#But answering “it’s always been” it’s rejecting it

[nuhuhwinniethepooh]

Bestfriends?

Dark!Gojo x Reader

18+ MDNI, dark, animal cruelty, non-con, violence, Gojo is horrible (I mean it), baby-trapping. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should've known better than anyone that Satoru was never the merciful type.

His cheerful personality wasn't a facade but having known him for years made you aware of all the little tics that made him so terrifyingly him. Particularly that one little tic of his that always manages to send chills down your spine and ice the edges of your heart from fear despite him being your bestfriend.

The kind of fear that makes you wanna curl up into a ball and shrivel up just from the thought of being in the receiving end.

It's the little tic of his that makes him act like a cat which terrifies you even after all these years. It's not the way he acts so annoyingly asshole-ish like some cats or the way he acts so clingy like your beloved cat, Saibo, that scares you. No, it's the way he acts like a cat in it's most primal form that scares you. An instinct so abominable that it makes you cringe from disgust at just the thought of Saibo imitating it.

It's the very tiny tic of his that makes him toy around with his enemies like a cat that toys around with it's prey. Not for a just cause like survival but for the mere fact of entertainment to ease it's boredom; maybe you should've just killed yourself before it reached to the extent of making yourself Satoru's next target, his next prey and his pretty, little wife.

"Satoru, I told you twice already. My answer is a no, I don't want to marry you" you sigh, folding your arms across your chest as you look up at the man looming in your apartment doorway with an expression so blank that it reminded you of a statue.

A statue hand-crafted by the heavens itself and wearing the skin of your bestfriend.

His silence is a curse and for some eerie reason, you could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere behind you. Like a countdown of a bomb.

"Why?"

Flabbergasted doesn't even start to describe what you feel at his question because you've been telling him exactly why for the past two days since he stepped into your office and offered his proposal. And yet here he is, repeating the same question like a stuck recorder. There's nothing else you can say, you've already used up all of your excuses ranging from being an orphan to his clan elders future disapproval.

So when Saibo comes and rubs itself against your leg? There's only one utterly stupid sentence that presents itself-

"I promised my mum that I wouldn't marry anyone until I lose Saibo." Great, just great. You're a damn genius, obviously intelligent enough to dig a deep enough hole and bury yourself alive because why on Earth would you bring your sweet mum up right now. Leave the dead to rest in peace is what you should've don-

The smile tugging on his lips and the light tone of his voice after the uncomfortable silence cuts your monologue off. "That's all? I just have to wait for you to lose Saibo for you to marry me?"

"Watch your words, Gojo. You've gone too far" You snap, narrowing your eyes up at him.

If looks could kill, Satoru would've been buried a good 60 ft deep in because you obviously weren't gonna be satisfied with 6ft. Not after what he said; sure you did imply it but that still doesn't make it any better.

"This is going too far but rejecting me three times isn't?" Satoru scoffs, walking in so confidently that it made you stumble back and made your beloved cat hiss at him, bless her heart. His back faces you and suddenly it's cold, chills runs up your spine after your initial surprise fades and the click of the door lock seemingly drowns itself in the rapid thump of your now slowly thundering heart. You're getting deja vu, you're sure of it, it's the same sensation you always get when he gets on the battlefield.

When he turns back around, you notice that his blindfold was off but the look on his face is what makes you freeze. His gaze was anything but friendly and his eyes were a color so menacingly blue that it cuts through your skin and attaches itself in that tiny part deep inside you that always made you wary of him. For good reason.

Saibo jumps in front of you and promptly growls, a sound that you never heard her make, shaking you awake from your frozen daze and forcing you to watch the person you called your bestfriend quickly close the small distance.

"All I wanted was your acceptance" he says, ignoring the hissing cat in front of him "Is that really too much to ask for from you, pretty?"

"I can give you everything, Satoru. Everything except for that" you breathe out shakily, goosebumps rising in your arms when he caresses your cheeks. A touch so cold that you're not sure if it's because of his infinity or the frozen mechanism beating in his chest that he calls a heart.

"Then give me everything" Satoru's hand on your cheeks slides down to your neck, wrapping around it to pull you close "I'll give you everything you want in return, I'll give you anything in the world"

His hold gradually tightens on your throat, almost like a threat. No, it was a threat.

"Do you even know what you're asking for?" You spit out, nails digging into his wrist but that damn infinity of his kept you out and him safe almost like he was the victim in this situation.

"You clearly know that I do darling, and it's a damn shame really" He leans in, his eyes filled with so much adoration it makes you wanna gouge it out "Since I always thought you were a smart girl but maybe it's time to treat you like you're dumber than you are"

His last words are a whisper in your ears and in a split second his infinity is down and his lips roughly crash against yours, one hand squeezing at your throat and the other forcing your mouth open to shove his tongue inside while your hands tears into his skin and pushes at his chest, his face, his shoulders but all it earns you is a loud moan from him that shrivels something up inside you when you realise he likes it.

He likes your desperate attempts to free yourself from his disgusting hold. Likes the way you struggle against his grasp. Likes the way you whine and whimper protests against his lips, trying desperately to bite down on his tongue and finger but pathetically failing to do so-

What he doesn't like is the way Saibo also manages to dig her claws into his skin, much like you, albeit shallow due to the thick material of his pants but doing enough damage to attract his attention. You've had Saibo for 15 years and never was she so violent, tears springs in your eyes at the thought of it but before a single tear even manages to glide down your reddened cheeks, there's a push and you're down flat on the couch behind you and Satoru is holding a hissing Saibo by her fluffy white cuff.

"Shame, I actually liked you since you looked like me y'know?" Satoru hums, holding her at a safe distance with a small frown "Made me think that you'd remind her of me"

"Satoru, let her down" you manage out shakily, sitting up and holding a trembling hand out for Saibo. Hoping that Satoru wouldn't do what you think he's gonna do, he's your bestfriend afterall...isn't he? He should know better than that-

"I was trying so hard to be nice to you darling. I even went out of my way to ask you three times but you- hah- Honestly, you brought this to yourself" he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head, an almost feline grin plastered on his face as he steps back.

You've known Satoru for years now and sure he was a little volatile, somewhat impulsive and downright crazy when it came to the things he wanted but at least he was constant.

Constant enough for you to know that he was batshit insane.

"Satoru, please" you plead but her back is facing you and his hands is around her neck and there's nothing you can do but rush towards him a second too late. There's a sickening crack and a loud howl and Saibo's back is turned towards you but her cerulean eyes burns through your skin and heart and mind and soul an- the ticking of the clock finally stops. "Well she's gone now. Looks like you're finally able to marry me" his voice is light, almost cheerful while you're frozen in place. Tears blur your vision but both their cerulean eyes burns stark in your mind, Satoru and Saibo.

You've lost two bestfriends in one day. Lucky you.

There's a strangled cry emanating from somewhere, one so despaired that it claws at your heart and makes you wanna cover your ears and just cry yourself to death.

"I didn't want to do this either, darling" there's a quiet shushing and a warm hand places itself against your mouth, blue eyes gazing back at you like he hurts more than you do.

You shut your mouth and the sound is gone but the scratches in your heart still stings when you're pushed flat on your back. Still hurts when you limply tilt your head to the side to look at the lump of white on the coffee table and ignore the dull feeling of someone groping you because your pretty cat laid there, it's dead blues staring at you.

Saibo, your pretty little cat. Your mother had adopted a cat when you were young, a cat just as soft-spoken and warm as her. A pretty little ragdoll with soft, white fur and cerulean eyes that always licked at you like its own kitten when your own mother held you in her arms and cooed sweet nothings to you.

There's a numb hold on your cheeks and a hollow sound of squelching when you feel someone pry your mouth open and force something wet inside. Your blurry gaze flickers down to see your shirt missing and ugly red spots splotched across your chest, flickering your gaze upwards only to find blue eyes staring back at you.

Blue eyes like your mother's cat, one that never left your mother's bed after her death. She had a litter of five when your mother was alive, she had only one left after your mother's passing. The very one that she gently laid down on your open hands, licking your cheeks one last time before curling up in her usual spot and quietly passing away on your mother's bed a month lat-

"Don't go gazing off into the distance on me now, pretty girl" Someone coos in your ear, the blurriness of your vision slowly melting away when a warm hand wipes the silent tears streaming from your eyes. And then you see the familiar face of a man that looked nothing like your bestfriend, nothing like the Satoru you thought you knew.

You blink. Once. Twice. Trying to make sense of his echoing words through the haziness of your mind that wraps around you like a blank cocoon and numbs the intrusive feeling of his touch in between your legs. Time is a privilege and you don't know how long he's been at it but the dull heat resting low in your stomach and the disgusting feeling of his fingers moving inside you was as unwelcome as it was unwanted.

Not like he would've cared if you voiced it out.

Satoru always did have the ability to unceremoniously wrench the space people considered safe from underneath them; you've watched him give his enemies a false sense of security enough time to immediately recognise that familiar smile making its ways on his lips. The smile that made you realise that your fate was sealed, only proven true by the burning stretch that rips at the haze in your mind and steals the welcomed numbness to replace itself with burns that sears into your skin and brands itself deep inside.

"Satoru st-stop" you breathe out, brows furrowing from the sharp stings as you dig your nails into his skin and create little moon shaped dents into the milky expanse of his chest. "C-can't, won't" he groans out, pushing his cock well past the resistance of your clenching walls with gritted teeth "Also relax darling- hngh- you're just making it worse -shit, stop that" His hand besides your head moves to your hair, hold so tight that it pulls at your scalps and makes you grunt out in pain.

"Wait. Look I'm al-already halfway in" Satoru groans out delightedly, forcing your head up to make you look at the way he was buried inside you. Pulling out just a little to show his thick cock covered in your slick and blood because of course you'd bleed when an inhuman size forces itself inside your tight hole even after all the prep.

And then he's pushing back in mercilessly and there's a choked, painful moan forcing itself up your throat "St-stop -ah-it hurts!"

"I'm sorry darling. I know it hurts but it won't for long" he shushes at you quietly, pressing featherlight kisses on your forehead "It'll just hurt this one time, I promise." Your body is screaming so hard from the pain and betrayal that your voice seemingly loses itself in it, quiet gurgles being the only thing rising from your bleeding throat when he suddenly bucks his hips and bottoms out in you.

And then you're gone.

Nothing in this world could ever make you forget the sound of his heaving moan and guttural praises; praising you for taking him so well, acting like he didn't just force himself past your resistance and inside you.

Your tears and sobs don't deter him, it only turns him on, only encourages him to whisper sweet nothings in your ears, the sound of it makes you wanna rip your defiled ears off, and lick at the fat blobs of tears sliding down your cheeks. His small show of mercy is allowing you to adjust to his size; it only makes you feel worse, just the thought of him inside you for a second longer makes you wan-

An impatient thrust is all it takes for you to go numb again, body going limp when he runs out of patience and grabs hold of your hips to slam you down on him. Over and over and over again until you're nothing but a pile of meat and bones, and he's nothing but a groaning mess of everything you hate. Until your howls turns into muted little ah's and his held back moans morphes into a version of your name that he so religiously, and loudly, mewls in your ear with every buck of his hips against yours.

