You couldn’t hold back your laughter.
Jeonghan sighed in defeat before handing you his bag.
“Which pipe is it this time?”
As he rolled up his sleeves, Grandma happily led him inside.
“He complains every single time,” she whispered to you with a grin. “But he always fixes it.”
You smiled. “Grandma… He’s not a handyman. He’s an architect.”
Grandma blinked before breaking into a sheepish smile.
“I know.”
You looked at her in surprise.
She pointed toward the house next door. “There’s a big sign in front of his house.”
You laughed. “So you’ve known all along?”
Grandma simply shrugged. “Architects know how to fix things too.”
You glanced toward the kitchen window, where Jeonghan was already crouching beneath the sink, muttering to himself while trying to figure out the plumbing.
Maybe Grandma had been right after all. Some people didn’t just build houses. They made them feel like home.
PAIRING: Jester!Jeonghan x Princess!Reader
SUMMARY: You've spent your entire life hiding behind the mask of a princess, forced to perform perfection at every moment. There is a single person who see's beyond your mask, but you see beyond his too - and you don't think the jester is as harmless as everyone thinks.
WC: 6,244
AU: Royalty, Implied Magical AU
GENRE: Smut
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: Mild mentions of what's proper/what's not in a royal society, reader being frustrated and having repressed feelings of desire and arousal, sexually explicit content featuring vaginal fingering, some mild dirty talk, mild biting, mild exhibitionism (hooking up where anyone could find them), the use of pet names (love / good girl), Jeonghan being a bit of a menace, some magical ambiguity at the end re: Jeonghan, he's kinda a weird lil guy in this I don't know how to explain it, he's implied to be dangerous but he doesn't do anything necessarily scary on paper.
A/N: This is for my milestone request for @gimmegoodname! And part 8348934 of Hali doesn't know how to keep to a reasonable request word count :) Thank you jesus for landing on Jester and Jeonghan - this actually is not at all what I originally intended to write but fuck it we ball because the other idea would have taken me aprox 40k words lmfao
AN 2: This is not beta read so I’m sorry - there will definitely be mistakes! I did proof read/spelling and grammar check but I often miss a lot!
MAIN M. LIST | ASK | FOR MY MILESTONE EVENT
ORANTE PARTIES ARE PERHAPS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE RESPONSIBILITY AS A PRINCESS.
The castle's grand ballroom has been transformed into a glittering display of excess, the crystal chandeliers reflecting torchlight and dappled shadows across polished marble floors, the heavy velvet drapery covering the walls in hues of crimson and midnight blue - all of it tailored to make the inside of the room feel like something from another world.
You hate every inch of it. You hate the weight of your gown and its scratchy material, you hate how you can feel the bone stitching of the corset digging into your ribs, you hate the brittle laughter and the clink of crystal goblets, the venomous whispers behind delicate gossamer fans. Most of all, you hate the way every eye in the room seems to track your every movement, measuring you, judging you, waiting for the perfect princess to make a single mistake so they can talk about it with practiced smiles.
A bard stands at the center of the hall, his fingers dancing over the strings of a lute as he sings a soulful ballad of lovers lost in the heat of one another, of stolen touches and a kind of passion you'll never understand. You wonder what it might be like to experience something like that, to be touched by someone who wants you so badly they risk everything, to have hands on your skin that aren't bound by protocol and propriety. To do something dangerous and sinful, to have someone hold you the way those lovers in the song held each other, with urgency and desire instead of duty.
You'll never be that, of course. You are forever bound to this kingdom where the entire world is your stage, where you must remain untouched and controlled, and you're constantly expected to perform.
You're not the only one performing tonight, of course. You're halfway through a painfully boring conversation with the Lord of Coin regarding taxes when a burst of laughter cuts through the murmur of the party. Your gaze drifts against your will toward the small crowd forming near the arched windows, and though you can't see the man at the center of their attention, you know he's there.
The court jester's voice drifts toward you, mischief wrapped in pretty velvet clothes and a silly hat. You'd seen him earlier tonight, dressed in his best midnight blue velvet doublet and matching pants, little crystals stitchy to the fabric to make it look like he's lost in a midnight sky. His eyes had been filled with particularly vicious mischief when they'd landed on you, but your father had whisked you away to greet the Lady of Harvest before the fiend could slink your way.
Jeonghan is a fiend. You are perhaps the only person at court who thinks behind the practiced smiles, card tricks and juggling that there's something far more dangerous, but you've never been able to convince anyone of it. And why should anyone agree with you? Jeonghan is favored among the court for his wit, rhymes and tricks, thrilling the men and charming the women as he slides through each party like smoke, taking the shape of whatever his audience desires most.
A fresh wave of laughter erupts from his audience, brighter and more genuine than anything else you’ve heard tonight. It makes your skin itch and you turn away from the crowd, focusing back on the conversation at hand and determined not to let Jeonghan ruin your night like he does at most parties, determined to vex you and make you feel affronted and flushed and-
No.
You shove him from your mind as the conversation drags on while you sip spiced wine from your glass. As the Lord of Coin talks, you wonder what it would be like to leave this room. To go get somewhere lost in the city below. To fall into the bed of someone who would touch you like the lovers in the bard’s song, someone who smells like sandalwood and smoke and whose smile is sharp and familiar.
For now, you stay put and keep your eyes on the lord in front of you, ignoring the growing laughter coming from Jeonghan's corner. You hate that he enthralls them so - hate that even though you’re suspicious of him, he charms you in his own way, worming into your thoughts on lonely days, leading your mind astray to wonder how it is he does those tricks of his.
Your father appears suddenly, the Lord of Coin fumbling over whatever he was saying about inflation as the king puts a hand on your shoulder, grinning jovially. "Lord Hastings, forgive me, but I'm here to steal my daughter and spoil her with the fun part of the night!"
"Of course, Your Majesty!" Lord Hasting bows. "Thank you for the conversation, Your Highness."
"The gratitude is all mine, Lord Hastings," you nod, letting your father spin you away as dread knots in your stomach.
The crowd near the arched windows opens up as you approach, the members of the court bowing as you and your father approach the entertainment. Torchlight flickers on their faces, showing how flushed with delight they are as they watch the spectacle in front of them. Jeonghan stands in the middle of the, his midnight doublet fitting him perfectly as the crystals sparkle with his every movement.
Though the jester hat might look silly on anyone else, Jeonghan makes it look fashionable. His long, dark hair frames his angelic face, all sharp cheekbones and carefully sloped nose. His dark eyes find yours immediately, flashing as he grins. Your heart skips a little but you remain uneffected, staring at him as he juggles three daggers for the crowd as they ooo and ahhh at him.
You watch as the blades flash in the torchlight, each one caught cleanly while people gasp and clap. A lady nearby giggles behind her fan just as Jeonghan makes the daggers disappear into his sleeves with a quick motion. The crowd claps as he grins and bows politely, his dark eyes finding you again.
Irritation simmers, your gaze locking onto his and holding it. While everyone seems impressed, your instincts scream danger, wolf in fool’s clothing. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards as he steps toward you, the smell of his sandalwood and smoke clinging to him.
"Your Highness," he greets smoothly. "You look bored. Let me change that."
You say nothing but your father claps, his laughter booming as Jeonghan starts his performance. Cards fly from his hands in quick patterns and your attention is drawn upward as they flit through the air. He dances away from you and leans toward Lord Jeon, plucking a card from behind his ear before flicking his hand and turning it into a coin. The crowd laughs and claps as you stand there stiffly, watching as he charms his way through the nobles until he comes back toward you.
Jeonghan stops in front of you and holds out his hand, bowing slightly at the waist. The crystals on his double clink together as you stare at him, your stomach twisting when he looks up at you through his dark, silky lashes. To anyone else, the look might be reverent, but you see it for what it is - hunger.
"For the best trick tonight, I need a volunteer," he murmurs. The crowd claps excitedly and when you glance at your father, the king urges you forward, excited. “Your Highness, would you do me the honor?”
Swallowing thickly, you place your hand in Jeonghan's. His skin is warm, sending a spark of heat up your arm as he guides you toward the center of the circle where he spins you in a twirl, the skirts of your dress flaring. The lords and ladies clap, delighted and shouting how beautiful you look, how wonderful their princess is. Jeonghan’s touch lingers a moment longer than necessary before he grins and lets go, eyes glued to you as he circles you like a wolf might its prey.
When he stops, he leans close enough that you can see the silver threading in his collar and the way his sleeves are tailored to allow free movement, probably full of pockets for all of his cards and daggers and other baubles he uses for his performances. He's close enough that the sandalwood and spice makes your lashes flutter, making you think of something dark - not at all the cheery jester he claims to be.
"Try not to look so afraid," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him. "The court might think you're afraid of a simple card trick."
"I'm not afraid," you snap.
"No? Then why is your pulse racing?"
You grimace. Ever the observationalist, seeing far more than anyone ever dares to give him credit for.
"Do your trick, jester," you growl.
Jeonghan grins as he produces a deck of cards from one of his sleeves, fanning them out again. "Choose any card but don't show me, love."
Ignoring the casual way he uses a pet name entirely unfit for his station, you select a card from the middle of the deck and when you flip it, you see the seven of swords. You angle it away from him, eyes darting between him and the card. His eyes watch you closely, the heat of them making you fight off a shiver.
"Show the crowd, I'll look away. Cross my heart and hope to die."
You roll your eyes when he turns his back to you. The crowd leans in as you flip the card, showcasing the front to them all. They all nod excitedly, tittering behind hands and fans until you flip the card back around, holding it close to your chest and away from Jeonghan.
"Good," he says when he turns back around, tucking the deck away in one of his sleeves. "Put the card against your palm, card face down."
You follow his instructions, holding your palm out with the card face down to conceal the seven of swords. Jeonghan reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as he presses his palm on top of yours, the card firmly kept between both of your hands. You hate the way your skin responds to the contact, the way the sudden awareness of him prickles up your arm.
"Do you trust me?" he murmurs.
"Hardly."
"Clever." He guides your pressed palms upward so that you're both holding the card between you, each of your hands pressing forward with equal force. "Good girl. Keep your hand steady."
A snarl works its way to your lips at the pet name, but before you can snap at him for the impropriety, Jeonghan shuffles closer and the crowd goes quiet. You realize how far away they seem, the sound dull like it's on the other side of a bubble. Jeonghan is close though - so close you have to tilt your chin up to look up at him, his eyes glittering as they watch you.
"You're quite good at playing a dutiful princess," he notes.
"You know nothing about me."
"Don't I?" His eyes search yours, and there's something sharp in his gaze, something that cuts through the fool's mask he wears. "I know you watch everything. I know you see more than you let on. I know you're the only person in this room who looks at me and wonders what I'm really doing here."
Your heart pounds harder, the rhythm so forceful you're certain he can see it in the pulse at your throat. He's far too close and far too observant for a mere jester. The air between your palms feels charged, almost electric, and you're acutely aware of every inch of space he occupies. You want to step back, to put distance between you and whatever game he's playing, but the crowd is watching and so is the king. So you look onward, staring at him as he smirks.
"Breathe," Jeonghan says, softer now, and there's something almost gentle in his tone that makes it worse somehow. "You're holding your breath, love."
“Stop calling me that.”
"Nervous?"
You glare. "No."
His grin widens a fraction. "Liar."
The word hangs between you, intimate and dangerous. No one else speaks to you like this. No one else would dare, but Jeonghan isn't like the others at court. He refuses to be cowed by your title and your cold shoulder, protected by the silly little performance he puts on, convincing others that he's a fool. It gives him a freedom that feels threatening, and you're the only one who seems to notice.
The hand that isn't pressed against yours moves, tracing a slow circle in the air around where your palms are joined. The movement is hypnotic, and you find yourself following the movement, watching as he repeats the motion a few times. For a moment, you feel a little hazy, eyes fluttering as your thoughts grow foggy. Then, your mind sharpens again, Jeonghan’s intense gaze coming into focus.
"Picture your card," he instructs, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Imagine exactly what it looks like - the edges, the images. The way it's shaped. The colors used, the details of the card face."
You think of the seven of swords, trying to focus on the image of it, trying to use it as an anchor against the way your pulse races. It's difficult to do so with the warmth radiating from his palm and the way his breath stirs the air between you. He's close enough that you can count every one of his eyelashes and see the way his dark eyes catch the light from the chandeliers overhead.
As you try and picture the curling red numbers on the card and blue paint of the swords, you let your eyes flit over his sleeves. His hands. His pockets. You try to work out what exactly the charade is, ready to catch him in his trickery. You always try, and you always fail, never quite able to pin down the source of the performance.
"You're thinking about the card," he says, dropping his voice again so only you can hear. "But you're also thinking about how I'm doing this. Trying to work it out. Trying to catch me." You don't answer, feeling the heat hit your chest and cheeks as you flush under being caught. Jeonghan smirks, nodding. "You also don’t like being caught. Are you afraid of what I'll see when I look at you?"
"You see nothing, jester."
"Untrue." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "I see someone who's hungry to be wanted. Someone who wants to be touched like those lovers in the ballad the bard was singing, with heat and urgency and desperate desire. Someone who wishes there was a person bold enough to touch her the way a princess is never supposed to be touched. To want her not because of the crown but despite it." His eyes glint with something darker. "And I see someone who looks at me and knows exactly what I am. A wolf in fool’s clothing, right?”
You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. You hate that Jeonghan is right and that he sees through you as easily as you see through him. There's a part of you that's always craved this kind of understanding, someone who could look past the crown and what lies beneath, but not like this. Not from him.
Being known by Jeonghan feels like standing naked before a predator, and the worst part is that you're not entirely certain you want to cover yourself. Your chest tightens with the contradiction of it, the simultaneous ache to be truly seen and the primal need to hide from his gaze.
"Now," Jeonghan says, and his voice drops again, intimate and teasing. "I'm going to find your card without ever touching the deck again. Without you saying a word." He leans in, just slightly, and you can feel the whisper of his breath against your temple, warm and deliberate. Your skin tingles where it touches. "Would you like to know how?"
You can't answer. Your throat has gone tight, and you're frozen there, caught between the urge to pull away and the strange, unwanted pull that keeps you rooted in place.
"I'm going to read your mind," he murmurs, and his lips are so close to your ear now that you feel each word as much as hear it. "I'm going to look into those careful, guarded eyes and see exactly what else you're hiding."
Your hands are shaking now, both of them, and you know he can see it. The crowd can probably see it too, but they likely think it's part of the act, part of the performance. They don't know that your heart is hammering so hard it hurts, that every nerve in your body is screaming at you to move, to step back, to break whatever spell he's weaving.
"It's the seven of swords," Jeonghan says, and his voice is soft enough to raise the hair on your arms.
Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself, before you can school your expression into something more controlled. The reaction is instinctive, damning, and you see the exact moment he registers it. See the satisfaction that flickers across his face.
"There it is," he murmurs, so quietly that you almost don't hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. "That's what I wanted to see."
Suddenly he steps back, and the loss of his proximity should be a relief but instead feels like an absence. His hand that was mirroring yours drops away to reveal that the card that was pressed between your palms is no longer there. You frown, mouth falling open slightly as he reaches toward your face. You go still as his fingers brush the edge of your jaw, feather-light and deliberate. It's barely contact at all, the barest whisper of his fingertips against you, but you feel it everywhere.
When he pulls his hand away, he's holding a card between two fingers, flicking it to show you the seven of swords. The crowd erupts in applause and delighted exclamations, the sound washing over you while you stare at him. You want to know how he did it, to know what you missed. Had his whispers distracted you from when he placed it there? Was it a trick of the light?
"Your Highness," Jeonghan says, and his voice is pitched for the crowd now, all performance and charm. He bows deeply, flourishing the card. "Thank you for your assistance."
When his eyes meet yours again, they tell a different story. They say he knows exactly what effect he's had on you. That he planned it, wanted it, enjoyed watching you unravel. It makes you step back, putting necessary distance between you as your heart hammers, your pulse deceiving you.
You excuse yourself as soon as the opportunity presents itself, your father turning to another lord as he laughs about something and the crowd pressing around Jeonghan, cutting him off from you. No one notices when you slip away from the gathered nobles, picking up the skirts of your dress as you rush for the exit, skin overheating.
Cool night air washes over you as you step into the gardens and away from all the noise and eyes. The sound of the ballroom has long since faded behind you, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft trickle of water from the fountain somewhere deeper in the garden. You inhale deeply, letting the scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine fill your lungs, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart.
The gardens are empty. Everyone is inside, drinking and dancing and watching Jeonghan perform his tricks. Out here, there's only moonlight filtering through the branches overhead, casting everything in silver and shadow. The paths wind between tall hedges and rose bushes, their blooms pale in the darkness. Your footsteps are quiet on the stone walkway as you move deeper into the maze, away from the ballroom, away from the noise and the eyes and the suffocating weight of your crown.
You walk without direction, letting your feet carry you past marble statues and flowering vines that climb the garden walls. The moonlight catches on the petals of white roses, making them glow like ghosts. Everything is still and quiet, peaceful in a way the ballroom could never be.
Out here, you can think. Out here, you can try to make sense of what just happened.
Except you can't make sense of it. Can't explain why Jeonghan's proximity affected you so deeply, why his whispered words felt like they were carving themselves into your skin, why the loss of his touch left you aching in ways you don't want to examine. You barely know him. You don't trust him. And yet-
"Running away, Your Highness?"
You spin around, heart leaping into your throat to see Jeonghan standing in the middle of the path behind you as though he's materialized from the shadows themselves. His little hat is nowhere to be found, dressed only in the velvet outfit with crystals glittering like stars. The moonlight above catches in his dark hair, turning it silver at the edges. His eyes gleam, and you become hyperaware of the unnatural quiet of his presence.
"I needed air," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.
"Mm." Jeonghan takes a step closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Or you needed to escape me."
You don't answer - can't answer, because he's right and you both know it. He moves closer still, slow and deliberate, and you suddenly feel like he's a wolf giving the sheep time to run if it wanted to. You don't run, your feet planted to the stone path even as your pulse hammers in your throat, even as every instinct screams that you should walk away.
"You know," Jeonghan says conversationally, stopping just within arm's reach, "most people can't wait to be near me. They laugh at my jokes, beg for my tricks, hang on my every word." His head tilts slightly, studying you. "But you? You look at me like I'm something dangerous."
"You are dangerous," you say before you can stop yourself. “Even if I can’t prove it.”
His smile is slow and devastating. "Yes. I am."
The admission should frighten you. Instead, it sends heat curling through your belly, making your breath catch in your chest. He's standing close enough now that you can see the way the moonlight plays across his features. He's beautiful, with a sharp jawline and elegant nose, the curve of his mouth full and dangerous, the kind of beauty that bards say is dangerous, luring people into the spider’s web.
"But that's not why you ran," Jeonghan continues.
"It's not?"
He shakes his head. "You ran because of what I said in there. Because I saw through you, and you didn't like it."
"You don't know anything about me."
He takes another step, and now he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, can see the way his gaze travels deliberately over your face, your throat, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
"I already proved that isn't true, love."
Your breath catches. Heat floods your cheeks, your chest, spreading through your entire body. "You're far too presumptuous and entirely impromper."
"I'm observant."His eyes meet yours, and there's something raw in them now, something that makes your stomach flip. "And I know you felt it too. In the ballroom, when I was close to you. The way your breath changed. The way you leaned toward me even as you tried to pull away. The way you're looking at me right now, like you can't decide if you want to run or-"
"Or what, jester?" You demand, huffing. "If you know me so well, just say it."
Jeonghan's smile turns predatory. "Or if you want to stay right here and let me show you what you desire, no matter how improper it is."
Your heart is pounding so hard you're certain he can hear it. "You wouldn't dare."
"Wouldn't I?" He takes one more step, closing the distance until you can feel his breath against your lips, until you're backed against the rough bark of a tree you didn't realize was behind you. "I'm not afraid of your crown, love. I'm not afraid of what anyone would say or do. I'm not afraid of you."
The words send a thrill down your spine that you absolutely should not feel. His hand comes up, not touching you but hovering just beside your face, close enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your cheek. You grit your teeth, refusing to lean into the hand the way you want to, refusing to give him the satisfaction again tonight.
"Why risk it, then?" You ask. "Only a fool would."
"I am a fool," he agrees. "Let me show you how foolish I am. Let me show you what it's like to be touched and desired. Let me show you what I've wanted to do since the moment I've met you and how I want to make you come undone. Let me make you lose all that polished control you loathe so much."
You should say no. Should push him away. Should remember every reason this is a terrible idea. But your body isn't listening to your mind, and you find yourself leaning toward him, drawing by the magnetic pull you've been fighting all evening.
"What do you say," he asks, hand coming to cradle your face and tilt it upward until you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Do you want your desires answered?"
You lick your lips and his eyes track the movement, pupils expanding. Swallowing dryly, you give the shallowest nod, damning yourself to desire, to the feeling of being wanted and seen.
It's all he needs. Jeonghan's eyes darken, and then his mouth is on yours and the world narrows to just the heat of his lips, the press of his body as he crowds you back against the tree, the rough bark catching on the fabric of your gown. He kisses you like he's starving for it, deep and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.
You gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It's not gentle or reverent or careful, but instead it’s consuming, devastating, the kind of kiss that you never knew existed.
He tastes like wine and something darker, something that makes you want more even as your lungs burn for air. His teeth catch your lower lip and you whimper, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle beneath the fabric of his costume.
"I've wanted this for so long," Jeonghan murmurs against your mouth, then trails his lips down your jaw to your throat. "Wanted you. Do you know how difficult it was to keep my hands to myself during that trick? To stand so close and not touch you the way I really wanted to?"
His teeth graze your pulse point and you can't stop the sound that escapes you, half gasp, half moan. He makes a satisfied noise low in his throat, then his hand slides from your hip to your thigh, gathering the heavy fabric of your gown and pulling it up as you pant against the tree, your head digging into the bark.
"Tell me to stop," he says, but his fingers are already tracing the inside of your thigh, moving higher. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me all my chasing and teasing and prodding is for nothing and that I should leave."
“I can’t.”
"Fuck," Jeonghan breathes against your throat, and the crude word from his elegant mouth sends another wave of heat through you.
His fingers find the edge of your undergarments and he pulls them aside with deliberate slowness, exposing you to the cool night air. When his fingers press against you directly, finding you already slick, you bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. The gardens are secluded and shadowed, but not so far from the ballroom that sound wouldn't carry.
"Don't," Jeonghan says, his free hand coming up to pull your lip from between your teeth. "I want to hear you. Want to know exactly what I'm doing to you. Want to hear every sound you make when I touch you like this."
His fingers slip between your slick folds and you do cry out then, unable to stop yourself. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of his costume, and he groans like your pleasure is his own. You feel a shiver go through him and you realize he’s just as affected by you as you are by him and it makes the heat even worse, the knowledge that he wants you this badly turning your blood to fire.
"So wet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding through your folds, exploring you with maddening slowness. "So perfect. Is this what you were thinking about during the bard's song? Someone touching you like this? Making you fall apart?"
You can't answer. Can't form words. All you can do is gasp as his fingers circle your clit with devastating precision, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. Your legs turn molten and Jeonghan pins you against the tree with his hips, sliding one of his knees between your legs to keep you pried open for his hand.
"Answer me," Jeonghan demands. "Tell me what you were thinking about."
"Yes," you manage, the word coming out broken. "Yes, I was thinking about being touched."
His fingers press harder, moving in tight circles that make your vision blur. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, and you can feel how wet you are, your entrance clenching around nothing as his fingers trace laze circles where you need him most, your hips twitching.
"I'm going to give you exactly what you want," he promises. "Going to make you come so hard you see stars.
He slides one finger inside you and you cry out, your back arching off the tree. He's watching your face with an intensity that should make you self-conscious, but you're too far gone to care, too lost in the sensation of his finger moving inside you, curling just right, finding spots that make you shake.
It feels so good - better than you imagined, even. Jeonghan is precise, leaning forward to leave bite marks and kitten licks up and down your neck as he works you slowly, finger pressing against your front wall in a way that sends you squirming against him. Your breath comes out in short, quick gasps, sweat gathering at the back of your neck as he fucks you with his finger, the wet press of his hand maddening.
"Look at you," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "So beautiful like this. So desperate. I want to see you fall apart. Want to see your face when you come."
He adds a second finger and you whimper, your hands sliding from his shoulders to grip his arms, needing something to hold onto. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming, and when he curls his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit, you nearly sob, rolling your hips forward into his hand, thighs trembling as you clench down on his fingers.
"You're so tight," Jeonghan continues, his voice a dark purr in your ear. "So perfect around my fingers. I can feel how close you are. Can feel you clenching around me. Do you want to come, love? Do you want me to make you fall apart right here in the garden where anyone could find us?"
The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through you, making you clench harder around his fingers. You nod desperately, squeezing your eyes shut as your cunt throbs around his fingers and you writhe against the tree.
"You like that," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Like the danger of it. Like knowing that you're supposed to be in there playing princess while you're out here letting the court jester play with this pretty pussy."
His words are filthy and crude, and they shouldn't affect you the way they do, but combined with the movement of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his body pressed against yours, you feel overwhelmed and strung out, the feeling low in your stomach coiling and coiling and coiling until you're babbling and squirming and squeezing your eyes shut.
"Please," you gasp, and you're not even sure what you're begging for.
"I know what you need." His fingers move faster, harder, curling inside you with devastating precision. "You need to let go. Need to stop thinking and just feel. Need someone to take control so you don't have to be perfect for once in your life."
His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling in tight, relentless patterns, and you can feel the pleasure building to an impossible peak. Your thighs are shaking, your breath coming in desperate gasps. Jeonghan invades your senses - the smell of him, the heat of him, the way his teeth scrape against your neck, the way his hair tickles against your skin.
"You're mine right now," Jeonghan growls. "Not a princess. Not a performance. Just mine. Say it."
"Yours," you gasp. "I'm yours."
"Good girl. Now come for me. Let me feel it. Let me watch you fall apart."
His fingers curl one more time, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb works your clit, and the orgasm crashes over you like a wave. You cry out, unable to stop yourself, your body convulsing against the tree as pleasure floods through you. You clench around his hand, throbbing as your body shakes until you feel like you can't breathe.
Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out your orgasm until you're boneless and gasping and oversensitive. He's murmuring praise in your ear now - how beautiful you are, how perfect, how he wants to do this again and again until you can't remember your own name - and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you're drunk off of him alone.
Finally, the waves subside and Jeonghan withdraws his hand slowly. You feel the loss of him like an ache, your legs still trembling and barely holding you up. He brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch through hazy eyes as he licks them clean, tasting you. The sight sends another pulse of heat through you despite your exhaustion.
"Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Even better than I imagined."
Reality begins to seep back in slowly. The cool night air on your heated skin. The distant sounds of the party still going on inside. The rough bark of the tree against your back. What you've just done, and who you've done it with.
You should feel ashamed. Should feel horrified. Should be scrambling to fix your dress and run back to the safety of the ballroom. You don't. You feel satisfied and boneless and strangely alive all at once, like you've finally done something that feels real instead of the pretty performance.
When you look up at Jeonghan, you see him watching you, his expression unreadable in the shadow of the tree. The breeze makes the leaves dance, kissing your cooling skin as his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek with surprising gentleness.
"Regrets?" He asks, voices soft as the smoke that clings to him.
You should say yes and that this was a mistake, that it can never happen again and that you need to return to the ballroom and pretend this never happened. You should remind him that this is improper and unacceptable. Yet instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, lashes fluttering.
"No," you admit. "No regrets."
Something like satisfaction shifts in his gaze, and he leans in and kisses you again. This time it's different - softer and slower, less consuming and more like he's savoring the taste and feel of your lips against his. You kiss him back, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the crystals click against your skin as his heart pounds beneath your palms.
When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard again, and your mind is spinning with questions you're not sure you want answered.
"How did you do it?" you ask suddenly.
Jeonghan tilts his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Do what?"
"The card trick. In the ballroom."
His smile widens, and there's something dangerous in it now."I already told you. I read your mind."
You shake your head, confusion and disbelief warring inside you. "That would make you something magical. Not just a jester with clever tricks."
"Yes," Jeonghan agrees, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "It would."
The implication of his words hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches, your mind racing through everything you know about him, everything you've seen, the way he seems to move through the world like something other. Like something more.
He's grinning now, watching the realization dawn across your face, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, more possessive, like he's claiming you. Like he knows exactly what he's revealed and doesn't care. When he pulls back, his lips are still close enough that you can feel his breath against your mouth.
"You thought it yourself earlier, didn’t you?" he murmurs, teeth catching your bottom lip sharply. "I'm a wolf in fools' clothing."
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as a business major someone needs to get infold a new management team cause wtf are they even thinking? wtf is their pr team doing? cutting grass? who the fuck thought staying radio silent would calm things down instead this just pissed players more. Their decision making skills are so substandard.
man fuck ya'll they don't even have the common sense to run a fucking business.
PAIRING: Set!Vernon x Sehkmet!Reader
SUMMARY: Vernon is the type of historian you hate - reckless, disrespectful, and far too comfortable stealing and selling artefacts to the highest bidder. You tolerate him at best, but when a job goes wrong and you’re left clinging to life with a new power you don’t understand, you find that the man you’ve detested has far more experience with divine forces than you ever would have guessed.
FULL WC: 28,997
AU: Mythological, Supernatural
GENRE: Angst, Smut, Adversaries to Lovers
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: Fantasy violence, mentions of blood and death, scary creatures attacking people mild (very mild) gore, lots of blood, reader is sacrificed and is very afraid and mortally wounded and kind of has a mild dying sequence (i lived bitch!!!), Vernon is kind of an asshole, reader is rude to Vernon because she thinks very little of him at first, Spooky Temple Shit, death of a parent(s) (in the past) but talking about it, people being carelessly sacrificed, me using 100000 translation sites for some mild uses of Arabic pls forgive me for anything wrong or gently correct me, some mild commentary on the ethics of taking ancient artefacts and selling them to reach people or to museums that take them out of their native lands/population, some sexual tension, lots of teasing, sorry there is a lot of storytelling idk, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving) vaginal fingering, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, Vernon is down bad the entire time, intense action sequences, reference to a mass sacrifice, getting wounded in battle, oh! waking up to a Scorpion in bed so like if that freaks you out sorry!! and I think that's it. A always, smut markers are in text for you to skip if you don't like smut.
A/N: This is a piece for the Sands of Time Collab
A/N 2: This is so long I am so sorry I can never shut the fuck up. No beta we die like men.
MAIN M. LIST | ASK | RED SANDS COLLAB
Call me He Who Howls in Open Places.
Call me the Red One, the Unmoored, the Crooked Star.
Do not call me Brother, for brothers bind.
Call me the Eye Unbound.
I drink what spills.
I burn away the unworthy.
THE SUN SPILLS RED, HUNGRY LIGHT BLEEDING. This is the desert evening, blood-spilled sand and burning waves of heat.
Said heat slams into you even as the sun dies, your shoes sinking in the sand as you slide out of the jeep. Dunes stretched out in every direction, red and gold and endless, rippling under the blood sky. Luxor is far behind you now, somewhere far behind where you can see. Wind hisses across the surface, carrying grains of sand that sear right through you. Somewhere far off, a hawk cries once.
Below you, the dig site lies half-revealed by the storm that blew in a few weeks ago. Black stone pylons jut from the sand like the broken ribs of a dead god, sending a chill up your spine. The gateway stands open, its stone mouth carved with falcons whose wings have been worn smooth by centuries of wind and sand.
Sand. The sand here is endless, clinging to anything and everything, the grit crunching between your teeth and scraping beneath your eyelids despite protective covering. Sand sticks to you even now as you pull your scarf higher over your mouth as you start down the slope. Each step sinks you ankle-deep, grains pouring into your boots.
The sand isn't the only nuisance - the heat is deadly, an inferno that presses against the top of your scalp and makes the exposed parts of your skin tingle as you walk. By the time you reach the camp ground below, your shirt is plastered to your back with sweat and your lungs feel sun-scored and sand-scoured.
Tents cluster around the dig site in orderly rows, white canvas snapping in the wind. Generators thrum, powering the floodlights as they kick on in the rapidly growing dark. Dozens of people move between the tents, a combination of laborers in faded galabeyas carrying crates, archaeologists in khaki bent over folding tables, a photographer in jeans adjusting a lens. Somewhere, the smell of cardamom tea drifts toward you, sharp and sweet.
A man exits one of the larger tents and spots you. He's tall and broad shouldered with silver threading his dark hair, the expensive watch on his wrist catching the last of the red sun like a flare. Harlan Voss is every bit as intimidating in person as he was on the phone. He's a shipping magnate, a collector of antiquities and the kind of man who funds expeditions like this because he can.
He isn't your cup of tea, but he's the only way into the site up ahead right now, so you're willing to swallow past the sour taste in your mouth and accept his handshake when he reaches you.
"Great to see you," He greets, his handshake firm. "I trust the drive wasn't too punishing?"
"No. Storm seems to have cleared the way." You look past him to the ancient dig site. "It really did clear away the sand here too."
"Thank the Gods." You cock your head at the turn of phrase but he's already looking over his shoulder at the half-dug up site. "We're on a timeline. Storms roll in often, so we need to get in and out before the next. Come on, let me show you the operation."
You follow as he walks and talks, introducing you in clipped tones to a Rolodex of names you're struggling to keep up with already: Dr. Hassan al-Masri the epigrapher and Leila Farouk the conservator are names you vaguely recognize, shaking their hands politely. Less known to you is Piet Keppens, a lanky photographer whose hands are a little too clammy and is sunburned to hell, and a swath of Cairo University students hauling equipment for internship hours, eyes wide when they hear your name.
A security team stands apart from everyone else, sprawled under a shaded awning despite the vanished sun like a pride of lions. They check rifles and lean over schematics and computers of perimeters that you don't understand - could never understand, probably. You don't know why you need security in the desert with guns and knives. It's not like the jackals will bother big groups and no one is coming this far out to rob a tomb like in an Indiana Jones movie.
Well. Perhaps not no one, you realize, as you set eyes on someone familiar, your lip curling in dissatisfaction.
Voss gestures toward a figure leaning on an awning pole, watching you with dark eyes. "Vernon Chwe," Voss says. "Our specialist in acquisitions and one of our security personnel."
Your stomach knots. You know Vernon. Most people in your field do, considering he has a habit of getting tombs open before permits are granted, finding artifacts that vanish into private collections, and a decent degree to back his unethical tomb raiding.
Fucking Vernon.
He straightens as you approach, tall and lean, skin tan from spending days under the sun. His hair is hidden under a dark cap, his linen shirt loose with the sleeves rolled high enough to reveal arms covered in ink. Your eyes snag on the tattoos, recognizing ancient scripts and symbols winding up his arms and vanishing under his sleeves.
Strange. You've never seen his tattoos before, but you wonder why a tomb raider of his legacy - however tainted - is sporting tattoos of hieroglyphic protective wards and Coptic symbols for binding alongside something that you can't decipher. Sumerian, maybe.
The thought unsettles you. You're supposed to be the historian and language expert here, and seeing dead languages on a man who would rather turn a profit than uncover history and deliver it to those who should preserve it makes your stomach turn.
Vernon's mouth curves when you stop in front of him, a small and unreadable smile. "Doctor."
You nod once. "Chwe."
Voss claps your shoulder, his hand lingering a beat too long before he wishes you a good evening and stalks off, calling orders about timelines as he goes.
Wind tugs at the tent ropes, and somewhere, someone laughs as the scent of cooking fat and meat wafts toward you, dinner preparations underway. You and Vernon stand in the small pocket of quiet in the security hub, your eyes flicking back to his arms, tracing the ink.
He tilts his head. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Yes, I've been busy."
"Hiding in those stacks?"
"Working, Chwe." You cross your arms. "I suppose you're unfamiliar, unless the word theft has replaced the word work in recent years."
"You're the linguist." He smirks. "You tell me."
"I'm a historian."
"Tomato, tomato."
He irks you. The few times you've had the displeasure of crossing paths with Vernon Chwe have always left you flustered and frustrated. He is annoyingly good at poking all of the buttons that anger you, and he always does it with a flippant comment and a blase attitude that makes you see red.
It doesn't help that everyone is unfailingly charmed by him. Your colleagues both want to be him and want to be with him, always falling for the smooth lines and the fact that he has a face that belongs on a runaway, not at an ancient civilization site. The kind of face that would have definitely had a statue or two dedicated to it, a painting maybe-
"You been to the site yet?"
That question catches you off guard. You look him up and down, but he just watches you with that same lazy expression he always has. "No."
"Want to?"
You hate that you do. You don't need an escort, though, so without answering, you pivot in the sand and start walking. He laughs behind you, but you hear him push off the pole and follow you.
Immediately, you don't know where you're going. The maze of tents might as well be a mini city, and they're tall enough that you can't see the dig site that is down further in the sand. You pause as you try to gather your bearings, swiveling from left to right until Vernon breezes past you, taking a left.
"This way, Stacks," he laughs.
You storm after him. "I beg your pardon?"
"What?"
"What do you mean stacks? Are you seriously talking about my ass?"
He pauses to turn and look at you, brows raised. When he realizes you're serious, he starts laughing, open and loud and so amused that it makes you immediately feel embarrassed, flushing from head to toe as your hands make fists.
"What?" You demand.
"Stacks as in libraries," he manages. "Not your ass. I mean you do have a great-"
"Shut up!"
He holds his hands up and starts walking again, chuckling faintly as though your error still amuses him long after the moment has passed.
Vernon leads you down careful wooden steps that have been built to lead into the heart of the dig site, the Temple of Montu still half-buried from sand. A tingle slides over your skin as you approach, the floodlights casting shadows up the sides of the temple and between the pylons. Black basalt walls drink in the light and as you reach level footing, your steps slow as you approach.
Wind stirs as you approach. The temple is taller than you expected, with sand-scoured carvings and weather-bitten stones. Up close, you feel the heavy eyes of the stone falcons, heart skipping a little as you near them. Vernon seems unbothered, walking between the falcons without missing a beat. You scurry after him, casting a glance at the twin statues before stepping into the shadow of the gateway that leads into the temple.
Vernon stops just outside the collapsed front door. Tomorrow, the work teams will clear the door for you to go inside. For now, it's just the whistling wind and the buzzing on your skin like you're being watched. When you look around, it's just you and Vernon here, his inky eyes on your face.
You drift away from him toward the gateway. The shade inside the passage is deep, and you can feel the hiss of cool air coming from inside, smelling of dust and cold stone. Your eyes adjust slowly as you try to peer past the collapsed stone.
The inner walls are covered in reliefs, though wind has worn them soft. Montu stands triumphant, falcon-headed with his spear raised, offering placed around his feet below him. Your eyes catch on the lower register of the statue and you realize they're not eroded - they're gouged. Deep chisel marks mar the stone where text and figures once lived, like someone wanted them gone.
Glyphs on the doorframe catch your attention. You walk over to them, hand lifting as you trace them with your finger. The sand scrapes beneath your hand, stone solid and cold. Your mind works fast, unscrambling the words, brows pinching as you read.
"Finding secrets?" Vernon's voice makes you flinch. You'd almost forgotten he was there.
"What did Voss say this place was again?"
Vernon lifts a shoulder. "Temple to Montu. Supposed to be like a treasure hold or some shit."
"Don't be crass."
"Fine. Some stuff."
You hum, thoughtful. "These inscriptions are weird. It says cast beneath the horizon and held."
"Great. What's it mean?"
"I don't know."
"Useful."
Your head snaps in his direction. "Don't be an ass."
He smirks. "Don't be crass."
You fight the urge to snap back at him. He's leaning on a pylon, arms crossed, those tattoos staring back at you, and you can't help but get distracted by them again. The collar of his shirt is looser now, revealing a cluster of symbols that look like a map, lines intersecting in ways that tease at a meaning but slip away when you try to pin them down.
"You're staring." You glance up to find him smirking again. "Come on, Stacks. Work in the morning. Let's make sure there are no scorpions in your tent."
"I'm entirely capable of doing that myself."
"Damn. You want to come take care of mine?"
Letting out an angry sound, you turn your back on the temple and storm past him. You figured the hardest part of this dig would be the sun and the deciphering, but you've decided that your biggest challenge is going to be Vernon, an unexpected bump in the road.
You don't look to see if Vernon follows - you don't have to. You feel him there, a quiet pressure at your back. It doesn't occur to you until you're in your tent changing that Vernon's presence had felt exactly like the temple.
-
A faint rustle pulls you awake as dawn cracks against the horizon like an egg, the sun's yolk spilling through the tiny gap in your tent door. The air in your tent is thick, but the leftover cool from the night before hasn't been burned off from the sun yet.
You shift, intending to sit up when you feel something cold and segmented brush against your calf. You freeze. Heart hammering, you lift the sheet slowly and carefully, peering underneath. Coiled on your nice little bed by your leg is a scorpion, inky body fat, its stinger arched.
Leirus quinquestriatus. A deathstalker, its pinchers raised slightly, sensing your movement. You know if it stings you that its venom is potent enough to ruin you for days. Even if it wasn't, you really don't want to be stuck, trying to swallow down your discomfort at the way its scaly little body siddles up to you.
Holding your breath, you ease your hand toward the edge of the cot, fingers closing around the empty water glass. You don't dare breathe as you bring the cup toward the creature. It twitches and you stop, folding your lips together to stop you from squealing. You're not afraid, but you really don't want to be stung.
Licking your lips, you carefully bring the glass toward the scorpion and then in a single fluid motion, you invert the glass over the arachnid, trapping it against the sheet. It skitters, legs tapping the glass. You don't lift your hand, reaching with a free hand to grab your notebook, putting it against the edge of your bed.
Carefully, you slide the glass and the scorpion immediately gets angry, fighting the glass as you drag it until it's trapped between glass and notebook. Its tail flicks, pissed off at its makeshift prison. You exhale, swinging your legs over the side of the cot to stand. The sand floor is cool under your feet as you rush to the entrance, pushing the doorway open.
Outside, the camp is waking up. You hear distant voices and the clatter of cookware, the low hum of generators powering up. The sky is a gradient of grey and blue, stars fading in the light.
A worker passes, nodding at you while mumbling, "Sabah el-khair."
You nod back with a smile. "Sabah el-noor."
Stepping into the open air, you kneel at the edge of the tent. With careful hands, you tip the glass and let the scorpion scuttle free into the sand. It pauses to orient itself, then burrows swiftly out of sight.
You watch it go, a shiver tracing up your spin. In most traditions, scorpions are omens, guardians and harbingers of death. Specifically in ancient Egyptian lore, scorpions were sacred to Selket, but they were also symbols of chaos and strife, omens of dark tidings on the horizon.
You shake off the thought. Superstition has no place here. Though you deal in lore and mythos and theology as much as you deal in history and language, superstition in the desert can quickly feel like heat stroke and conspiracy, and as much as you'd like to think there is something mystical and otherworldly about the ancient world, you know it's a thread that's too dangerous to chase.
Back inside your tent, you dress quickly in khaki pants, a long sleeved shirt to ward off the sun and the cool temple air, sturdy boots laced all the way up, and grab a satchel full of notebooks, pens, a water bottle and small archaeologist tools.
Outside, the camp is fully alive, people brewing tea over small fires and clustering around maps. The smell of flatbread baking mingles with the sharp tang of the diesel generators. You want to look for coffee, but you find Voss instead, retracing your steps from last night to the dig site.
He's already barking orders, his silhouette sharp against the rising sun. The workers have been at it since before dawn, and the collapsed doorway to the temple is already cleared, the rubble piled neatly to one side as Leila oversees where it needs to go.
