#I HOPE I RECONCILED YOUR CONFUSION
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tbaluver · 3 months ago
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Hi ree 🤭
Can I request y/n flinching during an argument when the boys make a sudden movement. Give it a happy ending pls.
I'm craving some angst with fluff on the side.
Has to be served by u tho 😭🌹
Flinching During An Argument- The Love And DeepSpace Men
parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: slight angst with some fluff/ comfort ! a/n: HIHI TEE !! ily (∩˃o˂∩)♡ i hope this was okay and i hope i served and if not im soso sorry and this doesn't exist ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!
⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆
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Xavier:
It was your first argument with Xavier and you’d never seen this side of him. His usually warm, soft eyes narrow into a piercing glare, losing their usual kindness and sleepiness to it. You had always believed that you and Xavier would never argue, yet here you were, caught in a heated argument. Frustration had clouded both your minds, leaving both to forget what the initial problem even was. The emotional exhaustion was palpable and you both were weary from the conflict.
In an attempt to reconcile, Xavier reached out to pull you closer and offer an apology. His sudden gesture was unexpected and made you flinch. The movement was too abrupt, causing you a momentary surge of anxiety. You recoiled back slightly, your body tense.
His eyes widened in shock at your reaction. Instantly, he withdrew his arm, staring down at his hands as if they had betrayed him. Hurt and confusion on his face were palpable, as if he committed an offense. “Are you okay?” He asked softly, “I’m so sorry if I scared you. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
The frustration that had marked his earlier expression melted away and was replaced by the tender, sincere face you knew and loved. As your mind began to process the sudden shift and the context of his actions, you realized that his outstretched arm had been an attempt to offer comfort.
“I’m sorry you thought I’d hurt you,” Xavier says, his voice weighted with sincerity. “I promise I will never do that. I don’t know what I did to make you feel this way, but I’m committed to doing whatever it takes to be a better boyfriend.”
Seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes, you stepped forward closer to him, your heart aching for him. Gently, you cupped his cheek in your hand, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm. “You’re not a bad boyfriend,” You reassured him, your voice soft and soothing. Xavier nuzzled into your hand, a small grateful small forming on his lips. "I know you would be the last person in this world to hurt me. It was just out of instinct, I’m sorry.”
The tension between you began to dissolve, bridging the gap that had formed during the argument. "Then let’s promise to never argue ever again,” He says, locking your eyes with yours. “I didn’t like it one bit.”
You nod with a soft smile as he reaches out to take your hand in his, holding it close. “We’ll find a better way to handle things. I love you too much to let anything come between us.” You both drew closer, wrapping each other in an embrace. He presses his lips gently on your forehead to remind you.
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Zayne:
Zayne loves you very much. He may not always express it in words, but his actions always speak volumes and the way he takes care of you shows how deeply he cares. Most of your arguments tend to revolve around your wellbeing and the way you don't take care of yourself properly. When you're stubborn and brush off his concerns, it frustrates him further.
Tonight it seems like the frustration built up and Zayne who usually speaks with a gentle tone towards you, finds himself slightly raising his voice for the first time. It was out of a mix of desperation and concern for you. He raises his hand to fix the collar of his button up shirt. He tugs at the collar and tries to smooth it out, adjusting it. However, the sudden movement is mistaken by you in the heat of the moment. Seeing Zayne’s hand come up, your heart skips a beat and a rush of panic comes through you. At the moment, the gesture felt threatening as if he was trying to strike you. But deep down you know Zayne would never hurt you but rather the fear of the unknown makes you flinch. You take a step back, your eyes wide and your body tense.
Zayne notices your reaction and his face falls. The realization of his innocent gesture was misinterpreted and hits him like a wave. His throat tightens and he struggles to find the right words as he tries to reassure you. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” His hand lowers and he swallows hard. His eyes were a mix of regret and exhaustion. The tension in his gaze is palpable, clear even without words. “I’m sorry,” He says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I was just fixing my collar. I would never hurt you. Please, don’t think that. Forgive me my love.” His eyes lock onto yours, pleading for you to see the truth in his expression.
You can see the pain in his eyes, his usually composed demeanor has cracked under the weight of your misinterpretation. The fear in your chest slowly begins to disappear as you recognize his genuine remorse and the depth of his feelings.
As you speak, your body relaxes. "I'm sorry. I don't really know why I did that" You admit, letting out a sigh. You blink a few times, trying to prevent the tears that threaten to spill.
Zayne watches you with a soft, concerned look. He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you. "May I?-"
You nod, and he closes the distance between you, enveloping you in his arms. He pulls you in a little tighter, his hands resting soothingly on your back.
"It's alright you do not have to know." He sighs, pressing a kiss at the top of your head as he rubs soothing circles on your back. "I promise you, I would never do such a thing. Please let me make it right my love."
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Rafayel:
Usually your arguments were nothing more than just playful banter, something that was brushed off with laughter. But today, something was different about this argument. The conversation escalated into a heated argument, with both of you frustrated. The words you threw at each other were sharper, the silence afterward heavier.
Rafayel’s hands lifted to ruffle his hair out of frustration but it seemed to heighten the tension. You backed away, closing your eyes and turning your head, trying to shield yourself from a possible hit or a burn.
Seeing your reaction, Rafayel’s expression immediately softened. His hand dropped to his sides, and felt the sting of regret and concern pierce through his frustrations. He realized the impact of his actions so he steps forward with a sense of urgency, his heart pounding with a mix of worry and desperation. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you to reassure his need for you.
You nestled into his chest but your body remained tense from the argument’s intensity. “Cutie…You know I would never hurt you, right?” His voice was a mix of hurt and worry, trembling slightly as if his worst nightmare came true—losing you again. The thought of having you scared of him, after losing you once before, made him desperate to keep you in his embrace to prevent you from ever leaving him ever again.
He gently pulls away, his hands cupping your face with tenderness. His fingers stroked your cheeks softly and his gaze filled with a mixture of relief as he saw you relax against him. “You don't need to be scared,” He murmured, “I’m here to protect you. I promise I'll make it up to you.” The sincerity in his eyes and the gentle caress of his hands were a silent vow to ensure you felt safe and loved.
Later on that day he apologized in Glubglubnese, Popoposh, and Blublublun to start off by making it up to you.
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Sylus:
You and Sylus had your fair share of arguments and you both always managed to talk things through and reach a compromise. This time, however, this disagreement delta relentless back-and forth that seemed to stretch on forever.
His scowl and the tone in his voice was unsettling. The room fell into an uneasy silence until Sylus brought a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples. At that moment, you made a mistake. To his hand raised, you flinched, fearing it was to use his evol on you or something worse. 
Instinctively, you crouched down and shielded yourself with your arms, overwhelmed by a wave of shame and fear. You knew deep down that he would never hurt you, but your  reflexes were too strong to ignore. With your face hidden, you missed the hurt and regret that clouded Sylus’s eyes. He took a deep breath, his voice softening as he stepped closer to you.
“Sweetie….” He says, his tone filled with sorrow. “Please, look at me.”
When you finally dared to meet his gaze, the intimidation was gone. He crouched down to your level, his expression soft and tender. He reached out, gently cupping your face and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. He sighed in relief knowing you didn’t flinch this time when he approached you.
“I would never hurt you,” He extends his hand, helping you up to your feet. As you stood, he pulled you into a heartfelt embrace. “How could I ever do that to someone I love so deeply? I would never forgive myself.” You rested your head against his chest and the familiar scent of him enveloped you, soothing your nerves. Sylus’s hands moved gently through your hair and traced comforting circles on your back that offered a silent apology and reassurance. In that moment, the argument was forgotten and replaced of a sense of tenderness.
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fushitoru · 2 months ago
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chapter 4: the game a bridgerton!au
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pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader
summary⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?
warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly
chapter summary: satoru has some revelations about you. both you and satoru share some quite...happening days at the manor, including an eventful game of pall mall. (4.9k)
a/n WARNING this chapter is suggestive. like always minors dni. not edited at all bc im sick of this chapter lol (like always i fear). see u at the bottom ;)
prev. the manor | next. the fall
general masterlist | series masterlist
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Dearest reader, 
It has come to the attention of This Author that Miss Itadori, the undeniable diamond of the season, has made her appearance at Gojo Manor a full week ahead of the rest of the ton. Such early arrival can only provoke speculation: might the tender buds of affection be blossoming in the Kentish countryside? Shall we soon witness Miss Itadori departing with more than just fond memories, perhaps even a ring upon her finger? These are the very questions now fluttering through the minds of young ladies and their ever-watchful mamas, who may find their carefully laid plans to ensnare Lord Gojo dashed before the house party has even begun.
⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS
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Gojo leaned back in his chair, fingers absentmindedly drumming on the armrest as he watched you fumble with the library door. The soft fabric of your nightgown slipped off your shoulder, a glimpse of bare skin catching in the dim light⸺something not lost to Gojo’s eyes as he watched your figure disappear angrily. Your face was flushed, eyes wide and uncertain. Despite the flurry of emotions playing across your features, what struck him most was the way your hands trembled as you fought to maintain composure.
His lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. You had come here⸺of all places⸺into his sanctuary, and for what? A part of him couldn’t reconcile the image of you sneaking into the library in the dead of night with the proper, composed lady you portrayed during the day. The whole encounter felt surreal, leaving a knot of confusion coiled tightly in his chest.
His gaze lingered on the empty doorway after you vanished, a strange hollowness settling in his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the feeling, but it clung to him like the shadows of the room. His fingers tightened around the armrest, knuckles whitening as if he could grasp onto something concrete⸺something that made sense. But all he was left with was the lingering echo of your footsteps in the hallway and the ghost of your flushed face in his mind.
He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. His mind kept returning to the way your nightgown had slipped from your shoulder as you fumbled with the door. The pale fabric had slid down so effortlessly, exposing the curve of your bare skin. It wasn’t scandalous, not really⸺not enough to warrant the way his thoughts kept circling back to it. And yet, he couldn’t shake the image, the unexpected flash of vulnerability. The sight of it stirred something in him, a quiet confusion that unsettled his usual composure.
What was it that made him notice? Gojo’s brow furrowed as he considered it, his fingers absently drumming on the armrest of his chair. He had witnessed plenty of women in far less modest circumstances (most of them courtesy of his friends, who forced him to go to ridiculous events), and yet, this felt different. There was something about the way you had tried to maintain your dignity, the way you had fought to compose yourself even as your face flushed and your nightgown betrayed you. It was... distracting.
The memory of your fearful expression gnawed at him. He had expected haughty arrogance or calculated charm, not genuine fear. You weren’t like the people who usually surrounded him, playing their part in society's grand performance, all vying for his attention. There was an intelligence in your eyes, a spark that made him feel something unsettlingly close to admiration.
He couldn’t make sense of it. Why did it matter that you were different? Why did he find himself enjoying your company, despite the fact that you seemed entirely uninterested in his? He drummed his fingers against the armrest, contemplating the possibility of pursuing you for the rest of the season⸺though he quickly dismissed the thought. You were uncooperative, difficult. A chase after you would be nothing short of exhausting. 
And yet...
His attention shifted back to the desk, to the scattered papers you had left behind. Gojo reached for them, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the parchment as though handling something fragile. The numbers and diagrams were a mess of scribbled notes, and yet, they held a strange familiarity. His brow furrowed as he traced the lines with his eyes, piecing together the fragmented calculations. Then, like a puzzle falling into place, it clicked.
Venus. Of all things, you had been calculating the size of Venus.
Gojo’s hand froze midair, hovering over the papers. He blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He had assumed⸺no, expected⸺you to be reading some frivolous romance, a book about love and passion, something fitting for a young lady sneaking into a library. But instead, you were working on complex celestial calculations.
He had pegged you for a typical young lady of the ton⸺someone more interested in the latest gossip or the affections of suitors than in the stars. It annoyed him, more than he cared to admit, that he had been wrong.
Gojo set the paper down, his hand resting on the edge of the desk as he leaned back in his chair. The flicker of irritation that sparked in his chest was unfamiliar, unsettling even. It wasn’t just that you had surprised him⸺plenty of people had done that before. No, it was the fact that he had misjudged you so completely. He prided himself on being perceptive, on seeing through people’s masks with ease. Yet here you were, slipping past his assumptions with nothing more than a few scribbled notes and a fleeting presence.
His gaze dropped to the floor, and for the first time in a long while, he felt uncertain. Gojo wasn’t used to feeling this way⸺unsettled, annoyed, and a little too curious for his own good. He tapped the papers lightly, lost in thought. What did it mean that you had gotten under his skin like this? That he found himself wanting to unravel the mystery of you, to see what lay beneath the surface of your carefully constructed facade?
A sigh escaped his lips, low and quiet. His hand finally left the papers, and he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers he couldn’t quite grasp. The world around him was filled with people who either fawned over his charms or remained blissfully unaware of his true nature. But you? You saw right through him. You challenged him, unsettled him, made him question things he had never thought to question before.
With a final glance at the empty doorway, Satoru leaned forward again, ready to dive back into his work. But this time, his thoughts weren’t solely on his family’s ledgers. They were on you⸺and the undeniable pull that had started to form between you.
And inevitably, because Satoru is distracted, he lets the lull of sleep sneak up on him, swathing him in its deep, heavy blanket.
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No, Satoru hears himself think. You’re not supposed to be here.
You’re sitting on his bed, somehow made it up to his chambers. A part of Satoru comprehends⸺in all his sleep-deprived glory⸺that he is definitely dreaming, but there’s an overwhelmingly stubborn part of him that dominates his entire consciousness, refusing to accept the fact. 
You’re leaning on your elbow, resting on your side on the foot of his bed. Part of him wants to believe that you are really here, sheer nightgown that seems to get shorter and shorter⸺slipping up your thighs⸺every time his consciousness paints an image of you. The sheer material drapes over your figure, accentuating the gentle curve of your waist and the fullness of your hips, painting a picture that torments him.
“My lord,” you whisper. 
It’s just his title, but your voice carries a sweetness it never holds in reality, dripping with an unfamiliar softness that makes Satoru’s heart lurch. Panic takes root, and he scrambles back, trying to distance himself from the fantasy in front of him. His back slams against the headboard as he fights to resist⸺not just you, but the part of himself that aches to abandon all notions of honor. That part of him that craves to do things to you that are anything but honorable.
Then, he notices your smile. It’s not the polite, practiced smile you show at balls or to suitors vying for your attention. This one is sincere, warm⸺a smile that speaks of affection, the kind you’ve never shown him before.
Like you are in love. 
And you are not helping Satoru in his restraint because you position yourself, crawling like a predator, straddling his lap. Satoru is suddenly breathing too fast, his chest tightening with the weight of desire and disbelief.
Your lips are at his ear. Your lips are so soft. “Touch me,” you say, trailing your lips down feather light across his jaw. 
Right now, you are in love. With him. You are his, and Satoru desperately does not want to fight it. 
He does not want to. 
Your hands start trailing down his torso, and now he registers that he is simply wearing a linen shirt and underwear because you are tracing the edge of his underwear, touching his inner thighs, getting so, so impossibly close to⸺
“No,” he rasps, squeezing his eyes shut. “I am a man of honor.”
But that’s a lie. One that Satoru clings to, because admitting the truth would shatter everything he’s built. His identity, his values⸺they all rest on the lie he’s desperately trying to hold onto.
What he really wants is nothing between you and him.
He wants that flimsy nightgown gone, the one that barely covers your thighs and what lies between them. He wants to keep the candlelight burning so he can see every inch of you, learn every detail of your body. He wants to slip off your chemise and explore the softness of your skin, trace the swell of your breasts, the dip of your hips, and taste the sweetness of your lips.
Satoru can’t focus on anything except the fact you are utterly, scandalously close to him, sitting on his lap and staring at him as if you love him. 
And his treacherous heart wants to abandon duty, honor, the dukedom, the royal family⸺everything⸺and simply take you. To feel the weight of you pressed against him, wrapped around him.
But just as his hands move to cup your face, you start giggling. “No, you are not.”
Satoru blinks, confused.
You laugh again, light and teasing. “You are no man of honor.”
And suddenly, your laughter echoes in his mind, filling the room with its taunting melody. It etches itself into his thoughts, leaving an indelible mark.
“You are a coward.”
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You entered the drawing room to break your fast, Choso by your side, and immediately locked eyes with Gojo, who was already seated at the table with his mother. He quickly looked away, focusing on the toast he was slathering with an ungodly amount of jam.
As you moved to sit at the table with Choso, you couldn't help but study him. Gojo appeared more disheveled than usual, perhaps a bit fatigued, though any sign of vulnerability quickly vanished when your mother spoke.
“Lord Gojo, it is a fine morning, is it not?” she inquired with her usual warmth.
Gojo smiled, leaning back in his chair with his characteristic nonchalance. “Indeed, Lady Itadori, especially as I am blessed with such lovely company as yourself and your daughter.” His eyes flickered toward you, an arrogant glint in them before they shifted back to your mother.
You and Choso exchanged exasperated glances. 
Your mother chuckled, clearly charmed. “Oh, my lord, you flatter me. Tell me, what do you favor for breakfast? I am always curious to hear of others' preferences.”
“Clearly, it is toast drowned in enough jam to satisfy an army,” you muttered under your breath, delicately spreading butter onto your own toast.
Gojo’s eyes flashed, and he couldn’t resist a retort. “At least I do not indulge in something as dull as butter.”
You stiffened. “Butter is far superior to such overwhelming sweetness. Jam annihilates the taste of the toast itself, rendering it pointless.”
“And butter,” he shot back, “adds nothing but blandness. It is unremarkable, simple, and tasteless.”
A surge of heat rose to your face, ready to deliver another sharp remark, but before you could respond, Duchess Gojo’s lilting laughter filled the room. “Oh, my dears, what a lively couple you make!” Her tone was teasing, her eyes alight with amusement. “Such spirited conversation at breakfast⸺how delightful!”
Both you and Gojo stiffened, your faces flushing, though whether it was from irritation or something else entirely, you couldn’t say. You hastily turned your attention back to your toast, while Gojo busied himself with his tea.
Duchess Gojo clapped her hands together lightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Since we are all in such a lively mood this morning, I do believe a game of pall-mall is in order once breakfast is through. The garden is in full bloom, and the weather is perfect for it.”
Your mother smiled graciously. “A wonderful idea, Duchess. It has been some time since we last enjoyed a game.”
“Indeed,” the Duchess agreed. “And I daresay a little friendly competition will do us all good. What do you say, Lord Gojo?” She turned to her son with a knowing look. “I trust you are up for the challenge?”
Gojo leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “I never shy away from a challenge, Mother. But do be warned, I have no intention of losing.”
“Confidence is a virtue,” you remarked dryly, reaching for your teacup, “but do not let it cloud your judgment. Pall-mall requires more than mere bravado.”
Gojo raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Ah, a challenge from you as well. This shall be an interesting morning indeed.”
“Let us hope your skills in the garden match your flair for words, my lord,” you retorted, your tone light (for the sake of preventing your mother a heart attack) but your gaze to Gojo sharp. 
Duchess Gojo’s laughter rang out once more, her eyes gleaming with delight. “Oh, this will be most entertaining! Come now, let us finish our breakfast, and then we shall see who emerges victorious on the field.”
You took a sip of your tea, pointedly ignoring the way Gojo’s gaze lingered on you as you did so. The day had barely begun, and already, you felt the familiar tension of being in his presence. But if there was one thing you knew, it was that you wouldn’t back down from a challenge⸺whether at the breakfast table or in the garden.
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Duchess Gojo clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Now, we must let our diamond choose first. After all, she is the only lady participating today.”
You smiled warmly at her, a polite nod of appreciation. Gojo, however, frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced between you and the bag of mallets. “Are we not simply setting her up for victory?”
Turning to him with an innocent smile, you crossed your arms. “What’s that, my lord? Are you unable, as a man, to deal with the loss of your chosen mallet? I know some men depend heavily on certain familiars to win.”
Gojo held your gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a dismissive shrug, he looked away. “Choose whatever you want. I will be sure to defeat you regardless.”
Duchess Gojo placed a warm hand on your back, encouraging you forward. “That’s the spirit, my son. Now, Miss Itadori, do choose which one you fancy.”
You approached the bag of mallets, your eyes scanning over the selection. They varied in subtle shapes and sizes, each one seemingly tailored for a different style of play. Your gaze settled on a mallet slightly larger than the others, painted a light blue shade. Its weight and shape seemed particularly advantageous for aim and control—perfect for directing the ball with precision.
As you picked it up, Gojo’s expression darkened, a hint of irritation flickering in his eyes. “Of course, she chooses the best one,” he muttered under his breath.
“Well,” Duchess Gojo crossed her arms. “I suppose it’s only fair that you all let the lady go first.” She turned to you, nodding. “I will go join your mother for tea inside, my dear.” Winking, she adds, “Show these boys how real ladies do it.”
As the duchess took her leave, Choso, always the supportive brother, leaned over to you with a small smile. “Excellent choice, sister. Show them how it’s done.”
You gave him a grateful nod and positioned yourself for your turn. With a graceful swing, you sent the ball rolling smoothly across the lawn. Choso clapped in approval, but when you looked up, Gojo and Yuji were both glowering at you from the sidelines.
Gojo’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly not amused by your success. “Beginner’s luck,” he commented dryly. Yuji could only nod in mindless agreement to Gojo, and you graced him with a glower. Traitor.
Now it was Gojo’s turn. He stepped forward with confident ease, positioning himself with the mallet as though he had been doing this his entire life. With a swift, practiced swing, his ball shot forward and struck a target dead center. Yuji’s eyes sparkled with admiration, practically beaming at Gojo’s skill.
Choso and you exchanged petulant glances, unimpressed by Gojo’s display. But Yuji’s excitement only grew, and he couldn’t resist praising his mentor. “Incredible, my lord! You never miss!”
Choso’s turn came next. With a focused look, he lined up his shot and knocked Gojo’s ball right out of position, sending it tumbling off course into a forested area. Gojo let out a forced laugh, masking his irritation as best as he could, and you clapped and let out a small, petty giggle. “Good shot, brother! I fear Lord Gojo will have to travel much distance to retrieve and get it on course.”
You would come to bite your words.
When it was Yuji’s turn, he aimed with all his might and sent your ball flying out of position. You gasped in outrage, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Oh, you will pay for this.”. 
Gojo, on the other hand, gave Yuji a hearty pat on the back, beaming with pride. “Well done, Yuji. Well done.”
It was now your turn, and you stomped your way towards the forested area where you and Gojo’s balls had traveled towards. Soon enough, Gojo was following after you.
The path was shaded by trees, and the coolness of the forest was a welcome relief from the heat of the sun. You could help but give each other glares until you finally broke the silence.
 “How dare you bewitch my brother into turning against me?” you accused him, stepping over a stray root.
Gojo rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “It appears that Yuji’s blood is indeed not thicker than water,” 
 “Or maybe⸺just maybe⸺your charm isn’t as infallible as you think.”
Keeping pace beside you, Gojo scoffed. “And yet, here you are, still engaged in conversation with me. I must be doing something right.”
You shoot him an angry sideways glance. “I’m only here because my ball is, unfortunately, in the same direction as yours. Nothing more.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so it’s mere coincidence that fate keeps pulling us together.”
“More like unfortunate circumstance.”
The two of you continued bickering as you searched for your wayward balls. The back-and-forth banter echoed through the forest, neither of you willing to back down.
Finally, you spotted them⸺your ball and Gojo’s⸺resting precariously on top of a narrow stream of water. You both halted, glancing at each other, and then, without a word, you raced forward.
Gojo reached the water’s edge first, but you weren’t far behind. Neither of you hesitated as you waded into the shallow stream, your focus entirely on retrieving your respective balls. The bottoms of your clothes became soaked in the cool water, but neither of you paid it any mind, too busy grappling to reach your goals first.
Just as you managed to scoop up your ball, your dress snagged on something in the water. You stumbled forward, colliding directly into Gojo, who had just retrieved his own. The sudden impact sent both of you toppling into the water.
You landed squarely on top of him, the shock of the fall leaving you momentarily dazed. Gojo blinked up at you, his breath catching as his gaze dropped to your now-dampened bodice, honing in on your bosom. For a moment, his usually sharp and calculating eyes softened, confusion flickering across his face as if he didn’t quite understand the effect you were having on him.
You scrambled to find your words, unsure of what to say. “I didn’t mean to⸺”
Before you could finish, Gojo gently grasped your shoulders and helped you off of him. He stood up first, his expression uncharacteristically serious as he brushed off his wet clothing and offered you a hand. You took it, steadying yourself as you rose to your feet.
Gojo swallowed hard, clearly at a loss for words. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closed it, shaking his head. “I must go,” he muttered,.
Without another word, he turned and left, leaving you standing there in the stream, confused and flustered as you watched him disappear into the trees.
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“I am not impressed.” Nobara impassively stares you down with a glower.
You fluttered your fan, maintaining a delicate air of mock innocence. “Whatever do you mean, my dear friend?”
The two of you sat at a small table on the terrace, its stone surface warm from the midday sun. Before you, the expansive field served as Gojo’s personal training ground, scattered with targets and archery equipment. Gojo and his protégé, Yuji, had clearly been at it for hours, their bare skin glistening with sweat under the relentless sun. They moved with a practiced ease, their focus entirely on the task at hand.
Gojo was currently demonstrating a particular stance to Yuji, his voice carrying faintly over the terrace as he corrected the younger man’s posture and grip. Yuji, ever the diligent student, watched him with an intensity that bordered on awe. You couldn’t help but reflect that his expression now⸺determined and assured⸺contrasted much with his encounter with you at the game. 
Nobara’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the scene. “Why are we here?” she asked flatly, her gaze lingering on the two men.
You turned to her with a smile, fluttering your fan with exaggerated elegance. “Why, to record in my journal, of course. One must capture the beauty of Mother Nature when it presents itself so generously from this terrace.”
Her expression remained unimpressed. “Is it truly Mother Nature that has captivated you, or Lord Gojo’s bare skin?” She glanced down at your unopened journal, its quill resting untouched beside it. “And how much progress have you made in this recording of yours?”
You couldn’t suppress a laugh, caught in your own half-hearted excuse. “Well, even you cannot deny that he presents a rather fine figure, can you? And I will get to my writing in due time. Inspiration must first strike, after all.”
Nobara sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “I cannot fathom how you find pleasure in looking upon a man who has caused you so much distress. Many times, in fact.”
You glanced back toward the field, watching as Gojo effortlessly pulled back his bowstring, the muscles in his back rippling with the movement. His form was impeccable, each action a demonstration of his skill and strength. Yuji, in contrast, struggled to replicate the motion with as much ease and accuracy, though his determination was evident.
"He’s clearly enjoying himself," you commented dryly, turning your attention back to Nobara. "Torturing me, that is. I might as well make due of my harrowing and demeaning stay here and enjoy some aspects of Gojo. I swear, he delights in the fact that I’m stuck here."
Nobara’s eyes narrowed, and she snorted. "Oh, absolutely. Men like him don’t get much amusement in life unless it involves making someone else miserable."
You shook your head, remembering the library encounter all too vividly. Gojo had seemed genuinely surprised to find you there, and yet he had taken to taunting you with his usual smugness. That infernal smirk of his had been etched into your memory.
"I almost wonder," you mused, "if he was actually shocked to find me in the library. Perhaps I caught him off guard for once."
Nobara raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing? Looking for a book on how to survive insufferable dukes?"
You chuckled softly. "No, I was reading about Venus, actually. But Gojo⸺he assumed I was indulging in some silly romance. Imagine his surprise when he realized I was working on calculations instead."
Nobara’s lips twitched upward in amusement, but before she could respond, a loud thud! echoed across the terrace. Both of you looked down just in time to see Gojo's arrow hit the target dead center.
You rolled your eyes. Of course, he would show off. That insufferable man never missed an opportunity to flaunt his skills. Yuji, predictably, looked like he was about to faint from admiration.
Gojo notched another arrow, his back muscles rippling as he drew it back with practiced ease. His abs tightened with the effort, and though you told yourself you were merely observing his technique, your gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary. The tautness of his form was, undeniably, impressive.
“It is a shame,” Nobara remarked, her voice breaking through your thoughts. “He does present a rather fine figure. If only his character matched his appearance.”
You blinked, realizing that your gaze had lingered on him for far too long. “What?”
Nobara glanced at you, her expression half-amused, half-pitying. “I merely observe that if his manners were as well-formed as his physique, he might be a most agreeable companion.”
You opened your fan again, waving it lightly in front of your face. “Perhaps. But we both know that appearances can be deceiving.”