His voice is as muted as the sound of wet skin slapping against each other, your head limply tilted to the side with your gaze blankly fixated against the brown material of your couch when your body shuts itself down. But like all respite, Satoru steals it away again with a click of his tongue and a hand squishing your cheeks together into a small pout to force your head to the other side. Forcing you to look at the disproportioned lump of white on the table that you once called family.

Satoru could just say that he personally killed your mother at this point.

"Don't w- ngh-worry. Always knew you wanted a family" he rasps out, biting and sucking at every inch of skin he could get his lips on "Now I'll give you one, a real one. One that doesn't include a damn cat"

"S'toru" you whisper out, barely finding your voice in the mess and like always, it's ignored for his own rambling. "Gonna fill this right up for little mini-me" there's a sharp sting on your chest, you force your gaze down and look over his hand to watch him suckle at your nipples like a newborn babe searching for milk. An idea he's soon gonna turn into reality. You rasp his name out louder, ignored again when he finally lets go of your cheeks to slide it down to your womb and press down, hard "I-I swear I'll make- ngh-you into a mama if it's the last thing I do"

There's only so much feeling that your body can numb, only so much it can do against Satoru and his dick. Your orgasm was anything but pleasant if not painful, feeling his every inch, vein and curve mold itself inside you and rip you apart with shocks so violent that you jerk and writhe and clench your gooey walls down on him- you know it's finally over when he babbles in your ears and spurts something hot and repulsive inside you, his brutal pace finally stuttering to a stop and turning into a grind, perfectly plugging his obscenity inside you.

"Satoru" your voice is foreign to your own ears, his heat goes unregistered and the white cold lump is promptly forgotten because of that one thought buzzing in your head. "Yes darling?" His voice is as foreign as yours to you, his gaze undecipherable when he pulls away to look at you, leaning down to kiss you on the li- "I hate you"

He pauses, lips brushing against yours just barely. There's that signature smile of his and the regrettably familiar feeling of his lips pressing against yours. His reply seemingly drowning itself in the constant buzzing of your ears, only one thought ringing through your mind over and over again.

You should've killed yourself the very moment he proposed to you.

Masterlist ° NSFWlist Had to post this snippet cuz 2 months is a long time to be dead for. I got the heebie jeebies writing this but I was too far into it so I had to finish it😦

[purplecoffee13]

NFWMB - PART FIVE*

Summary: “Y/N hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what happened, but it seems like she is not the only one overthinking this time…”

Tropes: innocent!reader x boxer!harry

Wc: 3k

Warnings: smutty scenes, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, teeny tiny bit of angst ig

A/N: I AM BACK! I finished my exams today and I hurried home to write the rest of this chapter bc I have been itching to do so for the past weeks. I will try not to put as much time in between the next chapters, sorry about that! Love you all and enjoy!!!

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It had been three days. Three entire days since the kissing-in-the-car debacle that Y/N had participated in, and she still wasn't over it. How was she supposed to act normal at their class tomorrow? It had plagued her mind ever since she walked into her apartment that Saturday night.

All weekend, she had been contemplating different things. Saturday and Sunday, she was sure she wanted to never see his face again because she couldn't stand the embarrassment. But when Monday rolled around and re-thought everything after coming back from work, she realized that she should probably be mature and talk to him.

However, that resulted into her pacing around her room like a maniac with the phone in her hand, his number ready to dial. For the past twenty minutes she had been trying to convince herself to just press that call button and get it over with.

"C'mon..." Y/N growled to herself. She stopped in her tracks, took a deep breath, and finally called him. Her hands were sweating as the dial tone sounded over and over again, and the nerves she felt were sure to explode her stomach, but she kept breathing and waited for Harry to pick up.

The distant sound of a phone ringing took Y/N’s attention away from her own attempted call. Her heart began beating even faster as she walked towards her front door, and sure enough, when looking through her peephole, she saw Harry standing in front of her door.

As she took the lock off, Y/N broke up the call and putting her phone in her pocket. Harry's eyes were wide at the door opening all of a sudden, but he still managed to muster an awkward smile amidst his shock before he greeted her.

"Hi." He said quietly.

"Hi." She greeted back, unsure of what to do or say or feel. "uhm, what are you doing here?"

The question came out so soft, as if she was scared to ask it, not ready for the consequences his answer may bear. Maybe it was true; she had always had the feeling that her body was better at communicating her true feelings than her brain was.

"I need to talk to you." Harry said, his tone serious enough for Y/N's chest to start pressing on her, but a soft edge to it nonetheless. "Can I come in?"

She nodded, opening the door wider and letting Harry inside her apartment. He walked in and silently observed the place. Y/N felt oddly tense as she waited for him to take it all in, but he was quite quick to turn around. In the seconds that he stood there, entirely quiet, Y/N deduced the obvious: he was awaiting some instructions from her.

"Go sit on the couch, do you want something to drink?" She asked, already heading for the kitchen. Harry sat down like she told him to, but shook his head.

"No thank you, just wanna talk. Can you... sit down?" His difficulty to meet her eye and the apprehension behind his words had Y/N immediately head for the couch and sit down next to him.

"What did you want to talk about?" She asked innocently, like she wasn’t the reason this awkwardness existed in the first place.

"About last Saturday." He answered. You began to shake your head, cheeks already reddening from the shame that washed over you.

"Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Just— hold on," He interrupted her. "I said something, that night, I can't help but think that you didn't take it how I meant it. And it has been eating at me all weekend because I'd hate to be the fool who accidentally rejected you."

Harry's eyes bored into Y/N's until she couldn't take the intensity of it anymore and looked down. He leaned forward, putting his hand on her leg. She studied his fingers as they slowly caressed her skin.

"Harry, it's okay. I misinterpreted it, you don't have to make excuses to make me feel better." She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to prematurely dodge any bullets that might have ended up with her crying otherwise.

"I'm not!" He protested. "I— Y/N, look at me."

When she didn't instantly comply, Harry's fingers traced up to her chin and redirected her face towards him, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb slowly stroked her chin as he took in every inch of her face.

"I wanted it." He said slowly, making sure she heard every word he says. Slowly leaning in, he added: "Really bad."

His lips hovered near hers, so close it was nearly sending her into a frenzy, but far away enough for him to assess her reaction on his movements. But Y/N was an open book, a reactive person when it came to these desires. She couldn't feign disinterest as she had never felt this strongly about someone in such a perverted manner before. Harry mouth slowly curled up into a smirk.

"Can I show you how badly I wanted it?" He asked, the heat of his breath reaching her face and making her core pulsate. The only thing Y/N could do was nod, and before she knew it, Harry's lips closed in on hers.

A soft whine escaped her throat as he kissed her, the desperation of her body unshielded under his roughly delicate touch. Nothing seemed to make sense as he slowly slipped his tongue into her mouth and pushed her back on the couch, nothing but him.

Harry leaned forward, not taking his mouth off Y/N as she sat against the armrest. He hovered over her, his body between her spread legs. One of his hands was holding onto her waist, while the other one kept him up by holding onto the armrest.

As their tongues danced around each other, Harry's hand slipped down from her waist towards her inner thighs, and Y/N felt her panties getting wet at the suggestive caresses of her skin. She put her hands on Harry's shoulders and pushed him back a little bit, their lips now apart. Still caught up in the heat of the moment, Harry mindlessly trailed his kisses down her jaw and then onto her neck.

"Harry." Y/N tried to get his attention, but his name sounded more like an erotic plea, and caused a growl to sound from his lips, followed by a rougher treatment on her neck. Her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head as his lips sucked at that sensitive skin of her, and a small whine fell from her as he bruised her neck.

"Ha— hmm... Harry!" She exclaimed. "S— stop."

Within a millisecond, or at least it felt like that, Harry's hands and mouth were removed from her. His face was filled with worry as he took in hers.

"Are you okay? Did I go too far?" He began asking, but she was quick to shake her head.

"No! It's just— I haven't really, done much of this before. I don't have a lot of experience and uhm, I just wanted you to know that before we... proceeded." Y/N explained, voice near trembling as she spoke. Harry's eyes softened, and his face pulled into a soft smile.

"Thank you for telling me." He said, leaning forward and giving her a kiss before pulling back, sitting up straight. "I just have one question, though."

Y/N nodded, big doe eyes staring right at him as that innocent smile transformed into a smug grin.

"Can I show you what I actually wanted to do last Saturday?" He asked, stroking her already spread legs. Before she knew it, the answer fell from Y/N's lips.

"Yes."

He let out a satisfied hum before his hands grabbed at her shorts and pulled them down along with her underwear, leaving her bare cunt to be exposed to him. Y/N blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed at how exposed she was, but the fascination that twinkled in Harry's eyes washed most of her insecurities away. She watched carefully as he leaned down and his fingers began stroking her folds.

Y/N held her breath in anticipation, curiously waiting for Harry to continue, and when he finally put his hands on her clit, she couldn't help but shift in her seat a bit at the tingling sensation.

"O— oh!" She shrieked when she felt Harry's tongue attached itself to her clit, his middle finger now paying more attention to slowly beginning to slide in and out of her. Y/N tried to control her breathing to the best of her abilities as Harry explored her sopping and pulsating core.

Y/N's mind had gone all fuzzy from the sweet feeling of his touch on her sensitive parts. It was impossible to focus on anything else than Harry, and even if it was, she wouldn't dare take her eyes off of him anyway. It was addictive, the way he was ravishing her like she was a culinary meal, and it felt glorying.

Harry temporarily removed his mouth from her heat, and looked up at Y/N before saying: "C'mon, angel. Tell me how it feels."

Her heart skipped a beat at the nickname she'd grown to love ever since the first time he said it, and she tried to control her whines as she responded.

"So— ah! So good..." She managed to reply, her knuckles turning white from balling up her fists in an attempt to not come too early. Harry's tongue swept over her clit in such an intoxicating way, and his now two fingers pumping in and out of her was only getting her closer to her inevitable climax.

Harry moaned at her verbal approval, and picked up the pace of both his mouth and his fingers, leaving her nothing but a whimpering mess under him. This was surely going to be the death of her, wasn’t it?

"Harry— I think I'm going to..." She ran out of breath before she could finish your sentence, and she began convulsing around him, legs trembling as her orgasm began to reach her like a wave building up. And then just like that, it crashed.

With a cry of his name and a few profanities that followed, the sensual waves of her release hit Y/N. The release was slow and long, and one of the most satisfying ones she'd ever had. Harry's touch stayed on her skin, helping her ride out her high.

When he finally backed away, Y/N was still breathing heavily from what she had just experienced. Wide eyed, she observed how he licked his lips before he looked up at her. She could've come again from the sight of that alone.

"D'you want some water?" Harry suddenly asked, getting up from the couch and walking over to your kitchen. She followed him with her eyes, mouth agape as he went through her kitchen cabinets until he stumbled upon two glasses and filled them with water. As he returned to the couch, he raised a brow, indicating that he was still waiting on an answer.

"Uhm, yes, thank you." Y/N stumbled as he handed her the glass. She took a few sips, scanning him while she drank. He was so casual all of a sudden, leaning back against the couch with his legs spread like that... there was something cocky about it and Y/N wasn't sure if she wanted to roll her eyes at it or jump his bones.

