#honesty i kind of feel like this chapter is cursed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hunnysnoops · 5 months ago

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˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Fourteen: Headlock

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock. You know you're better than this.

Also available on ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: You and Kyle face a very necessary obstacle.

Warnings: Crude language and humour / not spell checked

MASTERLIST

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

The second you arrive at the haunted house, you can see the unease creeping up on Kyle. His eyes flick nervously to the fog-drenched entrance, then back to you, his jaw tightening in that way it always does when he's stressed. You grab his arm and squeeze. It wasn't his idea to spend Halloween at a haunted house but still, you weren't fond of the idea of spending the same time at a party.

"Are you scared?" You ask bluntly. You don't wait for his answer—already dragging him forward, your excitement bubbling over as you push through the dark, creaking door.

"Why would I be scared?" He looks down at you, trying to maintain his cool.

You shrug "Because the last time we went, you had nightmares for weeks."

"I was ten," Kyle says, his voice flat and his face unimpressed.

"It's okay, buddy," You give him a pat on his bicep. Inside, it's even worse. The dim lights cast shadows across the walls, twisted and grotesque. You hear Kyle mutter a curse under his breath, his grip on your hand getting firmer.

In all honesty, you hadn't expected Kyle to be so on edge during the haunted house. The last time you spent a Halloween with him was when you were kids. He didn't seem off put on the ride there, it was when the ticket salesmen scared the both of you that his demeanour shifted.

"Just chill out," you snicker, glancing back at his pale face.

His eyes dart around, scanning the room like a deer caught in headlights, but you're having way too much fun with this. When a ghoul leaps out of the darkness, screeching right in his face, you can't help the laughter that bursts out of you. He yelps, stumbling back and nearly taking you down with him.

You tug him deeper into the dark halls, your footsteps echoing off the cracked, uneven floor. Kyle stumbles beside you, his breaths coming short and sharp. You can hear them, and feel the tension in every step he takes as he scans the walls for the next jump scare. It's almost comical, really. He's clinging to your arm like you're his lifeline, his eyes wide with barely contained panic.

Meanwhile, you're calm, barely blinking as another grotesque figure swings out of the shadows, inches from your face. A bloody, grinning mask stares you down, lips curled in a snarl. You tilt your head, almost bored, and brush past it like you're walking through a harmless fog.

"Seriously?" you whisper over your shoulder, glancing back at Kyle.

Kyle is frozen mid-step, eyes locked on the masked figure as if he's expecting it to come alive and lunge at him. You roll your eyes, yanking his arm to get him moving again. He jumps at your touch, then forces out a shaky laugh.

"Kyle, you're fine," You deadpan, a little less enthused the longer his fear persisted. He hardly even flinched watching horror movies, now he was almost in shambles.

Holding his hand, you lead him further down the dark corridor. Your fingers trace the walls as you walk, trailing over the cold, damp stone. It's cold in here, the kind of chill that seeps into your bones. You're pretty sure they're using it to set the mood, but it does nothing to faze you. Kyle, on the other hand, shivers beside you, huddling close like he's trying to soak up some of your warmth.

Another sharp turn, another scare—a mangled figure with distorted limbs and a hollow scream that reverberates down the hall. Kyle flinches violently, nearly jumping out of his skin. You can't help the laugh that slips out, your eyes gleaming with amusement as you look at him.

"Oh my god, Kyle, relax," Your face drops "You're actually pissing me off."

A bloodied corpse swings from the ceiling, suspended by a rope, its mouth hanging open in a silent scream. The sudden motion makes Kyle jolt for just a moment before he regains his composure.

You tilt your head to inspect the 'corpse' with a hint of curiosity. "Looks pretty realistic, though, right?"

Kyle lets out a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Yeah, real realistic," he mutters, not daring to look at it for more than a second. He sidesteps around the swinging figure, eyes darting to the shadows.

When you notice Kyle's looking in the opposite direction, peaking at one of the decorations, you take the opportunity. Clamping your hands down on both of his shoulders from behind, you yell "Boo!" As expected, he flinches like he's just had knuckles cracked over his cheek and turns around to glare at you "You're scared? I've seen you yell at crackheads, that's scarier than this."

"You're not funny," He tells you, this time he's the one who takes your hand and leads you down.

You barely make it three more steps before another jumpscare hits—this time, the sound of chains clattering echoes through the hallway, followed by the sharp creak of a rusty door. Something big and hulking bursts out of the wall, a monstrous figure draped in tattered rags, its face twisted into a grotesque snarl. It's so close that you can almost smell the fake blood.

Kyle lets out a startled yell, flinging his arms out in pure panic.

It happens so fast- one second you're laughing at him, about to throw another snide comment his way, and the next, his forearm slams into your throat. Hard. The impact knocks the air out of your lungs, sending you stumbling back, clutching your neck as you gasp for breath.

Kyle's eyes widen in horror when he realizes what he's done. "Oh god! I—"

He doesn't even finish the sentence before you're doubled over, coughing, still trying to catch your breath. Your throat feels like it's been hit by a brick, and for a moment, you can't do anything but glare at him, your hand pressed against your neck.

"Seriously?" you manage to choke out, your voice strained and raspy. "What the fuck, Kyle?"

Kyle's face is a picture of wide-eyed panic, his hands fluttering awkwardly in the air as if he's not sure whether to try and help or just back away slowly. "I'm so sorry," He glances at the scare actor, still standing there in the corner, staring blankly at both of you like they're unsure whether or not to break character.

"Damn," The scare actor says after a long pause full of nothing but you choking and sputtering on the ground. They're wearing a grotesque mask, the hollow eyes staring through you, offering no sympathy. It's almost more unsettling than the jump scare itself.

Before Kyle can sputter out another apology, another actor dressed as a vampire sweeps out from behind a nearby curtain, his face painted messily white with little dribbles of fake blood around his mouth. He wore what you could see to be a cheap wig, pinned haphazardly onto his head . He doesn't make a sound, just glides over silently, his dark cloak billowing behind them. With dramatic flair, he twirls to show the flowing nature of his cape and he kneels down beside you, giving Kyle a side-eye so sharp it could cut through steel.

"Everything okay, madam?" the vampire asks, voice thick with a caricature of Dracula's accent. He offers you a hand, his fingers cool to the touch as they help you to your feet, while Kyle stands there helpless, still trying to process what just happened.

You give a weak nod, trying to shake off the stinging pain in your throat. "Yeah," you rasp, "just... he might be single after tonight." You shoot Kyle a look that's partially amused, mostly pissed off.

The vampire actor gives him a cold, disdainful once-over before turning back to you, his voice deepening with mock seriousness. "Vat happened to ze young lady?"

"She's okay," Kyle cuts in but the vampire swishes his hands in Kyle's direction as if he cast a spell of silence over him.

"I asked ze lady, not ze ogre," He says by, turning his attention toward you "Shall I dispose of him for you?" You thought his urge to stay in character equally parts odd and corny, though a small part of you thought it comical.

"I'll take care of him," You wave it off.

"Good luck on your venture, brave souls," The vampire swishes his cape, attempting to disappear back behind the curtain. You can almost hear the dramatic organ music that should be playing in the background. But then, something catches- his cape snags on a jagged piece of exposed brick sticking out from the wall.

His feet stumble beneath him, arms flailing as he tries to regain his balance. With a spectacularly un-vampiric grunt, he goes crashing to the floor, face-first into the dimly lit hallway.

You're the first to break the silence, a startled laugh bubbling out of you before you can stop it. "Are you okay?" you manage to call out between snickers, your hand flying to your mouth to hide your grin.

"Miles, dude," The scare actor in the rubber mask draws out, he sounds almost embarrassed for his coworker.

The vampire groans, sitting up slowly, his dignity shattered as he untangles his cape from the brick. He looks far less like a creature of the night and more like a regular guy who just tripped on the sidewalk.

The vampire shoots you both a look "I'm fine," he replies, his spooky accent gone and voice normal, he sounds like the average guy in Colorado. Trying to muster up some of that spooky charm again as he stands, dusting himself off. But the illusion is completely shattered now, and you can't stop laughing.

"Is your blood boiling?" You joke, it sounded funnier in your head but rings out as ill-mannered in the eery hallway.

The vampire just shakes his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "No. Just... beware the next hallway," he says, trying to reclaim a shred of his dark mystique as he slips back into character. But as he hobbles away, he's clearly done with the whole ordeal.

Kyle nudges you "You're mean."

"I know."

Your boyfriend watches where the vampire has retreated. It's clear he was set in line to scare you and he's not sure he can stomach another encounter with him. "Do you wanna keep-

"No, we're leaving."

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

You sit cross-legged on the carpet, a textbook balanced precariously on your knee as Kyle flips through his notes, his brow furrowed in concentration. You're sprawled on the couch beside him, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. The late afternoon light filters through the blinds, catching the flecks of gold in his eyes when as he scans the pages.

"Are you done?" You ask, just a glimmer of something hopeful in your voice. Your boyfriend had spent the week pouring over academics and revising old notes like he was getting paid to do so. While all of your friends busied themselves with plans and left you in the dust, you let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

"No," Kyle didn't even look up, he scribbled something on his notepad and his lips fell to a close once again.

"Ugh," You groan out, leaning back and running your hands down your face.

His brows knit together, and his lips move slightly as he mumbles the same formula under his breath for the fifth time. You've been sitting here for over an hour, and he hasn't so much as glanced at you. It's maddening.

You didn't understand how he could go over something so many times without turning himself over to insanity.

The December air had cast every couple to flaunt their relationships online and here you are, fighting to capture your boyfriend's attention.

"So," you say casually, pulling yourself up until you are near him "What are you doing tonight?"

Kyle doesn't look up. "I dunno, probably taking a sleeping pill and going to bed."

"You should take like seventeen," You mutter under your breath though it doesn't fall on deaf ears.

"What?" He finally looks at you.

"Nothing," You smile. "You've been so busy. I just missed you this week."