Floodlights still cast harsh beams into the shadowed maw of the temple, gliding past the black basalt pylons. You glance at the falcons again, their beady eyes eroded with time and sand but still watching.
"Doctor!" Voss calls when he sees you. "Good, you're up. We're going in. Teams of three: security, researcher, laborer. No one wanders alone."
You nod, approaching the group collecting to be assigned. Dr. Hassan al-Masri is there, his epigrapher's toolkit slung over one shoulder, chatting rapidly to Keppens, whose camera is slung around his neck, face stuck in the white cast of sunscreen.
Voss assigns teams and you scan the group, hoping he pairs you with anyone except-
"You'll go with Chwe and Karim," Voss says, gesturing to Vernon who lounges against one of the falcons. He's dressed in all black tactical gear with a keffiyeh around his neck and pulled up to his nose, protecting him from the morning sun. You're surprised to see that his traditional dark hair has been replaced with a dark blonde mullet, roughly styled from the wind. "Chwe has a radio if you need it."
Of course. You nod and swallow past the dry patch in your throat, walking over to Vernon and Karim, who nods his head when he sees you.
"Morning, Stacks," Vernon greets, smirking. "Sleep well?"
You ignore him and turn to the third man in your party. "Ahlan wa sahlan."
Karim grins. "Ahlan beeki. Ready for the shadows?"
"Always."
The temple looms, its gateway a yawning void that seems to pulse. You've felt the pulse since last night, a strange sense of doom like fingers brushing the nape of your neck. You think of the scorpion in your bed this morning and the doom deepens, but you shove it aside, unwilling to let your mother's bedtime stories lead you astray.
The teams fan out, headlamps flicking on as they step through the gateway. You follow Vernon and Karim into the dim coolness, the temperature dropping sharply as sand gives way to the stone floor. The air is stale and thick with dust, carrying the faint echoes of incense long burned out and faded myrrh.
Inside, the temple unfolds, the hypostyle hall stretching before you, columns rising like petrified palm trees, the lotus blossom shaped tops cracked and smoothed with time. Floodlights from the entrance cast long shadows, dancing as the team moves. Your boots echo on the flagstones, each step stirring puffs of dust.
Montu, the falcon-headed god of war, dominantes the reliefs. He stands with his spear in hand, ready to smite his enemies. You see each enemy etched alongside him, the paint faded and nearly washed away. Nubians, Hyksos, Libyans - all of them await his slaughter and fury, his most hated enemies. Montu's form stands taller than them all, his depiction muscular and divine, wings partially unfurled.
One carving catches your eye and you hurry over to it, Vernon and Karim on your heels. You blow the dust from the wall, wiping a hand to sweep away the thick layers of grime and time.
"Look at this," you murmur, more to yourself than your companions. "Montu was Theban originally, but his cult spread north during the Middle Kingdom. I'd wager this temple is Eleventh Dynasty, based on the style."
Vernon leans in too close. You smell him immediately - woody oud mixed with something else staticky. His breath is warm on your shoulder when he says, "Fascinating. Does he have a favorite color as well?"
You shoot him a glare. "If you're not going to contribute, at least don't distract me."
Karim chuckles at your exchange and shines his flashlight along the base of the column. "The god is angry here. See the fire in his eyes?"
Shuffling closer, you look to where Karim points. Indeed, the inlaid eyes are gone, sockets hollow. Still, the ferocity remains in the carved lines.
You nod, switching to Arabic to keep Vernon out of your conversation. "Yes, Montu was the bull of battle. It is he who grants victory. But in later periods, he merged with Ra, becoming Montu-Ra, the solar warrior."
Vernon snorts. "Solar warrior?"
You stare. "You speak Arabic?"
"I've got the same degree as you."
"You don't."
"Alright. I've got a degree."
"Well if you can't appreciate the cultural significance-"
"Ease up, Stacks. It was a joke. I appreciate the significance."
You grit your teeth, moving on. The sense of doom you'd felt this morning intensifies as you delve deeper, a prickling unease that makes your skin crawl. It's not just the chill - you feel like the walls are watching and you're reminded of the falcons in the front.
Temples like this were sacred precincts, boundaries between the mortal and divine. You've translated enough texts to know that the Ancient Egyptians weren't messing around with their warnings and curses, and the knowledge weighs heavy on you the further you go.
The hall branches into corridors, the teams' voices echoing faintly from other paths. Your group takes a left fork, Vernon leading with casual confidence, the beam of his flashlight sweeping.
"This way looks promising," he announces. He glances back at you, eyes flashing with something dark that gives you pause. "Unless you want to flip a coin, Stacks?"
"Based on what? Your pirate instinct for loot and theft?"
"Something like that."
Behind you, Karim snickers at your bickering. You ignore both of the men, walking further into the temple where the corridor begins to narrow, the walls closing in. As you go, you see that the reliefs here are denser, narrating a tangle of Montu's story starting with his birth from Nun to his battles against Apep and his role with ancient Pharaohs.
You trace a cartouche with your finger, dust flaking. "Mentuhotep II," you murmur. "He unified Egypt after the First Intermediate Period. This temple might commemorate his victories. Perhaps Montu was his patron."
Vernon is quiet for a second. "Patrons aren't always what they seem."
You glance sideways at him. "Meaning?"
"Meaning keep looking for shit, Stacks."
"You're impossible."
Despite Vernon, you push forward. The corridor opens into a chamber, smaller than the hall but richly decorated like some sort of ritual room. Offering tables line the walls, carved with heaps of bread, beer and oxen, all tributes that would have been given to the gods. In the center, a pedestal holds a fragmented statue of Montu, falcon head intact, body cracked but not entirely broken or dismembered.
Grinning, you drop to your knees and unpack your notebook to begin sketching. Your pencil scratches against the room while Karim lingers near the door, his eyes scanning the shadows as Vernon lounges against a wall, arms crossed, silent for once.
As you work, something presses against your awareness. The air feels thicker here, charged somehow, like the moment before a storm. You look up briefly, eyes scanning the room, but you see nothing. Still, you feel something pressed against you, a warning you can't feel. You hate that you think of the scorpion in your bed again, seeing the way its tail swayed back and forth, an ominous pendulum. Your hand trembles slightly as you work and you swallow past the unease.
Vernon watches you, his eyes burning a hole in your back. "You look like you're enjoying this."
"Some of us value knowledge over profit."
"Ouch. Knowledge pays your bills too though, doesn't it?"
He isn't wrong, but there is a difference between what you and Vernon do. Your desire to uncover history and write about it is rooted in preserving its cultural significance and keeping artifacts in their native lands where they belong, not front and center at some museum in New York or London - or worse, in some rich man's mansion that is rarely visited save for the holidays.
History is a personal endeavor for you - it's always been more than a job. It's air. It's blood. It's what keeps you going. You don't know how to explain that to someone like Vernon who doesn't understand that history isn't a subject to you, it's an artform.
You remember the first time you truly understood that. You were eight, curled up on the worn couch in your mother's Cairo apartment, the river glinting beyond the balcony like a ribbon of molten silver. Your mom had just come home from a dig in Saqqara, dust still in her hair. She always had dust in her hair, the braids ashen from spending hours by lamplight in digs far out in the desert. That night she'd brought you something, and in her lap was a shard of pottery, no bigger than your palm and painted with lotuses and a single line of hieratic script.
"Feel it," she'd said, handing it to you. You remember her calloused fingers stained with ink, the rasp of them against your skin, the way she'd leave finger prints on you sometimes. "This belonged to a woman who lived four thousand years ago. She held it. She drank from it. She probably argued with her partner over whose turn it was to fetch water, just like the women of this age do."
You'd traced the delicate brush strokes, awestruck. "How do you know it was a woman?"
"Because the name inscribed on the rim is a woman's name. Merit. And because women have always been an important part of history. Merit is no different. What women do holds power. Never let anyone tell you that history is made by men. History is painted with the power and prowess of women, no matter how men try to snuff it out."
From that day on, history wasn't something you could find in just textbooks. It was alive. It was stories whispered across thousands of years, lives and histories of people like Merit. Your mother had made it that way for you until her last day in a hospital room, clinging to that same piece of pottery you'd sat on the couch and examined together.
"There's a thread," she said, weak and tired as life slowly left her. "Running beneath the official history. I can feel it. Something no one records plainly. Something more, something we don't think is real. I wanted to find it."
She never had the chance.
Shaking your head free of visions of your mother, you focus on a longer text wrapping around the pedestal, wondering if you'd ever find the threads your mother used to talk about or if your fear of the mystical and rejection of the other would keep you from wandering down her same, chaotic path. The text is a hymn to Montu detailing his history. You scribble notes, unpacking how he was once a local deity in Armant, then elevated during the Eleventh Dynasty.
"He who makes the Nile red with the blood of his enemies," you translate, voice barely above a whisper. "Guardian of the hidden ways, binder of the chaos beyond."
"What does Montu know of chaos?" The tone of Vernon's voice makes you look at him.
He's half in shadow, watching you, the keffiyah loose around his neck, his face unreadable. Your eyes linger on the swirling tattoos that should make sense to you - do make sense to you, in a way. The binding symbols on his arms are a strange choice for a tomb raider who walks around with a gun, and the script near his throat…
"Need something, Stacks?" His question makes you look back up at him. He's watching you with an intensity that makes you flinch. "A new pen? A snack, perhaps?"
Huffing, you turn back to your task. The sense of something lingers, though, tingling at the back of your neck as Vernon watches you work. You know that he isn't stupid - he's far from it. Vernon is well-read and knowledgeable, and though you hadn't known his affinity for Arabic, you shouldn't be surprised.
You continue writing down the text and you frown at the shift as the language grows more archaic, switching periods and skipping around between dialects and writing systems. Weird. Your brows furrow as you write the words down haltingly, translating underneath a little at a time.
The sealed gate lies deep, where he who feeds the soil with iron waits…
You frown, unable to read damaged lettering. You skip to the next part, shuffling on your knees to get a better look.
… not open the lid, for spear will walk anew.
A chill races through you. The words echo and you think again of the scorpion this morning. You hadn't been sure what the omen meant, guardian or chaos, but the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach worsens.
Montu's temples often had hidden chambers, crypts for sacred objects or forbidden knowledge. This speaks to something grander, though. Something powerful, maybe. But you don't understand the meaning.
Vernon notices you've stopped writing, leaning forward to look at you, brow pinched. "What?"
"There's a warning here. It's a bit hard to understand but it… Do you speak Ancient Egyptian?"
He snorts. "Yes."
"It says not open the lid, for spear will walk anew. I don't understand the lid or the spear will walk anew."
Sighing, Vernon leans down and looks at your writing. He seems ready to make a snarky joke when his expression pinches. "That says door not lid and war not spear. Door and lid are written the same but the end is pronounced differently."
"Insightful. So not open the door, for war will walk anew."
Vernon looks to Karim. "Is there a lower chamber here?"
"Yes, that is part of what the team is to help clear the way, if needed."
Vernon looks at you but you're already getting up, shoving your notebook in your bag. "They shouldn't open that door. I'm not superstitious but it could be anything - booby traps, underground gasses. We need to tell Voss.
You hurry back through the corridor, Karim trailing with his flashlight beam bouncing across the walls. Vernon keeps pace beside you, the usual smirk absent. The sense of something dark clings to your skin, the temple alive in a way it wasn't before.
Halfway down the corridor, Vernon stops dead. His hand shoots out, fingers closing around your upper arm. You jerk to a halt, Karim nearly bumping into you from behind.
"You should go back," Vernon says, voice urgent. "Karim, taking her to camp. Now."
"What?" You stare at him, incredulous. "Why?"
"This isn't your fight."
"My fight?" You yank your arm free. "It's not a fight, Vernon. It's a temple, my goodness. There could be one of those ancient traps behind that door! Or any amount of gasses. The text isn't literal, ancient civilizations often used gods to explain natural dangers they didn't understand."
"Great. So go back to the tent where there's no mystical warnings."
"No."
Karim shifts uncomfortably, looking between the two of you. "Doctor-"
"No," you cut him off, turning your glare on Vernon. "What is your problem, Chwe? One minute you're mocking everything I say, the next you're trying to dismiss me like I'm an intern."
His jaw tightens. "I'm trying to do you a favor. Just listen to me."
"Or what? You're gonna shoot me?"
You hold his stare, heart hammering, not understanding the sudden intensity in his eyes, like he’s seeing something you can’t. Something that scares even him. It infuriates you more because you don't get it.
"Fine." He turns away to let you pass. "Get yourself killed then."
You storm past him, anger propelling you deeper into the temple. Karim calls your name once, uncertain, but you don't stop. You're not going to get killed, no matter how much Vernon's dramatics feel like a cheap script to a Lara Croft video game.
The corridors blur left, right, then left again. You follow the faint echo of voices and the scrape of tools. The air crows colder and thicker as you plunge into the temple, the apprehension behind your ribs pulling tight like a rubber band.
You enter a lower chamber, larger than the sanctuary above, lit by harsh portable floodlights. You're momentarily stunned at its vastness, steps slowing as you look up at the tall ceilings of cracked stone and floating dust. Your heart skips, mouth twitching briefly at the marvel of a new, undiscovered piece of history before you remember why you were rushing down here in the first place.
Voss stands at the center of the room, arms folded, watching as workers lever a massive stone door set into the far wall. The floodlights cast him in harsh light, half of him shadowed and intense as he stands back as the overseer. Dr. el-Masri is there next to him, scribbling notes while Piet snaps photos. Two security men stand ready, rifles slung. You roll your eyes. These people and their guns. You're in a tomb where the most dangerous thing is collapsing tunnels, natural gas and ancient traps.
"Voss!" You shout, jogging toward him. "Tell them to stop, they can't open that door."
"Ah, Doctor. Perfect timing."
"I found a warning upstairs," you tell him, holding out the notebook. "I think there's an ancient trap behind it or something precious the temple is trying to protect, maybe even a natural danger-"
"Every temple has warnings, Doctor. Curses to scare thieves. We're professionals."
"This isn't a curse. I think-"
"Listen, Doctor." He turns to you, smile thin. "Money requires risk. My investors require results. You require an in. We open the door, catalog what's inside, and get out before the next storm. Simple, and good business."
"You're willing to gamble for artifacts? How many archaeologists have died from ancient traps doing exactly what they were meant to? Or tunnels collapsing or hitting lethal air pockets of natural gas?"
"I'm willing to gamble for history. Your history, that you wanted to learn, no?"
Fury boils in you. You do want to study this temple, but the right way, not with force and lack of caution and-
Your anger is cut short when the work team gives a final heave, stone grinding against stone as the door shifts and swings inward with a hollow boom.
For a moment, there's only silence. Dust billows out in a choking cloud, swirling under the floodlights and sending everyone coughing. You take a few steps back, lifting the collar of your shirt to cover your nose, immediately wary of breathing in natural gases and poisoning yourself.
Everyone stands and waits for the dust to clear. You narrow your eyes, trying to see into the endless dark of the doorway, and you swear you see movement in the dark beyond. You squint, willing your eyes to see further, trying to make out anything in the gloom.
A shape lurches forward from the dark and several people take a step backward. The shape is tall and skeletal, wrapped in desiccated linen and bronze scales that clatter as it walks, making your skin crawl. Empty eye sockets glow faintly red, and the skeleton carries an ancient but sharp khopesh blade that glints in the floodlights.
No one speaks as the skeleton stops. You're open mouthed, heart pounding while Karim starts praying behind you as the revenant - you don't know what else to call it - stops, and stares at the room. You tilt your head, analyzing the wrappings and the decay rate of the skin, trying to do quick math and references to the mummified artifacts that the world already has access to in order to place the decay age of-
The first scream comes from a young student as a revenant you didn't see cleaves through her shoulder with a blade. Blood sprays, bright and obscene against the black stone. It's so violent that you don't move at first as you stare in horror, not processing the barbarity of it, the blood and the gore so out of place among scholars and workers.
Chaos erupts around you.
Workers scatter and the security team shouts, riffles firing in sharp rapts that make you clap your hands over your ears, cringing. Bullets spark off the armor of the revenant, some finding purchase in brittle bone with explosions of brittle white, but the revenants keep coming, more of them spilling out of the maw of darkness.
A hand shoves you hard from behind and you scream and wheel around, only to realize it's Vernon. He slams you sideways into a narrow alcove behind a fallen column, his body shielding yours. He forces you down to the ground, ducking with you as he goes. His hands are firm, pressing you into the alcove until your back is against cold stone and your knees are pressed into the dirt.
"Stay down," he barks, eyes wild.
Then he's gone, leaping into the fray.
You watch him, heart pounding, as you survey the scene in front of you. The chamber is a nightmare, filled with flashes of gunfire, bronze clashing against modern steel, and screams. Blood slicks the floor, turning the dirt to a clumpy maroon. There is more blood than you've ever scene, a hand clapping over your mouth as a khopesh cuts a man open from navel to throat. You spot Karim holding his own, swinging a pickaxe as he fights alongside a security woman, both of them trying to fend off one of the skeletons.
And then you see Vernon.
He moves like nothing human, faster than your eyes can follow, ducking under a khopesh as he wrenches a spear from a nearby revenant's grip. The weapon looks ancient, shaft wrapped in faded leather, but in Vernon's hand it sings. He spins it easily, fluid and practiced, and drives it through a revenant's chest. Dust explodes outward as the thing collapses into a heap of armor and bones, morbidly similar to a video game.
A spark crackles along the spear's length for an instant, blue-white and bright before vanishing. You blink, convinced you imagined it. But it happens again when Vernon parries another blade, a spark leaping from metal to metal, charring the skeleton's bone black.
Vernon fights like something out of the reliefs on the walls themselves, vicious and precise, ancient forms blending with modern brutality. A revenant lunges and Vernon sidesteps, spear whipping around to take its head clean off. You watch with your lips parted, unbelieving as another charges him and Vernon plants the butt of the spear into the ground to vault over the screaming revenant before spinning the spear around and driving it into the back of its head.
One of the students collapses against the wall near you, making you flinch. Her gut is sliced open, blood pooling dark between her fingers as she tries to stop the bleeding. She's gasping her eyes wide with terror, wet sounds coming from the back of her throat as she tries to say something - a prayer or plea for help, maybe. You start to crawl out to her, ripping parts of your shirt to press against her wound, to offer her something to staunch the bleeding.
A revenant leaps toward you, khopesh raised. You don't even have time to scream as you drop to the floor. Time doesn't slow like you thought it might as you approach death. You'd always thought maybe it would happen like it does in film, a single slowed frame where you see everything in detail. You don't, though. You only see the swing of the blade and feel the single pulse of fear so hard that it hurts your chest.
And then Vernon is suddenly there, spear flashing as he impales the skeleton through the jaw and out the back of its skull. He rips the spear out and spins to you, panting. He growls at you, face sneered as he bends down to grab you and haul you back into the alcove by your collar, your feet dragging against the dirt. You'd be offended if you weren't so grateful he'd just saved your life, falling into the alcove as he drops you like a sandbag.
"Save your empathy for later," he growls, voice raged. "Stay. Put."
He's gone again before you can answer.
The fight drags on. Gunfire dwindles as enemies run out. Bodies hit the floor, but so do revenants. The final one collapses into dust and bones courtesy of Karim's pickaxe, leaving him shaking and covered in sweat.
Silence returns, broken only by sobbing and labored breathing. Voss stands near the breached door, coat torn, face pale but alive while he stares into the darkness beyond, something hungry in his eyes despite the carnage.
Vernon strides through the settling dust, spear still in hand. He looks untouched - shirt ripped - but otherwise whole. The tattoos on his arms seem darker, the lines sharper, as if ink had bled fresh. For a second when you look at him, you don't see Vernon. Instead, you see something vengeful and alive, something uncontainable and vaster than anything else in the room.
When you blink, it's just Vernon again. He stops at your hiding place and tosses the spear aside casually. It clatters and he looks down at you, expression unreadable. He doesn't offer you a hand, but his face is expectant, so you push yourself up. The first time, your legs give out. When you try again, your stance seems to hold.
"How," You ask shakily, "the hell did you do that?"
"Good cardio, Stacks." He wipes grime on his shirt. "You should try it.
"Don't. I saw you. You moved like you've done this before. And the lightning-"
"Adrenaline does crazy things to the mind. Let's go."
Vernon grabs your wrist, not rough, but firm. He pulls you toward the exit as survivors limp past. Karim is soot-streaked but upright, helping a wounded security man. Leila is crying as she huddles near Piet, who is cradling a broken arm. Somewhere, Voss is barking orders.
Outside of the temple, the sun is brutal. The camp is in utter chaos, full of shouting and running feet, radios screaming for medevac. Stretchers are improvised from tent poles and canvas, the smell of diesel mixing with the scent of blood.
Vernon doesn't slow down for a second. His grip on your wrist is unrelenting as he cuts through the chaos, steering you past clusters of stunned survivors toward the largest of the medical tents. The white canvas flaps snap in the hot wind, each crack like a gunshot from the tomb, making you flinch.
Inside, it's already crowded but he ignores the crying of the wounded and the yelling of the very few medical experts as he pulls you to a corner and pushes you toward a tiny stool. "Sit."
You do without argument, legs folding without permission. The world tilts strangely, sounds muffled as though you're underwater. Your hands are in your lap, but you can't feel them at all, you realize. Strange. You don't remember when the numbness started, but it's creeping up your hands as you stare at your palms upturned in your lap. They're speckled blood. You realize it's not yours - that your hands are stained with someone else's blood. Probably someone dead.
Vernon crouches in front of you, blocking the rest of the tent from your view. He reaches out with a hand and tilts your chin upward, drawing your gaze from your hands to his face. His face is streaked with dust and dried blood, eyes darker than ever as he studies you the way he studied the revenants before attacking, quick and predatory.
"You're shaking," he says. Not a question.
You are? You look down. You are. Tremors ripple through your fingers, your knees knocking together though you're sitting. Your teeth want to chatter, and you can't fight it - you let them. Once the tremors start, you can't stop them, the ripples coming in waves that vibrate through your entire frame no matter how much you want to stop.
"Oh."
"You're going into shock."
He reaches past you and grabs a folded wool blanket from a stack of supplies. The motion brings him close - you catch that same woody oud scent, now laced with something sharper like blood. He shakes the blanket out and wraps it around your shoulders, tucking it tight.
"Breathw," he orders. "Slowly."
You try. The air tastes like antiseptic and metal, making your lungs stutter. Vernon's hands settle on your knees and he grips you, the pressure firm.
"Look at me."
You do. His eyes are darker up close, pupils blown wide, the irises almost black. There's something restless behind them, something vast trying to stay leashed. You wonder if the others see it too, or if the shock is making you see things like the lightning in the temple.
"In through your nose," he urges. "Out through your mouth. With me."
He demonstrates with a slow inhale, controlled exhale. You follow, clumsy at first, then steadier. The roaring in your ears recedes a little.
“Good.” He doesn’t move his hands. “Again.”
Minutes pass. Or seconds. Time has gone slippery. The blanket traps your body heat, and gradually the violent shivering eases into something mangable. Feeling creeps back into your fingers, prickling like pins and needles.
A medic approaches with a tray of medical supplies, but Vernon waves them off without looking away from you. "She's not injured. Just shock. Give us a minute."
The medic hesitates, then nods and moves on to someone whose wounds are worse.
You swallow. Your throat feels lined with sand. “They’re dead. Because of a door. Because Voss wanted-"
“I know.” Vernon’s thumbs press small circles against your knees, an absent motion, like he’s done this before. “Not your fault.”
“I tried to warn him.”
"I know. Voss has his own gods to answer to."
You stare at him. There’s that flicker again in his eyes, something ancient and furious banking itself down. The tattoos on his forearms shift as his muscles tense and the binding symbols seem to writhe for a heartbeat before stilling. Again, you can't help but feel like you're seeing things that aren't supposed to be there, but that you know are.
"What are you?" You whisper, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
"A tomb raider," he answers, his voice deadpan. He reaches for a canteen on the supply table, unscrews it, presses it into your hands. “Small sips.”
The water is warm but clean. You drink obediently. He watches until you’ve had enough, then takes it back. “Better?”
You nod. The blanket feels heavy now, comforting. Your pulse has slowed to something human. Vernon sits back on his heels, but doesn’t stand yet. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself and look toward the tent flap, where the desert glares white-hot beyond the canvas.
"Thank you," you say quietly. He raises his brows. "For saving me. I didn't listen to you. So thanks."
His expression softens for a fraction, gone almost before you catch it. "Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. We're not friends."
But he stays crouched in front of you a little longer, a silent sentinel, while the camp outside tries to stitch itself back together around the pieces of what just broke free.
-
The temple stretches around you, but it's wrong. It's too vast, the columns rising into a startless, black sky. Sand shifts under your bare feet, warm as blood. The air smells of myrrh and hot iron.
A low growl rumbles through the stone. You turn, heart kicking, and see her. It's a lioness pacing between the pylons, her coat the deep red-gold of fresh spilled blood in sunlight, muscles rippling with every step. Her golden eyes fix on you, ancient and furious. A golden disk flickers in and out above her head, flaring like the sun.
She circles closer, paws silent on the flagstones as she approaches, sleek muscles shifting. Around her neck hangs a collar of crimson fabric - its linen soaked through and dripping, leaving wet prints whenever she steps. Blood you realize.
You try to speak, but your throat is dust and ash, unusable. The lioness stops directly in front of you. Her breath is furnace-hot and she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out save for the sound of something wet and tearing.
Red fabric unfurls from her jaws, endless and spilling. It wraps around your wrists, your ankles, your throat. You feel the weight of plagues, of arrows, of slaughter ordered by a god who grew tired of mercy. The rage presses into you deeper and deeper, the lioness's eyes boring into yours.
The temple floor cracks open beneath you and sand pours upward like reverse rain, swallowing the columns, swallowing the lioness, swallowing you.
You jerk awake, lungs burning like you can still feel the sand scouring them in your dream.
The tent is dark, the camp outside hushed except for the low hum of generators and the occasional murmur of voices. Your shirt is soaked with sweat, your sheets tangled at your feet.
Something is wrong.
It isn't just the dream. The air feels charged like the moment before lightning strikes and your skin prickles with the same sense of being watched you felt the first night outside the gateway.
You swing your legs off the cot, heart racing as you stumble for your boots in the dark. Your movements are quick and automatic, rushing as you get dressed. You don't bother lacing your boots fully before yanking the flap of your tent open to step into the night.
The desert air is cool now, almost sharp after the day's furnace. Stars burn overhead, spilling across the sky in thousands of untold stories. The camp is mostly asleep, tents dark, only a few security lights flowing. The temple looms in the distance, floodlights casting a ghoulish halo in the distance.
And there, just outside your tent, is Vernon. He's sitting cross-legged on a folded blanket with his back against the supply crate while he eats dates from a small pouch. A pile of pits sit in the sand next to him as he chews, a gun unholstered on the blanket next to him along with a knife that looks like it's the length of your forearm.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He pops another date into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "Guarding the perimeter. Scorpions, jackals, tomb raiders. You never know."
"You're guarding my tent."
"Technically the whole camp. Your tent happens to be on the perimeter." He offers the pouch. "Hungry?"
You ignore it. "You've been sitting here."
He shrugs and you stare at him, a tangle of emotions you don't have a name for yet. He looks tired with shadows under his eyes, but alert, like he's listening to every sound the desert makes.
"Anything else happen?" You ask finally.
He wipes his fingers on his pants. "Voss took a team back in. Small one. Himself, some security, Dr. el-Masri. Said it was safe now that the guardians were dealt with."
Vernon's tone tells you exactly what he thinks of that assessment and your stomach drops. "He went back in?"
"Man's got priorities. Look, we should head out-"
You turn toward the temple without another word. The pull is immediate and magnetic. You need to see what they're doing, need to stop whatever fresh stupidity Voss is commiting. It's what anyone with a brain would do - what your mom would do.
Vernon is on his feet in an instant, blocking your path. "No."
"Move."
"You're not going back in there."
"I need to tell him what he's doing! If he disturbs more seals-"
"He knows what he's doing." Vernon's voice is flat. "And you're not equipped for round two."
You step around him. "I don't need your permission."
Cursing, Vernon scoops up his weapons and jogs after you. "Of course you don't."
"No one is asking you to come with me - least of all me. I'm not a child."
You stride across the sand, boots crunching. The temple grows larger with every step, floodlights carving harsh shadows between the pylons. Vernon keeps pace, his anger crackling like the lightning you swore you saw the day before.
"You just came out of shock. You're running on adrenaline," he argues.
"I'm fine."
You stop at the wooden steps leading down to the site. The night wind whistles through the pylons, carrying faint voices up to you. You start down the steps and Vernon grabs your arm.
"I'm serious, Stacks. Go back to your tent."
You wrench free. "Why do you care? You don't even like me."
"You think I dragged you out of that bloodbath just to watch you walk back in? I don't have to like you. I have common fucking sense."
The words hit harder than you expect but you swallow, lifting your chin. "I'm not helpless."
"I didn't say you were, Gods above!" His voice drops, lethal. "But you're human. And whatever is in there isn't. We should leave."
You search his face, looking for the lie, the flippant mask. It isn’t there. Right now it's just raw frustration and something close to fear.
"Then come with me."
He laughs, short and bitter. “That’s not how this works.”
"Suit yourself."
You shove past him down the remaining steps, trying not to make eye contact with the falcon statues as they watch you pass. Vernon curses behind you and you hear him scramble to keep up.
"Why are you so stubborn?" He demands as you pass through the opening. Cool air greets you and you shiver, turning on a flashlight despite the floodlights guiding the way. You hear voices from a distance, but most of the main temple is empty. "You don't even have a weapon.
"I don't need one."
"Do you not remember yesterday?"
You do remember yesterday, though the memory is hard to grasp. Never in your life did you dare to believe in monsters and mummies, too afraid that you'd spend your career following loose threads and nonsense like your mother, but those creatures had been real. The blood had been real. So had the death.
It's what drives you at a breakneck pace through the temple now, determined to stop whatever Voss was doing to save himself and those with him from disaster you're sure is about to happen.
Halfway down the main corridor, where the floodlights from the entrance no longer reach, Vernon stops abruptly. He catches your wrist again, pulling you to a halt.
"Stop." His grip tightens, not painful - never painful - but immovable. "You want to play the hero, fine. But not tonight. Not after what happened yesterday. Wait until the morning."
The hallway feels smaller, suddenly, the walls pressing in. Somewhere deeper, a tool clangs against stone. It echoes your pounding heart, the smell of Vernon's woody cologne and sweat making you dizzy. You realize how close he is and try to step back but he doesn't let you, crowding your space.
His fingers stay locked around your wrist, warm even through the layers of dust and sweat, his thumb pressed against your pulse. His body blocks most of the faint light spilling from deeper inside, leaving you half in shadow.
Up close, you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker from your face to the darkness and back again, like he's fighting some sort of war you're not privy to.
"Let go," you murmur. "Please."
He doesn't. For a long, suspended moment, neither of you moves. The air between you turns to static. His gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second, so quick you think you imagined it, then snaps back up. Something like frustration flickers across his face before he shakes his head.
"You are shaking, Stacks."
"I'm fine."
The words hang heavy. You're hyper aware of how alone you are, how the rest of the world feels miles away behind layers of stone and sand. For one second you think Vernon might pull you closer, but he doesn't. His shoulders sag as the fight bleeds out of him and he lets you go.
"Fine." He steps back. "Do what you want."
He retreats deeper into the shadows and you watch as his faint outline melts into the dark. The space he leaves behind feels cold and empty, your wrist tingling where he held you. Swallowing, you shove down the fluttering feeling in your stomach and turn, determined to stop disaster before it can happen again.
The beam of your flashlight cuts a narrow tunnel through the black, the light jittery with every hurried step. The temple swallows the sounds of your boots on stone, your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart.
The hypostyle hall feels endless, the columns rising like the ribs of some colossal beat, their lotus capitals lost in shadow. The floodlights from the entrance have faded, and the darkness swallows you save for the glow of a portable lamp left behind by Voss's team every few meters.
You pass the sanctuary chamber where you first found the warning and something presses down on you, the air changing. The corridor narrows, forcing you to turn sideways in places. your shoulder brushes basalt etched with faded scenes of victories - pharaohs trampling enemies, Montu towering above, spear dripping with blood.
A low murmur of voices drifts from ahead. You slow, clicking off the flashlight to let your eyes adjust to the dim glow spilling from the lower chamber. The same chamber where the revenant poured out hours ago. The air is warmer here, carrying the metallic tang of fresh blood and your stomach knots.
Edging the threshold, you peer inside and the scene stops your heart.
Portable floodlights have been arranged in a rough circle, casting harsh white beams that leave the ceiling lost in absolute black. In the center of the bloodstained flagstones, a pattern has been drawn into the ground out of charcoal, the lines forming a vast cartouche of interlocking falcons and spears. At its heart lies a low basalt altar that looks older than the rest of the temple, its surface pitted and dark.
Voss stands at the altar's head, sleeves of his shirt rolled high. His expensive watch glints as he arranges tools with reverent precision - a broken khopesh, a bowl of natron, a golden vessel that catches the light like liquid fire. Dr. el-Masri stands behind him, an ancient papyrus unrolled in trembling hands.
Two security men flank them, rifles slung blue sidearms ready. Kneeling in the center is a woman from the security team - Nadia, you think. She's tall and broad-shouldered, her dark hair cropped short. She's stripped to a black tank top and her skin is gleaming with oil, her eyes closed and face tilted up.
It's a ritual space.
Your stomach lurches as your mind pieces together all of the details - the warnings, the sealed gate, war walking anew. The temple contains Montu, the unbound fury.
Patrons aren't always what they seem.
You think of Vernon's words. How the entire temple is painted with pharaohs and the mark of Montu, their god. How it is an ode to his victories. You realize Voss tends to wake Montu - or perhaps, to let Nadia make him her patron, if such a thing is possible and if you were to believe in something beyond like your mother always had.
You step into the light before you can think better of it, fury and fear colliding as you say, "Stop."
Heads snap toward you. Nadia's eyes remain closed, but Dr. el-Masri's eyes widen as he looks at you. Voss smiles unpleasantly but beckons you in.
"Doctor, welcome. We're just about to get started."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Finally starting what I have been after for years." He gestures to the altar. "As you have figured out, this temple is not a treasury. It was a prison."
"You're trying to wake a god." Your eyes flicker to Nadia. "And… bind it? That's madness. Montu isn't a tool. Historically, he's slaughter incarnate, the texts-"
"The texts," Dr. el-Masri interrupts, "Are written by heretics. In Ancient Egypt, the understanding that rulers were divinely chosen was so absolute, that it was the single thing Egyptians agreed on for thousands of years."
You laugh, sharp and disbelieving. "It is the belief in divine rulership that led them to dehumanize their own population. To think onesself is a god is different to think oneself is a king. When you're a god, everyone is beneath you and you become infallible. People are not infallible, Dr. el-Masri."
Voss sighs. "You're a scholar, Doctor. You of all people should appreciate the pursuit of knowledge."
"This isn't knowledge. This is hubris. Which you both should know was the downfall of Egypt time and time again."
Voss smiles thinly. "Call it what you like. Nadia volunteered. She understands the honor." Voss looks at his security team. "Doctor, you should join us."
The security men move faster than you expect. One grabs your arms from behind while the other clamps a hand over your mouth before you can scream. You thrash, kicking and twisting, but they're heavy and trained. Your flashlight clatters to the stone, the beam spinning wildly.
Together, they drag you toward the altar. You feel your heart pounding as you scream, muffled by the man's hand. You bite down on his fingers and he yelps, pulling his hand away. Your scream of rage echoes in the temple, cut off as the other man drives his knee into your spine to force you down at the altar.
The stone is cold and you roll over to kick at them. They grab your legs and hold you down, binding your hands and feet as you scream your throat raw. Nadia ignores you and Voss sighs as someone stuffs your mouth with cloth. You strain against the cords, but they don't move, your muscles aching as you thrash.
Dr. el-Masri begins reading from the papyrus and you stop, looking at him with pleading eyes. He ignores you, reading words of ancient invocation to Montu, Lord of Terror, He Who Makes the Nile Red.
Nadia stirs. You snap your head toward her, watching as her eyes open, pupils blown wide, irises flickering for a second. You're reminded of Vernon's eyes suddenly, the feeling that something ancient and feral was scraping behind his gaze, that-
Pain explodes, white-hot between your ribs. You look down to see that Voss has driven a blade in your stomach and you scream, arching against your restraints. The pain is so bad that you see flashes of white in your vision, the terror taking over as blood wells hot and immediate, soaking your shirt and pooling onto the altar.
Dr. el-Masri's voice rises, chanting faster. The floodlights flicker. Sand begins to sift from cracks in the ceiling. Wind howls.
Power foods the chamber like a sandstorm. The air burns and you squint, sobbing around the gag in your mouth. Nadia convulses, her body arching impossible as golden light pours from her eyes and her mouth. The temperature in the room skyrockets, heat buffeting you as temple groans and you hear cracking stone, a column in the corner tilting as it breaks and crashing into the ground in a plume of dust and rot.
Voss stumbles back, grinning. "It's working."
A basalt block falls from the ceiling, shattering near Dr. el-Masri. He screams as he completes the ritual and when you turn to look at Nadia, she's no longer entirely Nadia. She rises to her feet smoothly, head tilted as if listening to something distant. Her gaze passes over you without recognition, then she turns to Voss.
"You have freed me and given me a vessel," Nadia says, but the language is ancient from a time beyond Voss's comprehension. "What is it you seek?"
It's Dr. el-Masri who answers, "We seek Maahes, the hunter."
Nadia grins. "Come."
They leave the temple as it begins to collapse. Nadia pauses as she passes you, her eyes flicking to the knife in your stomach. She bends down and just as you think she's going to remove it, she twists it. Your shriek is lost to the gag, the pain leaving you blinded and heaving, throat convulsing around the cloth as you gag.
When you blink again, they're all gone, leaving you alone with the dark and the growing roar of falling sand and a collapsing ceiling.
Blood bubbles in your throat. Each breath is shallower than the last. The pain starts to fade and is replaced with something different, something cold creeping up your limbs. Sand pours in through the ceiling now through widening fissures, cascading like waterfalls, and for a moment you think of your dream with the lioness and the sand falling upward.
You stare at the ceiling as the world crumbles. Somewhere far above, there are stars you'll never see again.
Please, you think, unable to speak. Anyone.
Nothing answers but the sound of cracking basalt.
You think of Vernon - his rough hands steady in the med tent, the way he looked at you in the corridor like he wanted to say something more. You wish you'd listened. Wish you said something kinder to him when he was just trying to help.
You think of your mother. Her smile over that pottery shard. The way she said your name like a promise. Like hope. You pray that wherever she is now, she isn't watching this, that she isn't seeing your violent, bloody end.
Sand peppers your face. It's almost gentle, and your eyes flutter as darkness clouds your vision.
Child of blood, a voice calls, low and furious. You are in need of vengeance.
You can't move your head, but you feel something, heat in the cold, pressure against the collapsing dark. A presence that is vast and beyond your understanding, scented with the desert sun and spilled blood.
They woke war, the voices continues. And left you to pay the price. I know war too, child of blood. Let me pave the way.
Yes, you think. Yes.
Yes, the voice agrees. But not gently. Not without cost.
The sand stops falling.
Fire ignites at the edge of your vision, gold and crimson, licking along the cracks in the stone. It doesn't burn the temple - it burns you.
Pain flares anew, different now. Your blood steams, your wounds sear shut. You smell charred linen as the cords binding you turn to ash. Sand near you crystalizes to glass, crunching as you scream, the gag in your mouth burning until you're choking on ash, your screams loud in the chamber. Your body arches against the altar as power pours into you, vast and ancient and furious. Every nerve sings and your lungs fill with heated air that tastes of life instead of death.
Call me the Eye Unbound, the voice tells you, growing in volume, her laughter hot. I drink what spills. I burn away the unworthy. I am Sekhmet and you are my vessel.
Sekhmet's laughter echoes through your skull, wild and approving.
Rise daughter, she purrs. There is hunting to do.
The fire settles in your veins like molten gold cooling to armor. Your eyes open, and the chamber is lit from within you, crimson light spilling from your skin. The temple around you is collapsed, but there's a perfect ring of protection around you, the symbols flaring with scarlet light.
You sit up. Blood flakes from your shirt. The knife is now on the ground and when you lift your shirt to peer at your stomach, the stab wound is a ridged scar, glowing faintly. The light from you fades, but you realize that you can see unnaturally in the darkness.
Yes, Sekhmet says when she feels your surprise. You are changed.
Somewhere above, you hear chaos. You don't know what it is, but thunder shakes the temple violently. You feel Sekhmet as though she is you, as though you are one. Like Montu and Nadia, host and patron.
They run, she purrs when you think of Montu. Shall we chase?
You stand in the rubble. You feel white hot rage go through you, stronger than anything you've ever felt before. You see a red sky. Red sands. A red river. Blankets of scarlet red blood, and a lioness walking across hot sand as she burns away the unworthy.
Voss is unworthy. And he has Montu with him, a god with a vessel, just like you.
"Yes," you say out loud, your voice raw. "We chase."
-
Vernon storms out of the temple, his boots grinding against the flagstones with each step. The corridor blurs around him, shadows twisting like smoke, the floodlights from the entrance flickering at his approach. Anger coils tight in his chest, hot and familiar, a companion he's known longer than most people.
But this time it's sharper and laced with frustration.
Stubborn idiot, he thinks, the words aimed at you but ricocheting back at himself. Why couldn't you listen? Just once? He slams a fist against a column as he passes, the impact echoing like thunder in the enclosed space as the column instantly collapses with the force of his punch. Pain flares in his knuckles, but it's nothing compared to the storm brewing inside of him.
Set stirs at the edge of his mind, a presence as constant as his own heartbeat. The god's amusement rolls through him like distant thunder. Idiot. You let her goad you. Again.
Shut up, Vernon snaps internally, clenching his jaw. He doesn't need Set's commentary right now. Not when his blood is singing with the urge to turn back and drag you out kicking and screaming if it he's to. He doesn't want to hurt you, but he will drag you, even if it means you never speak to him again or you curse his name every day. At least you'd be alive.
The god chuckles. She challenges you. I like her fire. I see why you like her.
Vernon ignores him. He has no intention of going round and round in circles with Set about who or what Vernon does or does not like. The god has a particular habit of showing up every time Vernon sees you, prodding him in ways that almost make him lose his cool at auctions, galas and conferences. Set seems entirely incapable of letting Vernon admire you from afar without meddling, and right now when the world is collapsing is not the time for an ancient god's meddling.
The entrance to the temple looms ahead, the night air spilling in cool drafts. Vernon pauses at the threshold between the temple's door and the open desert. The pylons loom like sentinels and he looks at the falcons, their eyes eroded but watchful, like the eyes of Montu are ready to strike at any moment. He leans against a wall, breathing hard, trying to rein in the chaos inside of him - trying to reign in Set.
This whole expedition was supposed to be simple. Or as simple as anything gets when one is bound to a god of chaos. Vernon had heard whispers of the site months ago, rumors in a black market antiquities circle that he haunts, tales of a storm uncovering a temple tied to a bound god.
Vernon has been with Set for eight years now, but he's never stopped trying to get rid of him. It had started in a forgotten tomb in the Valley of the Kings back when Vernon was just a cocky archaeologist fresh out of his degree program, chasing glory like everyone else in the field. He'd been a bit rogue then too, not waiting for a permit before he started poking around.