Possibly both, at the same time.

Y/N put her glass down and slowly crawled over to Harry, who sniffed a laugh at her wobbly movements on the way too squishy couch. She hoped it would at least come off as cute, now that her attempt at being sexy had been trampled by her own furniture.

As the laughter from both parties died down, Y/N took it upon herself to slowly start kissing Harry's neck. Her heartbeat rose when she felt him shifting in his seat, a pained sigh escaping his throat. Meticulously, she dragged her hand down his chest until it reached his pants, and she began unbuckling his belt.

She was surprised when she felt his hand pull hers away, and stopped her actions to see what was going on. When she saw his clenched jaw, she frowned.

"Are you okay?"

"You don't have to do that angel." He said, tilting his head a bit. She slowly shook her head.

"Oh, alright." She said, and felt a pang in her chest at the idea that she could've done something wrong. Harry took both of her hands, cupping his over them.

"I’d like to save it for next time." He suggested, the slight raise of his brow adding a certain playfulness to his reply. The hint of a smile on his face filled her with a warm feeling, and she quickly found herself nodding at what Harry had said.

“Plus, I have to get my beauty rest… I’ve got a long day tomorrow. I teach this private self-defense class, client’s got me working till late.” He joked, eyes beaming when a giggle fell from her lips. Y/N took her bottom lip between her teeth, stomach fluttering as she took in the painfully beautiful, funny, charismatic man in front—or well, under her.

“Really? Is she any good?” She teased back, brows raising in surprise when Harry nodded.

“Difficult to teach tho.” He responded.

“Why’s that?” Y/N questioned, genuine curiosity dripping from her tone. Harry took his eyes off her and shamelessly lowered his gaze to her body as his hands, that had dug into her waist, slowly began to trail down to her ass.

“‘S just so hard to concentrate…” He said lowly, and she felt her core heating up again at the sole sound of Harry’s voice. Her cheeks flushed alike at what he was implying, and she felt like an animal with the way her body reacted to him.

Y/N remained as quiet as she could, savoring Harry’s touch on her bare skin. She would have closed her eyes, had she not been too mesmerized by her face to do so.

Nerves swirled in her stomach as she watched Harry’s stare trail upwards again, only to stop at her lips. Gradually, he leaned forward, closing the gap between the two’s mouths. Y/N couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her when Harry put his lips on her again, and much like the touch of his hands on her, she relished in the way his tongue circled around hers, and she was surprised at how well their bodies captured the connection that she had been unable to explain in words.

It was safe to say that Y/N was disappointed when at last Harry pulled away, but she couldn’t be mad at him, not with that face of his.

Her eyes widened when he got up all of a sudden, hands still holding up her thighs in the few moments before she wrapped them tightly around him in response to the sudden movement. He sniffed a laugh, which Y/N was only able to hear because her arms were locked around Harry’s neck and her face was only a few centimeters away from his. The urge to smile almost prevailed over her shock.

Harry’s hands let go of Y/N’s thighs, and she lowered her legs in response, putting her feet on the ground again and removing herself from his touch completely.

As they walked towards the front door, Y/N found herself to be a bit gloomy. She didn’t want him to leave, he was so fun to be around. He made her not worry, which was a miracle because Y/N always worried. And she knew she’d go back to worrying and overthinking the second she’d be alone again, so the prospect of Harry going away was not the most fun. She had to remind herself that she’d see him tomorrow, though.

Y/N opened the door, waiting as Harry put on his coat. When he finally had, he turned to her one last time.

“Sleep tight, angel.” He said, and with that, walked right out the door. Y/N croaked out a weak ‘bye’, but she was pretty sure she’d heard the elevator ding by then.

It took her a minute to recover physically before turning off her lights in the living room and floating towards her bathroom, where she smiled like an idiot all the way through brushing her teeth.

It wasn’t until her head hit the pillow that what she dreaded came along again: that tiresome worry. Thoughts and scenarios filled her head as she lied in bed, watching the ceiling as if it would grant her answers, or peace.

It was as if, with Harry, nothing else truly mattered. Not necessarily in the corny, dramatic way, but rather in the sense that it felt like the outside world wasn’t that much of a factor in Y/N’s decisions, nor did she have the feeling that it should be whenever she was around him. But when he was gone, it would all start to matter again and suddenly she found herself doubting whether dating Harry would even be a good idea.

What would her parents think? What would Sophie think? Would she be viewed as less professional by her co-workers for dating her trainer? Would it impact Harry’s reputation—

She stopped herself. Probably not, considering Harry was a man.

It was with a frown that Y/N eventually dozed off into a deep slumber. Not even in her dreams she was safe from the anxiety that plagued her, a nightmare about being fired stirring her awake at around four in the morning. She was more exhausted when she woke up than when she went to bed.

But despite all of it, her body still buzzed in anticipation of tonight’s class…

Taglist: @meetmeatyourworst @mema10 @seafoamwhispers @namoreno @inkedskin @fangirl509east @mellamolayla @lizsogolden @prettydelilah @kierramcduffie @harry2121 @babegoals @hermionelove @bitchidontpost @lomlolivia

[mc-lukanette]

Marinette didn't know Luka's friends very well despite the years of the two of them knowing each other, so she tried to balance keeping herself "outside" of their friendly bubble while also chiming in whenever she was asked a question directly. It helped that she had her sketchpad with her, so she could mindlessly draw when she wasn't part of the conversation.

It was going well until Claudine spoke up, not at her specifically but it definitely got her attention.

"Hey, anyone know if Luka likes someone?"

Marinette's head snapped up, suddenly very aware of everyone in the room. "W-what?"

Roche acknowledged her with a glance, then raised a brow at Claudine. "Did he do anything to make you think that?"

Mito, who had made himself comfortable sitting on the backrest of the couch, tilted his head at her as well. "Why ask?"

"I'm curious!" Claudine raised a finger. "And because it's a crime! When you hear an amazing song, don't you hate when you learn it's not a hit?"

Roche nodded, but Mito and Marinette remained perplexed.

"That's Luka," Claudine clarified, arms spread. "The guy's soft as a marshmallow and so nice, but he's not dating anyone and can't hold a relationship to save his life!"

That, Marinette could understand. The whole being an adult thing had meant that they'd had to spend so much time getting their lives together, so she'd tried to ignore the pang in her chest when they met back up again, so certain that he would've been dating by then, but nothing. Luka always had so much love in his heart that it seemed like a shame that no one was on the receiving end of it.

Wait—

"Can't hold a relationship?" she repeated. "So he's been on dates?"

Roche answered rather than Claudine, "A few, when they ask."

They. So it wasn't Luka initiating, apparently. It was an oddly relieving feeling.

Claudine nodded at Roche. "And it usually ends after one or two dates."

"Isn't that because he's not interested?" Marinette figured.

"But he always lets them decide if they go on another, and you know how he is," Claudine argued. "He's a sweetheart. I bet he tends to their every need, shows them a good time... why wouldn't they follow up if they felt like they had a chance?"

"Hmmm," Mito hummed, tipping a hat he didn't have and miming smoking from a pipe. "A mystery."

"He might not be good at romance after all?" Roche suggested as an alternative theory. "He just seems like it."

Marinette raised a hand, adding on, "It doesn't sound very Luka to go on dates if he already likes someone."

"Maybe he wants to get over them?" Claudine shrugged. "Could be any reason."

"Who'd reject Luka?" Marinette countered. "Unless he never confessed?"

Mito adjusted his imaginary hat. "You know what they say: love is mute."

"That's—" Roche shook his head, deciding not to bother correcting him.

Marinette considered the information presented to her. The idea that Luka was in love with someone without her knowing sounded ridiculous, because while she'd been away from him for a while, he could've found time to say something to her if the crush had happened before then.

He could've brought it up when they'd watch romance movies together, like when they pressed against each other during one movie in particular where things were tense enough to feel like a horror movie. They'd turned to each other and pretended not to notice until the scene was over, so he could have made conversation then.

And he was so complimentary! He would call her "beautiful" when she was just in her pajamas, "cute" when all she'd done was make a little noise or wiggle excitedly, and constantly praised her intelligence. If he'd already been in love with someone, he would save such compliments for them, and what date of his would not ask for another one when he was like that?

It was as Mito said: a mystery, and one that was making her unconsciously draw Luka in her sketchpad, oops—

"Hey, I'm back," Luka called from the hallway, carrying a drink holder in his arm.

Marinette closed her sketchpad as casually yet quickly as possible, looking up at him with a beaming smile. "Oh! Hi!"

"Hey," he greeted, despite having already done so.

She bit her lower lip, eyeing Luka up and down. He was even more attractive than when they were teens and just as considerate, the size of drinks in the carrier varying depending on how much each person usually drank. She was so curious, wondering how such a man couldn't be dating anyone nor manage to keep his dates from coming back. She racked her brain, idly tapping on her sketchpad as she tried to figure out how she could resolve this for both her and his friends.

Then, something clicked, and the words came out before she could stop them.

"Luka, would you go on a test date with me?"

His smile faltered, shocked lips parting at the sudden request. She shifted anxiously in her seat while the eyes of his friends went to the both of them, and she wondered if it'd been too much. Was she so undateable that even calling it a test date was weird?

Luka's grip on the drink carrier unconsciously loosened. Mito, speeding off the couch towards him, ducked down and placed himself just under the nearly fallen carrier. Standing up fully, he took it from Luka by perfectly balancing it on his head, taking it back to the others so Roche could put it on the table.

The action made Luka move again, eyes darting over to his trio of friends. "What were you guys talking about?"

Marinette pushed herself up, leaving her sketches behind as she approached him. "We were wondering why you can't keep dates with anyone. I thought..." She blushed, gesturing between the two of them and already feeling silly. "If we went out on a date, I'd know?"

"Ah." He covered his mouth, making it harder to know exactly what was going on his head. She tried to peer into his eyes, but he evaded, staring off at a corner of the ceiling.

Were his cheeks pink? Was he thinking about his mystery crush just at the mention of a date? Was Claudine right?

Just as Marinette started to get worried, the hand on his chin lowered to reveal a lopsided smile. He made eye contact with her again, voice full of amusement. "We could do it, but I don't think you'd be able to tell."

She tilted her head at the emphasis, which implied that she specifically wouldn't be able to tell. Was it because she didn't know who he liked, or he thought she wasn't perceptive enough, or...

Eyes narrowing, she asked directly, "Is that a challenge?"

Luka went wide-eyed, his hand dropping from his chin and hovering awkwardly at chest level. Roche, Mito, and Claudine had already whipped out their drinks, sipping from them and huddled together as they watched the two intently.

"What?" Luka blinked helplessly. "No—"

"I accept." Marinette straightened, poking him in the chest as her competitive side came out front and center. "I'm going to figure you out. Looking forward to our date, Luka Couffaine."

With a huff, she turned back around and went to her seat, plopping down and reopening her sketchpad. She blushed seeing the sketch she'd just drawn of him, then hurriedly flipped to another page and started drawing something else.

She could handle this, she thought. Worst case scenario, she'd still get a date with her multi-year one-sided crush.