"No, you didn't."

Your face drops "Do you want me to lie twice?"

He doesn't have a retort to your words but his face says more than enough "Dude, I just need to get this done and then we can do something."

"Wow, talking about our future like I'm not about to break up with you," You let out a long sigh and shook your head.

He was used to you saying egregious things along those lines, he had known you too long to be any different. At first, when you started dating, he would flip out while you just sat there with a cool smile across your face. Now he had grown accustomed to it or you had trained him as you would say.

"Yeah? Good luck doing better than me," His comebacks were never as good as yours.

"You can't be cocky and a ginger," You say, giving him a side-eye.

"Why not?"

"Ethan Slater," You cough into your fist like you are trying to cover up the comment.

"WHAT?"

You furrow your eyebrows "What?"

"Ethan Slater?" His eyes are fully on you now.

"Yeah, people have been saying that you remind them of him," You shrug.

It was like you were watching the colour drain from his face in real time, leaving his wild hazel eyes to stare at you in disbelief. "No, they didn't," His nose wrinkles "Who said that?"

"Like Wendy, Tolkien, Red, Mariah, Evan..." This was not true in the slightest.

"Why?" There is serious offence in his tone.

"Y'know, hair, eyes, stature, appearance in general. Some might say that you're the Ethan Slater of the relationship because I'm stunning, talented, and you're just kinda there."

His face falls deadpan "Are people actually comparing me to Ethan Slater?"

"No."

Kyle disengages like he's turned a switch off. This was beyond irritating, like a fork in a blender. You didn't want to let him know how much it grated you so you set your sights on broader horizons.

You've tried doodling in the margins of your binder, scrolling through your phone, and even practicing balancing your pen on your finger. Nothing holds your attention for long.

Then you glance at Kyle, his jaw set in that determined way he gets when he's in the zone and inspiration strikes like a body hung.

You grab a piece of loose-leaf paper from your stack, grinning to yourself as you begin sketching. You keep glancing at Kyle, stifling giggles as your pencil scratches across the page. You draw his sharp cheekbones and messy hair, exaggerating the way it falls over his freckled forehead. Then you add his broad shoulders—only to dramatically taper them into a massive, cartoonish belly.

A pregnant Kyle.

You look from the drawing to Kyle, quickly erasing his outfit and replacing it with a tank top and frilly shorts. You took extra attention to draw the sparkle of his eyes. "What if I drew you but pregnant?"

"Uh- don't?" He furrows his brows.

"Why though?"

"That feels like a violation."

With a smug smile, you turn the paper and slowly push it towards him.

"That's me?"

"Yeah," you reply, straight-faced. "You're glowing."

"Glowing?" he repeats, his voice rising an octave. He gestures wildly at the paper, at a loss for words, his face rapidly turning red. "Why am I—why am I pregnant?!"

"Well, what makes you think I would be the one in this relationship to get pregnant?"

He stares at you blankly and the silence stretches over mountains and valleys. It felt like the whole world went silent for a moment. "Oh god," He mutters but he isn't able to pull his eyes from the beautifully strange drawing.

The oddness of it all was captivating despite the grotesque sight.

Kyle is still holding the drawing like it's the single most appalling thing he's ever seen. His face is a riot of disbelief and indignation, his free hand running into his curls as he rambles.

"Why? This is just so demeaning. I don't even—what is this? Some kind of—"

"Kyle."

"—inside joke, you didn't let me in on? Because I swear—"

"Kyle."

"—if this ends up online, I'll—"

"Kyle!"

He finally looks at you, his mouth still halfway open to continue his tirade. You're biting back a laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement sparked by the simmer of animosity.

"What?" he snaps, though there's no real heat in his voice.

You don't answer. Instead, you lean forward, grabbing the front of his shirt to tug him closer and kiss him.

The rant dies instantly, his words replaced by a sharp inhale as his lips press against yours. It's soft at first, like he's still stunned, but then his hand finds your waist, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. The paper—the ridiculous drawing—is forgotten, fluttering to the floor between you.

"WHAT?"

The both of you snap your heads up to find the source of the sound. There stands Weston and Ike looking horrified as ever in the doorway. Their faces contorted into snarls, eyes wide and bewildered.

"I was joking about them having sex, I wasn't serious!" Ike's hands are gripping the hair on his head, he looks ready to pull it out.

"Oh, great, you manifestered this!" Weston slaps the back of his friend's head ever so lightly. His word choice was a tad off but the message still got through.

"No- no one's having sex," Kyle stands from the couch immediately.

"Why did you kiss my sister?!" Weston's voice rises.

"I'm not your sister," You say abruptly, scrambling to cover your face with a pillow "It's Peter Parker."

Weston's hands clench at his side, teeth gritted before he sticks a finger pointedly at the pair of you "I'm not falling for that again!" It wasn't often that you had really truly seen your brother angry, it startled you. "I asked you—both of you—a million times if there was something going on, and you were all like, 'Oh, no, Weston, you're crazy!' But you've been sneaking around behind my back! And now you're—kissing! On my couch!"

"This is not your couch," you mumble, wincing when Weston shoots you a glare that could melt steel.

"With Grandpa watching?!" He gestures angrily to the photo of your deceased grandfather that resided on the mantle.

"Why are you mad?" You look at him from the couch where he seethes by the coat rack, his friend shying away behind him.

"Wha-why-WHY AM I MAD?"

"Weston, you're scaring me," Ike's brows draw together in concern, he slinks away, shutting the door and awkwardly taking off his shoes.

"I DON'T CARE!" He flings his arms up "THIS IS NOT OKAY AND I'M TELLING MOM!"

"No-no-no, wait." You put your hands up "Don't tell her or dad, I'll pay you."

"Fifty dollars," He says, firm.

"Aw, never mind, you can tell her. I'm not giving you fifty bones."

Weston rummages in his pocket, pulling out his phone he taps around and you watch him with confusion until you hear the dial tone and it hits you. You hurdle yourself over the couch, socks sliding against the hardwood, almost tripping you up.

"Weston!" you shout, grabbing at his arm. He twists away, clutching the phone to his chest like it's the answer to world peace.

"This is justice!" he declares, trying to wriggle out of your grip.

"Justice?!" you scoff, reaching for the phone. "Give it to me!"

"No!" Weston twists again, but you manage to grab hold of his wrist. The two of you spin around in such a way that it frightens the brothers watching you. While the two of them fought like brothers, the age gap stopped them from getting too into it. Your morals were however not set above hitting a pre-teen.

"Let go, Weston!" you demand, tugging at his arm with all your strength.

"Never!" he shouts, his voice going high-pitched. In a desperate attempt to escape, he leans forward and bites your arm.

"OW! You fucking rat!" you yelp, recoiling for a moment before narrowing your eyes. You bop him on the top of his head

You throw yourself at him with all the grace of a linebacker, tackling him onto the floor. The phone slips from his hand, skidding across the floorboards, but before you can grab it, Weston wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back.

"Not so fast!" he yells, his legs kicking wildly as the two of you wrestle.

You put your entire hand over his face, keeping him away from you. You can hear his muffled threats beneath your palm as you use your other hand to reach for the phone. The moment you make contact with it, a wet slobbery sensation spreads across your palm.

"EW!" You revoke your hand away from Weston, balling it up and cracking him in the nose.

"MY NOSE!" He shouts, hands dropping from you and moving to cradle his nose as he stumbles to his feet.

"How do you like it?!" You reach for the phone, collecting it into your hand only to drop it as Weston kicks you in the stomach at full force.

"Stop and let's talk about this!" Kyle made the mistake of trying to interrupt you two.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, KYLE!" The two of you screech in sync.

Weston bends down, grabbing to phone and redialing your mother. You grab. his leg and pull him back down, he lands harshly, his face smacking against the floor. You waste no time in clamouring on top of him. Weston tries to wriggle out from under you, but you hook your arm around his neck and haul him into a headlock.

"Get off me, hippo!" He shouts, short-breathed.

"HIPPO?" You tighten the headlock until he's flailing helplessly.

"Get used to this, you'll be part of the family soon," He says to Kyle but the words murmur out with the croak of his throat.

The door suddenly opens with a sharp creak, and you freeze. Weston uses your hesitation to slip free, collapsing onto the floor and scrambling to his feet.

"Oh my God," your mom's voice cuts through the chaos like a knife. Ike and Kyle look nervously at one another and then your parents, anticipating a long talking to from their mother.

Your parents stand in the doorway, shopping bags in hand, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern.

"MOM!" Weston shouts "Kyle and-

Your hands thought faster than your head and you swiftly chop him in the throat before he can finish his sentence. Like a fish thrown out of the water, Weston gulps at the air like he's trying to drink it in. Heat gathers in his face, eyes wide as he clutches at his throat, coughing on nothing.

He chokes and sputters, spinning himself in a circle for no other reason aside from dramatics. Your mom drops the groceries to the ground, arms out like she's ready to catch Weston if he hobbles in her direction.

Weston spits out a string of words that fall incoherent to everyone's ears "What?" Your dad raises a brow.

"Kyle!" He manages between gulps of air.

"What about Kyle?" Your dad asks.

"Kissed... Kyle..."

"YOU KISSED KYLE?" Your mom asks, her eyes widening in horror at her son.

Everyone looks equal parts horrified at the misconstrued claim. Your hand slaps over your mouth as you look at Kyle who is petrified like stone, frozen in place by terror. Without much thought, you finally say "No, I kissed Kyle."

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

The air in the living room is thick with tension as you and Kyle sit side by side on the couch, your knees barely brushing. Your parents sit opposite you, their expressions a mixture of stern and concerned. Weston is nowhere in sight—likely upstairs revelling in the chaos he unleashed.

You don't anticipate a quick conversation so you brace yourself for what could be the worst of the worst.

Your mom clears her throat, breaking the silence. "Alright, let's start with this: How long has this been going on?"