Like Voss, he'd opened a sealed chamber he shouldn't have and Set had poured into him like sand through an hourglass, violent and overwhelming, reshaping Vernon into a cage for divinity.
Call me He Who Howls in Open Places, Set had whispered, his voice crackling. Call me the Red One, the Unmoored, the Crooked Star. Do not call me Brother, for brothers bind. I am Set.
Vernon had survived. Set is good at keeping his host alive. He'd walked through the desert with new tattoos burning fresh on his skin, hieroglyphs of binding and Coptic words of containment.
Since then, it's been a constant war. Set grants Vernon gifts - strength beyond human limits, control over storms, the ability to step through shadow. But the god's volatility amplifies Vernon's own anger, his own emotions.
And Set hungers. Always for chaos. Always for unmooring the world.
Vernon wishes this dig had worked out. He'd been hoping to find something here to unbind him, but he hadn't been expecting you to be here. When you'd shown up two days ago, Vernon's entire plan changed. You don't like him much - he doesn't blame you - but Vernon's been fond of you for years. Likes your work ethic, the genuine desire to do good, to seek truth.
He'd been like that once. Now he trades in artifacts and secrets to survive, trying to use relics to fund his way out of this mess with Set.
We are one, Set reminds him now. You seek to cut the thread, but it binds us tighter.
I didn't ask for this, Vernon reminds him, rubbing his tattoos. They're bothering him tonight, hot and itchy.
No one asks for divinity. It takes.
Now, Vernon doesn't know what to do. He'd realized Voss' intent to bind a god when you'd found the inscription the day before. After the aftermath with the revenants, he had planned to let you sleep it off and force you to leave in the morning. He had not anticipated you being a pig-headed fool and charging into a temple at night, refusing his help.
He doesn't know why it bothers him so much. He lets you have your assumptions about him. It's better than the truth, not that you would believe him. He saves ancient sites too, redirecting looters and forging documents to return artifacts when he can. It isn't all about stealing like you think it is - he does try. You see none of that, of course. Why would you?
She sees more than you think, Set sighs. Smart girl. I think you are hopeless, though.
Vernon growls and pushes off the wall muttering, "Not now."
He starts toward the camp, intent on packing your things himself. Then, he’d walk back inside the temple and he'd force you out and shove you into a jeep and send you back to Cairo. Karim could drive - he was reliable - and Vernon trusted him not to ask questions.
A tremor stops Vernon cold.
It starts subtle, a vibration underfoot. Then it grows stronger, the ground shuddering as sand shifts in ripples. Dust sifts from the gateway arch and the pylons groan.
Vernon's head snaps back toward the temple. Set surges in his mind, alert and hungry. War awakens. The falcon stirs.
"Fuck," Vernon hisses. He didn't think Voss would manage this quickly, or he wouldn't have let you keep walking into the temple.
He runs.
Vernon plunges back into the darkness, shadows dancing around him. His form flickers as he shadow steps, blinking in and out of existence from one pool of dark shadows to the next, covering ground faster. He hates the feeling of shadow stepping, fading from a physical body to mist and back again, but he suffers it to get to you faster.
Voss and his team burst from a side corridor and spills across Vernon's path. Nadia is leading them, except Vernon realizes it's not Nadia. Her eyes burn gold, pupils slitted, and she thrums with power, a god in a fresh vessel. Vernon recognizes it immediately, reminded of the first time Set stepped into him.
Voss spots Vernon first. "Chwe! The temple is collapsing, let's go."
Vernon ignores him, eyes locked on Nadia. Set roils inside of him, ancient hatred flaring. Brother no more. The ordered one, the betrayer, let me tear him free.
Not yet, Vernon snarls back, but the power in him builds anyway, wind whipping in the corridor.
Nadia tilts her head and smiles. "Voss, did you know you already had a god in your midst? The Crooked Star. How fitting to see you slither here."
Her voice is layered, Nadia's timbre overlaid with a deep rumble that must belong to Montu. She raises a hand and the air shimmers as a spear materializes from nothing, bronze and ethereal, tip glinting. Vernon realizes this is a manifestation of one of her gift, a weapon forged from divine will.
She hurls the spear but Vernon shadow steps sideways, reappearing in a flicker of shadows as he summons storms. Wind howls through the temple, violent and unchecked. Overhead, thunder cracks, the chaos feeding on his frustration and fear that you're hurt or worse. Lightning arches from Vernon's fingertips and slam into Nadia, knocking her back.
The air compresses around her and she summons a shield of air and flame. "You rage, Unmoored one."
"You are a child," Set answers through Vernon, hissing. "I will show you power."
Vernon steps through a shadow, feeling the brief cold of nothingness before he materializes behind Nadia. His fist connects with her back, his enhanced strength crumpling her tactical vest like paper. She spins faster than any human, a khopesh appearing in her hand. The blade sings and Vernon ducks, feeling the heat of the divine weapon as it skims over him, nearly taking his head clean off his shoulders.
Nadia's blows are seismic, each one backed with the heat and power of the sun. He shadow steps mid-swing, flickering in and out, landing hits on her from impossible angles that make her roar in frustration. Set cackles in Vernon's head, the older god trickier and slipperier than his younger family member.
Set is strong, but the storm Vernon commands feeds on him. His anger at you, at Voss, at this cursed bond - it amplifies everything, making the wind in the temple erratic, lightning sparking and exploding against rock. A bolt blasts a column and brings down chunks of the ceiling, sending Voss and the others running while Nadia stays to fight off Vernon.
Set howls in delight, his energy snapping. Rend the falcon!
Nadia presses him, a spear grazing his side, searing flesh. He hisses in pain, but pain fuels the storm as a crackling spear of white lightning forms in his hand. Vernon feels himself start to slip, Set taking over his thoughts and body more fully as the bolt manifests into a solid spear of lightning, his blood singing.
He spins the spear in his hand, beating Nadia back. She might be host to the god of war, but Set is an ancient chaos not easily beaten, and Vernon sees the frustration on Nadia's face as Vernon''s spear catches her across the thigh, burning flesh. She howls, the cavern shaking, rock falling.
The temple is crumbling, he realizes. And somewhere in the temple is you, left behind. Sacrificed, maybe. Dead, maybe.
That single thought cuts through Vernon's rage like a blade.
No, Set protests, surging for control. The enemy is here!
She's more important.
The god recoils. Is she?
Vernon forces the god into submission, drawing the storm inward, coiling it tight. Nadia lunges at him but he shadow-steps away, breaking the engagement.
She laughs, spinning on him. "Cowardice from chaos? How novel."
"I don't have time for you," he growls, stepping into another shadow and turning to nothing.
Set rages as Vernon plunges into the temple, running and jumping deeper. You deny me glory for her?
She's not dying tonight.
The god subsides, grudging but curious. Very well. But the falcon will pay later.
Vernon doesn't disagree. He wants to rip the god from Nadia's skull as much as Set does, knowing that Montu being set out onto the world can't be any good. Especially because Nadia doesn't seem interested in controlling her god the way Vernon controls his.
The temple fights him as he approaches the chamber, the floor shaking and the ceiling caving in. Vernon summons energy, feeling the air around him compress as he thrusts a hand out, blasting a wall of rock with kinetic bursts. Rock flies, the covering choking with dust, but he does it again and again, crackling with energy as he carves his way to you.
His trek is an exhausting combination of shadow stepping through partial collapses and blasting his way through the tunnel, the thunder deafening in his ears. Set is silent, his fascination at Vernon's desperation palpable.
Set has never seen Vernon this eager to save someone. Ever.
Fear eats at him. He should have made you leave the second he knew what Voss was up to. It had been his pride and his desire to let you make your own choices that left you lingering here in this cursed place, and now he knew you were most likely dead.
The thought drives him harder at the wall, blasting through the final bit of collapsed columns and basalt. He has no idea how you'd survive a temple collapse, but he doesn't care. He needs to know. Needs to get to you. Needs to do what he can to right his wrong of leaving you here.
Vernon's side burns from the spear wound Montu gave him, but Set knits the skin slowly as Vernon waits for the dust choking the air to clear. Vernon swallows thickly, waiting and panting as the air finally starts to clear and he can see the inner ritual chamber.
Sand fills most of the space, a sea of golden death. His stomach drops when he realize you're probably in here suffocating somewhere, terrified and-
Light catches his attention. Vernon goes entirely still as red light blazes from a figure standing amid the ruin, crimson and bloody as the light starts to fade behind soot-covered skin.
You.
There's a khopesh in each one of your hands, outstretched and gleaming crimson. Tattoos wind your arms, red and blazing before cooling to a dusky, desert red. When your eyes open, your irises are aflame, pupils stilted like a lion's, glowing like freshly forged gold.
Set's wariness surprises Vernon, the god slithering in his mind. The Eye Unbound, he growls. She who drinks what spills. She who burns the unworthy. Sekhmet.
Vernon doesn't know what that means and he doesn't care. He hardly hears set at all, distracted by the terrifying display before him. You look beautiful, blazing in glory and anger and rage, but most importantly, alive. And then the light fades from your eyes and you blink at him, confused and wincing.
"Vernon?"
It's the last thing you say before your eyes glaze over and you collapse backward.
-
Your entire world is sand. The horizon stretches endlessly in each direction and the sun hangs unnaturally low, rays bleeding over the world like a wounded god. The grains of sand under you shift restlessly, pressing into your skin hot.
Heat simmers in the distance, distorting the air. You sit cross-legged in the center of endless dunes, and no matter which direction you look, the sea of red sands are endless. Timeless.
Across from you, the lioness manifests in a waver of heat. Sekhmet. She's massive, her form towering over you, a monument of divine fury. Her coat gleams gold-red, her fur rippling with power as she settles onto her haunches.
She stares at you and it's unnerving. Her feline features are etched with eons of wisdom, fangs glinting like polished obsidian when she yawns. Behind her, the red sun halos her head, a perfect red disk - a crown.
"You were not ready," she notes. Her voice is a low, resonant rumble that resonates through you, mouth moving to form the words. You stare, entranced. "Unfortunate."
"I didn't exactly have time to prepare," you reply, voice small. You can tell she's disappointed, but it isn't every day you become host to a powerful ancient entity. "I wasn't expecting the power to burn through me like that."
She chuffs, amused. "Mortals rarely do." She shifts, paws sinking in the sand. "I have kept vigil over these places of sealing, the tombs where gods slumber and remain chained. I keep those who should not be here away - a whisper in the wind to deter the greedy, a dream to haunt the foolish. A scorpion slipped into a bedroll under the cover of night."
The scorpion. Your mind flashes back to that morning, the segmented touch against your skin, the careful capture and release. An omen you'd brushed off, feeling silly for thinking of superstitions. Now you know it was a deliberate nudge from the divine, a warning.
"You bled for the truth," Sekhmet acknowledges. "For chasing the thread your mother left behind for you. You are honest. Honesty is good."
The desert around you seems to shift at her words, the red sands undulating. You think of your mother, wondering if this is what she had envisioned when believing there were hidden histories in Egypt.
"What happens now?" You ask the goddess.
"Now you carry me, and I you. We are bound, flesh to flame." She pauses, ears flicking. "Beware the one who carries the Crooked Star."
"Vernon."
"Sutekh. He walks again in the flesh, hungry. He is volatile and is capable of great evil if left to his own devices for too long. Empires have fallen to his whims, rivers diverted, brothers slain for sport. Chaos is his domain."
You think of Vernon and his dark eyes, the way you could see something ancient there, something he fights to keep under the surface. Vernon, who had pulled you from carnage and steadied you through shock. Vernon who had come back for you against all reason, and who had guarded your tent.
Guilt eats at you. You've spent years thinking of him as a spur in your side, an annoying bee that wouldn't stop stinging every chance he had. Now you owe him your life, and you realize perhaps you have been too harsh on him, too cruel.
"Vernon fights Set," you insist gently. "I've seen him do it."
Sekhmet shrugs, the motion a powerful ripple of muscle and fur. "For now. Mortals break under divine weight. Gods endure. We are unyielding."
The sand begins to whirl around you, rising in spiraling vortices that tug your clothes and hair. You feel the dismissal, and when you look up, the lioness is gone, but her voice still carries on the ancient wind.
Remember. Vengeance is a blade with two edges. Wield it carefully.
The red sun flares and you shield your eyes, flinching-
You wake gasping, lungs seizing. You swivel in bed, the sheets sticking to your sweaty skin. It takes a moment to get your bearings, but you realize that you're in the med tent, dim light from the moon outside filtering in.
Outside, the camp is unnaturally silent, a void where there should be a hum of activity. The wind is restless against the canvas tent, snapping in the breeze. Some of the cool air reaches you, cooling your overwarm skin.
Your body aches with a deep resonant thrum. You feel as if your bones have been hollowed and refilled with molten iron, the fire coursing through you new but not unpleasant. You lift your shirt to look at your stomach, cringing at the scar. You touch it tentatively, feeling the warmth behind it, the ridged tissue coiled with power.
Suddenly you become aware of someone else's presence. You look up to see Vernon sitting in a folding chair near the tent flap, elbows braced on his knees. His posture is slumped but alert, his eyes sharp as they stare at you. The moonlight slipping in through the canvas cuts across the sharp angles of his face, panting him in harsh light.
His shirt is torn at the shoulder, bloodstains dried rusty brown. His tattoos seem to writhe subtly in the dim light, and now that you look at them, they make more sense than they ever have: He Who Howls in Open Places. Red One. Unmoored. Crooked Star. Bind and balance, storm and dust.
With new eyes, you see the ritual for what it is - a binding sigil, scoured into Vernon's arms to tie him to Set. You look at your own arms and let out a little gasp, seeing similar markings twist on your arms, but they're a dull red, like blood dried millenia ago.
"You're awake," he observes.
You swing your legs over the cot's edge, the sand floor cold against your feet. Testing your balance, you stand. He moves like he's ready to catch you if you fall, but despite the world tipping, you remain on your feet.
"How long have I been asleep?"
"About 20 hours. It's night again."
Vernon stands and moves the flap open. Moonlight spills in like liquid silver. You notice a cookfire out in front, highlighting scattered medical supplies and materials from the camp Vernon has dragged to the front of the tent for ease.
You step outside and he follows. The night is crisp, the sky above stretching in a luminous river of stars overheard. The camp sprawls out, a ghost city left to just the two of you. Tents sag like deflated lungs, their white canvases stained with and and blood. Deep tire tracks in the sand show that the cars are gone, leading into oblivion. You notice the dark patches in the sand, your gut twisting when you realize it's blood.
"They took the vehicles," he notes. "Drove off eastward toward the old trade routes."
Your stomach twists, guilt and horror mingling as you survey the desolation. You wrap your arms around yourself, the wind tugging at your clothes. "How many dead?"
"Enough."
You look at Vernon - really look at him. The moonlight carves his profile in silver relief, the strong line of his jaw flexing as he grits his teeth in frustration, his eyes flashing in ancient anger. He's been watching over you, alone in this forsaken place, a testament to loyalty you never credited him with.
"I didn't think you'd come back," you admit.
"You're an idiot. Of course I came back. I wasn't leaving you buried under a bunch of rock, though knowing you, you were exactly where you wanted to be."
The joke falls a little flat. His tone is softened around the edges, almost affectionate. It makes your heart do something stupid, and you don't know how to answer as the words hang between you. You feel a shift, your entire perception of him changing in just a day.
"Vernon-"
He tenses. "Don't."
"Alright."
"Let's just make dinner. I'm starving."
Together, you scavenge the items Vernon has dragged to the med tent. You have to go scout for a few, the two of you working together in charged silence. You gather pots, some flatbread that is a little hard, dates in a small sack, a can of tea leaves and a can of stew meat.
The fire is already going, casting a warm glow that pushes back against the night's chill. You sit across from him on a folded blanket, knees almost touching as you watch him brew tea. He hands you a chipped mug, fingers brushing yours briefly. His touch sparks a connection, his fingers lingering briefly before he pulls away and you wrap your hands around it, letting the heat seep into your palms.
Both of you settle, the meat stewing in the pot over the fire. The moon is a bright silver coin in the sky, looking down at the two of you, pale face watchful.
"Tell me how it happened," you say quietly. "With Set."
Vernon stares into the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes. The firelight paints his face in gold and shadow, softening the sharp lines you've always associated with arrogance. Now you see weariness. Vulnerability.
"Valley of the Kings," he murmurs. "Eight years ago. Found a chamber no one had catalogued and I just went in head first. I was arrogant then - still am, I guess. You know what it's like to chase after knowledge and glory though."
He pauses, touching the tattoos on his forearm absently. His fingers trace the ink, as if seeking reassurance.
"Set was waiting. Poured right into me, though I didn't know what was happening. Unlike Nadia, I was not a willing host. Everyone else died. I woke up three days later with these marks and a god laughing in my head."
You listen, guilt turning your stomach over. All this time you'd look at Vernon and see vanity and rebellion. Now you see him for what he truly is - tired under the weight of being a prison for something most people cannot fathom.
"He isn't evil," Vernon says slowly. "Not exactly. Chaos isn't evil - it's change without permission. It's discord and upheaval and it frightens people. But he is not inherently evil, though I suppose many can argue that the results make him so." A faint smile tugs his lips. "We fight constantly. I win sometimes. Sometimes I don't."
"Sekhmet told me to beware him. That you might not be able to contain him."
"Maybe she's right, but I'm pretty stubborn. I've been doing this for eight years and I'm better at it now than I was then." He sighs. "Your turn."
You tell him what happened in the chamber - about the altar, the cold stone against your skin. The way Voss stabbed you in the gut to bleed you out for the ritual. You see anger flash in his eyes then, raw and ancient. Somewhere, thunder rumbles and you cast your eyes up toward a clear sky, wondering how confident Vernon is in his control.
"Her wrath was overwhelming," you admit. "Sekkmet is a lot of things. She's purification through fire, she's war, she's Ra's divine justice. But she is also full of wrath, and it's so at ends with who I am. But I was angry and desperate and afraid of dying."
"No shame in that. Sometimes we want retribution for the things that happen to us."
"Is that what you're searching for? Retribution?"
"More like freedom. Set is alright but it's been a long time since I've had my thoughts to myself."
"He's talkative?"
"Sekhmet isn't?"
You shake your head. You feel her there, watching your conversation with Vernon like a predator, but she keeps her thoughts to herself. She is a hot grain of sand in the back of your mind, subtle but there.
"Must be nice." He grunts, amused. "Set whispers chaos. Tries to push for opportunities to unmake things. Burn it all down and rebuild something new on the ashes. Most days I can tune him out. Some days…"
He shrugs, the motion casual but his eyes hold yours, heavy with a vulnerability you've never seen from him before. Without thinking, you reach toward him, brushing your fingers across his wrist. The contact sparks again, but this time it's literal.
Crimson flame licks down your arm and you jump, watching your tattoos come to life. Lightning dances across Vernon's arm, white-blue and staticky. The flame and lightning meet in a swirl of energy that tingles but doesn't burn, twining like old friends.
Neither of you pulls away, watching with parted lips as the colors shift until they fade. His tattoos burn faint blue, yours dark red, both of you lingering until the tattoos fade and the power vanishes beneath the surface of your skin again.
Vernon's mouth twitches. "He says like calls to like."
Hm, Sekhmet hums, displeased. I'm not so sure about that.
"What about Voss," you ask, drawing your hand back slowly. Vernon frowns. "What do you think he's planning?"
"Power. I just don't understand what."
"When I was in the temple, Voss asked Montu to lead him to Maahes."
That stirs Sekhmet. You feel her uncurl like a feline, her anger sparking as she paces in your mind. You give her a questioning prod and she growls.
My son.
"Oh," you say outloud. Vernon raises his brows, confused. "Maahes is the son of Sekhmet. I forgot. The lion to the lionness."
Traitor, she hisses. Folly. They claim he perfects what I cannot, that he is discipline where I am unchecked.
"Well do you know where they're going?" You wince and look at Vernon. "Sorry, is there a way to not talk to myself when I'm trying to talk to her? This is awkward."
"She can read your thoughts. I just think at Set and it sort of works. Sometimes I talk out loud too, though. Especially when he's pissing me off."
There is a temple deep in Wadi Al-Hitan, Sekhmet hisses. It is where he is bound. Maahes knows the way to Apophis.
You repeat what she said to Vernon. The reaction is instant, his face twisting in anger as his entire body goes rigid. His pupils blow wide and black, lines of white and molten blue crawling along his tattoos. The wind around the fire picks up, whipping sand into spirals that hiss against the fire.
A sound tears out of Vernon, not quite human, not quite animal. It's the howl of the desert storm giving voice, centuries of hatred pressed into a single note. The fire gutters and you instinctually hold out a palm, feeling power radiate through you as you buffet the flame.
"Apophis," Vernon snarls, laced with a voice that isn't his own. "They're going to wake the serpent."
You feel Sekhmet growl, her words coming through you. "Let them try."
Vernon's hands tremble, his knuckles white as he makes a fist. "Set has been Apophis's executioner since the world was new. Every dawn, every night, he drives the spear into the serpent's throat so the sun can rise again. If Voss means to unleash Apophis-"
He cuts himself off, swearing in Ancient Egyptian. The words are strange and guttural in his mouth, spoken with the perfect accent and articulations. The words resonate with you in a different way now than they had before, a language you studied becoming a language you instinctually know.
"Voss wants to be a vessel off Apophis."
"And destroy the fucking world while he's at it," Vernon growls.
Set surges again, a tide of lightning behind Vernon's eyes. The tattoos pulse like living things, wards straining. For a heartbeat, you think he's going to let loose and set the entire camp ablaze in lighting. But he breathes through it, slow and deliberate, forcing the god down by sheer will.
"We cannot let that happen," he murmurs, looking at you. His eyes are his own again, but he looks strainted and tired. "Set likes chaos, but not this. Not at the hand of Apophis."
"We?"
His mouth twitches. "You bailing on me, Stacks?"
Sekhmet's growl is in your voice when you say, "Never."
Vernon nods, grinning at you for the first time since Voss opened the seal to reveal revenants. You smile back, feeling the savage delight of your god as she paces, eager and ready to hunt.
For the first time since Voss stabbed you with that knife, you're not afraid.
You're ready.
-
The sun claws its way over the horizon, spilling molten gold across the dunes. Heat simmers already, distorting the endless sea of sand. Your boots sink ankle-deep with each step you take, the grains shifting as you trek. Your muscles are already screaming, each step requiring effort.
You and Vernon have been walking since dawn, packs heavy with scavenged supplies. You're thankful you have the newfound strength of a god, otherwise you'd never have been able to stuff the packs as much as you have. Water sloshes around in the canteens with each step, your pack stocked full of water, food, and a slim selection of medical supplies.
The medical supplies are a precaution. As evidenced by your recent stabbing, your healing is different now, aided by the goddess who keeps watch inside of you. It's a nice perk - kind of like the fact that you're not out of breath after hours of walking and you're not keeling over - but being the vessel of an ancient entity doesn't make the trek less tiring or the sun less hot.
Barrâmîya lies ahead, a distant smudge on the GPS. The dusty outpost is now your lifeline, though if you can't get a hold of a car you're not sure what the plan is. Wadi al-Hitan is hours away from Luxor, up north in Egypt's Western desert. The Valley of the Whales is vast, and somewhere lies a hidden temple to Maahes, whose location is only known by the gods living inside of you and Vernon.
Vernon walks a pace ahead, keffiyeh wrapped around his head and face to hide him from the sun. His stride is steady despite the heat, and sweat darkens his shirt, clinging to the lines of his back.
"Keep up, Stacks," he calls over his shoulder, smirking at you. "Wouldn't want you collapsing before the sun gets to the worst part of the day."
You roll your eyes but there's no bite in it. Not anymore. His smugness used to grate against you, but now it feels almost comforting. Familiar in a sea of gold and red and endless heat.
"I'm fine, worry about yourself."
"I'm doing great. Set loves the desert."
Sekhmet huffs in your mind, a low growl of disdain. Naive, she purrs. He teases to hide the storm.
You ignore her, focusing on the burn in your thighs as you crest another dun. The sand here is finer, almost silken, slipping away under foot. Wind hisses across the surface, carrying grains that sting your exposed skin like needles. Far off, a hawk circles, its cries loud against the vast silence.
Vernon was right about the sun. It climbs higher, turning the world into a furnace. He keeps you talking though, like he's trying to keep your mind off the heat. It's nice. You tell him about your mother, about how she chased threads of hidden history beneath Egypt.
He pauses on the top of a rise, shielding his eyes against the glare. He smiles, glancing down at you. "She was onto something, I guess. Smart. I see where you get it from."
The heat you feel has nothing to do with the sun. You stop next to him, panting as you both break to take sparing sips of water. "What about you? How'd you get into history?"
"Parents passed when I was a kid - car accident. Uncle took me in. He was a wealthy bastard obsessed with history. He used to drag me to museums and auctions. He was nice, if not a little hyperfocused on his hobbies. He funded my degrees. I thought it was a pretty cool life until Set decided to hitch a ride."
Guilt flickers inside of you. You've judged him for years, only seeing the tomb raider, never the man chained to chaos. "I'm sorry. For um. Well. My assumptions of you the last few years."
We waves it off. "Don't go soft on me now, Stacks. I like the fire."
Your heart does something stupid in your chest, Sekhmet snarling in annoyance. Guard your heart.
The day drags, the sun a hammer pounding relentlessly. Mirages taunt on the edge of your vision, but you both keep moving. Your throat remains parched despite sips of the canteen and exhaustion gnaws as you as the sun dips down toward the late afternoon. Divine energy sustains you, keeping your legs moving when mortal will would fail.
By dusk, Barrâmîya appears. You think it's a mirage at first, but Vernon lets out a sigh of relief and you know it's real. The town is a cluster of low mud-bricked buildings huddled around a well, palms swaying in the breeze. The air cools as you stumble in, the scent of baked earth replaced by spices from a market stall.
Locals eye you warily, two dust-caked strangers staggering in from the desert. Coin speaks louder than questions though, and when Vernon pulls out a wad of folded money, no one looks warily at you again.
The inn you find is a squat structure, walls cracked from the endless sun. Lanterns swing outside in the breeze as the last of the sun dies beyond the horizon. There's only a single room left, and you're both too tired to care. The two narrow cots shoved against opposite walls is good enough for you, a single window letting in moonlight as you collapse on a bed.
Vernon drops onto the bed closest to you, breathing out tiredly. You turn your head to glance at him in the dim light. The room is tiny and though his bed is against the other wall, he's close enough to hear his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest steady. Your eyes trace the tattoos on his arms, inky in the dim.
He catches you looking and smirks. "See something you like, Stacks?"
Heat flushes your cheeks. "Just wondering if you ever shut up."
He laughs. "There's the fire I like."
The room feels smaller as you lie back, staring at the ceiling cracks like ancient veins. Tomorrow, you need to get a car. From there, the wadi. But tonight, you need sleep, despite the fact that the air between you and the man across from you is charged with something new. Just something… more.
-
The sun is a brutal disk of white by the time you and Vernon get into a battered jeep the next morning. Vernon doesn't explain how he had bartered for it - all he'd said was he found a ride as he'd come back into the room before dawn, kicking dust off his boots. You didn't ask, too grateful to not be walking in the blistering heat as he starts the engine with a guttural cough that doesn't sound promising for a lengthy trip.
Inside the car smells like old oil and sun-baked vinyl and the faint smell of storms that you've come to associate with Vernon. He looks tired in the driver's seat, adjusting the rearview mirror, eyes sliding over to you as you buckle your seatbelt.
"Ready?" He asks, voice rough. You nod and make a sound when the vehicle lurches forward, tires spinning in the sound before catching. "My bad."
Behind you, Barrâmîya shrinks to a smudge on the horizon, then nothing. The Western Desert stretches ahead of you, a vast sea of ochre and gold that stretches under a sky so blue you have to shield your eyes to look out the dusty window. Heat rises in shimmering waves, distant rock formations wavering like ghosts in the high-heat of morning.
Hours bleed together as Vernon drives east. There's only a single road that cuts across this part of Egypt, the cars few and far between. Occasionally, the jeep bounces, hitting holes in the road that no one bothers to fix. This far from the main cities, it doesn't matter, but as you near the east coast of Egypt, the road smooths out.
Vernon drives with one hand on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road. You glance at the tattoos peeking from under his rolled sleeves, the ink harsher in the dark light. You look down at your own, the dusty red ink winding in whorls you now understand. Something has shifted between the two of you now, the sharp silences dulling to something softer and far more comfortable. You catch yourself watching the way his fingers flex on the steering wheel, the line of his throat when he swallows, the way his eyes narrow against the glare.
Sekhmet stirs in the back of your mind. Naive, she growls. She seems to favor that word to describe you. He is chaos and wrapped in flesh. Affection is useless.
You ignore her, focusing on the expanding blue of the Red Sea with Marsa Alam rising in the distance. The tropical paradise is at ends with the tension in the car, the desert giving way to a resort town that feels entirely out of place with the violence of the last two days. Vernon says nothing, but the tension in his jaw increases as he turns north to get on the highway and follow the coast.
"What do you think Voss is really after?" You ask eventually, eyes stuck on the endless blue of the Red Sea. "Beyond power, I mean. He has Montu. Why chase Maahes and Apophis?"
Vernon's grip on the wheel tightens. "Apophis is powerful. If Voss can harness that power, he can rewrite the world in his image."
"I don't like that."
"Neither do we."
We. You notice the way he says the word, speaking for him and Set. You wonder how much of Vernon is Set and the other way around. Eight years with a god inside of your head is hard to imagine, even as you feel Sekhmet's prowling silence now. You wonder what it was like for him and what he was like before.
"Set doesn't like Apophis," you note.
Vernon shakes his head. "Set and Apophis have been at each other's throats since the world was new. Set's killed him in many lifetimes. The idea that the serpent could wake under Voss's control is unsettling."
"What was it like for you? With Set, I mean. With Sekhmet it's…" You fight to find words, looking at your hands in your lap, the tattoos dark. "She's always there, but quiet. Sometimes I get the sense that she's pacing, like she's waiting to attack. But it also feels warm. Safe."
"Set's louder. The first year with him was hell, honestly. I'd suddenly get angry and the sky would open up with rain and lightning, or I'd just lose myself to him entirely."
"That sounds terrifying."
"It was. We learned some balance, though."
Unlikely, Sekhmet mutters.
You ignore her. "How'd you do it?"
"I don't fight him head on anymore. Sometimes we have a bit of a fight for control, but ultimately this is my body and I'm still me. When we fight head on, it tires me out and it's easier for him to slip in."
You nod. "Makes sense."
"Some advice - don't ignore her. It's very isolating. Talk to her out loud if you have to. They like being acknowledged and makes them feel less like prisoners and more like partners, even if they're assholes."
Sekhmet huffs in your mind, but there’s a reluctant amusement in it. He is not entirely wrong. Though his god is far louder than I.
You repeat what she says to him and Vernon smirks, glancing at you sidelong. "Set says Sekhmet is stuck up. Old family drama, I think."
The sun climbs higher as the conversation dies out, exhaustion weighing you both down. To the west is an endless landscape of red, to the east, only blue. Vernon's hand brushes yours when he reaches for water, a spark going up your arm. You jerk your hand back, startled. If he notices, he says nothing, uncapping the bottle to take long pulls of water. You catch yourself staring at the line of his throat as he drinks.
By early afternoon you've reached the point of turning west to drive inland again, Wadi al-Hitan still hours away. Your head leans heavy on the head rest, eyes heavy as the jeep ambles. Vernon glances at you, mouth twitching.
"Sleep," he murmurs.
"No, it's okay. We can switch if-"
"Sleep, Stacks. It's been years since Set and I joined, but I remember how exhausting those first few days were. We have about six hours until we hit the Wadi."
"But-"
"Sleep." His tone is gentle, but the way he looks at you brokers no argument. "I need you at your best, yeah?"
Your stomach flutters a little and you nod, sinking down in your seat to lean heavier against the door. The glass is warm on your forehead, the vibrations of the car on the road a constant lull as you close your eyes, trusting Vernon to get you to where you need to go.
The jeep’s engine rumbles low as you drift in and out of uneasy sleep, the road vibrating through the cracked seat and into your bones. The sun has dipped low, painting the desert in deep oranges and blood-reds that bleed across the horizon like an open wound. Heat still clings to you, but you slip into sleep, the world fading.
Black basalt gleams under torchlight, the air thick with myrrh and the crackle of fire from braziers. Vernon stands in the hypostyle hall, shadows clinging to him. He looks different, the blood and dust gone, revealing only the sharp lines of his face that are softened by the firelight. His tattoos glow faintly, the binding wards shifting like living ink as he steps closer, dark eyes locked on you. The space between you shrinks until he's right in front of you, warm breath ghosting across your lips.
His hand comes up, calloused fingers brushing your jaw softly. You shiver and he smiles, tilting his head as his dark eyes drink you in. "You're impossible," he murmurs. "You know that, Stacks?"
You lean into him on instinct, tilting your face into his touch. "Am I?"
He kisses you then. It's anything but soft. Instead, it's hungry and desperate, like he's been holding back for years and the dam is finally broken. His mouth is hot against yours, tasting of salt and desert, his mouth like the static of a storm against yours. One hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair to pull you closer while the other presses against your lower back, anchoring you to him.
The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against yours. You moan into his mouth, shivering as you press into him, hands fisting in shirt, the fabric bunching under your fingers. He makes a low sound in his throat in response and presses you against a column, the cold stone a sharp contrast to the heat of his skin and Sekhmet's fire in your veins.
"Vernon," you whisper, voice broken.
He lifts his head, eyes dark and blown. "What do you need?"
Instead of answering, you pull him back to you, kissing him harder, tongues tangling. His thigh slides between yours, the pressure perfect and maddening. Heat pools low in your belly and-
You flinch awake as Sekhmet's roar shatters the dream like glass. Your heart slams against your ribs as you gather your bearings and realize you're still in the jeep, the engine humming. Night has fully claimed the desert, the sky a vast, black dome scattered with stars so bright they look close enough to touch. The headlights of the car cut twin beams through the darkness, illuminating jagged rock formations as Vernon drives deep into Wadi al-Hitan.
Vernon glances at you. "You okay?"
Your face burns. The dream clings to you - his mouth, his hands, the way your body had arched into him. You can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin. You sit up straighter, pressing your thighs together against the lingering ache, and clear your throat. “Sorry. Bad dream.”
He glances at you, one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar smug way. But there’s something softer underneath tonight, a quiet concern in the way his eyes linger.
Sekhmet snarls in your mind, Do not let his shadow touch you so easily.
You ignore her, focusing instead on the road ahead. The wadi has closed in around you, towering sandstone cliffs rising on either side, their layered strata glowing faintly under starlight. Wind whistles through the narrow canyons, carrying faint echoes that sound almost like distant howls that make you shiver.
"We're about an hour into Wadi al-Hitan." Vernon has one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, putting the jeep into all-wheel drive. "I can feel Set pulling toward something, but he's a bit vague. I don't think he knows where to go. Does Sekhmet?"
You nod, closing your eyes for a moment. Sekhmet stirs, still irritated from the dream, but she answers with reluctant precision. You see images flashing behind your eyelids: a narrow side canyon that branches left, a cluster of fossilized whale bones half-buried in the rock face, a steep descent into a hidden valley where the cliffs open up.
"Left at the next fork," you murmur when you open your eyes. "Then follow the dry riverbed until the whale skeletons appear on the right. The temple is beyond them off the road tucked into the cliff wall where the light can't reach."
He doesn't question the instructions. He turns the wheel, the headlights sweeping across jagged rock as he navigates off the road and down the narrow track. The path grows rough, loose stones clattering against the undercarriage as the car creaks with every dip. You can see the cliffs clooming closer, the faces carved by years and years of wind and floods.
The closer you get, the more your anxiety coils. The air grows heavier, charged with the same sense of doom you'd felt in Montu's temple. Sekhmet paces restlessly in your mind, her presence a low burn of anticipation and warning. You can feel her fire under your veins, increasing in temperature as Vernon drives.
You think of the Temple of Montu, of the khopesh twisting deep in your gut, of the pain and the fire, the sand raining down on you as you bled out on the altar. That fear morphs into rage, a small fire at first but gradually blooming into something hot and wild as Sekhmet growls, a huntress closing in on her prey.
"You okay?" He asks, the softness in his voice catching you off guard. "You look tense."
"I can feel the rage," you murmur as you stare ahead. "Both mine and hers. Hers amplifies mine."
"Do you want to talk about it?" You hesitate. "You can tell me, Stacks."
The nickname lands differently now, less mocking, more familiar. You feel the pull to Vernon again, and you wonder if he feels it, this thing between you. Perhaps it's only in your head, amplified by the exhaustion and divine fire hiding inside of you.
"I was so afraid," you whisper, thinking back to those last few moments. "It hurt so much and for a while that was all I could think about. Then I started to get cold and all I could think about was that I hoped wherever my mom is, she couldn't see what happened, that she would never know how I was going to die alone and afraid in a collapsing temple."
Vernon's hands grip the wheel, knuckles going bone white as your words fade. You'd never been afraid to die until it was about to happen. Ancient history had taught you how sacred death was, that dying was just another journey and adventure. But in that single moment alone and bleeding out, you realized how terrifying it was, how painful it was to be entirely alone and without help.
"I'm so fucking sorry," Vernon rasps. You glance up at him to see him staring out the front dash, eyes burning. "I shouldn't have left you. I was angry and I was going to pack your things and come get you and- fuck, Stacks. I shouldn't have left you."
You shrug. "I didn't make it easy on you."
"Doesn't matter. I knew it was dangerous and I thought I could just… do it my way. I'm sorry."
He seems to mean it, Sekhmet sniffs. Interesting.
I told you, you think back to her. He's different.
The goddess says nothing as the jeep descends into a deeper canyon, the walls rising higher until they block out most of the stars. The headlights catch on scattered fossils of massive whale vertebrae that are half-buried in the rock, ancient burns turned to stones over millions of years.
"Slow down here," you murmur, sitting up in the car, entirely awake now. "The entrance is just past the largest skeleton. It looks like a natural fissure, but it opens into the temple courtyard."
Vernon eases off the gas, the jeep crawling forward. The headlights sweep across the cliff face, illuminating a narrow vertical crack in the rock that looks barely wide enough for a person, let alone a vehicle. Beyond it, the darkness is absolute.
He kills the engine but leaves the headlights on. The sudden silence is deafening, broken only by the ticking of cooling metal and the distant sigh of wind through the wadi. Vernon turns to you, one arm draped over the steering wheel, his expression serious in the dashboard glow.
“Ready?” he asks. His voice is quiet, but there’s steel beneath it. “We go in together. No heroics. If it feels wrong, we get out.”
"I'll listen to you this time."
He smirks. "I'll believe it when I see it, Stacks."
You both step out into the cool darkness, your skin turning to goosebumps. The slamming of the jeep door is too loud, echoing in the canyon before dying down. Vernon leads the way to the stone fissure, which is narrower than it looked from the jeep. You have to turn sideways to slip through, your shoulders scraping against stone as you follow Vernon through the crevice.
It's easier to see in the dark with Sekhmet present, your eyes adjusting easily to accommodate for the lack of light. Her presence flares brighter the moment you cross the threshold, her power a hot coal in your chest as she directs you toward a long corridor with a carved-lion headed sentinel.
"Left," you murmur to Vernon, voice echoing. "Then down the ramp. She said the main hall is lit."
Vernon listens without question. He hand brushes the small of your back for half a second as you step into a large room, steadying you before he moves ahead. He takes the left and leads you down a corridor, both of you silent as you creep along.
Gold light greets you as you step into the main hall suddenly. Golden-orage flames flicker in shallow stone bowls set into the walls, casting dancing light across the walls. The carvings in the wall are pristine here, untouched by the desert wind and protected by the cliffs. You marvel at the reliefs: Maahes in his lion form, devouring enemies, his mane wreathed in solar fire; processions of priests carrying offerings of meat and wine; scenes of the lion god standing behind Sekhmet, both of them pathed in blood.
My deepest pride, the goddess growls. My biggest regret.
The hall is entirely empty. Your boots echo on the flagstones as you step deeper into the main hall. It's warmer, the brazier's heat making sweat bead along your hairline. Vernon stays close, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours and sending sparks through your spine.
"Voss, was here," Vernon mutters. "Brazier's don't light themselves. But where did they go?"
Deeper, Sekhmet urges. Into the heart.
The two of you move together down a wide ramp that spirals gently into the earth. The walls grow closer, the carvings showing lions with open jaws, flames pouring from their mouths, scenes of Apophis writhing beneath Maahes's claws. Your pulse quickens as you walk, feeling Sekhmet's energy pulse in time with yours.
The ramp ends in a grand antechamber. More braziers burn here, their light reflecting off polished obsidian inlays that make the walls look like liquid night. The floor is inlaid with a massive mosaic of a lion devouring a serpent. The air feels heavier, charged, as if the temple itself is holding its breath.
Great stone lion statues on pillars bellow into the night, their faces twisted in anger. You pull up short when you look at them, something in your gut twisting like when you'd seen the falcons outside of Montu's temple. You get the sense of something that ripples down Sekhmet's spine like an angry cat-
Stone grinds. You look up to see the stone lions tearing themselves from the columns, all four of them crashing down to the ground. Dust flies as you and Vernon step back. They're twice the size of natural lions, their bodies made of living basalt veined with glowing red lines of fire. Their eyes burn red as they shake the dust from their shoulders, teeth grinding like rock as they prowl toward you.
"Shit," Vernon swears.
Power floods your veins as Sekhmet surges forward. Your hands burn and you don't even think - you just reach outward with both of your hands, twin khopesh blades manifesting in your grip, their bronze edges blazing crimson. The weapons feel perfectly balanced, humming with Sekhmet's wrath as the lions charge.
Vernon's spear appears in his hands with a crack of thunder, the same weapon you'd seen in Montu's temple crackling with lightning. He surges forward to meet the first lion head on as you challenge another, spinning as one khopesh slashes upward in a blazing arch. The blade cuts through the living stone like it's clay, shearing off a chunk of the lion's shoulder in a spray of sparks and rock.
The guardian roars in rage, swinging a massive paw at your head. You duck under it and drive the second blade into the creature's flank, gritting your teeth as Sekhmet roars inside of you. Flame explodes outward, cracking the basalt apart from the inside, causing the lion to shatter and collapse into rubble.
Vernon is a living storm beside you, shadow-stepping through darkness to reappear behind another lion and drive his spear through its spine. Lightning erupts along the shaft, spiderwebbing across the stone body in brilliant white cracks. The stone lion convulses and fractures, shattering the same way yours had moments before.
The two of you fall into a sync without words as the last two guardians descend, becoming flame and storm. You blast one of the lions with fire, knocking it back before it can get to Vernon before you challenge it head on, ducking as it swipes at you. You spin and bring down both blades on its neck, severing the stone head as Sekhmet's strength burns through you, hot and liquid.
Vernon plants his spear into his lion's side, sending a bolt of lightning that hits the creature with an explosion that leaves your ears ringing. Dust billows thick through the antechamber as you shield yourself from stray rock and dust as Vernon's killing blow finishes. He stands a few paces away, spear dissolving into sparks, chest heaving. His eyes meet yours across the settling dust, dark, wild, and something else.
For a second the air between you crackles with more than divine power, but Sekhmet's growl cuts it short. They're gone.
You nod. "She says they're gone."
Vernon nods once, jaw tight. “Let’s make sure.”