[lirational]

Xeno Witch

Fantasy AU Path to Nowhere

Witch!000 x Reader

A/N: Zero, Zero, you can call her Zero, white hair, cat ears, hiding in your wifi~ :D no beta we die like my soul

Warnings: Porn with a fumbled plot, dubious consent, general yandere shenanigans.

—

The orbs spun around the three-layered ring in mesmerizing, unchanging patterns, the small object heavy in your palm. Its pink glow gave a speck of light in this dark tower, where not even the light followed the rules of physics. Instead, it comverged around one figure, the lights itself moving like it was trying to dispel the darkness her presence provides.

No, it would be more accurate to say that the lights looked like as if they were commanded to highlight her presence instead of this tower’s structure.

“Well?” The witch asked, her tone playful. “All you need to do is swallow. Just a little ‘gulp!’, and you get what you want. Easy, right?”

Flagrant anticipation and mischief twinkle in her mismatched eyes, the tiny, almost weightless rings representing a contract. You were always told to be a good person, to live a good life and stay away from the darkness of the world, yet here you are now, facing one of the very things the world has told you to stay away from.

But, the light has rejected you, and now, you were desperate, angry, vengeful. Your heart a maelstorm that threatens to consume any sense of self-preservation.

Though hesitation colored some of your senses in a foreboding red tint, what you could feel coursing through your body was anticipation.

It was a chance, after all, to get what you want.

“What is your price, witch? What do you demand of me in return?”

You tried to load your voice with conviction. After all, such was expected in the bizarre book you had consulted for the ritual to call her, yet, your voice shook, the feeling of sheer power infused in the very air itself serving as a warning that made you falter.

“Insolent voyager! Are thee making light of the everlasting covenant?”

Seeing you flinch, the witch’s tone softened, glee replacing her pretend anger.

“Come on now, I was just teasing you, are you always this easy to tease? You’re just like a little fawn!” She whistled. “Witch is a little distant, how about you call me Zero? Come on, say it, ze~ ro!”

“O-okay, Zero.”

Well, any attempt to load your voice with authority as the book said has completely failed now.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, swallow it!” Zero floated around you, moving fast enough to breath warm air onto your ears, causing them to heat up. “Do you prefer something more verbose? Ah, ahem, don’t you loath the fate you were forced to tread and feel vengeful to upend the world?”

Her arms snaked on your chest and stomach.

“Then make an everlasting covenant with me...”

With the promise of change, you brought the rings past your lips, her whispers a temptation full of sin.

“… and alter your own fate.”

Power, along with something else, foreign and invasive, spread and took root in the essence of your very being, a breaching presence that could be felt down from the tips of your fingers to the tips of your toes. You couldn’t help but squirm, the oddity of it all too overwhelming to truly comprehend—

Then it stopped, leaving you feeling bereft and cheated.

The nagging sense of missing something important, missing a comprehension that lies beyond a thick veil, remained for quite a while.

“Our covenant has been sealed! With that, let’s return back to your world~“

Only upon looking back did you realize that Zero did not answer the most important question.

—

The incessant beep of an alarm clock spurred you back to the waking world.

Sunlight had started to slip through the blinds, a silent confirmation that, indeed, night has given way to another day. Even though your body felt leaden, frozen in time, cursed to not feel anything resembling restfulness, you shook the fatigue the best you could and forced yourself to roll to the side, then, as your vision started to focus—

“Hey!”

The all-too familiar voice that plagued your dreams greeted you. As your vision snapped into focus, your eyes met the red-yellow ones of the witch who haunted your sleeping hours.

“Zero?!”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten,” she pouted. “Now that you accepted the contract, I’ll be sticking with you until I get your wishes!”

“Please don’t, I can’t afford to lose this job!” You reply, almost automatically, too panicked for your liking.

Zero didn’t seem to register your refusal. Rather, she seemed even more amused, her lips curling into a smile. “Oh come on, I want to see things! I want to eat snacks, watch the stars, read the new comic books. I won’t drag you down, I promise!”

She took your hand, pale fingers interlocking with yours in such a slow, tender gesture. Her thumb found your ring finger and brushed the base, coaxing a small ring with one loop to appear. The ring glowed in the same pink as the one you saw in your dreams, light particles revolving around it in a slow dance, merging and shifting and chasing each other. If there were any doubts of the encounter being nothing but a dream, the tender gesture would have dispelled it completely.

“After all, you, the one bound by our everlasting covenant, are the only one who can see me.”

Zero released your hand in a slow motion, fingers brushing onto yours for a few seconds too long, before her attention went to something else.

Oh, right, you have work to do.

Ignoring the ever-curious Zero, you bolted away to make yourself presentable, while the witch eyed your things with interest. She was especially interested at your snack stash, something about the sight of a powerful, wish-granting being from another world being so enamoured about something so ordinary bringing a chuckle to you.

Such was the start of your life with the witch from another dimension, yet, the mundanity only made the dark of your life all that much more stark.

For, as even the fools would have guessed. the first wish Zero granted you was one of revenge.

It was something you had long tucked back in your mind, placed inside a box labelled ‘repression’, taped up, and stored deep where no one should be able to reach, placed under myriad layers of irrelevant memories and kept out of reach from the light of your conscious thoughts. At least until the dam burst as you were forced to face the memory again. Looking back, it was almost childish, something about how a minor feud between competing businesses that spiralled into insanity that claimed the lives of people you knew, until you were forced to grovel as those you formerly considered friendly rivals showed their true colors.

For all these years, you endured the harsh, unfair treatment from them, forced to endure endless additional work until you snapped under the weight of unresolved anger and spite.

More than everything else, though, it was a careless wish, made as one of those former friends attempted to drag you away to parts unknown against your will.

“I wish all of you were fucking dead.”

At that moment, you spotted her black dress at the periphery of your sight, and then, she was in front of you. Even the world had stopped moving, bathed in a blue, criss-crossing grid lines except for the two of you. Depsite the outrageous nature of the request, Zero seemed unperturbed. Rather, she regarded you with a curious look.

“So, these were the ones who made you call for me. Boring people, if you ask me.”

You raise your eyebrow, prompting her to continue.

“Let’s see… these people were going to live unremarkable, mundane lives, and that shouldn’t be too hard…”

Realization hit you then, the fog of anger parting to give way for you to remember the witch’s sheer power.

“Zero, wait, this isn’t a good—“

She seemed to not perceive your presence, rather, she was focused on tinkering with something in front of her. Panels full of thousands of ever-scrolling lines, each with symbols more complicated than the last, enough to make your head pound from within when you stare for too long. Around her, cards wrapped in light of multiple colors rotate and wrap around each other in a mesmerizing display, a sight that Zero seemed to be unaware of - or perhaps, she did not deem it worth paying any mind.

“Done!”

With a flourish, she turned around to look at you, the panels disappearing as the lights shot away in multiple directions before dispersing. As time started to march once again, the person that was harassing you were contorted into painful, impossible shapes, expression frozen in horror without being able to speak as his own body started to break down, turning into—

You didn’t want to look, but out of the corner of your eyes, you saw a dark, yawning void where he was standing not even moments ago, swallowing every trace of him.

“Finished! They’re dead, well, it’s more like they don’t exist,” Zero winked at you. However, it registered as terrifying more than anything else. “Can we get something? I saw that shop selling ice cream so thick that don’t don’t melt even under the sun! Can we try?”

“But—“

“Come on, don’t focus on such boring things! I granted your wish,” she pouted. “This really reminds me of that comic I’ve seen once… Someone made a contract with an evil demon, and in the last part I saw, the villain actually made a cult…”

In contrast to your horrified expression, Zero didn’t seem to mind what she just did, and just rambled on. Just like a cat, Zero marches on her own beat, and your last attempt of protesting were shushed with a pale, slender finger on your lips. Her finger were cold, freezing your lips into silence and compliance, and there, the realization truly slammed itself onto your psyche.

This was a contract where you left the cost section blank, free for the witch to fill as she pleases.

From her smile as she took your hand and walked out of your workplace, it was easy to assume that she, indeed, were aware since the beginning.

That day, the ice cream Zero made you buy alongside her tasted overly sweet.

Perhaps a reminder of the impossible, costly saccharine deal you were sucked into, or proof that Zero was trying to anchor her presence even on one of your most basic senses.

—

The second wish Zero granted you were one without forethought.

With you, she has learned a lot, from simple pop-culture, to the minutiae of life, at least something that cannot be gleaned from being an observer. Though she seemed to like the sound of her own voice, she seemed to adore yours more, at least equal to her obsession with trying new foods if her demands after assisting you were anything to go by. When she asked you for something spicy for a challenge she saw on the internet, her expression twisted into something that must be seen to be believed.

In that moment, you forgot that you were dealing with a powerful witch from another dimension, and not a clueless friend whom you were stuck with.

Your conscious mind, your logical thoughts, all realized that letting your guard down near her would be a mistake, one that you may have to pay dearly for, yet even with constant reminders, it was difficult to stand guarded against her. She was eccentric, even the small kindnesses she did for your sake, such as preparing some food in the morning before you wake and in the evening, or even cleaning up the house with a thought, it was all colored in her character.

From how she made a pancake that started out completely sweet and end up savory with a swallow, to how she turned the apartment walls into edible candy for two days.

(You try not to think of the price you will have to pay when it is time to tally the costs.)

She became a constant presence, and sometimes, when she was away to do her own thing, a sentimental part of you missed her. She was fond of touching you, her cold digits lingering a few seconds too long, the sensation of her touches remaining fresh in your memory for a few hours even after she left.

No one remembered the family you killed. In this altered, unnatural reality, there was no feud that turned deadly, all traces of the ones you bore hatred and swore vengeance to falling into the void and replaced with you. Their wealth, their position, it all fell into the palm of your hand with such a simple command.

Though the question remained. What is the cost of having such a powerful being at your disposal?

A question that were always deflected by a smile and a freezing finger on your lips, scattering your thoughts away until she has long left into another tangent you could not hope to interrupt.

Your reminiscing were interrupted with a familiar rhythmic knocks on your door, proven to be nothing more than a formality not a few moments later, as Zero— the witch walked in from a torn void in reality, one that was definitely not there a few seconds ago.

“(Name)~” Zero called out, her voice sing-song and relaxed. “Heey~ Voyager~ Darling~ the audience is getting bored of you spacing out!”

As panic spurred you to stand up, Zero still looked relaxed, mismatched eyes staring upwards, her gaze directed to a distance so far, far away you could not fathom what she was getting at.

Wait, that wasn’t important. Was there someone here?

“Relax, the gods can’t hurt you! Well, they don’t get to do that as long as I’m here,” Zero flicked your forehead, your expression changing from panic to bewilderment. “C’mon, I heard someone is selling limited version ice cream made from black licorice! I want some!”

“Later, Zero, I’m not really feeling it,” you closed your eyes, your tone conveying exhaustion. “How about you go by yourself?”

“Nope! Come on, don’t be such a stick in the mud,” Zero remained unperturbed, taking your hand and pulling your arm. The sight would have been rather adorable, were your relationship were anything but based off a transaction with an unknown price.