Nobara’s expression turned serious as she looked at you. “You must find yourself a husband who is both well-formed and well-mannered, my dear. Else I shall be forced to gouge out my eyes every time I am called to attend on you.”
You sighed dramatically, closing your fan with a soft snap. “Whatever you say, Nobara.”
Yet, even as you dismissed her words, your gaze drifted back to the field. Gojo was a puzzle, indeed. And whether you liked it or not, he had captured more of your attention than you were willing to admit.
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Satoru is sweaty and hot, and therefore he must rush back to take a cold bath. 
The weather is quite warm, he must admit to himself. Teaching Yuji had been nothing sort of pleasurable; the boy’s physical prowess was quite impressive, and he learned things very, very fast. If Yuji were to keep learning and working on his skill, he would easily be up to Gojo’s level or even surpass him. 
As he climbs up the stairs to the terrace, he wipes his brow, which has budded with sweat. When he crosses a table that overlooks the field, he notices a book. His mother and him wouldn’t expose any books like this⸺a fine and intricate design covering the top⸺to the harsh, humid weather, so he picks up the book, frowning.
Frowning, he picked it up, curiosity getting the better of him. The book felt unfamiliar in his hands, and as he opened it, the words within seemed to swim before his eyes. Annoyed, he rubbed the sweat from his forehead and squinted, finally making out the fine, neat handwriting on the page.
I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?
Satoru's eyes widened, and a flicker of intrigue sparked within him. He flipped to the next page, where the writing grew messier, more hurried.
Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.
His eyes widened. If he had been intrigued before, now he was thoroughly captivated. This had to be you. His heart began to beat faster as he quickly turned to another page, where the ink was still fresh, and a pressed leaf lay nestled between the pages.
If I were to base my choice of husband solely on physical appearance, I must confess that Lord Gojo would be a most compelling candidate. However, to consider him without regard to his character would be a grave disservice to myself and to dear Nobara, who would bear the consequences of such a choice daily.
I hold out hope for a suitor with a similar strength of physique, one whose form displays power and grace, much like Gojo. His muscles, so clearly defined, speak of formidable strength and control—his back rippling with every pull of the bowstring, his breath labored as he steadies himself.
Alas, such attributes, though appealing, are not enough…
His fingers hovered over the delicate page, the words sinking in. A part of him wanted to laugh at your sharpness, your refusal to fall prey to his charms, but another part⸺one that kept resurfacing and resurfacing against his will, showing up even in his slumber⸺felt something else entirely.
…What a pity, indeed.
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prev. the manor | next. the fall
general masterlist | series masterlist
a/n i feel like the only important plot point in this chapter is that gojo is a boobs guy
sorry if this chapter was a little icky :( i prefered publishing this than having to subject my dear beta reader to having to edit this mess or even me having to think about it further. i will rest so that the next chapter is better <3 (lots of fluffy moments to come in the next one)
gojo when you spawned in his bedroom
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will finally treat myself to answering asks after I wake up since i'm done with this dreadfull chapter <333 jesus it's 3am
comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3
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TAGLIST
@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati
@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs
@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs
@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun
@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1
@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover
@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur
@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco
@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx
@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2
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tarotofhope · 2 months ago
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PAC: ♡ Channelled Love Songs from your Current/Future Romantic Partner ♡
(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)
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Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.
(You can find all the songs mentioned in the Piles on SPOTIFY. Unfortunately Tumblr only allows 10 audio links per post🥲)
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Pile 1
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Songs - Aaya Jado Da by Asees Kaur
Screen Time by Epik High ft. Hoshi
Don't Forget To Breathe by Aaryan Shah
Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. First of all, lot of green ink occured in your pile. Your partner seems very caring, nurturing and protective of you. They might be a very caring and loving person themselves, very protective of their belongings and loved ones. They like to have a quick check on you(like not in a toxic or negative way). They want to know you better and your little quirks. They genuinely care about your well being. They might be very cautious, structured, organised individual, a fitness freak as well. They seem kind of very picky, they don't open up to just anybody, they might have very few close friends. They're mostly not interested in flings and one-night stands. They take relationships seriously so they'll only jump into it when they see some real value in it. This person is like a 'husband/wife material' person or atleast a long term partner. This also seems like a long distance relationship to me or getting into a relationship after a series of personal hardships when you've become very mature either age-wise or experience-wise.
So, that's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.
Hope you're with this person or find this person soon 😉
Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌸🌼🌻
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Pile 2
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Songs - Talk About Love by Callum Beattie
Seven- Clean Version by Jungkook
Tenu Khabar Nahi by Arijit Singh
Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. Have you guys currently been in separation or broken up with your partner? This could be a recent past energy as well. See, now this also looks like an ex's energy(I don't like to go into this topic because it creates unnecessary confusion but it appeared in the reading so I had to) and whether ex or not, if you strictly don't want this person back into your life, you must then very well know that you've ended up for good and you don't need to allow this person back or this pile totally isn't for you, you should select another pile. One thing is prominent though, one of you has done something bad to the another person..and that was the main reason for your guys' separation. I'm nobody to judge you guys, you know yourselves better. Well, whoever this person is, they want to reconcile with you or you're currently reconciling already. It could be a different case for everyone choosing this pile. It could be so that this person or both of you might still have feelings for each other. This person wants to make things better or do things right. There is a promise of not making the same mistakes again. This person is asking for another chance. Now, you need to decide for yourselves, what's good for you and what's not. It's totally up to you.
That's all I see in the cards for you, my dear Pile 2.
Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌸🌼🌻
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Pile 3
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Songs - Tera Mera Hai Pyar Amar by Ahmed Jahanzeb
I'm Gonna Love You by D.O. ft. Wonstein
Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley
Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. This person looks so in love. But more so, this person is very sure of you, there feelings are very intense, too. As they are saying, that it's so easy to fall in love with you, either it's a love at first sight situation or there is a certain clarity about choosing you/about wanting to continue further with you. Nothing can change their mind about you. They are giving me strong future spouse energy because they just want to take you away as soon as possible. So, they'll be very assertive in their approach towards you in the courtship period itself. I also think that they'll be the first one to approach you if you've not met this person already. They'll make sure that you know they are not just fooling around, that you're in for a very long ride. They'll also want to make sure that you too, feel the same way for them before going very far because they want it all or nothing. They'll definitely try to win your heart over, Pile 3.
That's all I got for you, dear Pile 3.
Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌼🌸🌻
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Pile 4
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Songs - Young And Beautiful by Lana Del Rey
Every Second by Baekhyun from EXO (Record of
Youth OST- 3)
Aadat Se Majboor by Benny Dayal
Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. This person might be a heart-throb. Popular person energy(for their work or looks). Everybody swoons over them. Their energy is quite charming and charismatic. They are bold, fun loving and outgoing, life of the party kind of person. You both might be quite the opposite of each other. They will be very confident in their approach. They might just be nervous about how to woo you because you are different from others and they don't want to make any mistake. They don't want to look like a creep. If you've already met this person or in a relationship, you know. They are someone who'll totally make a fool out of themselves to make you laugh. They love to see you smile and laugh but also, you don't laugh a lot, it seems. There seems to be a lot of people who are sexually attracted to them, but they choose you because you are special to them, you're not like the others according to them. They might've got their heart broken a couple times earlier due to which they're afraid of losing you but that's not going to be the case because they're sure of one thing that you're very firm in your decisions, rock solid and you won't run away when life gets bad. You guys are going to be like a power couple, each helping the other person where they are lacking, each completing the other.
So, that's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.
Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌻🌼🌸
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Pile 5
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Pile 5
Songs - Lover by Taylor Swift
Spider By Hoshi
Tere Mast Mast Do Nain by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan
Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. Your person seems very Venusian(very lovey-dovey, full of charm, likes fine art) and Neptunian(very dreamy) to me, a hopeless romantic even. Some of you might also be attracted to Pile 4, because this pile has got some similar vibes. They are magnetic, could also be popular for something that they do, something that only they create. They have a good taste in music as well, could be a musician or they like to play musical instruments. Dancing and singing could be their hobby or talent. They are also someone who knows flirting like the back of their hand. It comes naturally to them, sometimes they don't even know that they're flirting. They might also like good food and fine-dining, might also love to cook. You might not like this person in the beginning because you think they're a flirt and they don't look serious, but you'll eventually start liking them because they're not what they seem from the outside. It is giving me the vibes of 'One fell in love first, but the other one fell harder.' Their heart is so pure and innocent. They'll woo you with their heart, Pile 5. You seem like a tough nut to crack to them, someone who's hard to get. I also think you've got pretty eyes and a resting b**** face. They love it. There's going to be a playful banter between you guys. Everything will be worth it in the end.
So, that's all I've got for you, my dear Pile 5.
Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌻🌼🌸
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Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.
———————————♡ ♡ ♡———————————
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peachesofteal · 5 months ago
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Dead Disco / Chapter Fifteen Dead Disco masterlist
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AO3 Warnings: Angst. The storm.
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.” Your heart breaks on it, on two little words. Breaks apart again at him standing in your door. The silence between the two of you is a scream, and though your tears have dried, there’s still an ache stretching infinitely before you. You peek over his shoulder, hoping Johnny is here too. Wanting to fix the mess you just made, but he’s not.
Simon is alone.
He pulls it wide. His face is twisted. His eyes are red. He’s been crying. The realization nearly brings you to your knees. “Can I come in?”
You didn’t clean the kitchen up, and neither did Johnny. He stood there for too long, kissing you over and over on your cheek, your forehead, your mouth and profusely apologizing, tugging his jeans up over his hips. Frozen afterwards, the two of you, fire and fuel once burning in your veins now ice cold, slithering under your skin like a disease.
That’s what you are. Who you are, who you were. An illness. A plague.
A slowly healing thing.
You always thought they made you better.
“I’ll stay, I should-“ 
“He’ll wonder.” You stared at the floor. “And he’ll worry, you know he will. He’ll be scared something happened to you.” 
“Darling, I dinnae want to leave ye right now-“ 
“I’m fine. Go.” 
Simon doesn’t try to touch you. He takes inventory of the mess, the caramel puddle of coffee spilled over the edge of the counter to the floor, the knocked over stagnant water and paintbrushes.
You become starkly aware, too aware of the state you’re in. The state of your apartment. The state of your brain.
You wish Johnny was with him. You want it to feel like before.
You can see his face so perfectly in your mind, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips. Anxiety twists your stomach, worry about how he’s doing, what he’s doing weighing you down.
Still. Simon is steadfast. He’s the ship in a storm and you’re the sailor, clinging to a mast, praying to god you’ll survive.
“Are you-“
“I’m sorry I was so emotional on the phone.” You rush out, cutting him off. His brows knit together, prodigious sympathy in his eyes, golden brown refracting.
“I’m sorry for calling.”
“I’m… I’m glad you did.” He steps closer, and then away, opting to stand to the side, still taking stock of the kitchen, studying the orange pill bottles on the counter. “New meds?”
“Yeah.” The conversation is stilted, a dam preventing a flood.
“Are they working out?” You shrug.
“The one makes me really forgetful, but it’s not so bad.”
“That’s good.” You’re nodding and can’t stop. There’s a part of you wanting so badly, so desperately, to go to him, to bury your face in his chest and let it all go.
And there’s another part that doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to reconcile any of this.
“Will you tell me how you’re feeling?”
“Confused. Sad.”
“That’s okay.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, darling. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.” Your stomach rumbles at the exact same time, and his lips quirk to the side. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“Have you eaten today?” You can’t force your mouth to give the answer, the obvious no, so you shake your head. “Do you have groceries?”
“Some.”
“Can I make you something to eat?” You suck in a sharp breath. Can he? Will you let him? Will the two of you revert to these roles, like no time has passed? Have you not made progress, have you not grown? 
You pack the shame of it away, burying it deep. You’ll try to unpack it later, on the couch, in front of the doctor. You’ll talk through every second, pick it apart and try to put it back together again. You’ll rip yourself open, expose your soft spots, the ones that bleed more than any other.
She’ll tell you it’s okay.
She’ll ask you how you feel about the decision.
You’ll say you don’t know, as you always do, and she’ll say that’s okay too. You don’t have to know right now. She’ll tell you there is nothing wrong with the way you feel, just like Simon does.
There’s been intensive therapy, to get you to this place. To drag you across the finish line. Sessions after sessions, four days a week.
It was a bargain. She promised not to have you sent involuntarily, and you promised to be in her office every other day.
Still, she doesn’t know Johnny, doesn’t know Simon. She doesn’t see how they love, how they exist.
You take a deep breath. “Yes.”
You watch him from the couch. Curled over the armrest, your chin on your elbow. His shoulders, chest, flex under his t shirt, opening cabinets, searching for things in an unfamiliar place.
You’ve never felt more loved by him than you do in this moment.
A man willing to push everything away to take care of you, to disregard himself in favor of you, to put himself aside every time he steps through the door to focus on you.
A man who knows what's coming. Who's always been able to see inside you, and yet, still makes you dinner. Still cares for you in the way he knows how. 
All you ever wanted, was to feel loved by them. Separately and together.
Now you feel it more than ever.
You tried to force a circle into a square. 
You think about Johnny again. About how he’s at home, penitent, destroyed. You think about how he must feel, knowing Simon is here, and he’s there. You ache for him. Wish you were settled between them in bed, his body against yours, the steadfast pace of his breathing evening your own out. You want him to hold you. 
You wish he was here.
You ache without your pieces.
But you know it’s not supposed to be this way.
“Darling?” The cadence of your moniker pulls you away from yourself, and you look up.
He’s crouched in front of the couch, nearly eye level with you. “You’re crying.” You tap your face, surprised. You are, the realization abrupt, the onset of them too acute.
“’m sorry.” You choke, and he murmurs softly.
“It’s alright. You’re okay.” His thumb finds your cheek, carefully sweeping them away.
“I’m not.” The truth is agony. You’re not okay. You weren’t okay when you fucked Johnny, and you’re not okay now. You haven’t ever been okay, and it hurts so badly. It stings deep down in your heart, your belly.
Your tears rush out of you, and Simon moves, comes around the side of the couch.
He pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his chest.
Hiding. Relying. Letting him carry you through. 
“Simon…” You sob, and he rocks you, arms tight, resolute in their hold.
“Shhh, I know. I know, it’s okay.”
“I d-didn’t mean for this to happen.” You’re talking about Johnny, but you’re talking about everything. The struggle, the agony. Everything.
“I know you didn’t. I don’t want you to worry about that.” The feeling inside you is more than pain, it’s death, it’s excruciating. There’s a piece of you dying, crumbling, turning to ash. You’re trying so hard to hold onto it, to keep it inside, but it comes out with these wretched sobs, the ones that split your ribs open and bleed you dry.
He holds you through it. Holds you tight enough the pressure eventually calms you, and there’s nothing left except the soaked circle on his t shirt and your tired, wet eyes.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes a deep breath, still clinging. “Let me feed you.”
“Okay.”
He sits next to you at the little table where you usually try to eat alone. Where you drink your coffee, alone. Where you pick at your food, where you swallow a handful of pastel-colored pills with a glass of juice every morning like clockwork. Like a robot.
You manage more than a few bites. Breakfast for dinner, one of your favorites. You know he picked it because you love it, and he wants to make you happy.
It only makes you lachrymose. “I’m sorry about Johnny.”
“It’s not your fault, darling.”
“Don’t be mad at him.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“It wasn’t… he didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who put him in that position. I kissed him and-“
“He knew better. I don’t want you to dwell on… that.”
“I love him.” Your voice cracks.
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know you do, darling. I know.” You’re going to cry again; you can feel it. The acid starts up behind your eyes, and though you’re not sure you have anything left, they pool along your lower lids. “None of that.” He soothes. “C’mon. stay here, stay with me.” You shake your head.
“I l-love you both, so much. It hurts.” He blinks furiously, and then through your own blurry vision, you see his tears. The ones that slip reluctantly through his lashes, down his cheeks.
“We never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know, and you d-didn’t. It… it hurts Simon. It hurts and I don’t know why.” He tugs you from your chair and into his lap, hauling you up onto his thighs. “P-please-“
“Just… let me- let me hold you, darling. I don’t want- I want to feel you.” He cheek rests on the top of your head, and you cling to him, a child lost, a sailor scared in a storm.
He knows.
You know he knows. You feel it in the rapid pace of his heart, the shudder of his shoulders.
He knows. He knows it better than you do.
And maybe he always has.
“You were right.” After a while, he whispers in your hair. “And so was I, even though I didn’t want to see it. It was never fair.”
“We wanted it… too much.” That much is more than true. You wanted it so desperately, and so did they, you know it. You don’t doubt their love for you, though the scales have always been imbalanced. Imperfect puzzles, trying and failing to click together.
“I’m sorry, I… we, were so selfish.”
“I wanted you to be.”
“It still wasn’t right.”
You sit there for hours, curled up on his lap, listening to him breath, memorizing his heartbeat.
You think of Johnny for the hundredth time. You want him to be here. You want him to hold you too. You close your eyes and try to remember how he feels, your love for him overflowing into a mountain of more and more agony. For both of them. 
“I should go.” Simon finally says, shattering the moment, and you nod.
It’s a death march to the door.
“Will you come by, to see us? I mean… to… talk to us. Together.”
“Yeah, I… I will.” The guillotine waits in the wings, a final chorus cut off by a symphony.
“Tomorrow?”
“Okay.” He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead.
“I love you, darling. We always will.” You nod, but say nothing, cheeks wet again.
He turns away, rolling his shoulders, heading down the hall.
There’s something building in your heart, an explosion, fear compounding.
“Simon! Wait.” He stops. You close the gap, tugging him down until your lips crash together, warm and salt soaked and full of torment, suffering. “I love you.”
This time, he says nothing. Only kisses you again, long and slow, before taking you by the shoulders and intentionally stepping away.
“I know.”
You stand in front of their door for too long.
You wish there was something you could take, something you could do, to release you from this. To build a barrier around your heart so you don’t have to feel it. Any of it.
There’s not, and you know that.
You know you must succumb to the water, dip your head below and hope you come up for air on the other side.
There’s nothing left to do except this.
You lift your fist to knock.
“This is my fault.” Johnny cries, and you squeeze his hand.
“It’s not. It’s… it’s all of us. We did it together.” Simon kisses his temple, rubs his back, and he leans into him, face buried in his shoulder. The guilt eats you alive, knowing that the last time you truly spent with him was when he was inside of you. You wish you talked to him more, made him feel loved, told him how much you cared.
But you were selfish.
And so was he.
“It’s not your fault, sweet boy. I promise.” Simon tries to soothe him, but  Johnny slams a fist into his knee, so hard you wince, and Simon grabs it, fingers firm around his wrist. “Stop. Stop now.” He strokes a hand through his mohawk. You struggle to breathe. 
“I love you so much. That’s… that’s never going to change.” Johnny shakes his head as Simon closes his eyes, nose dipping down into his hair.
“Ye cannae leave us, darling. We need- I need ye. I love ye… p-please.” The three of you are crying, sliced open, surgically diced into cross sections for an autopsy.
The death of a relationship.
The death of three parts to a whole.
“Johnny.” You say his name, over and over, until he pulls away from Simon and tugs you close. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, committing his scent to memory.
Simon wraps his arms around you both.
You feel whole. A puzzle complete. A sunrise after a storm.
And that’s why. 
“I love you.” You kiss the shell of his ear, soaking him with your tears. They’re everywhere, dripping down your face, your neck, your shirt. You can barely keep your breathing steady, despair restricting your lungs. “I’ll always love you, Johnny. Always.”
“Please.” He sobs, shakes, holding onto you so tight. “Dinnae leave me. Please.” Your heart is shredding to pieces. Ribbons of blood and muscle trying to contain too much, unable to cling together. His pleas are enough to make you second guess yourself, to make you nausea enough to nearly throw up.
It’s beginning to become overwhelming, and in the throes of your building panic, you glance wildly at Simon.
He stares back. Nods. Wraps his hands around Johnny’s shoulders and tucks him back into his chest. “No!” Johnny hisses, but Simon holds him steady.
“I’ve got him.” He says, voice broken.
You sit frozen like a deer in headlights.
“I love you.” You cry, and hope they know it’s meant for both of them.
It’s always meant for both of them.
Simon takes one last long look at you and closes his eyes. “I’m proud of you.” He whispers, hoarsely, and the final piece of your heart breaks. “Go.”
Can you? 
Do you have the strength? 
The sun is bright on your face.
It’s warm, and beautiful, the promise of something new, something different. You stand on the sidewalk, devastated but-
Unafraid. Imperfect pieces, slowly stitching together to make you whole, all on your own.
Without Simon. Without Johnny.
Just yourself.
It’s terrifying. Heartbreaking. And it’s only you now.
You, figuring out how to exist in a world too harsh for your heart. You, without the protection and promise of your other pieces, the ones who came home to you every time, the ones who put you back together. You, learning how to take care of yourself, to truly do it, for the first time.
You, who is not broken.
You, who is stepping forward without darling.
You who is just… you.
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niabang · 6 months ago
Text
Peaceful Arguments
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Pairings: Bangchan × fem reader
Word Count: 2.3k
Summary: You and your boyfriend got into a huge fight and you have a "special" way of reconciling.
Warnings: smut included (Minors dni). Hard dom/possessive chan, angst, angry/makeup sex, bratty sub reader, overstim/edging, unprotected sex (don't be silly wrap your willy.) Drew inspiration from Chan's bbl messages if you can tell hahaha.
More under the cut!!
Well, this honeymoon phase ended pretty quickly. How did you and your boyfriend go from finding everything adorable and cute to fighting every now and then?
You could still live with it. It was just the usual couple bickering, and it always ended with you bent over the kitchen counter or squirming under your boyfriend, so a win was a win for you.
But it never got this bad. This time, voices were raised, and insults were bouncing off the walls of your apartment.
"Y/n, I don't have time for this. Just leave me alone." Your boyfriend Chan said standing right in front of you.
"What do you mean you don't have time for this when you started it!?" Why was he pulling the victim card when he instigated this mess?
"What the fuck did I start y/n?" He was really acting innocent.
"Well, for starters, you pulled me out of a party and yelled at me in public, insinuating that i was cheating on you while you were right there? That was so embarrassing. You're being such an immature dick right now." You said.
"I'm immature? How did you expect me to react when you were basically fucking another guy just 10 inches away from me huh? Don't act stupid because I know you aren't." Okay, maybe the dance you shared with your former classmate did get a bit too intimate, but you shut it down once you saw he was getting the wrong idea.
Your boyfriend was kind of (really) overreacting right now.
"Did you just call me stupid?" You asked him cocking an eyebrow.
"Y/n I didn't call you stupid. I said, "Don't act like it." Use your head." Oh, he was actually calling you stupid.
"You're being so fucking dramatic right now Chan. You asked me who he was, and I told you he was a former classmate from high school. I told you that I fucking shut it down when I noticed he was getting the wrong message..."
"You yelled at me in PUBLIC Chan fucking hell I am not a child or your property I'm a grown woman who can think and speak for herself."
"Okay, then y/n go think for yourself into someone else's pants I don't want to have this conversation anymore." There was no way he was being serious.
"You are such an insecure bitch, I hate you so much. I can't stand you." You said.
"Then I'll leave then. Let's talk tomorrow because you're clearly confused." He turned and picked up his car keys from a tiny bowl on the kitchen island and proceeded to the door.
"No. Who said anything about tomorrow? Don't come back till you're ready to accept the fact that you're wrong and apologise to me." He stopped in his tracks and turned to face you.
"Now that's where you have it wrong. I won't be back until YOU apologise to me and cut off all contact with that guy whatshisface..." Wow, so you were both dropping ultimatums now okay.
"He has a name, and it's Brandon." You corrected him, and just at the perfectly wrong timing, you received a call, and it was Brandon. Chan took a look at your phone and laughed.
"Oh fuck off y/n." He walked out and closed the door behind him then you heard his car zoom off.
Good riddance.
You called Brandon back, and the poor guy was only calling to apologise for causing war between you and your boyfriend and even offered to speak to him on your behalf but you told him not to bother.
Not that it would even work. That would only make things worse between you and chan.
You slept it off and woke up the next day expecting to see texts and missed calls from your boyfriend, but you got nothing.
You were a bit hurt because part of you hoped that he would come crawling back, but you couldn't have everything you asked for. Could you?
It was 4 p.m. now, and you had successfully spent your day lazing about and binge watching a crappy sitcom on Netflix.
You missed your boyfriend. You really did, but you had to be strong because you knew you weren't the one in the wrong.
God, you were so pathetic. You hadn't even eaten all day because of a man, and it made you remember how mad he'd get if he realised that you were skipping meals and not taking care of yourself properly.
Life was so sickening without him (it had only been a day).
You decided you were going to make yourself a quick sandwich because you were already dying of heartbreak, and it'd be wrong to add hunger to your struggles.
6:30 p.m., you received a text from Chan saying he was coming over to pick up his stuff and added that you could throw them out if you wanted to.
He was so dramatic. You replied to him with a simple "fine" and turned off your phone.
You were just about to start making your sandwich when you heard a key turn in the lock.
He was here to pick up his stuff.
You were so happy to see him, but you had to keep your cool and act like you weren't because you didn't want to stroke his already inflated ego.
"Am I not going to get a hey or anything?" He said after he had come in and locked the door, but you completely ignored him and kept on eating your sandwich at the kitchen island.
"So you're ignoring me now, huh? You gon do me like that?" You still didn't pay any attention to him and kept munching on your sandwich.
You heard him scoff and watched him find his way into your once shared bedroom.
You shouldn't have looked up at him, though, because now you were horny. Did he really have to wear the grey sweatpants and compression shirt combo today? Of all days?
He was definitely doing this on purpose. He knew what he was doing, but no, you weren't going to give in.
He came out of the bedroom carrying his two suitcases and proceeded to the living area to pack up his console and the other things that accompany it.
You stood up from the chair you were eating on, and you were now leaning backwards with your elbows rested on the kitchen island.
You were watching his every move in silence.
You expected him to just finish packing his stuff and leave, but he stopped halfway, got up, and started walking towards you?
He came closer till there was only an inch of space between you two, and you had to crane your neck upwards to look at him.
"Baby, what are we even doing?" He said and your stomach did a thousand flips.
"I don't know you tell me." You were determined not to fold today.
"What do I have to do to make you come back to me." He sighed and placed his hands on your hips. Fuck.
You placed your hands on his and took them off your hips, and widened the gap between you two a bit.
"Come on." He said in an almost whiny tone.
"Beg me." You didn't even think before you spoke, but that was the smartest thing you had said in a while.
Your boyfriend looked at you unbelievably and scoffed at you like there was no way he was going to do it.
"You can just pack up and leave if you aren't going to do it." You were doing so good.
"Okay, fine, you win." There was no way he was actually agreeing to this.
"Y/n, I'm so sorry for being an insecure and immature boyfriend. I acted like a dick and I was in the wrong but it's been hell without my girl and I miss her so fucking much my heart hurts, my tummy hurts, my head hurts and I can't even think straight it feels like the walls are closing in on me and I'm going to stop breathing at any second..."
"Bro, okay, I accept. Stop being a drama queen." You said half laughing at your boyfriend.
"Does that mean I can kiss you now?" He asked.
"Say, please." Maybe you just wanted to hear him beg a tiny bit more.
"Please y/n can I kiss you, please?" He was surprisingly playing along well.
"Ye-"
You felt his lips on yours before you could even finish your sentence. Oh God, you missed this. You missed him.
You guys were kissing each other so hungrily with tongues gliding in and out of each other's mouths. You could feel his hard on against you and you wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you.
Chan bit your lower lip, and you felt him smile against your lips when you let out a moan. He was so damn cocky.
You started to undo the strings to his pants, but when he realised what you were doing, he broke the kiss and moved away from you.
You were slightly (very) confused as to why he did that, and you're pretty sure you whined as he broke contact between you two.
He looked at you up and down and bit his lip.
"When did you get this skirt? Is it new?"
You looked down at what you were wearing and it was even too short to be called a skirt but you were at home so who cares?
"It's not new. I've had it for years, but I stopped wearing it because it got too short." Why were you guys talking about clothes when he could be breaking your back right now?
"I want to be rough with you." Oh, you were so back.
"Then be rough with me." You replied, looking straight into his eyes.
"Fuck." Chan said. Before you could even say anything else, you were being hoisted up onto the kitchen island, and chan went back to devouring your lips.
He went down to your neck with a hunger, and your hands went into his hair. He was definitely leaving marks on your skin.
You were moaning his name uncontrollably, and you guys hadn't even gotten started yet. Maybe absence does really make the heart grow fonder.
He stopped kissing you once again, but this time, he was giving instructions.