You exchange a nervous glance with Kyle before you answer. "A few months," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

"A few months?" your dad repeats, his eyebrows shooting up. "And you didn't think to tell us?"

"We weren't trying to hide it...exactly," Kyle interjects, his voice steady but cautious. "We just wanted to make sure we were serious before involving everyone else."

Your mom crosses her arms, her gaze sharp. "And now? Are you serious?"

Kyle looks at you, his eyes softening. "Yes. I care about her a lot."

The three of them look at you expectantly and you pause. "Uh- yeah."

Your dad leans back in his chair, exhaling a heavy sigh. "You should have brought it up earlier. Kyle, you know I love you like a son—we're not saying you can't date. But lying, or avoiding the truth, isn't the foundation of anything healthy."

You realized then, looking at your boyfriend, that his rigid posture and unwavering eye contact seemed to be the ideal boyfriend. And you knew with your lying, sneaking around and everything else that you were not the ideal girlfriend.

Your mom's expression softens, though her voice remains firm. "This isn't just about honesty with us. Relationships take work, and they take communication—both with each other and with the people in your lives. Do you two understand that?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kyle says, his tone earnest.

"And Kyle, I know you don't take this stuff lightly but you," Your dad shifts his eyes to you "Are you serious about this?"

"What?" The question caught you off guard.

"No, your father's right. This isn't some random boy, this is Kyle. There is more at stake here than just your relationship." Your mother crosses her arms, cooly.

"I-what- that's pretty loaded," You try to laugh but it comes out forced and awkward.

"Maybe you should've thought about that before sneaking around with a family friend," Your dad adds. He rests his hands on his knees, lips pressed in a thin line.

Your mom sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Sweetheart, you've always been impulsive. You don't think things through, and you're...well, not exactly known for taking anything seriously."

"That's not true." You furrow your eyebrows, sitting up straighter.

"Really?" your dad countered. "Because I seem to remember how you treated your last relationship and the one before that."

"That's different! Those guys weren't—"

"Weren't Kyle?" your mom finished for you, her tone skeptical. "We know that. But the pattern here isn't them, it's you."

You opened your mouth to argue but snapped it shut, frustration bubbling under your skin. They had backed you into a corner. Kyle scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, unsure whether to speak or shrink into himself.

"If this goes south because you can't take it seriously-

"I take this seriously!' You cut her off "I'm not like that anymore or I'm trying not to at the very least, is that okay?"

The living room had grown uncomfortably quiet after your parents' last comments. The room had fallen still with silence until Weston and Ike's chatter flittered its way down the halls and filled the backdrop.

"Noted." Your mom cleared her throat, her expression a careful mixture of seriousness and sympathy. "Now that we know you're not just friends, there are going to be some changes."

"What?" You already felt defensive.

Your dad nodded. "What was appropriate before isn't anymore. You two aren't kids playing around in the backyard—this is a relationship. There are boundaries that need to be respected."

Kyle stiffened slightly beside you, but his voice remained steady. "We understand, sir. We'll respect whatever rules you set."

Your mom gave him a small nod of approval. "Good. For starters, no more hanging out in bedrooms, doors closed or otherwise. If you're here, you stay in common areas where we can see you. The same goes for our house and your parents' house."

"What?" you exclaimed, leaning forward. "You're kidding. We're not—"

"Stop," your dad interrupted, holding up a hand. "We're not saying you're doing anything inappropriate. But these rules are about avoiding any situation where trust could be compromised. It's not up for debate."

Never had you seen both of your parents so serious. You remembered back in middle school how you had gotten suspended for spraying perfume in someone's mouth, even speaking to the principal they seemed part uninterested and part on the edge of their seats to lead. Now they spoke with so much gravity you thought you might suffocate.

Your mom hesitated, glancing at your dad before continuing, her tone softer but no less serious. "And there's another thing we need to talk about."

You already didn't like where this was going.

"Relationships like this come with responsibilities," she said carefully.

"Like Spider-Man," Your dad chimes in.

Her eyes flick between you and Kyle. "If things...progress between you two, we need to know that you're being safe. Using protection."

"Mom!" you blurted, your face heating up like a furnace. "Holy shit! Please stop."

Your mom held up her hand, her expression calm but firm. "This is serious, and it's something you need to hear."

Kyle's ears were practically glowing red, and he looked like he wanted to sink into the couch and disappear. "We're not—we haven't—"

"And we'd like to keep it that way for now," your mom interjected, her voice pointed. "But if things change, you need to be prepared. We're not stupid, and we're not going to pretend it's not a possibility."

You held up both hands as if physically stopping the conversation could make it go away. "Okay! Enough! We get it. Can we just please not, I beg of you." You clasp your hands together like you're praying for your life.

"Okay, just please tell me if something were to happen and you need contraception or if-

"OKAY." You burrow your face into your hands "Yes, okay, sure, fine, I'll keep you posted."

"One last thing," Your dad adds, catching your attention. "We need to have a talk with Gerald and Sheila."

"Oh my god," You mutter.

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delicrieux · 10 months ago

Text

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. you did this to yourself.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader warnings for this chapter. swearing (i think) wc. 3.5k author’s note. and with this, we end our lil pre-relationship arc! and what's prewritten, so now y'all will have to wait. but not for too long since i'm very generous and also the best. it's almost time for a kiss xx

ੈ ✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | < back | next >

CHAPTER 7: the missionTM (3)

right, so. a few things need to be established before facing the present moment.

first, once you were thoroughly exhausted by utahime, you returned to the room. her persistence to wrangle you into her and mei’s shared bedroom, which, in fact, had two nice, large beds, enough to share and not have anyone breathe down your neck, was indeed very tempting, and you almost succumbed. you didn’t for a reason you’re not yet sure of; all you know that each time she looked at you, pleading eyes and hands clasped close to her chest, an image of gojo left alone among the festival goers flashed in your mind, and you couldn’t force out a confirmation.

by all means, you have shared a bed with utahime. it had been nice and comfortable, and the two of you giggled under the covers, discussing the crushes on the tv show actors you had at the time. it was your first year at jujutsu tech, and you were sent on a mission with kyoto to establish rapport between the schools (no one else was willing, and yaga-sensei deemed you pleasant enough to be successful), and to say you were fast friends was an understatement – you clicked instantly, upon first glance, maybe. there was something about utahime’s tenacity and honesty you admired, and there was something about your openness and thick-skin she liked. kindness didn’t sabotage your backbone, and thus, you found a lot of things in common.

mei you like as well, though not as much. you feel she is quite cold underneath that clement smile, gaze curious but never attentive. however, it’s not mei’s presence that dissuaded you from joining them. you wish it was. god, what a mess.

it all sort of accumulated. fleetingly, you thought that gojo had returned to tokyo. you didn’t meet him once during the festival, which left you oddly desolate, as it was prime time for him to ruin your reunion with your dear friends – no trying to trip you up, no swiping at your ice cream, no public declarations of “hey! she stole that!,” no covering your eyes with his hands once the fireworks began so you’d miss the whole display. it was a bit unnerving, and you kept glancing over your shoulder enough for mei to ask, “are you expecting someone?”

the answer was, of course, a startled and incriminating, “no!”

when you did decline utahime’s fifth try to lure you into bed, she became suspicious. brows pinched and a displeased look, “how come, huh? you’d rather stay in a room with him?” she didn’t even say his name; utahime tried to avoid forming the syllables because she said it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

you held up your hands, like a thief caught red-handed, “no, no, i’d rather be with you two, really,” and you meant it, despite the something clattering in your brain, back and forth, back and forth, distant and strange and completely incomprehensible, “just that we need to wake up early tomorrow, and we’d hardly get any sleep if it was the three of us.”

for the first and likely only time, mei came to your rescue, “hmmm, she’s right,” she was already changing into her pajama’s, languid and elegant with the expensive, gleaming material hiding her body, “i am a bit tired after today. those curses…”

utahime shuddered, “don’t remind me, please.” a sigh followed, and you knew you’d won, “you sure you’ll be okay, though?”

“course. we got separate beds, and it’s not like he would actually try anything.”

“he better not,” she grumbled, “scream and i’ll actually rip him to pieces. i will do it with my bare hands—no, i’ll put on gloves first. i don’t want to actually touch him.”

“or better yet,” mei hummed, “send him here.”

the implication left you weirdly discontent. a pinch in your stomach where his hand had rested, so real that you had half the mind to look behind you to make sure he hadn’t manifested to defend himself. he didn’t. somehow, that was worse.

“absolutely not,” utahime stated, and you fought the urge to nod in agreement. she plopped down on her bed, exhausted, “no man is ruining this sanctuary.”

you exited with that. a bit confused and nervous, like some parts of you were rearranged perfectly but in the wrong manner. the door at the end of the dim hallway was suddenly intimidating, because finding a vacant room would make you extremely happy…right?

right. and that’s where you are now, palms clammy from sweat that surely accumulated from the dreaded heat plaguing the whole day. the night had cooled, rising harsh winds and bringing heavy clouds that obscured the stars as soon as the fireworks ended. maybe if he didn’t leave, he locked the door. then, at least, you’d feel vindicated, which is much better than that flutter pulling at your nerves. was this a part of his plan, too? set you on edge? it was, no doubt about that.

the room is, in fact, not locked, nor is it vacant. light spills from behind you, dousing the inky dark in vague silhouettes and shadows. gojo is here, and he’s sleeping, breathing soundly in the bed made for one. there’s a spot left for you beside him, a small space fit for another body. he could’ve easily taken up the whole mattress and then some, but he didn’t.

you’re not very good with deep contemplations – getou, you think, is, because he has the patience to untangle carefully. you don’t. all those neurons snapping just leave you angry.

still, you shut the door quietly, and still, you weigh the pros and cons of playing into this game. the lonely matt by the door is not exactly inviting, and you’re in too deep anyway. so, as silent as you can manage, you collect your pajamas and toiletries and lock yourself in the bathroom for a quick bed routine.

this is so silly. you want to giggle into a pillow because of how fucking ridiculous it is, but, when you leave the bathroom, changed, teeth cleaned, and face fed generously with skincare, his shadow in bed doesn't look silly. more so daunting, almost threatening, like he has more power over the situation than you want to give him credit for.

the first splatters of rain hit the closed windows. it's very dark, dark enough for you to have trouble discerning where's what, and you grapple for surfaces, afraid to trip over. the floorboard squeak and groan under your stealthy steps, and you can imagine him, sprawled there, twisting in annoyance until you plop down beside him.

you find your way there eventually, lower yourself carefully. no purchase, as a sudden movement would have you falling off the bed, which would hurt. it's very warm for your shower-cooled skin. and then... then. you don't really know. the raindrops pelt, and a flash of lightning cuts the world in half.