“You already know everything there is to see around here, Zero. You can go by yourself. Sometimes, I wish you know how much you can be a pain—“

You clamped your mouth. Shit. Though you attempted to backtrack, you saw the witch’s expression has already soured, an uncharacteristic scowl highlighting her darkened gaze shadowed by her hair. In that moment, the room seemed to chill into a freezing stillness, even the lights around starting to fade until there was only you and her in the room.

“Zero, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“I see,” Zero only responded, her tone stabbing and cold. “If that is what you desire, my voyager, there is nothing I could do.”

Your tongue felt ice-cold, lips frozen into a frown, unable to make a single sound. Meanwhile, your body refused to obey your commands, and you could only watch as Zero took her hand on yours, fingers hovering on the ring finger where the mark of the contract was, brushing the base of the finger with a movement so tender that still managed to chill you down to the farthest nerves. She lifted your hand and made you watch, watch as another loop started to appear above the first one, each passing moment of the new loop growing brighter feeding the pit of dread that has long formed within your stomach.

“Though, you might want to remember that I will collect what I’m owed, and you should watch your tongue from here on out.”

She placed down the hand bearing the mark of your contract and lifted her other hand, brushing her thumb past your lips, and then, the freezing cold of your tongue was replaced with a searing heat, drowning, breaking, overwriting every other sensation with an unrelenting sensation akin to thousands of heated needles piercing all conceivable surface. It hurts, it hurts, and you swore you tasted iron, without the warm feeling of blood that would accompany it—

Then, it stopped. Zero was no longer there, and everything was fine. You ran to the closest mirror, and a quick check revealed that everything was fine. It was such a tempting lure to think that everything was fine.

Only for the illusion to shatter as the image of a stylized clock face branded your tongue, bearing the myriad colors you’ve come to associate with Zero’s presence.

However, no matter how much you called for her, there was no answer.

—

It was on the cusp of true relief, just when you let yourself truly return to normalcy, that Zero granted your third wish.

You cannot miss what you never had, at least this way, there was no deluding yourself that there was something more behind the transactional nature of your connection. With time, with space, and without Zero shadowing you with her constant presence, it was easier to look at everything with a more objective angle. For the first few days, weeks, you watched your back and surroundings with the paranoia of a fugitive, even tried to make a wish, all without any effects, without her answering your call.

The human mind was not made to handle a nigh constant sense of danger, and with time, you allowed yourself to truly relax. The ring was still there whenever you focused on your ring finger, while the clock that branded your tongue has faded without leaving any traces.

Though you knew what she was capable of, a part of you longed to dismiss the sight that day as nothing but a mere figment of your imagination, an eerily vivid hallucination that had you hearing the sound of ticking for the first few days whenever you so much as closed your eyes.

Even that has disappeared with time, leaving only your not-so infaillible memory of the event.

With what you got from the contract, you have moved far away to restart your life, to a place less crowded, with less modern facilities, just enough to live without too much discomfort. With time, you allowed yourself to feel again, to heal, to dismiss everything from the fateful day piece by piece.

Maybe, the rings would drag you down to be tortured by her for all eternity, just like in one of those stories written by the superstitious.

Months would pass by, before you allowed yourself to be vulnerable around someone. There was someone who offered you help when you were finding your footing here, and they had remained a constant presence, owing to the close distance of your living places and the ease they talk to you with. A wonderful friend that you fantasized, no, hoped one day would become something more.

It was juvenile, a crush on the level of a child who had just learned what romantic love was, but there should be no harm to entertain such a little fantasy in the comfort and privacy of your thoughts.

“I wish they would give their heart to me.”

When the air started to hang heavy with thick, inky darkness, panic gripped your lungs.

Too late. Right when you felt her presence, your body had escaped your control, a doll with enough strength to stand, yet helpless to resist while Zero held your hand. Her pale hand took the hand bearing your contract mark, the other resting on your shoulder, putting you into a kneeling position with a firm yet gentle touch. Her eyes twinkle with amusement and glee, and the undercurrent of something more, something sickeningly sweet and sinister.

“Finally, I almost tried to make bets with the gods on how long until you end up with me again.”

The hand on your shoulder moved to your face, cupping your cheek while her thumb grazed your lips. With her command, you opened your mouth, revealing that the dreadful seal placed upon it has changed, the clock hands had moved ever closer to the middle of the day - or perhaps night, if the dark all around the owner of the mark could be taken as a hint.

“They were waiting for this moment, after all.”

Zero didn’t seem angry - rather, her voice was gentle and soothing. Perhaps it was your eyes, your pleading gaze, your struggle to move, but she seemed to read your intentions.

“Of course, there is no need for regrets, my voyager. After all, this ending has been written ever since we made the contract, even if there are some snags around the way~“

You try to plead, to reason, but what was there to say? It was pointless, she would grant the wish you so thoughtlessly spoke of, and from the looks of her expression, you would come to regret every second of what you were given. It only took a second for her to stop tinkering with whatever it was she altered to grant what you desired, yet to you, it took an eternity, locked to watch as she nudged the first domino that would seal your fate.

“Enjoy your wish, dear voyager~”

Just like before, she disappeared right after. Leaving no chances to ask questions, no chances to plead and regret.

You look at your reflection in the mirror.

The hour hand of the clock branded to your tongue was one hour away from midnight.

—

It took the span of a few weeks to discover what she meant.

Since that day, something deep within you were screaming, pleading, even at times forcing you to flee, turning into nightmarish scenarios that haunted your dreams and plagued your waking hours. A primal fear, unknown whether it was from you or from the manipulations of the witch, made you all too aware, of how the smiles from your friend start to veer into a devouring, smothering affection, until this affection you once so treasured and desired turned into a suffocating leash.

Paranoia crept upon your life once more, as you start to lock doors behind you, start to sense what may not be present in moving shadows, start to see and feel and suffocate with each passing moment of this too-long, drawn out punishment. Even in your downtime, nothing went truly right, for you had to keep your guard up.

At least, it was the most apt description, for you were chained in the most nightmarish instant just before the other shoe dropped.

No matter the pleas you shouted to the void, the witch only smiled, as if your suffering was nothing so dangerous. Even as everything started to crumble around you, from odd incidents of things breaking, chunks of buildings almost crushing you into a nasty pile of meat, vehicles veering just a little too close for comfort, reducing you to hope for a mild scare at the comfort of home.

Until the metaphorical shoe finally dropped.

It dropped in such a bitter show of cruelty, too, as it was the first night you could sleep a little better since the wish tumbled from your lips as a herald to the descent of your life into disaster once more.

There was the sound of breaking, and with no fanfare, as you felt the touch of cold metal on your bare skin, everything stilled, colors fading into muted greys all over. From a strange, geometric void, Zero stepped out, the edges of her movements causing chunks of reality itself to crumble into multicolored fragments and disperse away as ashen dust.

“Hello again, voyager,” she smiled, warm and inviting, despite the circumstances. “Have you forgotten? It is time for me to collect.”

You looked around and saw that the cold metal was a knife, belonging to the special friend that was both your savior and your nightmare within a span of time too dizzying, too quick to truly reconcile with yourself. They have been frozen mid-stab, crazed smile locked on their visage.

“After all, don’t you ask for their heart? You are one demanding voyager.”

It would not take a genius to figure out her intention. But you talk back, anyway. Out of futile hope, or out of curiosity that needed confirmation.

“Not like this. You warped their love.”

“Our sacred bond would not allow such a trickery, dear voyager,” Zero answered, voice sing-song as she glances at the person frozen in place just before they struck the killing blow. “As you wished, I gave you their whole heart. Never did I say that I would give them yours.”

Zero grasped your fingers, letting you watch as the third ring appeared above the second, shining with the color you’ve come to associate with the weight of dread pooling deep within. Deep down, you knew, it was the final seal that signified your end. Your limbs felt heavy, but this time, you were not frozen, rather, everything felt heavy beyond compare, as if you were pinned down and prevented to move.

Darkness started to open up beneath you, square by square, reality first crumbling into multicolored cubes before dispersing into ashen dust leading you to your destined abyss.

“Don’t you know that when you alter your fate and others, the world will eventually take notice?”

Zero didn’t seem concerned, rather, she watched as the void beneath you grew larger. “A human who wishes to alter fate will also alter the fate of others, and it’s a matter of time until the world itself—“

She cups your face, her hold tender. In this proximity, there was only you and her, as you drown into her gaze.

“—declares you an error.”

She captured your lips, and together, the two of you fell into the void.

You were drowning, lungs and mind filled with information a human shouldn’t be able to grasp, yet, when you reach out to touch and focus on one, everything eluded your grasp the way floating particles would elude a drop of soap. An eternity, a moment, passing as you attempt to focus and anchor yourself to something, only for everything to slip between your fingers as Zero tightened her hold on you.

“Mine, my voyager, finally mine to cherish,” she stared at you as she guided you to a gentle descent, your peripheral vision registering the familiar walls of the tower you once visited in your dreams. You were only given enough time to take a breath, before her lips took yours again, her tongue tangling upon yours as she tasted you. She tasted of strawberry, of sweet treats and refreshing cold, and she only allowed you release when your breath were truly, completely stolen, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before Zero licked it with a swipe of her tongue. Her manipulations suspended you in the air, your form propped by her powers, soft to your skin yet with the appearance of hardened light.

“Finally mine to take, another error born from fates too far altered. Don’t you know? Many desired your downfall, too, as they took vicarious pleasure from your situation.”

Your clothes disintegrated into nothing, disappearing the same way the gaps in reality did. “Don’t you hear them? They await your arrival here with anticipation. Give yourself to me, give me your heart, for the gods have declared you their favored, and now, you have nothing left.”

Her kisses trail down, bruises marking where her lips touch, her teeth grazing your skin. Though the tower shook, the coldness of the outside void rattling the walls, you felt nothing but rising warmth, radiating from your belly and spreading until it reached the tips of your fingers, your skin responding to Zero’s touches and gentle kisses. Her hold on your waist was possessive, her knee gently pressing between your legs until heat pooled and dripped onto her immaculate dress. She didn’t seem to mind, as her kisses reached your chest, sucking one more mark before her attention went to your lips once more.

Two of her fingers pressed down on your lips, past your teeth, her gaze a silent order.

There was nothing more to lose, nothing more to hold on. Some details of your life has been shrouded in thick smoke, the tightening of your chest a punishment should you try to reach beyond.

With that, you obeyed, wrapping your lips and tongue around her cold fingers.

From the approving quirk of her lips, it was clear that Zero, too, was aware of your predicament.

You sucked, wetting the two fingers, the intensifying, occassional press on her knee to your core becoming your encouragement. It was not enough, never enough, and the fire of desire within your belly only abated for a moment, just enough for you to chase the promise of release, only for you to he left bereft unless you continued. Only when the cold of her fingers were replaced with warmth did she pull her fingers out, one hand keeping your thighs parted despite how the odd, binding lights had already kept you in the best position.

Just when you were starting to think that she would leave you bereft and suspended like this, Zero pushed her fingers in. Even with the slick, you felt full, so full, thighs quivering in an attempt to close itself, to stave a little off the addicting, poisoning pleasure that Zero was feeding deep into the ravenous fire of your thirst. Her movements were experimental, but not inefficient, observing with glee as she found your weak spot and curled her fingers to press on it, drawing a pleased mewl that painted your cheeks in a rosy crimson and burned your ears.