"Get down and take off your clothes." You got down immediately and started to comply, but he stopped you when you got to the skirt.
"No, not that. I want to fuck you in it." You died a little at that statement.
"Take off your panties." He said.
"I'm not wearing any." You're a 100% sure you saw his eyes darken at that statement.
"Okay, turn around and rest on the island." You complied without saying a word.
Your cheeks were met with the cold marble and you could feel your ass and pussy completely exposed to him.
You felt chan come closer to you, and you let out a moan when he started to rub his dick in between your folds teasing your entrance.
You thought he was finally going to fill you with his dick but instead, you were met with a hard slap on your ass and you let out the nastiest moan ever.
One slap turned into two, three turned into four, and your cheeks were stained with tears.
Chan gave you no time to collect yourself as he pushed himself inside you and thrusted agonisingly slowly to gain a rhythm.
You started whining from how slow he was going and as if he knew he started pounding into you as fast as he could.
He filled you so well it was like you were two pieces of a puzzle.
He was fucking you so well you were loosing your mind and your stamina.
Chan noticed and used one hand to steady you then continued his assault on your pussy.
You started feeling that familiar feeling in your stomach and you knew you were about to cum.
"Chan, please don't stop." You begged.
He, in fact, did not stop, but just as you were about to reach your high, he pulled out and left you an unsatisfied mess.
"Did you really think it was going to be that easy?" He asked you in the most condescending tone ever.
"You liked it when I acted all weak and nice, huh? Well, it's your turn now." Fuck. You should have known there was a catch.
He smacked your ass once again and your pussy clenched around nothing.
"Not so confident now, are you?" He taunted.
"Chan I'm sorry please just fuck me please." You begged hoping to make things better for yourself.
"What do you want?" He asked you.
"I want to cum chan please make me cum." You whined.
"You'll have to earn it because only good girls get to cum." He said that and went back to destroying your insides.
This man edged you not once but three times.
At this point, you were sobbing uncontrollably, and you were worn out.
"Who does this pussy belong to?" He asked while thrusting in and out of you at the speed of light.
"You Chan." You said through tears.
"Who do you belong to?" He asked.
"You chan." You struggled to get that last one out.
"That's my good girl." He said and finally let you cum. Your release hit you like a brick, and he came right after you, too. You felt so full that you were literally on cloud 9.
Chan lifted you from the island immediately after, turned you to face him, and gave you a kiss on your forehead.
"You know I love you, right?" He asked, and you nodded.
"Let's not fight anymore, okay?
"Okay." You answered, and he pulled you in for a hug.
You were so back!
You did lie about one thing, though. The makeup sex was too good for you guys to stop fighting.
There were many more fights to come.
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revasserium · 2 months ago
Text
loving you was red
sylus; 4,627 words; fluff, banter, no "y/n", mild spoilers for sylus's main storyline, subtle but not so subtle flirting, nicknames (kitten, little crow), kinda enemies to lovers
summary: the beginning of everything, all in shades of red
a/n: this was supposed to be fun lil drabble; alas, that's not what it turned out to be, but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. i had fun with the banter in this one u__u
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001. fire and brimstone
The city below is a shatter of broken stars, and from up this high, none of it seems real. You cannot reconcile the sight of all those scattered, pinpoints of light with the lives you know shine behind them. You cannot imagine sitting in your living room, scrolling through your news-feed, waiting for the water to boil for late night ramen.
“Trouble sleeping?”
You congratulate yourself on not wincing, on keeping perfectly still.
Sylus joins you by the window, his arms looped lazily in front of his chest, his dark silk robe falling open to reveal his chest. You keep your eyes resolutely on the technicolored skyline.
“Yeah,” you say, feigning a yawn, “just something about being held captive against my will that just… messes with my circadian rhythm, y’know?”
Sylus chuckles, the sound rumbling through him, low enough to make you shiver.
“Don’t tell a girl like you still needs someone to sing her to sleep.” He’s teasing. You know he is, and yet you can’t keep the heat from clawing up the back of your neck. You scowl, chewing on the insides of your cheeks.
“What gives you that idea?” you ask, still in your flailing attempt to seem calm, seem collected.
"Nothing in particular… just… the twins found a shocking number of plushies in your room so —”
"You had them go through my stuff?” you round on him, glaring, your fingers clenched into fists.
Sylus shrugs, peering at you out the corner of his eye, an amused grin ticking at his mouth.
“Feisty little kitten, aren’t you? Though for what it’s worth — they didn’t find much on how your Evol works.”
You huff, turning back to the floor to ceiling windows, knitting your arms tightly across your chest.
“You heard the shopkeeper — we have to — to…” you trail off, the words caught in the back of your throat like peach pits, hard and large and impossible to stomach. You flush, biting down on your lips.
“To what, hm?” Sylus sounds amused, and it’s this more than anything that spurs you onwards.
You turn to glare at him, “To not hate each other!”
Sylus cocks a single, arched brow.
“So, do you?”
You blink, feeling the ever-present heat prickling into your cheeks as you stare resolutely at the skyline outside. From this distance, Linkon City could be any other city, with it’s towering skyscrapers and twinkling lights.
“Do I what?” you ask, your voice softer as you try to pinpoint the exact location of where you used to live.
“Hate me.”
You turn; in the dimness, all you can see of Sylus is his firebrand eyes and his stone-cut features. The dark curve of his mouth and the sharp jut of his nose. When he turns to meet your gaze, you can barely stifle your gasp — his eyes are so red, so deep and strange.
“Brimstone…” you say, without really thinking about it.
Confusion flickers across his vulturine features.
“Hm?”
You lick your lips, feeling the dryness that had since collected there.
“Brimstone,” you say again, shaking your head and averting your eyes, only for Sylus to catch your chin in his fingers and force you to look back at him, to be swallowed up by his gaze, “it’s… something from… the ancient religions. It’s — back when they believed in gods and monsters, people would use the word brimstone to signify divine wrath…”
His finger slacken on your chin and you let your head fall as he takes half a step away.
He lets out a mirthless laugh, his eyes faraway as he stares out at Linkon City, laid out before his feet.
“I can’t say I know much about gods, but… monsters?”
You swallow, feeling the imprint of his fingers on your skin.
He turns back to look at you, his gaze soft, but no less startling. You feel an unnamable fire frisson up your spine and skitter back down again.
“Monsters are very, very real,” he leans in, closing gap between your body and his, till he has you nearly caged against the cool glass of the penthouse windows. He shifts to brush away a strand of hair, tucking it behind your ear with too-gentle fingers. His next words are whispered, his voice in a register so low it almost sounds like the shadow of sound — he leans in, his lips brushing by your cheek till you can feel the heat of his breath right next to your ear —
“And they look just like you and me.”
002. lipstick
“So at the auction —”
“Just do as I say, and you’ll get what you want.”
You narrow your eyes in the mirror, staring at the reflection of Sylus fastening a pair of ornate silver cufflinks to his impeccably tailored suit.
“Give me one reason to trust you,” you say.
Sylus looks up, a hand still on his cuffs as he meets your gaze in the mirror, unflinching.
“Since when have I ever asked you to trust me?”
Over on the dresser, Mephisto lets out a soft caw that sounds almost mocking. You swirl to glare at him and he has the decency to flap his mechanical wings, shuffling until he’s hidden from view behind Sylus’s shadow.
Sylus laughs, “Alright — settle down, little crow.”
You frown, “Little crow? What happened to kitten?”
Sylus shrugs, “Changed my mind. Figured little crow fits you a bit better. You know — loud, defiant…” he smirks as his voice trails off.
You don’t try to hide your consternation, “Often associated with murder?”
Behind him, Mephisto lets out an indignant ca-caw.
You try to sidestep Sylus, only to find yourself trapped against the mirror by his strong arms. He grins down at you, his canines flashing over his lower lip as he cocks his head.
“Like I said, fits better, no?” he asks.
You stare up at him, trying to make out what he’s thinking behind those firelight eyes of his.
“Let me go — I still need to finish my makeup,” you say, pressing a palm to his chest. You try not to think about the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch, or the heat of his skin, even through all these layers of clothing.
“What else is there?” he asks, his eyes flickering over your features; you shiver, feeling the weight of his gaze as it sweeps over your face like a sudden flare of heat, “you look pretty finished to me.”
You lick your lips, and feel a strange, savage satisfaction at the tick of his eyes down to your mouth, at the way his pupils dilate, at how they track the slow progress of your tongue as it laves across your bottom lip before disappearing back into your mouth.
“Lipstick,” you say, trying not to sound too smug.
Sylus puffs out a laugh before reaching over to the low dressing table and grabbing a tube of lipstick. He uncaps it with a finger, and twists out the color without once breaking your gaze. Vaguely, you feel your stomach tense, and you ponder the unfairness of this one, single act — how could he look so stupidly attractive doing all this when he’s got you trapped here? Like some sort of exotic songbird in a golden cage.
“T-that’s not the color I wanted —” you say, but even to your own ears, you don’t sound convincing.
Sylus’s smile slackens into a lopsided smirk as he tilts your chin up to press the cream of the lipstick to your lips, dragging it delicately across one way, then back the other.
“Press your lips,” he says, his voice softer and gentler than you’ve ever heard it before.
You do, feeling a stifling thump-thump-thump rise up to beat against the back of your throat as his eyes flick down to watch you.
“Mm… as I thought, this color looks great on you,” he says, pulling back to admire his handiwork.
You feel the air rush back into your lungs in a single, searing breath, caught between the urge to brace your arms against your knees and heave, or to drag your hand across your mouth to rid yourself of the lipstick.
You do neither though, because at that moment, the twins call from outside the door —
“Auction’s about to start!” says Luke.
“Hope you’re both ready!” says Kieran.
Sylus straightens, capping the lipstick with a sharp click. You force yourself to calm down, to focus on your breathing — four counts in, seven counts out.
“Are you ready?” Sylus asks, his tone once more whiskey-smooth and just as potent.
You roll back your shoulders and give a quick nod, speaking to yourself just as much as you’re speaking to him —
“Sure. Let’s get this over with.”
003. blood and roses
There’s blood on your hands and blood on the pavement. The world shimmers around you in wildfire and smoke.
“… so… so much blood…”
“You can’t die here —” Sylus’s voice cuts through the memory like a struck chord, resonating inside you till it’s the only thing you can hear, “that life you owe me? It’s not your time to pay it back yet!”
You reach for him, and the moment you feel your palms connect, a bead of heat pulses out from the center of your clasping hands. Your skin is slick with sweat and blood, but his hand beneath you is oddly cool and smooth.
The charred ashes of the beaten Wanderer fall around you like flakes of misbegotten snow; you wave your free hand to keep the pieces from falling into your eyes. A river of light seeps from the Deepspace Tunnel into the center of your chest, glowing brighter and brighter until it coalesces into a familiar gem-like shape.
It comes to a rest between your fingers seconds before it cracks, the light flickering once along the seam before going out.
“It — the Aether Core —!”
“It’s power is yours now. Why’re you so surprised?” Sylus doesn’t let go of your hand, but realizing this, you pull away first, and he makes no move to stop you.
“D-did you know?” you ask, unable to keep the accusation from seeping into your voice.
“Does it make a difference?”
You clamp down hard on your bottom lip, weighing the answers. It isn’t until you reach up to absently card your hand through your hair that you notice — your wrist and his, linked together by a tangible string of red, pulsing power.
You gasp, “W-what —?”
“Tch.”
You wave your wrist, watching as Sylus’s hand follows the movement. Your cheeks darken as he looks away, sighing audibly.
“If you planned this —!” but your words are cut short by a sudden wave of vertigo — the world spins around you and for a second, all you can see is the pinwheeling stars above you, the bright, pulsating edges of the Deepspace Tunnel, and then — everything fades to a sweet, merciful darkness.
You wake up to the smell of roses, and a warm body next to yours. Groaning, you try to shield your eyes from the light filtering through the massive windows.
It takes you a second to orient yourself, and to realize why your wrist seems so heavy as you try to lift a hand and rub at your eyes.
“Looks like you’re up early, though Mephisto still has you beat.”
You blink blearily up at Sylus, sitting next to you in bed, his back propped up on a fortress of pillows, a tablet in one hand, the other still linked to your wrist, half-raised to your face.
You squeak, ducking down to hide beneath the covers, hurriedly wiping at your eyes and your mouth, a mix of horror and embarrassment mounting in your stomach as you realized you must have been drooling in your sleep.
“What did you do to me?!” you demand, pulling back the covers when you’re somewhat certain that you don’t still have drool-marks at the corners of your mouth.
Sylus, for his part, looks only mildly ruffled by your sudden stint back to wakefulness. He takes his time setting down the tablet with his free hand and picking up the steaming mug of black coffee.
“You fainted,” he says, as if that explains everything, “after the resonance worked. Though it makes sense you would — after finally getting the Aether Core and all —”
“No! I mean —” you gesture desperately between you, the pristine linen sheets twisting around you both like waves on a white-sand beach, “how did I — we — get here? Who changed me?” you ask, your cheeks flaring up even as Sylus sips at his coffee, seemingly content to watch you sputter yourself dry.
“Really? After all that, the first question you have is who changed your clothes?” Sylus asks, a distinct tone of mockery clear in his every word.
“Shut up! You know what I mean!”
“Do I? I don’t think I do — you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” He grins, all splitting lips and too-white teeth. You stare, dumbfounded at his nonchalant expression before huffing and slumping back into your own pile of pillows. You blink, throwing up your free hand to shield yourself from the too-bright light of sunrise, shining straight into your eyes.
Wordlessly, Sylus taps a few buttons on his tablet and the windows darken, filtering out the harsh morning light, leaving the pair of you in a dim, yet luminous shadow.
“I just —” you cut yourself off before you can ask yet another mundane question, and finally, after a few minutes of mulling over what exactly it is you want to ask, you settle on, “what now?”
Sylus shrugs, casting his eyes back down at his tablet, setting his half-drunk cup of coffee on the bedside table.
“Now, we do whatever we want. You have your Aether Core and I have mine,” he lifts up his wrist, shaking yours in the process, “and we try to figure out how to manage this.”
“And if we don’t?” you ask dryly.
Sylus chuckles, “Then, we figure out a way to live with it.”
You roll your eyes involuntarily, “Ugh. Of all the people to be stuck to…” you mutter to yourself. And though you’d said it quiet enough for it to be an afterthought, both of you knew Sylus had been too close not to hear.
He scoffs, pulling you close, tipping you off balance so that you topple face-first into his chest.
“Wake up, little crow,” he says, his tone caught halfway between mocking and maleficence, twisting your face till you’re forced to stare out of the window at the dulled-out skyline below.
“You think you’re so great, being a Hunter and getting rid of Wanderers,” he says, a sharp venom seeping into his words as he speaks, and slowly, he punches a button the tablet that makes the windows un-tint themselves.
You watch as the sunrise bleeds itself dry over Linkon City, the harsh, morning light slicking the entire city in a vapid, orange glow.
“The brighter the light, the darker the shadow — do you really think that just because you and your little Hunter friends are out there killing Wanderers and saving the world, that there isn’t the a need for people like us?” Sylus pushes you away from him. It’s not a harsh move, but it’s not exactly gentle either.
And again, you can’t help feeling the imprint of his fingers, almost as if burned into your skin as your rub at your jaw.
It’s when you turn to glare at him that you meet his gaze and find him staring at you with a look that’s much more haunting than ghost. Much more longing than loathe.
“Well… you’re one of us now. And newsflash, little crow — sometimes, the world just doesn’t want to be saved.”
You let his words sit with you, like river stones, hard and smooth, feeling them sink slowly down the length of your throat to settle somewhere in the wide basin on your stomach. You avert your eyes, and it’s only then that you notice the bouquet of flowers sitting on your bedside table.
“What are the roses for?” you ask, reaching out your free hand to run a thumb along a single, velvet petal. It comes off at your touch, and you watch it fall against the unmarred white marble of the table top.
“A little present,” Sylus says, waving you away, “a thank you - for a job well done last night.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” you say, unable to keep the bitterness from your tone, “it’s not like I had much of a choice.”
“You did,” Sylus says, “you could’ve killed me. And you didn’t.
“I could still kill you now,” you say, though there’s no conviction in your voice at all. Instead, you reach out to tug at another dark red petal. It comes off just as easily as the one before.
“You could. But you haven’t. And don’t you think that warrants a reward?”
004. dawn
“I’ve never hated you, you know.”
You frown, squinting against the early-morning light.
It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself waking up next to him, and you think it won’t be the last. You flip onto your side to face him, feeling a familiar rush of heat crest into your chest as you come nearly nose to nose with him.
Sylus barely even flinches, cocking an eyebrow before reaching out to tug a stray piece of hair from your face.
“What?” you ask, even though you know full well what he’d said. So maybe, you just wanted to hear it again — is that so terrible?
“Hn,” Sylus grins, rolling onto his back to cast his eyes up at the ceiling, “I said you’re getting drool on my pillows.”
You squeak, fumbling to wipe at your face before the realization hits, and you jerk up, pouting.
“That’s not what you said!”
“Then you did hear,” Sylus casts you an amused glance.
You lick your lips, the soft cotton of sleep still muffling the world such that everything except him feels strangely out of focus.
“I — I heard… a word here and there —”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?”
You scowl, whipping around to pin him with a stare, “Where I come from, that’s not a bad thing.”
Sylus’s eyes tick towards you, his expression amused as he appraises you, and not for the first time, you feel yourself go warm beneath the solar-storm fixation of his attention. Like this, you can feel the air between you blistering, as oil to a lit fuse, as his eyes travel over the planes of your face, the curve of your shoulder, the thin silk strap that had since slipped to cling to your upper arm.
“No? I suppose not,” he concedes, pushing himself up, reaching over the bedside table to push at a small button on the far side. Somewhere else in the penthouse, you can hear an alarm bell ring.
“What’s that?” you ask, pointing.
“Coffee,” he answers, and you fall silent again, turning your face away from him to look back at the heartbreak city, carved in shadows against dawn’s liquid light. It’d only been — what — a week? A bit more? And yet you can’t bring yourself to see the city the same.
Nothing has changed — not really.
But everything’s different, you think, as the door on the far side of the bedroom cracks open and Luke peers in with a smug smile and two steaming cups of coffee.
“Black for the boss, and milk and sugar and all the trimmings for the little crow.”
Sylus tsks, a frown digging itself into the space between his eyebrows, his eyes flashing as he takes the two cups. Luke, to his credit, jerks back, dancing out of Sylus’s reach.
“Ah — sorry, sorry — didn’t know that was a special nickname,” he says, making a show of stooping to apologize, though neither of you miss the jesting crow beneath his voice.
“Out.” Sylus orders, and Luke doesn’t waste time scurrying from the room, cackling beneath his breath like a gleeful child.
You take your cup from his hand and give it a dainty sip, adjusting yourself against the pile of pillows.
“What? I thought that nickname was your idea.”
“It is,” Sylus says, relaxing back. The tether between your wrists sits slack and nearly invisible on the sheets between you. He stares down at the dark liquid surface of his own cup before turning to smirk at you, “doesn’t mean it was meant to be shared.”
You clamp down on another wash of heat, threatening your cheeks as you sink a bit deeper into the luxurious bedding. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to sleep on sheets this nice again once you figure out how to break the tether between you and you’re finally allowed to go home.
“Why say it where other people can hear if you didn’t want them to pick it up?” you shoot back, determined to get the last say, at least in this.
Sylus sets down his cup, cocking his head to look at you, “It’s not a joke if there’s no one around to hear the punchline.”
You level him with a glare, “Is that all I am to you? A joke?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem if I’m just your captor, right?”
You open your mouth to retort, only to find your voice stolen by the sight of him, kissed gold by the rising sun. You’ve never been one to obsess over beauty but even you can’t pretend to be unaffected.
Like this, he looks hewn from marble, a statue at the loving hands of a besotted sculptor — a lazy god rendered into silk and stone. He is smooth skin and burning eyes and a jawline that might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. There’s a base carnality in the way he looks at you (and looks at you) — his gaze so penetrating that somehow, you don’t think you’ve ever been seen this way before.
There’s a damnable elegance to him, even as his lips twitch up into a tell-tale smirk.
“What?” he asks, leaning forward just an inch, but the distance feels exaggerated by your closeness, such that suddenly, you’ve got to lean back to look into his face. He licks his own lips languorously, and you feel your chest tighten on a torque, caught in the turn of his smile.
“Kitten got your tongue?” he asks.
You shake yourself, shifting back slightly, “You’re mixing your metaphors,” you say, trying to keep your eyes from straying back to his face.
“They’re my metaphors to do with as I wish. So. Aren’t you going to answer?”
“Answer what?”
“What you think you heard me say, right before you woke up.”
You cup your palms around your coffee mug, feeling its heat seep steadily into your skin. There’s a familiar tingle at the tips of your ears and you know you’re already blushing.
Stupid coffee, you think, trying hard to school your expression into a frown, stupid Sylus, you add to yourself, taking a long sip and biting back your sigh of relief at the mundane magic of caffeine and sugar.
“Does it matter what I think?” you sidestep the question.
Sylus doesn’t miss a beat, “If it didn’t, would I have asked?”
The torniquet in your chest twists tight enough to make your stomach flip as well. You chew on your bottom lip, mulling over your answer.
“I never hated you…” you say, finally, your voice barely more than a whisper or a breath. And even as the words fall from you like so many rose petals, you’re unsure if you’re repeating his words back at him or making an admission of your own.
Sylus only shifts back to his side of the bed, leaning against his pile of pillows. Your wrists sit atop the sheets, inches apart, and yet you can’t deny the dull pull of gravity between you, as if something beneath your skin is itching to be close to his.
You turn to face him, twisting your fingers in your lap.
The quiet softens around you both, settling until you let out another long breath.
“So…” you drag out the word as Sylus glances up at you, expectant. His eyes flicker with the fire of the rising dawn behind you, and in them, you can see the shadow of yourself, painted in darkness against the light.
“What’s for breakfast?” you ask.
Sylus chuckles, his head listing sideways as he studies you.
“Whatever you’d like.”
“Hm…” you make a show of swinging your legs out of the bed, shivering slightly as your feet come into contact with the cool marble floors, “are there pancakes?”
Sylus stretches his arms over his head, letting out a soft groan that evokes something inside you that you’d rather not examine at the moment. You keep yourself turned resolutely away from him even as you hear the distinct sounds of him getting out of bed as well.
“No, but there can be — you only need ask.”
“Fine, I want pancakes,” you say, finally turning around, only to find him standing right behind you, his silk robe discarded on the floor by the bed, his chest broad and entirely bare. Your breath catches in your throat as he cocks an eyebrow.
“Is that asking?”
You crinkle your nose, forcing air back into your lungs.
“Okay, okay — can we have pancakes?”
Amusement dances behind his eyes as he bends over you, propping a hand casually on the dresser behind you to limit your movements.
“And the magic word?”
You narrow your eyes, “Nevermind!”
“Mm — wrong. Two more tries.”
You try to duck under his arm but he catches you easily, spinning you back around to face him, nearly sweeping Mephisto from his perch on the dresser. The crow lets out an offended caw and flaps off towards the far end of the room, coming to a disgruntled rest on the back of a satin loveseat.
“Let me go!”
“Wrong again — last chance.”
You sink your nails into the skin of his forearm, trying not to think of the taut muscles corded there. He doesn’t even wince, though for a second, the tether between your wrists flares up like a fanned flame.
“Fine! Please!”
Sylus straightens with a satisfied smirk, turning around to make for the bedroom door. Your chest is heaving, and the sudden space between you make your head spin. You blink at his retreating form, and it isn’t till he reaches the door that he turns to glance at you over his shoulder.
“Hope you like raspberry jam.”
You level your breathing and hurry to catch up, clutching your own sleeping robe tighter around your chest as you fall into step next to him.
“I thought you didn’t like sweet things.”
He opens the door and steps aside for you to walk through first.
“I never said it was for me.”
---
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ja3yun · 8 months ago
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Melting Point | P.SH | CH.7
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brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f. rec), fingering, spitting, dirty talk, praise kink, petnames (good girl, baby), anything else lmk. ch. 7 synopsis: minhee comes to you with the missing pieces of information you need, leading you to find the courage to speak to sunghoon, hoping you can reconcile. wc: 14.9k previous | masterlist | next a/n: hi! this chapter is filled with plot and answers to questions so i am hoping it all makes sense. again, thank you for the love on the last chapter! next week is the penultimate chapter so everything is starting to tie up so please enjoy <3
Scanning the next customer's shop, your shoulders are heavy with sadness. It’s not ideal to be working the day after you just lost the love of your life but reality doesn’t stop for your problems. If you weren’t in desperate need of the money, you would have just neglected to show up.
You haven’t slept, your eyes are a darker shade than before, and the smile you couldn’t stop plastering over your face the past couple of months is non-existent. 
Last night, you went home just like Coach Lee had instructed but you don’t know if it was the best idea. The journey home with your mum was filled with her yapping about how true love never existed and how she knew his plan was this all along. There was no sympathy from her, not a surprise considering her face yesterday looked like she just won the lottery. 
Minhee, on the other hand, sat silent, fizzing from head to toe. Honestly, you expected him to be fuming since Sunghoon was the factor in your current drift from one another, however, you did expect an undertone similar to your mothers gloating; he should be telling you ‘I told you so’ but instead he seems less boastful and more resentful. 
"Your total comes to £54.35," you murmur in a monotone, extending your hand for the payment from the elderly woman. As she counts out each pound coin, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts once more, replaying the events over and over again.
Sunghoon looked so sincere when he told you it wasn’t him on the recorded phone call. The biggest question that twirled in your mind was how your mum got the audio in the first place. Sunghoon's assertion that he was only friends with Jay and Jake, who wouldn't betray him, seemed plausible, he hadn’t ever mentioned anyone but them in all the times you have spoken. So, who could have provided it to her?
That’s what you should have questioned when you had the chance, instead of letting your mind loop in on itself and confuse you to the point you didn’t even hear Sunghoon out. 
You want to reach out and ask him to meet you but it wasn’t just you that got hurt yesterday.
If there’s one image that’s sticking in the forefront of your brain right now, it’s Sunghoon’s face when he found out you lied to him. Perhaps you should have questioned everything then, considering how shattered he appeared. Someone who set out to betray you wouldn’t look so devastated that you hurt them, would they?
You're also gripped with anxiety that getting in touch with Sunghoon would make things worse and he'll reveal Minhee's actions to the National Board. It scares you to think of your brother losing his chance to skate and being disqualified from competition. 
Space might be just what you all need.
But finding that space is proving to be a challenge when your mind is consumed by these thoughts incessantly. You feel utterly overwhelmed, your mental state crumbling, leaving you feeling helpless.
The old lady hands over the money, and you mechanically carry on with your shift.
Once it's over, you contemplate your options for where to go next. Normally, the rink would be your refuge, but it feels too loaded with memories right now. Rina's occupied with her anniversary date with Allen, leaving you with no one else to turn to. The library, despite being open 24 hours, holds no appeal; the idea of sitting in silence, trying to study, feels like torture.
With a tired yawn, you realise there's only one place left to go: home.
______
Kicking off your shoes at the door, you trudge up the stairs, each step feeling like an effort as exhaustion weighs heavily on your limbs. The lure of your bed grows stronger with each passing moment as if it's calling out to you louder with every step.
You notice that your mum's bedroom light is off, signalling that she's already asleep, while Minhee's room emits the usual blue glow of his computer screen. If it weren't for the ache in your heart, this could easily pass for a typical Wednesday night.
Entering your room, you're greeted by an unexpected sight. It's not as you left it; the bed is neatly made, your stuffed toys lined up by the pillows, your desk reorganised the way you like it, and all your clothes tidily put away. Someone has cleaned for you, a rare occurrence unless you're sick.
The one prominent feature of your newly organised room is the gleaming glass trophy on your windowsill. It stands proudly, displaying your achievement to everyone as they enter the room. 
This had to be Minhee’s doing, your mum would never go to these lengths.
Unfortunately, the award just serves as a memory to Sunghoon rather than yourself. It was the night you became officially his, the night you threw all guilt and caution to the wind so you could claim him as yours. 
Taking the trophy, you toss it in your top drawer and shut it roughly, not caring about the damage you could cause it.
With no energy to shower, you change into pyjamas. It’s a bad idea to slip into one of Sunghoon’s hoodies but as it envelopes you in warmth on the cold night, you don’t think about it twice. The smell of him still lingering as you put up the hood punches you in the chest. You miss him, it’s as simple as that. 
As you sink into the welcoming embrace of your bed, the weight of the day gradually begins to lift from your shoulders, only to be replaced by a hollow ache that settles in the pit of your stomach. Closing your eyes, you attempt to banish the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your mind and drift into sleep.
You toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position, but your mind refuses to quiet down. Images of Sunghoon's smile and the warmth of his hugs dance behind your eyelids, taunting you. Every time you close your eyes, it's like you're transported back to happier times. 
For what seems like hours, your heart and brain fight with one another, much like the night before. Your heart aches to be with Sunghoon, to trust him completely while your head rationalises the evidence presented to you by your mother. 
Just as you begin to resign yourself to another sleepless night, a soft knock at your door interrupts your thoughts. Minhee's concerned voice cuts through the silence, drawing your attention, "Y/N? Are you still awake?"
With a frustrated huff, you turn your back to Minhee, a silent declaration of your anger and hurt. Acting this way may seem childish, but this is how you’ve always acted towards him when conflicts arise between you, like you regress back to being kids.
Minhee sighs, walking to the edge of your bed before helping himself to a seat beside you, “You don’t have to speak to me but you can listen.” He looks down at his hands, wondering how to broach the situation, the words aren’t coming so easily, “I…I know I did something really shitty, okay? I shouldn’t have fucked with his skate like that, Mum just…” 
When he pauses, your intrigue is piqued and you twist your head to look at him. You can see his internal battle whether to tell you something or keep it to himself. The rooted anger towards your brother grows a little, “This is the only opportunity I’m giving you to explain yourself,” you warn him with a hidden urge for him to continue.
He breathes out slowly, his voice carrying the weight of a burden, "Mum just put so much pressure on me to win, like all she’s spoken about was how I need to place first,” his words quiver slightly, a reflection of the self-doubt flooding his body.
It's astonishing how one woman can make both her children feel so worthless.
As you turn to face Minhee, his expression mirrors the familiar blend of anguish and self-doubt that you've seen on Sunghoon's face countless times. It's a painful reminder of the weight their mothers' expectations have placed upon them.
"Mini, you could easily beat Sunghoon at Nationals. You didn't have to listen to Mum," you offer, your voice laced with both empathy and frustration.
The issue has never been Sunghoon or Minhee; it's always been their mums.
Minhee takes a deep breath, steeling himself to reveal the truth that he's been carrying with him all this time, "Listen to me," he begins, his voice tinged with bitterness, "Mum needs me to win."
Your confusion deepens, leaving lines of bewilderment etched on your face as you struggle to comprehend his words, "What?" you ask, all tiredness suddenly leaving your body.
"The odds of me winning aren’t in my favour, so she put on a bet. She'll get shit tons of money if I win. She put basically all her savings into it, all my money too," his jaw clenches as he recalls the conversation they had.
Your confusion escalates further as Minhee's revelations continue to unfold before you. "Since when was Mum into gambling?" you ask, the disbelief evident in your voice.
Minhee sighs heavily, his frustration palpable as he struggles to find the right words, "There's so much you don't know about her, Bubs," he admits, his tone tinged with regret, "The gambling isn't even above board. It's all underground-type shit with high rates. I swear I didn't know anything about any of it until she guilt-tripped me into going along with her scheme."
There was no denying your Mum was a little secretive, especially after your dad left, but this is not anything like you could have imagined. You had always wondered where your Mum got the money to support Minhee’s skating but his brand deals were good enough to keep you all afloat, so you just presumed it was that.
Minhee sees you calculating in your head and decides to continue, “Once she told me, I started practising like crazy, I trained almost every day just to be in with a chance but she wasn’t confident enough so she told me-”
"To break Hoon’s skate," you finish his sentence for him, the pieces of the puzzle snapping into place with a chilling clarity.
You knew something was off that morning - the way your Mum was extra harsh on him, telling him to make sure he ‘gets it done’. It was such unusual phrasing that you should have clocked on to it sooner.
This is exactly why you didn’t want to tell Sunghoon about it. You wanted to get to the bottom of it all because you were filled with suspicion from the get-go. The thought of your own mother putting Minhee in a position like this fills you with a mixture of anger and disbelief. 
“Why did you go along with it? If she doesn’t get the money, that’s her problem, no?” you query, trying to tie every string of this situation together for your own peace of mind.
Minhee sucks his teeth and looks away from you, “You know how much effort and time she put into my career, she sacrificed everything for it, her old job, money, even the breakdown of her marriage was because of me. I owe her this.” He’s withholding some information, using this as the sole his sole reason for helping, but there is more to it, you can tell that much.
Your chest fills with hurt as you speak, “The divorce wasn’t your fault, Mini. Mrs. Park started that rumour and it drove Dad to leave. That has zero to do with you. Plus, she pushed you to go professional when you were a child, you didn’t exactly beg her to let you compete. You owe her nothing.”
You know for a fact it’s her words that have made him believe he is the route of all her problems. If only you paid closer attention to what was going on, maybe you could have counteracted her venom with something, anything, to help him believe he wasn’t tied to her like this. 
Taking one of his hands, you scoot closer to him, the warmth of his presence a balm to your troubled soul. Resting your head on his shoulder, you feel the weight of the world pressing down on both of you. "You should have told me, Minhee. I could have helped you."
He shakes his head before encircling an arm around your back, pulling you closer to him as if seeking solace in your embrace, "I wanted to protect you. She would have dragged you into it as well if she could," he confesses, his voice tinged with regret, "I regret it. I wish I just didn’t let her manipulate me into doing that to Sunghoon. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I saw him at the rink that day we were doing the peer reviews."
It shocks you to hear him say that, considering he’s usually cursing the boy's name every time he was forced within 10 feet of him.
There was one thing that didn’t add up though, “Wait, if mum put the bet on, wouldn’t the bet be just to beat him? Why did she try and knock him out altogether with the skate? Surely that would cancel out the bet and she wouldn’t win the money?” you query, hoping your brother has the answers.
He shakes his head, “She never wanted him out of competition, just to injure him enough that he wouldn’t be able to compete to his usual standard, y’know? I would be in with a chance of beating him then,” he tells you, stroking your side, “It was touch and go for a minute, I don’t know what she would have done if he couldn’t compete.”
Underneath your head, you feel his shoulders tense up again, causing you to lift your face to look at him, concern etched into your features. "Is there more?" you ask, dreading the answer but knowing you can't avoid it.  He knows more than he is letting on, you can tell.
“Look, I’m going to say something that sounds so batshit crazy, okay, but you gotta believe me,” he says, his tone urgent, “And you know I’m not Sunghoon’s number one supporter, so you know I wouldn’t lie to make him look good.”
"Oh my god, Mini, just tell me, please," you plead, unable to bear the suspense any longer.
"The phone call was fake," he confesses, gingerly meeting your eyes as you give him a look of astonishment
Your mind reels at his revelation, struggling to comprehend the implications of what he's just said, "Fake? How? Don’t tell me you were a part of this too?"
“Fuck no, I was as shocked as you were,” Minhee protests, taking a deep breath before divulging what he knows, “I went searching after it all didn’t add up. Like, who the fuck records conversations like that in the first place, never mind sending them to Mum?”
You have to agree with him, the question also did come to your mind once you calmed down.
As he takes out his phone, Minhee's expression darkens with seriousness, his fingers tapping across the screen to reveal a series of emails. He shows you the correspondence between your mum and someone named Soohyun, highlighting the transactions and agreements outlined within.
"She paid him money to use some sort of AI to make it sound like Sunghoon was saying all that stuff about you and your relationship," Minhee explains, his voice laced with disbelief and anger, "It was one last attempt to fuck with him before the competition. She really needs that money, Bubs."
Shock courses through you, a tidal wave of disbelief crashing against the shores of your consciousness. The realisation sinks in slowly, each email adding another layer to the intricate web of deceit woven by your mother, "I-I can't believe this," you stutter, struggling to process the enormity of what he's just revealed.
Minhee gently takes the phone from your hand, returning it to his hoodie pocket with a sigh, "I know. It's like something out of a bad TV show, but it's true," he admits, his tone heavy with resignation. As his hand finds yours, a sense of solidarity washes over you, his touch offering a small measure of comfort amidst the chaos.
"To be honest, I had kinda knew it was fake," Minhee continues, his words slow and measured, "Don't get me wrong, I was livid at the idea of anyone using you that way. But on the drive home, I realized, this is Park Sunghoon we're talking about. He wouldn't dare to do that to you."
Confusion clouds your features as you furrow your brow, struggling to make sense of his words. "Huh? What are you talking about?" you ask, your voice tinged with uncertainty.
Minhee's expression softens as he meets your gaze, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He liked you for so long, like for years. You were just so oblivious to it," he explains, his tone gentle yet matter-of-fact. "If he has the chance to date you, he's not going to take it for granted, and certainly not use you just to mess with my head."
As Minhee's words sink in, a flicker of realisation dawns upon you. Memories of Sunghoon's lingering glances and subtle gestures flood your mind, painting a picture of unspoken feelings that had gone unnoticed for far too long, "Do you know he asked me for permission to date you when we were like 15 maybe? I can't really remember exactly…but anyway, I told him to get lost," Minhee adds with a wry grin, his words punctuated by a hint of nostalgia.
Now this was new information. All you knew was that Sunghoon had knocked you back when you asked him out about that age.
“I had my reasons.”
His voice echoes in your brain as you recall what he said at the ice rink on your first date as an official couple. All this time, you had believed Sunghoon's rejection was solely his decision, unaware of Minhee's influence behind the scenes, “You told him to say no to me? Did you know I was going to confess?” Anger rises within you, not real anger but the one that siblings have for each other when one steals the remote control or eats the leftover food they were saving.
"Whoa, yeah, okay, but you have to understand I was protecting you. I don’t even know what Mum would have done back then if you started dating him, especially because it was so close after Dad left," Minhee's voice is laced with remorse as he hangs his head. "I know I had no right to tell him to leave you alone, but…"
The anger in you subsides as you see him slump a little.
"You're the most important person in my life, Y/N. You're my little sister, my best friend," he continues, his voice trembling with emotion, "He took championships and brand deals from me, fine, but if he took you away from me, particularly back then, I think I would have died." He avoids your gaze, his admission laden with shame at his insecurities.
His words weigh heavily on your heart, the depth of his love and fear for you leaving you speechless, “I’m your sister, Mini. He could never tak-”
“Hasn’t he?” His interjection silences you, “You stopped coming to my practices, we don’t hang out anymore, it’s like I barely see you,”
His words strike a chord, piercing through the haze of your own emotions. Suddenly, the gravity of his words sinks in, and you realise the toll that recent events have taken on your relationship with Minhee. You were so caught up in yourself that you hadn’t factored in how the distance would affect him. 
Being caught up in your newfound relationship, you inadvertently left behind the one person who had always been there for you, the one who needed you the most. Guilt washes over you as you realize the depth of Minhee's loneliness and isolation in your absence. You and Minhee had been each other's rock for so long, but now, it feels like you're drifting apart, and you can't help but feel responsible.
A heavy silence envelops the room, thick with unspoken regrets and untold truths. You feel the weight of Minhee's gaze upon you, his eyes pleading for understanding.
"I... I didn't realise," you murmur, the words catching in your throat, "I didn't mean to drift away from you, Mini. I just... I got caught up in my own guilt, and it was easier to avoid you altogether."
Minhee listens quietly, his understanding washing over you like a soothing tide. His empathy is palpable in the gentleness of his gaze. "I'm sorry for putting you in that position. I guess I hadn't realised that trying to keep you from him was actually doing the opposite of what I thought it would," he admits, his voice filled with remorse. Bringing you closer to his side, he rubs your waist in a gesture of comfort. "I pushed you away and blamed it all on Sunghoon."
"You'll always be my number one, Mini. You don't have to worry about that," you assure him, offering a heartfelt smile in return.
If there were such a thing as twin flames, you and Minhee would surely be just that. In every universe, you both burn together, facing every trial and tribulation that comes your way. You're deeply thankful to have him as your brother.
“Did he actually like me this whole time?" You can't help but beam at the thought of the Ice Prince harbouring feelings for you all these years.
With a groan, Minhee pushes you away playfully, "Ugh, yes. He would NOT let it go either. Even asked me if he could take you to prom," he recalls with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
“PROM? He wanted to take me to my prom?” You squeal at the thought, imagining Sunghoon awkwardly mustering up the courage to ask Minhee for permission to take you to prom. It's a surreal image, but one that fills you with a strange sense of warmth, “I had no idea he was that into me back then,” you idly play with your hair, trying to stop yourself from reverting back to your 14-year-old self as you imagine Sunghoon crushing on you too.
Minhee shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Probably just desperate, to be honest," he teases, earning an annoyed gasp and a few playful slaps to his shoulder. "Ow! Look, just because I’m not against you dating him anymore doesn’t mean I want to hear you gushing over him, okay?"
Your eyes widen in surprise at his revelation. "You... you aren’t against it?" The words feel fake as if you've stepped into an alternate reality where Minhee's acceptance of your relationship with Sunghoon is not only possible but welcomed.
Minhee sighs, raking his fingers through his hair, “I’m still not happy that you lied to me about it, and I am not his biggest fan,” he starts, eyes pointed at you with annoyance, “But he makes you happy and that picture you accidentally sent me was…well he clearly loves you,” It burns him to say it, you can see it in how his mouth cringes, “And after everything that’s happened, maybe I should let go of some of the grudges.”
You might have to clean out your ears to make sure you’ve heard correctly. 
In one swoop, you hug him tightly, “Thank you, Mini,” You hadn’t realised the weight that you had been carrying all over your body regarding this whole secret boyfriend situation, but it’s finally gone.
“Don’t thank me just yet, you need to make up with him first,” Minhee says, “That should be easy though.”
Ah, there was that little hiccup, “It’s a little more complicated than that,” you say sheepishly as you scratch the back of your hand. Your brother stares with questioning eyes, “When we argued at Belmore I might have accidentally told him you broke his skate and that I knew,” your shoulders rise as you speak, face spreading with awkwardness and guilt. 
“You’re so fucking stupid, Y/N. Why would you tell him that?!” He is exasperated by you, his hands rubbing up and down his face to exhibit his frustration with you.
“It slipped out! Come on, I could have told him well before yesterday. Give me some credit,” you argue back.
Both of you stare at each other, and the room’s silence quickly fills with your outburst of laughter. The tension dissipates as laughter bubbles between you, the weight of the conversation lifting momentarily. Despite the gravity of the situation, there's something strangely comforting about being able to find humour in the midst of it all.
"Okay, okay, fair point," Minhee concedes, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "But seriously, you need to sort things out with him, if he tells the board I’ll never be able to skate again,” you look at him incredulously to which he just laughs, “Yeah, I am aware of the irony, okay? Just please sort it out. If not for me, for yourself.”
Nodding, you cross your fingers, “I will.”
“I love you, Bubs,” Minhee stands and kisses the crown of your head, smiling in relief that he has his best friend back, “Tell him if he hurts you for real, I’ll break his legs next time.” Your mouth hangs open as he walks away shrugging.
The weight of the situation settles over you once more, but this time, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. You just hope you can fix this. 
______
You find yourself standing at Sunghoon's doorstep, your hand poised to knock, yet inexplicably frozen in place. Why has the simple act of chapping on his door suddenly become so daunting?
A nagging voice echoes in your mind, whispering doubts about whether he'll even care, convinced that the damage has already been done. The weight of the colossal secret you've kept from him bears down heavily, compounded by the regret of not believing him when he insisted the audio wasn’t him.
Yesterday, confusion clouded your judgment, leaving you unable to think clearly, grasping onto every detail at face value. But amidst the chaos, you failed to afford the same trust and belief in his earnest pleas and declarations of love.
Now, the fear grips you tight: What if he doesn’t want to mend things? What if, because of some senseless scheme concocted by your own mother, you've lost the love of your life?
But you’re a big girl, you have to face this no matter the outcome.
With that mindset, you finally chap the door, breathing out slowly as you do so. The nerves sit in your throat as it dries out, the idea of losing him was just inconceivable.
The door swings open to reveal Jay, clearly just awake. His hair is sticking to one side and he hasn’t bothered to put on clothes, boxers being the only thing keeping his dignity. You suppose turning up to the flat at 6am on a Thursday would grant some disturbance.
“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Jay asks, one eye still closed.
“I need to speak to Sunghoon,” you try to convey the urgency in your voice but it comes out breathlessly. You hadn’t realised you were holding in the air until you spoke.
Jay's sigh echoes in the room, his gaze drifting upwards as he considers your request. "I don’t think it’s a good idea, Y/N, he's kinda pissed," he cautions, his tone tinged with concern.
You understand Jay's apprehension, but you can't let the rift between you and Sunghoon deepen any further. The longer you both remain trapped in this mess, the harder it will be to mend your relationship. Time might heal some wounds but it won’t fix them.
“Can I just talk to him? I need to explain,” you plead, tapping your fingers together, you avoid his judgmental gaze. 
Jay's response is swift, his conviction clear as he defends Sunghoon's character. "You didn’t actually believe your mum, right? Like anyone with a clue can see how much he loves you. He wouldn’t do something like that," he states, offering a comforting gesture by rubbing his shoulder slightly. It's evident that Jay is trying to rebuild Sunghoon's image in your eyes, a testament to the unwavering bond between him and his best friend.
As you stand there, you can’t explain your thoughts during your fight with your boyfriend because you still can’t make sense of them yourself; however he was right, you should have seen his love past the lies of your mother.
Nodding with a hint of shame, you admit, “It was all just too much to process, and I handled it poorly. But I have to fix it.” Despite the weight of your guilt, a steely determination underlines your words.
Jay sees it, he understands you didn’t want to hurt Sunghoon the way you did. Maybe he’s a bit more understanding of your own grief because his best friend neglected to mention that you lied to him about Minhee and his skate. 
When Sunghoon arrived home, Jake and Jay greeted him eagerly, anticipating news from his check-up. However, their excitement quickly turned to concern as Sunghoon stormed in, slamming the door behind him with such force that it caused shelves to rattle.
Concern etched across their faces, his friends inquired about the situation with genuine worry as Sunghoon recounted the events involving your mother and the recording. However, he purposefully omitted any mention of the skate. He didn't want to tarnish your image in the eyes of his friends with his own anger-induced bias. He understood all too well that they might harbour animosity toward you for your deception, and the mere thought of it was unbearable to him.
So he didn’t bother to spill it, still protecting you even amidst his fury.
"I heard him leave this morning. I think he went to the rink, like he usually does to clear his head," Jay offered, unsure if he should disclose this information but feeling a strong intuition that both you and Sunghoon needed it.
Your expression softens with gratitude as you look up, "Thanks, Jay," you say, appreciation evident in your voice.
As you begin to turn, preparing to make your journey back to your side of town and into Belmore, Jay's voice suddenly pierces the quiet morning air, halting your movements, "Wait there, I'll give you a lift," he calls out, his offer catching you off guard.
Before you can even muster a response to decline his kind gesture, Jay is already striding purposefully back to his room to get dressed.
Left standing alone in the tranquillity of the early morning, the absence of Jay's presence allows your mind to wander freely. You had prepared yourself to talk to Sunghoon at this very moment but now you have a whole 40-minute drive to contemplate his reaction all over again. It’s scary, the idea of this being the end of you both.
When Jay finally emerges, dressed and ready to go, he motions for you to follow him as you both make your way to his car. You don’t know why he’s doing this but you’re thankful for the saved time, the time to get here was already long enough, never mind making the same painstaking journey back.
The drive begins in silence, the gentle hum of the engine merging with the rhythm of your own racing heart. Jay's quietness feels unfamiliar, a subtle shift in the energy between you since your last encounter, though not entirely unexpected.
With some courage, you figure talking to Jay might help you later on when speaking to Sunghoon, “I think deep down I knew he didn’t say it.” 
It’s a simple confession but one you had to say out loud.
Jay spares you a quick glance before keeping his attention on the road, “He’s doted on you, like literally obsessed with you. Do you not see that, or?” There's a hint of irritation as he speaks. He can’t fathom why you would ever believe one shitty phone call rather than your boyfriend who would drop the world at your feet if you asked. 
He hasn't witnessed every facet of your relationship, but from what he has seen, he can't help but envy it. He longs to experience the kind of connection Sunghoon has found with you, hoping to find someone who reciprocates his feelings in the same way. What frustrates him about the situation is the apparent disregard you show for his best friend's love. It's as if you fail to grasp the profound depth of Sunghoon's affection, while there are others out there yearning for even a fraction of such devotion.
You angle your body to face him before speaking, “I know. There was just a lot going on and…you should have heard it, Jay. It sounded so fucking real,” you almost plead with him to see your side.
Even Sunghoon had mentioned how authentic the audio sounded, so Jay knew what you were talking about. He simply nods to acknowledge you, his expression showing understanding, “What was it then? How did she do it?”
"Some AI guy. She hired him to grab snippets from Hoon's interviews and make the audio," you tell Jay, omitting any mention of the gambling or other family drama
Jay's eyes widen in surprise. "Damn, seriously? She stooped that low?" he says, his astonishment visible in his tone. All you can do is nod, aware of how absurd and unsettling the situation is, "AI is so fucking scary, man," Jay says, shaking his head in dismay.
You agree wholeheartedly, a shiver running down your spine at the thought of the lengths people would go to manipulate technology for their own agendas, "It’s so bizarre," you murmur, still trying to wrap your head around the whole ordeal.
The silence that settles between you both now feels different, no longer heavy with tension but rather mutually comforting. Each of you understands the gravity of the situation and the complexities it entails. 
In this shared moment of understanding, surrounded by the quiet of the morning and Jay's silent support, you feel a sense of calm wash over you, in stark contrast to the turbulence that has plagued you since Tuesday. If Jay understands your side of the story, perhaps Sunghoon would as well.
Pulling up to Belmore, Jay stops the car at the entrance, “Y/N,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts, “You’re good for one another, and Jake and I like having you around, so fix this, yeah?” 
You nod, determined and empowered by his words, “I will.”
_____
As you step onto the rink, your eyes lock onto Sunghoon, gliding with so much velocity that it sends a shiver down your spine. You can't help but feel a pang of worry, knowing he's pushing himself to the limit, risking injury once more. As you approach, beads of sweat glisten on his face, his hair clinging to his skin, a visual confirmation of your concerns.
He propels himself into a jump, the sharp sound of his skate slicing through the air, reverberating across the arena. However, his landing isn't smooth; his ankle bends awkwardly, causing him to fall onto the ice.
"Sunghoon, be careful!" you call out, running to be by his side. Ignoring the impracticality of your footwear, you shuffle onto the ice and kneel beside him, "Are you out of your mind?"
Much to your dismay, Sunghoon’s ankle is thumping, a superficial heartbeat pulsing through it. He might be able to go back on the ice but he’s over-exerting himself. He doesn’t look at you, focusing on his ankle, but he also doesn’t push you away, letting you undo the bandage to assess the damage. 
Seemingly, his ankle is okay, nothing torn or hurt beyond what was already there, the bruise from a few weeks ago dying into a faded yellow, a promising sign but it still pains you to see.
Standing up, you offer him your hands for support but he shrugs you off, opting to stand on his own and skate over to the exit of the rink, “What are you doing here? Come to mess up my other skate?” His tone is sharp and accusatory, indicating that he’s still angry.
“It wasn’t me and you know that,” you defend yourself, slowly walking behind him trying not to slip.
You both successfully make it off the ice, Sunghoon plonking himself onto the bench outside. Going back to his ankle, you kneel and start the process of re-wrapping the bandage tightly, again with no protest from him. Hopefully, that’s a better sign of forgiveness compared to what his voice is suggesting.
Carefully, you discard his skate to the side and gather the bandage, your cold hand sparks a jolt in Sunghoon as you hold the start of the wrap to the back of his ankle. You take your time to eliminate any cause of discomfort which for the most part you succeed in. 
“You kept it a secret, Y/N. Lied to my face,” he says through gritted teeth which you don’t know if it’s from anger or pain, possibly a mixture of both, “Everything wrong in my life seems to be because of your family.” The words sting because you know it’s true. As much as you would love to be excluded from the accusation, you know he’s right.
“I know,” You say lowly, putting all your attention on his ankle. 
Looking at you, Sunghoon sighs, his body heavy with mixed feelings. Just looking at you now he wants to wrap you in his arms and tell you everything is okay, that he forgives you, but he can’t do that without some sort of explanation. 
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asks softly, staring at you as if trying to reach into your brain and pull the answers out himself.
Adjusting the bandage with a gentle twist, you offer your explanation, “Honestly, I thought I was protecting you. You had so much going on; not knowing if you would make nationals, the argument with your mum, there was just never a right time.”
Sucking his teeth, he nods, “Feels like you were protecting your brother.”
“I was, in some ways. There was something so strange going on I wanted to try and figure it out before I told you. I wanted an excuse so you wouldn’t blame him for it,” you explain your thought process to him but he won’t get it, not unless he was you in that situation.
Yet, to your surprise, Sunghoon grasps the sentiment perfectly. Protecting your brother is second nature, ingrained within you, even on the first day when everyone discovered they would be combining the rinks, you tried to protect him from doing something stupid. 
The only thing he doesn’t understand is why Minhee did it.
“Did you ever find an excuse for him? Or can I blame him for this?” he points to his ankle with his other foot so you see it. You haven’t looked at him once since you started to tend to his injury.
“You can blame him for it,” you start, pausing your actions as you wonder whether you should tell him what transpired, why Minhee did it, “Minhee…My mum put him up to it, to get you injured for Nationals so Minhee had a better chance of winning.”
“Shit, okay.”
Knowing Sunghoon, he’s trying to piece it all together to save you the explanation, but this is far too complicated for him to work out on his own, “This is going to sound so crazy, but I need you to listen. My mum is struggling to make ends meet and she got into some gambling scene. She put loads of money for Minhee to win, specifically to beat you and if she wins, it’s like thousands of pounds, enough to get her out of the debt she’s in. I don’t know how it works but it’s shady. She didn’t trust Minhee to get the job done on his own so…” You trail off, hoping he’ll put the puzzle together now.
Taking the safety pin, you secure the wrap and pull down his trouser leg, yet, you still don’t look at him, scared of his reaction. If you were in his shoes, you would not believe anything about what was just said.
But unlike you, Sunghoon knows what crazy sports mums are willing to do for their kids to succeed, his mum being a prime example, “Y/N, seriously, you should have told me.”
“I didn’t find out about the whole gambling thing until last night when Mini told me. Sunghoon, please believe me when I say he didn’t want to do it, he just…he thinks he owes our mum like he’s the one that put us in debt for chasing this dream, that he’s the reason for a lot of things outwith his control.”
“Sweets,” Sunghoon breathes out, grabbing your chin, forcing you to finally look at him, “I get it, I mean, I’m not particularly chill with it since my career could have ended but the way Minhee is feeling, I do understand.” 
His eyes hold yours like they’re hugging you, trying to pull you from your worries and somehow it works. You feel a little lighter, his hand now etching its way to your cheek to cradle it. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, seeking his comfort.
“I’m sorry, Hoonie,” you state solemnly, angry and hurt that he was just a pawn in your mother's game, the relationship between you both strained because of her and yet you were the one apologising on her behalf. 
You’re sorry for your own mistakes, but nothing was as bad as her tricks.
Sunghoon offers you a small smile, ushering you to sit next to him on the bench so he isn’t looking down on you. The symbolism of you feeling lesser is evident to him and he can’t stand it.
He turns to face you as you take a seat next to him, his hand resting comfortingly on your leg. “That phone call, I didn't say all that. That wasn't me, you have to believe me" he begs you to trust him.
"Yeah, I know," you respond with a bitter scoff, recalling the manipulative tactics of your mother. The skater's expression shifts to confusion as you continue, "My mum did that too, another thing that’s going to sound even crazier than breaking your skate."
You recount the incident with the AI recording, detailing your mother's desperate attempts to win her bet and her willingness to destroy your relationship in the process. With each sentence, his bewilderment deepens, his eyes widening and narrowing, and his mouth opening and closing in disbelief.
"Wait, seriously? It was AI?" he interjects once you've recounted every bizarre detail.
As he grapples with the revelation, you seize the opportunity to provide some comfort, gently wiping the sweat from his brow and pushing his dishevelled hair back from his face. The tension seems to ease from his features.
You pout at him, the weight of guilt settling heavily in your chest. "I'm really sorry for not believing you when all of this came out," you admit, your voice tinged with remorse.
He reaches out to take your hand in his, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, "No, no, Sweets, it's okay," he reassures you, his tone soft and understanding, "She even gaslighted me for a second,” he suddenly starts to chuckle, “I thought my biggest worry was people making those ‘If Sunghoon sang Chase Atlantic’ AI TikToks.”