...a hand clasps at your thigh and pulls you close to a body, "mmh... where've ya been?"

the room fills with a thunderous, yet not exactly grating, noise. your breath hitches when his forehead bumps against the nape of your neck and you get a whiff of the floral bath soap he uses. so weirdly intimate.

"how are you not asleep?" you complain.

"was, until you opened the door," his voice is quiet. slurred, almost, like he's drunk, but gojo doesn't drink.

"..."

he has the audacity to press his chest close to your back, almost hugging you. the palm at your thigh makes no move to grope or linger, resting peacefully as another would, and you almost feel like it's innocent. or was that his goal the whole time? to tease, and nothing more?

warm. too warm. why does it make you flush?

"don't worry," gojo mutters, words pressed against the dip of your spine, "i promise i'm a gentleman," he gives a little squeeze, "mostly."

"most is not all," you snip, but don't shove him off.

he chuckles and the tremors buzz down to your toes, "too true," his palm flattens over your stomach, and he burrows deeper, "still. get some sleep."

something about his calm voice and warmth, and the thunder-rain-light show outside makes you sleepy, the type where you struggle against your eyes drooping and shutting for good. gojo isn't being very accommodating, the fingers playing with your shirt like they're making a decision. you'll hear him sigh and you'll be tugging your clothes into a semblance of respectability. he'll hum and you'll try to move away from the pleasant vibration. he'll curl even tighter and you'll want to lie there for eternity.

suguru: you awake? 3:49am

you: morning! sorry, i was already sleeping. what’s up? (o´ ▽ `o*)ﾉ 8:25am

you: i got you a souvenir ☆ i hope you’ll like it. gojo said you wouldn’t, but he’s a useless liar so 9:01am

you: i was thinking that we could all go to the arcade once we get back from the mission. have a nice weekend all to ourselves. i asked shoko, she said it’s ok as long as we go for a beer later. haibara-kun and nanami-kun also agreed. will you be free? 10:30am

at exactly 12:59pm, you are almost pressing the dial button, but gojo snaps your phone shut before you manage.

“hey!” you bristle, turning to your discontent seatmate.

his expression is shrouded by the lenses, but you see the tilt of his mouth, and he hasn't once left you alone for more than 30 seconds. he snatches the cell phone and slips it into his pocket, "that's theft."

he shrugs, "so sue me. i'll win in court, obviously."

"obviously," you seethe.

a clear, childish snort and the grin brightens considerably, and for a second, your gut churns – just for a moment, as fast as a breeze whipping the treetops and disappearing again. the train ride back to tokyo has so far gone in a similar fashion: him trying to annoy you and you somehow managing to refrain from clocking him in the jaw.

he is, however, not as irritating as he usually is, which is a feat in itself. it's... normal. nothing too special, nothing too bad. the gojo of 5 hours ago, waking you gently and shaking you and talking to your sleepy, bleary, barely conscious mind was different, kind, almost pleasant. and now he is like he always is, and it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as you wish it did.

right now, there is no reprieve, but, thankfully, you're used to his behavior.

"’sides," he leans his cheek on a fist, elbow on the armrest, "am i not entertaining enough for you?"

"seriously? begging for attention? are you that desperate?" you reach into his pockets, and, honestly, gojo could prevent this easily. you could tell; his technique is flexible in the physical department, too. so, letting you get too close is, in fact, quite voluntary on his end.

maybe he wanted to fluster you. it's not working. you're just irate as per usual, which must disappoint him.

"woah!" he stops you suddenly, hand on wrist, "at least buy me dinner first."

your anger fizzles into irritation when you notice you've garnered more than a few spectators. several pairs of curious, judging eyes glare at you from over the rims of magazines and newspapers and even laptops, and, yes, gojo's existence commands a lot of attention. he's always in the peripheries of every person within a mile radius without even trying.

so, the anger rears up again, because his antics have definitely ruined your chances of a peaceful, uneventful ride home, "gimmie my phone."

his grip is quite strong, holding you at an arm's length, "nah."

"you're an asshole, you know that?"

"stop thinking 'bout my ass, gosh, you'll make me blush," he takes that same hand and fans himself playfully, "but fine! since i'm the sweetest, nicest, and the kindest."

he fishes out your phone, lays it in your waiting palm, and then just looks at you like he's expecting something in return.

"what?"

a few seconds pass, his head tilts to a side, and you're left befuddled when his tongue darts out to wet his lips, "my thank you?'"

the first instinct, the correct one, is to say "go to hell" and forget this conversation even happened. the second, which you voice, is, "you expect gratitude for stealing my phone and then caving under zero pressure to return it?" your eyebrows must be all the way to your forehead. he is astounding.

he looks away, displeased, "not zero. you basically tried to fondle me. in public. in a train, even, how shameless of you."

"i did not."

"you did."

"not."

"did."

"oh god," you rub at your temples. a headache is oncoming.

gojo laughs. it's pretty, rich in pitch and loud, and more than a few people crane their heads, but now the stares are full-blown wonder. a bit sickening. you wouldn't be surprised if someone came up begging for a picture.

"could you please stop drawing attention to yourself?" you hiss.

"me?" he points at himself, glasses riding down. a flutter his pale eyelashes, "impossible," and a charming smirk. his pupils dart to your mouth, a full 1.5-second pause that makes your neck heat up. and, after what seems like a break for a wink and an allure, the spectacles are back.

what.

you open and close your mouth, unsure whether you saw correctly. the light must have been playing tricks on you, because whatever the hell that was, it was too honest for gojo. and all too out of character, too, because he's been calling you ugly for three years now. his first words to you might've been, "ew, what the hell is wrong with your face?"

what a bunch of shit, actually. now that you remember.

he's definitely just being his usual self, trying to rile you up, and to prove some point about being irresistible. typical, predictable, and so normal you relax instantly, letting go of any concern or interest in that strange glimpse.

once back at tokyo, you grab him by the sleeve. it's an involuntary reaction, but to be fair, you don't exactly even see gojo. he is simply the nearest person, and thus, subjected to your weird whims.

he stops, looks down at you, and he must see something he doesn't like because his placid expression crumbles, "...what?"

"neeeee!" you tug and tug and tug, and there might be stars in your eyes, and maybe a dopey smile, too, as you stare at the figure getting swallowed by the people rushing to their platforms, "i think i just saw ueda-san!"

"who?"

"ueda tatsuya-san. from kat-tun!" you finally, after a lot of effort and some seriously heavy panting, arrive at a secluded corner, "he was there, i swear!" you glance back. there's no one even remotely resembling the idol and a part of you is disappointed, the fan in you crying out to at least see an outstretched hand in a peace sign, "isn't that exciting?!"

the distaste only increases tenfold, but he hides it by shoving his hands into his pockets, a bored slouch, "so?"

your world freezes, a full 5 seconds before, "what?! what do you mean ‘so’?! this is such a cool coincidence! like...it's..." you inhale sharply, "fate!"

"haaaaaaaah?!" he stares down at you like you've gone insane, mouth open, a glimpse of teeth, "fate?"

"yes!" you respond enthusiastically, "do you think he saw me? this is my chance!"

"to die?"

"what?" you squint, confused, "why would i die? i want an autograph—"

"how'd you even know him, huh?" gojo pokes your forehead, pushing you back slightly, "have you ever talked to him in your life? he doesn't even know who you are," and, yeah, you'll admit, you don't have any arguments for that, and you hadn't really expected gojo to be the respectable, thoughtful adult in this situation.

still. surely fate has placed you and ueda-san in the same, massive tokyo train station so you could have a meet-cute like in the movies and fall deeply in love. you would quit your sorcerer job on the spot, travel with his band, gosh, the songs he'd write about you. this is all too much. you clasp hands on your cheeks. your head is spinning.

and all while gojo, a fan as well, or so you'd assumed, stands and watches you break down into a puddle of lovesick nonsense.

"oh god," he breathes, "stop," the distress leaks, "woman, snap out of it," his voice is strained.

"gosh, i dunno, gosh," you shake your head, "i don't think i'm ready to marry, i'm only 20. this is crazy,"

"the hell are you acting like he proposed to you? you maybe just saw the back of his head," gojo's agitation rises steadily, a tick in his jaw.

you clutch the material of his shirt, "no, it was really him. maybe i should go check?"

"no!" he puts his hands around your elbows, half-pulling and half-guiding you, "what’s gotten into you? snap out of it."

"but i gotta run after him," you jerk and struggle. the hallways, the other people are mere smears to the focus of your tunnel vision. ueda was just in sight, and he'll soon be slipping between crowds you could never catch in a million years, "this is my only chance!"

"like hell!" gojo grits, "quit it! be a normal fucking person."

"w-wait a minute—"

gojo places two large palms on either side of your head, forcing you to look at him, and the fog clears as your eyes meet. the calm, composed, and serious glower shuts you up on its own merit and, shamefully, all you can think is how striking his features are.

he's breathtaking.

"breathe."

it comes as an order, though soft.