The final corridor is shorter, narrower, lined with carvings of Maahes standing triumphant over Apophis. The braziers here burn lower, as if whatever ritual was performed has already drained them. You push through a last set of massive stone doors that stand slightly ajar, their surfaces carved with roaring lions.
The heart of the temple opens before you, a circular chamber, vast and domed, the ceiling lost in shadow high above. A single massive altar of black basalt dominates the center, its surface still stained with fresh blood and scattered with remnants of ritual. You absently press your hand to your stomach, feeling the heat of where the blade had entered you, the wound that Sekhmet had burned shut.
I am here, she murmurs.
Vernon touches your arm, drawing your attention. His eyes are dark, a storm sparking behind them. "You're not alone." He pauses and rolls his eyes. "Set says you have nothing to fear."
Sekhmet gives a deliberate hmph but you smile, thankful for their presence - even the God of Chaos.
The chamber is empty like Sekhmet said. No Voss. No Nadia-Montu. No Dr. el-Masri or remaining security. Only the echo of your footsteps and the faint crackle of dying flames. The last of Sekhmet's fire fades beneath your skin as you walk through the chamber, the twin blades vanishing from your hands.
"Gone like she said."
You nod, staring at the bloodstained altar. The scent of smoke and iron is thick. You sink down onto the edge of the altar, legs suddenly heavy. Vernon hesitates only a moment before sitting beside you, close enough that your shoulders touch. The stone is warm from the braziers. The chamber feels strangely peaceful after the violence, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks.
Vernon’s voice is low when he finally breaks the silence. “I liked the blades."
You let out a shaky breath, staring at your hands. The tattoos on your arms have faded back to dull red, but you can still feel the fire. “I think Sekhmet did most of the work. Felt like I knew exactly what to do, though."
He huffs a quiet laugh, leaning back on his hands. “Set’s the same. Sometimes it feels like I’m just along for the ride. Other times it feels like we're working together."
The silence stretches again. Vernon settles back and his shoulder presses a little firmer against yours. You glance at him but he isn't watching you, his gaze focused on the dim fire of the chambers. You can feel the warmth of him beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing. He shifts slightly, his boot scraping against the stone floor.
“I keep thinking about it,” he says, breaking the silence as he stares. “Leaving you in that corridor. I was pissed, and I told myself you were a grown woman who could make her own choices, but I knew better. I knew Voss was planning something bad. I should’ve dragged you out of there kicking and screaming if I had to. I shouldn’t have walked away.”
The words hang in the air between you. You stare at him, surprised at the admission. His jaw is tight, the line of it sharp in the low light, and his hands rest on his knees, fingers flexing once like he’s fighting the urge to clench them into fists. He looks exhausted and it twists something in your chest.
You turn toward him, studying the side of his face. The firelight catches on the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the way his dark eyes reflect the dying embers like distant lightning. He’s always worn that smug, untouchable mask so well, but right now it’s cracked, and you can see the other version of him beneath it, the one who sat guard outside your tent and who kept you grounded in the medical tent after that first night of slaughter.
"It isn't your fault, Vernon." You tentatively reach out, resting your hand on his forearm. The skin there is warm, the ink slightly raised under your fingertips. “I was angry. Stubborn. I didn’t want to listen because I thought you were coddling me and I've spent most of my life chasing after my mom's dream. I made the choice to go deeper. You tried to stop me. Multiple times. I’m the one who ignored every warning.”
He doesn’t pull away from your touch, but his shoulders tense. “Doesn’t change the fact that I left you there to bleed out on an altar. I should have made you listen."
The guilt is eating at him, you realize. It’s weighing on him like the collapsed temple itself, pressing down on his shoulders. You can see it in the tight set of his mouth, the way his free hand flexes against his thigh. This isn’t the smug Vernon who called you Stacks and made you see red. This is someone who’s been carrying too much for too long - Set's chaos, his own secrets, and guilt that you can't even begin to understand.
You squeeze his arm gently, thumb brushing over one of the binding wards. “Hey. Look at me.” He does, reluctantly, dark eyes meeting yours. In the dim light they look almost black. "When have I ever done what you asked?"
He scoffs a little. "I guess."
"You came back. That means a lot to me."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
“Don’t be nice to me just because you understand me better now.” His voice is rough, edged with that familiar tone when he'd been an ass all those years, but there's a vulnerability you feel now that you know how to look for it. "You spent years hating me and you had every right to. You don't owe me comfort now just because you know I'm carrying Set."
You hold his gaze, refusing to look away. “I’m not being nice because I feel sorry for you. I’m saying it because it’s true. And so what if I regret how I treated you. I was wrong. Though, to be fair, I think you were pushing my buttons on purpose."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "I was."
You snort. "Why?"
He looks at you for a long moment, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "Liked your fire, and when you were mad at me, it made me feel seen. At least you not liking me was honest."
"I didn't hate you. I just… really didn't like you."
He smirks. “I’ve always been impressed by you, you know. You're incredibly smart and your commitment to the right thing reminds me of myself before Set. I always liked that about you."
You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, the warmth of his body, the way his fingers linger on yours, the dark intensity in his eyes as they drop to your mouth for a heartbeat before returning to yours.
Sekhmet growls but you ignore her, your heart pounding in your chest as you stare at him. "I thought you thought I was naive and stupid."
"Stacks, I think the fucking world of you."
"Really?"
"Mhm." His eyes drop down to your mouth again. "Can I be honest?"
Your heart thuds. "Yes."
"I really want to fucking kiss you right now."
You suck in a sharp breath, your hand on his arm tightening a fraction. Licking your lips, you murmur, "I'm not going to stop you."
Vernon doesn't hesitate. He presses forward, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that starts slow but quickly deepens, hungry and desperate, like he’s been holding back for far longer than you realized. His lips are warm, slightly chapped from the desert, and they move against yours with a certainty that makes your head spin. One hand reaches up to rest on your cheek, the other sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you closer.
You kiss him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in his torn shirt, the fabric bunching under your fingers. The taste of him - salt and something static - floods your senses. Heat blooms low in your belly, and when his tongue brushes yours and you part your lips for him, he groans low in his throat, the kisses turning deeper.
Immediately you think of the dream as you cling to him, the room spinning. Sekhmet is nowhere to be found as you press into him, his hands tangling in your hair, tongue sweeping against yours. You make a small sound and he breaks the kiss, panting.
“Fuck, Stacks,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Tell me to stop and I will. Right now.”
Instead, you pull him back down, kissing him harder, deeper, tongues sliding together in a messy, desperate tangle. He groans into your mouth, the sound low, vibrating through your chest. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, then lower, palming your ass as he hauls you fully into his lap on the edge of the altar. The stone is still warm from the braziers, but nothing compared to the heat of his body pressing against yours.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. He bites your bottom lip and you whine while his tongue darts out to soothe the sting with his tongue. “Watching you glare at me across every dig, every conference, pretending I didn’t want to shove you against the nearest wall and kiss the fucking shit out of you."
Your laugh is breathless, turning into a moan when he rolls his hips up, letting you feel exactly how hard he already is. “You were such an asshole on purpose.”
"Yeah. You're hot when you're mad. And you not liking me was something."
He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. His hands are greedy, sliding under your shirt, the callouses on his fingers scraping across your hips before skimming up your ribs to cup your chest through your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble tight.
"Oh," you breathe.
"Yeah?" He smirks, mouth sucking greedily along your jaw. "Been driving me insane for years."
Vernon leans up to peel your shirt off, his eyes hungry as he takes in the sight of you. The scar on your stomach glows faintly red in the low light, and he ducks down to press open-mouthed kisses along the ridged line, tongue tracing every inch.
“Mine,” he murmurs against your skin, the word possessive and rough. "Mine to protect, mine to touch."
He lays you back on the wide basalt altar, the stone warm against your bare back. His mouth follows, worshipping every inch of skin he uncovers. He kisses the hollow of your throat, the curve of your collarbone, the sensitive underside of your breasts. His hands snap the claps in the back and peel the fabric off you, the scrape of it against your skin making you shiver. When he finally closes his mouth over one nipple, sucking hard while his hand palms the other, you cry out, back arching off the stone.
"Fuck," you hiss.
He hums, the vibration shooting straight between your legs. “That’s it. Let me hear you. Finally using that crass language I adore.”
He takes his time, mouth and hands mapping your skin. Your mind goes blank, the feeling of his mouth and hands on you turning you to static. Heat blooms where he kisses, your body feeling the electricity underneath his skin as he plants kisses down your stomach.
A few days ago, you'd never imagine Vernon touching like this. Now that he is, you can't imagine him not touching you. You never want him to stop, never want the heat of his palms to leave your ass or the wet press of his mouth to stray too far. For too long have you watched him, irritated but intrigued, and now that you've tasted him, you don't want to stop.
When Vernon finally moves lower, hooking his fingers in your waistband and dragging your pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, he groans at the sight of you bare and glistening for him.
“Look at you,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “So wet already. All for me?”
You nod, breathless. His hands are gentle as he spreads your thighs wide, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs while he settles between them. He presses open-mouth kisses down your thighs and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his breath on your wet cunt, a thrill going through you.
The first slow, broad lick of his tongue from your entrance to your clit makes your hips jerk and a broken moan tear from your throat. Your hands shoot down to thread in the strands of his hair, twisting in the longer strands near the nape of his neck, nails scrapping on the shorter sides.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he growls, the words vibrating against your folds. “Gonna eat this pretty pussy until you’re shaking.”
The words knock the wind out of you as he presses his mouth to you, slow and messy. His tongue works you open in long strokes, circling your swollen clit before sucking it gently between his lips. Your hips twitch and your eyes squeeze shut as you arch, the feeling so good you can't do anything except squirm in his hold.
Two thick fingers slide inside you without warning, curling just right, the wet sound of him fucking them into you echoing in the temple chamber. He doesn't rush - just sucks messily at you, letting you roll your hips in broken, little twitches into his mouth.
"Fuck," you gasp, laughing as your head presses back into the stone. "Feels so good."
He groans against you. "That's it, Stacks, use me."
You do, hips rolling as he stretches you open while his tongue flicks relentlessly over your clit. The first orgasm crashes over you hard and sudden, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your walls clamp down around his fingers. He doesn’t stop, grinning as he licks you through it, slow and messy until you're oversensitive and whimpering.
Vernon finally pulls back, lips and chin shining, eyes dark with stormclouds. "You're addicting."
Before you can catch your breath, he’s kissing you again, deep and wet with the taste of you. His fingers never leave you, thrusting slow and deep while his thumb circles your swollen clit. You moan into his mouth, hands fisting in his hair as another orgasm builds fast and overwhelming.
“Come on,” he murmurs against your lips. “Give me another. Want to feel you come on my fingers."
You do, clenching tight around his fingers as you come with a choked cry. You squeeze your eyes shut, breath coming out in choked sounds, colors blooming behind your lids. He swallows every sound you make, kissing you through it until you're boneless and panting. Only then does he pull away, bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean before he kisses you again.
"Need you," he murmurs, the slide of his mouth warm against yours. "Do you want-"
"Yes," you gasp, sucking his tongue into your mouth greedily. He whimpers and you dig your nails into him, pulling at his shirt. "Please."
You help him tear his shirt off as he shoves his pants down, his heavy cock springing free. It's thick and glistening, making your stomach flip because of course the asshole tombraider has a nice cock.
Vernon settles between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance. He grins when you squirm beneath him, lifting your hips in an attempt to push him in. Instead, he rolls his hips lazily against you, smearing your arousal across your pussy as he teases you, laughing while he peppers your face in kisses.
"Desperate," he notes.
"Asshole."
"I like what it gets out of you."
Before you can retort, he pushes in slowly, inch by thick inch, splitting you open with a burn that feels better than Sekhmet's fire. When he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, both of you groan. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer as he drops his forehead to yours, kissing you sweeter than the moment calls for.
"Fuck," he whispers. "You feel so good. Made for me."
He starts to move then, his lips dipping with slow, deep rolls that drag against you. The pace is deliberate, his cock filling you completely with every thrust. Your nails dig into his back, keeping him close as his thrusts punch the air from your lungs.
But you want more of him.
With a surge of Sekhmet's strength, you flip him suddenly, pinning him down on the stone beneath you. His brows raise, then darken as you press your hands to his chest, keeping him flat as you roll your hips and grin.
"My turn," you whisper.
The new angle makes you both moan, the feeling deeper and fuller now. You start to ride him, slow and grinding at first, then faster, hips rolling as you chase your pleasure. Vernon’s hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise, eyes locked on where you’re joined, watching his cock disappear inside you with every bounce.
"Fuck," he groans. “Riding me so pretty. Take what you need, baby.”
The new name makes you whine. You roll your hips faster, chasing the warm knot in your belly, ignoring the burn in your thighs as you tip your head back, nails digging into his sweaty chest. He sits up suddenly, one arm wrapping around your back to hold you close while the other hand slides between you to rub tight circles over your clit.
“Come on,” he growls against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “One more. Come on my cock.”
You nod, clinging to him as the orgasm rips through you, sharp and blinding. You cry out, walls clenching around him as you come hard. He growls, keeping you moving until he spills after you, burying his face in your neck.
Vernon falls backward and you collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slick and trembling. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as the braziers flicker lower around you. One hand splays across your lower back while the other strokes slow, soothing lines up and down your spine.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds are your mingled breaths, the soft crackle of the last embers, and the distant sigh of wind moving through the wadi outside the temple. For the first time since Sekhmet burned her way into your veins, the fire inside you feels quiet and content.
Vernon presses a lazy kiss to your temple, his voice rough and low against your hair. “We should stay here tonight. It’s safer than trying to drive out in the dark with Voss and Montu somewhere ahead. We can rest, regroup.”
You nod against his chest, too boneless to argue. “Yeah. Supplies are still in the jeep, though. Water. Food. Blankets.”
“Just a bit longer,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up so he can kiss you again, slow and deep. “I mean it, Stacks. You’re mine to protect now. Not just because of the gods riding us. Because it’s you. I’m not walking away again."
You lean in and kiss him once more before resting your head on his chest. "I know."
Sekhmet stirs inside you, her presence a low, steady burn rather than the usual sharp flare of irritation. She watches the moment with the wary gaze of an old lioness.
He is determined, she notes warily. I think he might burn the world to keep you safe. Perhaps it is not a bad thing. Chaos seems to like you. Beware the love of a God.
And what about you? You ask her.
Beware of me too, child. I burn away the unworthy.
-
Dawn is pomegranate pink when you slip out of the temple's stone fissure, the cool morning air of Wadi al-Hitan not yet burning. You move in easy silence now, shoulders brushing, hands finding each other without thought as you pass Vernon the last of the scavenged supplies. The sky above shifts from pink to rose, to blue, the faint mineral bite of ancient rock still in the air.
You study a map spread out on the hood of the jeep, a pen in your hand as you keep the wind from lifting the paper edges off the metal of the car. Vernon comes up behind you, his arms sliding around your waist without hesitation, chin resting on your shoulder. The casual affection makes something warm bloom inside of you, and you lean back into him, tilting your head to the side so he can see better.
"Find the way?" He asks.
"Yeah. Sekhmet's version of directions isn't as simple as looking at a map." She growls and you grin. "But I think I've got it figured out."
"Good."
"You drove yesterday. I'll drive today."
He hums in agreement, the sound low and pleased, and gives your waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “Good. Means I get to watch you instead of the road.”
You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth is genuine. “Flirt.”
"Get used to it, Stacks."
The drive out of the wadi is smoother than the journey in, the narrow track widening as you leave the canyons behind. Vernon rides shotgun, one arm draped along the back of your seat, fingers occasionally playing with the ends of your hair or tracing idle patterns on your shoulder. Every touch feels easy and open, and you catch yourself glancing over at him more than once, catching the soft curve of his smile when he catches you looking.
When the road straightens and you reach over to rest your hand on his thigh, he covers it with his own without hesitation, thumb stroking slow circles against your knuckles.
"This is nice," he says, fingers tightening on yours. "I spent a long time convincing myself the only way to keep you looking at me was to make you angry. Stupid, in hindsight.” He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of yours. “I like this better. A lot better.”
"You're going to keep doing it though, aren't you?"
"Sure am."
Two hours slip by faster than you expect. The landscape changes subtly as you draw closer to the suspected location of Apophis’s resting place, rockier, more fractured, the cliffs giving way to wide, barren plains dotted with strange, wind-sculpted formations that look almost like broken bones. The sky remains clear and mercilessly blue, but the air feels heavier, charged with something unnatural.
Then you see it.
Far ahead on the horizon, a wall of darkness is building, the storm clouds thick and alive. Black and bruised-purple thunderheads boil upward, swirling as lightning flickers inside of them in violent, blood-red forks rather than the usual white. Even from this distance, you can see the sand being whipped into violent spirals beneath the storm.
Vernon sits up straighter, his hand tightening on yours. "The serpent."
His voice startles you and you glances sideways at him, the ancient language rolling off of his tongue as Set speaks through him for a moment. Sekhmet stirs sharply in your mind in response, giving a low warning growl.
The storm grows larger as you drive toward it, the sky darkening rapidly. Wind buffets the jeep, sand stinging against the windshield like tiny needles. Vernon’s jaw clenches, tattoos beginning to glow faintly blue along his forearms as Set rises to meet the threat.
“Pull over for a second,” he says.
You ease the jeep to a stop and Vernon closes his eyes, breathing slow and deep. You feel the shift in the air immediately, your hair standing up on your arms as the energy crackles in the car. The wind around the jeep whips up for a second before it dies down, Set's calming the unnatural storm ahead. Ahead, the thunderheads still rumble, but the lightning lessens and dims to sullen flashes.
Vernon exhales sharply, opening his eyes. Sweat beads on his forehead. “That is all I can do from here. Set is fighting the serpent’s influence, but it is like trying to push back the tide. We need to get closer.”
You nod and put the jeep back in gear, pushing forward through the unnaturally calmed corridor Vernon has carved. The storm still rages ahead, but the path to the temple remains passable.
The site appears suddenly as you crest a low rise, the chaos spread out across the barren plain like a battlefield. Abandoned vehicles sit at crooked angles, doors flung open, some with hoods still smoking. Tents lie half-collapsed or shredded by wind, canvas flapping wildly. Equipment is scattered everywhere, crates overturned and tools spilled.
Dark stains mar the ground in several places, blood both dry and still fresh. The storm’s edge looms directly over the area, thunder cracking like whip strikes, red lightning illuminating the destruction in violent flashes.
“No bodies,” Vernon mutters, scanning the wreckage. “Either they ran or Voss forced them deeper.”
You kill the engine a safe distance away, heart pounding. Sekhmet’s fire surges hotter in your veins, ready. Vernon’s hand finds yours one last time, squeezing tight before you both step out into the howling wind.
The storm presses against the invisible barrier Set has created, but it holds. You feel the vibration of the storm against your small pocket of air, stepping close to Vernon as you both walk in the sand, feet sinking in step by step.
Up ahead, the entrance to the temple of Apophis yawns open, waiting and framed by cabins of coiling serpents. A ripple of anger goes through you as Sekhmet growls, and you feel the heat in your hands, ready to summon fire and weapons if necessary.
Together, you approach the temple, Vernon gritting his teeth with the force of keeping the storm at bay. You touch his wrist and he steadies a little, his focus sharpening as you pause at the temple's entrance, stone serpents hissing down at you.
"Together?" You ask.
"Together," he confirms.
The darkness of the temple swallows you whole and the wind cuts off like a door slamming shut. The air inside of the temple is thick and stale and unnaturally warm, pressing against you with the metallic tang of blood. You don't let it deter you, your footsteps silent as you and Vernon navigate the dark, guided by the eyes of Sekhmet and Set.
Prepare, Sekhmet growls.
Your palms heat as the khopesh blades manifest, burning crimson in your grip. Vernon must have the same instinct, his spear crackling blue in his hand as the air around him pops. Together, you move down the narrow corridor, the walls covered in images of coiling serpents, their eyes inlaid with polished obsidian.
Sekhmet’s presence surges hotter in your veins, a low, constant growl of warning. Deeper. They are close. The serpent stirs.
Vernon's jaw is tight as you walk. His free hand brushes yours for half a second, a silent promise as he surges forward, the passage widening into a series of antechambers. Braziers burn low and erratic here, casting dancing shadows that make the carved reliefs seem alive. You scan scenes of Apophis swallowing the sun, of chaos devouring order, of the world unraveling into endless night - but its the floor makes your stomach turn.
Blood is everywhere. Dried and fresh, dark pools and smeared streaks across the flagstones. Bodies like where they fell - laborers, students, security personnel. Throats are slit, chests are opened in ritual patterns, some with eyes open, others close. The sacrifices number in the dozens, violent and grotesque.
Sekhmet's voice growls through yours, "I drink what spills. We will end this now."
Ahead, the corridor opens into the main chamber. It's a vast, cavernous space carved deep into the living rock, its ceiling lost in shadow high above. A single colossal altar of black basalt dominates the center, its surface slick with fresh blood. Braziers ring the room in a perfect circle, flames roaring unnaturally high and red. In the middle of it all stands Voss, arms raised, chanting in a voice that is no longer entirely his own.
Nadia stands to his right, still possessed by Montu, her body thrumming with solar power. Besides her is another security team member - Tariq, you think. Maahes burns in him now, golden light leaking from the corner of his eyes and manifesting in golden armor made of light on his body.
Apophis is rising. You can feel it in the air, the serpents hiss filling the room as the ground trembles beneath your feet. Red lightning crackles across the ceiling as Voss's chant grows louder and faster, guided by Dr. al-Masri.
Nadia and Tariq turn the second you and Vernon step into the room, Nadia's smile spreading. "The Crooked Star returns."
"Ah," Tariq says. "The Eye Unbound is with him. Hello, mother."
Neither Sekhmet nor Set answer in kind. They surge forward as Nadia lunges at Vernon first, her khopesh blazing as Vernon meets her head-on, spear crackling with lightning. The God of war is fast, each crack of her blade against his spear like thunder, sending sparks flying.
You lose focus on Vernon as Tariq charges you, the might of Maahes powering him with terrifying speed. His eyes burn golden as he chops at you with a short sword. You leap to meet him, your twin khopesh blazing. The first clash of metal sparks, the impact vibrating up your arm and vibrating through your teeth. Sekhmet's strength floods you and you snarl as you press him, making Tariq stumble backward.
He disengages and feints left before striking right, and you barely parry in time. The force sends you sliding back across the blood-slick floor, feet skidding. Pain flares but you dive and roll away from another heavy swing of his sword, charging him as he recovers from the chop. Your khopesh slash across his side, carving deep wounds that sizzle flesh. He roars, Tariq's voice mixed with something ancient and furious, as he retaliates with a roaring breath of fire that makes you leap back.
Across the chamber, Vernon and Montu are locked in brutal combat. Vernon flickers in and out of shadows, spear thrusting with lethal precision while storms rage around him. Nadia counters with blinding light, fire roaring from her palms, blades and weapons manifesting and vanishing as she hammers down on him. The two gods clash in a whirlwind of lightning and fire, the chamber trembling with every blow.
"You are a whelp," Sekhmet growls through you to Tariq and he sneers. "I am the lioness. You are a cub."
He lunges, sword swinging in wide, deadly arcs. You meet each strike with your own blades, flame meeting flame in explosive bursts of light and heat that make sparks rain down around you. Maahes slams his shoulder into you, using his stolen body’s mass to drive you back against a pillar. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, but Sekhmet roars through you. You twist, bringing one khopesh down in a vicious overhead strike that catches him across the collarbone. Golden light pours from the wound like molten metal, and he howls in pain and rage, the sound shaking dust from the ceiling above.
End him, Sekhmet roars.
You press the attack, khopesh flashing, crimson flames licking up the edge of the blades. Tariq catches you once in the side, opening a shallow cut on your ribs that makes you snarl, but you push through, kicking him back and making his arm fly wide for the smallest window of opportunity. You take it, striking with both blades and driving them home into his chest.
He staggers backward, golden light spilling from the wound. His body convulses as the god within fights to stay anchored, and you refuse to let up, summoning fire in your palms. You thrust your hands forward, a rush of white flame scorching Tariq. He screams as you grit your teeth, feeling the flame run through every part of you, your veins heating with divine power.
"We burn the unworthy," you growl, feeling Sekhmet's rage and grief as the fire pours out of you.
Tariq’s body collapses to the ground, charred and smoking as the golden light flickers out. Sekhmet's wrath is edged with sadness, but she doesn't let it overwhelm either of you as both of you pivot to where Vernon drives a spear through Nadia's stomach, his lightning exploding in a blinding flash of white that makes you shield your eyes.
Vernon is storm incarnate, the wind ripping through the chamber and buffeting you as he pins Nadia to the chamber floor. He pulls the spear out, pointing it to the ceiling as he spins it fluidly in his hands again, gathering static before he strikes down again, the crack of thunder so loud that all sound goes out for a moment, your ears ringing as you clap your hands over them.
Nadia’s body goes limp as Montu’s presence flees, leaving her body behind. You stand panting in the carnage, hands over your screaming ears as Vernon leans over her, panting. When he looks up at you, it's not Vernon looking at you, but the blazing storm of Set, seething and angry. For a moment, you're terrified you've lost Vernon to the god, but you see his mouth twitch in a smile before turning to where Voss stands in the center of the room.
Voss's eyes burn gold, his pupils narrowed to serpentine slits. Black scales ripple across his skin in slow, oily waves, spreading from his throat down his chest and arms. When he smiles, his mouth splits too wide, revealing rows of needle-sharp fangs that glint in the dying brazier light. The air around him thickens, heavy with static.
“You dare interrupt the end of all things?” The voice that comes out of Voss is layered with something vast and ancient. "The Crooked Star and the Eye Unbound. How fitting. I will swallow you both before I swallow the world.”
Vernon’s grip tightens on his spear, lightning crackling louder along the shaft. "I am the chaos within the order of the world, I am the protector of disorder, I am Set, the Crooked Star, and I will devour you whole, snake."
You feel Sekhmet surge forward in your veins, her wrath a white-hot flame that sharpens every sense. Your twin khopesh blaze brighter, crimson fire licking up the blades until they glow like molten metal. The scar on your stomach burns in answer.
"I am with you," you growl.
You and Vernon move as one.
Apophis answers in kind, lunging with impossible speed, his black-scaled hands elongating into claws. The air tears as he slashes toward you. You spin left, khopesh flashing in a wide arc that meets his claws in a shower of spitting flame. The impact jars your arms, but Sekhmet’s strength holds you firm. Vernon shadow-steps right, appearing behind Apophis and driving his spear toward the serpent’s spine.
Apophis twists mid-motion, tail-like darkness whipping out to slam Vernon back. The impact sends him skidding across the blood-slick floor, but he rolls to his feet and immediately summons a violent gust of wind that hurls debris and sand into the serpent god’s face.
Your khopesh slash downward in twin blazing arcs as you seize the advantage, and one catches Apophis across the shoulder, carving a deep, smoking gash that leaks black ichor. The other bites into his side and Sehmet's fire pours into his wounds, burning away shadow and scale.
Apophis roars a sound like the world cracking open and backhands you with a clawed fists. Pain explodes across your ribs as you fly backward, slamming into a pillar hard enough that it cracks and collapses behind you.
Vernon is there in a second, shadow-stepping to pull you up roughly while thrusting his spear with the other hand. Lightning chains from the tip, striking Apophis square in the chest. The serpent god convulses, black smoke rising from the point of the impact, but he laughs through the pain, the sound wet and terrible.
"You think you can contain me?"
Apophis spreads his arms, and the chamber erupts. Shadowy serpents burst from the floor, coiling and striking with venomous speed. One lunges for you and you spin a khopesh, severing its head easily.
Together, you and Vernon fall into a perfect tandem, taking on the primordial deity of chaos. Vernon forces openings, blasting Apophis back with air and shadow stepping to draw his attention while you strike from the flank, your blades carving deal, burning wounds that Sekmhmet's fire refuses to let close.
When Apophis turns on you with a barrage of shadow claws, Vernon appears in a flicker of darkness, spear thrusting into the serpent’s side and unleashing a point-blank lightning strike that lights the entire chamber white-blue.
Apophis bellows, the sound ear-splitting. Black ichor sprays across the floor where your blades and Vernon’s spear find purchase again and again. You feel the serpent weakening, his movements growing slightly slower, the golden glow in Voss’s eyes flickering like a dying bulb.
With a roar that rattles your bones, Apophis slams both hands into the ground. The stone floor erupts in a wave of writhing shadow serpents that surge toward you like a living tide. You slash desperately, flame cutting through them in wide arcs, but there are too many. One coils around your ankle and yanks you off your feet.
Vernon’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Stacks!”
He shadow-steps through the writhing mass, spear spinning in a blazing circle of lightning that clears a path. He reaches you, grabbing your arm and hauling you upright just as Apophis lunges again, claws aimed for your throat.
Vernon drops low, sweeping his spear in a wide horizontal arc that catches Apophis across the knees, lightning exploding outward and buckling the serpent’s legs while you leap, both khopesh raised high. Sekhmet's full wrath surges through you in a single, blinding pulse of flame as you bring the blades down, a roar ripping from your throat.
The twin khopesh strike Apophis’s shoulders in perfect unison just as Vernon sends another lightning strike through the god. Divine flame and lightning meet in the middle, and for a moment, there's no sound. Then, Apophis roars, black scales shattering as fractured light spills out of him. His body convulses violently, and for an endless moment, the three of you are locked together.
Apophis finally breaks.
The serpent’s essence shatters outward in a violent burst of black smoke and golden shards that dissolve into nothing before they hit the ground. Voss’s body goes limp, collapsing to the bloodstained floor like a puppet with its strings cut. The golden glow fades from his eyes, leaving only the dull, empty stare of a man who invited a god in and paid the ultimate price.
You and Vernon collapse with him, chests heaving, weapons still glowing faintly in your hands. Sweat, blood, and ichor streak your skin. The braziers flicker lower, casting long shadows across the carnage.
Vernon’s spear dissolves into sparks. He rolls toward you, breathing hard, and reaches out. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight despite the mess covering both of you. You squeeze back, Sekhmet’s fire cooling to a gentle warmth in your veins.
The silence is deafening, only the soft pop of the last dying braziers and the distant sigh of wind through the wadi remain. Blood, ichor, and dust coat everything. Your body feels heavy, every muscle trembling with exhaustion, but Sekhmet’s fire still hums gently beneath your skin, the lioness satisfied.
Panting, you stare up at the ceiling. Your heart is still racing, adrenaline and divine power crashing through your veins in fading waves. The scar on your stomach pulses warmly, a reminder of how close you came to dying on a similar altar not so long ago.
You almost died on that altar in Montu’s temple. You watched people slaughtered for a madman’s ambition. You carried a goddess of vengeance inside you and learned how to wield her fire without losing yourself. And Vernon - Vernon, who you once hated on sight - fought beside you every step of the way.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, unexpected and hot. Not from sadness, but from the sheer overwhelming relief that you are still here. That he is still here. And that there are gods that walk in the world, that beneath the simmering history of Egypt, at the root of it all, your mother was right. There is a magical thread that makes the impossible possible - you'd just followed it to near the end of the world.
A shaky laugh bubbles up from your chest, half-hysterical, half-relieved. You turn your head to look at Vernon. He's already watching you, chest rising and falling rapidly, dust and blood streaking his face. His hair is matted with sweat, a cut on his cheek bleeding sluggishly. But his eyes are soft now, raw with something that looks a lot like awe.
“You’re insane,” he rasps, voice hoarse from shouting over the storm. A tired, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “We just killed a primordial serpent god and you’re laughing.”
"She was right," you pant. "My mom was right."
"Yeah. She was."
He shifts closer, pulling you against his side despite the mess covering both of you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, holding you tight as you turn into a combination of laughing and crying. Sekhmet is quiet inside you for once, her presence a warm, approving glow rather than the usual sharp growl.
You stay like that for a long time, tangled together on the floor of the ancient temple, bodies aching and hearts still racing. Vernon’s fingers thread through your hair, gentle despite the calluses.
"I think," he says eventually. "I would like to go on vacation for a while."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"What about that resort town we passed on the way here?" He asks.
You laugh. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, Stacks. I'm fucking tired."
"Alright. Yeah. A vacation." You pause. "Wait."
He looks down at you, concerned. "What?"
"I think I'm out of PTO soon."
He groans. "Stacks," he grumbles, mouth pressing to yours. "Fuck your PTO."
-
The sun is warm on your skin - not the punishing heat of the desert, but the salted kiss of the beach that makes everything feel soft like the sand beneath your feet. Marsa Alam stretches out in lazy blues and golds, the waves lapping against the white sand while the palm trees sway in the breeze and you curl against Vernon's side in the shaded cabana you claimed this morning.
Vernon's arm is draped around your waist, the heat of his skin slick with sweat. It doesn't bother you, though. You just like being pressed up against him, the familiar hum of Set's lightning just under the surface of Vernon's skin. The scar on your stomach has faded to a faint silver line that still glows faintly when Sekhmet stirs, but today she's quiet. Vernon’s fingers trace idle patterns over the mark through the thin fabric of your cover-up, a habit he has developed that makes your chest tighten with warmth every time.
He looks relaxed in a way you have never seen before, dirty blonde hair tousled by the wind, sunglasses pushed up into it, a half-empty cocktail sweating in his free hand. The tattoos on his forearms have settled into something less volatile now that the storm inside of him is more checked considering Set has learned to behave on most days.
“Another one?” Vernon asks, lifting his glass toward yours in a lazy toast.
You clink your glass against his, savoring the taste of the bright, citrusy drink. “Only if you promise not to steal the little umbrella again.”
“No promises, Stacks. I like how it looks in your hair.”
Annoying, Sekhmet sighs. Good thing he fights well and looks at you like you are the only sun worth rising for. Perhaps I do not entirely hate him.
You smile against Vernon's shoulder and murmur the compliment to him. He chuckles and brushes his lips against your ear to murmur, "Tell her I'm growing on her. Like mold."
Sekhmet huffs, but you feel the faintest flicker of amusement from her like a lioness who has decided the annoying jackal is tolerable after all. It makes you grin, glad that she no longer fights you about him every step of the way.
The two of you lean back, tangled up on the cabana as he runs his fingers through your hair, stealing sips of your drink. You watch as two guests stroll by their voices catching your attention as they laugh.
"… swear it's true!" The guy says to the girl. "Some guy in Cairo is claiming he’s the actual Anubis. Like, full-on jackal-headed visions, guiding lost souls or whatever. People are calling it the new cult of the dead. Wild, right?”
His companion laughs, covering her mouth. "What a lunatic."
You and Vernon both go still.
Your eyes meet over the rims of your glasses. Vernon’s grin spreads slow and wicked, the same crooked smile that used to infuriate you and now makes heat pool low in your belly. “Anubis, huh?”
You feel Sekhmet stir with interest. The Jackal has always been a meddler. But a worthy one.
You set your glass down, already reaching for Vernon’s hand. “We were getting bored anyway. Three weeks of peace is plenty.”
He laughs, low and delighted, and pulls you up with him. Sand clings to your legs as you both stand, the sea breeze tugging at your clothes. The resort stretches behind you in perfect, sun-drenched luxury, but the pull of the red sands is stronger now, older and deeper, calling you back to the desert.
Vernon tugs you close, one hand sliding to the small of your back as he kisses you slow and sweet, tasting of rum and mango. "Ready, Stacks?"
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— synopsis: looking for peace of mind after years of leading a semi-incompetent nightly patrol crew, you venture out into the deep forests that surround your village. not only do you not find peace of mind, but you also find yourself falling down a rabbit hole of identity crisis and the idea of falling in love with the supernatural.
– genre: vampire au ; angst, fluff, eventual smut.
— pairing: vampire!choi seungcheol x hunter!fem!reader
– teaser wc: 2.1k || estimated wc: 40k+.
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warning(s): mentions of weapons (knife, gun), bodily injury/mentions of gore, spit (not in the way we're hoping unfortchies), seungcheol is annoying as fuck but dw we love the guy...scenting? smelling? you get the gist.
— what to listen to: dirty little secret - the all american rejects ; brighter - paramore ; the hand that feeds - nine inch nails.
– author's note: welcome back to haologram, where i drop teasers because why not...anyway, vampire cheol! full fic coming 🔜‼️let me knaur what yew think pleek <3 (or i will cry)
IT'S BARELY DUSK WHEN YOU NEAR THE CABIN.
Your eyes are slowly adjusting to the darkness around you, and the forest is seemingly quieter than usual. You pay it no mind, your ears picking up on any and every crunch near you; your eyes catching skittish deer and a fox or two before your knife pins a rabbit to a log with a quick flick of your wrist. You fish a bag and some twine out of your knapsack to tie its legs up and store it when you feel your skin prickle.
A pop, but not of twigs. Certainly not the crunch of leaves.
Your hand smoothly slides down your side, wrapping around the grip of your revolver before you hear another pop, accompanied with a soft groan. Your brow furrows, and you shove the rabbit into the bag with one hand before looking up to see a man shoving his shoulder back into place. There's a scowl on his face as he digs his fingers into the muscle above, your eyes widening as you silently pack up, your body low to the ground. You carefully hitch your bag over your shoulders again, warily approaching him and keeping a thick slice of distance between you and him.
He hears you before you can say anything, his head whipping up quickly to lock eyes with you. They're dark brown, lined with lashes long enough to touch his cheeks and thick brows fixed in the middle as he practically glares up at you. You raise a brow as an odd feeling stirs in your belly, your skin prickling all over once more as you tuck your hands into your coat pockets before tilting your head at him.
"Are you hurt?" Your voice is rough from hours of silence, "shouldn't be out here alone. Not safe for someone like you."
He looks insulted as his lips part, when you notice a gash along the thigh of his pants. You peer over slightly, not seeing anything in the setting sun before he brings a hand to cover it.
"I'm fine," his own voice is raspy, but there's a depth to it that melts in your ears. You suppress a shiver threatening to snake down your spine, your tongue running over your teeth as you shrug. Your boot nudges the bottom of his with an unimpressed look before he huffs, "there is a plethora of reasons that could prove I'm fine. Take my word for it."
You snort, "you're really in no position to be resisting help, buddy. This is vampire country."
"Trust me, baby," he rolls his eyes. "The only person in potential danger here is you."
"And I'm supposed to believe you?" You know you sound bored as you lean against one of the trees, clicking your tongue as he stands. He wipes the seat of his pants off, his hand sliding away from the gash in his pants. You glance at it, seeing the wound closing itself up — devoid of the crimson liquid of life. His eyes are hot as they trail down your body, before they meet yours — and you feel your stomach turn at the softness in their depth.
The same canines you'd seen dozens of times sparkle behind plump lips, "I'd hope you would."
"Please, don't kill me. Oh, God, think of my family." Your voice is monotone as you sigh, and you don't notice the small smile that cracks on his lips. "I didn't think I'd come across one of you so quickly."
"You didn't come across anything," he replies, his fingers tugging at the tear in his pants. He frowns, seemingly annoyed before looking back up at you. He sucks his teeth, "you've got really shitty survival skills. Anyone else would've killed me by now."
"I like to play nice with the puppies, what can I say?" You shrug, before flipping your knife out of your pocket and twirling the blade through your fingers, "but you're boring. All the others give me a little something to work with."
You're in front of him in two strides, the tip of your knife tapping his chin as he lets you lean into his space, "talk about shitty survival skills. You're just gonna let me kill ya?"
He glances at the knife in your hand, raising a brow before a smile crosses his lips. He darts his tongue out, dipping his head slightly and catching the tip of the silver blade on the wet muscle. He flattens his tongue against the metal, licking the blade before pressing a quick kiss to it. His eyes lock with yours, and you ignore the heat surging in your ears as he flicks the blade with his fingers.
Something in your chest feels different. No flight, no fight…
Freeze.
"You don't scare me, baby." He shrugs, "don't worry about me, though. I'm just passing through."
You can't reply before he's pulling the knife out of your hand, holding it like it has personally offended him. He stares at the blade, your name engraved into the blade, "Y/N, Laurestine Village. Huh."
Your hand has slid down your hip, your fingers once more wrapping around the grip of your revolver before he sucks his teeth, not even looking at you.
"If you're going to shoot me, you need to move just a little bit faster."
You don't get a chance to pull it out before you realize you're on the forest floor, the revolver knocked out of your reach as your arms get pinned to your sides by strong legs. He seems amused as you glare up at him, loosening his left leg and letting your hand slip out. You land a fist to his hip, earning a shrug as he grabs your wrist and pins it to the ground with ease.
"I will say, this is the most interesting handshake I've ever experienced." He's so close to you that you can feel his breath on your lips; only for your immediate response to be to spit in his face. It lands on his cheek, and he huffs out a laugh before leaning closer and touching the spot to your own face. He smears your saliva onto your skin, before scrunching his nose, "at least let me open my mouth for you next time, doll."
"Ugh!" You recoil as much as the ground beneath you will allow, "get the fuck off me if you're not going to rip my throat out."
"I fear I can't do that, baby. You're…interesting. And you smell amazing, might I add." He shrugs, "now…I'm gonna let go and you're gonna play nice, hm?"
"Fuck off."
"See, now, that's just not nice. You're totally cramping my style right now."
"Aren't you supposed to be, like, a million years old? Why do you talk like that?!" You try to weasel your wrist out of his hold, "let me go."
"You're actually so cute, you know." He leans over you again, before he wipes your cheek with his knuckles. "Been a while since a pretty thing like you walked these woods. Then again…you're not all that human, are you?"
You still, your brows furrowing as he winks down at you before he pinches your revolver between two fingers and places it on your upper belly. He turns it, flipping the barrel out, "silver bullets, hm? You really hate my guts."
"I don't even fucking know you."
"Then why are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?"
You scowl, "don't call me that. Get off."
"You know the rules, Y/N of Laurestine. I get off, you play nice. It's the only way we both make it out of this unscathed, you know, and I really wanna make it home tonight. My roommate brought his feeding friend over and she's cute." He speaks pointedly, but there's a lilt in his voice that gets under your skin. You let a hard breath of frustration out through your nose, your teeth gritting against each other as you speak.
"Fine. Get off."
He smiles down at you cheekily, your brow furrowing deeper as he clicks your revolver closed. He sets it down next to you, before holding your knife up and doing the same. You huff as he lets go of your wrist, before letting your other hand slip out from where it was wedged to your body by his knee. You rub your wrist immediately, feeling the agate ring missing as your hand slides down the side of your palm — only to see it now sitting on his pinky finger.
"Give that back."
"No, it's my souvenir. The Y/N of Laurestine almost killed me on Celandine Hill, circa my potential death date."
Your jaw is tight as you stare up at him, annoyance stirring in your belly as his knuckle gently tilts your chin in either direction. He runs it up your jaw, down the slope of your throat before tracing a circle around the obsidian pendant resting in the dip of it. You're sure he can feel your heartbeat thundering as he presses two fingers to your pulse point, but he says nothing as he blinks down at you before his lips part with a question.
"Do they know what you are?" He asks, a flash of something in the back of his eyes that makes your blood boil.
"That doesn't even make sense," you shove his hand away. "Get off me before I kill you."
"You're so pretty when you talk like you have any power in this situation, baby." He smiles down at you, and your eyes catch the soft crease of a dimple on his cheek as he tilts his head at you. "My question is simple. Straightforward. Do they know what you are?"
He leans a bit more, crossing his arms on his chest as he nibbles on his lip, "you're that apothecary's kid, aren't you? Or at least, you pretend to be. You look nothing like them."