“You can take it, don’t you? They made you strong, they made you able to withstand, for they would, too.” She whispered with a groan, the facade of her dignified witch crumbling long ago. Her hair has curtained your body, not even allowing your peripheral vision to lack her presence, her fingers driving you up to the precipice of release just before she relaxed her movements. “Come on, say my name, I’ll reward you~”

For the second time this day, you obey, and your vision exploded in stars of pleasure as her name fell from your lips in an endless repetition, the witch licking her lips at the sight of you coming undone. She did not release her grip, her gaze shifted somewhere, to something you could not reach, without relenting her hold on you.

“Are you all still not satisfied?”

Her smile turned predatory, a promise of pain and something else.

“Then, follow your desire, call for me, and perhaps, you too, could arrive in this place without the need of a proxy.”

Zero’s attention shifted back to her prey, entangled and basking in each other’s presence and passion.

Until time itself lost all meaning.

[starsreminisce]

LucienWeek2024 Day Three Daylight

Clarity

Word Count: 5000 Rating: T @lucienweekofficial

Summary:

It had been a century since Lucien Vanserra went into exile for the uprising he caused against his father and eldest brother. Now, it's his brother's turn as he extends an invitation to the Day Court Equinox Ball, where his mate, whom he has not seen while in exile, will be.

Read on AO3

It had been a century since Lucien the Usurper launched his coup against High Lord Beron, ending centuries of tyranny.

When the magic of the land bypassed Lucien to crown his older brother, Eris, as the new High Lord, revolts began to stir. Many claimed Eris would be no different from Beron, that the change was only in name. The return of the Seventh Son from exile was supposed to breathe in new life, but doubt crept within their citizens.

Determined to take the seat of power himself, True Lord Lucien challenged his brother to a Blood Duel. Eris won, but in the final moment, chose to show mercy. Instead of killing Lucien the Betrayer, he banished him—to never set foot on Prythian unless he deems it so.

Yet, as the sons of Orla were taught, truth and lies always intertwined.

The coup had taken place, but it was only half-executed. Eris and Rhys were still in the midst of planning how Rhys would fulfill his end of the bargain when Lucien winnowed in, intending to resign. Both older brothers seized the unexpected opportunity. The Blood Duel? Staged. It was no different from the countless duels their father had forced them into as boys.

As for the exile? It was nothing more than a small patch of land—situated between the Autumn, Summer, and Spring Courts—gifted to Lucien by Eris as a token of reward.

Lucien would be remembered in history as the first fae to kill a High Lord and not claim a title. But in truth, he never sought the Lordship for himself. Never wanted it to begin with. Yet none of that mattered to him when he looked back on that day.

No, for Lucien, that day was burned into his memory for an entirely different reason: the day his mate rejected him.

It had been a month since he’d seen her in the streets of Velaris. What he witnessed had gnawed at him, day after day, until the need for answers became unbearable. When he finally confronted her, demanded the truth, she could not speak. Her face turned pale, almost green, as she stood there in silence.

“Lady,” he had said, his voice edged with exhaustion and hurt. “Just… reject it. If you care for me at all, just say it.”

Perhaps he had hoped she would argue, would deny what he had seen, or offer some explanation that might soften the blow. But instead, she closed her eyes. Silent tears traced down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook with the weight of her decision.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if seeking his permission. “Okay.”

Lucien had been angry before, but this was something different—something darker, older, and deadlier taking root within him. Heat rose in him at the thought of Elain rejecting their bond, the connection that had haunted him, that he had hoped would someday mean something. In the back of his mind, a warning flared—he worried, even now, about what he might become if he let this anger consume him.

“A bargain,” he forced himself to say, fighting to keep his voice steady. “You do not see me. You do not seek me. You do not ask about me. I will extend the same to you.”

“Lucien,” she murmured, her tone turning soft, almost conciliatory. “I am still a seer.”

He scoffed. “You haven’t had a vision since Hybern.”

“I cannot accept that bargain,” Elain said, her gaze meeting his, defiant even through her tears. “If you appear in my vision and I can’t see you…”

He stared at her, jaw clenched. “Fine. Unless you receive a vision that specifically involves me, you will have no reason to reach out.”

She chewed her lip, considering, then nodded. “I accept.”

A faint mark appeared on the backs of their hands, sealing the bargain—a mocking reminder that even rejected bonds could leave scars.

With nothing left to say, Lucien turned and left, intent on finding Rhysand to hand in his resignation. His thoughts spiraled between anger and heartbreak, but when he entered the room, he was surprised to find Eris there, pressing Rhys about what he intended to do about the bargain.

The tension in the room spiked as Lucien entered, his bloodlust evident in the fury radiating off him. Both males turned to him, their expressions sharpening.

“I want to resign as emissary for the Night Court,” Lucien said, his voice steady but laced with rage.

Rhys’s shadows flickered, a claw scraping gently at the edge of Lucien’s mind. Lucien didn’t resist, allowing his High Lord to peer into his thoughts, letting him see exactly what he and Elain had done. Rhys’s eyes widened, then narrowed, darkening with understanding.

“Well, you’re in luck,” Rhys purred, a deadly edge to his tone. “Eris has a pesky Beron problem.”

Eris’s expression remained impassive, but there was a glint of something dangerous in his gaze.

Lucien’s jaw tightened. “Give me an opening—and make sure she rejects it.”

“I’ll see to it that she rejects it tonight,” Rhysand promised, his tone laced with deadly intent toward the one who had driven Elain to reject their bond. Lucien met his High Lord’s gaze, understanding the fury there, even as his own heart shattered.

They had mere hours to coordinate. And when the night descended, they would be ready.

The tears they thought he shed that night had been for his father. But they weren’t. They were for Elain.

When the rejection came, it struck like a final, devastating blow. And in the hollow ache left behind, Lucien unleashed everything he’d held back, pouring his heartbreak and fury into a blazing assault upon his father and the Autumn Court. His power tore through the land, searing everything in its path.

That night, as word spread of the Seventh Son’s retribution—of the fire and blood he unleashed upon his father’s court—Lucien’s name became etched into history. No longer remembered as a loyal emissary, but as an unstoppable force of vengeance, a reckoning that could not be tamed.

—

The days were quiet and peaceful, just as Lucien had once hoped. He lived simply now, even in the absence of Jesminda by his side. He closed his eyes, clinging to her name as if it were a lifeline, though her face had slowly eroded from his memory since the bond with Elain had snapped. No, that bond—fragile as it was—remained a flickering flame, one that refused to die. Sometimes, he could feel Elain’s euphoria, especially in the beginning, when she’d chosen a relationship over their bond. And afterward, the wrenching heartache when that relationship ended.

He didn’t know the details, and perhaps it was better that way. He could pretend not to care, but there were moments—when her sadness pressed into him, or her loneliness crept in—that he was tempted to check on her. Instead, he buried himself in his role as laird over the tiny patch of land Eris had given him.

Gone were the days of political maneuvering, double-crossing, and scheming. He might have once thrived in that world, but now, he found he did not miss it. In truth, everything he had ever wanted was here.

Lucien had taken a hands-on approach to his land—helping with farming, overseeing repairs, settling disputes among his tenants. They were glamoured to forget who he was the moment they stepped beyond the borders. He still trained with weapons, but it felt different now—calmer, without the weight of constant conflict.

Eris and Rhys had upheld their end of the bargain for helping to end Beron’s reign, leaving Lucien in his quiet exile.

Not even a year after Beron’s death, his mother, Orla, had shocked everyone by celebrating her mating ceremony with Helion. Lucien had been surprised, to say the least, considering Helion’s deep-seated hatred for Beron—and, by extension, for Lucien himself. The Mother indeed had a sense of humor.

But Lucien didn’t attend the ceremony.

Nor did he attend the birth of his two half-brothers, Kieran and Roshan. Still, he was happy for his mother, relieved that she no longer mourned the two sons he had caused her to lose.

Those who knew the truth of the uprising—Feyre, Cassian, Rhys—visited him occasionally, but the visits became shorter and less frequent as time passed. Lucien had stopped accepting their invitations to visit the Night Court, and he wasn’t sure what else there was to say between them anymore.

As for Vassa and Jurian, they were long gone, their children’s children now ruling in their place.

The one puzzle Lucien couldn’t solve was why his heir markers remained so prevalent. He had hoped they would vanish after he forfeited his claim to any court, but instead, they seemed to grow stronger over time. In the end, he found a glamour to hide them almost permanently, to the point where he almost forgot they existed.

He was content. Or at least, as content as someone with a rejected bond could be.

Until he saw the smokehounds.

The sleek, lean dog-like creatures lingered near his house one evening as Lucien returned from the fields. There was no mistaking who owns them—Eris. Lucien gritted his teeth but played the host regardless, inviting his brother to dine with his tenants, who gawked that the benevolent High Lord was joining them. The evening stretched on, filled with the bard’s music and the low hum of conversation, until the candles burned low and the shadows thickened. Finally, Eris turned to him with a smile, his eyes gleaming with something Lucien couldn’t quite read.

“The Day Court is hosting the Equinox Ball,” Eris announced, his tone casual, almost too casual. “Mother would like you to attend.”

Lucien raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Not sure I can still be considered ‘exiled’ if I show up at a ball. I’m supposed to be on the continent, remember?”

Eris waved a dismissive hand. “Helion can grant you access as his guest—or, if it’s easier, I could always revoke your exile.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes, watching his brother closely. A century had passed since he had last set foot in any court, but even after all that time, he could still sense when Eris was hiding something.

Eris caught the look and sighed. “You left the courts. There isn’t anything I can tell you that matters anymore.”

“Then why is it so important that I’m there?” Lucien asked, his voice sharp. “I see Mother often enough, and quite frankly, the sight of her with Helion is... disturbing.”

He shuddered for emphasis, but Eris merely smirked.

“It’s nice, seeing Mother finally in love,” Eris replied, his voice softening, eyes distant, as if lost in some wistful memory.

Lucien held his tongue. Of course Eris would remember their mother’s brighter days—when she was full of light and laughter. Lucien, though, had only seen her at her lowest: withdrawn, broken. His only memories were the late nights when she would creep into his room, hugging him tightly, her tears soaking his forehead after days of ignoring him.

“I suppose,” Lucien finally muttered, though the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

A silence stretched between them. Finally, Eris rose from his seat and reached into his coat. He pulled out a small envelope, sealed with the Day Court’s bright insignia, and extended it to Lucien.

Lucien hesitated before reaching for the invitation, his fingers brushing against the crisp paper. But the moment he touched it, a subtle shift rippled through him—a familiar, long-forgotten sensation. His eyes darted to the back of his hand, and his heart skipped a beat.

The mark. The faint mark that had once bound him to Elain, a constant reminder of their rejected bond and the bargain they had made—gone.

The realization hit him like a wave. The bargain had ended.

Elain could now speak to him.

For the first time in decades, Lucien felt something stir deep inside him, something restless and unresolved. He glanced up at Eris, who wore the same unreadable smile, as if he had known this would happen all along.

“I’ll think about it,” Lucien said quietly, his voice steady, though his mind was anything but.