"and think."

your gaze lingers on the slope of his nose and how he holds himself, his entire posture radiating a fierce and all-consuming type of pride. his chin, his jaw, his cheekbones, the tilt of his lips, and you become overwhelmed. the need to shrink in and hide away has you clenching your teeth.

his grip tightens, "no. look at me."

and so you do. you have a mountain of complaints: to yourself, to the unfairness of this moment, because those fingers holding you up shouldn't exist, not around you. he shouldn't hold your face like this, tender, almost comforting, a thumb stroking your cheek absent-mindedly.

"good."

and, yes, a spark goes through you, and no, it is not that kind. it's panic, full-blown terror and the epiphany of what the fuck are you even doing?

"okay?" he asks.

"mmh," you nod quickly, "yeah, mhmm,"

his hands lower, come to rest atop your shoulders, and they're just as hot as a branding iron, "do you see why you're an embarrassment?"

and the magic ends as soon as it came, and he is repulsive again.

"buzzkill," you mutter, defeated.

“shoooko!” you barge into her room unannounced and uninvited, like it was your very own, and it might as well be by the amount of time you usually spend here. holding up a small gift bag, you present it with flourish, “i come with gifts!”

“welcome back,” she says dully, lounging on her messy bed and flipping through her fashion magazine, “how was the mission?”

you hum, tactfully avoiding the question by plopping down beside her, “i think i saw ueda-san at the train station!”

“ehhhhh?” now that gets her attention, and she’s all interest, “did you get a picture?”

“no, no,” you sigh, “was stopped by a lanky loser. gojo really is good for nothing.”

you miss the small smirk and the slight narrow of her eyes, “stopped you, huh? now why would he do that, i wonder..."

"because he's an asshole that wants to see me miserable?" you provide helpfully, getting more comfortable.

she flicks your forehead, and you wince, "you two are so silly."

"haibara-kun! nanami-kun!" you find them training in the dojo, and you barely manage to take off your shoes before you're sprinting full force to greet them, a gift in each hand, "i got you souvenirs from hitoyoshi!"

"mah, aren't you excited?" nanami stares with slight distaste when the box of sweets is literally shoved into his unsuspecting hand.

haibara, on the other hand, looks like he might grow a tail and start waggling it, "thank you so much, kawakami-sempai! these are so thoughtful, i appreciate them!" he immediately tears the packaging off, takes a hearty bite.

he sighs, content.

you wave off their praise like it's nothing. well, haibara's praise, but you’re used to nanami’s polite demeanor and quiet nature, so it must mean he is beyond ecstatic to receive such a thoughtful gift, "of course, of course! i gotta take care of my juniors,"

nanami grunts and examines the chocolate-coated cakes and cookies with an air of someone that is reluctantly pleased, "mmm, thanks."

you flash him an exaggerated smile, and he averts his gaze. got him, ha! you are the best sempai on this entire planet.

once you distributed the souvenirs, you swung by getou's dorm room. knocked, waited, only to realize he's not there. you left the gift bag by his door.

later, you find out that he’s gone on a mission, and that he likely won’t be back soon.

tags (couldn’t tag the marked). @shokosbunny , @jotarohat , @alygator77 , @fortunatelyfurrygiver , @finnydraws , @mastermasterlist1p1 , @eolivy , @letsmyy , @staruus , @k0z3me , @damnshorty , @kaeyakaikai , @n4melesspers0n , @midnightwriter21 , @sillymercury , @byakuya61085 , @stillnotherapy

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wangxianficfinder · 8 months ago

Text

Fic Finder

Oct 1st

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1. Hi!!! I’ve been looking for an older fic lately and can’t seem to find it. It’s an explicit modern AU friends with benefits fic where lan zhan realizes he’s in love with wei ying and breaks up with him as a result and then pining ensues. The only specific thing I remember is that the very first scene is of lan zhan realizing he’s in love with wei ying while they are having sex. Thank you for all of your awesome work on this blog!!

FOUND? Honesty is the Best Policy (Except if You’re an Asshole)by piecrust (E, 22k, WangXian, Porn with Feelings, College/University)

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2. Hi! Looking for this fic where WWX's lips got sealed/sewn shut by the cultivation community and imprisoned in Lotus Pier. I *think* JL lets him go or he has to work with LWJ and JWY on a case? TYSM!

FOUND? ❤️ whipstitch by curiositykilled (M, 131k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Torture, WWX Lives, but basically no one else, Case Fic, Cultivation Sect Politics, Past Abuse, WWX Whump, YLLZ WWX, JL Needs a Hug, JL Tries, Yunmeng Bro Reconciliation, Past Character Death, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Alternating, Flashbacks, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Depression, Not A Fix-It, Mouth Sewn Shut)

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3. Looking for a fic. Set in cloud recesses era, lan wangji is female and I think Wei wuxian is as well. Lwj is a virgin and wwx sends a paperman up her skirt during class and ends up getting her off. @leahlisabeth

FOUND? Carte Blanche by Rionaa (E, 3k, WangXian, Smut, PWP, Dubious Consent, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Underage Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Macro/Micro, Gender Changes, Cisswap, Female WangXian, also female JC, it's a total gender swap, all the boys are now girls because i say so, Virginity, First Time)

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4. hello again! this is for fic finder. i have an image in my head of wwx going to lotus pier with lwj’s family, i think? he was given a silver and onyx guan by lwj (i think it belonged to his father) and madam yu caught him wearing it and she ripped it out of his hair, saying “so you fancy yourself a young master now?” and later i think lan qiren puts it back in his hair when wwx is with lwj and his family. i think he’s betrothed to lwj here but i’m not sure. @ieatkitcat

FOUND! The Wild Geese’s Tomb by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (T, 66k, WangXian, Time Travel AU, fixit, Temporary Character Death, all women live no women die, LWJ’s canonically intense feelings about everything all the time, WWX’s clinical depression gets treated and blamed on resentful energy, navigating gay marriage in ancient china by utiliizing class snobbery for your own ends, if you’re not sure whose fault anything going on in here is then blaming NHS is probably a good bet, WWX plays ‘summon LWJ’ it’s super effective!, the ‘unexploded cow’ approach to dealing with your enemies)

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5. Please help me find this fic. Lan zhan and nie huaisang travel to past during burial mounds and weight yong create a track hundred holes curse back to who cursed them. And wei ying create yillng guide too. And lan zhan make a new identity. It is archived I think. @wangxian02

For 5, I can't find the fic, but it sounds like one where LZ and NHS became friends, and NHS sent gay porn to LZ (in crates?). The chapter where the tracking of the 100 holes curse was done was one of the last published, and JZx ended up forcefully stripping SS, causing much hilarity in the onlookers. LZ commissionned the tracker from WY in a secret identity.

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6. Hello there! I'm looking for this particular fic where wangxian and juniors are out on a nighthunt and they somehow end up needing to view each other's memories? I can't remember much else except that the memories are kind of random and there's a lot of feelings!

FOUND? unhappy stories with happy endings by Last_for_Hell (M, 30k, WangXian, Memories, Memory Fic, Kinda, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, sexual content maybe, References to Torture, PTSD, Characters Watching Their Series, kinda, but not entirely, very light consensual non-consent)

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7. Two things for fic finder! 🐇🖤💙

A) a threadfic on the ex-bird app where JL was poking around in Koi Tower and ended up finding WWX in a room where the only(?) access point was a grate in the ceiling. It maybe took a while but eventually they got JC involved.

B) modern AU where LXC misunderstands WWX and drives him to cancel his plans to spend Xmas(? or some holiday anyway) with LWJ. WWX gives LWJ a star lantern as a gift, which makes the Lan bros reassess the situation and LXC (rightly) feels like an ass and promptly pivots to "I have a second didi now". @linderel

7A)

FOUND! Thread fic by greenteafiend1

7B)

FOUND!🔒 in any universe, you by sundiscus (M, 12k, WangXian, multiple AUs, summary and tags specified in each chapter!) It's the first of four shorts in one collection.

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8. For the next fic finder, can you help me find this fic where, after siege, wwx is apprehended and sent to the nie sect. His lips are sewn shut with a version of the lan silencing spell. Golden core reveal bc he couldn't eat and had no core to practice inedia. @akweenbitch

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9. Hello! I created an account on Tumblr just to ask this. I need help finding a fic. It's canon divergence, post bloodbath of Nightless City. I don't remember well the beginning but Lan Wangji rescues Wei Wuxian and they escape, at some point they find a cottage in the forest(?) and it's near a village. Wei Wuxian stays in the cottage and Lan Wangji goes out to work with the villagers and get food. There's even a scene when he brings rabbit meat for Wei Wuxian but he didn't hunt it, the villagers gave it to him. There's another scene when LWJ hadn't returned home and it was getting late, WWX decides to go out and search for him, it was raining, they meet in the middle and kiss, they end up making love in their cottage. I remember that towards the end LXC found them and WWX goes to Cloud Recesses with LWJ. Please, I'm kind of desperate because I really loved the fic but I can't find it anymore. I appreciate your help.

FOUND? Hyperprosexia by malkinmalkout (E, 192k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Sentinels & Guides, Sentinel WWX, Guide LWJ, Empath LWJ, Slow Burn, Rivals to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, WWX POV, LWJ POV, Tags Contain Spoilers, Telepathy, Marriage, outsider pov, they have a kid, Telepathic Sex, Rough Sex, public exhibition, breath play, Rimming)

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10. Hi! Thank you all for your hard work 💕 for the next ficfinder I am looking for a wangxian Fic, I believe modern au, wwx gets shot near the end, and I think the setting is like a tower in the forest maybe? Has a happy ending. Sorry this is so vague. @vi-sky

FOUND? ❤️ start getting real by azurewaxwing (T, 21k, wangxian, Modern with Magic, Reality TV, POV Outsider, Golden Core Reveal, (sort of), Appropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Silencing Spell, Getting Together) Did a deep dive into my read history because I had a vague recollection, came up with a possible match for #10. Checks off the boxes for "modern" and "tower in a forest" but can't remember if WWX got shot at any point.