Something about the way he's looking down at you pins you even deeper to the ground than the weight of his body ever could. You feel an odd humiliation bubble in your chest as you try to keep your face blank, turning away from him as his nose brushes yours — only to hear a deep inhale beneath the shell of your ear.
"I'm going to get up, and you're going to be on your way. Am I understood?" His voice is low, almost backed with a bit of a bite as he makes you look at him. His cool fingertips dig into your cheeks in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster, and you ignore the way your nose and throat begin to burn with the ache to cry, "Y/N."
"Get the fuck off me." You mutter thickly, shoving his hand away angrily. He lets it fall away, rolling his eyes with a huff before rolling off you. He stands, and you ignore the way he holds his hand out to help you up. You shove your gun back into your holster against your better judgment, sucking your teeth as you try to clear your head of the daze attempting to fill it. You wipe the blade of your knife against your pants, and the itch in your palm is screaming for you to drive it deep into his chest before the sound of his voice makes your ears twitch.
"See you around, Y/N."
You scowl, but the words die in your throat as he disappears. You close your eyes, roughly running a hand over your face in frustration as you feel tears prick at your eyes. An annoyed breath is pushed through your nostrils as you grab your knapsack from where it was flung across the roots of the tree you'd been pinned down next to.
A feeling of inadequacy settles in your bones as you hitch the bag back over your shoulder, your fingers tight around the straps as you stare into the dark forest. You can see your cabin not even fifty yards away — sanctuary.
You should've killed him.
You could've, he was right there. You could've killed him the moment you noticed the bloodless gash on his thigh, the moment you felt the way your skin prickled the second time, and you don't understand why you didn't. Why you couldn't bring yourself to fulfill your threat, why you felt rooted in place, why his question bothered you so much.
Something rendered you fully useless in his presence, in a way that was debilitating. In a way that felt humiliating, in a way that made you rapidly blink back tears as you force one foot in front of the other in the direction of your cabin.
And you feel small as a voice in the back of your head tells you to just turn around and go home.
it’s not unusual for artificially intelligent robots to blend in seamlessly to society. many years ago you found a robot that was being abused and stole him. you saved him and put him back together, and in the process upgraded his programming to the point both of you often forget he’s not a human. he’s become your companion as you navigate the dark neon city together.
⟢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, smut, angst, established relationship
⟢ 𝐚𝐮(𝐬): cyberpunk
⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 18.1k
⟢ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: loss of parents before the story, cussing, angst, drug use, talks of dealing drugs, stealing, hacking, working basically as gang to take down a company, Joshua has a lot of internal conflict struggling with not being human, talks of prostitution, and sex bots, they’re both quite codependent on each other.
⟢ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: multiple sex scenes I think there is 4, sex with a robot. Soft dom joshua, sub reader, he’s got super strength and uses that to lift and move the mc easily, Unprotected sex, creampie (he has synthetic cum), cum play, cum eating, overstimulation, fingering, oral (fem rec), big dick Joshua (joshua hung if you will), pussy stretching, body worship, hair pulling, spanking, semi exhibitionism, semi public sex, rougher sex, choking, nipple play, panty kink, things are intense between them nicknames: baby, starlight (hers) shua, baby (his)
⟢ 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+
🎧: agora hills - doja cat | bmf - sza | pov - ariana grande | burning blue - mariah the scientist | intro (end of the world) - ariana grande
⟢ 𝐚𝐧: this is part of @studiosvt’s cyberpunk: reload collab. Thank you @aeristudios for helping me with this one and @jakedustry for beta reading. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.
You haven't lived your whole life in the city of Chroma Nexion. Your life started out very differently than it is now. Your childhood was the stuff of dreams. You grew up in a luxurious city away from this neon hell city has become. You were raised with a silver spoon in your mouth. Your father worked at a bank that handled money for huge companies like FleXeon. Everything shifted when you were freshly seventeen, after a late night at business dinner you lost both your parents in a tragic car accident.
That night shifted everything for you. The house you had grown up in left you feeling haunted. Selling it was the only way you could escape the ghost of your past.
Taking the bullet train to Chroma Nexion changed your life. You realized with the money from your inheritance and your excellent programming skills, you had the ability to never work a mundane regular job.
Meeting Seungcheol made you realize that you could hack just about anything. He took you under his wing and you joined the team that he’s made. You learned Seungcheol had one goal in life, it was to rob the rich and give to people who truly needed the money.
On one of his missions you snuck into a tech corporation. In the basement you were searching around with Wonwoo. You found an android who looked to be a test robot of some sort. With Wonwoo's help, you brought the android to your home that night.
The side of his neck had "J05HU9" tattooed on his human-like skin. It took you two days to fully reprogram him and get him up and running.
Joshua is probably the greatest thing you've ever programmed. From the moment he rebooted you instantly had a connection with your new android.
CYBER SEX
The neon turquoise glow radiates off his pristine skin. You wish you could thank the engineer who crafted him for making him look this beautiful.
Seungcheol has you out a couple blocks down from the FleXeon lab. You're sitting at a computer in the back of a van that Seungcheol set up and Joshua is playing look out with Wonwoo. You've been looking into the FleXeon server nonstop, trying to find errors in their security programming. Seungcheol's goal is to bring down and expose FleXeon and their CEO for their creation of Lavender Haze, and their legal ways of acquiring money.
Whoever designed their security programming is good. Everything is well protected, and their files are fully encrypted. You lucked out and found a kink in their almost impenetrable armor. You were able to access a pretty high up employees’ emails. Sorting through them, you found employee identification information and mentions of blue dust and lavender haze. Reaching into your bag you grab the drive Seungcheol gave you.
You start uploading everything as quickly as possible. Being so close to the FleXeon building you know they have a security sweep in about five more minutes.
Tapping your fingers you watch as the data transfers. The moment it's finished, you hit the door of the van twice. The driver side opens and Wonwoo jumps in. The back door slides open and Joshua joins you in the back.
"Did you get it?" Wonwoo asks.
"Yeah."
"Good job, Starry." It's rare these days for anyone to call you by your actual name. You have a birth on your shoulder that looks like a star, which led to mostly everyone calling you Starry. Joshua is different, occasionally he'll call you Starry, but he mostly calls you his starlight.
"I'll drop you guys off at your place, so you can take your more subtle bike to meet Soonyoung and Jeonghan." Wonwoo says.
"Where are they?" Joshua asks.
"Dumb and dumber went to the lights district." Wonwoo says, rolling his eyes.
The lights district is the scummy part of town. The morally gray and corrupt tend to hang out there. The district is filled with clubs, and even more drugs. You already know why they went there. Soonyoung wants to get blue dust, and he knows a guy who sells it there.
Arriving at your place, you and Joshua quickly jump out of the van. Joshua was smart enough to bring both your helmets.
"I wish we could just take this to Minghao ourselves." Joshua hates when you go to the lights district.
"I would love that too, but you know how Cheol works. He said I have to pass it off to these two."
He helps you put on your jacket and fasten your helmet. He starts the bike with you sitting on the back holding on to him.
Joshua pulls out of the garage. You look at the sky to see it's raining just like it always seems to do these days. Luckily, motorcycle gear works for the rain.
The twenty minute drive to the lights district in the rain isn't pleasant. Arriving at the club you know you would find them at, Joshua parks the bike. He locks your helmets on to the bike. He grabs your hand as you walk up to the crowded club. The bass is booming as EDM music rattles the place.
This place is filled to the brim with people either drunk on Pop Rocks, or high on blue dust. Pushing your way through the crowd you find Soonyoung and Jeonghan in the back. Soonyoung has his tongue shoved down the throat of some girl with pink hair, while Jeonghan is sitting on the couch whispering to a girl with icy white hair. You let out a heavy sigh. This day has been too damn long. You spent hours jumping around locations, trying to get into the FleXeon system and now you're dealing with two of Seungcheol's highest ranked men, who thought it was a good idea to get high out of their minds on Blue Dust.
"Stay back here." You tell Joshua. Him and Soonyoung already butt heads. You don't want anything to unfold between them tonight.
"Soonyoung." You yell, leaving Joshua a few feet behind you leaning on the wall.
He smiles, peeling himself away from the pink haired girl. "Starry, you came!" He shouts. By the wild look in his eyes, and with how blown his pupils are you immediately know he's high.
Soonyoung yelling catches Jeonghan's attention. He pulls himself away from his girl and stands up. His eyes are just as blown as Soonyoung's.
"You guys couldn't make this easy on me, could you?" You huff.
"You're being dramatic." Soonyoung laughs.
You knit your brows glaring at them. They could have been somewhere closer. Instead, you and Joshua had to drive all this way in the rain, after working for hours. These two are already giving you a headache and it's only been a few minutes.
"I'm not being dramatic, you're being inconsiderate." You roll your eyes.
"Ouch, Starry is more sensitive than normal." Jeonghan holds his chest like he's wounded.
"You're just being bigger assholes than normal." You can feel Joshua's eyes burning into the back of you.
"You seem more irritated than normal." Soonyoung points out.
Joshua pushes himself away from the wall, he's already irritated with Soonyoung and his nonsense.
Jeonghan barks out a laugh. "Starry, maybe if you got laid you wouldn't want to kill us all the time."
"She's fucking lover bot over there, getting laid isn't her issue." Soonyoung laughs.
Joshua pushes himself off the wall. This is going to escalate quickly if you don't shut down these idiots.
"Maybe she needs some cock from someone who isn't a machine." Soonyoung laughs. He's definitely trying to get punched. If you knew Cheol wouldn't ring your neck, you would break Soonyoung's nose right now.
"Shut the fuck up. You're just jealous you haven't seen any pussy in months." You poke Soonyoung in the chest. "My issue is that I'm trying to drop off something extremely important and you and Hannie are out of your minds on blue dust."
You reach into your pocket grabbing the drive. "Here." You shove the drive into Soonyoung’s jacket pocket.
"Cheol is gonna fucking love the fact that his edgesunner, and right hand man are high off blue dust is scummy club in the lights district."
Soonyoung reaches for your hand. "Starry, don't be like that."
"Don't touch her." Joshua is standing by your side instantly.
Soonyoung holds his hands up and steps back. "Chill, lover boy. I'm not going to do anything to her. You and I both know I tease her but I love her."
Joshua laces his fingers with yours pulling you back from Soonyoung.
"I think we should go. I better not hear that Minghao and Cheol didn't get that drive."
"We'll go now." Jeonghan says.
Tugging on Joshua's hand, you lead him through the cramped club. Stepping outside, you're hit with the cold breeze. It seems the rain stopped. Releasing Joshua's hand, you zip up your motorcycle jacket. He walks over to your bike, grabbing both your helmets. He steps in front of you, helping you put your helmet on. He buckles the bottom strap before kissing the tip of your nose. Reaching up he slides your visor down before putting on his own helmet.
"Are we going home?" He asks, walking towards you. You push your visor back up. His eyes are shifting around. You know him well enough to know he's upset. Silently, you nod.
You follow him to the bike. He stops in front of it and pauses. You don't want him to drive while he's upset. "Shua?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry about Soonyoung. I'm not interested in human men."
"Who are you interested in?"
"An android." You reach up, sliding the visor back down.
Joshua gets on the bike, and holds his hand out. You hop onto the back, wrapping your arms around his stomach. He gives your thigh three pats. Even if he won't say it out loud, you know that's his way of saying "I love you."
He revs the engine before he takes off down the dark alley. The asphalt below blows with the neon lights from above. The drive out the lights district takes about twenty minutes before you're back in the hub of the city.
Driving through, you look around at the video boards that line the tall sky scrapers. There's a clip of the president of FleXeon playing on repeat. That man is corrupt and helps run production of the drug known as lavender haze dust. His side company that people don’t know about. made an extra synthetic blue dust that's extra potent. Seungcheol is disgusted by drugs and will be pissed if he finds out any of you touched it.
Towards the east side of the hub, the less luxurious side, is where your apartment is located. Pulling into the underground apartment, Joshua parks the bike. You hop off and take off your helmet. Joshua takes off his own, and pulls your bag from the side compartment.
The parking garage has a low turquoise haze to it. The light near the elevator hums as it flickers.
Clicking the button you wait silently next to Joshua. Your neighbor who lives three doors down gets out of her small beat up two door car. She's a sweet older lady who works at the hospital on the edge of the hub.
"Late night out for you two love birds?" She's always in such a good mood. You don't understand it sometimes. She sees so much pain and destruction in that hospital and yet, she still smiles.
"Hello, Mrs. Opal. We wanted to go out for a late night ride." Joshua lifts his helmet to show her.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. You step back until your back is against the cold metal wall. Joshua presses the thirteenth floor button and stands next to you.
"When are you two kids going to get married and have some beautiful babies?" If only she knew that your lover is an android. Marriage and babies aren't something the two of you can necessarily have.
Joshua is one of the most humanoid androids you have ever encountered. His mannerisms and looks make him seem fully human. His tattoo on the side of his neck could be a give away, but most people don't know that the ink on his skin is a model number. You made the choice immediately not to make it common knowledge that he's an android. The last thing you need is people snooping around or trying to hack his programming. Or worse trying to steal him from you.
"Maybe one day, Mrs. Opal."
She looks at you and gives you a sweet smile. "Darling, you're lucky you found such a great man." If only she knew that you quite literally found him, and fixed him.
"I'm very lucky." You finally speak.
The elevator dings signaling your arrival to your floor. Joshua grabs your hand leading you down the hall towards your apartment.
"Have a good night you two." She says.
"Goodnight, Mrs Opal." He responds.
He stops at the door and types in the pin. Stepping inside, you're greeted by the turquoise neon glow of the city outside. You didn't bother closing the curtains to the floor to ceiling window that looks out into the dark city. You live in a one bedroom apartment. It's spacious enough for the two of you to live comfortably together. The high ceiling with exposed metal venting, makes the space look larger than it is.
Joshua grabs your helmet from you, along with your bag and places it on the table that sits by the door. He drops down to his knees to help you remove your boots.
"I need a shower." You sigh.
"Go shower and I'll make you something to eat." For someone who doesn't need food to survive, he's really good at cooking. He often eats with you even though his body just burns up everything.
Heading off to the bedroom, you grab a pair of panties and baggy shirt. Walking into the bathroom, you take your time stripping away your clothes. Your bathroom isn't huge by any means and your lighting is terrible, but the water pressure in the shower is perfect. Your whole apartment has a radiant haze to it, just like the rest of the city.
Opening the glass door, you crank the water on. It's scorching hot the moment you step in. After missions you always feel gross, maybe that's your self-conscious telling you what you're doing is illegal. Closing your eyes, you tilt your head forward, letting the hot water relax your tensing muscles. You were hoping Joshua would join you, but you know he's more worried about making sure you eat.
You're not sure what your life would be like if you didn't have him. Being with him has made your life worth living again. He's sunshine in this dark city with a fluorescent glow, and you're the midnight rain.
Getting out of the shower, you dry off and put on just a thong and a baggy shirt. Looking in the mirror, you realize how tired you look.
Walking out into the living area, you're greeted by the smell of ramyeon. Joshua is busy dishing two bowls. Your bare feet pad across the cold hardwood floor.
Sitting down at the small table near the kitchen area, you watch as he brings over food. While you were showering, he must have changed. He's now shirtless, wearing just a pair of sweatpants that are sitting low on his hips. It's clear he's not wearing anything underneath them.
He sits down across from you. He raises his brow, watching you pick up your chopsticks.
"Are you going to power down tonight?" This is the same question you ask him every single night.
"No." He picks up his own chopsticks.
You let out a heavy sigh, and rub your eyes with your free hand. This conversation is always so frustrating.
"Josh, you need to power down occasionally."
"Why?" He's annoyed by this conversation just like you.
"Because when you turn back on, it reboots. That will help get out any kinks in your system. I have to do the same thing with my tablet."
He puffs out a disgusted sound. "So I'm just like your tablet."
You set your chopsticks down. "Don't do that. Don't act like I'm calling you a robot or a device."
"But you are." His tone is pointed.
"From the first time I powered you on and fixed your software to give you emotions, I have never treated you like a robot. I have always and will always treat you like a human."
His brows soften, he leans back in his chair. A look of defeat plays across his face. "Powering down reminds me that I'm never going to be a human. I'm just an android."
You can't say anything, you just stare at him. You know how desperately he wishes he was a human.
"I sometimes forget that I'm not real."
"You're very real. You might not be human. But you're real, and you matter to me. So that's all that fucking matters." Your emotions are high after today and you know you should have just left this alone tonight.
"I'll power down tomorrow night. I don't want to do it after we just had a fight." It's probably best he doesn't do it tonight. The last thing you need to do is go to bed upset while he's rebooting.
"Okay."
You both eat in silence. You've both forgiven each other but there isn't much left to say about your fight. The food Joshua made is delicious, just like it always is. You get up to do the dishes, but he doesn't let you. He grabs the dish and heads over to the sink.
Standing at the window that overlooks the city you stand there wondering what the people are up to down below. The city is still pretty lively for it being close to four in the morning.
You hear him walking up behind you, but you don't move. His arms wrap around your stomach, pulling you back against him.
His hand taps your stomach three times. Closing your eyes, you rest your hand on his thigh and give it three taps.
"I'm sorry." He rests his chin on top of your head.
"I'm sorry too."
"It's been a long day." He sighs.
"I want to go to bed, but I just want to be with you." You desperately crave being close to him.
"I'm all yours, baby."
Pulling away from him, you turn around. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer to you. You don't want to think anymore. You want him to fuck every logical thought out of your brain.
Leaning up, you press your lips to his for a heated kiss. You don't need to explain to him what you want, he understands you completely. His hand slips under your shirt, running across the bare skin of your back. His hand roams lower down to the fleshy cheek of your ass. Your lips don't stop moving together. He kisses you like he's trying to say he's sorry a million times over.
Pulling away, you tug on his bottom lip. "Please just fuck me."
He backs you up until your back is pressed against the cold glass window. Pulling back a little, he looks down at you. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"
"No. Fuck me here."
He grabs your hips, spinning you back around. Your chest is pressed up against the cold glass window. Your thin shirt does nothing to prevent your nipples from hardening.
Pushing your hips back against his crotch, you can already feel him hardening. Joshua’s anatomy is very much like human man's. His body reacts the same as anyone else when he's sexually aroused. Technically, his anatomy is different then the average male. Whoever created him, blessed him with a massive cock. You know deep down inside they created him to be a sex bot.
His hand dips down to your core. He pulls your thong to the side. Two of his fingers rub your sensitive clit.
With his lips near your ear, he rasps, "you're already so wet."
He slides his fingers down to your needy core hole. He dips two of them in with ease. You're so desperate for him, you're pretty sure you could take his massive size without any prep.
The palm of his hand ruts against your clit, and he works his two fingers in and out of you. Gasps leave your lips as your head rolls back against his shoulder. One of your hands grip his sweatpants while the other grips the arm that's wrapped around your stomach, holding you against him.
Your high is rapidly approaching. Your body tenses, as you struggle to breathe for a moment.
"So good for me." He moans in your ear.
Your high breaks, and your walls flutter like a heartbeat squeezing his fingers. He rubs your clits, helping you ride out your high.
"Oh—" you pant.
"You sound so pretty." He whispers against your ear.
"Fuck me."
You push your hips back against the erection that's straining against his sweatpants. He presses you fully against the window. He pulls back just enough to push his sweatpants down below his butt. He pulls out his cock, pumping it slowly a few times. Another blessing from his engineer is that his "precum" works as the perfect lubricant.
"Keep your chest against the window, and push your hips back towards me." He grabs your hip and puts you into position.
With his cock in his hand, he runs it through your folds a few times. Each time he brushes your clit, you can't help but moan.
"Please." You have no problem begging him.
The rosy mushroom tip nudges at your weeping entrance. He pushes an inch in and pulls it out. He does it a few times, teasing you. You push your hips back, causing him to slip in further.
"Naughty girl." He gives your ass a quick swat.
"Please, Shua."
He lets out a little laugh. He grips your hips with both hands. He pushes his hips in slowly. He feels you completely, he's so big you can feel every single ridge of his cock. He starts at a slow but deep pace.
Your cheek rests against the cold glass. You could care less if anyone in the sky scrapers that line the sky can see you. Joshua is fucking you so hard, your brain has stopped working. The only thing you can process is the tip of his cock, kissing your cervix over and over again.
You rock your hips back, helping meet him with each thrust. The groans that leave his lips sound sinful. Leaning forward he starts kissing the side of your neck.
"Are you close?" He rasps.
"Yes." You whine.
Without saying a word, he pulls out of you. You can't even react before he’s flipping you around. He uses his enhanced strength to lift you up, as if you weigh nothing. He pulls your panties to the side before sliding you down his massive length. Closing your eyes, you lean your head back against the window. He's hitting a completely different angle in this position.
He thrust into you at a quick pace. His sweats slip further down his thigh with each thrust. Your back knocks against the glass over and over. His lips are anywhere they can reach. He starts by kissing your jaw and then moves down your neck.
Your fingers tangle in his dark hair. Tugging his head back, you desperately want to look at him. His lips part slightly as quiet moans pass his lips.
"Shua—" his name never sounds as sweet as it does falling from your lips in the haze of an orgasm.
His hips don't stop moving. He helps you ride out your high as your walls flutter against his cock.
Your hand talons into his shoulder, lost in a cock drunk haze.
His thrusts get sloppier as he rapidly approaches the edge. He moans your name like a sinful prayer. Similar to humans, he releases a cum like substance when he orgasms. He fills you to the brim, holding you flush against him. Leaning forward, he rests his head against your shoulder.
You're scared if he puts you down, you jelly legs won't work. He leaves a few open mouth kisses against your shoulder before he pulls away.
Slowly he pulls out of you. Gently, he sits your feet on the ground. Your legs feel like they're made of jello. He tugs your thong back over your core that's starting to drip out his release. He leaves you there just long enough for him to pull his pants up and to tuck his softening cock back inside them.
He lifts you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. He sits you down on the cold concrete counter. You immediately shiver at the feeling.
"Can you take off your panties?" Your eyes go wide. You aren't sure your abused core can take another orgasm tonight.
"I'm not going to fuck you anymore. I need to clean up my cum."
Lifting your hips you pull off your thong. You hold it out and he grabs it before tossing it in the hamper behind him. He reaches under the cabinet for a cloth.
You take this as your sign to spread your legs. A playful smile tugs at your lips. Dipping your fingers through your sensitive core, you collect some of his release. His cum like substance looks exactly like human cum. It’s thick and milky, but instead of being salty and sometimes unpleasant, his is sweet. It reminds you almost of a subtle simple syrup. Sticking your fingers in your mouth you taste his sweet cum.
Joshua gives you a smile as he shakes his head at you. He runs the cloth under warm water before stepping between your spread legs. He gently cleans up the mess he's made of you.
Before pulling you off the counter, he stands between your legs and leans of kisses across your face. He has one hand on your butt and the other on your cheek. The hand that's on your cheek, he taps three times before pulling back.
"It's almost five, you need to sleep."
He pulls you off the counter and carries you to your room. He lays you down gently on the bed. Crawling under the covers, you wait for him to join you. He's over by the window that looks out into the city. He pulls back the curtains to block a little of the morning sun that will soon be rising.
He joins you in bed and pulls your body close to his. You're laying on your side with him firmly pressed behind you. You smile at the fact that you're no longer wearing panties and just a shirt.
"Sweet Dreams, Starlight."
GLITCHES AND STATIC
It's a night where you finally don't have to work. You contemplated staying in all night and just spending time with Joshua. Somehow Mingyu and Wonwoo convinced you to go out with them. They seem to be the only two that don't cause problems when they go out. Sitting in a bar near your place, Joshua comes over holding a bottle of beer and a weird lime green looking drink.
He slides in next to you. Wonwoo was telling you about a motorcycle he was looking to get soon. Mingyu slides in next to him, holding the same two drinks as Joshua.
"Why did you bring over battery acid?" Wonwoo asks, picking up and examining the drink.
"It's called luminescent." Mingyu responds.
"Please tell me someone didn't make a new drug." You sigh.
"The bartender said it's like PopRocks but more citrusy." Joshua chimes in.
"PopRocks makes me incredibly drunk after one." You've blacked out too many times because of that potent sparkly pink drink.
"I think Starry should drink the beer." Mingyu says. It's the best idea, Joshua can't actually get drunk. He really only drinks to blend in socially.
"What about us?" Wonwoo looks at the fluorescent green drink.
"I'll drink it, you can drive us home." Luckily Wonwoo and Mingyu are roommates and rode here together.
Joshua goes to move his hand to grab his drink, and you immediately catch his hand twitching and locking up. You definitely haven't seen that happen before. Resting your hand on his thigh, you give it a squeeze. He glances at you, moving his hand to his lap. Taking his wrist in your hand you rub slow circles into the underside where his skin is delicate.
Wonwoo and Mingyu are oblivious to what is happening as Mingyu is talks about some cute bartender he met.
Joshua keeps trying to squeeze his hand. Slowly, the glitch works its way out. He grabs your hand, bringing the top of it to his lips for a gentle kiss.
You give him a knowing smile.
"Shua, you need to try this luminescent drink."
"Alright." With his other hand, he picks up the glass filled with the electric liquid.
Soon a very buzzed Mingyu has convinced Wonwoo that they should play darts. You and Joshua are given a moment alone at the table.
Running your finger along the side of the beer bottle, you're mindlessly playing with the condensation. Joshua is still slowly sipping on the electric drink. He opted not to chug it like Mingyu did.
"Is the glitch with your hand new?"
"Kind of." He sighs, flexing the hand that glitched.
"How long has this been going on?" You hate that he didn't tell you the first time it happened.
"About two weeks ago." He looks down at the table, embarrassed. He absolutely hates anything like this that reminds him he's not human.
"Two weeks and you didn't tell me." You stare at the side of his head.
"Yeah. It's fine. It will work itself out." He looks at you and gives you a smile. As if he's trying to convince both of you that it's fine.
"No, it won't. I need to look at your software and fix it."
Mingyu lets out a cheer, catching both your attention. Joshua grabs his drink, taking a big gulp to help cut the tension.
He sets the glass down on the table. "Can we talk about this later?"
"Sure." This isn't a conversation that you want other people to hear necessarily. You don't want the team finding out about him glitching. Seungcheol might not be happy if one of his enforcers are having processing errors and glitches.
After Mingyu's poor decision to drink a beer after the luminescent drink, Joshua helps move a very drunk Mingyu to Wonwoo's car outside. You stand by the bike, watching everything unfold. Wonwoo reaches into the glove compartment and grabs a packet of jolt. It's a sweet substance that helps sober people up from alcohol and blue dust.
Wonwoo pulls the substance into his best friend’s mouth and slaps his cheek. Mingyu shakes his head and from a distance you can see he's already sobering up.
Joshua closes the car door and walks over to your bike. You hold out his helmet for him.
The ride back to your place doesn't take too long. Arriving back at your home, Joshua immediately heads off to the bathroom. You head off to the bedroom and grab something to change into. Opening the bathroom door, you're instantly greeted by steam and the sound of Joshua humming a song.
Stripping away your clothes, you toss them in the hamper. Opening the glass door, you step inside. Nothing is said as Joshua steps aside, giving you room for the water. You stand there, facing the facet. The hot water feels cleaning.
Joshua presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around your stomach. Neither of you say anything as he holds you.
He pulls away and grabs your strawberry scented body wash. He takes his time washing your body, making sure to massage your tense shoulders.
Getting out of the shower, you both take your time drying yourself off. You don't bother getting dressed.
"Why did you not tell me?" You finally break the screaming silence.
"Because I didn't want you to worry."
"Shua, we don't keep secrets." Since the moment you turned him on, you never hid anything from him. Long before you were romantically involved, he was still your friend and your companion. You promised him from the very beginning you would never keep secrets from him.
"I know and I'm sorry."
"Let me look at your software and upgrade you."
"It's fine? If it gets worse you can." You can tell by the look on his face this is a losing battle tonight.
"Fine." You grab your clothes off the counter. You pull on a baggy thin tshirt, and a lacy pink thong, this is the usual attire you walk around at home and sleep in.
You can feel Joshua's eye burning into you as you walk out of the bathroom. You head off to the kitchen. You need a glass of water. You don't want to go to bed upset and you just need a moment to cool off.
Leaning against the counter, you look out at the bright city. You hear Joshua before you see him. You look up and find him dressed in just his tight boxer-briefs.
"I don't want to go to bed mad." He says, stopping in front of you.
"I'm not mad." You're not lying to him. You aren't mad, you're more stressed than anything. "I'm just worried."
"I know you are, and I'm worried too." You both know deep down inside he should at least shut down for the night so he can reboot slowly.
You sit the water down on the counter. Holding your hand out, you wait for him to come close to you. He grabs your hand, stepping right in front of you. He places your hand on his chest. If he was human, you would be able to feel his heart beating.
You drum your finger three times right above the void of where his heart should be.
"It would beat for you." In a perfect world, Joshua wouldn't struggle with feeling inadequate about not being human. Him being an android changes nothing for you. You don't love him any less because of it.
You tap his chest three times again. "Mine beats only for you."
You lean against the counter. You take a moment focusing on him. Recently, he seems to be more emotional. The only reason that could possibly be is he's worried about something going wrong with his programming.
He places his hands on either side of you, caging you in against the counter.
"I'm sorry."
Things between you haven't always been like this. It wasn't until last year when Joshua started fighting shutting down a few times a week at night. He's been with you for about three years and you have been romantically involved since six months after you found him. Things between you have always been intense, but in the last year and half, you noticed how much Joshua struggles with the idea of not being a human.
"We're okay." You whisper.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull his face closer to yours. Your lips touch, and the only thing your brain can think of is getting as close as possible to him. His hand grabs your hips, pulling you far enough away for him to slide his hand down your back, and to grab you butt.
You moan into his mouth, rolling your body towards him. He pulls away and immediately picks you up sitting you on the edge of the counter.
Instinctively, you spread your legs, and pull your panties to the side. He dips down and starts kissing your knee, making his way across your inner thigh. He kisses the top of your mound as he drags two fingers through your wet folds.
He focuses on licking your clit over and over again. Two of his fingers pump in and out of you, helping to stretch you out.
Your fingers tangle in his dark locks, hold his face close to your core. Looking down, you find him looking up at you through his lashes.
He eats you out like you're water in a blazing hot sun. Pushing your hips towards his face, you're growing desperate for your release. You just want him inside you, but you know he won't until you've came at least once.
He moves his fingers in a come hither motion, touching that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars.
The tidal wave hits you hard. Tugging on his hair, you try to anchor yourself. Your walls tug on his fingers and he keeps brushing your g spot.
"Fuck— Shua—" your words are nothing more than a broken plea.
He pulls back smiling. He dips his two fingers in his mouth, cleaning up your release.
"You sound so pretty when you moan." He steps back and takes off his boxers.
He pumps his massive erection, helping to lube it up before he stretches you out. Your kitchen counters sit at the perfect height for him to be able to fuck you while you sit on them.
He leans in close, giving you a wicked grin before kissing you. You moan into his mouth as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds.
He always likes to tease you with just the tip a few times before he slowly pushes his whole length in.
Your legs wrap around him, pulling him fully inside. His rose tip kisses your cervix as he bottoms out.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you crash your lips into his. He pushes his hips into yours at a slow and deep pace.
Time doesn't seem to exist when you're with Joshua like this. All that matters is just the two of you.
Leaning back, you look down at where you're connected, watching as he stretches you.
"Baby, take your shirt off." He tugs on the bottom of the thin fabric.
Pulling your shirt off and tossing it on the ground, you're left completely bare except for your panties he has pulled to the side.
Reaching forward, he grabs one of your breasts, groping it before he tweaks your nipple.
"Fuck—" you moan.
Leaning back on your hands, you push your hips to the furthest edge of the counter. One of Joshua's hands rests on your core. His thumb rubs circles on your clit. He picks up his pace, thrusting into you.
He lifts your leg up over his shoulder. The new position has him hitting different areas then before.
"I'm close." You moan.
He’s rubbing your clit harder, helping to push you over the edge.
"Oh fuck." Your eyes squeeze shut, and your head rolls back. Your orgasm hits hard. He doesn't stop thrusting or working on your clit. Unfamiliar pressure builds in your core. One specifically hard thrust makes you see stars, and liquid sprays from you, covering his crotch.
He gets a solid two thrust in before he fills you to the brim with his synthetic cum. He stops moving fully. Releasing your leg, he pulls you close to him. Your body is absolutely spent. Your head is resting on his shoulder. His large hand is running up and down your back, helping you soothe you.
"You've never done that before." He finally speaks.
"I don't think my legs can work."
"Let me clean you up and I'll carry you to bed."
Sitting on the counter, Joshua takes his time cleaning up the mess he made between your legs. He lifts you with ease, taking you to the bedroom.
It's not long before you're sound asleep in his arms.
-
It's another late night job. Minghao has a drive for you to look at. There is a meeting on the north side of the hub.
Soonyoung is already with Minghao, and Jeonghan is coming along to make sure no one is following you.
Minghao picked a better meeting place than Soonyoung is known to pick. You're at a little hole in the wall family restaurant. There is a flicking neon open sign at the door.
You're greeted by an older man who just gives you and Minghao a nod. He tends to like to come to this place for meetings. This sweet old lady is used to Minghao and his crew showing up.
He’s at one of those L shaped booths in the back corner. He's got a sea of plates on the table. Soonyoung is next to him, eating from a plate of noodles.
Minghao is tapping away on his tablet. Jeonghan slides into the booth next to Soonyoung. You follow next to him. Joshua sits on the edge keeping guard.
"Jeonghan, did you come just for the food?" Minghao quips not looking up from the tablet.
"No, Cheol sent me."
"Does Cheol not trust us?" Soonyoung responds.
"Well, he knows we have a taste for blue dust, and he threatened to end all of us if we touch it while working." Jeonghan reached for an empty plate.
"You two idiots are the ones who did dust while you were working." You glare at him.
"How did Cheol find out about that?" Soonyoung asks, glancing up.
"I told him." You don't care that you snitched on them. Them being high is a liability.
"Then why did he send you to babysit, you were also high?" Minghao says glancing up from the tablet.
"Because he knows I'll stop it from happening again. He already threatened to throw me off the FleXeon tower if I fuck up again." The thing about Seungcheol is that he's the ring leader and the man in charge, and all of your group loves and respects him, but you all know he's a very capable man and should be feared.
"He’s trying to get into Cheol's good graces by babysitting." You respond. You know Seungcheol is tough on Jeonghan but he cares about him the most.
Jeonghan starts dishing a plate of food. Him and Soonyoung start talking about the noodles.
Joshua reaches into his bag and pulls out your tablet. Minghao set down his chopsticks. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulls out a drive. With a firm push, he slides it across the table.
Picking up the drive, you connect it to your tablet. Opening the files, you see something unexpected. You open a drive called "the wife", your brows knit together as you scroll through evidence of an affair unfolding.
"The CEO’s wife is cheating?"
"He's blackmailing her." Minghao closes his tablet.
"That's illegal." Soonyoung says between bites.
"We can add it to FleXeon’s long list." Jeonghan rolls his eyes.
"There is some code that's blocking some security footage that I can’t figure out. I'm pretty sure you can break it."
"Should we be discussing this here?" Joshua finally speaks up.
"There isn't a soul in here and Ms. Rose knows to stay quiet. I make sure she's paid well for the trouble." You glance over to see the neon flickering open sign is turned off and the door is shut.
"I'll work on getting in. When do you want the drive back?"
"After you crack the code. Seungcheol wants a team meeting soon anywhere." Pulling the drive out, you hand it and your tablet back to Joshua. You notice immediately his hand glitches as he tries to grab the tablet. He closes his eyes as if he's trying to focus. His hand finally works and he's able to put your tablet away.
Minghao flags over Ms. Rose and hands her a hefty wad of cash. You and the boys all make your way out the door. Soonyoung and Minghao head off to their care and you follow Jeonghan off towards his. Seungcheol put him in charge of being the driver tonight.
Arriving at the apartment, Joshua is holding your bag and your hand. The elevator ride is quiet except for the hum of the elevator. The doors ding and slide open.
Walking into your apartment, you take off your shoes and immediately get your other tablet out. Moving to the kitchen table, you start sorting through all coding.
Joshua disappears for a while before coming back dressed just in a pair of sweatpants. Glancing over into the living area by the window, you see him messing with his hand. He needs to power down and reboot but you don't want to argue with him tonight.
"Are you hungry?" Joshua asks, walking towards the kitchen area.
"Yeah. I didn't really feel like eating at the meeting." In those kinds of setting, you don't normally have an appetite.
"I can cook you dinner."
"Can you make us ramyeon?"
"Yeah."
He moves around the kitchen quietly while you work on finding the coding Minghao mentioned. This job seems bigger than anything your job has ever done. Seungcheol’s goal is to take down FleXeon and to steal money from them. Once this job is done, and if it goes down correctly, you will have enough money for the rest of your life.
Once this job is done, maybe you and Joshua can find a bigger place or take a trip somewhere. You stop typing and just stare at your tablet. Maybe you and Joshua could live a more comfortable life. A life that doesn't involve you constantly doing something illegal. Honestly you don't really need a bigger space. This loft style apartment is perfect for you both. As long as you're together, you don't feel like you need more.
"Starlight?" Joshua sits down at the table across from you.
"Yeah?"
"You're zoning out."
He puts your bowl down in front of you. You close your and pick up your chopsticks. "I'm just thinking about what we can do after this job."
"What do you want to do?" He picks up his own chopsticks
"I don't know. Maybe we could leave the crew and stop working these jobs."
"We can if you want to."
"I thought about even moving."
Joshua glances around the apartment. "But this is our home."
"I know. I love this apartment and it feels like our home. Maybe we can take a vacation. Get some space from this city."
He reaches across the small table taking your hand in his. "I'll follow you anywhere you want to go." Joshua loves you so much, and it's not because you programmed him to love you. You made sure when you fixed his programming after you found him, you gave him emotions and free will. He fell in love with you because he wanted to.
You aren't sure what you want to do, you just know that whatever happens, you want him by your side.
THE NEON GLOW IN YOUR EYES
The lights district is definitely your least favorite part of the city. You finished working another stake out and a handful of the guys convinced you and Joshua to go out.
Standing by the table, you watch the large tv that hangs in the middle. There is a press conference with FleXeon CEO Kang Dohyun. Your eyes focus trying to read the subtitles as they sprawl across the screen. The company is working on putting out another line of androids similar to Joshua. It doesn't sit right with you that people are making androids to basically be worker and sex bots. Next to you are Chan, Soonyoung and Mingyu. Joshua is at the bar with Wonwoo and Jeonghan.
Glancing over, you see Chan pull out a container of blue dust. At this point, half your crew does it during their off time. You tried it a few times when you first joined the crew. The powder feels like instant adrenaline with heightened emotions that fades into relaxation.
You think the only ones in your crew who don’t mess with this stuff are Seungcheol, Joshua, Wonwoo, and you.
Soonyoung nudges your shoulder holding out the vile light blue powder in it. "You want a bump?"
"Soonyoung—"
"Come on, you're stressed and this will help." He raises his brow.
You glance over at the bar, seeing Joshua talk to the boys. He must feel you looking at him, he turns and gives you a smile, tilting his head.
Maybe Soonyoung is right, maybe this will take the edge off. Grabbing the vile from his hand, you pour a small dab on the back of your hand. You lick it off in one quick swipe or the tongue.
Taking a slow deep breath, the high feels like ice rushing through your veins. Your eyes feel incredibly heavy for a moment. The flutter and you instantly see Joshua's eyes locked on yours.
Joshua hands his drink off to Wonwoo and rushes over to you. Every single nerve in your body feels electric. The moment he's in front of you, he rests his hand on your cheek.
"Starlight, what did you do?" He leans in close so you can hear him over the booming music.
"Dust." Your pupils are blown wide as you share him.
Joshua hits Soonyoung's arm capturing his attention. "How much did she take?!" Joshua shouts over the music.
"A small hit, she's fine. Give her an hour and she'll be relaxed."
"I don't want her on the back of my bike in an hour."
Leaning in close Joshua brushes his nose against yours, helping to center you.
"Baby."
"Yes, Shua?"
Wonwoo and Jeonghan join the rest of the group. Wonwoo instantly can tell by Joshua's uneasiness what has unfolded.
"Did she take a hit?" Jeonghan asks.
"Yeah!" Chan shouts over the music.
"She hasn't done dust in years." Jeonghan says, patting Joshua on the back.
"Do you want me to get the jolt out of my car?" Wonwoo asks Joshua.
Joshua takes your face in both hands. There is a neon glow from the lights above shining in your blown pupils. He's seen you drunk before, but he's never seen you high.
"Do you want Wonwoo to get you a jolt?"
"I don't want to think anymore tonight." Between trying to take down FleXeon and worrying about Joshua and his software glitches, for once, you just want to shut down your brain that won't stop spinning.
"Wonwoo, later can you take the bike home and I'll drive your car?"
"Yeah." Wonwoo is a wise man, and he's well aware that something deeper is unfolding.
The booming music feels like it's rattling your chest. Joshua's hand stays on your waist, holding you close. Your eyes find Soonyoung's blown pupils staring back at you. For a while now, Soonyoung has had a love for the shimmery blue dust. He's the type that will take another hit before the relaxation kicks in.
Soonyoung has his eyes on a pretty blonde girl on the dance floor. He starts whispering something in her ear.
Before you start to dip down, you just want to enjoy this feeling. Reaching out, you grab Joshua's hand.
"I want to dance." You say with your lips against his ear.
He just nods. He takes your hand, leading to the crowded dance floor. Soonyoung is already dancing with the blonde, and Chan has found himself a pretty girl.
The whole time you're dancing with Joshua, every single sensation feels heightened to the max. The feeling of his hands on your body is electric.
Your hands are wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to you. Connecting your lips to the side of his neck, you kiss your way across his synthetic skin. Running your tongue along the "J05HU9" that runs down the side of his neck.
"I want you." You say just loud enough for him to hear.
He pulls away and looks at you with big doe eyes. He looks utterly confused as he just blinks at you. "Not like this."
He doesn't like having sex with you when you're drunk. You know there's no way he'll have sex with you while you're high.
"Oh." You pull back.
Shaking his head, he grabs your hand. "Starlight, not like this."
A slow, steady warmth starts taking over you. Your heightened emotions are making you crash. The feeling of rejection is crushing.
"Baby." He takes your face in both hands. "We're okay."
All you can do is blink at him. "You don't want me?"
"I always want you. I just need to take care of you tonight."
He leans in close, resting his nose against yours. He presses his lips to yours for three quick kisses.
"Should we sit down?" You pull back from him.
Taking your hand, he leads you back toward the table where Wonwoo, Jeonghan and quite high Mingyu are sitting.
If you were sober, you might enjoy the fact that Jeonghan is trying to be on his best behavior since Seungcheol clearly put him in his place.
Joshua helps slide you into the booth. He sits down next to you. His hand laces with yours, holding it in his lap.
Slowly, your heightened emotions are starting to dissipate. A jelly-like feeling is starting to take over. You feel incredibly calm and relaxed.
Closing your eyes you lean against Joshua. "I'm ready for bed." You mumble. It's been over an hour since you took a hit and your body is starting to crash.
"I think it's time Starry goes home." Jeonghan says before taking a sip of his beer.
"Do you want my car?" Wonwoo asks.
"How is Mingyu going to get home if you just have the bike?" Joshua asks.
"We all should head out. I'll take the bike, and you can take my car." Jeonghan says.