—

Even though Lucien arrived fashionably late as he could, he could still feel the weight of their stares and the hushed whispers that trailed behind him. The Usurper. The High Lord Killer. The labels clung to him, but none of it compared to the sharp jolt in his chest when his gaze swept across the grand ballroom. Beneath the twinkling fae lanterns and a ceiling draped in purple wisteria, amidst the glittering partygoers in their silks and brocades, he spotted her instantly.

Elain, standing with her sisters.

She always looked radiant in amethyst. Tonight, the rhinestone-heavy bodice of her gown sparkled under the warm glow of the lanterns. The sweetheart neckline framed her delicate collarbones, and the dress cinched tightly at her waist before cascading into an elegant A-line. Her hair was pinned up, dotted with pearls that glistened like stars.

He hadn’t seen her in a century, he realized. The last time they spoke, she had cried then.

But now—she was smiling, a breathtaking sight that twisted in his chest. Lucien forced himself to turn away, not wanting the familiar ache of longing to show on his face. He hadn’t come here to be reminded of what he could never have. He only meant to make an appearance, speak to his mother, have two drinks and leave. Already, the walls of the ballroom felt too close, the urge to disappear back to his quiet life called to him.

He stalked towards his mother and Helion, weaving his way through the crowd. The two of them were too preoccupied with their smoldering looks to notice him at first. Lucien cleared his throat. Helion still regarded him with that cool, aloof expression. 

Don’t worry, daddy, Lucien thought bitterly, I’m not here to kill you.

But his mother, Orla, lit up when she saw him, immediately pulling him into a doting embrace, her lips pressing against his cheeks.

“Darling,” she cooed, her tone warm and affectionate. “You made it! Are you planning to stay here for the night?”

“No, Mother,” Lucien replied. “I wish I could stay, but I’ve got repairs to handle back in my land. The last storm knocked out half the fence, and if I don’t fix it soon, the livestock will be running wild.”

Orla pouted. “But we so rarely get to see you.”

Helion’s voice cut in, sharp and commanding, exactly like Rhys when someone displeased Feyre. “Your mother would like you to stay.”

Lucien met Helion’s gaze evenly, resisting the urge to snap back. A retort burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it, forcing his face into a sarcastic smile. “We’ll see.”

Helion mimicked his smile, but colder. “See to it.”

Lucien, not one to let the jab pass, raised an eyebrow and asked, “Has Kieran or Roshan shown any heir markers yet?”

The question landed as intended. Helion gave a curt response. “No.”

Lucien’s smirk widened. The insult was subtle but sharp—a reminder that, despite Helion’s status, the magic of their court had not deemed his children worthy to lead. But it was Orla who delivered the next blow.

“Elain wouldn’t mind if you stayed,” Orla remarked offhandedly, as though she were discussing the weather. “She’s been such a wonderful courtier for the Day Court.”

Lucien’s smile dropped, his face stiffening into a frown. “Why.”

“She needed some time away from the Night Court after… well, after everything,” Orla explained, her gaze flitting around the room. “Poor thing. Rhysand and Feyre thought a change of scenery might do her good, so I offered to take her in.”

Lucien’s lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Elain being so close to his family in the decades he had been apart. He tried to remind himself that his mother had gained something of a daughter after losing another son. Still, the idea of Elain sharing this space with them—of her integrating so seamlessly into the Day Court—prickled at him.

“Let’s see how the night goes,” Lucien replied reluctantly, the urge to find something to relieve him of this conversation.

He turned away, eager to put distance between himself and the interaction. But as he moved through the crowd, he could feel the bond tugging. He glanced over his shoulder, and his heart stopped when his eyes met Elain again.

Her gaze locked onto his, wide and unblinking, as if she’d been watching him. The lively chatter around them muted, the music fading into the background. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Something unreadable flickered in her countenance—surprise, guilt, or perhaps something more.

Lucien’s chest tightened. He couldn’t tell if she’d been waiting for him to notice, or if she, too, was startled by their shared glance. But the weight of it settled deep, cutting through the air between them like a taut string waiting to snap.

He broke the spell and strode toward the bar, ordering the specialty without much thought, the thrum of tension still lingering in his veins. His eyes roamed the room as he waited, scanning what had changed since he’d left. The Night Court kept to their tight-knit circle, as usual, but now with two new females among them. He could feel their gazes shift to him.

They’ll find me eventually, he mused, if I decide to stay long.

Something else caught his attention this time. Each member of the circle seemed tethered by a golden thread—mating bonds, he realized. This time, his attention was drawn to something else. The detail made him furrow his brows, leaving him to ponder how and when it happened.

Lucien’s jaw clenched, and his gaze slid to Elain. She was across the room, a vision as she floated through the courtiers, laughing with Nuan of all people, as if she’d known her her entire life. She sparked the damned longing within him, but before he could get sucked into that vortex—

A shift in the air.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. His mechanical eye whirred, the lens automatically adjusting, recalibrating as it scanned the room for danger. Everything appeared normal. No one else seemed to notice. Yet Lucien knew better —he felt it, deep in his gut from instincts honed from hunting.

He glanced up.

His eye zeroed in on the ceiling. Something off. His eye broke through the marble surface, seeing beyond it—into something more sinister.

And then the ceiling gave way.

A thunderous crack, huge pieces of stone plummeting toward the floor, but by the time they began to fall, Lucien had already moved. His body reacted before his mind could, and in the course of a moment, he was across the room. His arms wrapped tightly around Elain, pulling her tightly against his chest. His eyes screwed shut in protection against the dust and debris.

“Lucien,” Elain said, her soft voice close that it tickled his ear.

He opened his eyes—and blinked in disbelief. Golden light surrounded them, a shimmering sphere holding the falling debris at bay. A shield of daylight, radiant and warm, encased them in safety. His glamour dissolved, his skin now glowing with a pearlescent bronze sheen, and molten red hair cascaded over his shoulders. Inside him, a core of heat burned brighter, brighter than it had ever felt before, protecting the one thing that was ever his.

“Are you alright?” he asked, still holding her close.

Elain nodded, but her wide eyes remained fixed on him, her breath catching as she took in the soft glow of the golden light that surrounded them.

“An attack!” someone shouted, but Lucien’s focus stayed locked on the glowing shield. Through the sphere, he saw them—thousands of bird-like shadows, clawing at the edges, desperate to break through.

He didn’t want to let Elain go. His instincts screamed that it wasn’t safe. But the way she held him back—the way her eyes searched his face as if seeing him for the first time—made him hesitate. She wasn’t afraid of him. Her gaze was filled with wonder.

The shield expanded, stretching outward with Lucien’s will until it touched the crumbling ceiling. And then, with a soft pop, the bubble dissolved, transforming into tiny golden flames that licked through the air, disintegrating the debris and creatures in an instant as golden dust fell.

Elain whispered. “So it is you.”

“What?” Lucien asked, still disoriented.

“You are the Day Court heir.”

Lucien’s stomach churned as reality crashed down around him. His heart pounded in his chest, louder than the stunned silence that had settled over the ballroom. He tore his gaze from Elain and looked around.

The entire room had frozen. Every fae in attendance—guests, courtiers, High Lords and their partners alike—stared at him.

At him.

No. His mind raced, grasping at something, anything, to make sense of this. This couldn’t be happening.

Eris was the heir. Lucien was of Autumn Court. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—be the Day Court heir. Because if he was, that would mean…

His breath hitched. That would mean Beron wasn’t his father.

Before Lucien could fully process the thought, Helion stepped forward, his eyes wide with shock and begrudging recognition.

“The Day Court heir has been found,” Helion’s voice boomed with command. His gaze flicked between Orla and Lucien. “Lucien Vanserra is the Day Court heir.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, but Lucien barely heard it. His heart stuttered. His world tilted. Oh, fuck.

Helion had just legitimized him.

The weight of what that meant pressed down on him, suffocating. Panic clawed at his chest, each new realization crashing into him. The responsibilities. The title. The Court. The political alliances he’d left behind. His place beside Helion—no, at the head of the Day Court.

And Elain.

The closeness to her that would come with this new role. The proximity he could no longer ignore, no matter how hard he had tried.

His mind spiraled, and in that moment of pure panic, he did the dumbest thing possible.

He released Elain and spun around, only to find himself trapped—shimmering wards pulsed around him, thrumming with Helion’s magic, a cage of blazing power.

A rush of heat exploded from him, brilliant and blinding, tearing through the wards and spells encasing the room. It was Helion’s power, but fiercer, sharper, channeled with raw, unrestrained force through Lucien. And then, before anyone could react, he winnowed, disappearing in a blaze of light and heat.

But when he landed—back on the edge of his quiet farm—something was wrong.

He felt her before he saw her, the warmth of her body pressed against his back. Her arms clung tightly around his waist, her breath shallow between his shoulder blades.

She hadn’t let go.

Lucien’s heart stuttered as truth set in. He had let her go. He’d tried to leave her behind. But she—she hadn’t released him. She had chosen to hold on, even as his world fell apart around them.

He stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing to process what had just happened. The rows of crops lay stretched out beneath the moonlit sky, his patch of land quiet and serene—a meager fraction to the truth he had just uncovered about his birthright.

“Lady…” he whispered hoarsely, half-questioning, half-apologizing.

Slowly, she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “You are very hard to find,” she whispered, her grip still firm. “Had to find a way to get you to come.”

His throat constricted as he stared at her, the weight of her words-and all those words implied-settling between them like a loaded question.

He had winnowed to escape.

Yet she had held on.

—

“So you knew?” Lucien’s voice emerged sharper than he intended.

He wasn’t used to his patience being tested like this—especially not by her. Yet here she was, wandering around his property, deliberately ignoring his pointed offers to take her back. It annoyed him. He followed her as she headed toward the house, her gaze wandering over everything, taking in small details of the life he’d built in exile.

She wheeled abruptly on him, her wrist flicking so the back of her hand flashed in his direction. “I was wondering when you’d finally ask around about this.”

Lucien pressed his tongue against his cheek. He refused to rise to the bait.

“You really didn’t notice,” Elain sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Lucien didn’t say a word, but his silence spoke volumes. Of course, he had noticed—the mark gone—when the invitation had arrived… a day or two ago.…

“So much has passed in a hundred years,” Elain whispered, her arms wrapping tightly around herself.

It was then that he felt it: their bond flickered. No longer as dull, not as hushed as it had been for so long. His heart was hammering in his chest, and she turned pink as her eyes darted away from him.

It was too much—too much to process all at once, with everything else hanging over his head. The responsibilities of an heir weighed upon him like a boulder, and the events of the night were catching up, threatening to crush him.

“I’m going to bed,” Lucien said shortly, the tone a full stop. “If you wish to stay, there’s a spare bedroom upstairs on the left. If not, you’ll find sheets on my desk to send a message. Good night.”

He turned on his heel, ready to leave her standing there, but her voice stopped him cold.

“We ruled the Day Court.”

Lucien froze. Slowly, he turned back to face her. “We?”

Elain shut her eyes a moment, as though steeling herself. When she opened them again, her voice was firm, but low. “You and me. That was the vision.”