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11. Hi, for Fic Finders but also for I'm in the mood for. I'm looking for a story where Yu Ziyuan died early in the story, her maids end up working in the laundry for the sect 'cause is the only way they can remain so they can watch over Yanli and Jiang Cheng. Wei Ying is there but he's not a disciple. @monicaop21 ~snipped to an ITMF ~Mod L

FOUND! see all the colors in disguise by Stratisphyre (G, 3k, Canon Divergence, Pre-Relationship, genius WWX)

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12. helloo! i remember a fic about how wwx lied to his friends about having a crush on lwj just to get them off his back, and then lwj overheard. lwj then proceeds to try woo wwx (?) i think by saying hi to him more and making him food i believe, and wwx is questioning why lwj is acting so weird + starts to actually develop a crush on him for reals. thankyou @f1sh1ng4gl0ry

FOUND? it’s just (aah) a little crush (crush!) by sweetlolixo (T, 9k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Romance, Fluff, Pining LWJ, Humor, Courting Rituals, Teen Wangxian)

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13. Hello there is a fic and I remember that it was wwx and lwj as secret agents and there was a short scene where wwx faked his death (it wasn't a major part of the plot) and lwj was crying and wwx is never allowed to fake his death for a mission again

FOUND? 🧡 some life yet unspent by Fahye (E, 28k, WangXian, Background XiYao, Spy AU, Modern AU, 007 LWJ, Q WWX, Fluff and angst, Mutual pining, Injuries, Canon typical violence)

FOUND? where angels fear to tread by besanii (T, 3k, WangXian, James Bond Fusion, Spies & Secret Agents, Reconciliation, Presumed Dead, Quartermaster LWJ, Double-Oh WWX)

FOUND? a bite of a vow, a taste of the truth by occultings (microcomets) (E, 29k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Case Fic, It's For a Case, Work partners, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kissing, Pining While Fake Fucking, Truth Serum, Whump, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Voyeurism, Monsters, Succubi & Incubi, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Barebacking, Happy Ending, medically discouraged anal, Brief Subspace, impressive heights of soap opera plot) has a brief flashback to wwx faking his death on a case. It's a modern with magic AU where they're cultivation partners for work, rather than secret agents, but it might still fit?

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14. Hi. I am looking for a wangxian fanfic on ao3 where lan zhan has a secret room in jingshi. Wei ying finds out that it is filled with various items and lan zhan confesses that throughout the years of wei ying's death he has been buying things which he thought wei ying would like. Lan zhan then thinks that wei ying would be weirded out by it. I guess they confess their love to each other after that (not sure about this part)

It is definitely less than 100k words. Thank you. @obsessingly-distracted

FOUND? rather cruelly used and rather reserved by x_los (M, 13k, wangxian, sugar daddy (slightly), case fic, domestic horror, architectural horror, gift giving, happy ending, getting together, confessions)

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15. Hi, I'm searching for this fic I read a long time ago. In the fic, Wei Wuxian adopted Xue Yang and Lan Yuan. There was one specific scene where Jiang Cheng hurt Lan Yuan and Xue Yang because they bumped into him. Then Wei Wuxian tried to protect them and got hurt instead. Lan Zhan got angry and demand a duel with Jiang Cheng. During the duel, Lan Zhan gave Jiang Cheng a pill and applied some talisman on him to destroy his core. That's all I remember. Thanks in advance! @moo-oos

FOUND? Not This Time by Marinelifeclub (M, 93k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Angst, Dark LWJ, Protective LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Resentful WWX, Established Relationship, POV Alternating, Sunshot Campaign, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Minor XuanLi, not for jc fans, eventual 3zun, Kid Fic)

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16. theres this fic where jiang yanli kills jin guangshan after he tries to assault her and madam jin covers it up even tho a lot of people saw her do it, and it results in jin zixuan legitimizing jin guangyao and they get closer! jin guangyao calls jin zixuan "xiongzhang" and its rlly heartwarming. but by the end of it jin guangyao ends up getting stuck in a mine and it takes the combined efforts of lxc, jc, lwj, and wwx for him to get freed. before that, the jiang sibs all take down jin zixun and yeah its a great fic but i forgot the title ;w;

FOUND! Aftermath by KouriArashi (T, 57k, JYL/JZX, wangxian, LXC/JGY, JZX & JGY, JYL & WXX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Romance, Developing Relationship, Family, Sibling Bonding, Light Angst, Politics, Attempted Sexual Assault, some murder on occasion, People talking about their feelings, processing their trauma, The good shit)

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17. hi there! i've been struggling to find a fic that i've read a few times before. i thought i bookmarked it but i simply can't seem to locate it. it was a canon divergence where wen ning gives his golden core to jiang cheng after wen qing finds out wei wuxian is expecting. the wen clan survives in this au, too!

FOUND? 🧡 Don't Wanna Fall by nekojita (M, 111k, WangXian, Mpreg, A/B/O, Fix-it, Lots of pining, Angst with a happy ending, Canon Divergence, Child thief WN)

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18. Hi! Thank you for the work you do, I’ve found some great fics through you 🙂 I’m trying to find a fic some a previous “I’m in the mood for” that I lost when the tab closed by mistake. In it, Jiang Cheng marries off Wei Wuxian to the Lans, Wangxian fuck and Wei Wuxian goes bamf by putting the Elders in their place. That’s as far as I got. Please help 🥹Thank you. @starrie-amethyst

FOUND? Practical Considerations by teawater, the_anthropologist (E, 97k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Spouses to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Politics, Scheming, Lán Elders are assholes, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, eventually BAMF LXC, learning to make decisions, Learning Self-worth, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet Wangxian, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, JC is a big asshole, he improves somewhat but it’s open-ended, WWX learns to stand up for himself, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, POV wwx, POV LWJ, POV JC, Golden Core Reveal, Teacher wwx, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Protection Squad, Feelings Realization, WWX protector of the twin jades, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Protective LQR, Demonic Cultivator WWX, WWX is Loved, Married WangXian, Genius WWX, Everybody Lives)

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19. Hello! Thank you for all the work you do!! For fic finder, there’s a fic I read earlier this year that I can’t find in my history. It was a case fic, I *think* modern with magic but I wouldn’t stake my life on it, where even though wwx and lwj were estranged, they accidentally end up on the same night hunt (the juniors are there, lwj is supervising them I think). They get trapped in a rundown manor by the resident spirit, who turns out to be a jilted bride, who trapped them bc it turns out that shortly before wwx’s disappearance, he and lwj slept together, and the ghost is projecting onto them, so they get shotgun married to please the ghost

FOUND! Back to Bite One by diamondbruise (E, 21k, wangxian, modern w cultivation, past sex pollen, case fic, forced marriage technically, misunderstandings, happy ending)

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20. Hi! I'm looking for a transmigration fic! It starts with someone being shoved into the body of someone in a western sect, like a weird parody of SVSSS, the main character is on the scholar peak, and moonlights as a healer, but has to cross-dress for it (because healing is feminine there?). He knows the book he's in, and hates it because just like Luo Binghe, the stallion main character has so many red flags, and his little sister is like Ning YingYing, and doomed to be the little sister/first wife trope of the insane main character, and he's doomed to be killed by his older brothers (because toxic masculinity?) so that his little sister has a sad back story and reason for revenge. He takes his little sister and they run away to the East, where they decide which sect to join, and settle on Yunmeng Jiang. Their entrance exam has them fight Wei Wuxian, and Madame Yu crashes the party and fights them all, and accepts them into the sect. Then they have a chapter where they fix up a house for them and the main character freaks out about the sad library there (because humidity) and plans to go on a spree, and the Jiang are not displeased to have a scholar that wants to make their library great. It wasn't finished, I think. @constellationcorrelation

FOUND?🔒 Live (I've only been dreaming) by Araceil (M, 33k, WIP, (Onesided) OMC\OMC, WangXian, WN/OFC, LXC\OMC, Isekai, Transmigratation, Classic Tropes, subverting tropes, Past Child Abuse, PTSD, touch starvation, Touch Aversion, Depression, Anxiety, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, Gore, Undead, world building, Yandere Male Character (Not the SIOMC), Obsessive Behaviour, Canon Typical Misogyny, (that also gets called out), MDZS Canon is Derailed, Madam Yu's A+ Parenting, OMC & OFC Siblings, oblivious OMC, JYL finally gets a little sister, JYL Protection Squad, Chapter Specific Warnings Inside) It's really good, it's a shame it doesn't look like they are continuing it.

~*~

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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snowfieldstories · 1 month ago

Text

In Life and Death [Chapter 8]

Kim Dokja x Reader/Original female character

<< Series masterlist

A/N: 6.5k?? this is so long, what the hell (ᵕ•_•)

Warnings: strong language

Summary:

In which a reader finds herself tossed into the pages of her favorite web novel after her untimely death. A novel of a novel within reality. It's a reader's dream, right? Well, this reader vows to bring the right epilogue to her beloved character, Kim Dokja. She will give him the happiest of endings. Or she will die trying.

⚠️MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ORV WEB NOVEL AND MANHWA!!!!⚠️

(lol this gif is Yeona, probably, every time she's knocked unconscious)

Episode V. Chapter 8 — Reapers and Revelations

It happened suspiciously often in the last round, too.

Maybe my neck was devastatingly attractive. Maybe there was an invisible sign on it that read, free choking practice, here! Or I emitted some kind of crazed pheromone that drew people's fingers like a moth to flame, because there were one too many people I'd met that had tried to drain the life out of me that way. And it had all started with that bastard serial killer that strangled and knifed me to death in my first life…the source of this "curse," I suppose. It was amazing that I didn't yet have a complex.

These were the lovely thoughts that greeted me when I finally came to.

The next thing I noticed, however, was the strong hand cradling my shoulder and the other one tangled in my hair. My head was on a semi-fleshy pillow, and another body seemed to be wrapped around my torso. A buzzing sensation drew my attention to the third pressure on my left leg.

When I could open my eyes, I was looking up Kim Dokja's nose. His mouth was slightly ajar and I spotted a hint of drool in the corner. It was oddly endearing.