You laugh with him, knowing what he’s talking about. One day he came to you and showed you a video of him singing Slow Down which creeped you out and impressed you all at once. 
The moment of laughter dies down, the break in tension creating much-needed relief for both of you. This whole scenario is so fucked up it’s hard to believe, you’re just thankful Sunghoon is so understanding.
“What about Minhee?” he asks suddenly, passing the confusion to you, “Like, how is he in all of this?” 
Sunghoon’s concern for your brother, whether big or small, makes your love for him pound in your chest. Even after everything, he was still asking about Minhee which meant he might not hold a grudge, and more importantly, not go to the board.
Is it selfish to think that right now? To still be concerned about Minhee’s career?
Your boyfriend sees your eyes twitch, his telltale sign that your mind is racing, “Sweets?”
He breaks your thoughts, “Oh, he’s uh, he’s just stressed I think. I need to properly speak to him at some point and figure out what he wants to do,” you shake off the idea that Minhee won’t get to achieve his dream, scared that you might manifest it by accident.
Sunghoon nods, sighing deeply as he sheds any of the weight that was held over him. He wishes you would have trusted him when you heard the audio, but he does understand. Sometimes, he can be too understanding and he knows this, but it’s so easy to forgive or find reasoning for your actions.
Which will help you with your next request.
"Please don't go to the board," you finally confess, your voice barely above a whisper. It takes every ounce of courage you possess to voice the plea, but you know you have to ensure your mother hasn't irreparably damaged Minhee's chance at the Olympics. You need to see him succeed - he deserves it more than anyone.
Pressing his forehead against yours, he smiles, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, "I won't, I promise. For you though, only for you."
The weight that's been pressing down on your shoulders suddenly lifts, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief. You almost cry at how patient and understanding Sunghoon is, you wonder if you’ve ever met anyone like him before.
There’s a comfortable calmness in the air, his nose nuzzles against yours as he smiles contently, happy to have you back beside him. The past two days felt like weeks. It made him realise just how important you are to his life. He can’t live without you and never wants to be apart.
“So is Minhee…cool with us?” he asks gingerly.
Your face lights up as you lean back, “Actually, he’s completely fine with it, well, he said he still doesn’t like you but you make me happy. That’s all he wants.” 
Minhee and you will forever prioritise each other's happiness above all else. These recent events have underscored that sentiment, even if it took some time to fully grasp. Ultimately, you both want nothing but the best for each other.
Sunghoon appears genuinely surprised by your declaration, his eyebrows shooting up, "Really? No resentment or anything?"
"Really," you confirm, observing his reaction closely. "He... he actually told me about forbidding you from seeing me all those years ago," you add, realising his astonishment at the news about your brother being on board with your relationship likely stems from the years of Minhee pushing him away from you.
Flushed, Sunghoon shuts his eyes, “No, he didn’t,” he winces at the idea of you finding out about his long-term crush on you.
“He did. Told me how you begged him to let you take me to prom too,” you gloat, a massive triumphant smile on your face, “You loooved me all those years ago, you have to admit it now,” you joke and his face turns even redder. 
Typically, Sunghoon is being chased, so to have this hanging over his head in your relationship, he knows you’ll never shut up about it. He will admit though, that the look of delight on your face is almost worth the embarrassment.
“Okay, yeah. But blame Minhee for making us miss so many years together, okay? He was shit scary back then. I thought he was going to skin me alive,” Sunghoon recollects asking him if he could ask you out to the cinema, an innocent tiny date and Minhee, the scariest 14-year-old there was to ever live at that point, well to Sunghoon anyway, practically ripped his head off.
Prom was a mistake, he was simply asking if you had a date to prom. Yes, he was going to ask you if Minhee said no, regardless of what your brother would say, but the fire in Minhee’s eyes wasn’t one to be messed with and by this point, he was a gym-attending 19-year-old with an extra protective layer over you. Enough said.
You giggle and take his hand, offering him a sympathetic smile, “He was scared to lose me.”
"Who wouldn't be," he responds without hesitation, his tone serious and sincere.
His immediate reply catches you off guard and you do a double take, surprised by the sudden intensity in his voice.
Sunghoon wasn’t just saying it; he was petrified at the thought of losing you, especially after your mother's deceitful phone call. The look of betrayal on your face had cut him to the core, a pain he never wanted to inflict upon you. He loved you too much for that.
As you process his words, you realise there's a deep emotion behind them that you hadn't fully grasped before. Sunghoon's admission hangs heavy in the air, revealing a vulnerability. Your heart clenches with empathy, knowing that his dread of losing you is deep. You softly squeeze his hand, silently expressing your empathy.
You felt the exact same way about him - terrified of losing one of the people who means everything to you.
"I'm sorry," you say quietly, your voice full of regret, "I never want you to feel like you're going to lose me."
Sunghoon's gaze softens as he meets your eyes, a flicker of emotion dancing in the depths of his own. He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against your knuckles, "I know, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice filled with reassurance, “I’m not letting you go anyway, you’re stuck with me now.”
You laugh, shaking your head. There's a silent vow between you both to cherish and reassure each other whenever you have to, “Can we start again?” 
“Yeah, of course, Sweets.” He plasters a genuine grin on his face, elated with the idea of putting all the negativity and lies behind the relationship and starting fresh.
You stretch out your hand, teeth showing as you smile, “Hi, I’m Y/N Kang. I’m your biggest fan.”
Sunghoon’s heart pounds loudly, you are his fan but to him, you’re more like an extractor fan. If you don’t have one of those, things go rotten and that’s exactly what it felt like without you. He needed you to such the poison and pain from his bones, he selfishly needed your love to make him feel alive. 
He wants to provide you with that same feeling.
Taking your hand he smiles widely, mirroring your enthusiasm, “I’m Park Sunghoon. I am your biggest fan.”
________
The bleacher seats are your makeshift study space, textbooks and notes scattered haphazardly around you as you bury yourself in preparation for the looming winter exams. The chill of the air contrasts with the warmth of your determination; you had an award to uphold after all.
Meanwhile, your boyfriend is focused on a different kind of preparation. With just four days until nationals, he's dedicated himself to ensuring his ankle is in peak condition. Despite having twisted it just a few weeks ago, he's pushing himself hard, determined to perform at his best on the ice. When he pushes himself a little too much, you’re there to pull him back, or rather nag him to be careful
You steal glances at him whenever you can. Despite the injury, he moves with a fluid grace, his dedication evident in every precise movement. If you didn't know better, you wouldn't even guess that his ankle had been injured at all.
As you bury your nose in your books, a sense of admiration washes over you. His resilience and commitment inspire you to push through your own challenges. Granted, yours is a little less intimidating, the exams you’ll take will be confined to a week inside a study hall whereas Sunghoon is skating in front of thousands and being broadcast on TV. 
Lost in your studies, you're suddenly jolted back to reality by a soft tap on your paper. Glancing up, you're met with a warm smile from your boyfriend, his eyes twinkling with affection, “You’re so serious when you’re focused,” He laughs, leaning over the barrier of the ice rink. 
“Are you done?” You ask enthusiastically, hoping to get out of here and get the dinner he promised you 3 hours ago; your stomach wasn’t prepared to be denied food for so long that it started to speak to you about an hour ago.
"Just about, baby. You wanna go for Italian?" Sunghoon suggests, his eyes twinkling with mischief. His suggestion makes you smile; you've been raving about gnocchi for the past two days, and he's clearly been paying attention.
As you agree, his grin widens, and he leans in close, "Great, I'll go get changed and be right out," he declares, excitement bubbling in his voice.
Leaning over the barrier, Sunghoon puckers his lips in anticipation of a kiss to which you gladly oblige, pressing your lips to his in a sweet, lingering kiss. The brief moment of affection leaves you both with a warm, fluttering feeling in your chests. With a final smile and a promise to meet you outside, he disappears to change, leaving you to gather your books and laptop.
Packing the last of your highlighters into your bag, you hear the entrance door open. Peeking over the seats, you see a familiar face walking down with his gym bag slung over his shoulder and earphones in.
"Minhee?" you question, hoisting your bag onto your shoulder before walking over to him. "Mini?" you call out louder, ensuring he hears you.
Your brother jumps a little, clearly not expecting to see you at the rink. "What are you doing here?" he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.
"Sunghoon's taking me for dinner. I was just studying while he trained," you explain, hoping to alleviate any concerns he might have.
Your reasoning earns a thoughtful hum from Minhee. It's still strange to talk about Sunghoon so casually with him, especially after keeping your relationship a secret for all those months.
"Is he here?" Minhee glances around, searching for any sign of Sunghoon.
"He's getting changed," you reply, nervously biting your lip. Despite Minhee giving you the green light for dating, there's still a lingering apprehension about them being in the same room together, especially after "skate gate," as Sunghoon dubbed it in an attempt to lighten the situation.
There is still some part of you that dreads them in the same room together, apprehensive to what they’ll do. Minhee is overprotective of you and Sunghoon is, well, he’s got a wrap on his ankle thanks to your brother. 
Suddenly, the door to the dressing room swings open, and Sunghoon emerges, looking refreshed and ready for your dinner date. His expression is bright, his tunnel vision for you renders Minhee nonexistent to him. It’s not until he gets closer that he notices your older brother.
Once his eyes shift to Minhee, Sunghoon’s smile falters ever so slightly. He also doesn’t know how things will pan out but he knows he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.
“Minhee,” Sunghoon nods towards him which Minhee returns, “Are you training tonight?” You appreciate the civilness your boyfriend is trying to engage in, you know he’s doing it for you but hopefully, later on, he’ll do it because he and Minhee are actually getting along.
You can only dream of the day.
“Yeah,” he says sharply but there’s a wave of something in his eyes, something that happens when he’s thinking, “Actually, since you’re here can I talk to you? Privately,” Minhee glances at you as he says privately, indicating that he no longer wants you in the conversation.
Sunghoon looks to you for approval which you grant him obviously, hoping he’ll tell you what Minhee wants during dinner, “Sure. Coaches office is free,” he suggests, pointing with his head.
Your two boys stride over to the office and lock the door behind them.
Now, you could eavesdrop, and make sure no one throws a punch, but you’re trying to be optimistic about their relationship, so you leave them be.
Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself to trust in their ability to handle the situation maturely. After all, both Sunghoon and Minhee care deeply for you, they wouldn’t want to make this any more uncomfortable for you. 
Fighting the urge to pace, you take a deep breath and try to distract yourself with thoughts of the upcoming dinner. Maybe you’ll have a glass of wine with dinner tonight, and try something new. You could get dessert if you convince Sunghoon to cheat on his meal plan for a night. 
Who are you kidding? All you can think about is what is going on in that office, no attempt at distraction will help you now.
It’s increasingly difficult for you to resist chapping the door and pestering them to let you in on the gossip. What could be so important they couldn’t talk about it in front of you?
15 minutes pass but it feels like an eternity as you anxiously await their return. If one of them comes out with a black eye, you’re ditching them both, leaving them high and dry. You really hope it doesn’t come to that.
Finally, the door to the coach’s office swings open, all limbs and eye sockets intact, which is a good sign at least; however, their expressions are unreadable as they walk towards you. There's a subtle shift in the air, something lingering between them, though they try to maintain a facade of normalcy.
"Ready to go?" Sunghoon asks, his tone gentle as he kisses the top of your head lightly.
You nod and look between both of them, “What did you guys talk about?” There’s no grace of subtlety when it comes to you and your curiosity; you know it has something to do with you, you just wanted to know what.
Minhee and Sunghoon exchange a knowing glance before your brother answers, “Just giving him some brotherly warnings…right?” he says it so casually but his tone is cryptic. You know there is more to it than that.
Linking your fingers with his, Sunghoon grips your hand tighter, offering you some reassurance amidst the swirling thoughts in your mind. He knows you're probably considering every possible conversation they could have had.
"Nothing to worry about, Sweets. Minhee was just swinging his big brother ego around," Sunghoon says, his voice gentle but firm. There's a playful twinkle in his eyes that eases your nerves, if only slightly.
Rolling his eyes, Minhee sighs, "Whatever, Park. Remember what I said, yeah?" he tries to pass it off as banter, but there's a serious current weaving through his voice, catching you off guard.
Sunghoon nods in acknowledgement, a silent knowing between them, "I got it," he replies, his gaze locked on Minhee with a sense of respect and understanding. This newfound dynamic between Sunghoon and Minhee is unfamiliar, and you can't quite decipher whether it's a positive or negative development. 
"Enjoy your dinner, Bubs. Make sure he pays," Minhee points to Sunghoon before waving you both off and heading to the changing room.
As Sunghoon pulls at your hand, leading you out of the arena, the silence hangs heavy between you. He doesn't offer an explanation so easily, much to your dismay. 
"Your brother is a shark, can I say that in the most respectful way?" Sunghoon finally speaks up, breaking the silence with a hint of amusement in his voice.
You chuckle softly, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, he's super protective," you acknowledge with a touch of pride in your voice.
"He really is. He’d do anything for you…" Sunghoon trails off, his expression thoughtful. You want to ask what he means but you resist the urge to pry further.
"Are you guys okay? You didn’t fight or anything?" you venture tentatively. 
Sunghoon offers you a reassuring smile, his eyes warm with sincerity, "I think we're besties now," he quips, trying to lighten the mood. You can't help but smile at his attempt to ease your worries, "C'mon, let's go eat, I'm starving," he suggests, kissing you quickly as you reach his car.
You are grateful they managed to have one discussion without throttling one another, even going as far as to make lighthearted jokes and playful jabs.
Baby steps, you suppose.
_____
Emerging from the restaurant and making your way to Sunghoon's car, your face radiates with laughter, tears glistening in your eyes.
"Did you genuinely believe she was asking for your autograph?" you tease, barely able to contain your amusement.
Sunghoon rolls his eyes, “Baby, it isn’t that funny. She literally ASKED me to sign it.”
“Yeah, the bill because you used your card,” as you say the words, another heaved laugh comes out, “You were so confident to think she was your fan.”
Crossing his arms, Sunghoon huffs playfully, feigning annoyance, but he can’t stop the smile from creeping on his face as he looks at you. With your face so bright and that beautiful song of your giggles, Sunghoon can’t stop looking at you, admiring you in this moment.
As your laughter subsides, you catch him staring at you intently. "What is it?" you inquire, noting the uncharacteristically serious expression on his face, devoid of its usual sarcastic pout in situations like these.
"I just love you so much..." he trails off, halting by the passenger door of his car, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "The thought of losing you was terrifying."
Sunghoon understands that you've both overcome the misunderstandings and manipulations caused by your mother, and you're in a better place now. Yet, the prospect of almost losing you because of it still haunts him.
You pout at his words, bringing your hands up to stroke the apple of his cheeks gently, “I hated it too. You’re so important to me, Hoonie,” you whisper, eyes softening at his words.
The months you’ve spent with him have been the best of your life, you could never deny that. Your relationship with him hasn’t been easy, interference from too many outside parties threatened to ruin it all, to rip you from your soulmate, but you will never let it happen again.
You place a timis kiss on his nose, “I promise that nothing will ever take me away from you again, okay?” you look at him with sincere eyes, hoping he truly listens to your promise.
He nods, closing his eyes with a serene smile, his graceful hands enveloping yours, imparting a comforting warmth. Foreheads touching, he savours the moment, soaking in the palpable connection between you both. He just wants to feel your love.
Never in Sunghoon’s life did he ever imagine finding love like this. Although he always knew he loved you, he didn’t know how intense his feelings were until suddenly you weren’t there anymore.
He smiles, eventually opening his eyes to look at you, your gaze holding nothing but love, “Will you come back to mine?” he asks as though this is the first date and he’s testing the waters to see if you’re interested.
“Actually,” you smile, pulling away from him slightly, your hands trailing down to fix the collar of his coat, “Minhee went out with Jungmo and my mum’s recently been going out at night so…”
Sunghoon's heart skips a beat at your implication, "Are you inviting me over?" he asks, his ears buzzing with anticipation.
You nod, a hint of nerves sneaking through as you bite your lip. "Yes, if you want to."
Considering the offer, he weighs the options carefully.
On the downside: it's a risk with your mum potentially returning home soon, the early morning departure could be awkward if he encounters your brother, and there's the potential for discomfort in the morning.
On the upside: it's a shorter drive to your place, he's curious about seeing your room, and it's the only location where he hasn't fucked you yet.
"Alright, let's go for it," he grins, the allure of the last pro eclipsing the rest.
Sunghoon opens the door for you and you settle into your seat and fasten your seatbelt while he slides into the driver's seat, starting the car.
As the car glides down the dimly lit streets, Sunghoon steals glances at you, a mixture of excitement and nervousness flickering in his eyes. The anticipation within him builds with every passing moment, the silence between you thick with unspoken desire.
With a playful smile, you break the tension, "Why do you look nervous?"
Sunghoon chuckles, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, "Not nervous, excited,” he corrects you.
You eye him up and down, “Okay then, why are you excited?” 
Sunghoon lounges back as you hit a red light, taking the chance to look at you, “It’s like I’m entering enemy territory, like on those video games Jake plays all the time. I’m entering the red area, risking my life while I got on stealth mode,” he explains, getting even more giddy as he speaks about it.
“Hoonie, no one else will be home, I’m hardly sneaking you in.”
“Shhh, it’s no fun if you put it that way,” he chuckles, placing a hand on your thigh, “When I forward roll into your entrance, leave me be,” he plays.
Luckily for you, when you both arrive, Sunghoon refrains from spy rolling into your house like he’s an elite operative. Instead, he is waiting to be invited in like Stefan Salvatore.
“Baby, come on in, nothing gonna bite you,” you giggle as you take off your shoes.
Following your orders, he walks in and takes a look around the familiar entranceway. Nothing has changed since he was last here, just before your ceremony; aka, he’s noticed not one of your award pictures has taken pride of place next to your brothers. 
You hadn't shown your mother the pictures, nor did she inquire about how it went. Her indifference was something you had learned to accept, albeit reluctantly. It wasn't the ideal situation, but like Sunghoon, you had found solace and love in other places where your mother left a void
Coming to that acceptance was cathartic.
You lead him up to your room, a bright smile on your face. It was surreal to have this opportunity to have him amongst your creature comforts, like finally all the pieces of your life have come together.
Sunghoon stops you as you go to reach for the handle, “Wait!” he rushes out. Inhaling deeply as he jitters around like a boxer about to walk into the ring, each little jump and hand tremor making you laugh. You would mistake it for nervousness again if he wasn’t beaming at the door like an idiot 
“Will you calm down, this isn’t anything spectacular, It’s just my room,” you shake your head, looking at him as he continues his jumps of glee. Nothing you could say to him would stop him from acting like a child on Christmas morning, “You’re such a dork,” you snort, placing your hand on the handle.
Before opening the door, you mentally hope you tidied up before meeting him today. To your relief, the room is cleaner than you recall, albeit with a stray sock and some shoes strewn where your wardrobe is. You signal for Sunghoon to come, and he enthusiastically skips inside, looking about with inquiring eyes.
His attention moves across the shelves filled with books and trinkets, the cosy bed with its assortment of plushies, and the desk cluttered with papers and pens. Sharing this space with him creates a sense of intimacy and vulnerability, as well as elation among you both. Having him here feels like you can finally call this your home.
Sunghoon's smile widens as he takes it all in, his eyes sparkling with delight, "This is nice," he remarks, his voice soft with appreciation. 
You nod, feeling a surge of happiness at his reaction, "I'm glad you think so," you reply, watching as he moves further into the room, exploring every nook and cranny as if it holds some secret treasure. 
Just looking around your room is giving him further insight into your life. As your boyfriend, he knows a lot more than most, yet, seeing your soul laid bare in these four walls is opening him up to understand you deeper. 
From the 2 minutes he has spent in your room, he has just found out that you collect far too many earrings, your favourite highlighter to use is pastel pink, you had an emo phase that you neglected to tell him, and you’ve been to 4 fan signs for TO1. It’s tiny, insignificant details, but Sunghoon wants to know it all.
His eyes happen to fall on a picture of you and Minhee when you were kids, “I remember this!” he exclaims, fangs showing as he twists the picture to show you as if you don’t see it literally every morning, “This was the Youth of Skating competition when we were 13,” he reminisces.
"Wasn't I just adorable?" you remark, playfully cupping your cheeks and flashing a wide grin as you try to mimic your younger self captured in the photo.
With a laugh, Sunghoon gently sets the frame back on your desk, nodding in agreement, “The prettiest one in the crowd by far,” he murmurs in a soft tone, mirroring your joy. It's as if your face radiates sunlight, and he basks in your vibrant glow.
Closing the distance between you, he replaces your hands with his own, leaning in to kiss you. His lips are tender as they meld with yours, his touch gentle as he affectionately squishes your cheeks, “You’re still the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”
Your heart quickens as he whispers sweet nothings into your mouth, his words mingling with the gentle exploration of his tongue, "I don't buy it," you tease, playfully pushing his hands away from your red cheeks, "You'll have to prove it to me," you challenge with a mischievous glint in your eyes.
A playful smirk dances across Sunghoon's lips as he accepts your challenge, his eyes sparkling with determination. With a soft chuckle, he gently captures your hands in his, intertwining your fingers as he pulls you closer.
"Oh, I intend to," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. Leaning in, he presses another lingering kiss to your lips, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, he trails his lips along your jawline, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses in his wake. 
He takes off his jacket, tossing it on your desk chair all the while he’s nipping at your neck. As his hands swiftly remove his t-shirt, revealing his sculpted bare chest, your eyes are drawn to the faded hickeys scattered across his skin. You had really done a number on him a couple of weeks ago, the purple still tinting his pecks. 
Before you can fully appreciate the sight, he bends down, effortlessly scooping you up, his lips showering kisses all over your face. Your breath catches at the warmth of his touch sending a flush to your cheeks, "Sunghoon," you gasp, feeling his urgency mirrored in your own desire.
Laying you gently on the bed, his chest pressed against yours, he trails his hands up and down your body, igniting flames of longing with each touch, "I know, Sweets," he murmurs, his voice laced with possessiveness, "You want me to fuck you, yeah? Prove to you that you’re the most gorgeous girl?"
“Yes,” you huff out desperately.
“Then be a good girl. You can do that for me, baby, can’t you?” he whispers into your neck, licking a stripe up your vein.
His words dance down to your pussy, arousal pooling between your legs as you eagerly nod in agreement. His confidence mixed with his praises only fuels your desire, the promise of being his good girl setting your pulse racing.
In a flurry of movement, his trousers and boxers are discarded, and he wastes no time in removing your jeans and underwear, leaving you bare and exposed to his hungry gaze. As he kisses up the tender skin of your inner thigh, his proximity to your centre sends waves of anticipation coursing through you.
“My beautiful girl, you’re all mine,” Sunghoon’s voice is low and smooth like butter.
The vibrations from his words send a jolt of need straight to your core, the ache for his touch almost unbearable. As he teasingly presses a delicate kiss to your clit, you whimper in longing, your body yearning for the fulfilment only he can provide.
His hands slide up to the top of your thighs, holding them down and apart as he nibbles gently at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. A shiver of anticipation courses through you as your hips instinctively push up, yearning for the touch of his mouth where you need it most.
Sunghoon responds with soft, warm kisses across your core, each one sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. Then, with deliberate slowness, he traces his tongue upwards, sending a shudder of delight through you as he explores every inch of your pussy.
Kneading your hands through his hair, you grip tight as you beg for more and Sunghoon has no problem granting your wishes, kitten-licking your slit as he laps up your wetness. 
When he is going down on you, he is like a man possessed but now it’s much worse. He hasn’t tasted your essence properly since the breakup/makeup. Your boyfriend doesn’t like to go too long without your taste on his tongue, so here he is making up for lost time as he lays his tastebuds flat against your cunt, savouring every drop of you.
You pull his head back by his hair, eliciting a moan from him as you do so, the sensation of each strand being in your command causes his dick to jump in, “Fuck, Sweets,” he hisses, licking his lips clean as he looks up at you through hooded eyes, “Tell me what you want.”
But he already knows what you want, because, without your answer, he’s gathering saliva in his mouth before spitting it on your throbbing pussy, his fingers lathering you in it, “Go on, tell me,” he mutters onto your clit, digging his teeth onto it just enough for you to buck your hips onto his face.
“Fingers, Hoonie, I want your fingers. Please,” you plead, holding your hips up to his mouth in a desperate attempt to get some release of your friction.
“Not only are you gorgeous,” Sunghoon’s fingers find their way to your entrance, circling it teasingly, “You’re my obedient, perfect girl.”
Sunghoon smoothly slides his fingers inside you, opening you up and filling you with a sweet sensation. His attention never leaves your face as he looks for your reactions, making every movement pleasurable for you.
He sees your lips falling wide and your head cocking back in ecstasy as an indication to continue. His fingers hook into you, gliding back and forth in a smooth and luring pace that matches the rhythm of your desire, and caressing you just the way you like it. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure through your body, creating a fire of passion that becomes hotter with each enticing movement.
You're a moaning mess as Sunghoon expertly finds your sweet spot, thrusting his fingers harshly as he works it with precision, "Let it all out, baby," he encourages, his voice sending your head into a tizzy, "Show me how I'm making you feel."
His words alone could send you tipping over the edge, but it's the sensation of his tongue flicking your clit and the gentle suction that has you screaming his name loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear. Sunghoon doesn't stop you, revelling in the melodic sound of his name falling from your lips like a symphony of desire.
"That's it, angel, you're doing so good for me," he praises, his words only spurring you on further. The two fingers inside you continue their relentless rhythm, driving you to the brink of ecstasy with each delicious stroke.
Your hands instinctively push him further into your cunt as you ride his face, Sunghoon's skilled ministrations bring you closer and closer to your climax, and his tongue and fingers dance in perfect rhythm, driving you to contentment with each delicious motion. The overwhelming sensation clouds your thoughts, leaving you lost in a haze of pleasure that makes your mouth water with anticipation.
With a final, electrifying thrust of his fingers and a gentle nibble at your clit, you hit the edge of release, your chest and tummy tightening. And then, with a guttural moan that bounces throughout the room, you finally succumb to the overwhelming wave of pleasure that crashes over you, leaving you trembling and breathless in its wake.
Sunghoon continues to worship you with his mouth and fingers, guiding you through the aftershocks of your orgasm with tender care and devotion. Each touch, each kiss, each whispered word of praise only serves to deepen the connection between you.
He sucks and swallows your juices, smiling as he does so. Your walls have trapped his two digits inside you as you squeeze him tight, “Baby, relax for me,” he kisses up your stomach in an attempt to get your body to yield but your orgasm is too intense, “Shh, Y/N, breathe out for me beautiful,” he whispers as his face meets yours.
Opening your eyes, you see his gentle smile and etch a blissful one onto yours, his adoring gaze instantly rippling through your bones, helping your muscles to unknot themselves. The power he has over you is crazy.
"Told you I would prove it," Sunghoon chuckles softly, pressing a peck on the tip of your nose as he finally frees his hand from you. Shaking your head with a satisfied smile, you exhale deeply, prompting him to tilt his head inquisitively.
"Oh? Have I not done enough?" he questions, his expression filled with amusement.
"Nope," you reply smugly, popping the 'p' for emphasis, "You could do more to prove it."
Sunghoon feigns contemplation, his lips quirking to the side in mock thought, "I see, hmm…" he muses, his gaze scanning you from head to toe before he suddenly sits you up and onto his lap, taking your useless top off.
His favourite playthings are now sitting directly at eye level and Sunghoon feels spoilt for choice of what one to show attention to first. Left has always been his favourite, there wasn’t a particular reason as to why, he just instinctively went for it every time.
Before he can delve his mouth to attach to your perky nipple, you surprise him by gripping his shoulders with one hand while the other strokes his cock between your bodies. In reaction, his shoulders and back hunch over, his head now buried between your mounds. 
Your slicked hand pumps him at a vicious pace, yet the gentleness of your hand causes no discomfort. After all these months together, you know how he likes it, fast and rough with extra attention to his tip; so that’s what you do, after every fourth stroke you swipe your palm over his head, the soft skin now tinted red with need.
“Sweets,” he murmurs between your breasts, his tongue licking the valley like a helpless dog, “Let me be inside you, fuck I need it so bad,” he almost whimpers as you squeeze him.
Part of you wants to keep going and tease him but your heat is leaking for him, crying out to be stuffed by his cock. 
You lift your hips and guide him to your entrance, slowly sinking onto him, “Jesus,” you hiss out, his cock stretching you much wider than his previous fingers.
The pace you set is deliberate and unhurried as you savour the feeling of his thick shaft piercing into you, battering your cervix each time you slam down onto him. Sunghoon groans at the way your channel is enveloping him, moulding around him like a perfect fit. 