"Soonyoung and Chan left with those girls. I'm good riding the bike."
Joshua gets out of the booth and picks you up effortlessly. He holds you close, making his way through the crowded club. Mingyu follows behind Wonwoo closely.
Arriving at Jeonghan's car, Joshua sits you in the passenger seat. Looking over at Wonwoo's car, you see him pouring a jolt into Mingyu's mouth. Joshua works on buckling you up before giving Jeonghan his motorcycle helmet and his jacket.
Joshua hops in the car. "We'll be home soon."
The ride back to your apartment feels like a blur. Joshua parks the car and Jeonghan pulls up behind you on the bike. Jeonghan helps Joshua get you upstairs. Joshua lays you in bed and strips away your clothes, leaving you in just your panties. Going over to the closet, he grabs a baggy shirt and helps you pull it on.
"I need to thank Jeonghan, and then I'll be back." He leans down and kisses your forehead.
Heading out into the living area he finds Jeonghan sipping on a glass of water looking out into the fluorescent cityscape.
"I haven't seen her like that since she found you." Jeonghan says. Joshua doesn't say anything. He's not quite sure how to respond. "I used to think what she has with you isn't healthy for her, but I think it's the opposite. You ground her in a good way. You've become a home for her. She loves you so much, and it's clear you love her."
"Jeonghan, I love her so much."
"Did she program you to love her?" Jeonghan glances over at the android standing next to him.
"No. I have free will, emotions and feelings. The only thing she did was program me to make me have normal emotions humans have." Joshua's eyes bounce around the room. "When I first told her I liked her, she asked me if I made that choice on my own. Or if I felt like I owed her something."
"Do you think you owe her something?" Jeonghan loves you and only wants to protect you.
"No. I just can't help that I fell in love with her."
Jeonghan reaches up, patting Joshua on the back. "I used to worry about her all the time. Cheol found her right after she lost her family. She was so lost and lonely. He took her in and she joined our group. She used to live with me in the beginning. I would find her crying sometime in the middle of the night. Those nights used to rip my heart out. I just wanted to see her happy, and I hoped one day she would find someone who could love and care for her like she deserved." He pauses and looks back at the city. "I didn't think it would be an android she found, but finding you made a light start burning inside of her. Falling in love with you made her so bright."
"Jeonghan."
"You don't have to say anything else. Just do me a favor and always take care of her. Even if she wants to walk away from this crew, I just want to know you'll always be with her."
"I will."
"I should go." Jeonghan pats him on his back one more time before heading out.
Joshua stands there for a moment, locked into place. He knows before him you were a mess, and he doesn't remember his life before you turned him on, but he knows what little life he had before you got together, hollow and empty before you fell in love.
His hand feels weird. He looks down and tries to squeeze his hand. He takes a moment, trying to focus on getting rid of the glitch. He's just glad Jeonghan didn't witness this. It takes minutes before he starts feeling normal.
Walking back into the bedroom, he finds you sound asleep in bed. He strips away his clothes and stays just in his boxes-briefs. Pulling the covers back he curls up next to you.
He pulls your body close to his. He kisses the top of your head and whispers, "I love you."
REBOOT AND RESTART
Stationed outside Quantum Tower where CEO Kang lives, you're in the back of a truck with Jeonghan. Joshua is standing outside acting as a guard. Chan is roaming the area with Vernon.
Sitting in the driver’s seat is Seungcheol. It's quite unusual for him to go out on missions. He's got Jihoon at the base, his third in command, with some of the secondary team at FleXeon tower with Minghao looking into their security coding, while Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Soonyoung are running the perimeter there.
"So, the wife is fucking one of the broad members?" Seungcheol asks, looking into the back of the mirror.
"It seems that way." You're tapping away at your tablet. You're trying to access the wife’s financial records.
"It looks like she was being blackmailed by someone anonymous that the CEO hired." Jeonghan chimes in.
"Why is he blackmailing her?" Seungcheol asks.
"Because he's afraid she knows too much." You've managed to find her records and discover she's been paying large sums of money to an unknown account.
"Something else is going on with her." You say.
"What?" Jeonghan asks.
"A different account is sending her large payments from her."
There are two taps on the door, before Joshua slides the door open. Chan and Vernon pile in.
"We got to go. Security is doing a perimeter sweep."
You pull the drive from your tablet and hand it to Seungcheol. "Have Minghao look into this. See if he can figure out who owns this account. "
Seungcheol slides it into this jacket pocket. Jeonghan crawls into the front seat next to Seungcheol. Vernon and Chan buckle up.
"Alright let's head out." Seungcheol nods and shifts the car into drive. Joshua moves into the seat next to you.
Looking down at his lap, you see Joshua's hand is fully locked up. Reaching down, you take his wrist in your hand. You slowly start dragging your thumb across the delicate synthetic skin on the inside of his wrist, helping to soothe him.
No matter what happens tonight, you know that Joshua needs to shut down and reboot.
The ride to Seungcheol place is about twenty minutes. He lives in an apartment on the outskirts of the hub.
Seungcheol parks the car and everyone piles out. Entering the elevator, it's quite full. Joshua is pressed against the wall with your back plastered to his front. His arm is wrapped around you, holding you close to him. Glancing up, you find Jeonghan carefully watching you. Closing your eyes, you lean your head back against Joshua's chest.
The doors dig and Seungcheol steps out. The whole crew follows closely behind. Piling into Seungcheol place, you find the girl that lives with him. You don't know much about her. According to Seungcheol she's a childhood friend he looks after. The moment she sees everyone enter, she scurries off towards her bedroom. The door closes and shortly after Jihoon, Soonyoung and Minghao walk in.
Vernon sits down on the couch with Chan. Jeonghan immediately goes off to the kitchen. Seungcheol is standing by the window with Minghao and Soonyoung scrolling through his tablet.
Joshua is standing next to you. His hand keeps glitching. Looking down, you see him trying to get it to stop. Reaching down, you grab his hand. Maybe if you mess with it, it will help distract him.
"Kang is definitely making lavender haze, and his wife is well aware of it. It's clear he's just not making tech for androids like Joshua." Seungcheol walks over. "I think if we shut down his system, we can copy the software coding he used for his androids, wipe his accounts and set him up."
"How would we set him up?" Jeonghan asks, walking back into the living room.
"We're gonna make sure everyone knows FleXeon created lavender haze."
"I think between me and Starry, we could hack the programming and any of the FleXeon androids can be reset to have emotions and memories like Joshua." You knew at some point the software edits you did to fix Joshua would end up being used again. If Seungcheol wants to fix the FleXeon androids, you will. All the androids he has out in the city being workers and sex bots deserve a chance to feel human like Joshua.
You give Joshua's hand a squeeze. "We could do it."
"Hao, I'm going to have you see who is paying the wife." Seungcheol tosses the drive towards him.
Minghao catches it and salutes him. "Next week I want to send Soonyoung and Vernon into the building. Starry, see if you can shut down their security system for a few minutes."
"Okay." You're pretty sure you should be able to do that no problem.
"Alright, you're all free. I should check on Angel." Angel is the girl who lives with him. She's one of the few people who Seungcheol will show his softer side to.
Joshua walks over to the table and grabs both your helmets. You're exhausted, it's almost three in the morning. This mission tonight has lasted longer than planned.
Heading down to the garage, the elevator is filled with most of the group. Jeonghan and Jihoon stayed behind.
The doors open and everyone immediately starts going their separate ways. Wonwoo and Mingyu head off to Wonwoo's car. Vernon and Chan head off to their cars. Soonyoung and Minghao both walk towards their bikes they took here.
Joshua takes his time helping you put on your helmet.
"How is your hand?" You ask, watching him put on his own helmet.
"It's fine." He squeezes his hand to show you it works. You both know it's not truly fine.
He hops on the bike, and holds his hand out. You hop on behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you hold on. Driving out of the garage, you're hit with the sight of the wet asphalt. It must have rained while you were having your meet. The city neon haze leaves the wet roads glimmering in a glow of turquoise.
The ride back home is short. Joshua seems too quiet. You hate this feeling of impending doom.
Entering the home you share, Joshua takes your helmet before he heads off to the bedroom.
Following behind him, you start getting ready for bed. You get dressed in your normal sleeping attire. Joshua leaves after stripping down to a pair of boxers.
Walking into the living area, you find him staring out into the city below.
"Shua." He turns around.
"I won't fight you on shutting down tonight." You both know there is no point in fighting about this anymore.
"You'll only be down for about two hours. I just need to reboot your system."
"Okay." He lets out a sigh.
Walking off to the bedroom, Joshua lays on his side of the bed. Crawling into the bed next to him, you sit on your knees. He leans up, resting his hand on your cheek. He presses his lips to yours for a kiss.
He rests his hand on your thigh and gives it three taps. "I love you too." You respond.
He reaches behind his left ear and holds down a button that is barely visible. His eyes turn a bright blue before they shut. His whole body goes limp as he powers off.
Your eyes instantly well with tears. Reaching out, you rest your hand where his heart would be located. In order for his system to properly reboot he'll need to be shut down for two hours. You have this sudden feeling of loneliness that takes over. Crawling off the bed, you grab the tablet that controls his operating system.
You open it up and a hologram of his system appears. You go into his power settings, and set it for him to reboot back in two hours.
Closing the tablet, you look at him lying there completely lifeless. You know he needs to reboot every so often, and you even fight him about it, but you hate this.
Crawling back into bed, you curl up against him. Resting your head on his chest, you can't help but cry. Your tears continue to fall until you finally fall asleep.
When Joshua finally reboots, he instantly notices your tear stained cheeks. He knows you've cried yourself to sleep.
"Starlight." He whispers.
Your eyes slowly flutter open. "Shua?"
"I'm awake, and I'm okay."
"Can you hold me?" You whisper.
He moves you both so you're lying on your side and he's pressed up against you. He presses a few feather light kisses to the side of your neck.
He taps your stomach gently three times. "Goodnight, Starlight."
-
It's been five days since Joshua rebooted his system, and he may not want to admit it, but it didn’t fix his glitch with his hand.
You're in the lights district again. Soonyoung and Jeonghan are yapping about something. Mingyu is flirting with a girl at the bar, you're sitting at the table with Wonwoo, and Joshua.
Soonyoung walks over and pulls out a bag of blue dust. He holds it up towards you and gives you a wicked smile.
"Come on pretty girl, you know you wanna hit this." Soonyoung loves flirting with you. Joshua tries not to be fazed by Soonyoung, but it's hard sometimes.
"Soonyoung." You narrow your eyes at him.
"Last time you did this, I thought you and Joshua were gonna fuck on the dance floor." You instantly cringe at the reminder of what unfolded between you and your partner. His rejection still stings, but you understand why he did it.
"Knock it off." You respond.
"You act like you've never done dust before. My sweet Starry, we all know you're not miss innocent." Jeonghan fully focuses on what's unfolding.
"Soonyoung, knock it off. I don't know why you're flirting or antagonizing Starry, but you need to stop." Jeonghan put his hand on his shoulder.
"No drugs tonight." Joshua chimes in. He rests hand on your thigh, before giving it a squeeze.
"It's time for us to leave." You say.
You and Joshua get up and head out of the crowded club. You lace your fingers with Joshua, weaving your way through the club. Stepping outside, you notice the wet asphalt that has a neon glow reflecting off of it. You must have missed the rain while you were in the club.
Joshua releases your hand and grabs your helmet. "Where do you want to go?"
"I'm hungry."
"Do you want to go to Sarks?" Sarks is a little hole in the wall restaurant near your apartment.
"Yes."
Joshua helps you put on your helmet. Hoping on the bike, you sit behind Joshua with your arms wrapped around him. The ride to the restaurant isn't too long. This place has become a place that you and Joshua started coming to after late nights out. The place is located a couple blocks from your apartment. It's on the corner of a twelve story apartment building.
Walking inside, you're immediately told to pick your own table. This place is filled to the brim with people who work late. A few of the servers here are FleXeon androids, just like Joshua. Ever since you changed Joshua's software, you always wondered if you could change your favorite android Cherry's. She's a sweet girl, who was clearly programmed to act like the sweet girl next door. If Seungcheol's plan goes correctly, you want to give her the life she deserves.
She walks over to your booth and takes both your orders. You hand over the menu and watch as she walks away.
"What are you thinking about?" Joshua asks.
"I just hope if Cheol's plan goes correctly, maybe I can reprogram Cherry like I did you."
"She's sweet." Joshua looks over at your waitress putting your order into the system. "Does she just power down here every night?"
"Probably." It makes you sad to think about the fact that all she knows how to do is work. You aren't sure what Joshua's job was before you found him, but based on his original programming you're pretty sure he was supposed to be a sex bot.
"Cheol's plan will work, and we can save her. Maybe she can move in with some of the boys until we can help set her up." Joshua gives you a sweet smile.
"That's a good idea." You hope to help give other androids a life.
SYNTHETIC TEARS AND HIGH STRUNG EMOTIONS
You've both had the day off and you've spent the day locked away in your apartment.
Standing in the shower together, you watch as Joshua scrubs his shampoo into his hair. He stops moving and just stares at you with a blank stare. Immediately, you know his hand and possibly his arm is frozen. In the last couple days his glitch had gotten worse.
You don't want to fight about upgrading him, but you know that’s what you have to do.
His eyes start to dodge yours. He turns around so his back is to you. He finally gets his arm to move again. Stepping closer, you wrap your arms around him. Your cheek rests between his shoulder blades against his wet synthetic skin.
"I don't want to talk about it in the shower." He breaks the silence.
"Okay." You run your hand across the wet skin just below his bellybutton.
Getting out of the shower Joshua dries off quickly and pulls on a pair of sweats. By the way he rushes out of the bathroom you would swear he's avoiding you.
You take your time drying yourself off and applying your sweet scented lotions and oils. You get dressed in a pair of panties and baggy shirt.
Walking into the main living space, you find Joshua at the stove. He's making what you assume is ramyeon.
Heading over to the fridge you grab a bottle of juice. You look at Joshua watching as he's focused on cooking.
"I thought we should eat." He doesn't need food to survive. He only eats so he can feel more human.
"I'm hungry."
"Can you set the table?" It's clear he's trying to distract himself from the necessary conversation you need to have.
"Absolutely."
You grab some napkins and two pairs of chopsticks. Joshua dishes two bowls before bringing them over. He places the bowl in front of you. He sits down across from you.
You both eat in silencehe looming, much needed conversation, hanging over both of you like a dark cloud.
You take your first bite of ramyeon. Placing your chopsticks on the table, you give him a sad smile. He looks down at his empty bowl. Neither of you can avoid this any longer.
"Shua."
He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "I know."
"You have let me upgrade you. If you keep glitching like this, a systematic error could pop up in your software."
He doesn't say anything, he just stands up. He grabs both your dishes and walks over to the sink. He doesn't bother cleaning them. He just rinses them with water.
"Joshua." You stand you. You don't want to play games right now. You just want him to listen to you.
He walks towards the living area. You follow him closely.
"I don't want you to upgrade me. It's a mild glitch, I'm fine." He sits down on the couch with a huff.
"Clearly you're not fine." You love him so damn much, but sometimes he's too stubborn. "Your mild glitch will lead to something worse if you don't let me fix it."
"No." He leans back pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Joshua—" He stares at for a long moment before standing back up.
He doesn't respond. He just walks over to the big window that overlooks the city. You stand frozen in place near the couch.
"Joshua, stop being stubborn about this." You hate that he never makes this easy on you. "If I don't fix this, the error could be irreparable. If we're not careful, it could corrupt your software, and I could lose you. I need you to realize I don't think I could live without you."
He turns around and you instantly recognize the sadness in his eyes. "What if something happens when you upgrade me? I'm absolutely terrified I'm going to shut down for an upgrade and I won't remember a thing when I wake up." You have this same fear, but you trust yourself enough to know that won't happen.
"You have to trust me." He walks towards you in two big steps.
"I do trust you. Just like you can't live without me, I don’t want to exist if I don't remember everything we have."
He drops to his knees in front of you. He rests his head against your stomach. His arms wrap around you, holding you close. Mindlessly you run your fingers through his hair, helping to soothe him.
"I won't let anything go wrong." You close your eyes as tears slide down your cheek.
"You can do the upgrade." He pulls back, and you see his glossy eyes, slowly leaking tears. Just like humans, androids have the ability to cry. "Should we do it tonight?" He picks himself off the floor.
"Yeah."
He stands in front of you. He leans down pressing his lips to yours. Pulling away slightly his noses rest against yours. "I love you." You both are truly in love, but it's rare you say those three words. Normally, you communicate it by three simple taps on the other person's body.
"I love you too."
He laces his fingers with yours, leading you off to the bedroom. He releases your hand and walks over to the shelf by the window. He grabs your tablet that you use to monitor the software, and the cable that connects behind his ear.
He hands off the equipment and lays down on the bed, in the same spot he sleeps in every night.
He blankly stares at the ceiling. The vice grip on your heart is making you nauseous. This is the last thing you want to do. But you know this needs to be done.
"I'm sorry." You truly are. You wish that you didn't have to do this. Upgrading his system scares you, just as much as it scares him.
"It's okay, Starlight." He reaches out for your hand. He brings it towards his lips and presses three kisses to the top of your delicate skin. "I love you." He releases your hand.
Closing your eyes, you try your hardest not to cry. "I love you too."
Taking the cord, you connect it into the small port hidden behind his ear. Plugging it into your tablet, the hologram of his software pops up. You start taking away the coding of his software.
"The software update should take about four hours."
"Okay. Get some sleep while it updates." He glances over at you.
Crawling across the bed closer to him, you lean down and press your lips to his. You kiss him like this is the last time you might get to kiss him. "I'll be right next to you when you wake." You can't help the salty tears that slide down your cheeks.
He reaches up resting his hand on your cheek. "I'll see you in a little while."
He pulls his hand away. You start the updating process. His eyes turn bright blue before they go completely dark as he shuts down.
For the first hour of his update, you lay in bed next to him, watching the tablet to make sure nothing goes wrong. You stay awake until your eyes have grown too tired to stay open.
You dream of Joshua. You dream of a life away from this neon city. You find yourself laying in the tall grass under the warm sun, curled up in his arms. On your finger is a matching gold band that both you and him wear. There's a warmth that fills your chest, that he's your husband.
You're woken up to the feeling of the bed moving. Your eyes slowly flutter open, and you find Joshua awake, laying next to you.
"Joshua?" You’re terrified he won't have his memories.
"Hi, Starlight."
"Are you okay?" You push yourself up.
He nods and gives you a smile. "All my memories are still there."
All the worries that have been eating away at you instantly disappear. Your eyes instantly start to water.
"Baby, don't cry." He hates seeing you upset.
"I was so worried." You push the blanket off you. You push yourself up and crawl into his lap. He rests his hand on your cheek, brushing away your salty tears.
"I'm okay. No need to worry anymore."
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you crash your lips into his.
His strong hands roam your back under your shirt. You pull away from the kiss, long enough to pull off your shirt.
Joshua maneuvers both of you so you're on your back and he's hovering over you.
He leans in, pressing multiple kisses on your lips before he starts leaving a trail of kisses across your jaw and down your neck.
Not much is said as he kisses away his across your chest, taking his time to toy with each of you nipples. He tags his tongue across your stomach. He stops at the top of your panties.
You're impatient and just want him to touch you. "Shua—" you plead.
Hooking his fingers into the top of your panties, he slides them down your thigh. Lying in the bed, completely bare, you stare at him with a mixture of lust and love in your eyes.
"What do you want, Starlight?" Normally, you would tell him to fuck you, but right now, you don't want that. You want him to be as close as possible as he can be to you.
"I just want you."
A smile tugs at his lips. He hops off the bed and makes quick work of removing his sweatpants.
"I don't need foreplay, I just want you."
He walks over to the dresser and pulls out the little container of lube. Even though his cock is self lubricating, he needs to make sure you're wet enough for him. He crawls on to the bed towards you. Clicking the container open, he pours some of the cool lube onto your core. He takes his time massaging you and helping to prep you for his massive size. He clicks it shut again and starts pumping his length, helping to lube up his cock.
Spreading your legs wide, you welcome him. Sex between you is always passionate, and can sometimes be on the rougher side. Right now you don't want that. You just want things to be nice and slow.
He pushes the tip of his cock in, earning a gasp from you. "You feel so good."
Your hand talons into his shoulder pulling him closer to you. You want him as physically close as he can be. His nose rests against yours as he pushes the rest the way in, the tip of his length is kissing your cervix.
He's resting on his knees, practically plastered against you. Reaching up, you hold his face in your hands. He's not moving, he's giving your body a moment to adjust to his size.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." You say as tears slide down your cheek.
"You're the best thing that could have ever happened to me." He gives you a smile that makes you feel like mush. "I can't imagine a life where I'm not by your side."
He starts moving at a slow but deep pace. The room is filled with echoing sounds of skin hitting skin and your moans and whimpers.
Your hands roam his body, touching anywhere you can possibly reach. His lips are constantly on yours, or kissing the side of your neck. He gently nips at your skin, definitely leaving marks in his wake.
The feeling of his cock stretching you out, with each thrust is intoxicating. Reaching between your bodies, your fingers toy with your clit, helping to push you closer and closer to the edge.
"Baby I can tell you're close." He moans against your neck.
You rub your sensitive clit harder, pushing you closer to the edge. He pulls back so he's sitting on his knees between your spread legs. He lifts one of your legs resting it against his chest. He moves your hand away from your core. He rests his hand on your mound, and with his thumb he starts quickly rubbing your clit. Every muscle in your body tightens. Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a loud moan. You high hits you like a ton of bricks.
Your orgasm hits hard and fast. Joshua never stops moving. He picks up his pace a little, chasing his own release.
"Please cum." You beg him.
He drops your leg and moves so he's hovering over you again. He crashes his lips into yours as he comes hard. He feels you to the brim with his sweet release.
Slowly, he stops moving, but doesn't pull out. He pulls his face away from yours and gives you the sweetest smile. "I love you."
Gently you tap his lower back three times. "I love you too."
He drags his thumb across your tear stained cheeks.
"I'm sleepy." You sigh.
"Let me clean you up, and then you can sleep."
Joshua slowly removes himself from you, before he takes his time cleaning you up. Neither of you bother getting dressed for bed, you both curl up in bed naked together.
OH THE LAVENDER HAZE
It's three in the morning and everyone is together for the big heist. Everything your crew has been working towards has led up tonight. Standing in Seungcheol's apartment you watch him as he stands in the kitchen area, talking to the girl who lives with him. She looks just as concerned as you would be if Joshua was going on this mission without you. The whole entire crew is here tonight.
Seungcheol walks back in. "Alright, here is the plan."
The plan is to split off into three separate crews. Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Joshua will go in Mingyu's car where he'll act as the getaway driver.
Vernon, Chan, Jihoon, are gonna be running security outside the building.
You and Minghao are going to be breaking into the security office with Soonyoung to shut down the whole system and copy all the files.
"Any questions or concerns?" Seungcheol asks.
"Do we have another person with Starry and Hao?" Wonwoo asks. You glance over at Joshua to see he looks anxious. Soonyoung is a very capable person of keeping both of you safe. Soonyoung can be vicious and even deadly if he needs to be. You've seen him get into fights and they're terrifying. Minghao is also extremely capable of protecting both of you. The gun he keeps tucked into his waistband and the knife he keeps concealed is enough to keep you safe. You're pretty confident in your own fighting abilities. When you joined the crew, Soonyoung and Wonwoo taught you to fight to protect yourself.
"We'll be okay." You chime in.
Joshua grabs your hand. He instantly squeezes it and stares at you with the same anxious look.
"Let's go."
"I'm team one, Jihoon you're team two, and Soonyoung you're team three." Seungcheol says.
Everyone starts heading out of the apartment. You and Joshua linger behind for a moment. He takes your face in both hands. He smiles before leaning in for a searing kiss. It definitely feels as if this could be a goodbye kiss and that's scary. Joshua's team is not going to have it easy. They're going to have to take out a lot of guards.
"I love you, be safe." You say with your lips against his.
"I love you too, and you be safe as well. Listen to Hao and Soonyoung. They will both keep you safe."
Following everyone down to the cars, you get in the back seat of the car Soonyoung is driving.
It's pouring outside. The rain leaves the asphalt with a neon turquoise glow.
Reaching into your bag, you pull out Joshua's tablet. You open it up and immediately his hologram pops up. You scroll through his coding, making sure there are absolutely no errors in sight.
Minghao glances into the back seat. "He's going to be fine."
"I know." You close the tablet and stick it back in your bag. "I'm just worried."
"Quit stressing about your robo boy. He's going to be fine." Soonyoung chimes in.
Arriving at the FleXeon building, Minghao already has the cameras up. You're working on shutting down their alarm system. Mingyu's car pulls up behind you. Soonyoung reaches into his bag and pulls out ear pieces for all three of you.
"No matter what happens, you both need to listen to me." He says. You and Soonyoung might butt heads often, but you're well aware he's a good leader. He'll make sure nothing goes wrong. Getting out of the car, the three of you pull up your mask and your hoods. The rain helps your cover.
The alarm system is fully down and Minghao has tricked the system into thinking nothing is wrong. After many nights casing this place, Soonyoung leads you both off to the side door that's near the security office.
He makes quick work, knocking two guards unconscious. The three of you rush down to the hall to the security room. Minghao immediately plugs his device in and works on shutting down the security system.
Soonyoung is standing at the door with his gun drawn. You watch him carefully for a moment before you start sorting through the system coding.
The second you're into the file database you start making copies of everything.
-
The moment Soonyoung gives the signal that everything is clear, Seungcheol leads team one into the building. Seungcheol's goal tonight is to not only steal all the company's data, but to also steal any tech they're storing.
Heading up to the lab is where they encounter their first batches of guards. Seungcheol's original plan was to knock them unconscious, but when one of them sends a bullet slicing through Joshua's synthetic skin, that's when things take a turn. Jeonghan and Wonwoo are both incredibly good shots. The two of them take down most of the guards while Seungcheol and Joshua knock out the others.
Walking up to the lab door, they're relieved to see that the lock’s been shut off. Stepping inside Joshua winces at the sight of different androids like him. Some of them aren't fully built, while others look like they're fully operational.
Joshua walks over towards this. Wonwoo puts his hand on his shoulder. "We'll get them later."
Seungcheol starts searching around. He finds a latch that opens another door. In there they find the machine that makes lavender haze.
"Got ‘em." Seungcheol starts snapping photos of everything. He grabs his duffle bag and starts filling it with close to a million dollars worth of lavender haze. Jeonghan disappears for a while and comes back holding wads of cash.
"Where is that from?" Joshua asks.
"I found a room with a safe in it."
"How did you get the safe open?" Seungcheol asks.
"I shot it, obviously."
Wonwoo barks out a laugh, and Seungcheol just rolls his eyes.
"Wonwoo, go with Jeonghan and start filling all the bags with the money. Joshua, start taking the androids to the van."
-
Through the security camera's tablet, you watch as Joshua moves through the building quickly. He's carrying as many androids as he can to the van Mingyu is in. Mingyu is helping load them into the back quickly.
Tapping away at your computer, you know you probably have another twenty minutes until you have all the data copied over. Your goal once you're done is to send a virus to FleXeon’s system. You and Minghao worked together to make itto nearly impossible to stop viruses.
"How is team one doing?" Minghao asks Soonyoung.
"Cheol says they need another thirty."
"I can keep the system down." You respond, not bothering to look up from your device.
"I found all the hidden files for the formula for lavender haze." Minghao chimes in.
"Make double copies of that."
These passing twenty minutes are some of the most stressful of your life. The data has finished copying and you're making sure to monitor the cameras. Your eyes go wide when you see more security heading towards the room you're in.
"Soonyoung, code red."
"Fuck." He says. "Code red, code red." He says into his com.
"Minghao, are you good?"
"Yeah. We have everything copied."
"Launch the virus." You respond. You start typing away. You launch the virus into the system.
Seconds later, Soonyoung starts shooting down the hall. You hear Seungcheol yelling over the com to clear out. You and Minghao move quickly to grab all your stuff. Reaching into his waistband, he pulls out a gun, and Minghao holds it out to you. Without even thinking, you grab it. He grabs another gun from his bag.
Soonyoung grabs ammo from his bag, reloading the gun. "Hao, guard Starry and get her out of here."
Minghao turns to you. He takes your face in both his hands. You must look terrified. You've been with this group for a long time, and this is the first time you're worried you might die because of a job. "Starry, I promise you won't get hurt."
"Okay."
"Stay behind me, and keep your gun drawn." He keeps holding your face. "Joshua will kill us all if we let you get hurt."
"Fuck what about Shua?" You realize if you're in a gun fight it might not be clear at the lab.
"He's fine." He releases your face. "Just hold my hand until I let go." He takes your hand in his.
"Okay, go." Soonyoung gives you the signal.
Another set of guards are running up. Minghao leads you out towards the door with his gun drawn. He takes two shots by the two guards blocking the door.
"Run." He shouts. You run next to him with your gun drawn.
You practically throw your body against the doo,r breaking your way outside. Soonyoung follows behind you.
Standing in the pouring rain you look over towards Mingyu's van to see him and Joshua soaking wet, loading a machine into the back. The moment Joshua turns and looks at you, he pushes his wet dark hair away from his face. Instantly, you see the tear in his jacket, and the slice in his arm. You're frozen in place staring at him.
Gun fire rings out, startling you. Minghao grabs your hand dragging you towards the car.
You see Jihoon and his team sprinting towards the van. Soonyoung grabs you from Minghao and practically throws you into the back seat. The car speeds away before you can even react. Looking out the window, you watch as team one breaks out of the building with guards following behind them.
Your eyes water thinking about the danger you're leaving behind. It's the dead of night and the fluorescent city, is a buzz with the sound of blaring sirens. Soonyoung drives like a mad man to get back to Seungcheol's place.
Salty tears slide down your cheek as you think about the chaos that has unfolded. Minghao's phone rings and he's quick to answer. He doesn't say much, you just hear him repeat yes over and over. He hangs up the phone and is instantly calling another person.
Soonyoung glances in the mirror looking back at you. Quickly you avert your eyes, the last thing you need is him teasing you about the fact that you're crying.
"Seokmin." Minghao says. That name immediately catches your attention. You know he's a medic. He's stitched up the boys a few times. Your heart sinks, and nausea hits you quickly. "It's Jeonghan and Wonwoo."
The car is silent for a moment outside the sounds of distant sirens and the rain hitting the car.
"Not fatal. Jeonghan was shot in the shoulder and Wonwoo in the ribs." He pauses again. "Cheol said Wonwoo was grazed pretty deeply."
"Soonyoung—"
"They're fine." He quickly responds. "Hao said he's not fatal. Seokmin will stitch them up.”
"Just meet us at Cheol's asap." Minghao hangs up.
Soonyoung pulls into the dark parking garage. Getting out of the car, you grab yourself. Soonyoung looks around making sure you're not being watched. You all rush towards the elevator.
Minghao presses the button and instantly the doors slide open. Stepping inside, Soonyoung quickly hits the close button over and over.
The elevator rattles as it heads up to the tenth floor. You blankly stare down at your shoes.
"They're fine." Minghao finally speaks. "They just need stitches."
The doors slide open. You all practically run down the hall to Seungcheol's apartment. Soonyoung punches in the code, and the door slides open. Sitting on the couch near the window, you find the sweet girl who lives with Seungcheol. She jumps at the sudden intrusion.
Soonyoung puts up his hands letting her know we aren't a threat. "It's just us. Seungcheol is on his way home."
"Is he okay?" You've never actually heard her speak before. Her voice is quiet and full of fear.
"Yeah he is." Soonyoung slowly puts his hands down. Silently she gets off the couch and rushes out of the room.
Minghao grabs his bag and walks over to the table. "Can I have the drive with the lavender haze formula?"
You reach into your pocket and grab one of the two drives that hold the information. You toss it over to him. He plugs it into his computer and starts typing away.
"What are you doing?" Soonyoung asks.
"I'm concealing some of the formula and anonymously leaking it."
There is a knock on the door. Soonyoung grabs his gun and walks over. He pulls the door open with his gun drawn. Instantly he puts it down at the sight of Seokmin.
Seokmin comes in and starts getting out all the supplies he'll need.
The door flings open and the rest of the crew follows in. Wonwoo limps in with the help of Joshua and Mingyu. Jeonghan is being helped by Seungcheol. Jihoon, Chan and Vernon follow in behind them.
Joshua stares at you with wide eyes. Everything is so chaotic that neither of you have time to talk.
"Vernon, do you remember how to do stitches?" Seokmin asks.
"Yeah." Vernon walks towards him.
"Okay, I'm going to need you to take Wonwoo to the restroom and full-clean out his wound and then stitch him up." Seokmin reaches into his bag and pulls out everything Vernon will need. "Mingyu and Soonyoung please help Vernon."
Everyone listens to Seokmin and takes Wonwoo off to the bathroom. Seungcheol brings Jeonghan towards Seokmin.
"We need to remove his jacket and I need to see if there is an exit wound." Jihoon and Seungcheol take a very dazed Jeonghan into the kitchen.
Joshua rushes towards you. He pulls you into his chest and kisses the top of your head. "Starlight, I was so worried about you."
"I'm fine, Hao and Soonyoung kept me safe." You pull away and glance at his torn synthetic skin. "I need to fix this later."
"Okay."
You hear Jeonghan scream. You take off towards the kitchen where you see Seungcheol holding him down as Seokmin is digging the bullet out of his shoulder.
You wince when you see a very obviously in pain Jeonghan let out another scream. You walk closer to him. He's turning his head away from his injury, wincing.
Reaching out, you rest your hand on his cheek. "Hannie, it's okay." His eyes go wide looking at you. "It's okay." You wish there was some way you could soothe him.
"Chan, get me a syringe of numbing meds from my bag." Seokmin shouts.
Moments later, Chan comes rushing in. Seokmin gives Jeonghan a full shot of the numbing meds. His eyes droop slightly as they instantly take effect.
Joshua grabs your hand, leading you away from the chaos. Moving into the living room, you sit on the couch feeling dazed. Wonwoo comes out of the bathroom with the help of Mingyu.
They sit next to each other on the other couch. Seokmin shouts for Joshua's help. He leaves you alone for a moment. Seungcheol heads out the kitchen and instantly heads towards the room Angel is in. He must be going to check on her.
Joshua walks out of the kitchen carrying Jeonghan. Jihoon leads them off towards Seungcheol's room. Seokmin walks out of the kitchen with his shirt stained with blood. Soonyoung walks of the bathroom.
"Is Jeonghan okay?" Soonyoung asks.
"Yeah. We knocked him out because he was in pain, but the bullet is out and stitched up. Luckily, it missed all the major arteries." Seokmin says.
Seungcheol heads back in and gives everyone the run down and then gives everyone a bag with money in it.
"This is just cash. I'll have more coming later." He lets out a sigh and pushes his fingers through his hair. "We can have another meeting in a couple days when Jeonghan is feeling better."
"Breaking news." The tv turns on blaring. "FleXeon is being exposed for producing the very illegal drug known as lavender haze. Police arrived on site now at the CEO house. The company is now under investigation."
Soonyoung barks out a laugh. "Looks like we were successful."
"Everyone keep your heads low for a little while." Seungcheol says.
MEET ME IN THE AFTERGLOW
Arriving back at your apartment, you sit down Joshua at the table and work on fixing his arm that's sliced open.
"They missed your wiring." His wiring is essentially his arteries. "If they hit those I might have had to rewire your arm." You know he's listening to you, but he's completely silent as he stares at the floor in front of him. "This is a simple fix."
"Does this feel weird having to fix your robot boyfriend? If I was human you wouldn't have to worry about my wiring." He glances up at you.
"If you were human, you could have been in bad shape like Wonwoo and Jeonghan." At this point you prefer he's a robot. You never have to worry about him getting sick or hurt like that.
"Do you wish I was human?" There's a deep rooted sadness behind his eyes.
"No, not at all. I promise, I've never once wished you were human." You aren't lying. Never once have you had that thought. You finish working on his arm, and move so you're standing in front of him.
"I wish I was human."
Reaching out you take his face in both hands. "I've never wanted you to be anything else." His eyes are wide and glossy. Slowly you drag your thumb across his cheek. "I love you for who you are."
"I love you too." He closes his eyes leaning into your touch. Leaning down you press your lips into his for a sweet kiss.
Stepping back, you walk off into the kitchen to wash your hands. Looking over, you watch as Joshua stands up. He walked over to the big window that looks out into the city. In the distance, the sun is starting to rise. The sky is becoming shades of cotton candy pink and orange.
"When I heard the first gun shot, I was scared they were going to take you from me." Joshua says as he blankly stares towards the windows.
Walking over, you stand in front of him and wrap your arms around his stomach. "I was scared too, but I knew the boys would keep me safe."
"Starlight, look at me please." You step back and look up at him. "Right now, I just want to be with you."
"Okay."
You aren't surprised when he reaches down and picks you up as if you weigh nothing. Crashing your lips into his, you kiss him as if you need him to breathe.
He pulls his lips away long enough to lead you both to the bedroom. In between kisses, you both strip away your clothes.
Laying on the bed with your legs spread wide, he eats you out like a man starved. He plays with you until you fall apart not once but twice. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close to your needy pussy.
Crawling up your body, he crashes his lips into yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it's absolutely intoxicating.
You aren't sure what his plan is, but all you know is you want him in any possible way. He grinds his already hard length against your core over and over, until you're moaning into his mouth. Practically on the brink of falling apart again.
"Shua—" you whine as he pulls away.
He moves so he's sitting with his back against the headboard. You waste no time crawling across the bed to get to him.
Sitting on his lap, you card your fingers through his dark hair. Lifting your hips, you reach down, lining his cock up with your needy entrance. Ever so slowly, you sink down on his length, inch by thick inch. He's snug inside you, but neither of you move. He looks up at you with needy eyes.
Neither of you seem to have any desire to move. You could sit on his cock for hours, and he would do anything to stay inside you forever.
"I have never and will never love anyone like I love you." You can't explain the love you feel for him.
"We may not be able to get married, but you're my wife." His sweet words earn a smile from you. He's never called you his wife, but you could get used to him calling you that.
"Are you going to buy me a ring with the money we just got?" You hold up your bare hand. You could actually care less about a ring, you honestly just want to tease him a little.
"I'll buy you anything you could possibly want." Leaning forward, he presses his lips to yours for a searing kiss. "Anything my pretty wife could ever want, I'll give her." He says between kisses.
Lifting your hips, you pull yourself off of him, until only the tip is left inside. You tug his hair back so he's looking up at you. Slowly you drop back down. He's so long he's practically bruising your cervix. Rolling your hips, your clit brushes against his pelvis.
Joshua's hands are anywhere they can touch. He doesn't help guide your movements yet. He'll help you move once he knows you're too tired.
Biting your bottom lip, you try your hardest to hold back your moans. His wet lips start leaving a trail of kisses from your jaw down to your breast. He takes his time teasing each of your pert nipples. He gently bites your nipple earning a moan.
"Josh—" you cry out.
He pulls away smiling. "Baby you feel so good."
You pick up your pace, desperately chasing your high. Reaching down your fingers quickly start rubbing your clit.
"I love watching you play with yourself." He moans with his lips against your neck.
Your orgasm is like a white hot ecstasy. Throwing your head back you cry out in pleasure. Salty tears slide down your cheeks at the overwhelming feeling. You two have had a lot of sex, but this feels extra intense. Your walls flutter around his cock like an erratic heartbeat. Your lips are parted as mindless moans pass your lips over and over.
Without saying anything, his large hands grip your hips and he helps guide you up and down his massive length. Your high is barely settled and he's pushing you right to the edge all over again.
"Fuck—" you whine.
"Can you cum again?" He asks.
Wordlessly you nod. He's fucked you to the point you aren't even sure if you can form proper words. He’s guiding you up and down, practically impaling you on his massive length over and over again.
Your orgasm hits both of you at the same time. He holds you down flush against him as he fills you to the brim with his sweet and sticky release.
Your body goes limp leaning against him. His hand runs up and down your back slowly, helping you relax.
"You did so good." He knows exactly how to praise you. Your mind can't process much other than the two mind numbing orgasms you just had back to back.
"Baby, I need to clean you up."
"Just let me lay here." You sigh.
He lets you stay sitting on his lap for about twenty minutes before he forces you to take a shower with him.
After showering you don't even bother getting dressed for bed after he dries you off. Curled up in bed together, your head is resting on his chest. Mindlessly he's drawing different shapes on your back.
"If you want, we could have a little wedding with our group. It doesn't have to be official, but they'll be there to witness us getting married." You say.
"I would like that. I meant it when I said you're my wife."
"And you're my husband."
What you have may not be conventional by any means. But the love you feel for each other is what people dream about finding. You know there is still a lot to be done by making sure FleXeon doesn't come back, and you and Minghao need to work on reprogramming the FleXeon androids. But for just a little while, you want to have time with Joshua. You don't want to think about an evil corporation. You just want to think about the future you have with Joshua.
AN: I love this universe so much I might write something for a couple of the other boys. Let me know if you would be interested.
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masterlist • part one • part two
When you inherit your parents' unpaid debt to the Devil, you're given two choices: serve their eternal sentence of servitude in Hell or negotiate a contract of your own. Surprisingly, choosing the latter and accepting a position to become his live-in assistant doesn't exactly dole out the torment you expect it to. As Hell begins to feel more like home than Earth ever did, both you and your impossibly ancient boss find yourselves navigating a far more confusing negotiation: falling in love.
PAIRING: devil!junhui x assistant fem!reader
WC: 19.4K / 40K (complete)
TAGS: crack, humor, roommate/boss to lover
CW: implied demisexual reader, corporate hell, power dynamic, demons, kidnapping, mentions of alcohol, mentions of vomit, mentions of eternal servitude, bad parents, reader has abandonment/attachment issues and is clingy, god is a woman, mentions of torture and people in hell, brief appearance of a cult/cult leader, mention of the orange man, jealous junhui, possessive junhui, he's toxic in this one and threatens to hold reader against her will lol
SMUT: marked at start and end, unprotected piv, creampie, virgin reader, possessive, fingering, oral f. receiving, sniffing? lol, his eyes turn completely black during oral, hickeys, biting, lotus, missionary, idk lmk if i missed anything
A/N: here ya go! lmk what you think! unless u hate it! then just scroll! LOL <3
DAY FIFTY-FIVE
YOU AND YOUR BOSS CALL IT A DAY AND RETURN HOME AFTER THREE SUMMONINGS, ONE AFTER THE OTHER. Today, you negotiated terms for fame and a plea for everlasting beauty. The last one, though, was interesting.
Jun had been summoned to a small apartment, where a single mother waited for him, begging for just enough money to send her only daughter to college.
"She just got into her dream school. She has scholarships, but it's not enough and I can't afford it. She has to go. She's been working for this her entire life.
I'll exchange anything you want. I'll pay every cent back if you want. You can have my soul, too. Anything—please. As long as you take nothing from her."
You were dumbstruck. Her daughter was living a life parallel to yours on the opposite track. Here was a mother who was willing to do whatever she could to secure her daughter's future, while shielding her from their struggles and from the consequences of dealing with the Devil. While yours… yours offered you to him on a silver platter. It was only by Jun's grace that it didn't work and another deal was agreed upon.
And it was by his grace again that this single mother wasn't given a deal at all. Instead, he told her this was a case better suited for God.
"I've already prayed so hard to God."
"She receives millions of prayers a day and does her best to attend to them. But I'll talk to her personally. She'll grant you a miracle that you won't have to pay her back for."