Lucien’s snort was harsh, filled with skepticism. “What, as separate rulers or—”

“No.” Her voice cut him off, sharper now, her patience visibly thinning. “Not separate. And that doesn’t explain…” She hesitated, her cheeks flushing as she looked away, clearly struggling to find the right words.

“Explain what, lady?” he demanded, his tone clipped, irritation simmering beneath the surface.

She pressed her lips together, her eyes flicking away, looking both frustrated and mortified. Lucien raised an eyebrow, watching her struggle, his own annoyance flaring. He’d had enough of vague half-answers and the way she seemed to dance around the truth.

She took a breath, forcing herself to continue. “It doesn’t explain… the amount of sex we had in that vision. Or the children… who looked like you and me.”

Lucien stilled, his eyes blinking as the meaning of her words registered. He stared, and then a laugh escaped him—deep and disbelieving. He snorted, his head shaking, as laughter bubbled up from his chest.

But Elain wasn’t laughing. She didn’t look at him, her face red as her lips pursed into a thin line. And that was when it hit him—she wasn’t joking.

“You rejected it, remember?” His tone was bitter and confused. “You rejected the bond, my lady.”

There was a flash of anger in Elain’s eyes, no longer the timid female he remembered. She scowled at him as she shot back, “As Orla did with Helion when you were born.”

Lucien blinked, momentarily stunned by the comparison. Elain stood taller, her shoulders squared, no longer shrinking under his gaze. The fierceness in Elain’s eyes caught him off guard—a spark of shock mixed with something raw, something he couldn’t quite grasp.

It reminded him, just for a moment, of Jesminda—alive and bright in her defiance, a fading memory that still lingered painfully close to the surface.

His mother. Mated to Helion. Long before Lucien killed Beron.

Elain. Looking like Jesminda. Long after she was gone.

He took a steadying breath, forcing himself to set those revelations aside—things to confront later, with the people who held the answers. But what did any of that mean for him and Elain?

“So, what?” Lucien demanded, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. “You had a vision, and that’s why you’re here now? That’s what changed your mind about giving this—” he gestured between them, “—a shot?”

“No,” Elain said softly, the sharpness yielding to something much softer as she looked down, exhaling heavily. “No. The vision happened after.”

“After what?” he pressed hotly.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, as if trying to shield herself from his words, her gaze dropping to the ground. It was her posture—the way she seemed to shrink into herself—that cut through his frustration, softening his resolve. And then the weight of her silence settled between them like a chasm.

Unable to hold back, he did the unthinkable: he took a step closer, closing the distance until there was barely any space left between them.

“After what?” he coaxed gently, his voice low, trying to draw her out.

Elain’s eyes flickered up, meeting his. Her face was raw, unguarded, and she swallowed hard before she spoke. “After I fell in love with the Day Court.” Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with a vulnerability he hadn’t expected. “Until I realized… how much I saw you in it.”

Lucien stared, the words clawing through the walls he’d built around his heart. For a very long moment, he said nothing. There was nothing to say. The truth hovered between them, weak and throbbing.

And for the first time in a hundred years, he couldn’t look away from the bond between them—the hum of it, a pulse stronger than it had ever been.

[gatheringbones]

["Because of our experience in a society based on domination, we often expect to find a system of power-over operating in any new situation. We feel uneasy when we don't know who's ijn ch arge, and look to others to take responsibility. In the same jail setting I described at the beginning of the chapter, I was waiting in a long lunch line one afternoon when I heard a woman behind me grumble to her friend, "Boy, would I ever have a thing or two to tell this organization if I could ever figure out who it is!" I turned to her. "But you are the organization— we all are!" I said. Her friend poked her and stage whispered, "She's one of the leaders."

The woman blushed. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"But I'm not a leader," I protested. "We have no leaders. And anyway— we really want to know what you think."

She proceeded to tell me a long list of things "the organizers" were doing wrong. I suggested she take responsibility for making some changes.

"I'm not in charge," she said.

Systems of domination destroy power-with, for it can only truly exist among those who are equal and who recognize that they are equal. The woman in the lunch line could not recognize that she had a right equal to anyone's to shape decisions and influence the action. She would not accept the responsibility that went with that right. And so she lost her power, and the group was deprived of her perspectives.

Power-with is always revocable. The group may consider our ideas, but it does not automatically adopt them or obey them. And if we misuse our influence, we may lose it.

For women, power-with is especially elusive. We are not taught to expect that our ideas, our contributions, will be valued equally with men's. Women defer to men in discussions, and are more hesitant to speak out in mixed groups of women and men. When researcher Matina Horner presented college students with the task of finishing a story that began, "At the end of first term finals, Anne finds herself at the top of her medical school class," she found that students predicted tragedies and disasters for Anne, while a group given the identical sentence about a male predicted great achievements and good fortune. Concluded Horner, “For most women, the anticipation of success in competitive achievement activity, especially against men, produces anticipation of certain negative conse- quences, for example, threat of social rejection and loss of femininity." We fear the achievements that might gain us respect and admiration, for loneliness is the price we expect to pay for esteem.

Perhaps we also fear power-with because we do not recognize it as different from power-over. Women have been victims of power-over, and we hesitate to step into the role of dominators. We are aware of the hostility directed toward women who wield power. For while we rarely reach the higher echelons of power-over, women most often fill the ranks of those who directly administer the decrees or impose the sanctions of the authorities. We rarely are the politicians who cut benefits to the hungry, but we are often the social workers who are forced to refuse the claims. We staff the front desks and answer the phones, and we receive the rage and frustration that really belongs elsewhere. And so the image in our minds of women in power becomes that of the Big Nurse, the hated, petty tyrant, someone we shrink from becoming, not someone we aspire to be.”]

starhawk, from truth or dare: encounters with power, authority, and mystery, 1987

[caracolcondiarrea]

shout out to the time that one girl I think I like said to me “the moon look’s very pretty tonight” and I could’ve sworn we once had a conversation ab kny that the scene where shinobu said the same thing she said to me and we where discussing if she said she liked him or not, unfortunately, I don’t remember her opinion on that. I answered to her “yes yes it does” bc I’m not sure if I am in love, but I remember taking a bit of time bc I was overthinking what she just said to me and I don’t know if she said it to me with that intention or not. She hasn’t done anything else that might suggest she wants to be more than a friend with me but I don’t know if I like her or not.

[kabutoden]

i look at you and my eyes are so so so wet like with tears tears of pure emotion and extend out my closed fist and then I open up my hand and you see her. my troll oc. the greatest oc. from 2013. I brought her back and redesigned her and im insane about her again. i begin sobbing on the ground. she’s so small. itty bitty……….

[taegularities]

i'm hurt 🥲

[blujayonthewing]

I've kind of joked about melliwyk being taken by surprise by her own alignment shift but honestly I think if you could have told her at the beginning of the campaign that she was chaotic neutral she'd have been rather troubled by that

[yutadori]

just last week i was employed .__.

[flourescencia]

Maybe being bisexual isn't that bad 🫣

oh it isn't I love bisexuals I just have constantly conflicting feelings about men and their perception of me and that is the troubling part to me you could say

[cupiare]

bless my agency consultant for emailing me on a sunday night he’s been a trooper and i make sure to remind him every time we talk that i appreciate his support but Damn. fr now is good feedback just synonymous with ‘we don’t need you’ or what. whats the wordplay i’m missing here

[fortheloveofwii]

I know it’s only bc I’m close to my period thus tenfold more sensitive but I am so sad about certain aspects of my life rn

[thentherewasfury]

I don’t even think my mother realizes that she killed our relationship.

Granted, it wasn’t fast or sharp. It was “that won’t end well” and then silence on the subject, for the rest of dinner and for the drive back to her house and for the whole next day and for the two hour trip to the airport.

She doesn’t want to see it or hear about it or think about it and it’s my life, so she doesn’t want to see or hear or think about my *life*—and so with every passing second now she’s killing the last vestige of our pseudo relationship: pretending to care about my life even when she disagreed with or disdained of most of my choices.

Weirdly freeing, tbh.

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Barista who is the “poster boy”of the coffee shop he works at. It is honestly deserved: he has a pretty face, a charming smile and a playful yet sweet attitude. He is especially popular among the girls…who he keeps rejecting. He is just not looking for something casual, you know? He dates to marry, not to be someone’s eye-candy.

Yandere!Barista who, one day, sees you walk into the store. Is that a Corroded Coffin shirt you have on ? He loves that band! This is what he tells you when it is your turn to order. What do you mean he looks too much like a goody two-shoes to be a fan? Alright, Miss “I am so dark and edgy”, what do you want to order? Black coffee? The banter goes on until he has to shoo you away, with an amused smile, as the other people in line are starting to get impatient.

Yandere!Barista who glances your way every chance he gets. Not only are you fun to talk to, but you also look really cute. Sometimes, between orders, he gets to converse with you. He eagerly returns your small wave when it is time for you to leave. As he goes to your table to collect the receipt, he finds your cup still there. On it, there is a small doodle of him along with your number. A pink hue dusts his cheeks as he brings a hand to cover the side of his face. He is definitely keeping that cup.

Yandere!Barista who saved your number under “Cutie <3”. The more you text each other, the more you hang out together, the more he becomes obsessed. It is honestly starting to scare him. The other night, he had your cup in his hands to look at the doodle. Next thing he knew, he had his lips where yours had been when you were drinking from it. It flustered him so much, he threw the cup in the trash bin afterwards…only to go get it back five minutes later…He is asking you out on a date for sure next time he sees you.

Yandere!Barista who does your coffee with trembling hands. He really doesn’t want to do this, but you didn’t leave him a choice. Today, on your usual table, you are sitting with a man other than him. He can’t possibly lose the only person who took the time to get to know him beyond his looks. The drug should work in about fifteen minutes, five minutes after closing time. This should be perfect, you always wait for him to close the shop and walk home together. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this…You will be happy at his house, you will be happy with him. It is with a heavy mind and painful heart that he gives you your order.

Yandere!Barista who you got pinned against the wall of the storage room, one hand beside his head and the other one holding your cup. He is as white as a ghost. He keeps looking around. He is sweating all over. This couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly know- You firmly grab his jaw and turn his face towards you. “Drink”, you say coldly. What are you gonna do to him after he becomes unconscious? Will you report him to the police? Will you hurt him? He closes his eyes tightly as you bring the cup to his lips. The moment it reaches them, you drop it on the floor and replace it with your lips. His eyes open in shock as you give him a small, tender kiss. “That was my cousin, idiot”, you tell him affectionately. You look at him for a couple more seconds before putting on your bag. He is still frozen in place as you add: “Tomorrow, 6pm, at my house. Alright?”. You leave before he can answer.

Yandere!Barista who slides down the wall until he is sitting on the floor. All that is left of him is a blushing, quivering mess. With shaky fingers, he touches his lips; a small whimper involuntarily comes out his mouth. He is about to combust. He feels so weak, he can’t get up. You scared the shit out of him, but that was so hot ahh…He didn’t know you could be this assertive. And that kiss…he buries his face in his hands and groans. Kissing you is all he has ever dreamed of, yet he stayed still like a dumbass when it finally happened. He is so lame-you make him so lame. Guess tomorrow would be his chance to redeem himself.