With each withdrawal, the tip of his cock catches on your entrance, teasingly, before he plunges back in, eliciting desperate pleas for more from your lips, "Hoonie, please, faster," you beg, your desire driving you wild.
It’s time for Sunghoon to take charge, his hands clasp around your back as he pulls you further into his chest, gripping onto your skin as he goes at you relentlessly. He delves so deeply inside you that the sensation becomes overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and need. Sunghoon's hand moves from your back to brush against your overstimulated clit, sending jolts of electricity coursing through your body, causing you to writhe on his lap, "Sunghoon, please," you whimper, your voice laced with desperation.
"What is it, baby?" Sunghoon's voice, soft-spoken and tender, stands in stark contrast to the force of his thrusts, each one pounding relentlessly against your core.
"Close," you gasp out, the intensity of your impending climax threatening to overwhelm you once again. If it were any other time, you might feel embarrassed by how quickly you're reaching the peak of ecstasy, but you know Sunghoon would understand. And he does because he feels the same way. 
Both of you have tangled in sheets for long enough that you both know one another’s body like the back of your hands. That, added in with the withdrawals, of course you were both cumming quickly. Neither of you particularly minded since it wasn’t exactly a hindrance but rather served as just another notch to add to the endless list of climaxes you could potentially have. 
The day that one orgasm halts your sexcapades for the night, is the day Ghostface will stop being hot. Never.
Sunghoon spits on your folds, his movements primitive but intentional. His fingers rubbed saliva into your delicate skin, focusing their attention on your swollen clit, pushing you to the verge of your high. These sensations are almost too intense to take, with his rough touch on your bud and the power of his cock ramming into your walls battering you in the most delicious way possible.
The other hand on your back trails its way to your left hand, clasping it in his as he intertwines your fingers, kissing your knuckles as he stares at you, love shining through, “I love you so fucking much,” he whispers out, his hips faltering slightly as he declares his adoration for you.
Nodding, you bite your lip, prying your eyes open to look into his, “I love you too, Hoonie,” you confess back to him, hips also losing their rhythm as you struggle to focus on anything other than the coil in your stomach.
You bring your lips to his hand, mimicking his earlier actions, “Cum with me, Sunghoon,” you whisper into the back of his hand, your lips parted as you suck in a deep breath, ready for release.
Your body convulses with pleasure as waves of ecstasy wash over you, leaving you trembling and breathless in their wake. Sunghoon holds you close, his touch gentle yet possessive as he guides you through the aftershocks of your climax with tender care.
Sunghoon kisses you hungrily, his lips engulfing yours in a passionate embrace as your words push him over the edge. With feral zeal, he releases his seed in you, the white strands of his desire flying straight into your depths and blending with your own release.
Your bodies melt together in the heat of passion and you both cry one other's names along with a stream of curses, lost in the throes of pleasure and need. Sunghoon punctuates each passionate proclamation with two simple utterings of "I love you," ensuring that his words are conveyed sincerely
As you come down from the euphoric high, you find yourself enveloped in Sunghoon's embrace, his love and adoration surrounding you like a warm blanket on a cold night. In this moment, with him by your side, you feel truly complete, knowing that you are loved and cherished beyond measure.
Laying you down, Sunghoon, slides out of you gently, making sure he doesn’t hurt you, “Sweets, where is your bathroom?” he asks but you’re still too fucked out to comprehend his question, leaving him to figure it out on his own, “Stay here, baby, I’ll be back,” he instructs, putting on his boxers and tucking his semi-hard cock into them. 
Leaning an ear to the door, Sunghoon assesses if anyone magically came home while you two were going at it like animals. The silence he hears elicits relief into his body as he opens the door, confident no other member of the Kang family will see his practically naked figure.
Opening a few doors through trial and error, he stumbles into Minhee’s room. The curiosity within him leads him to look around, hand searching for the light. Once he switches it on, he sees exactly what he was expecting, a clutter of mess placed in every corner. It’s similar to his room, decor-wise, but there’s one thing that he notices, standing prominent on Minhee’s nightstand. 
Sunghoon reaches for the picture of you at 3 years old, sleeping next to your older brother, hugging one another tightly. You’re wearing matching pyjamas and smiles with no cares in the world. He knows your bond with Minhee is strong, stronger than most siblings; he thinks perhaps that’s why it was so easy to forgive you for lying to him. Seeing this picture now only punctuates his thoughts.
And after his conversation with Minhee today, he knows you would both do anything to protect one another.
“What are you doing in here?” you ask, hugging him from behind. Your eyes stare at the picture in the frame and you laugh, “Oh my days, Minhee and I were so young back then,” you fondly pout.
Sunghoon wraps an arm around your shoulder, “I was looking for the bathroom to get you cleaned up but I came across his room,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing your shoulder.
“Hmm,” you acknowledge, taking the frame and placing it back on the desk. You pause your motions as you look around his desk. It had been a long time since you had been in your brother's room, possibly 2 years, but you don’t remember all of the clutter on his worktop.
Picking up the paper fortune teller, you can't help but laugh at the whimsical relic of your childhood, "I didn't know he kept all this stuff," you say wistfully, your fingers tracing the faded creases of the paper. Memories flood your mind as you recall the countless hours spent crafting these simple yet cherished treasures with your brother.
Your gaze then falls upon the painting, a colourful masterpiece that holds a special place in your heart despite its simplistic charm. "And look at this," you remark, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "I remember making this in nursery. It was supposed to be a house, but I’m clearly no Picasso," you chuckle, the memory bringing warmth to your heart.
Putting it back, you see the picture you sent him from your award ceremony, sitting proudly next to his mouse, “He printed this out?” you ask no one, “I thought this would be the last picture he would want to see every day.”
The picture didn’t just represent your achievement, it represented the lies you sat in for months without Minhee knowing. This picture was amongst the bunch that had you and Sunghoon sitting happily in love, an accidental click that exposed your deceit. 
Sunghoon kisses your temple, “He’s proud of you, baby,” he says, trying to ease your tense shoulders, “That night, sure, the aftermath was a shitshow. But you still achieved something amazing, and he’s proud.”
His words lighten you a little, a smile creeping on your face as you put it back. Shaking your emotions away, you look up at your boyfriend, “Let’s get out of here, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.” You push him out of Minhee’s bedroom, closing the door behind you.
“While you’re up,” Sunghoon follows you, hand in yours, “Why don’t we just take a shower?” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.
You roll your eyes and open up the bathroom door, “Fine, but only quickly, last time I started to shrivel up like a prune with how long you kept me in there,” you joke, turning the light on. 
Sunghoon smirks, “I promise, I’ll be quick,” he leans down to your ear, “I’ll just make sure I go at you rough and hard, hmm?”
taglist (closed!!): @heelee-01 @zerasari @beomgyusonlywife @iwaplant @monstanctiny21 @chiiiiiiiiis @minniejenseo @run2gyuz @jngwnlvs @haelahoops @capri-cuntz @nctislifue @jaehoonii @weyukinluv @skzenhalove @enhypenlovre @cherriruto @bambangan @who-tf-soddhi @nxzz-skz @nshmrarki @hotsforikeu @enhastolemyheart @erehkinnie30 @judeduartewannabe @neosexual @fakeuwus @positivelyinlovewithjungwon @tobiosbbyghorl @kimsunoops
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kitkatscabinet · 2 years ago
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an eye for an eye, a child for a child
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Aemond Targaryen x fem reader
Summary: Lost to her rage and grief at the loss of her beloved Lucerys Rhaenyra orders the capture of Aemond's pregnant lady wife. Only to find that maybe the two women could come to understand each other more than she thought possible.
Word count: 2k
Warnings: idk characters and their shitty canon behaviour, birth
A/N: Blood and Cheese didn't kill Jahaerys and Rhaenyra was close with Helaena. First Aemond request baby! keep em coming. This turned into a somewhat of a feminist rant lol
Although the circumstances of your occupation on the island weren't pleasant, you could still admit to yourself that Dragonstone held a beauty you readily admired. Your husband had always described the place as incredibly droll and dreary which you could easily see. But truthfully you found it peaceful, beautiful in a way King's Landing could never be. Even if you were confined to your room with Rhaenyra your only point of contact.
Hopelessly alone, terrified of what the blacks had planned for you, you wondered if what you felt was even a fraction of Lucerys's terror when he had been forced to flee from your husband. Tears burned in the corners of your eyes as one of your hands came to rest upon your protruding belly. Lucerys had been a child, and as a soon-to-be mother yourself a large part of you couldn't begrudge Rhaenyra for taking you in an act of revenge.
The creak indicating the opening of the door to your makeshift prison interrupted your thoughts. Turning you were met with the sight of a haggard-looking Rhaenyra. Her hands were empty, causing you to tilt your head in confusion as you watched her cross the space to sit across from you.
Immediately you noticed the darkened bruise decorating her neck, a mark you had often seen left behind on Aegon's victims as they tearfully tried to scurry out of sight. You didn't speak, waiting for Rhaenyra to start, but you knew she had noticed your sympathetic look. Surprisingly, she didn't say anything, just continued to stare at you with a faraway look in her eyes.
"I know my words will offer you no comfort, but I truly am so sorry for your recent losses. I can't even imagine..." you trailed off, wincing as a sharp glare was thrown your way.
"No you cannot" Rhaenyra's voice is filled with all the fury of a mother that has just lost two children.
"I just... I wanted you to know that through all of this, that you had someone on your side" you replied, struggling to find the correct words to truly convey your meaning.
"My side? Your husband killed my son" she yelled, fists balling so tightly you worried she would draw blood.
"He didn't want to" you hoarsely whispered, "he lost control of Vhagar. He is a boy playing at a war he cannot possibly understand. It's a weak defence and doesn't nearly justify anything but... He lost himself to his rage. A rage that we all let fester for years with no consequence. So while my words mean nothing I still wanted you to know that I am sorry, that Aemond is sorry, even if his stupid Targaryen pride will never let him admit it."
"Sorry doesn't bring back my son!" Rhaenyra's chest was shaking with rage that was waylaid into tears. Slowly you raised yourself from your seat, stepping towards the mourning woman to gently bring her into your arms. To your surprise, she didn't fight your actions, instead snaking her arms around to clutch at your back as she finally allowed herself to sob.
"I never wanted any of this" she admitted against your chest, "I had hoped to find a peaceful solution, but now I fear that will be impossible." Her voice was so small, so fragile that it took you a few seconds to reconcile it with the strong woman you had admired for so long.
"We might still be able to," you said, dropping to your knees and taking her hands in your own. "I want Aegon on the throne as much as you do. Aemond doesn't want him either, and I know you and Helaena care for each other. Hells, Aegon himself doesn't want the throne" you rambled a small spark of hope filling you suddenly.
Seeing Rhaenyra begin to pull away from you, you hurried to try and rectify your position. "He tried to run away you know? Aegon. He was going to escape to Essos but Ser Criston found him first on Otto's orders. Please, reach out to Alicent, you loved her once, that must count for something!"
"How?" is all the Queen manages to choke out at your declaration, grief still colouring her features.
"Because I know Alicent still loves you, loves you the same as you loved her in your youth." Though you loved Aemond now, you had not always done so. And as such, you had spent a great amount of time with the Dowager Queen in the early months of your marriage. While all the men in your lives seemed to be blind fools, you were not.
"It was her father that poisoned her against you. A poison that festered due to her bitterness. The men in our lives could never understand how we feel, but you can. You, Alicent, me. We've all been burdened with the task of womanhood, scorned and dismissed on the whims of men."
"Then why? Why has she been so persistent in my torment, in the torment of my sons. I have sued for peace more times than I can count only to be rebuffed at every turn" she scoffed, pulling her hands from yours as she moved to pace around the small room.
"I can't speak wholly for Alicent's reasons" you admitted, taking a deep breath. "But truthfully, I think she was jealous. She never loved your father. Her father has manipulated and trampled on her for her entire life, her children all ignored by their father. She has given her whole to duty, done what was expected of her whilst you trampled all over yours. I cannot excuse all of her actions, but try to see her point of view. Try for the woman that still loves you very much."
Rhaenyra is silent for some time, but you can see your words have had an effect. When she finally does reply it is with a question that takes you by surprise.
"And you?"
"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand the question your Grace" you frowned.
"You counted yourself amongst the women scorned at the hands of men."
"I didn't always love my husband, but Aemond demanded my hand" you admit, the truth tasting incredibly sour on your tongue. "Although I love him dearly now, he sometimes makes it very hard to. I suspect you may feel the same." One of the Queen's hands reached up to absentmindedly caress the bruised skin of her neck at your words as she simply hummed in agreement.
A sigh leaves her lips as she turned to face you once more, "Daemon wanted to have Helaena's children killed. In retaliation for Lucerys," you are left reeling at the confession, bile working its way up your throat as you collapsed back into the chair.
"I wouldn't allow it, wouldn't allow sweet Helaena to undergo that sort of pain. But Daemon was persistent, so in order to save her I chose you as the target instead."
You are prevented from replying to her admission by the sudden rush of cramps in your lower belly and back, the pain drawing a gasp and catching Rhaenyra's attention. The woman was at your side immediately, eyes widened as she watched your waters break.
"Fuck!" you screamed, hunching over as a new wave of pain assaulted your body.
"Quickly" Rhaenyra called, pulling you up and supporting your weight as she led you from the room and out into the corridor. Your pained groans were quick to catch the attention of the servants and lords alike as Rhaenyra screamed for a maester.
Daemon, who had arrived to investigate the source of all the fuss was quick to stand in your way, "this is what we wanted" he hissed to his wife, glaring at you. Both you and Daemon are then taken aback by Rhaenyra's fierce reply
"No, this is what you wanted! I am the queen, and I'll have no more of your schemes now move!" There was a power in her voice that you could only admire with a gaping mouth before you were forced on the move again.
To your great surprise Rhaenyra refused to leave your side, only slipping out once when you had begged for your husband through tears.
It was nearing the end of the night, the pain had made it impossible to continue your pacing and as you lay sweating in the birthing bed there was only one though on your mind.
"Aemond. Where is Aemond?" you choked out through cries and gritted teeth, squeezing Rhaenyra's hand as another contraction rocked your body.
"He's on his way sweetling" she promised, "Jace will be leading him back very soon." You couldn't find the strength to reply, head falling back limply against the pile of pillows as you tried to tune out the pain. According to the midwife it was still not yet time to push and you weren't sure how much longer you could hold out.
So lost in the haze of pain as Rhaenyra dabbed at your forehead you didn't notice as the chamber doors were violently thrown open, your furious husband stalking in. His feet quickly came to a stop as his good eye was met with the horrific sight of your pain.
Where you hadn't noticed the interruption Rhaenyra had, and was quick to yell at her younger brother.
"My lord!" one of the maesters interjected in abject horror, "you must wait outside-" Aemond however, was having none of his nonsense and for a second Rhaenyra feared the man's mouth had just cost him his life. Another pained groan from you was his saving grace though, and in record time Aemond was at your side, taking your hand from his sisters'.
"I'm here love, I'm here" he assured, throwing a quick glare at his sister before turning back to attend to you.
"Aemond?" you opened your exhausted eyes, desperately hoping you weren't hallucinating. A sob of relief leaving you once you realised he was really in front of you.
"My lady, you must start to push" your reunion is cut short by the midwife.
"I can't" you sobbed, shaking your head in denial.
"You must!" she insisted, even as you continued to refuse.
"Please love, you must listen to the midwife" Aemond urged, wiping your hair back from your face as he squeezed your hand. Groaning you attempted to sit up, only to immediately fall back as your muscles refused to cooperate.
"Aemond I can't" you protested once more, tears blurring your vision. It is Rhaenyra that ultimately comes to your side.
"Yes you can sweet girl. You must, your Queen demands it so." Her words managed to get a slight laugh from you as you remove your hand from your husband's to clutch at hers once more. "Aemond, sit behind her and support her weight" she demanded, and to your great shock he moved to comply with a complaint.
The hours blur together as you lay with your back against your husband's sturdy chest, Rhaenyra clutching one of your hands in her own as you screamed in pain. You are sobbing and heaving but with the support of your family, you push through. And eventually, you are rewarded with a shrill cry.
Tears of relief pour from your eyes as you demand to hold your child. You hear the hitch in your husband's breath as both of you lay eyes on your child for the first time.
"A girl" you whisper, voice choking with love. Looking back at your husband you can only watch in adoration as his eye refuses to leave your little girl's face, his arms wrapping around you to stroke at the small tuft of white hair.
A silent consensus seemed to be reached for the inhabitants of the room in that moment. The war could wait, the crown could wait. For now you would simply bask in the wonder of new life.
Taglist (crosses indicate an unavailable tag): @targeryenmoony @thelittleswanao3 @thenovelcarnival @yourlittlehoe @chattylurker @etherily @psychwardsiren @mihrimahsultan03 @bbyaemond @krispold @hyperfixated-freak @eudximoniakr @deadstarkblacksoul @weepingwitchofthewest
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beegomess · 3 months ago
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T.R. || Loving you forever
Summary: Tom and you made a pact that they would be together forever, and you are willing to do so. Even if you have to trick some people into having him in your arms again.
Warnings: The story will take place in the 5thº year.
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You, a brilliant student of Slytherin, carry with you an emotional weight and a story that few can understand. The connection you shared with Tom Riddle transcends mere friendship or romance; it was a union of souls who promised a future together, challenging not only conventions, but also the timelines themselves.
The promise made with Tom was more than words; it was a sealed pact with a love so intense that it seemed immortal. When the spell cast by him projected you forward in time, it was not just an escape, but a way to preserve this connection beyond death and forgetfulness. Every day at Hogwarts, while you keep your Slytherin student facade, it is a silent battle to hide the true weight of your heart — the pain of being separated from the one you love most and the persistent hope of meeting him again.
Current life, with its challenges and interactions, is constantly filtered through the memory of the past. Every step you take is calculated, each action is measured with the intention not only to fulfill your mission, but also to keep alive the memory of the love that once defined your existence. The fact that Tom's diary is the key to his resurrection makes his quest a mixture of duty and desire, an effort to restore what has been lost and, at the same time, a longing for a future where you can be together again.
As you approach Harry Potter, you are not only in search of a magical object; you are struggling to unite two worlds - the present and the past, love and obligation, the real and the imagined. Every moment you spend trying to gain Potter's trust is a step closer to realizing a promise that was made in simpler times, and also an attempt to reconcile what was left behind with what can still be achieved.
Behind his calm smile and the calculated strategies, there is a soul marked by an eternity of longing and a heart that still pulsates for the love that has never been faded. The mission is your redemption and your purpose, and its success is the key to restoring a piece of a past that you have never been able to leave completely behind.
His "frendity" began in a Herbology class. You were still someone unknown to him, which certainly helped you.
Harry began to sympathize with you some time ago, seeing you as an unexpected ally. It didn't take long for an obstacle to emerge in his path. Hermione Granger began to suspect her true intentions and decided to warn Harry about you.
One afternoon, while you were talking to Harry in the hallway, Hermione approached with a serious expression, which made you say goodbye and move away discreetly.
- Harry, are you sure you can trust her? - Hermione asked, her voice loaded with concern. - She is from Slytherin, and this should be taken into account.
Harry looked at Hermione, with a confused expression.
- I see no reason to suspect her. She has been very helpful. - Harry replied, trying to seem convinced.
Hermione crossed her arms, her eyes fixed on Harry with a determined look.
- Besides, she is also born a sucker, just like you. It wouldn't be a bad idea to have someone from Slytherin around. But don't worry, I know the reputation of the house is not the best. - He paused, as if expecting an argument.
Although it was not true that you were a "born sucker", the lie that you faced prejudice in Slytherin had a convincing effect on Harry. He believed it quickly, making his task easier.
- I just want you to be cautious. - Hermione insisted. - Even if she seems friendly, Slytherins have a reputation and, in my experience, it is always better not to let your guard down.
Despite Hermione's reservations, Harry continued to open up to you, but his interventions added a layer of tension to his plan. Maintaining Harry's confidence while dealing with Hermione's vigilance was a constant game of balance. Their meetings were planned to look spontaneous, always with a welcoming smile and an offer of genuine help. In each interaction, you calibrated your behavior to be useful and reliable, so that Harry did not suspect his true intentions.
[...]
On the night of that same day, the library was wrapped in an almost reverential silence, illuminated by the flickering light of the candles and the soft glow of the magic lamps. The tall bookshelves projected mysterious shadows, creating an environment that combined comminess and mystery. Harry Potter was sitting at a table, immersed in a thick book, but his expression showed distraction.
You approached with a calm and strategic posture, your clear goal. Harry was distracted, and you noticed a subtle glow emanating from his bag, which was partially open on the table. With a trained look, you immediately recognized Tom Riddle's diary, shining slightly under the light of the library.
- Harry! - You started, your soft and friendly voice - It looks like you're having trouble with this material. Do you need help?
Harry looked up at you, his expression mixing relief with a twinge of suspicion. He moved slightly away from the bag, as if unconsciously protecting the valuable object it contained.
- Oh, it's you. - Harry replied, a little surprised. - Actually, I'm having difficulties with it. I would appreciate it if you can take a look.
You smiled and leaned over to examine the book, your hand sliding discreetly in the direction of the bag. The diary was there, clearly visible through the opening. You tried to stay calm while adjusting your position, trying to get closer to the bag without drawing attention.
However, Harry seemed to notice the movement. His eyes fixed on his hand next to the bag and he hardened a little, his lips closing in a thin line.
The silence of the library was interrupted by a slight sound of something falling on the floor. Tom Riddle's diary, which was visibly exposed in Harry's bag, slipped from the opening and fell with a deaf thum on the tiled floor. The sound made Harry lean abruptly to pick up the object, his expression of concern quickly turning into tension.
He bent down and caught the diary quickly, his fingers squeezing the object firmly as he straightened. His eyes were now fixed on the diary, and there was a shadow of nervousness on his face. The tension was palpable, and he made a visible effort to hide the book in his bag carefully, trying to stay calm.
Taking advantage of the moment, you leaned a little further forward, watching the scene with a look of genuine concern.
- It seems that this is very important to you - you said, your voice loaded with a carefully calculated empathy. - What is this book? It seems to be causing a lot of tension.
Harry looked at you with an expression of surprise and discomfort. He hesitated for a moment, clearly struggling to decide how much to reveal. The shadow of distrust still hovered in his eyes, but the sincerity in his tone seemed to have created a gap.
- It's just one... a personal item. - Harry replied, his voice a little hesitant. - It's nothing to worry about.
You gave a slight understanding smile, trying to soften the situation and keep gaining your trust.
- I Understand. Sometimes, we all have things that we prefer to keep to ourselves. - You said, tilting your head in a friendly way. - But if you need someone to talk to or help with anything, I'm here for that.
Harry seemed to relax a little, although there was still a pinch of caution in his eyes. He clearly appreciated the offer of support, but was still struggling to balance trust with distrust.
- Thank you. - Harry said, his tone a little more relaxed, but still careful. - It's good to know that.
You took advantage of the moment to take a step closer, but without invading his personal space.
- No problem, Harry. The truth is that I'm here to help, and I hope we can work together to overcome any difficulty. - You paused, watching him carefully. - If you need anything, especially if the book is causing problems, know that you can talk to me.
Harry gave a slight nod, his gaze still a little cautious, but grateful. The diary, now again hidden in the bag, seemed to be a source of great concern for him, and his answer indicated that he was starting to open up a little more.
As you walked away, a feeling of satisfaction and relief mixed with the awareness that distrust was still present. Every step towards Harry's trust was a victory.
[...]
The next day, Hogwarts was immersed in an atmosphere of expectation. A timid sun filtered through the windows of the Great Hall, casting soft rays of light on the students' tables. The murmuring conversations and the usual clamor were interrupted when an urgent announcement echoed through the corridors.
Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were summoned to the Flitwick professor's room due to an unexpected situation: the House's Academic Performance Report was severely outdated and there was an alarming discrepancy in the grades of several students. Hermione, known for her perfectionism and dedication, was immediately involved in solving the problem, while Ron, although initially reluctant, was dragged into the task due to his friendship with Hermione and his desire to help her.
The situation was carefully orchestrated by you. A quick manipulation in the academic records and a subtle error in the calculations had been enough to create a distraction that involved Hermione and Ron for several hours. The confusion generated and the need to correct the data urgently caused them to focus intensely on the task, leaving Harry Potter alone and unprotected.
With Hermione and Ron busy, you saw the perfect opportunity to get closer to Harry. The day was clear and calm, and the library was almost deserted. Harry was sitting at one of the tables, studying alone, his concentration interrupted only occasionally by looks of concern.
In the following hours, you adopted a meticulous surveillance strategy, remaining discreet and observant while following Harry Potter's movements. At every moment, you him through the corridors of Hogwarts, keeping a safe distance so as not to raise suspicions. His goal was clear: to wait for the right moment to intervene and ensure that he could follow Harry's footsteps for Tom Riddle's diary.
The library, where you were often nearby, became your observation post. On some occasions, you infiltrated the common areas and spent time in strategic corridors, always with a watchful eye on any sign that could indicate the boy's plans.
It was on a particularly quiet afternoon, while you were leaning discreetly against one of the walls of the corridor near the women's bathroom, that something caught your attention. Harry was alone, his hesitant steps echoing down the deserted corridor. He seemed to follow a voice that no one else could hear, an expression of curiosity and confusion on his face.
The scene aroused your interest immediately. Harry approached the women's bathroom with a fixed look, almost hypnotized, following the inaudible sound. This place, in particular, carried an emotional weight for you. It was the same bathroom where you and Tom Riddle had spent intimate and secret moments during your youth. It was also the entrance to the Secret Chamber, a vital place for his plans.
You hid in the shadows, watching carefully as Harry stood in front of the bathroom door. He hesitated for a moment, looking around as if trying to understand the origin of the voice that called him. His heart beat faster when he saw his interaction with the family environment. The old walls and dusty mirrors looked like silent witnesses of the past, preserving the secrets and history of his love with Tom.
Harry entered the bathroom, and the door closed smoothly behind him. You knew that could be the moment you were waiting for.
With your mind boiling with excitement and a renewed desire to achieve your goal, you waited patiently. The anticipation of finally being able to recover his beloved Tommy and the certainty that the moment was approaching filled his heart with a mixture of hope and anxious expectation.
After a few minutes, you decided to follow Harry. Entering the women's bathroom, nostalgia enveloped him when he remembered the moments shared with Tom there. Each step he took brought her closer to the achievement of his goal. Harry's presence there meant that something important was about to happen, and you were determined to ensure that the plan to bring Tom Riddle back was realized.
You moved forward, your breathing controlled, moving with the grace and caution of a predator. When he entered the bathroom, he saw Harry standing in front of a sink, murmuring words that activated the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. A smile of satisfaction appeared on his lips. The way was open, and you were ready to follow Harry and recover the diary that meant so much to you and Tom.
Harry looked around one last time, then disappeared through the secret entrance. Without wasting time, you followed him, descending through the depths of the Secret Chamber, each step bringing you closer to your final goal.
Nothing could stop you from bringing your boyfriend back, not even the famous Harry Potter. After all, you had promised Tom eternity together, and you were willing to do anything to fulfill that promise.
With the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets open, you followed Harry carefully, keeping yourself in the shadows so as not to be detected. The narrow passage widened as they advanced, revealing a path of stones flanked by statues of imposing snakes. The air was humid and cold, and the smell of mold impregnated the environment.
The tension increased with each step. The statues of snakes, with their eyes fixed and mouths open, seemed to watch you as you advanced. The dim light reflected on the damp stones, creating a gloomy and mysterious environment. In the background, an immense sculpture of Salazar Slytherin's face dominated the space, his stern gaze seeming to judge anyone who dared to enter that sacred place.
You stayed in the shadows, watching as Harry approached the center of the chamber. His heart beat faster when he saw Gina Weasley lying on the floor, apparently unconscious. Harry ran to her, kneeling next to her and trying to wake her up with evident despair.
- Gina! Wake up, please! Gina!
You saw the frustration and fear in Harry's eyes as he insisted that Gina wake up. He shook her slightly, trying to resuscitate her. But before he could make any progress, a familiar voice echoed through the walls of the chamber, making his heart jump.
- She's not going to wake up.
You recognized the voice instantly. It was Tom Riddle, or rather, a projection of his youth. He emerged from the shadows, his imposing presence and cold look fixed on Harry. Time seemed to stop as you watched the scene unfold, the presence of Tom filling the camera with a sense of power and authority.
Harry stared at Tom with a mixture of confusion and determination.