"'She'?!"
It was a short visit, but you know it's one you'll think about for the rest of your life—and maybe even well into your impending demonhood.
"That was really nice, Junnie," you tell him as you two slouch against the sofa, covered in ghost pepper chip crumbs and still in your work clothes—you in your stupid cloak, him in another jaw-dropping outfit—too lazy to get to your respective rooms right now.
"Ugh, don't start."
"What?" you laugh. "It was!"
"Yes, well, I'm not totally incapable of kindness."
"I know that!" you scoff, slapping the couch since he's too far to slap and you don't want to move. "It was just… very touching."
The silence that follows is a little heavy with a lot of unspoken words on your end, but you force yourself to sit in it. You don't know how long it's been when Jun says, "I know it's really gross and selfish, but I'm the literal fucking Devil so I can say this." You smile at the disclaimer. "I'm glad your parents were so shit." The smile is wiped off your face.
"Huh?!" you exclaim, sitting up straight to face him fully. "Why would you say that to me?"
"That's what you were thinking about, wasn't it?" he asks, the picture of composed as he remains unflustered by your outburst. He doesn't even bother looking at you when he says it, eyes lazily zoning out on the marble pillars bracketing the hallway to your suite. "How this girl has one parent who would do anything for her, including damning her own soul… and you had two parents who were perfectly fine with giving you away to the objectively worst person you can give someone away to? You were thinking about what must be so wrong with you that your parents couldn't love you the way that mother could."
It takes you a few moments to truly process what just came out of his mouth, and when you do, you're unexpectedly hurt by the words even though they're the same ones that have been bouncing around inside your head since the summoning ended.
You know he's the Devil. You know that thousands of years of stories and countless cultures have all painted him to be vile and cruel. Ruthless and merciless. But in the few months you've known him now, you've cast those stereotypes aside. It's clear to you that Jun is as good as you suspect God is—maybe even better honestly. After all, he's the one charged with punishing the wicked. He is justice and vengeance and karma, and while he can't deliver any of it while on Earth like God can, he still does it exceptionally well, down here in Hell. But even with how unfeeling his job forces him to be sometimes, he's been soft. He's been kind. He cares.
You would've never expected him to say something like this, and it's why you give him the benefit of the doubt before deciding to immediately start crying and screaming and demanding Hell expense you a therapist.
"What do you mean?" you ask hesitantly.
He shrugs, either missing how badly he's hurt your feelings or ignoring it. "I told you it was gross and selfish… but if they hadn't been so… nauseatingly despicable, you wouldn't have ever wound up here."
You pause, neither inhaling or exhaling—finding yourself kind of incapable of either, actually. You wanted to take a chance that someone wasn't trying to hurt you despite history saying otherwise, and you were right. Jun actually meant the opposite. In a really sad and messed up and yes, slightly gross and selfish way, the Devil was trying to tell you he liked having you here.
"DAD is over, y'know," you point out pathetically.
He chuckles. "Today was unique. You should remember you're appreciated today too." His voice gets stern all of a sudden. "But just DAD and today. Do not even think of feeling valued any other day of the year."
You grin. "Fine. I won't."
"Good."
You feel your muscles relax as you sink back into the cushions, relieved that Jun wasn't pointing out how unwanted you were by your own parents for shits and giggles. How funny—that in the end, you finally do feel wanted. By the creatures of Hell, no less.
"Do you have parents?" you ask quietly.
Jun inhales sharply, heaving a sigh before he answers, "The stars are my mother, the dawn my father."
You glance at him, ready to tell him to be serious, but when you see the wistful, almost sad look on his face, you know he is. You turn over onto your stomach, prop your chin on your hands, and openly stare at him. Feeling your gaze, he turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised.
"Do you miss them?" You don't know if it's a silly question to ask, especially since you can't fully wrap your mind around his parents being so abstract.
His questioning eyebrow lowers as he thinks over the question, those dark brown eyes piercing through you as he does. You think he looks human like this, so pensive and unsure. A world away from the confident, untouchable king everyone views him as. And maybe one time he was—human. You think you're lucky to be able to see him like this.
"It's been a long time," he finally says. "I sometimes think I don't remember them or that period of my life at all. But then I go to Earth at the magic hours just to catch a glimpse of them, and I remember that they named me Junhui—outstanding and bright. And I was loved… and cherished and so carefully raised to take my place here." He smiles a little sheepishly at you and shrugs. "And I don't feel like I need to miss them. They're everywhere I am and in everything I do."
You roll your lips between your teeth to keep them from trembling as your eyes water. He groans and rolls his eyes, pushing to get off the couch and away from you.
"Stop it!" you shout, lunging forward to grab a hold of his bicep and pull as hard as you can. Still, he barely budges and you know you only succeed at keeping him in place because he allows you to. "I'm sorry! That was just really lovely! And I'm already emotional from tonight! I'm only human!"
You mean it as a joke, but Jun looks at you with wide eyes, searching your face like he's making sure you're not going to have a mental breakdown on his sofa. When he sees you're not, he leans back into the cushions with you.
"Junhui," you repeat, saying his full name for the first time. "It's very beautiful. I love it."
He smirks but the blush that creeps onto his cheeks tell you it means more to him than he lets on. "Thanks. Don't go using it in front of everyone, darling."
"No promises," you joke. You won't. You knew the moment he said it, Junhui was something you'd want to keep for yourself.
You only remember your fingers are still wrapped around his bicep when he pries them off. You're about to rip your hand away and apologize, but then he transfers it to his own hand resting against his abdomen, staring down at it like it's the sky—something he'd travel to Earth every day to catch a glimpse of. He cradles your hand in both of his, so gentle, it makes you melt.
"I forget sometimes," he says. "That you're human." He traces the lines in your palms with his fingertips, the sensation sending goosebumps up the same arm. "It feels like you've been here my entire reign."
You laugh nervously, unsure why your palms are suddenly becoming clammy and your heart is thrashing in your chest.
"It's weird, huh? It's only been a few months." Jun nods as you take your hand back and wipe it furiously against your thigh under your stupid summoning cloak, hoping he doesn't notice.
"Do you still feel like you've been kidnapped?"
You blow a raspberry and pretend to think. "Uh yeah, because I was." He scoffs. "It might be gross and selfish to say, but I suppose I'm glad you did." You cringe at yourself. How was he able to achieve this kind of vulnerability without making it sound so cheesy? "At least I wound up here."
The smile that paints his face isn't like any smile of his you've seen before—so big and wide that his gums show and his eyes crinkle in the corners. His mouth makes that pretty heart shape you get to see so rarely, and it's impossible to refrain from mirroring his joy right back.
"Yeah?" he asks for confirmation.
"Mhm." You give it to him.
DAY SIXTY-THREE
"Hold it, please!"
You know from the way the voice doesn't gurgle with the sound of a little blood that it isn't any of the damned souls, so you comply, holding the elevator doors open for whoever asked you to (strictly forbidden for damned souls; in fact, you're expected to hit the emergency close button should any of them ask you to hold the doors). You shove a foot over the threshold without looking up from your tablet.
"Thanks," the man breathes, entering the lift. You hum in acknowledgment but don't bother looking up.
You instead try not to lose your concentration as you search for the best time to fit in grooming for Key, who you were just informed got thrown up on by another Hellhound who'd gotten into some cannibals while at doggy daycare. He will not be coming home with you until either you get him an appointment or Junhui himself cleans him up.
It takes you another minute or two and a few ascended floors to find the perfect gap in your boss's schedule for him to take Key over. You don't care that you're the assistant; you refuse to be near Hellhound puke ever again if you can help it. You send a quick ping to Junhui to let him know he will be taking his dog to the groomer before you finally look up.
"You're Y/N, yes? His Infernal Majesty's business manager?" the stranger asks now that you're not preoccupied.
You're put off more from the title than from the demon knowing your name. You look up to find a tall man, around Junhui's height, with a polite smile and long, luscious, dark hair that frames his face.
"Yes. Though 'business manager' is generous," you laugh nervously.
"That is effectively what your role is, no?" he asks, eyes twinkling as he tilts his head at you. "From what I've seen, you've really whipped this place into shape. You practically run half of Hell at this point."
"I do not!" you insist quickly, still overly sensitive to agreeing to anything that can misconstrue you as Junhui's opposite—or as Soonyoung keeps calling you, his queen. Ugh. "I'm just his assistant."
"Sounds like a gross understatement but fine," he relents. He places the hand not holding his briefcase against his abdomen and bows his head slightly. "I'm Minghao, from—"
"Minghao?!" you shriek, voice bouncing off the marble walls of the elevator. "Minghao from Accounting, Minghao?!"
He just barely subdues an amused smile and nods. "Yes. That would be me."
You fully turn toward him, tuck your tablet under your arm, and grab his hand with both of yours, shaking enthusiastically.
"Oh!" he startles a little.
"Oh my god, I have heard so many things about you," you inform him. "Your work on making filing taxes a never-ending form of torture was so impressive."
"Why thank—"
"I mean, making it so that every single box on the return references another form they're not sure they even have? Genius!" He grins wider as you shake your head in astonishment. "And that exercise at the soul intake window? The one that forces all new damned souls to do the math and figure out how many lives they could have improved if they hadn't carried out every, single bad decision they've ever made—is it true that was your idea?"
He blushes the way only a humble mastermind like him would. He coughs over another laugh and nods. "Ah yes, my first-ever contribution to Hell. I was just an intern back then."
Your mouth makes a small o at that piece of information you hadn't heard prior. "Wow. Truly remarkable."
"Not as remarkable as getting His Infernal Majesty to start an entire department dedicated to building a torture chamber specifically meant for the day that one, orange American arrives in Hell," he shoots right back, inspiring a roll of the eyes from you.
"Oh please. Bare minimum. Any respectable Hell would've already had one."
"Okay. How about creating Hell's first-ever paid holiday?" he points out, raising his eyebrows like he's suggesting it's something you can't refute. He doesn't know you, though. You can refute anything you set your mind to.
"That was more so I could have a day off than anything else."
"Still no small feat."
You shrug, not having much to say to that. If the demon is committed to complimenting you, you're not going to stop him. It takes him clearing his throat and pointedly staring down for you to realize you're still holding his hand in a handshake that's been long over.
"Oh god!" you exclaim, releasing him. "I'm sorry! Didn't mean to hold you hostage. I just got a little excited. You feel like some sort of celebrity."
"Is that so?" Minghao asks, pursing his lips to keep his smile from getting ant larger. "You know, Y/N, I've heard quite a lot about you myself."
"Like what?" you laugh. "I'm really good at annoying the archangels?"
He tucks the hand you released into the pocket of his slacks, and you take a moment to observe just how elegantly out of place Minghao is in Hell.
Every demon you've met here has an enchanting and almost uncanny beauty about them, which is probably mandatory for the job if they're meant to lure humans to Hell. But Minghao doesn't ooze chaos and destruction the way the others do. He doesn't have a frenetic energy that almost vibrates off the surface of his skin and threatens to suffocate you. He seems too mature for that. There's something ancient about him—not unlike Junhui.
"Actually, yes," he confirms, chuckling. "But I've also heard about your very attentive and kind nature."
You look up at him, mortified. "Someone down here called me 'kind'?" You don't take it as an insult, but you know depending on the demon who used that word, it could very much be meant as one. "Who was it? Was it Jeonghan? Because if so, you should know that the other day, that fucker voluntarily beat the shit out of the vending machine until it released my Snickers bar. He's the 'kind' one!"
Minghao laughs freely now and shakes his head. "No. No, it wasn't Jeonghan…" The way he says it makes it sound like he's in on some joke that he has no intention of filling you in on. You narrow your eyes at him, but all he does is smile that disarming smile. "I speak with His Infernal Majesty quite often."
"Oh," you utter, the anger in your posture deflating. "Jun said that?"
He smirks now. "In his own very cagey and obliquitous way, yes."
"Obli… quitous…"
He nods. "Roundabout. Indirect. Honestly, a little bit of a ramble."
"Oh okay. Obliquitous," you repeat.
He nods. "He's right. You're very endearing."
"'Endearing'?" you repeat, even more mortified than you initially were. "He called me 'kind' and 'endearing'?" Your mouth drops and you dazedly bring your tablet back to your chest as the elevator approaches your floor. "Does he hate me?"
Minghao coughs suddenly, waving a hand when you ask him if he's okay. "I'm fine. Just, uh, breathed down the wrong tube. Anyway, all I meant to say was I've heard a lot about you and you seem to be doing a great job. Hell is lucky to have you."
You feel heat rising in your cheeks. and you try your best to accept the compliment, nodding shyly. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from the demon that singlehandedly audited God's spending and actually succeeded in cutting her budget." You frown. "Actually, kind of rude of you. Stop silencing women."
He scoffs then. "She started it." Before you can ask what he means, the elevator dings a few floors below yours, and he sticks his hand out. "Well, Y/N, it was nice officially meeting you."
"You too. Don't go telling people I'm kind, though. I have a reputation to maintain," you grumble, slipping your hand into his and shaking it once more.
"I won't, promise. Just a quick one this time," he laughs, looking pointedly at your joined hands as the doors slide open. "Maybe we'll have more time for you to hold me hostage again another day."
You snort. "I'm—"
"Oh? And what do we have here?"
Junhui stands at the open doors, and even though his words come out light and easygoing, his face is so carefully blank, you're actually not sure you've ever seen him so expressionless. For whatever godforsaken reason, it drives a horrible chill down your spine and right between your legs. And for the first time in a while, you're reminded of what your doctor told you.
Arousal. You immediately rip your hand out of Minghao's, step away, and avert your eyes from your boss's prying gaze.
"Jun!" Minghao greets him happily, a mischievous lilt seeping into his voice. He's officially the first demon you've ever heard call the Devil by his name. "I've finally met your incredibly lovely business manager."
You quietly groan at the title, your face turning even hotter. You feel Junhui's eyes boring holes into your forehead as you busy yourself with the black marble under your feet. Very shiny.
"Hm."
"She's every bit as charming as I expected her to be," he says, confusing you because you're sure you were the opposite of charming. In fact, you might have been borderline embarrassing with the never-ending handshake and all the unsolicited fangirling. He steps forward, making to leave the lift but turns to you one more time and smiles. "Y/N, it's been grand. If you're free next week, I'd love t—ungh!"
Minghao stumbles back as Junhui yanks him by his collar, shoving him away roughly before he can barrel into your boss. He replaces the man in the lift next to you and shoots Minghao an icy glare, who has his own displeased frown on his face.
"She's busy," Junhui answers for you. "And come to think of it, you are too." His subordinate raises an eyebrow at him. "I want a report of how many improved lives the damned souls have counted at the intake window this week, complete with their full names and a brief summary of how their lives would have improved."
Minghao balks at him now, the elegance replaced by sheer disbelief. "We get millions of souls a week."
He finally smiles, but it's all kinds of wrong. Like a predator smiling at food. "I told you you'd be busy."
"Oh come on, dude, it was a joke!" he complains, scratching his scalp violently in irritation. He's also the first demon you've heard call the Devil "dude."
Junhui laughs, cold and forced, even bending over and shaking his shoulders as he does. He points at Minghao as he does. "Good one!" He stops immediately, his glare returning. "Get to work."
The doors slide closed, and the space is engulfed in silence as you rise toward the top floor, where both your and Junhui's desks await. You fidget in the wetness of your underwear, and you decide you will be sifting through that list of therapists when you get home.
"So. Business manager, hm?"
Your eyes widen. "I did not call myself that. He pulled that out of his ass! In fact, you should ask for two weeks of metrics as punishment!"
Junhui hums again but says nothing else, forcing you to exist in the discomfort of whatever just happened.
DAY SIXTY-FOUR
"What's this?" you yawn, rubbing one eye with a knuckle as you sleepily stare at the familiar red glimmer of a contract floating above your bed, where Junhui just woke you up for the day.
"Updated employment agreement," he huffs, turning away from you to leave your room. "Hurry up and sign it so we can get going."
You read the gist of it, scoffing when you finish. You sign as requested before getting ready for the day and meeting Junhui in the kitchen for breakfast and coffee like you always do.
"So. Chief of Staff, hm?" you ask, trying not to let on how pleased you are about your new title.
His cheeks turn a light pink as he shrugs, refusing to look up at you from his phone. "Business manager is a dumb fucking title anyway."
You grin, taking your seat at the kitchen island as he puts his phone down and begins pulling you an espresso shot. "Agreed."
He finally turns to look you in the eye, and when he sees you're serious, he smiles. A real one this time. He extends a hand to you, and you shake it, that same hot sensation taking over as your new deal is cemented in Hell.
"Congratulations on your promotion."
"Thanks, boss."
"Hm."
DAY SIXTY-SIX
"Hi, Minghao. Here for your meeting with Jun?"
"Sorry, so so crazy busy, cannot talk to you ever again, even if it's just a harmless fucking joke," Hell's accountant grumbles as he speed walks right past your desk and allows himself into your boss's office.
You frown, turning as your gaze follows the demon to the chair across from Jun, who simply slouches back in his seat, a smug grin on his face as he stares at an irritated Minghao. His eyes slide to you and his grin just widens. He winks and you turn back to your desk, blindly picking a therapist and making an appointment.
DAY SEVENTY
"So. Therapy, huh?"
It takes everything in you to keep from bolting out of the office. You sink deeper into the plush couch in an attempt to keep yourself grounded. The silver lining is that you're within proximity of God. She is walking these very halls as you breathe. That's it, though.
Heaven is entirely too bright and white and polite and full of talk about the weather (how much can someone talk about clouds?), and you would rather be cleaning up Key's vomit back in Hell.
"Yup," you answer, popping the p.
"And what compelled you to pick me?"
"I didn't. It was like… a blind box of therapists."
"And I'm your therapist Labubu?"
"Yes, Joshua," you sneer, rolling your eyes at the archangel, who's nestled into the armchair adjacent to you, his massive wings tucked in around him like a comfy cocoon. "You're my therapist Labubu."
The archangel nods, his expression surrendering nothing. "Okay, well, you can choose someone else if you're uncomfortable, but I'd like to let you know that should you remain my patient, anything you tell me will be kept between the two of us, and Satan will never have to know."
"What makes you think this is about Jun?" you ask, voice rising and heart rate spiking at the implication that he knows you're here because of the devil.
"I don't," he assures you, doing a fantastic job of not looking at you like you have two heads the way you would have anyone else. "Since our paths cross professionally, I just want you to know that everything that is said here will not leave this room. In case that is a concern for you."
"It's not." It is. It very much is. Junhui meets with Joshua at least once a week. He is the last person who needs to hear about your clammy hands and soiled panties.
"Okay, good."
"Great."
"So do you want to discuss why you're here?"
"No!" you shout suddenly. His eyebrow twitches—the closest it gets to a frown. He still succeeds in keeping his face neutral.
"Alright," he says easily. "We don't have to talk about anything in particular. Is there something you do want to talk about?"
"I… um," you stammer, stopping to chew on your lower lip.
You didn't notice Joshua was even on the list of therapist recommendations when you chose blindly. Why would an archangel be moonlighting as a therapist serving both celestial bodies? Does he not have enough responsibilities liaising between God and Junhui all hours of the day? Or managing idiots like Brayden?
"Why are you a therapist?" you blurt.
He smiles. "I've always liked listening to people and helping them through their thoughts and feelings. So I started with just Heaven. Then, my archangel duties took me to Hell, and I figured I'd expand my services."
"So you just have two jobs?"
"A few more," he admits. "I have many interests."
"And this is not a conflict of any of those interests?"
"Oh, no, it very much is," he confirms, nodding. "We just don't care here. There isn't exactly an abundance of therapists for our hundreds of thousands of angels and demons to choose from. So. We overlook some things."
"Right."
"Again, you're free to choose someone else if you'd like. I can give you a list—"
"No lists!"
He purses his lips and nods. "Okay." He lets the silence sit for a full minute before he finally asks, "Are you feeling alright? You're jittery today."
You exhale through your lips and nod. "Yes. I'm fine. I just… wasn't expecting you to be here."
He nods. "Fair. How long have you been with us now, Y/N?"
"Uh, three months soon," you say, unsure if that's even correct. Your mind is so foggy.
"Wow, time really flew, huh? Feels like there isn't an angel or demon who doesn't know who you are."
"I don't know about that," you refute, shaking your head. "I just have to talk to a lot of people on behalf of Jun."
Joshua nods. "Yes, I imagine you do. Well, either way, you've been doing a really great job. We notice it up here too; since you've arrived, things have been going very smoothly."
It makes you feel proud. "Thank you. I've been having fun."
"Good!" he says, sounding genuinely pleased that you like your job. "Plus, Satan has been in a much better mood these days. Less annoying."
You clear your throat to stop yourself from having a cough attack. You nod but say nothing else.
He smiles. "He's been a good boss?" You nod again. "I know the way you were… hired was a touch unconventional. Does it bother you at all?"
You shake your head. Other than the occasional jibe that Junhui kidnapped you, you wholly view your station in Hell, ironically, as a blessing.
"That's great to hear," Joshua says despite not actually hearing anything. "You fit very well with all of us despite being human. Do you feel at home?" You nod. If he's tired of your nonverbal answers, he doesn't show it. "And are you making friends?"
There's Soonyoung, who is determined to die at the hands of his boss because he never leaves you alone. There's Jeonghan, who frequently comes by to run his ideas for torture by you. There's Jeongyeon, who lets you cut all the damned souls whenever you want water and gives you all the best gossip. Junhui. Junhui, who has become the best of all your friends. You talk to your human friends less and less these days, giving you even less reason to visit your apartment on Earth. You're very much making a life in Hell. And you like it.
"I like it here," you murmur.
"What do you like?"
"Um," you start to rifle through the things that come to mind. In the end, you rattle them all off without much thought. "I like my home. Jun making breakfast. I like my work. I like being around people. My friends. I like Jun's pets."
Joshua shudders, and you stifle a laugh at the thought of all the stories Junhui has told you about the archangel's encounters with Lock and Key.
"I, um, think I enjoy it more than I did my life on Earth," you admit, feeling a little embarrassed to.
"Why do you say it like that?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing.
"Like what?"
"Like you don't want to say it at all."
You shrug.
"What was your life like back on Earth?"
You snort. "I was a bartender at a nightclub. I had a good amount of friends. My parents were absent, but you know that." He nods, giving you a comforting smile.
"It sounds like you had a nice life back on Earth."
"I guess." He makes you sit in the silence again, just softly smiling at you even as you start to feel awkward, picking at the nonexistent lint on your pants. When you can't stand the silence anymore, you tell him, "It was quiet."
"Nothing wrong with quiet."
You correct yourself. "Lonely."
"Ah," he nods. "Why were you lonely?"
"I lived alone. My friends were 'just for fun' friends—people who only hit me up for a good time or to get into the club for free. I didn't really know my coworkers much beyond covering shifts for each other. I was just… living day to day. I felt like if I disappeared, no one would notice." You pause and laugh a little as you come to the realization in real time. "No one did notice. I've been gone for almost three months, and no one has tried to see me outside of a night at the bar."
Joshua studies you carefully, and he must see something because he doesn't speak, allowing you to gather your thoughts before you continue.
"I can go for weeks without hearing my own name. If I didn't have the job I did, I think I could go for months without talking to anyone at all," you tell him, feeling an uncomfortably prickly feeling behind your eyes.
He hums, nodding. "How about now?"
You shake your head. "It's the complete opposite. I hear my name all day. Demons randomly check in to talk about nothing. They invite me places. They ask how I am. Jun always has ghost pepper chips stocked at home. He brings me to Earth to watch a movie I mentioned or visit a place I miss. I went to the doctor's early one morning without telling him, and my absence was noticed immediately. I feel… I feel… I don't know how I feel."
"Wanted, maybe?"
The word punches a hole through your chest. You inhale deeply. "Yeah. Wanted. I feel wanted. Like I matter here. Like…" There's suddenly a knot in your throat and you recognize too late that the prickly feeling are your tears fighting for release. "Fuck."
You turn away from Joshua and wipe at your eyes, mortified to be crying in front of your boss's colleague.
"Here." A tissue box prods at your knee and you take it without looking at him.
"Thanks."
"What's going through your mind?"
You press a tissue to your eyes, and when you're certain you won't start sobbing out of nowhere, you face Joshua once more, crossing your arms and driving your back into the couch as far as you'll go.
"I was just thinking that I feel like I belong somewhere. Like…" You clear your throat and roll your eyes at yourself. "Like, if I disappeared, someone would actually miss me."
"Someone?"
You look up at him, finding that same, neutral, unjudging face. He smiles at you encouragingly, and you only understand now why Joshua is a therapist. He's fucking good at it. You told him you didn't want to talk about why you came here, and now you're doing even worse—you're talking about the real reason why you came here. The reason you weren't even consciously aware existed. Because the truth is, you feel like if you disappeared right now, there isn't anything Junhui wouldn't do to make sure you made it back home. And you've never had that.
Your doctor had it right. It's not so much the things about Junhui you find attractive. It's the fact that you feel like he cares. He cares deeply—enough to want to provide a safe space for you.
"I don't know, this is dumb."
Joshua raises his eyebrows at the sudden retreat back into your shell. "Why do you think so?"
"I'm crying because people notice I exist," you scoff, shaking your head at the ridiculousness. "It's pathetic."
"No," the archangel insists, correcting you gently but firmly. "It's not pathetic. It is innately human—actually, it's not even human. All creatures crave that. Demons and angels included." He adjusts himself in his seat, the feathers of his wings ruffling as he does. "Have you ever thought about the possibility that it isn't that you're crying because people notice you exist? That maybe you're crying because for the first time, existing doesn't feel like something you have to justify?"
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, before, your existence seemed to hinge on how fun you could be to your friends or how useful you could be to your coworkers—things meant to justify why you should matter to them, right?" You don't answer. "Well, here, you get to experience what it's like to simply… exist, period. You don't have to do anything other than be exactly who you are here, and people still care about you. People still want you around. You don't have to offer anything to feel like you belong." He pauses to let his words land before he eventually asks, "Is it possible that's why you're crying?"
Your tears slide down your face quickly, one after the other, and you groan, plucking several more tissues out of the box and burying your face into them.
"Fuck, you're really fucking good at your job, you motherfucker," you practically wail into your hands.
"I think this has been a very productive first session." His voice is so smug.
"Yeah, I bet you do!" You're met with the melodic chuckles of an angel.
DAY EIGHTY-ONE
You think you're being much too obvious that something fundamental has changed inside you. Junhui watches you carefully these days, a little more than usual.
The man has taken to waking you gently in the morning, simply laying a warm hand on your shoulder and squeezing instead of ripping your blankets and eye mask off. He also lingers a little before going to the kitchen, asking how you slept and if you feel okay. He tells you to take your time in the mornings, blocking out the first few hours of his day so the two of you don't have to rush into work. Throughout the day, he'll poke his head out of his office and ask you how you are, and on more than one occasion, he's forced you on a break to walk with him or even visit Earth for a meal. And weirdest of them all, he cooks dinner for you. He only knows how to do hotpot, but it's still surprising to you.
It isn't that you aren't grateful for the gentle treatment; you love it, actually. You think it's the most regulated your nervous system has ever been in your entire life. It's that now that Joshua has helped you identify how badly you crave stability and safety and unconditional love and care, Junhui's change of pace is inspiring dangerous feelings you don't think you ever learned how to properly feel in the first place.
"Why are you being so nice?" you blurt out over the table.
He looks up at you from the belt of revolving sushi he had been relentlessly staring at. He's been pulling all your favorites without being told, never missing a single plate that crawls by even though you're pretty sure you can't eat anymore. Junhui doesn't answer right away, taking his time watching you like he always does. And usually, that's fine. Today, you fidget uncontrollably.
The Devil shrugs. "I told you. I'm capable of kindness."
You roll your eyes. "Stop. You know what I mean."
"Maybe I don't."
You glare at him before glaring at the restaurant around you pointedly. The restaurant he whisked you away to for lunch in the middle of the day despite having a packed schedule of meetings. Meetings he had you cancel for him.
He smirks, unashamed of being caught so blatantly lying. He reaches for the spicy tuna, popping it into his mouth and leisurely chewing, not-at-all in a rush to answer your question.
"You're being weird."
"Am I?" he asks around his food. "Why do you say that?"
You don't want to have to say it out loud because how do you even explain to your boss that his behavior is weird because it's making you feel valued? "You just are" is the genius answer you settle for.
He sighs when he finishes swallowing, putting his chopsticks down and leaning back. "You've been visiting Joshua a lot."
You nod. It isn't a secret you've been seeking therapy. But try as he might to get you or Joshua to tell him anything, everything else about your appointments has—thankfully—remained a secret.
"Can you blame me if I'm concerned that you've visited a therapist three times in the last 10 days?" he asks, glowering at nothing in particular.
You snort. "Therapy is good for you. You should try it."
"I'm a million years old," he spits your most-used hyperbole to describe everyone in Hell back at you. "I have been in and out of therapy before therapy was even a word." You raise your eyebrows at the admission. "Don't look so surprised." He smirks when he quotes you, "Therapy is good for you."
"Well, I'm fine," you tell him. It's the truth. You're more than fine; you're happy. Your appointments with Joshua so far have revealed that much. Now, you're just sifting through the confusion of being employed by someone you've come to think of very fondly. And that someone doesn't need to know that. "You don't have to worry."
His smirk fades, and he leans forward, openly staring at you as he does. "But I do worry. So that can't really be helped, hm?" You open your mouth, but he doesn't let you respond. "Are you happy?"
You make a surprised noise at the question, but when he sits in silence, waiting for your answer, you nod quickly. "Yes, Junhui. Of course I'm happy. I'm not seeking therapy because I'm unhappy."
"Then, will you tell me why you are seeking therapy?"
"That is sensitive information you shouldn't be asking about!" you admonish him, feeling your cheeks heat up at the mere thought of telling Junhui why you needed an appointment in the first place.
"I'm the Devil. I can ask whatever inappropriate question I want," he grumbles. When that doesn't work on you, he sighs. "Fine. But you promise you're okay?"
It makes your heart want to burst. "I promise. I am very happy."
He smiles a little at that. "And you promise if that changes, you'll let me know?"
You roll your eyes. "Yes. I will let you know. Is that all? Your weird behavior was just you being worried?"
He shrugs but says nothing else. That "weird" behavior you love so much doesn't stop even after Junhui seems to accept your assurances as truth, and you're secretly glad for it.
DAY EIGHTY-NINE
"Congratulations on completing your probationary period."
"Junhui, can you hurry up?" You complain as you open an email invitation requesting his presence at what is essentially Hell's Met Gala—except instead of fashion, they appreciate their own torture methods. "I have, like, 20 Ouija Board calls to screen."
"Please put your tablet down for one minute so I can give you your first performance review."
"Hold on."
He barks a singular, disbelieving laugh but allows you your one moment as you respond "Yes" to the invite. You also make a note to have him fitted for whatever ridiculously attractive outfit he wants to wear to what you've now decided to call Hell Gala. Something with abs showing, you note.
You saw his abs a total of one time. You had woken up early for once after Lock had pounced on your chest and scared the ever living shit out of you. Unable to go back to sleep, you made your way to the kitchen to find Jun dialing in the espresso, nothing on aside from black silk pajamas hanging for dear life on his hips. He'd turned around and made the most interesting noise as he flinched in surprise. You couldn't even make fun of him because your eyes zeroed in on the muscles rippling across his torso. You didn't expect your boss to look like a chocolate bar. And if it were you, you would go everywhere shirtless. You're not sure why he doesn't, but you should probably be glad you don't have that distraction to worry about.
You pucker your lips in thought before adding an extra note: Probably wants to wear black, but let's float the idea of hot pink.
You lock your tablet, rest it against your lap, and smile widely at him. "Alright. Ready."
"Thank you so much for gracing the King of Hell with your attention," he grumbles as he turns to his right. A screen materializes—a shimmery red that displays what you know is information about your performance.
"You're very welcome, Junnie."
He shakes his head, muttering things under his breath before he starts.
"You are a very effective employee," he starts monotonously. "You do your job very well, you have made life very efficient, and the demons all love you. Well, as much as a demon can love, I suppose."
You think it's the Soonyoung-shaped conscience you've unfortunately developed that prompts you to ask, "Can demons… not love…?"
Jun frowns at the question. "They can." Relief, curiously, is the first feeling that washes over you. "It just takes an insane amount of time. Probably more time than it's worth. Y'know… bloodthirst and a general craving for chaos can get in the way of other feelings sometimes."
You snort. "Right."
"Now, let's go over some of your big wins and room for improvement." He reads off the screen. "Big wins: everything you've done thus far… improvements… none." He narrows his eyes as they slide to you.
"Amazing!" you exclaim, clapping and moving to stand. "Thanks, boss! I'll continue doing an impeccable job and get back to screening those c—"
"Sit."
You squeak in surprise as the chair behind you jerks forward, forcing you to fall back down on it. You gasp in disbelief. "What was that for?!"
"I don't know, going into my computer and messing with your review notes, for one? How did you even get into this? It's literally in my mind." He pauses momentarily before muttering, "You're going to make a fantastic demon, it's infuriating."
You roll your eyes. "Why do we even need to do this? Since when have you cared about performance reviews?"
"Demon Resources insisted I at least do your 90-day probationary review so they have it in their records. For what, I do not know, and I do not care. But they did just have a record quarter with their torture retention, so I will give them this one thing as a reward."
You groan. "I have so much work to do!"
"I'm your boss. I say you have no work right now, so you have no work right now. Sit still, let me review you, and this will go faster than it currently is with all of your interruptions!"
You sigh, annoyed that you find his rising voice attractive. "Fine."
"Big wins!" he shouts, emphatically shoving his sleeves up his forearm and leaning toward his screen, glaring at it as it deletes what you'd written. It begins writing new notes as he speaks. "Since your employment, scheduling conflicts have decreased by 96 percent."
You smile smugly.
"Thanks to your help, we've able to hit all our targets on pace, and several demons and department heads have personally reached out to me to tell me you've helped them a great deal."
Your mouth drops open in delighted surprise. "Like who?"
Junhui scrolls for a little. "Ah, here it is. Jeonghan said, 'Thanks for letting us use Y/N for the latest brainstorm on our automated torture project. She's insane and her contributions were better than my useless demons.' Insane used positively, of course."
"Of course," you agree, grinning. "Go on."
He gives you a flat look.
"What? If you're going to review me, you should tell me these things, no?"
"Don't let 'em get to your head, darling," he murmurs, oblivious to how the pet name now makes you squirm. He reads on. "Seungkwan said you're a 'joy' to work and talk shit with." He cocks an eyebrow at you. "Should I be worried?"
"I have never talked shit about you, Junnie."
"Hm." He returns to the screen. "Minghao said—" He cuts himself off, his expression turning dark immediately as he reads on without reciting it.
"What?" you ask. "What did Minghao say?"
"Nothing," he says, skin turning a dark pink as he scrolls back to where he originally was. "Anyway, like I was saying, your contributions are very valuable." He doesn't let you get a word in, barreling on so you don't have the space to. "You do a fantastic job negotiating contracts during summonings. In fact, you would do very well in Contracts and Collections once you're a demon in case that option interests you."
You find that it does and lean forward. "As in, I would only do summonings?"
He hums a yes. "And debt collection. You'd take lower-level calls that don't explicitly ask for the Devil."
"Ah, so no longer with you."
He hesitates but ultimately shakes his head. "No." He takes a deep breath before reminding you, "Your time with me will be complete once your human life ends. You'll be free to do as you wish once you're a demon."
"What if I want to continue being your assistant?" you ask, frowning.
Jun looks confused. "Why would you want to continue being my Chief of Staff?" he asks, subtly correcting you.
"Why wouldn't I…?"
The question stumps him.
"I like this job," you say when he remains silent. "Who knows, I might change my mind since I have quite some time before I die, but I really like doing this."
"Sure, but enough to do it… forever?"
You raise an eyebrow at him. "You know, you're lucky I'm in this role because you would never be able to sell it to anyone else." He continues staring at you blankly. "Yes, I would not mind being your Chief of Staff forever."
Your boss's stare is relentless, and you're almost convinced he managed to completely dissociate while you were talking. After a long, painstaking silence, though, he finally speaks, and when he does, you wish he hadn't.
"That's not a good idea," he announces, leaning away from his computer. The screen disappears altogether.
"Huh? Why not? You just said I'm a very effective—"
"The agreement explicitly states that employment will end upon your human death," he says, clearing his throat uncomfortably. His Adam's apple bobs a few times, and you kind of want to punch it because of how annoying he's being right now.
"The agreement doesn't say anything about me not being allowed to continue working the same role after, though."
"I don't care what the agreement says."
"You're the one that just referenced the agreement!"
"Don't care. I say it's a bad idea."
You glare now. "It's fine if I'm doing it to escape the debt of my asshole parents, but once I actually have the autonomy to choose to work for you, it's suddenly a bad idea?"
Jun exhales slowly. "It's not like that. But even if it were, I'm within my right to choose when it is and isn't 'fine.' I'm literally the—"
"The Devil! We fucking know!" you shout in frustration. Junhui's face settles into an eerily calm expression as he watches you with slightly narrowed eyes. "You're the Devil and you get to do whatever you want—I know. I also know you're never going to find someone better than me for this job."
"That won't be your concern once your contract is over."
You feel a horrible tightness in your chest. Of all the feelings you had been sorting through in therapy, you never considered that fear should be one of them. You never stopped to be afraid you could lose any of this; in your mind, this was eternity. This was it. You exhale a single laugh and shake your head.
"I did do something wrong, didn't I?"
"What?" He tilts his head at you, perplexed.
"When you were sick. I did something wrong." His face falls at the mention and you know you've hit the nail on the head. "Right? That's why you were giving me the cold shoulder, and that's why you're saying I shouldn't work with you anymore once I'm a demon." He doesn't answer, his eyes coming down to his desk as he thinks back to his bout of the Demon Flu. "So what was it? What did I do? I can't properly apologize until you tell me."
"You didn't—"
"Bullshit." He raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you, but it doesn't scare or deter you. "Did I cross a boundary? Maybe I shouldn't have entered your room or helped you eat or… whatever it is you're mad about—"
"I'm not mad."
"—but if that's why you don't want me to be working under you anymore, that's a dumb reason! You love me being your direct report!" you insist. The tips of his ears turn a bright red and he can't meet your gaze, eyes flying about the room. "And I know you would love to have me as your Chief of Staff forever! Now tell me what I did so I can apologize!"
"I have to go to Earth for business," he says abruptly and stands.
"No, you don't. We have 45 minutes left of this stupid review you wanted to do so badly. So review me. Tell me what's so wrong with me being your Chief of Staff."
"I will be back late."
"What?" you ask, voice coming out small and helpless as all of your stubbornness is immediately forgotten. "How late?"
"Not that late," he walks his words back immediately, shaking his head frantically and waving his hands to retract his statement. "Actually, not late at all. Sorry. Uh, I'll be quick. I'll be home before you go to sleep. I just—I'm—yeah, I need to go."
"Junhui, what the fuck is—" He disappears without another word, nothing but red flecks of light and dark smoke in his wake.
DAY NINETY-FOUR
If you thought what happened the week following Junhui's Demon Flu was bad, you were wrong. Because this time, it isn't even fully a cold shoulder, which you can stomach since that's an obviously petty response to something. No, this time, it just feels like you've been put in a box, forbidden to interact with Junhui at all. You hardly see him anymore, and when you do, it's only brief glances as he makes his way to whatever next meeting he scheduled himself. You haven't added anything new to his calendar in days.
You know what you did wrong; you pushed on a boundary that, although he never verbally expressed, he had still drawn clearly. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and he snapped, and now everything that has to do with you makes him uncomfortable. And it deeply hurts your feelings.
You just wanted to keep being his Chief of Staff after death. You thought that would be a good thing—flattering, even. That in your death, you would still choose to sit outside Junhui's office, answering his phone and fielding calendar invitations and spending time with someone who felt like the first real friend you had in ages. Not someone who thought you were a fun time out, or someone who liked that you got discounts at the bar you worked at, or someone that only ever talked about themselves and never cared to know anything about you. But an actual friend.
And that's probably where it all went wrong anyway. Even the Devil understands professionalism. You have no business being friends with your boss. You're his roommate, and that's already so questionable on so many levels. Now that you've had all week to think about it, you recognize that your insistence that you stay his assistant is just another symptom of your fear of being left behind. The Contracts and Collections role didn't sound bad at all until he confirmed he wouldn't be with you. Then, it sounded like the dumbest job in the world.
Junhui could probably sense your desperation for friendship—for his friendship—as you pressed him for an answer during your probationary review. And of course that would be weird and uncomfortable. You put him in an awkward spot, and now you have no idea how to properly apologize, especially because you're still not confident you wouldn't still fall to your knees begging to keep this stupid job once you die.
What has your life come to?
"I don't know, what has it come to?"
You jump, turning to find Soonyoung entering the mail room again. You sigh, putting the fan letter to Jun you were failing to comprehend and respond to back down on the desk.
"I don't know," you mutter. "Sorry, didn't realize I was talking to myself."
He raises his eyebrows. "Whoa, no sarcastic quip? What's wrong?"
You look around. Save for a pair in the corner raiding the supply closet for packing tape to wrap a damned soul in, you and Soonyoung are alone in the room, and you've gotten to know the demon well enough that you think sharing some of your woes with him wouldn't be so bad.
"I have bad abandonment issues."
He freezes for a moment before dumping the packages he came in with into a random cart and taking the seat next to you. "Damn. That's heavy."
"Yeah."
"Parents or a bad ex?"
You snort. "Parents. I've never even been in a relationship."
"Oh. Do you want to talk about it?"
You shrug. "I have a therapy appointment soon."
He laughs, looking at you like you're silly. "Okay, that's nice, but you can still talk to a friend about your feelings. You don't have to wait to see your therapist."
Soonyoung turns his body to face you fully, propping his chin in his hand and giving you all his attention.
"C'mon. Tell Soonie all your woes. I'm listening."
Normally, you'd probably slap him and shove him away, telling him to leave you alone unless he has stories to share about his hot Earthling witch. But you've been sensitive about your review and Junhui's switch-up on you, so instead, you start to weep at the extended kindness.
"Oh!" Soonyoung squeaks, panicked. "Oh devil, don't cry! What's going on?" He scoots his stool closer to yours and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Hey!" he calls to the other two demons. "Get out of here! We need the room."
They oblige, shooting you worried glances as they scurry out with arms full of packing tape.
"What's wrong?" he asks softly once you're both left alone in the mail room.
"I had my performance review," you tell him, sniffling. "And it was going well, but then—but then, Jun said he doesn't want me as his assistant anymore once my contract is over."
"Huh?" The demon sounds as confused as you feel. "Why not?"
"I don't know!" you wail, startling him a little. "He wants to transfer me to Contracts and Collections once I die! He got so weird and… and… cagey about it, and he just left without having a proper conversation! And he hasn't talked to me since then!
"He doesn't wake me up. He leaves breakfast and coffee, but he doesn't wait for me to go to the office with him. He schedules his own meetings. He doesn't ask me for anything, not even hot pot. He hasn't talked to me—hasn't even looked at me!"
Soonyoung's palm starts to rub circles into your back as your crying becomes more and more hysterical.
"It's like he suddenly hates me!" you hiccup. "And I know that maybe I haven't been the most p-professional because I—I treat him like too much of a friend or a roommate or, or, or—whatever. But I thought we were friends. If he felt like I was crossing boundaries, why didn't he just say that?! He doesn't need to… to transfer me!"