A wheezing noise escaped my throat, unable to laugh properly, and the sound instantly jolted him from his slumber. "Yeona—!"

It startled the other two, and soon Gilyoung was releasing my midsection and crawling closer to my face to check for himself that my eyes were open. His own eyes were puffy, reddened, and growing more wet by the second. A white head of hair informed me that it was Namwoon who now clutched my ankles like they were a lifeline. Alright, it's a bit weird that he’s hovering by my feet…and grabbing them…but I guess nowhere else was free?

"Are you okay?? Does it hurt bad? Do you need anything?" Gilyoung peppered me with shaky questions. His tears dripped onto my chest.

Dokja squeezed me gently and commanded, "Don’t speak. Gilyoung-ah, she needs to heal her throat first before she can talk."

Gilyoung immediately looked crestfallen, and I cupped his cheek, trying to convey my appreciation as best I could. When his expression remained, I rasped, "Don’t mind."

There was a hard flick to my head. "I said don't speak."

I stuck out my tongue at Dokja in response. For a second, I thought he would continue the playfulness, but then his gaze dipped to my neck, and a sharp pain took over his face. There was a haunted look in his eyes before they shut.

His fingers combed through my hair. It made me sigh.

He's here, I thought. Dokja's presence alone was soothing enough.

I was surprised at how distressed he seemed. Not that I didn't think he cared for me, but perhaps not to this extent. It felt nice, to mean something to Kim Dokja.

In all honesty, as someone who wasn't and probably couldn't become a character in his mind, I was afraid that he might never grow to care for me like he did them. (To be known and loved by Kim Dokja is one of the greatest feelings in life, second only to loving him in return.)

That pained expression was still on his face.

Dokja had removed the tactical vest, so I placed a hand over his heart. It was racing in his chest.

When he finally looked at me again, I mouthed, "I'm okay."

Dokja only looked back at me, and said bitterly, "I would have slit his throat myself."

His words caused me to shake my head profusely in alarm (and goddamn did that small action hurt). Dokja could not jeopardize the 'King of No Killing' attribute, and certainly not for me.

He ignored my panicked disagreement and leaned his head back against the wall. "Rest, Yeona," he said in a tight voice.

I shook my head again, wanting to continue the very much one-sided discussion, but Dokja asked Gilyoung to grab me another blanket and Namwoon a water. Once they left, he moved a hand to my waist, and shifted me more comfortably on the ground.

I tugged on his shirt to bring his attention back to the previous matter.

Instead, there was a silence; it consisted of me looking at Dokja, while Dokja stared up at the ceiling.

"You almost died."

"Yeah?" I rasped. It was the truth. I wasn't sure why he was bringing it up.

Dokja pressed his lips together, still not meeting my gaze. "Nothing. I'm just...realizing something."

I hoped he would say more, but he didn't seem inclined to share.

I was still exhausted, my body put through the wringer, so I let myself drift off. I felt Namwoon or Gilyoung shift around, and a blanket was draped over me. Dokja's hand stroked my hair; I fell back asleep rather quickly at that.

Kim Dokja should not have still been there when I later awoke.

He helped me sit up against the wall, leaning on him, he fed me a healing potion for my throat, and he warned me not to talk or strain it too much. But I was able to whisper, so I immediately grabbed his sleeve and said, "You shouldn't be here."

I winced. Those four words hurt like a bitch.

And by the look on his face, Dokja knew it. He eased my hand off. "Why not?"

"Prophets."

His expression went carefully blank. "I do need to attend the prophets' meeting tonight. But there's plenty of time before then."

Then he told me about the capture of Dongmyo, and the rough information he'd been given about the prophets so far. It registered that I was still clutching on to his hand like a lovesick schoolgirl, so I pulled it back into my lap. Something flickered across his face when I did.

My lungs or ribcage must have been bruised as well, because they ached with every slow breath I took.

At one point, Heewon and Hyunsung returned with Dongmyo people in tow, and Dokja excused himself to speak with them.

Gilyoung and Namwoon had disappeared, but now Sangah came over to me. Her entire aura felt depressed as she bowed her head low.

"Choi Yeona-ssi." I frowned at the over-formality. "P—please forgive me for allowing this to happen to you. I failed you as Vice Representative, and as a friend; I should have been paying more attention, I should have protected you better—"

Her words were overcome with emotion and jammed up, so I held her hands, shaking my head rapidly.

"No," I said hoarsely. "His fault. Not yours."

I squeezed her hands more insistently until she looked up.

"You saved me." I mimed something wrapping around my throat and pulling back. "Thread."

Sangah understood what I was saying, but the shadow over her face remained.

I tried again. "Not yours."

"Okay," she said quietly.

My throat had strained from the effort, and Sangah eased into a one-sided conversation with me, filling me in on what had happened after I fell unconscious all the way up to Dokja's arrival. I could tell it quelled her mind a bit to talk about something else, so I let it go for now. Speaking of Dokja's arrival....

How on earth did he get here so quickly?

Sangah told me how they had been desperately waiting to send a message through Midday Tryst at the first hint of daylight, but then, suddenly—amidst the ruckus that had overtaken Chungmuro in the wake of an attempted homicide—Kim Dokja was there, next to me in an instant.

It was admirable, if suspicious.

"I've never seen such a terrible expression on his face, Yeona-ssi, he was so angry—"

Dokja wandered back over towards us, and Sangah mumbled something and meekly bowed out. I watched her go, unhappy that she still clearly felt guilty over what had happened. I didn't like the idea of her burying those feelings without addressing them properly.

Then my eyes slid back to Dokja, messing with his phone next to me.

How on earth did he get here so quickly??

My throat ached. In a flash of inspired brilliance, I pulled out my smartphone. I quickly typed my question and showed Dokja.

He frowned. "It's blank."

Well, that was inconvenient. But also...he couldn't read my Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint copy. Perhaps that made me the being with the most superior knowledge in this world?

I tapped my screen, and Dokja got the hint, offering me his phone. The question was once again typed in the notes app.

"Ah," said Dokja after he read it. He looked at me oddly. "You have that ring?"

I nodded, perplexed, and held up my hand for him to see.

"...You're wearing it." Dokja's voice sounded equally strange, almost thick, as he stared at my hand.

It's a beautiful ring...of course I'm wearing it, you fool. I gave him a look, trying to convey this sentiment.

He swallowed. "I used it."

"What?" My shocked voice came out loud and scratched. Dokja narrowed his eyes, and I mouthed a "sorry."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "I used the rings."

The plural word choice was not lost on me. Dokja brought his hand in front of my face, and my heart did something funny against my ribcage.

"I'm glad you kept it." A sort of resolve seemed to grow stronger within Dokja. "It's a unique and powerful relic, even as a copy. The original star relic would be even better...actually, I was surprised to find them..."

As he spoke, I couldn't peel my eyes away from a ring I had failed to notice before, now on Dokja's index finger.

"They're a pair."

Though his was instead a translucent, honey-yellow, the intricate design detailed with gold proved that it was a matching set with the band on my own finger. His glimmered in an ethereal sort of way.

It looks like my sacred light, I thought dimly. And then...Holy SHIT, we have matching rings. Whatthefuck, whatthefuck, whatthefuck—

My body had to be on fire, with how insane my flush felt.

[You have activated the skill 'Rationality Lv. 9.']

When my stalled brain was finally kickstarted again, I remembered to whisper as I asked, "W—what movie?"

"They aren't from a movie."

"But, the prop room...?"

"To be precise—the book they were featured in wasn't made into a movie. But other books in that series were." Dokja nodded at my ring. "I suppose they can still exist because their story is told."

I took a long sip of water. "What do they do exactly?"

It was Dokja's turn to look flustered. "They...transfer. Teleportation rings. You touch one, picture the other in your mind, and it takes you there."

That was handy.

"There's a twenty-four hour cooldown, though. So we need to use them wisely." That made me frown, and Dokja cut off my budding protest. "This was absolutely a situation worth using them for."

His tone was fierce and uncompromising; this was not a matter that could be argued (and really, why would I argue against Kim Dokja coming to my aid like a heroic prince?). My chest warmed.

"Dokja," I murmured. He startled at my hand curling around his. "Thank you."

Dokja nodded, and his ears were pink.

Before I let go, I looked down at our joined hands—two rings, one green and one yellow. Both with a similar source material, with the same purpose.

Different, yet the same.

The rings, and my thoughts and feelings surrounding them, weren't something I wished to tackle at the moment, so I finally clicked open the Star Stream notice of my many missed messages.

For the most part, I scrolled aimlessly. A few stood out:

[The constellation 'Prisoner of the Golden Headband' bites his nails over your condition.]

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is sobbing.]

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' demands that you open your eyes!]

[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' has sent your child a special blanket to comfort him until you wake.]

I pinched at the blanket Gilyoung had laid down over my body. It was incredibly warm and soft, with a thick, cotton-gauze material like a baby blanket. There were even cute little embroidered flowers and deer dotted across. The gift was so thoughtful, that I decided to ignore the fact that I did not have a child.

To the air, I whispered my thanks so that Persephone might hear it.

Surprisingly, neither Secretive Plotter nor my sponsor had sent me anything. My heart sank in disappointment at the latter. I had hoped Mother might acknowledge me after that initial message she'd sent during the attack, but perhaps it was still not her time to rise from the shadows.

I pushed away the disappointment for another day.

[The constellation 'God's Lone Soul Courier' hears your soul cry out and listens.]

This was who interested me the most. And for the first time, I would address him.

"Dokja," I said. There was something I had remembered earlier that would simultaneously give me the privacy to speak with this constellation. "Do you have a way of getting hot water? To drink?"

Dokja thought for a minute. "I can find some. Wait here."

I watched him leave. Kim Dokja was good—he was so good.

Sangah had hinted how he took such incredible care of me while I was unconscious: cleaning me of gore and grime, having her get me fresh clothes, watching over me most of the night...

It was very easy to love Kim Dokja.