- Tom... Tom Riddle. - Harry stuttered. - What do you mean she won't wake up? Is she...?
- She's still alive, but by a thread. - Your acquaintance and beloved Tom Riddle was finally there.
Tom's footsteps approached Harry, who stared at him with a certain fear.
- Are you a ghost?
- A memory preserved in a diary for 50 years. - Slytherin corrected it.
Tom noticed Harry's wand fallen and picked it up. Harry still seemed worried about Gina, a little distracted to realize.
- She looks cold. Tom, and the basilisk? - Harry looked up and noticed his wand in Tom's hands. - Return my wand, Tom. - The boy used an authoritarian voice.
- Why? You won't need it. - Riddle replied simply.
- Look, we have to go. We need to save her. - Potter insisted.
- I don't think I can do that, Harry. - He paused. - While Gina gets weaker, I get stronger.
It was at that moment that you decided to get out of the shadows. Harry, surprised to see you there, tried to position himself to protect her.
- Y/N, get out of here! He's dangerous! - Harry shouted, the concern evident in his voice.
But you just smiled and took a few steps towards Tom, ignoring Harry's warning. Her eyes fixed on the familiar and beloved face, Tom's expression softening slightly when recognizing her.
- Y/N? - Tom murmured, a mixture of surprise and recognition in his voice.
You nodded, the emotion evident in your eyes.
- Tom... Finally. - you said, the voice choked. - I spent 50 years looking for you, waiting for this moment.
Harry watched the scene, just shocked and confused.
- Y/N, what are you doing? He's trying to hurt Gina!
Tom reached out, and you took it without hesitation, feeling the familiar warmth of your touch.
- Y/N... my dear. - Tom said softly, his eyes fixed on yours. - I missed you so much. Every second away from you was an eternity.
- You have no idea how long I waited for this. - You answered, the emotion overflowing as I hugged you.
Harry, still processing the revelation, was trying to find a way to save Gina and prevent Tom's plans. But Tom's presence by your side and his growing power made it clear that you would not let anything or anyone interfere in your reunion.
Tom held his hand firmly, his dark eyes full of determination. Harry, still trying to understand what was happening, took a step forward, desperate to save Gina and understand the situation.
- Y/N, that's crazy! He's dangerous! - Harry begged.
You looked at Harry, without showing regret, just firmness. Tom, with Harry's wand in hand, turned to you, a cold smile on his lips as if admiring her.
Harry, confused and distressed, continued to look at you and Tom, paralyzed next to Gina's unconscious body. His expression was a mixture of shock and despair.
- Why, Y/N? How can you do that? - Harry managed to murmur, his voice full of frustration.
Tom gave an enigmatic smile.
- Harry, you can't understand. Y/N and I share a past that transcends any notion you may have. We were colleagues at Hogwarts, and our love was something deep and immortal. We made a promise of eternity that nothing and no one can undo.
Harry looked at Tom in disbelief.
- But... how did she not appear in the memories I saw? - Harry questioned, still trying to understand.
This time you answered coldly.
- Tom showed you only what he wanted you to see. There are many things you don't know, many hidden truths. I've always been by your side, even when you couldn't see it. - You pause, but then it continues. - Thank you for making things easier, Harry.
Tom began to resume his complete physical state, his presence solidifying as he again became an imposing and real figure. Harry, paralyzed next to Gina, watched feeling the failure on his shoulders.
_______________________________
masterlist
xoxo, bee 🫶🏼✨
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ginnsbaker · 6 months ago
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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (14/?)
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Part Summary: Leigh reconciles with Jules and then receives news from Danny that could potentially disrupt her new beginning with you.
Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.200+ | Warnings: Spicy phone call | Author's note: The date will happen in the next one, and then after that, 1-2 chapters to wrap up this series :)
Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII
-
The date doesn't happen as quickly as Leigh expected. You don’t bring it up again for several days after your grand, against-all-odds declaration of love.
In the meantime, you text constantly. Sometimes you call, just to ask about her day. The first time, she’s so confused, waiting for the real reason behind your call. But there isn’t one—you simply wanted to talk, and texting wouldn’t do it.
She’s rarely on the phone with anyone these days. For her, phone calls are usually reserved for urgent requests from Drew or her mom, or from companies trying to sell her something. The last time she was on the phone just to talk was with Matt, during the stretches when work kept them apart for days. Before that, it was high school, chatting with friends and boyfriends about everything and nothing.
Talking to you on the phone feels like stepping back in time. There’s something intimate about it, something that modern-day texting can’t capture. She finds herself looking forward to your calls, the sound of your voice at the end of a long, tiring, or listless day.
Days stretch into a week before you finally ask her out, armed with the when and where. Leigh will never admit it to anyone, but the wait is excruciating.
The butterflies swarm in her stomach as she lies on her bed, fresh from a shower, in an oversized shirt and boy shorts, biting at her fingernails. She's already restless by the time her phone rings at the usual hour.
She picks up almost immediately, trying to keep her voice as blasé as she can manage. “Hey.”
“Hey, Leigh,” you reply breathily, not realizing how that tone makes Leigh press the phone harder against her ear, as if she wants to hear more of it. “How was your day?”
She rolls onto her back, stretching her hand out and drawing patterns in the air against the ceiling. 
“It was okay. Nothing too exciting. How about yours?” she says.
“Pretty good. Just busy with work stuff. I was thinking about you, though.”
The simple statement sends a new wave of warmth through her. “Is that so?”
“Very much so,” you whisper, and Leigh can almost see your smile, just like the one forming on her lips. “So, uh, I was thinking…”
“Yeah?” Leigh prompts, her heart picking up speed. She hears some shuffling on your end and waits with bated breath.
“Maybe we should finally go on that date,” you suggest,  hopeful and a bit nervous. 
Leigh’s heart leaps, and she tears the phone away from her ear, burying her face into her pillow as a squeal escapes before she can contain it. Catching herself, she quickly schools her expression, tosses the pillow aside, and sits up ramrod straight.
“We should,” Leigh blurts out, still feeling her heart thumping wildly against her ribs. “When were you thinking?”
“How about this Saturday?”
Leigh pauses, mentally counting—one, two, three—before replying, “Great. I’m free then.” 
Wanting to lock in the details, she asks, “What time?”
“Could I, um, have you for the whole day?” you ask hesitantly, and then quickly realizing how it sounded, you clarify, “I mean, could we make it a day-long date? I promise it’ll be worth your while.”
Leigh hums, pretending to mull it over, but inside, she's practically screaming yes.
“What do you have planned?”
“It's a surprise,” you reply, the playful secrecy in your tone drawing a grin from Leigh. 
Unable to contain her intrigue, Leigh tries to coax out some clues. “Anything you need from me? Dress code? Anything I can help you with?”
“No, just be yourself,” you say, your voice dropping to a softer, more intimate cadence. “Wear whatever makes you feel most like you. You're beautiful in anything.”
Leigh feels a warm blush spread across her cheeks. She's grateful you can't see her, can't see how your words reduce her to a pile of mush.
“In anything?” she asks coyly.
“Or nothing,” you whisper back, almost without thinking.
Leigh nearly chokes on her breath at that, biting her lip to stifle a moan that threatens to escape owing to the boldness of your flirtation. She doesn't immediately realize she's drifted into a stunned silence until you apologize, worrying that you might have crossed a line. 
“I'm sorry if that was too forward,” you say.
Leigh shakes herself, trying to clear the haze of memories—the soft moans, the way your body yielded to her touch that night. “No, it’s... I still think about that night,” she shares.
“O-Oh?” you stammer, your grip tightening around the phone. You're driving home with one hand, thinking it would be a short call. Suddenly feeling lightheaded, you quickly pull over to the side of an empty street, realizing you might not make it home safely if you don't.
“What do you... think about, specifically?” you venture, slowly unbuckling your seatbelt.
It’s as if a switch has been flipped in her. Her mind races back to that night—the way you touched yourself under her gaze, how she guided your movements, the feel of her finger inside you while she rode your thigh. 
“Leigh?”
Leigh's breath hitches, and she feels heat spreading through her body. She kicks off the covers, finding herself lying flat on the bed, her fingers inching teasingly at the hem of her shorts. She closes her eyes, letting the memory of that night trickle into the forefront of her mind.
“I think about the way you looked under me,” she says softly, “The flush of your skin, the sounds you made, how your lips felt against mine.”
Her words send a shiver down your spine. “Leigh,” you murmur, “I-I think about that night too. How you took control, how you made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered.”
Leigh's fingers slip beneath the waistband of her shorts, teasing herself as she remembers the feel of your skin against hers. “I remember guiding your hands,” she continues, her voice growing huskier. “Watching you touch yourself, seeing the pleasure in your eyes. It was intoxicating.”
You can hear the desire in her voice, and it sends a surge of arousal through you. “I remember the way you moved against me,” you reply, your voice low. “Your skin was so hot against mine, it felt like I was on fire.”
As Leigh's fingers dip lower, brushing against the wetness between her legs, she gasps. She tries to contain it but fails, letting out a guttural moan—a sound of pure want—right into your ear. The rawness of that sound snaps you out of your lust-filled reverie.
“Fuck, are you... are you touching yourself? I-I'm so—” you start, your voice shaking.
“Don't apologize. Just keep talking. It's okay,” Leigh cuts you off sharply, switches the phone to speaker mode, and swiftly removes her panties. For a brief second, she thinks she probably shouldn't be doing this, not before the date they'd just planned. But the overwhelming urge washes over her, making rational thoughts blur into the background. She can't control herself; she needs to come, needs you to make her come.
“Tell me what you'd do,” she chunters, no longer concerned about sounding needy. “Please.” 
“Shit,” you hiss, quickly connecting your phone to your car’s speakers and then tossing it onto the passenger seat. You then adjust the driver's seat to give yourself more legroom and hurriedly begin to unbutton your jeans. Though you're embarrassed to admit that you've never had phone sex before, you're not about to let inexperience stop you. Not when Leigh was practically purring in your ear, begging for it.
“Y/N?” Leigh’s voice rumbles through the confined space of your car and you hurriedly close your eyes as you formulate a response, your head buzzing with several things you want to do to Leigh at once.
“I'd start by kissing you,” you begin, your voice low and deliberate, though you feel a bit foolish at the tentative start. “Soft, teasing kisses, tracing a path down your body. I'd take my time, Leigh, tasting every inch of your skin.”
“Where would you kiss me first?” Leigh breathes.
“Your neck,” you reply, your fingers brushing against your own skin as if you’re tracing the path your lips would take on hers. “I’d kiss right behind your ears…then down your throat, lingering at your collarbone.”
Leigh’s breathing becomes more ragged, and you can almost feel her anticipation. “And then?”
“Then I’d kiss my way down to your breasts,” you say, your own arousal building. “I’d take each nipple in my mouth, sucking gently, then harder, feeling them harden against my tongue. I’d circle my tongue around them, flicking the tip, just like so.”
Leigh listens, her breaths becoming shallow, her body trembling with need. She closes her eyes, lost in the sensation, in the vividness of your description. She traps a rosy bud between her two fingers, mimicking the rhythm you describe, the tension in her belly coiling more tightly.
Meanwhile, your own hands are busy on your body. Despite the cramped space even with the car seat reclined, you manage to slide two fingers inside your pants, rubbing your clit, while your other hand tweaks your nipple.
A soft moan escapes Leigh’s lips, and you know she’s imagining your mouth on her. “I’d keep moving lower, kissing down your stomach, tracing the lines of your body with my tongue. When I finally reach your thighs, I’d spread them open and kiss the inside, so close to where you want me but not quite there yet.”
“I’d breathe you in,” you murmur, “taking a moment to just enjoy the scent of you. Then I’d lick, just once, a slow, teasing lick from the bottom of your slit to the top, tasting how wet you are for me.”
“Fuck,” Leigh groans wantonly, her fingers undoubtedly mirroring your words on her own skin. You can almost see her hand moving against her clitoris, fingers collecting her own wetness and spreading it all over until her inner thighs are glistening with it.
“I’d part you with my fingers,” you continue, your own breath coming faster now, “and then I’d dive in. I’d lap at you, my tongue moving in slow circles around your clit, feeling it swell under my tongue. I’d drink you in, Leigh, tasting every drop, getting lost in how sweet you are.”
“Don’t stop,” Leigh pants, and you can hear her movements quickening, the unmistakable sound of wetness and skin in frantic motion, as if she's placed her phone near the epicenter of her impending climax.
“I wouldn’t,” you promise. “I’d suck on your clit, gently at first, then harder, using my tongue to drive you crazy. I’d slide a finger inside you, curling it to find that perfect spot, the one that makes you see stars. I’d keep licking and sucking, adding another finger, thrusting them in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue. I wouldn’t stop until I felt you trembling, until I heard you crying out my name as you came.”
Leigh’s moans grow louder, more desperate, and you can almost see her, writhing on her bed, lost in pleasure. “Y/N, I’m close,” she gasps.
“I’d be looking up at you, watching your face as you c-come for m-me,” you say, your voice faltering as you slide a finger inside yourself. “Fuck, Leigh, baby, come for me.”
It's the endearment and the mental image of your deep brown eyes, brimming with hunger and worship, that sends her spiraling into ecstasy.
“Oh god, Y/N!” Leigh moans, her back curving as an intense orgasm overtakes her.
You’re not there yet, but you close your eyes, letting the image of her climax burn into your mind.
Leigh lies there, basking in the afterglow, her body still trembling with the remnants of her orgasm. She’s about to check in on you, perhaps return the favor, when the front door opens and closes with a bang.
“Mom? Leigh?” Jules yells from the living room.
Panic surges through Leigh. She scrambles to her feet, hurriedly pulling on her underwear and shorts. The phone slips from her grasp, landing on the bed, the line still open.
Leigh reaches the top of the stairs, breathless and flushed, just as Jules appears at the bottom, looking up with a mix of worry and curiosity. 
“What's going on?” Leigh asks, wincing as she feels the stickiness between her thighs. She silently curses, wishing Jules could have shown up after she had a chance to shower.
“Where’s Mom?” Jules demands, her eyes scanning the hallway. “And Logan?”
“She took him with her for a grocery run,” Leigh replies, coming down the stairs. “Is something wrong?”
Jules sighs. “I was just worried. The door was unlocked, and I couldn’t find anyone. Thought something might’ve happened.”
Leigh relaxes a bit, though the adrenaline from moments before still courses through her veins. “It’s fine. I just didn’t realize you’d be coming home tonight,” she says.
“Yeah, about that…” Jules trails off, tilting her head toward the kitchen with a meaningful glance. 
Leigh follows, her bare feet whispering against the wooden floorboards. Striving for nonchalance, she asks, “You hungry?” Her hand hovers over the fridge handle, betraying none of her recent distractions.
Jules stops in her tracks and turns back to Leigh. “I’ve been thinking,” she starts, hesitating slightly. “I’d like to move back in.”
“That’s… great,” Leigh says flatly, unsuspecting of her sister’s announcement. She catches the sharp drop of Jules’ brows and hurries to cushion her words. “I mean, we never actually wanted you to go. You’re welcome back anytime, you know that.”
Jules' eyes sharpen, her lips pulling into a tight line. “But only if we talk first.”
Leigh nods, a hard lump forming in her throat. “Of course,” she says.
-
They end up ordering take-out when Leigh's nose wrinkles at the unmistakable stench wafting from the numerous boxes of leftovers crammed in the fridge. She can't recall how long they've been there, only that their rightful place is now the trash bin.
It's Jules who picks the restaurant, and Leigh bites her tongue over the choice of Vietnamese. The last time they'd ordered from there, Jules had barely picked at her food, pushing noodles around her plate more than eating them. Leigh tries not to think too much about it.
The dining table is overtaken by a clutter of takeout boxes, each one wafting a blend of lemongrass and ginger into the room—a scent so rich you could almost scoop it out of the air. Leigh watches her sister with that look—the one that's all walls and wariness, like she’s guarding the last piece of herself she can’t afford to lose.  Jules, on her part, looks a little restless, her fingers skirting the edges of a white takeout box like it might offer some kind of sanctuary.
“So, talk,” Leigh prompts,  twirling her chopsticks to pick up a fresh vegetable roll and dipping it into peanut sauce.
Jules takes a breath, a deep one. When she meets Leigh’s eyes, it’s with a resolve that seems to pull her upright. “Fine, since I’m the one who kicked this off, I’ll lead. I’m sorry. I know I tossed around some pretty nasty words last time I stormed out, and I meant them—then. But calling you a sociopath? That was me going off the deep end.”
Leigh’s face hardens, a quick, involuntary tightening of her features as she recalls the sting of that last confrontation. She pushes her noodles around her box, the chopsticks clattering softly. Jules waits, the steam from her own untouched meal rising and disappearing into the air.
“I appreciate your apology, Jules, really, I do. But you can't just throw words like that around, whether you mean them or not. Words stick. They fester,” Leigh says, meeting Jules’ gaze squarely. 
Jules looks down, tries to mask the hurt that flickers across her face, biting down on her lip. 
Leigh continues, “When I criticize you, it’s not meant as an attack. I’m not someone who likes to beat around the bush, especially not with family.”
The word ‘family’ hits differently this time—at least for Jules it does. Her heart aches at the mention, dragging up memories of a recent painful conversation where she had confessed to feeling like an outsider in her own family.
“Sometimes it's not about what you say but how you say it,” Jules mutters.
Leigh looks at her expectantly, clueless and curious at the same time.
“Not everyone can handle being talked to so bluntly. Not everyone’s as frank as you, okay? Sometimes it feels more like you're pushing me away instead of trying to help.”
Leigh goes quiet, letting the silence stretch just a bit before she nods. “You’re right,” she concedes, the words slipping out almost thoughtfully. It’s almost surprising, the lack of her usual quick-fire defense. “I think I got so wrapped up in the idea that being honest meant being harsh. I can work on that. I should work on that.”
Jules blinks, taken aback by the calm acceptance in Leigh’s tone, the ease with which she receives the criticism. It’s a side of Leigh she hasn’t seen much of—this reflective, almost gentle version. It's a welcome change, a sign of growth that feels both sudden and deeply necessary. 
“I didn’t expect... I mean, I’m glad you took that the way you did,” Jules says.
Leigh gives a small, almost sheepish smile, a rarity on her usually stoic face. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About how I say things, not just what I say. It’s been... a lot to unpack. But hearing this from you, it really helps. It does.”
She means it. Ever since you’ve stubbornly eased your way into her life, she’s done a lot of thinking. She’s done a lot of grieving too, realizing that if she had seen the changes that needed to be made earlier, things might have been different for her—for Matt. She’s learned to accept that life is always going to be filled with regrets, but she’s grateful now to recognize that she still has the chance to change, even if it came a little too late.
Better late than never, right?
She looks at Jules, her eyes earnest and a little bit haunted. “I’m sorry, Jules, for everything I said, everything I made you feel. I love you. You’re my sister, always. I know I can be too hard on the people who mean the most to me, but I’m going to try, really try, to balance that love, to understand how you need to be loved.”
Jules sits frozen, speechless for the first time. Their confrontations usually spiral into heated exchanges until one of them storms off. She hadn't expected this to be so... civil and mature. 
So unlike them. 
Finally, she manages a small, shaky smile. “Yeah, this... this went way better than I played it out in my head.”
Leigh’s laughter is a quick splash of reprieve, a burst of surprise at how well things have turned.  But it fades as quickly as it bloomed, her smile slipping into a frown as she catches the shadow creeping over Jules’s face. 
“What is it?”
Jules fidgets, nervously twisting a napkin between her fingers. “I... need to ask you something that’s been eating at me for months... well, almost a year now. And I need you to be brutally honest with me, Leigh. Can you promise that?”
Leigh feels a slight tremor of worry, but brushes it off and nods. “You’re scaring me, but sure. I promise.”
“Here we go,” Jules says, taking a deep, faltering breath. “Remember that night? When I was so drunk you had to come and get me? It was the last night Matt was... before he... you know. Do you ever resent me for it? I did such a horrible thing, robbing you of his last moments because I couldn't keep it together—”
“You know I’ve never blamed you for that. Not during our last fight, not when Matt died, just... never, basically,” Leigh says, leaning back on her chair.
“But some part of you must have hated me, because—”
“No—”
“—maybe he needed someone.”
Leigh just shrugs and denies it which only frustrates Jules even more. “No, Leigh,” she tries, “I need you to listen to me. I was very drunk that night—”
“You were really drunk a lot of nights and you’ve done a lot of crappy things,” Leigh states frankly. “But none of them had anything to do with Matt’s death.”
Jules swallows hard, her eyes stinging. “But what if it did, though?”
Leigh, clearly frustrated, responds, “You really think that?”
Jules looks down at the table and stays silent.
“Jules,” Leigh sighs, searching for the right words to reassure her sister. Eventually, she opts for honesty. “Look, I can’t tell you how to feel, but that’s not how I feel. Okay?”
It takes a second longer for Jules to say, “Okay.”
Leigh stares intently at her sister, noting the way Jules's eyes avoid contact. She knows the soft okay from Jules isn't a signal of acceptance or peace, but a white flag in a battle mostly with herself. Jules is grappling with her own guilt, a feeling that has little to do with Leigh but still consumes her. Leigh wishes, not for the first time, that her sister could see the truth as easily as she reads into misconceptions. It’s the same thing she wishes for herself.
Feeling slightly vindicated to have aired her feelings, Jules turns her attention back to the food spread between them. She reaches for her bánh mì, grips it firmly, and takes a hearty bite. As she chews thoughtfully, she manages a muffled, “Thanks, Leigh.”
Leigh just offers a small, understanding smile.
As they continue eating, Jules suddenly grins, crumbs dotting the corners of her mouth. “You're probably wondering why we're having Vietnamese tonight,” she says.
Leigh raises an eyebrow, curious despite herself. “I was wondering.”
Jules chews quickly, then, with her mouth still full, blurts out, “Well, I've got one more piece of news for you.”
-
It’s almost midnight when Leigh returns to her bedroom. 
As soon as her eyes land on her cellphone, carelessly tossed on the sheets, guilt floods her. She remembers she didn’t even say goodbye to you. Horrified, she realizes she left you hanging, high and dry.
She grabs her phone, her heart pounding in her chest, and checks for any messages from you. The screen lights up, but there are no new notifications, no missed calls.
“God, I’m such an idiot,��� she mutters to herself, running a hand through her hair. She takes a deep breath and dials your number, her fingers trembling slightly as she presses the call button.
It rings once, twice, and then you answer. “Leigh?”
“Hey. Sorry, did I wake you?” Leigh asks, picking up on the sleepiness in your voice.
“No, not at all. What’s up?”
She lets out a relieved sigh before rushing into an apology. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you like that. Jules came home and then I—”
“It’s okay, Leigh,” you whisper soothingly, grateful that she called you back at all.
That doesn’t alleviate Leigh's guilt, though. She racks her brain for a way to make amends. 
“Can we… Can we pick up where we left off?” she suggests hesitantly.
You let out a kind chuckle. “I’d like that. But maybe we should save it for… later. Honestly, that was a bit reckless, Leigh.”
Leigh's brow furrows, even though you can't see it. “What do you mean?” she asks.
“I want to do this right,” you explain earnestly. “If taking things slow helps us build something real, then I’m willing to wait.”
“Well, clearly patience hasn’t been my strong suit either,” Leigh admits, her lips curving into a grin at your attempt to be chivalrous.
“I know,” you whisper, traces of a smile audible in your voice. “But I didn’t want you to think that’s all I’m after. And believe me, I want you—it’s driving me crazy.” 
Leigh runs her tongue along her teeth, feeling the familiar tug of desire low in her belly.
“I just don't want us to get so caught up in the physical stuff that we miss out on really getting to know each other,” you say.
“Me neither,” Leigh agrees, tucking the blankets up under her chin, pretending it's you keeping her warm.
“While I obviously enjoyed our…conversation earlier,” you say, pausing to maintain your composure. You can still hear the echo of Leigh's moans in your car, the memory likely to revisit you on sleepless nights in the coming days. “I'm really looking forward to diving deeper into things, like your favorite book, on Saturday.”
“Maybe I'll bring you a whole list,” she teases.
“Guess I’ll have to find that library card I signed up for then,” you joke.
“A library card, huh? Dork,” she retorts affectionately.
You feign a wounded tone, “Ouch.”
The laughter that follows is light and easy. You sigh contentedly and say, “I should probably call it a day. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
“Good night, Y/N.”
“Good night, Leigh.” I love you. “See you on Saturday.”
The call ends with both of you reluctantly hanging up, smiles fixed on your faces as you lie back. Leigh is an addictive rush, coursing through your veins like adrenaline. You've excused yourself out of habit for sleeping early, but you doubt you’re going to get much sleep tonight.
-
Leigh nudges open the door to the crowded bistro tucked near the Basically News office. It’s the thick of lunch hour, and the place pulses with the chatter of midday patrons. It’s exactly the sort of public, non-intimate setting you'd want for meeting an ex. She weaves through the crowded room, spotting Danny at a corner table, his focus tethered to his phone as he absently taps on the screen.
“Hey,” she greets, sliding into the chair opposite him.
Danny looks up, a hint of irritation flashing in his eyes. “You know, I could’ve just dropped by your house later.”
Leigh shakes her head. “It's better to meet somewhere public from now on.”
His expression darkens, and he scoffs. “Why? So Y/N doesn’t get jealous?”
Leigh leans back, crossing her arms. “Yes,” she says, deliberately blunt.
Danny's jaw sets, a muscle twitching slightly, but he doesn't press the issue. Instead, he reaches into his bag and retrieves a folder, sliding it across the table toward Leigh. “Matt’s publisher wants to release his comic posthumously,” he starts, “but there are strings attached.”
Interest sparks in Leigh's eyes as she opens the folder, her eyes quickly scanning the contract. 
“What kind of strings?” she asks.
“They want either you or me—or both of us—to join a group of artists to promote the comic—”
“That sounds fair and exciting,” Leigh interjects a bit too soon.
“—across the country,” Danny finishes, clicking his tongue in mild annoyance. “It’s a tour, Leigh.”
Leigh's fingers stall at the edge of the paper, the reality of the proposition sinking in. 
“A tour?” she echoes.
“Yeah,” Danny nods. He flags down a waiter and orders a beer. “Early next year. Matt’s comic is in the final stages of editing, and it should be finalized in about three weeks. They’re aiming for a release in February, and the tour will follow right after that.”
“That sounds soon,” Leigh remarks. “How long is the tour supposed to last?”
“About two months,” Danny replies. “We'll be traveling across different states, attending conventions, signing autographs, meeting fans. It’s a big commitment.”
“We?”
Danny shrugs, the hurt briefly flickering across his face before he can hide it. “Yeah, we. Though I'm not sure I can join because of the new job in Vegas. There's a good chance you might be doing this solo.” His attempt at nonchalance doesn't quite cover the sting of her reaction—how distant the concept of 'we' seems to her.
Leigh chews on her lip, her thoughts drifting to her own commitments—her column, her classes at the Beautiful Beast, and you. The idea of leaving all that behind, even for just a few months, feels like too great a sacrifice.
“It’s a lot to take in,” she says, pushing the folder back towards Danny. 
“He deserves this kind of recognition,” Danny implores, as if suggesting that Leigh thinks otherwise.
“I'm aware,” she snaps back, “I just need a bit of time to think it through, to sort out the schedules and everything.”
Danny raises his hands in mock surrender, indicating he doesn't want to escalate the argument. But Leigh knows him well enough to see through it—it’s a tactic. Danny has a way of guilting her into decisions without saying much, letting assumptions and insinuations simmer until Leigh finds herself making the choice he wants.
Leigh stands up, slipping the folder into her bag. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
“Fine,” Danny says with a tight nod. “Just don’t drag your feet. The publishers are waiting on an answer soon.”
-
Saturday comes soon, but not soon enough.
All week, relentless rain showers have scattered across the days, and though the forecast promises sunshine today, Leigh wakes up to the soft splattering of rain against her window. The gentle patter seeps into her consciousness, easing her from sleep. The room is filled with a cool, damp scent, and is bathed in a soft, diffused light as the morning sun is muted behind thick clouds. 
Leigh gropes blindly beneath the pillow to her left, retrieving her phone and squinting at the time. It’s 9:30 AM. She blinks, trying to shake the sleep from her mind, and her heart drops slightly as she notices five missed calls from you, each one timestamped progressively: 7:45, 7:55, 8:15, 8:30, and finally 8:45.
Guilt twists in her chest. She sits up, brushing sleep from her eyes, and dials your number back, hoping she hasn’t missed something important. 
You answer on the first ring. “Hey. Everything okay?”