"Hey, it's okay," the demon says soothingly. "He doesn't hate you. Anyone with eyes knows he doesn't hate you. Even the damned souls who've had their eyes gouged out know it. That can't be why he's transferring you."
"What else would it be?!" you shriek. "I kick ass at my job! My performance review said as much, anyway!"
"Why don't you just… ask him?"
"Because he won't talk to me!" you repeat, the words sending your forehead forward until it meets the desk with a thunk. Soonyoung makes a startled noise, his hand hovering over your slumped figure hesitantly. "And I'm scared."
He freezes, a shit-eating grin growing across his face. "You're scared? Of the Devil you swore wasn't scary?"
"Oh fuck off!" you wail, your tears making it impossible to see.
"Okay! Sorry! Sorry! Bad time!"
"What if I talk to him and he just fires me? Then, what? What happens to me? Where do I live? What do I do? Who will care if I'm not there one day?"
Soonyoung inhales sharply and says your name softly. "Do you really think no one else would care if you just… stopped showing up?" he asks, no judgment in the question. When you don't answer immediately, he assures you, "Because we would. We all would. You don't have to stay in that position or be around Jun 24/7 for somebody to care about you."
Your eyes widen at his use of your boss's name, but he doesn't panic or take it back or start stuttering out of fear like you think he normally would. Instead, he just shakes his head at you, brushing your hair out of your face and catching a tear with his knuckle.
"When you become a demon…" he says quietly, "you'll have your own living quarters in any part of Hell you want. You can even move into the lot next to mine. And if that's still not close enough to a friend, you can just be my roommate. Though I have to warn you that I sleepwalk sometimes and have been known to stab a stuffed toy or two during one of the spells."
You stare at him, mouth agape at the idea of Soonyoung stabbing you in his sleep.
"And if you really do get transferred somewhere else, then you'll be transferred somewhere else," he says nonchalantly, shrugging. "You'll get a new job, you'll kill it at that one too, and you'll continue to live your life down here with all of us. We'll keep torturing souls and hiding away from our jobs in the mail room and all the fun things we do now."
You feel your breathing start to slow. "You'd still be my friend?"
He grins. "Wait—" he takes his phone out. "Can you repeat that? I need to record it. What did you just call me?" You roll your eyes and slap his phone out of his hand, ignoring his gasp when it bounces on the table. "See, despite this behavior, yes. I will still be your friend."
"But do you think Jun would be? Do you think he'd have anything to do with me if I weren't working for him?"
"Mmm, it's not about the position, is it?" he asks. "It's about him." You stay quiet, ashamed of the implications of your answer. Soonyoung doesn't tease you or judge you or tell you that whatever it is you're feeling is wrong. He just sighs. "He loves you."
You frown deeply at the words, but the demon is too busy staring at the wall absentmindedly to notice.
"I can't see a world where he wouldn't want to stay your friend. You're the best assistant he's ever had, and he likes you enough to keep you as a roommate. And create a holiday for you."
And get angel cake for you. And decorate the kitchen for you. And take you to Earth whenever you feel like it or he thinks you need it. Constantly ask after your health. Make sure you eat three meals a day even though he needs to be reminded it's time to drink blood and eat organs. Trust you with things he's never told anybody else. Never let you be alone in the house at night even if he's ignoring you because he must know by now how much you hate it.
He's meant to be the most despicable creature in the universe, and he likes you enough to be soft for you.
"Oh my god," you murmur, pushing yourself up off the desk. "You're right."
"Yeah. I usually am."
"Don't push it."
"Fine."
"But… if he doesn't want to fire me, what reason would he have to transfer me out?" To get you farther away from him.
Soonyoung looks at you in amusement. "He may be the Devil, but everyone feels afraid of something." He shrugs. "He's probably scared too."
DAY NINETY-EIGHT
The last person you expect to be in Junhui's office when you barge in is a woman so blindingly beautiful, it makes you want to rip your own eyeballs out of your head and stomp on them for ever having the audacity to look upon her. She's seated across from him, with perfect hair and perfect posture and a perfect manicure and a perfect aura that seems to pulse and glow around her.
"Y/N!" she exclaims, gasping and standing. "I've heard so much about you." She throws Junhui a look before she walks over to you, a stupid and perfect smile on her stupid, perfect lips. "I've been wanting to meet you for quite some time, but I think Jun here has been hiding you from me. Worried I might poach you." She leans in and theatrically whispers, "I can totally make that happen, by the way, if you ever want to cross over to the light side."
"Y/N, meet God," Junhui sighs, waving a hand at the woman. "God, Y/N."
The revelation overshadows the fact that that's the first thing Junhui has said to you in days. You gasp so loudly, your boss flinches, and your eyes widen, quickly darting between the two. "God?! Is that you?!"
"In the flesh!" she says cheerily, brushing her hair behind her shoulders and grinning with all her perfectly white teeth.
"Oh my god—I mean, uh—oh my—holy shit—I mean, what the fuck?!" you stammer. "I've been wanting to meet you since I heard you were a woman."
She laughs and the sound is like choir bells softly ringing in the distance. "Of course I'm a woman. They would never put Heaven in the hands of a man."
"Oh my god—shit, sorry."
She shakes her head. "You can say it. I don't care."
"Oh my god," you say again just to say it. "You're so beautiful. I've literally never seen someone more beautiful."
"Okay, this is ridiculous." Your boss goes ignored.
"What's your skincare routine?"
"I use the tears of incels as my toner."
"Ugh, duh, of course."
"Y/N," Junhui says your name in a way that reminds you he's been busy pretending to hate you all week. "Is there a reason you're barging in here, interrupting my meeting without so much as a knock?"
"I'm going to head out," God announces, smiling. "Y/N, let's get coffee sometime."
"She's busy."
"No, I'm not!" you deny immediately. "Coffee would be amazing!"
"Splendid. I'll have my assistant reach out. See you soon then." She turns to Junhui and raises her eyebrows at him, and when he rolls his eyes but nods anyway, you wonder if they can communicate telepathically. She disappears, leaving nothing but dove feathers and white petals in her wake—both of which dissolve before you can lean down and pluck either off the ground as a keepsake.
You exhale, the rush of meeting God leaving you quite breathless. After a few moments, Junhui clears his throat exaggeratedly, gesturing for you to get on with whatever you rudely barged in here for.
You step forward, taking a seat where God just was. "Wow, God was just sitting here," you mutter. Junhui doesn't entertain you with a response. "Um. Hello."
"Hi."
"Why are you ignoring me?" you ask.
"I'm not," he denies it. You stare at him but he doesn't offer you anything else. He knows he doesn't have to explain himself to you, of all people.
"You are."
"I'm busy. That's all. So if you don't mind…" He tilts his head toward the door of his office. You stay right where you are.
"Are you not going to admit things are weird?" you ask, giving it one last shot before you try your best to make your boss near-homicidal. "That the best thing for the both of us is for me to stay here, as—"
"You don't know what the best thing for me is," he cuts in, face too blank for how cold his words are. "I've been alive longer than you can fathom, and I've fared just fine. I don't need you pretending you know what's best for me."
"You're being cruel, Junhui," you say, squeezing your hands into fists to keep them from trembling.
He smirks. "Yeah. Well. Welcome to Hell, darling."
You have no idea what happened in the last week—what could have caused Junhui to switch on you so fast—but it's clear to you now that you're not going to get an honest answer out of him with civil conversation.
"I've been thinking," you say, trying not to lose your nerve as you lie through your teeth. "If we both know that our time is limited and that you'll release my employment as soon as my contract is over, then maybe we should terminate my contract altogether. Maybe you should just… send me back to Earth."
He freezes, that blank mask falling over his features again. "Repeat that?"
You swallow. "Maybe we should—"
"And why the fuck would I do that?" he snaps before you can do as he asked and repeat yourself. "Your employment replaces the eternal servitude your parents were indebted with. Terminating now, a measly three months into your contract, would not benefit me."
"According to our termination clause," you say, begging your voice not to shake, "I'm under no obligation to deliver the equivalent of eternal servitude at the time of termination. The only requirement for termination is my natural death, the collapse of reality, or a mutual agreement."
"None of which you have," he hisses. "Because you sure as hell don't have my agreement. Now if you're done being a nuisance—"
"The fourth option was a legal challenge by three cosmic authorities and one archangel."
His eyes narrow at you, without a doubt hearing your negotiation voice through your nervousness. "You're aware that the only cosmic authorities are me and God, right? That the inclusion of that in your termination clause is a trick meant to present you with the illusion of choice?"
You scoff. If you were serious about terminating your employment, you'd be seriously pissed.
"I don't know why you keep needing me to remind you who I am," he says, his words landing sharp around the edges. You have no idea why he's so angry, but it's giving you more courage to do what you need to. "It's my job to be deceitful."
"Okay, let's try something new then," you say through gritted teeth, smiling tightly. "I'll remind you who I am. To answer your question, yes, I'm aware that you think the only cosmic authorities are you and God." His eyebrow furrows at the distinction. "So while you were busy throwing a tantrum and ignoring me all week, I have been studying. It turns out there are quite a few authorities I can choose from."
You see it clear as day—the panic that briefly flashes across his face before he schools it back into that careful mask again. His fingers grip the arms of his seat tightly as his eyes search you for some sign that you're bluffing.
"I happen to know a witch," you explain. "She communes with Pagan gods—a number of which she has assured me would be happy to uphold a challenge on my behalf."
"Pagan gods have no authority in Hell," Junhui's voice is low and dangerous, and you think if you were someone he liked even just a little less, your head would already be rolling right now.
"I'd imagine that has no bearing since the clause says 'cosmic authority,' not infernal authority," you point out, delighted when you catch his eye twitch. "But if that's your argument, I have another back-up."
"Wow. You really thought this through, didn't you, darling?" he asks, glaring at you. "So eager to be rid of me?"
"You've reminded me so many times who you are," you say simply. "I wasn't going to bring a knife to a gun fight with the Devil."
He hums in mock amusement, seeming more devilish now than you've ever seen him. His eyes flash a deep red. "Cunning little thing. Fine. I'll play along. Tell me about this back-up of yours."
You smile. "There's no higher authority than the Devil and God."
"Glad you agree."
"Except for the deities that made them."
He stares at you for so long, you'd assume he malfunctioned in any other scenario. You don't know how much time has elapsed when he asks, "You called my mom and dad…?"
You grin. "Yes! With the help of my witchy friend. Very lovely—your parents. Your dad took a little convincing, but with the help of your very understanding mother, we were able to secure his agreement to help." You shrug. "So with all of these options, I'd say I have more than enough authorities to legally challenge my contract."
"Wrong," he seethes. "You also need an archangel, and if God wants to avoid the guarantee of me absolutely decimating Heaven, she will be smart to advise her little, feathered flies to stay far, far, far away from you."
You purse your lips. "Well, that makes this a little awkward because Joshua has already agreed to—"
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
His voice causes a sort of sonic boom in his own office as he stands and slams his hands on his desk. You shriek as your hair is blown away from your face and the marble under his hands fractures into several hairline cracks. The Devil disappears, reappearing at your side and yanking your seat violently away from his desk. You gasp at the motion, the sound of it getting caught in your throat when Junhui hinges at the hips and cages you in with a hand on each arm of the seat. You're almost nose-to-nose as he speaks.
"What the fuck do you think you're playing at, hm?" he asks, his eyes bright red now. "Do you really want to do this with me right now? Because I'll fucking do this."
"Do what, Junhui?" you ask quietly.
"If you think you can leave me before I say it's okay to, you're so mistaken, it's pitiful," he tells you. "I own you. Do you understand? I own you. You belong to me."
"No I don't!" you protest weakly. "We specifically negotiated that when I first came here! It's in my—"
"I do not care," he accentuates each syllable, his voice drenched and dripping in so much venom, it shuts you up. "You think I need words to make you mine?" he barks a laugh out at the thought.
For the first time since meeting him, you truly see the Devil now. You think you understand why the others are so scared of him sometimes. Unfortunately, you don't quite have the same survival instinct they do, because all this does is make way for that familiar ache low in your stomach to return.
"Your contract is binding. If I have the means to leave, then—"
"Oh, baby, I'll have you chained up at home faster than you can ask any of your so-called gods for help," he informs you, snickering as he does. You squeeze your thighs together uselessly. It does nothing to alleviate your pain.
When the sound of his laughter dies, he takes a slow, deep breath, his exhale brushing up against your lips. He clicks his tongue in disapproval as his eyes sweep your face, his face deceivingly soft even though he looks like he's ready to eat you alive.
"I fear I've given you the wrong impression of me," he says quietly, one hand coming up to trace the side of your face as his gaze follows his own movement. The ache inside you grows nearly unbearable as he drags his finger down your cheek, across your jaw, and to your throat. "I'll admit it, though. It is my fault.
"I was nice to you. I cooked for you. Made sure you were happy. Safe. I gave you all my time. All my energy. And now you think because I care about you, that I'm also going to play nice. That I'll play fair, and I'll stop being the Devil."
One by one, his fingers slowly and delicately wrap themselves around the front of your throat. His gaze comes up to meet yours when he feels you swallow under his palm, and whatever he sees just makes his eyes glow a brighter red. He smirks.
"But you've got it all backwards. It's because I care about you that I'm going to play dirty. I care about you more than I've cared about any damn thing in my life," he says, stealing your breath away. "And you think I'd let something as trivial as our fucking signatures keep me from you?"
His grasp goes from your throat to your cheeks, and he squeezes, bringing you right back to the first night he appeared in your apartment.
"I'll tear that contract up right now, Y/N. I don't care. I'll keep you here anyway. You don't get to change everything about my life and then decide to leave it, darling. I don't care how ugly it makes me. I don't care if you think I'm a monster. I don't care. You're going to be here for fucking ever."
You glare at him, wriggling your face until it's free of his hold. He snorts, bringing it back down to the arm of your chair. "So you don't want me to leave."
He narrows his eyes at you. "I barely want you out of my sight. Why would I want you to leave?"
"God, was that so fucking hard?!" you shout, planting both hands on his chest and shoving him away from you. He steps away, clearly baffled as you stand and put space between the two of you before whipping back around. "You want me here! You want me to stay! You want me to be with you!"
His cheeks turn pink even as he looks at you like you're losing your mind. He doesn't confirm it, simply staring at you as you breathe hard at the realization that you and Soonyoung were right. Junhui is scared to lose you. If this isn't a man as equally terrified of being without you as you are of being without him, you don't know what is. It's just infuriating that he could only communicate that once you pretended you were set on leaving.
"I want to be here too," you say breathlessly. "I love it here so much. I love being here. With you. I love being with you. I…" You swallow hard, shaking your head. "Junhui, I love you."
He doesn't move a muscle, doesn't say a word—doesn't really show any sign of life, really. But you force yourself to keep going.
"I'm not even sure what to do with all of it because I've never felt this before. I've never cared like this before either. And if you're being honest… if you care about me too… then I'm confused.
"I don't know why you're trying to push me away. Why you're trying to make me go somewhere else, or have to be without you. I don't know why you want me to leave when my contract is up. If you need space, then say that. But… don't cast me out. Don't make me be without you," you plead pathetically.
You don't register that Junhui is walking toward you until you're done speaking and he's already reaching you, stopping when you're toe-to-toe. There's a split second where he seems to give you the chance to take everything you said back, but it passes too quickly for you to even fully register. Because his patience snaps and his large hands cradle your face, walking you backward until your back hits the wall. You find that he's taken the both of you back home, and you're in his room, pushed right up against his door.
He looks like he's committing your face to memory as one thumb runs across your bottom lip, before it pulls it down enough to open your mouth. He inhales sharply when you take it in, eyes fluttering closed as the warm saltiness of his skin hits your taste buds. He presses his thumb into the center of your tongue, dragging it out of your mouth and groaning at the obscenity of your spit coating his digit and dripping down his wrist. He lifts his thumb off you and you look up at him through your eyelashes, swallowing as you do.
"I wasn't trying to push you away. I'm sorry—I was—I'm…" He falters, unsure where to start. "I don't want you to be without me either," he finally says, voice husky as he stares at you like you're actively torturing him. "I need you. I need you so badly, you have no idea."
"Show me."
Without waiting another moment, Junhui leans down, and his mouth is on yours, hot and commanding as his hand snakes around the nape of your neck to bring you impossibly closer. His other hand comes to your waist, balling your shirt up and squeezing like he's fighting the instinct to tear it off.
You let your body give into its own instincts, kissing him the way it tells you it needs to and grabbing him wherever it wants to. You swear it feels like you spent your whole life doing this. Like you've never done anything other than kiss Junhui senseless. His tongue prods your mouth open, and you surrender, giving him entry to any part of you he wants.
You moan, sighing into it when his tongue meets yours, licking into your mouth so fervidly and getting you so burning hot, you're half worried your body is actually catching on fire.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispers as you break away for a breath, not missing a beat as he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck.
"Junhui," you gasp, "if you stop, I swear I'll find a way to fucking kill you."
He chuckles against your skin, the mere feeling of his breath causing you to roll your hips into his. He groans at that, roughly pressing his already hard dick against you and pinning you to the door completely. You whimper, immediately trying to create friction on your clit but finding that you can't move under him.
"Be careful, darling," he warns you, his voice vibrating through his chest and into yours, where you're pressed together. "You don't know what you're playing with."
"Please," you whine, throwing your head back and sighing impatiently. "Please, please, please. Need more."
"Ugh, sound so pretty," he grunts, allowing just enough space for him to fit his hand between you and unbutton your pants. "So needy, hm? What do you need, darling? Tell me."
He brings the zipper down, his pointer finger resting against the bare skin right above your panties.
"Need you."
"I'm right here."
"Touch me," you beg, trying to roll against him. He flattens his palm against your stomach and keeps you in place, smirking when you whine in frustration. "Please!"
"Mmm," he hooks one finger into your panties, running it back and forth teasingly. "So impatient." He slips his finger in further, making your breath hitch. "You should know by now…" he whispers, finally slipping his hand down your panties. "That I'll give you anything…" He cups your cunt, holding you steady when the sensation makes your entire body jerk. "Anything you ask for."
You gasp and grip his shoulder tightly as he parts your folds, running two fingers through them and collecting your arousal before he presses your clit firmly.
"Oh fuck," you breathe, head tilting back against his door. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Junhui."
"Fucking love it when you say my name," he confesses in a broken whisper to your ear, massaging you too slowly. You look up at him, dazed and convinced you'd collapse to the floor if he stepped away from you. He watches you with hooded eyes and a lazy smile. "Will you say it again for me, darling?"
"Junhui," you near cry, gasping when he rewards you with faster, harsher circles. "Junhui, I—"
You squeal as you're suddenly bouncing back in his bed, his tall frame towering over you as he kneels between your legs. You didn't anticipate Junhui using his Hell-given abilities while fooling around, but you find it useful, wasting no time sitting up and whipping your shirt off your body before reaching for the buttons on his and undoing them clumsily.
You're not even through all of them when you shove the fabric off his shoulders frantically, unable to help yourself as you giggle at the sight of a topless Junhui in bed with you. Before you can bring your hands to his bare skin, his fingers circle around your wrists, stopping you.
You look up at him to find him looking at you with wide eyes and parted lips.
"Are… are you okay?" you ask, unable to ask if he changed his mind. You don't think you'll be able to recover from the embarrassment of your eagerness if he's suddenly changed his mind.
He squeezes your wrists, absentmindedly bringing them to his chest and holding them there. You press your palms against his hot skin, exhaling when you feel his steady heartbeat underneath your fingertips.
Junhui utters your name so softly, it almost sounds like a hallucination. You look back up at him, and you're floored by how much reverence he looks at you with, his eyes searching you with an almost panicked energy—like eternity isn't enough time to spend looking at you. You melt into his grip.
"Junnie?"
"I, uh," he starts, licking his lips nervously. "I'm right there with you… I don't know what to do with everything I feel either. It's so—" He swallows. "It's so much. And I've never felt like this."
You swipe your thumb across his heartbeat, giving him an encouraging smile and nod as you wait for him to think through his thoughts. He exhales.
"I can't promise to know what to do at every turn," he admits. "I know I've already messed up. But… I love you too." The side of his mouth twitches up into a brief smile before it opens again to speak. Nothing comes out for a moment. Then, he says it again. "I love you. And you'll never be without me. Never."
You bring a hand to cradle his face, the grasp he has on your wrist sliding down to hang loosely from your forearm. He leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.
"Junhui," you murmur. "Are you going to show me?"
He nods, smiling as he starts to crawl over you until you're pressed flat against his pillows. He reaches down to kiss you, licking, sucking, and biting as he does. Then, he starts making his way down, mouth leaving marks in your skin as he does, and you're too busy getting lost in the pleasure of belonging to someone to protest the hickeys. You know you'll be mortified later, but right now, the thought of everyone seeing what Junhui did to your body makes you so unbelievably wet, you squirm underneath him.
"Junhui," you breathe, hips bucking up into his. "I, um—oh fuck."
His fingers hook into your pants and your underwear, shoving both down as he bites your collarbone. He runs his tongue across his marks before he sits back, pulling your clothes off your legs and tossing them aside carelessly and leaving you naked from the waist down. He rests his hands atop your thighs, massaging the flesh there as he stares down at your pussy, his eyes growing so dark, they're nearly black.
"Perfect," he whispers as he drops to his stomach between your legs, hooking each over his shoulders so he can get as close to you as humanly possible. "Tell me I can. Please."
His eyes don't leave your glistening cunt as he pleads, groaning when you clench around nothing because the ache is threatening to kill you at this point. You nod frantically.
"Ye—" You're cut off by your own gasp because that's all he needs.
He surges forward, his tongue lapping at your clit like he hasn't eaten in ages. You struggle to keep your hips still, your mind reeling as you experience something you never have before. How did people do this? How did people feel this good and keep from completely falling apart in someone else's hands? Because you think you might die tonight. You think you might die right here, in Hell, with the Devil's face pressed tightly against your cunt as he drinks you up.
He holds your legs open, groaning as he licks stripes up your folds, his tongue leaving no part of you unexplored.
"Junhui," you moan, hand slipping into his hair and pulling uncontrollably. The vibrations of his groans against you make your toes curl, and you think you're edging closer and closer to this imminent death. "I'm… I…"
"What is it, baby?" he sloppily speaks against you, refusing to let his mouth completely leave your pussy. He travels further down, until his tongue is poking into your hole, gently massaging its way in until his cheeks are practically welded to your inner thighs and his nose is buried in your folds.
"Holy shit!" you gasp, hips rolling on their own in rhythm with Junhui's tongue as it licks and thrusts into you. "Oh… oh my god… Jun… Jun, I… I… so good. It feels so good…"
He pauses for only a moment to tell you, "Come on my face, darling."
There's no time to respond before his tongue is inside you again, and the words alone are enough to push you toward what you thought was death and realize now was your orgasm. Your fingers close in a fist around Junhui's hair, your other hand gripping his sheets like you'll float right out of your body if you let go.
The noises that leave your mouth are noises you've never made in your life, and they just make Junhui move more aggressively—more desperately. Just before he retracts his tongue, he breathes you in deeply, his hips grinding into his bed as he groans at your scent.
"Jun!" you shriek, mortified as you shove his head away. It doesn't go far; after all, you aren't very strong compared to the literal Devil.
"You smell divine," he informs you, licking the entire length of your slit and taking another deep inhale. "You smell like you're mine. Taste like you're mine."
You whimper at the nearly overstimulating sensation. He lifts his head and when you meet his eyes, you flinch and it makes him smirk. The dark of Junhui's eyes had spread while he was between your legs, and there's no longer any white left of them.
"Are you scared?" he asks, his voice powerful and guttural. Almost wild. He crawls up over you, head tilting as he stares at you and waits for your response.
"No," you say truthfully. You writhe under him, hands reaching for his naked torso. He leans back before you can touch him, though, obviously amused when you're disappointed. "Jun."
"Hm?" he hums, clearly distracted as he's turning his attention back to your pussy. He takes two fingers through your folds before he brings them to his mouth, sucking hard and tilting his head back with a hedonistic moan. "You're delectable, baby."
You breathe hard, even as all you do is lay there, watching the man you've managed to fall in love with in a handful of months taste parts of you no one else has and now never will. It does something to you—knowing that he's consumed a part of you. That you're inside the Devil.
"Mmm, I'm part of you now," you whisper. He lets his fingers fall from his mouth and when he brings his head back down, his black eyes pierce right through you.
"Does the thought of that please you?" he asks, bending down to lick and nibble at the flesh of your inner thigh. You're too busy squirming to answer the question. "Do you like thinking of us as one?"
"Yes, Junnie," you sigh. "Oh my god, yes."
He smirks, two fingers slipping into you without much resistance after he's already made you come. "Do you want a part of me too, darling?" You mewl as he spreads his fingers, scissoring you open leisurely. "You can have my fingers…" He shoves his fingers into you until he's knuckle-deep, pulling a cry out of you before he starts curling his fingers into a spot that has you seeing stars when you squeeze your eyes shut. "You can have my mouth… my tongue…"
"You," you gasp. "Want you."
"Hm. Maybe soon… if you can give me another one," he tells you, fingers moving faster. "Do you think you can give me another one, baby?"
You nod, murmuring incoherently, no idea what you're even trying to say. Your body starts to move on its own, trying desperately to meet Junhui's fingers with so much fervor, you're sure his knuckles will leave you bruised. You don't care, not when you're so close.
"One more." Junhui's voice is suddenly at your ear, his tongue darting out to catch your lobe and suck. You let out a hysterical keen at the two sensations working together to bring you to your second orgasm. When you get there, the feeling pulls you under, and you officially lose yourself in the Devil's bed.
It feels like free-falling through the dark, nothing but the sound of Junhui's praise reminding you where and who you are.
"That's it, baby, that's it," he growls, his fingers becoming frenetic as he pants above you, hips grinding against you. "Oh, you're doing so good. You're fucking perfect."
"Need it," you gasp, finally blinking your eyes open as you register the rock hard body part pressed into your thigh as Junhui's cock. "Need it, please. Please."
You press Junhui away from you, holding your breath as his fingers slip out of you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, letting the straps of your bra fall off your shoulders. Junhui's black eyes drop at the movement as he brings his fingers into his mouth again. His eyes seem to roll into the back of his head momentarily, and you get chills only seeing more black. Once he's swallowed your slick, he leans over you, arm immediately coming up to wrap around your torso. His fingers make quick work of the clasps of your bra, popping it open easily and tossing it aside the same way he did your other clothes.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes," he whispers, chanting the word over and over again as he dips down to take your nipple in his mouth.
"Junhui," you call, clearing your throat when you hear how raspy your voice sounds. He hums but continues circling your nipple with his tongue. "Junhui, hold on."
He immediately releases you, head snapping up to look at you. You watch as his eyes return to normal, allowing you to see the concern in them upon hearing your request to stop.
"Are you okay?" he asks, pushing himself off your body slightly.
"No—yes! I mean yes," you say, laughing a little. "I'm okay. I just…" you reach up to trace the lines of his collarbone, into his pecs, and down his abs, feeling entranced and momentarily forgetting what you wanted to say.
"What is it, darling?" He reaches up to massage your breast and you let your eyes flutter closed.
"I'm… I've uh, never done this," you admit.
He freezes over you, and you open your eyes, a little panicked that he's about to stop before you get to the good part—the part you desperately need. But he looks down at you fondly, a small smile on his lips.
"You've never done what?" he asks teasingly.
You glare at him. "Junnie, please."
He laughs. "I'm just kidding, love." He bends down to catch your lips in a quick kiss.
"I like that."
"What?" he asks, leaning back to look at you once more. "'Love'?" You nod sheepishly and he grins. "Mmm, 'love' it is."
The two of you kiss for a few minutes, just enjoying the feeling of your tongues sliding against each other and your hands caressing each other's bodies. When you start bucking up into him again, he breaks the kiss and presses his hips to yours to stop you from moving. You groan in frustration.
"Are you sure?" he asks. "That you want to… do this? With me?"
You nod. "Yes. Yes. I've never been surer. Are you—"
"Don't even," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. You bite down a giggle. He sits back on his heels, unbuttoning his pants, and your heart leaps into your throat.
You sit up along with him, crawling onto your knees and gently pushing his hands away as you undo his zipper. When his slacks and his underwear are off, your throat suddenly feels dry as you wonder if there's enough room inside you for him.
"Oh my god," you breathe.
"C'mere," he says softly, taking your hand in his and guiding you until you're straddling his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist and hugging you to him. You wrap your hand around his cock between your bodies, pumping a few times before you press it against your clit for you to grind against. "Fuck."
You moan in agreement, your movements growing frantic as you chase the friction, your slick coating the underside of his cock until Junhui is near whimpering underneath you.
"Are… are you ready?" he asks, hand tracing gentle shapes into the skin of your back. You nod quickly.
"Yes, yes, please, I'm ready."
He untangles his arms from you, one hand planting itself on the bed behind him to support the two of you and the other finding yours and intertwining with your fingers. He guides you to lean your weight into your joined hands as you rise onto your knees to line his cock up with your hole.
"Take it as slow as you need to," he reminds you, leading your hand to his shoulder and wrapping his arm around your waist once more. "It might hurt a little at first. We can stop at any point, okay?"
You shake your head. "No, not okay."
He smirks but it quickly falls off his face when you start lowering yourself, the head of his cock sliding into you with ease at first. It quickly meets resistance, though, your muscles tensing at his size.
Your fingers curl against his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. He doesn't complain, simply leaning forward to leave gentle kisses across your collar and shoulder. He doesn't hurry you, either, saying nothing when you have to pause for a minute or two to adjust to his size. Between the kisses he leaves on you and the caress of his fingers, you relax enough to let him in inch by inch.
Then, finally, he bottoms out, your hips meeting with the delicious feeling of his balls resting against your ass.
He groans loudly, touching his forehead to your shoulder. You cradle his head, trying to breathe through the overwhelming feeling of being full.
"You're so big," you whisper.
"Mmm…" he hums absentmindedly, the hand on your back pressing flat against you like he needs you even closer than you already are. "Breathe, baby."
The command is the only reason you notice you're holding your breath. You try to exhale, struggling with the feeling that if you do, Junhui's dick will quite literally split you in half.
"Breathe…" he coos soothingly. "You're fine, love, you're fine. Just breathe… take your time."
You don't know how long it takes for your abdominal muscles to relax around the feeling of Junhui inside your guts. When you do, though, you know it's okay to move from the fact that breathing finally comes easily to you again.
"Junhui," you call, clearing your throat. "I want to move now."
"Go ahead, baby," he says, nodding. "I've got you."
He supports you, holding you with so much care as you start with rolling your hips to ease yourself into the feeling of him moving inside you. It's only a few more movements before you're lifting yourself off him and coming back down, the drag of his cock inside you pulling moan after moan out of you.
You bring both palms to either side of Junhui's face, tilting his head up. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, his pupils vibrating erratically like there's a battle happening inside him. You take shallower thrusts to reach down and connect your lips to Junhui's, eagerly swallowing all the whimpers he makes.
Then, when you break apart, foreheads resting against each other, you look into his eyes and tell him, "Let go, Junhui. Let go for me."
Whatever is happening inside him comes to a head, and the black of his pupils start to seep into the brown, and into the white, spreading until his eyes are a bottomless abyss again. But Junhui's pleasure knows no bounds now, and the perimeter of his room also goes up in white hot blue flames. As his moans get louder, the fire pulses, growing and climbing up the walls and across the ceiling but never burning through anything or getting anywhere close to you.
You groan at the thought of you and your cunt being the cause of this burning loss of control the Devil is experiencing, and it suddenly isn't enough. You tilt your head up, eyes barely focusing on the rippling blue flames dancing above your heads as you lift yourself almost completely off him before crashing back down. The room is a cacophony of skin meeting skin, desperate gasps for air, and whines for more.
"Oh, fuck," Junhui curses, leaning back onto the hand on his bed to support himself as he starts to thrust his hips up to meet yours each time you come back down. The flames ferociously lick every surface of the walls.
"Junnie," you gasp when his movements start to get rough, the feeling of being split open no longer scaring you and suddenly becoming a sensation you're actively chasing. "Feels… feels so good."
"You feel fucking amazing," he tells you with a broken moan. "Made for me."
You nod desperately. "I was." You ride him easily now, smiling when you notice him watching your tits as they bounce in his face with every thrust. "Was made just for you."
"Fuck," he whimpers, the glow of blue fire illuminating just how much he enjoys that. "Say that again. Fucking say that again." His grasp on your waist becomes bruising and it makes the burn in your thighs tolerable as you slam down on him repeatedly.
"This pussy was made for you," you tell him, the words followed by a scream when Junhui suddenly turns the two of you over without warning, leaving you no time to adjust as he starts thrusting into you so fast and hard and violently, you're immediately rendered boneless.
"That's fucking right," he grunts, taking both your hands in his and holding them above your head as his hips piston mercilessly. "Just for me, huh?" You nod wildly. "Your first and your last."
"Junhui!"
He kisses you then, his mouth hungry and impatient and sending an electric sensation straight to your cunt. Almost like he knows what's happening underneath him, he starts grinding his pubic bone hard over your clit to drive you even closer.
"Jun…" You squeeze your eyes shut and your nails carve half moons into his hands. "I'm going to… I'm…"
"Me too, love," he breathes. "So close…"
"Please," you beg, though you're unsure what for. Junhui seems to know somehow because he nods at your pleas. "Please, baby."
"Gonna fill you up," he promises. It isn't until he says that that you realize that's exactly what you're begging for. "Is that what you want? Wanna be pumped full of my cum?"
"Fuck, yes. Yes."
It only takes two more thrusts before your thighs are clamping around his torso hard, the heels of your feet digging into the small of his back as you come. Your walls spasm and suck him in, demanding more of him even as you hug him as close as possible with your legs.
He grunts loudly, fucking you through your orgasm for only a few seconds more before his own hits him. The fire roars and the room is bathed in blue. "Take it, baby," he nearly shouts when he comes inside you. It feels never-ending as he fucks his own cum deeper and deeper into you. "You want it, take it all."
"Junhui," you whimper, feeling him beginning to spill out of you when his cum has nowhere else to go. "No, no, no, no. Please." He hums in question. "Keep it in. Keep it… keep—"
The flames slowly fade to red, calming down to a gentle flicker that's more reminiscent of candlelight than the wild Hellfire used to melt flesh off the bones of damned souls. Junhui's thrusts come to a stop, and he makes sure to go as far into you as he can to seal his seed inside you. You sigh happily at the thought of being full of him.
"Thank you," you mutter, hugging him close. "Thank you."
He peppers everywhere he can reach with kisses—your face, your neck, your hair—careful not to move his lower body so you don't start whining that he's letting his cum drip out of you again.
"How are you?" he asks after he feels that you've caught your breath. "Are you okay?"
You nod. Okay is an understatement. You don't think you've ever felt bliss quite like this. Your body is so loose and pliant and relaxed, and you know it's because you've been so thoroughly and carefully fucked.
"I love you." It's the last thing you say before you unintentionally drift off to sleep.
DAY NINETY-NINE
When you wake up, it's dark and warm, and you've been cleaned and changed into your silk pajamas. You don't doubt that all happened with a snap of Junhui's fingers. You take stock of your body, wincing a little at the soreness between your legs and in your thighs.
"Hey." Junhui's voice is gravelly and thick with sleep. His arms follow close behind his greeting, tightening around your waist and pulling you until your back is flush against his chest.
"Hi," you whisper through a yawn.
"How do you feel?" He plants a kiss on your shoulder. "Does anything hurt?"
"Yes, but it feels good," you tell him honestly. "Really good."
"Good. Now come on. You need to eat."
You immediately shake your head. "No."
"Yes."
"No—hey!" Junhui suddenly disappears from the bed, leaving you without his arms wrapped around you. You shriek when the covers are ripped off you and the eye mask you didn't even know you were wearing vanishes, allowing the lights of Junhui's room to blind you. "Jun!"
"Food time," he hisses, hauling you up and into his arms.
You're seated at the kitchen island before you can register what's happening, a breakfast already cooked and ready for you. You blink at it.
"You cooked?"
"Of course I cooked. When have I not cooked you breakfast?"
You frown, realizing the only time he's ever left you without a meal in the morning was when he was sick. You just shared yourself with Junhui in a way you've never shared yourself with anyone, and still, this makes you blush furiously for some reason.
He smirks but doesn't comment on it. "Eat up, love. We have a lot to talk about."
And he doesn't waste any time, starting as soon as you've put away the last piece of bacon on your plate. The dishes disappear and he sits next to you, fully facing you and resting his arm along the back of your seat. He watches you carefully, a soft smile on his lips as he takes in every bit of you.
"Hi," you say pathetically.
"Hi."
"Thanks for breakfast. And… everything else. It was perfect."
His smile widens drastically, eyes raking over all the exposed bits of skin where he can see the marks he left on you with his mouth. Mercifully, he doesn't say anything about them. "You're perfect. Thank you for trusting me. For sharing that with me."
You blush furiously and look away, ignoring the way it makes him chuckle. "Okay, anyway, what do we need to talk about?"
"Ah. Your contract."
Your stomach sours. You'd forgotten that you two had never finished your conversation. You got so lost in Junhui—or rather, he got lost in you—it didn't occur to you that you still had things to discuss.
"It's important to me that you know I wasn't trying to make you leave," he mutters, reaching forward to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "I think I've made it quite clear how much I do not want you to leave."
You nod, trying not to fidget as you think about how much his reaction to the termination of your contract turned you on. "Well, then… so why do you want me to transfer out?"
"Because you were always going to be mine," he says simply. You raise an eyebrow at him.
"Presumptuous of you."
He shrugs nonchalantly. "So be it. But I knew. And you can't be mine if you work directly under me."
You bark out your laughter, looking at him incredulously. "You mean to tell me… you're willing to hold me hostage and chain me up at home, but you draw the line at fucking your assistant?!"
He purses his lips to keep from smiling at the mere mention of sex with you. He rolls his eyes. "Say what you want, but chaining you up and holding you hostage is kind of par for the course in Hell. Fucking your direct report, though—generally frowned down upon. You moving into another department upon your contract completion would take care of that for me. I just… didn't know how to communicate that without having told you how I felt yet.
"So... I kind of panicked and thought if I just stopped communicating at all, maybe that would quicken the process and you'd just want to transfer on your own sooner, then I could explain myself. I didn't anticipate you threatening to leave Hell altogether. But I can see why my behavior would make you feel like I wanted you to. I'm sorry for that."
You hum, nodding as you process this information. "See, this is why you need to go to therapy. You probably could've figured that out before I had a meltdown, sobbing to a demon in the mail room."
He frowns. "You cried?" You shrug. "And who the fuck did you cry to?"
You scoff. "You're such a jealous person."
"I am not jealous."
"You buried Minghao under so much work, the man won't even look at me anymore."
"Good. That's the point."
You roll your eyes but can't help the feeling of satisfaction that blooms in your chest at that. You'll never admit to him how much his possessiveness pleases you.
"I'm sorry again," he says. "For making you cry."
You shake your head. "It was a misunderstanding. I'm sorry for goading you into your own little meltdown."
He glares at you. "Don't ever do that again. I was this close to leaving you mid-sentence to go eviscerate Joshua. That would've been incredibly unfortunate." You raise your eyebrows at the understatement. "Did you really call my parents?"
You nod, smiling. "Yes. They're lovely. I didn't tell them anything, though. Just called under the guise that I was updating all of your contacts."
He laughs, shaking his head. "You're insane."
"I didn't know how else to get you to admit you wanted me to stay."
Junhui sighs, cupping a hand behind your neck and reaching forward to kiss you like he needs to remind you immediately that he does want you to stay.
"Of course I want you to stay," he says as he releases you. "You don't want to see what I'd do if you left."
"I can imagine," you say, amused.
"You can't," he disagrees, shaking his head. The seriousness in his voice doesn't scare you, though. It just turns you on all over again. "But we won't have to worry about that. Right?"
You shake your head. "Nope. Not unless you randomly decide to push me away again." He groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder and sighing. "I'm kidding, Junhui. We're fine. Your ranking of what's immoral is a little skewed, but we're fine."
He raises his head and glares at you. "Chains in Hell are normal."
"Sure."
"Fucking your direct report is not."
"You technically just did."
He winces. "Well, that's what we need to talk about."
Your heart jumps. "What do you mean…?"
Junhui reaches over to hold your hand, threading your fingers together. "You're going to have to transfer before your mortal death, darling."
"What…?" you ask, crestfallen. "But… I…"
"Hey, hey, hey," he calls, standing and pulling your bar stool so that it's facing him. He pushes your legs apart so he can stand between them and take your face in his hands. "You're still going to live here for as long as you want. You're still going to see me as much as you want. You're still going to be mine, and I'm still going to be yours. You're not going to be without me, okay?"
Your breathing slows, the Devil effectively quelling your growing panic before it even becomes anything real. "Okay."
"Yeah?"
You nod. "Yeah… yes. I'm still going to have you and my friends and my job and everything I love." And you're still going to have therapy to help you remember that.
He hums in affirmation. "Yes you are. You're going to have everything you've ever wanted and will want. I'll make sure of it."
Your cheeks grow hot and you turn in a weak attempt to hide it. But your face is still in Junhui's hold, so he guides your gaze back to his. He smiles fondly at the pink dusting your cheeks and bends down to press a kiss to both.
"I love you," he says, looking deeply into your eyes when he says it. "No matter where in Hell you are and no matter what role you're in. I love you and you have me."
You smile up at him, closing your eyes as you nod. You feel his lips touch your eyelids before they press against your mouth. He tastes like coffee and ghost pepper chips and you fight to keep from laughing in his face because of it.
"What?" he murmurs, feeling the amusement in your lips.
"Nothing," you say, shaking your head. "I love you, Junhui. Now take me back to bed."
"Gladly."
DAY ONE HUNDRED
THE INFERNAL ADMINISTRATION OF HELL
Office of Internal Communications
Memorandum
Executive Leave
Please be advised that His Infernal Majesty and his Chief of Staff will be out of office on approved executive leave for the next week.
During this period:
Do not attempt to summon His Infernal Majesty for matters deemed "urgent" unless they are apocalyptic
Matters involving routine damnation, contract approvals, ritual inquiries, plague authorizations, and standard temptations should continue through normal channels
Ouija Board communications from minors should be redirected to and screened by the Community Outreach Desk
Please note that executive leave is not to be interpreted as an invitation to stage a coup.
Additionally, His Infernal Majesty would like to announce an organizational restructuring. Upon her return from executive leave, Y/N will transition from the position of Chief of Staff to Director of Contract Negotiations.
In her new role, Y/N will oversee:
High-value mortal negotiations
Executive-level contract drafting and review
Treaty negotiations with celestial representatives
Appeals involving legacy soul agreements
Cross-departmental bargaining strategy
Y/N will now report to the Chief Torment and Innovation Officer.
A message from His Infernal Majesty:
"Y/N has demonstrated exceptional judgment, professionalism, and integrity throughout her tenure as Chief of Staff. This move reflects not only her accomplishments, but the confidence I place in her continued leadership. She has my full authority in all matters pertaining to infernal negotiations."
Please join Executive Leadership in congratulating Y/N on her well-earned advancement and wishing both executives a restful leave. (Fun Fact: The last time His Infernal Majesty took more than three consecutive days away from the office, the Byzantine Empire still existed!)
We appreciate your patience as he attempts this exciting new experience known as "relaxing."
This memorandum has been reviewed and approved by the Office of Internal Communications and His Infernal Majesty.
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