Leigh sighs, running a hand through her tousled hair. “Yeah, I'm sorry I missed your calls. I just woke up. What's going on?”
“It’s Saturday,” you say rather awkwardly. “We had plans to meet this morning, remember?”
Leigh sits up, suddenly fully awake. She’s been looking forward to Saturday all week, eagerly anticipating this date. The realization that she slept through most of the morning fills her with shame. She’s been so restless the past few days, and it was only the gloomy, sleepy weather last night that finally allowed her to get some decent rest.
“I’m sorry if I disturbed your sleep, but since it’s an all-day affair, I thought we could start with breakfast,” you continue, breaking the silence that had been filled only with Leigh’s soft breathing.
“Where are you now?” she asks.
You hesitate for a moment before replying, “I’m actually parked outside your house.”
Fuck. Shit. Damn it.
“Okay, okay. Sorry, uhm, can you give me five minutes?”
“Take all the time you need.”
Leigh ends the call and throws off the covers, scrambling to get dressed. She rushes to the bathroom, splashing water on her face and running a brush through her hair, muttering curses under her breath. Her hands tremble slightly as she picks out an outfit, the anticipation of the day ahead propelling her forward.
As she heads for the door, a small smile forms on her lips. This might not have been the flawless beginning she imagined, but just knowing you’re on the other side makes it perfect already.
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icaruspendragon · 9 months ago
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i hope this isn't too personal of a question (and if it is that's totally cool, i was literally just curious as a fellow aspec person), but i was wondering what some of your thoughts were about being aspec, like it's totally cool if your thoughts were just the post you reblogged!!! that's honestly still putting into words a bit a similar way i figured out i was aspec, but i know you seem to have really interesting takes on things/conclusions you've realized about things a lot of the time and so i was just curious what thoughts were turning around your head about being aspec
I don't mind talking about it at all!
So for me sex is like this perfunctory, borderline tedious thing. I almost want to call it a chore, but that has negative connotations that don't exactly match up with how I feel about it. It's like something on a to do list, or like running an errand.
Think of it this way: For me, having sex is akin to going to the pharmacy. Actually, it's more like being asked to go for someone else. It's not on my list of things I enjoy doing and there are other things I would rather do, but I don't mind going if someone asks me to. But once in a blue moon I do actually want to go because I want candy or a Juneberry Red Bull or some shit like that and Walgreens happens to be nearby.
Media builds up sex to be this incredible and awesome and amazing thing that everyone wants to have, which is at odds with the widely held societal belief that it's uncouth to discuss sex openly with others. So if media says "yes you should want this" and society says "but you shouldn't talk about it with others because it's an incredibly private act" it makes it kinda difficult when you don't feel the way you're "supposed to." And then when you do talk about how you don't feel that way, people say there's something wrong with you or that you haven't found the right person or that maybe you need to change things up in the bedroom or that you need to go to a doctor because it's gotta be a hormonal imbalance or something. The list really does go on and on.
And so many of my expectations surrounding sex were informed by fanfic where I read, in detail, about how good it was supposed to feel. About all the different ways it could feel good.
I wanted it to be like that for me, for it to be as good as I had read and seen and heard others talk about, so I kept on trying. And sometimes I enjoyed it. Not E rated fanfic enjoyed it, but it was nice. Nice in the same way a cup of tea is nice, but nice nonetheless.
But most of the time it was like, clinical? Like I was acutely aware of what was happening, if that makes sense. I was thinking about the mechanics of it, what was going in where. I was thinking about how it was "supposed to feel" versus how it actually felt. I would wonder how much longer it would take because I was getting bored. Sometimes I would think about how rude it would be if I checked my phone. And probably the most upsetting (retrospectively) thing I would think about was if my act of enjoyment was convincing enough. And I didn't ever want to tell a partner that I wasn't enjoying it because I didn't want to hurt their feelings. Because I thought it was a me problem. That there was something wrong with me. And there being something wrong with me wasn't fair to whoever I was with. I just needed to grin and bear it, so to speak.
At one point I had a bit of a gay panic where I thought wasn't bisexual and actually a lesbian. The panic was over the confusion, not over the potential lesbianism. Lesbians are awesome. But I learned that while sexual intimacy with women was a bit easier, my feelings (or lack thereof) about sex were still the same. And that meant there was something wrong with me in particular.
I know now that my perspective was warped and my thoughts about myself were both unkind and untrue, but that was a lot to try and reconcile as a 19 year old who already thought she was undesirable. Constantly being called a "late bloomer" and not having your first relationship until you're a sophomore in college sure does a number on your self esteem. Which in turn does a number on your perception of yourself.
Then as I got older, I got more queer friends. And I talked to those queer friends. And they talked about sex differently than my straight friends did. More openly and honestly. With less fanfare. And it was during those discussions that I heard about experiences similar to mine. And it helped me realize I wasn't broken. Well, that and google.
And now I stand before you today, an aspec bisexual able to joke about being horny in theory but not in application. It's nice not feeling broken anymore. But I think it's even nicer now knowing that I was never broken in the first place.
Sometimes sex is nice, but most of the time, it's just going to the pharmacy. And both of those things are okay.
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gallaghersgal · 3 months ago
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Maggie, my lovey I come with another request for you!
The second chance romance trope, x my husband, Carmy.
Ok so walk with me here 🚶🏻‍♀️,
Carmy had one time forgotten about his anniversary with r, & she of course got very upset & sad about it. So he made sure the next day (without letting her find out) to go to the florist and place a standing order for flowers on their anniversary every year so she would never be able to tell if he forgot again.
Alright so flash forward years later, they break up. They both are pining for eachother / miss eachother a lot but Carmy was the one who called things off so R doesn’t try to contact him and Carmy is Carmy.
Their anniversary comes around and Carmy forgets of course because since they broke up he’s been even more of an animal in the kitchen but the flowers get delivered to R and of course it has the same note she got every year ‘Happy Anniversary baby, I love you always, xx- Bear’ at first she’s confused but then she is hopeful it was him reaching out to try and reconcile so she bites the bullet and calls him and is like “you still love me?” And mentally he’s like
*fffffuuuuuuuuuuck*
& has to explain that he placed a standing order so she could never be mad at him for forgetting again but he really does miss her
I’ll leave it up to you if r gets back together with him or if you want it to be pure angst!
(🤞fingers crossed it sends this time)
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my dear capri, i love the exposition you've dropped in my inbox!!! here's the aftermath of receiving the flowers :(( warnings; angst, no happy ending, and swearing. also, here's the playlist i listened to while writing
from this trope list. part of my 1,500 follower celebration. masterlist -> here!
there are flowers at your door.
you've been fighting back tears the whole day. work was hell, your irritability heightened by the fact you'd barely eaten breakfast, not even bothering with lunch. it was harder now without carmen around. you've been angry all day, heels clicking in obnoxious stomps, your stomach burning and head pounding, and there are flowers at your door.
you kneel down to read the card, your heart clenching at the words. 'happy anniversary beautiful girl, i love you always. love, your carmen' a shaking hand comes to your mouth, you fumble with your keys to make it inside before you lose it entirely. he still loves you?
you dial carmen's number, hearing it ring twice before he picks up. "you sent me flowers?"
"o-oh, uh. t-that's a funny story, actually-"
your stomach twists in a knot. "i'd love to hear exactly how this is funny, carmen."
"well, forever ago, when i forgot our anniversary? i placed a standing order. so- so that way you'd always have flowers."
your heart sinks. he couldn't even bother to remember the date himself. worse, he didn't remember to cancel them. "you're fucking joking," you spit out.
"i-i'm not. baby-"
"don't call me that," you snap at him, your living room suddenly feeling claustrophobic. you push your window open to take a deep breath of the fresh air, turning your back to the wall and sinking down next to the plant he'd gifted you, moved inside to avoid the recent cold snap. a hand over your mouth muffles your sobs, your heart breaking all over again at this new information. "i can't believe you."
"i'm.. i'm s-sorry-"
"no! you don't get to apologize, that doesn't fix shit." you're practically yelling at him now, and you can hear the tears in his voice. but you don't care. it's about time you gave him a piece of your mind, hurting him the way he'd hurt you. "i thought for one goddamn second that maybe you still loved me. but- but you're just self-fucking-centered. so lost in your head you couldn't even remember to cancel flowers for the girl who's heart you snapped in two."
the silence on the other end tells you everything you need to know. you don't let him even try to continue, snapping at him, "lose my number, carmen."
there's a muffled noise on the other end, but you hang up without the chance to process it. your phone falls to the tile floor with a loud thud that echoes through your empty apartment. you flinch, then let out a noise somewhere between a scream and a sob.
the sound finds its way through your window, falling down to the street below, to the ears of the man repeating your name into his phone. "b-baby," he pleads, his voice breaking. but you've hung up now. he can't believe he forgot those stupid fucking flowers.
at least it showed him how you truly felt. that it would've been stupid to go through with it. stupid to walk up to your door with nothing but a barely planned apology to mend your broken heart.
carmen looks up to see your open window, balcony distinctly missing the potted plant he'd gifted you a year ago. a shaky hand lights a cigarette and he takes a hit but the smoke does nothing to soothe him as he draws his eyes away, turning away from your building for the final time.
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fushitoru · 3 months ago
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chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au
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pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader
summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?
warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly
chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)
prev. the aftermath | next. the game
general masterlist | series masterlist
a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333
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Dear readers, 
Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor. 
Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.
As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.
Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess. 
⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS
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Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.
I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?
I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre
Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.
Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”
You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.
Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.
She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”
You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”
Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”
You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”
At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”
“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”
Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”
“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”
As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.
“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”
“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.
You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?
You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”
Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”
Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.
You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.
“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”
As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write: 
Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.
Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.
Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.
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While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.
Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.
Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."
Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.
The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo. 
“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”
Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.
Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”
The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation.  Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?
Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”
All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.
One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.
As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.
Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.
But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”
Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.
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Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”
 The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.
You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”
Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”
You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.
The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense. 
Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.
As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.
“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”
“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”
You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”
As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.
“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”
Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”
You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.
Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”
“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”
Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?
The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”
She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.
You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”
He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”
Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”
“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”
You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.
You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”
He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.
Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.
Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.
He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”
Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”
Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions. 
With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.
Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1. 
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Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”
The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”
Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”
Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.
“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”
Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”
You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.
But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”
Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”
The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.
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The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.
The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.
“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.
“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.
“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.
You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”
She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”
You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”
As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.
You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.
“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”
“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”
Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.
A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.
But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.
Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.
Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?
Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?
But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.
You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.
Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.
His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.
His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.
He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.
“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”
Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”
Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.
“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the 
archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”
Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”
Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”
He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”
Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”
Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”
Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”
Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”
 The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”
Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”
As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.
“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”
His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.
Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.
You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”
Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet. 
Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.
However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”
Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.
Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”
You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”
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You couldn’t sleep.
Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.
The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.
With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”
As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.
Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.
Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:
Observations on the Planet Venus.
Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.
“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”
Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.
What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…
Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…
Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.
Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.
Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.
However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer. 
The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”
“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”
You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.
“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”
He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.
When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”
You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”
An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”
You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”
“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.
At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”
Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.
It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”
Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”
You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes. 
Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”
At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue. 
As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.
It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”
Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”
You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.
Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.
You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”
“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.” 
“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”
Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”
“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”
Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”
You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”
Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”
“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”
When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.
Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”
You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."
"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.
You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"
"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.
A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."
At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”
“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”
Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”
“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”
“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”
“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”
Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”
Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”
“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”
“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”
A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”
You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.
You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”
Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest. 
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prev. the aftermath | next. the game
general masterlist | series masterlist
a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?
anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)
gojo when reader thought he was her mama
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also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3
comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3
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TAGLIST
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justkending · 5 months ago
Text
Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (7/7)
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Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)
Word Count: 1800+ (shorter but sweet;)
A/N: This is the last chapter of the mini-series! I've loved a break from all my other WIPs and am surprised that I was able to complete this even if I wasn't sure where it was going 🥲 Thank you all again for the support, comments, and sweet love you've sent my way, and I hope to have more free time to write this summer now that I'm on break!🥳💞
Next Chapter
Y/N’s POV:
Four months have gone by since our mission. And to say things are different would be an understatement. 
We kept the game of hating each other going on long enough for Steve and Nat to both lose their bets. And then we each did a little betting on the side with the two on how fast we could make the other reconcile. Bucky and I both were $200 richer after that. 
The team was shocked at the new friendship, but after some consideration and after coming clean to Bucky about my reasoning for how I treated him, I felt a weight off my chest. That weight grew lighter and lighter with each person I confided in, making our explanation of no longer having a feud unimportant. 
My story was a reason for how I acted the last almost five years with Bucky, but it wasn’t a valid one. I was happy to have moved past it and frustrated that it took me this long. 
Comfort in having Bucky as a genuine friend was a gift I starved myself of for so long, and I’m happy to know that I’ll have it from here on out. 
“If Sam asks, I didn’t do it,” Bucky sped walked into the room and tried to act casual as if he had been in the space the whole time, standing next to me at the kitchen island as I cut up fruit for my snack I'd become hyper fixated on recently. 
God bless the billionaire who could keep all fruits, in season or not, on hand.
“Got it,” I nodded unphased, never taking my eyes from the cutting board before me. 
“Have I told you thank you for never questioning my antics with Sam?” The smile in his voice is evident, and I turn to see the proof of it stretched across his features as he looks down at me. 
“You've established your appreciation once or twice since we’ve become friends,” I laugh, looking back at my work. “Grab me some blueberries from the fridge, will ya?” 
As he moved and started opening the fridge, perfect timing, Sam turned into the kitchen with steam practically blowing out of his ears. 
“What did you do?” he grunted as he stomped in, fists at his sides. 
Bucky turned from halfway in the fridge and gave him a confused look. If there was one thing I learned about him while on the mission, he was a great actor. 
“Y/N or me?” he asked, pointing between us with the carton of blueberries in his hand. “Do you want an apple too?” he asked casually, one already in his hand as if Sam wasn’t seconds from shooting him from existence with Redwing. 
“Sure, why not?” I hummed, dropping the knife and wiping my hands as I turned to Sam. “What are you going on about?” 
“I know it wasn’t Y/N, Barnes. She’s been on a mission the last two days and just got back this morning. This was a premeditated hate crime.” 
“Whoa. I’m intrigued now,” I laugh, and start placing the cut strawberries into a bowl I had out and take the apple Bucky hands off to me. 
“You want to tell her about your fun, little prank?” Sam turns his annoyance to Bucky with crossed arms, and Bucky flips on the water to wash the berries in hand. 
“I would have to know what you’re talking about in order to tell her.” 
“Don’t play coy, Barnes,” he points a finger his way, and his eyes could laser through vibranium if they wanted. 
“Help us out. Give us context,” I carry on, very intrigued with what it is Bucky had done, and start cutting the apple up. 
“As if he doesn’t already know,” Sam grumbled, walking in further. “You know how I had to buy all new long sleeve thermals because my clothes don’t fit anymore?” 
I hummed and smiled down at the fruit. “Getting too swole in the gym, as I heard you tell Steve. Trying to match his bench press will do that, trust me. I know,” I raised an arm and flexed for extra measure, and he rolled his eyes as Bucky laughed and placed the cleaned blueberries on the counter. 
“Tell me why all my new shirts don’t work…” Sam looked to Bucky with a cold, calculated stare. 
“Would work be the correct term?” Bucky poked. “Would you say shirts ‘work’ or ‘fit’?” He looks at me with the tiniest smirk on his lips. I shook my head, trying to soften the smile growing on my own.
“You sewed the end of my sleeves shut so my arm wouldn’t go all the way through!” Sam shouted, pulling the shirt from his back pocket and holding it up. 
Bucky let out a ‘pft’ sound and leaned against the counter by me. “Who’s to say I even know how to sew?” In truth, I knew he was using me as a barrier when Sam eventually fell over the edge and gave into his fantasy of choking him out. 
“Shut up!” Sam growled. “You stitch yourself up on missions half that time because you hate having the nurses do it. Obviously, you know how to work a needle and thread.” 
“Needle and floss most of the time, actually,” he shrugs, and that does it for Sam. 
“I’m gonna beat your ass!” Sam stomps hurridly to the counter, but Bucky goes on the other side, estimating his moves. 
“Have to catch me first!” he said with a wicked grin, and Sam wasted no time running after him. 
As Bucky escaped the room and Sam followed behind him, I heard a “That’s what you get for hiding all the remotes in my room while I was gone, dick!” 
_______________________
A few days later, after I got a stitch ripper and helped Sam get his thermal shirts ‘working,’ I asked Nat and Wanda to join me on a girls' trip to buy a new winter wardrobe now that the seasons had officially started turning in New York. 
When we returned, Nat was called to talk with Fury, and Banner asked Wanda to be a second set of eyes for something in the lab. 
I was left grabbing my bags by myself in the den, and just as I was about to tumble to the side with the last overstuffed brown sack, Bucky came around and caught me. His hand wrapped around my waist as the other grabbed the bag that would have been my doom. 
“Thanks,” I groaned as the weight of them pressed into my wrist from the handles. 
“What happened to all those gains you got matching Steve’s bench press?” he laughed, taking at least three bags before I waved him off, taking the others myself. 
“I gave up on that challenge a long time ago. I’ve lost the muscle mass, unfortunately.”
“You didn’t lose it. Just transferred it,” he winked, curling the fourth bag I fought him taking. 
I rolled my eyes and nodded my head toward the hall with our apartments. “You do have a vibranium arm. That gives you more of an advantage than you give credit for.” 
“Just be happy this advantage is working for you and not against you,” he kicked the back of my knee as he followed behind me. “Find anything good?” 
I turn back and see him glancing in the bag like the snoop he is. 
“If I tell you, are you going to sew my sleeves shut?” I hum, turning a corner down the hall from my door. 
“Only if you hide all my remotes and then log out of all my streaming services, so I have to put them all in one by one,” he whistles a jazzy tune. “Stear clear of that, and I’ll be nice.” 
“Ooo,” I cringe, turning and looking at him as I put my thumbprint on the door to unlock it. “He got you with the minor inconvenience prank. Those are the worst.”
“Minor was an understatement. Hence the retaliation.”
We both go inside, and Bucky places his bags on the couch while I dump the remaining ones on my bed. 
“Thanks for the help,” I smile, stretching from the long day out, and shrug off my coat as I settle. 
“No problem,” he replies, but I don’t hear him move to leave, so once I throw my coat off completely, I turn and give him a look. He’s watching me intently, and I feel almost bare under his gaze. 
“Was there something-”
“Can I ask you something?” he cuts me off, and his mood shifts. 
“Um, yeah. Sure. What’s up?” I turn to him and give him my full attention cause it seems serious. 
He hesitates at first and almost looks nervous as he contemplates how to ask me whatever it is. 
“Are you doing anything tonight?” he looks around my room towards the living space. 
I follow his gaze, trying to see if I’m missing something. “Plans that I can think of... No. Why?”
“I was wonder- well. I was- I was wondering if you’d want to maybe- I mean, if you’re up for it, of course, possibly maybe, watch a movie or something?” he gets out, and oh my God. I’ve never seen him fumble over his words like this before. 
“Watch a movie?” I recap as I blink out of the idea that Bucky is 100% nervous. “You and me or with the rest of the team?”
He lets out a small chuckle and rubs the back of his neck. 
“You and me. If you’re ok with that,” he answers, looking at me bashfully. 
“I’d be up for that,” I smile and my stomach does a little flip even if I’m not sure where he’s going with this. But the teenage girl who never got to experience this before is doing cartwheels. “What movie were you thinking?” 
He seems to have a permanent smile now because of my answer, and I can’t lie and say the one on my face doesn’t hurt a little from how wide it is. 
“Lady's choice. I’ll bring one of those fruit bowls you like to make and maybe-”
“I made some cookies this morning. I hid them in the pantry because we all know Tony and Sam would have finished them off before I had a chance even to smell them from the oven,” I rush out. 
“You’re baking tends to have that effect on many people around here. I kind of miss when I was the one and only recipient of it,” he laughs. “Even if I wasn’t lying about gaining a few pounds.” 
I roll my eyes at that and start to walk to the door, stopping to put a hand on his shoulder. “We both know that your metabolism is far too magical for that to be a long-term problem.” 
“True, but I’m not against testing that theory,” he shrugs, bumping my shoulder with his own as he walks with me. 
I stop right before reaching the door and turn to him with a grin and blush I cannot control. 
“Bucky, is this a date?” 
As if he’s so sure of himself now, the nerves melt off him; he says, “I was hoping we could count it as one this time. Considering all the others were fake, even if I don't count most of them that way...”
Marvel Tags:
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My Lovelies Forever:
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Bucky Barnes Tags:
@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes
Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:
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juletheghoul · 4 months ago
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Omg so I saw this on Twitter and immediately thought of your demon din!😍
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I have been sitting on this one for a while, and todays the day girlie 🩷🩷🥰🥰
Lets get into it:
smut under the cut - 18+ (demon!din x f!reader, consensual sleep / dream visitation) (not beta'ed and barely proofread lmao) read the first part here
The room, the light, everything was fuzzy. An all encompassing haze, a gossamer veil over your awareness. Everything but the pleasure; the pleasure was crystal clear.
His tongue slid over your clit, surrounding it somehow and stroking it oh so deliciously. Your body was a live wire under his hulking frame, his sharp nails pressing onto the thighs he spread so wide, just enough to feel the strength in his grip, not nearly hard enough to ever hurt. With trembling hands, you fumbled through the sweat soaked linens clinging to your skin, and finally reached his horned head, grabbing onto them for dear life. He groaned at the feel of your grip and the sound pulled a filthy moan from somewhere in your chest. He pressed his face closer, his nose resting on your mound in his quest to devour you from within.
"Yes, yes Din, there-" his tongue, God his tongue, it kept its dizzying rhythm as his mouth formed some sort of vacuum around the sensitive bundle of nerves and with a steady suck your nerves exploded. Waves of euphoria spread through your body, even as your legs tried desperately to clamp shut around his head. He was too strong for any resistance though and with one final lick, and a self satisfied laugh, he raised his head.
"You're here." You speak almost dreamily, your words almost slurred from the force of your climax.
"I am here, in your dreams." He smiled, settling between your thighs, the heft of him filling your stomach with what felt like thousands of butterflies, distracting you from his words, but only for a moment.
"My dreams?" You frowned, confused, he felt so real.
"Yes my darling, this is but a dream. Until I return to you, this will have to do. For both of us." He lowered his head then, and pressed his lips to yours, softly, his tongue peeking out and plundering your mouth and it was hard to reconcile the feeling of him, there, solid and the fact that the could possibly be a dream. He shifted then, and you felt the way his sex slipped down and notched at your fluttering entrance.
He held himself there, parting you with his considerable size, teasing you. You whimpered into his mouth, and he pulled away, moving his mouth to your ear.
"You want it?" He slid just inside, making you gasp and drip onto him, your arousal like a madness.
"Yes, please-"
"Yes?" He smiled, rising up to watch your expression as he fed himself into your soaked cunt agonizingly slow, making you feel every inch, every vein.
"Yes!" You all but yelled and he laughed again, his eyes black as night, his skin glowing with how well your desire was feeding him, even in your sleep.
"Look at me." Drunk on his body, on his touch, on his presence you stared into his eyes, only when your gaze was focused on his, did he sink in to the hilt. Your head slips back with the feel of it, your pussy holding him like it never wanted to let him go. He doesn't let you adjust, instead his hips move, leaving just the tip of himself inside before sinking as deep as he can, steady, his rhythm practically making you drool.
You look down, desperate to watch the way he fucked you without mercy.
"Eyes on me, or I will stop." His voice was rough, the warm, wet clutch of you working it's magic on him and with a moan you stare into his eyes. You watch him, his mouth slack and you can see his teeth, bone white, shiny and sharp and all you can do is hold onto his neck and bite your lip. "I want you to look at me, when I make you come on my cock, keep watching me." He sped up, and it seemed as though he was touching something secret inside, something no mere mortal could ever hope to find. You keened at the feel of it, something huge building in your center, spreading like wildfire, tingling in your lips, your sex, your nipples.
"Come on, you can do it, come on my cock, give it to me." He sped up, the sound of him sinking into your sex loud and wet, "I'm going to come inside you, going to fill this tight little cunt full of it-" He groaned when you clenched around him, and when he slipped his hand down, and pressed his thumb to your clit your world shattered.
-
You woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat and disoriented for a moment, until you reached down and felt the way you'd soaked through your intimates.
The details of the dream were gone in the light of day but the effects were still present. The feeling of his tongue, the ache of being spread open, the sheen of sweat all over your body - two jewel bright eyes in the darkness. Seems he did haunt dreams after all.
-
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ms0milk · 2 years ago
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𝐀 𝐇𝐘𝐌𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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On a diplomatic trip far from home, Prince Bakugou must contend with his hatred for you. A woman who lives to take orders. The last thing the warrior prince needs is a babysitter but it’s a feat, not a coincidence, that you are the only apprentice to the captain of his royal guard. Feasts, balls, and festivities await you and your new friends at Takoba, and in the seaside kingdom you must reconcile with the idea that your prince is not so noble as the queen who raised him. All while something half dead and long forgotten festers on high tide.
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𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 [𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔] MDNI prince!bakugou x royal guard!(fem) reader, slow burn to eventual smut. y/n has a personality and it is business formal, she grows. individual chapters will have specific tags-warnings-ratings— in general please expect violence/descriptions of injuries, strong language, two aloof fools, the classic motley bnha crew, seaside shenanigans. bakugou is an absolute piece of work, y/n is professional to a fault and it drives him insane. travel companions ー civil teammates ー genuine enemies ー confused friends ー lovers. plenty of ridiculous tension accompanied by angst and 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄.
❂ ー 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 this story has been my baby over the past few months (was this a direct response to mha ch 362? yes) — so I hope you cherish it as much as I do. I am not immune to roy/riza and many of the dynamics in this au are inspired by their relationship. be prepared to absolutely hurtle this man out of harm's way TAGLIST | AO3
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𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈
𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆. ✦
You terrify him and it breaks his heart.
𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩
In the warm forests of Aldera Castle you and the prince grew up in periphery. A soldier without magic and the boy who never spoke to her. Suddenly, he is your only responsibility.
𝒕𝒘𝒐. 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠
With the first day of travel under your belt and introductions well collected, your Alderan company finds time to unwind together. Thankfully, nothing bad ever happens around a campfire.
𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆. 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝
Are all carriages of the east made for prisoners of war? Prince Bakugou despises the close quarters and their snagging silver fixtures, but it is a special kind of fate that would deliver you to the safety of the sea and to the feet of the fire that bars your entrance. And deliver you together at that.
𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓. 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞
Hats off to dying!
𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭
What a vivid dream you’ve made, of the prince and his heavy hands wrapped around your body.
𝒔𝒊𝒙. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐛𝐚
It is at exactly the wrong moment that you realize where all the guards have gone, and just how desperate you must appear for the prince to take such pleasure in destruction.
𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. 𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭
Would he treat you this way in the presence of others? Is it only when you're alone like this that hell raises?
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𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈
𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)
In the immortal words of your prince, this was a dogshit idea for a dinner party. You are haunted by blue flames and scarred ghosts no matter how hard you focus on work, and a punishment for your distraction is in order.
𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆. 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐭
He has no right– your prince is a hypocrite and alone in a haunted seaside garden confrontation is, finally, inevitable.
𝒕𝒆𝒏. 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐨𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)
You will eat the flame mage alive before he lays a finger on your prince, but why gods has Bakugou chosen now to fear for you? To treat you so gently?
𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝
Thirty-one hours awake and every second spent thinking of you.
𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆. 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫
Gods help anyone that might try to hurt you, even if that person is the ocean, or a god– even if that person is you. You finally find your prince's bedchambers after a fight at sea.
𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐠
The end of your fever comes with realizations. What happens when two people unable to speak stand too close for too long?
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𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈
𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠
You always think you're well enough to train and if Bakugou has to tie you to a hospital bed himself he will, but he doesn't mean to watch you win for so long and he certainly doesn't mean to join you.
𝒇𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧
Can devotion come before forgiveness? Can you control it? The last two sober Alderans carry their friends to bed.
𝒔𝒊𝒙𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬
You don’t mean to bite him, he startled you. You don’t mean to laugh together or beam about magic that is not yours. You do not mean to kiss him.
𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)
Dance, or die.
𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞
Bakugou considers invincibility, he considers just how much of his strength has been his own as he cradles your body on a bloody dancefloor. There is another ghost at this party, the last of a dragon who refuses to die.
𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬
Self control is hairpin trigger and neither you nor your prince, hidden in Takoba's frozen underbelly, understands what it is to want someone. Even in the chaos of the mage's siege, desire sinks its teeth into reason's rabbit.
𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚. 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐚
(brief hiatus)
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