I forced my attention away from that feeling, only so I didn't start endlessly gushing about his amazing qualities in my mind.

With a deep breath, I looked vaguely upwards and spoke as politely as possible. "O, Angel of Death, God's helper and lone soul courier. Azrael."

The myth-grade constellation of Heaven, Azrael. He was a psychopomp, a being responsible for carrying the souls of people to and from Earth. In the last round, I'd searched for his origin in the remnants of a city library after viewing his modifier for the first time. Sometimes he was depicted as an archangel, but not always; his true alignment was a bit vague, but the modifier led me to believe that he wasn't a part of Eden. Perhaps that would work in my favor.

[The constellation 'God's Lone Soul Courier' looks at you.]

Now that I had his full attention, I was unsure of myself. It made me nervous...though he was said to be benevolent, he was still, at his core, a constellation.

[The constellation 'God's Lone Soul Courier' tastes the lingering strain on your soul.]

...Um, okay.

[The constellation 'God's Lone Soul Courier' acknowledges the unique strength of your soul.]

This guy wasn't an edgy chuuni like the Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, was he?

"I'm curious why you noticed me," I asked cautiously. "I already have a sponsor, and, well, the whole 'angel of death' name that people call me is more of a joke, really..."

[The constellation 'God's Lone Soul Courier' is aware of your sponsor.]

"Then, do you require something of me?"

There was a long pause. My eyes shot open wide at the series of messages that followed.

[The constellation 'God's Lone Soul Courier' offers you temporary access to purchase an exclusive buy.]

[Dokkaebi Bag — Diamond member item: 'Shinigami Eyes'.]

[Buy for 10,000,000 coins?]

I knew what sort of item this was. Of course, I couldn't afford such a purchase, but another option below the "buy" button caught my attention.

[Rent for 10,000 coins/day?]

There were two days left of reaping for the hidden scenario.

Twenty-thousand coins to make my burden lighter and life continue living? Easy decision. I had a modest stash of coins accumulated already, and I wasn't too consumed by the need to hoard them just yet.

[You are renting 'Shinigami Eyes' for two days!]

[Activating 'Shinigami Eyes' now.]

There was a strange sensation, like my eyes were burning with flames of ice. It didn't hurt, but the knowledge that something inhuman had taken over part of my body was rather uncanny. I tested them out, surveying the room.

And I could see.

Names. Names floated above every person's head like liquid rubies, and just below them were series of numbers. On most people, the number was rigid. An uncompromising fate. But on others, the numbers were hazy, fluid, as if the universe couldn't quite decide how much longer it cared to allow that person's existence.

"Thank you, Courier of Souls, Azrael. You honor me," I said, still dazed. This was truly a charitable gift of opportunity from a constellation. Unreasonably so.

There was no reply.

Why did he help me? No matter how hard I thought, I couldn't come up with an answer. The true Angel of Death was rather mysterious.

"Yeona, I've got it here."

To fight the instinctual urge to look at Kim Dokja, I slapped my palms over my eyes. He set something down beside me, a hot water flask, and asked after me worriedly.

"Just, um...a headache," I said. "Sorry, could you grab my backpack, too?"

I felt him hold it out, so I grabbed it and ducked my head down to rifle through the meager items still left; I needed to find a suitable replacement soon. "Thank you, Dokja."

Dokja still lingered near me, so I busied myself by finding the box of tea I'd remembered earlier. I took out a teabag and fumbled for the flask. Dokja made a noise in recognition. "You still have that."

"Now is the perfect time to drink it."

The honey notes in the hot oolong soothed my throat, and I greedily gulped down the liquid despite the scald.

Then I closed my eyes with a sigh. "I'm going to rest a bit."

Dokja eventually shuffled away, and only then did I dare to open my eyes again. I knew I would have to look at him eventually; it was unavoidable.

It happened when I went to use the toilet.

Walking out, my mind was preoccupied with the gruesome coloring of my neck I'd seen in the mirror. I turned my head, too sharply, and accidentally set my shinigami eyes upon Kim Dokja.

Below his name was a blurred line.

My breath caught in my throat. Did it mean he never dies...as the Oldest Dream? Or, that his fate was undecided?

I was terrified of either truth.

But viewing his information had gotten me past my anxiousness, and I relaxed around him once more. It empowered me to look at our companions, too, and I was pushed further into relief after determining their extended lifespans, ending only at normal, old ages.

Dokja soon gathered everyone in the main area for a much needed discussion.

"R—representative-nim," said someone. "What will we do about the Reaper situation?"

Dokja's gaze was cold as he stared back at the crowd. "Someone was almost murdered."

Someone actually was murdered. It just...wasn't me. Other people seemed to have the same idea, as there was a restlessness in the air.

I stepped in front of everyone, mainly to shield them from Dokja's ire, and because I had made a decision in the time since I regained consciousness.

"I am the Reaper." There was a range of expressions—from horror, to apprehension, to sympathy—as I spoke. I saw many eyes stuck on the markings on my neck; my suffering was on full display for them to see. It was also a rather effective silencer. "That guy tried to strangle me to death. But he was wrong...I don't want to kill any of you. I also don't want to die either. Remember—I don't know your names, so I can't use them. And I really don't want to."

Yeah, I was a liar. If I were truly desperate, I would have no issue using any of their names with my god-like vision.

Dokja eyed me critically, probably unhappy that I had spoken for so long in my state, but then addressed the group. "Well?"

There was a murmur of assent. It seemed the general reaction was positive, leaning in my favor. At least, no one spoke out against me.

Everyone broke away to return to...whatever the hell they did while our group fought for the station on their behalf.

I sipped the tea, and caught Dokja glancing at my neck.

The sight of my throat was truly sickening, and hardly any of my companions could bear to look at me for too long. Every time I caught Gilyoung staring at me, he seemed as if he might cry; Sangah was almost forcing herself to look at it, as if punishing herself; Heewon and Hyunsung grimaced and winced. Dokja's face creased with anger whenever he thought I wasn't paying attention.

I purchased a bandage roll from the Dokkaebi Bag and wrapped my neck. Namwoon helped, the only one who kept a hard, but neutral, expression around me.

"It's covered, angel-noona," he said with a firm nod.

"Thank you."

I touched the bandages. Already, my voice had become stronger. It still felt like a grater had been scraped along the inside of my throat, but I could manage a bit more.

Dokja came and handed me another healing potion. "This is the last one for today," he said with a slight scowl. "I don't want you to overdose."

Can you really OD on magic potions...? But I drank it anyways.

Dokja had to prepare for the Night of the Prophets, and, though I hadn't told him yet, I would accompany them.

With the unfortunate hidden scenario, I wasn't given a chance to go above ground and check on the disaster egg. I needed to ensure that it was in place tonight...or somehow devise a new way to eliminate the threat before it could develop into something stronger.

A fully-formed dragon was not on my agenda.

I went to Dokja. "I'm going, too."

"No." Dokja's rebuke was swift and firm. He kept scanning the text on his phone, as if something might clue him in to the variable of fake-prophets.

"I can move. My skills still work." His eyebrows pinched together. "And I shouldn't stay here...my presence unsettles the newer station members. Reaper, remember?"

At that, Dokja paused and looked up. His eyes widened, darting around the calm station, and he exhaled quickly. "Alright. You're coming with us."

I blinked. That was much easier than I'd expec—

"But you're staying in the back. Lee Hyunsung will guard you."

My mouth popped open, ready to argue that I didn't need a babysitter, but Dokja was walking off, his decision final.

Rude.

A shiny item at my feet snagged my attention away. I picked up a hundred won coin, number face up, and turned it over in my fingers.

[You have gained +5 luck! Account balance: 552/1000]

Hang on...five hundred and fifty-two? And my balance limit had jumped to a thousand?!

I quickly opened my account history.

[You have activated the skill 'Bank of Lady Fortune.']

< Checking account — 'Choi Yeona' > Balance: 552/1000 luck Recent activity: • Heads up coin +5 • Evading death +500 • (Withdrawal) -50 • Falling ant +1 ...Expand to continue recent history? Transfer activity: (None) * Balance limit change; last increased to 1000 luck (Issuer — 'Mother of Divine Desire')

"Mother..." I breathed out.

Perhaps she was still looking out for me after all. Silent—and subtle—but it was exactly her style.

I smiled to myself and closed out the windows.

That transfer activity section...I had forgotten about the 'Wire Transfer' skill in my inventory (to be fair, I was a bit preoccupied with nonstop madness since the start of the scenarios). I made a mental note to test it out next time I had a moment to spare.

Heewon came over to check in with me and chat. I was eager to speak with her since I hadn't had much chance to so far; plus, she wasn't treating me like I was fragile or damaged goods. Not that I hated when the others did that, but it did get a bit tiresome after a while.

Hyunsung eventually joined us, then Sangah...then Gilyoung...and Namwoon...until pretty soon, everyone was together.

It was nice to talk casually with my companions. There were so few opportunities for lightheartedness these days.

Dokja reappeared, a mask in his hands, and frowned when he saw me.

"You should be taking it easy," he said, but it wasn't very forceful. "Your throat."

"I'm doing much better after your gift." I wiggled the thermos in my hand with a smile.

Dokja huffed, as if that wasn't a good enough reason, but I caught the reddening of his ears as he turned his head away. He began to fiddle with the mask in his hands.

The others had broken out into smaller conversations, so I edged closer, peering over his arm. "A mask?"

"The 'Fugitive's Mask'. It changes your appearance at will," he explained, his back to me as he messed with the mask and his hair.

Ah, that's right. And, in the novel, Dokja used this mask to turn into...

When he turned around again, his face had morphed into Yoo Joonghyuk. Seeing the regressor grin down at me like that sent cold goosebumps prickling up my neck.

"What do you think? Handsome?" Dokja's questions felt loaded, a verbal minefield designed to trap me somehow; I sensed he would grow huffy with me all over again if I agreed.

And if I disagreed, then I was, quite simply, a liar. (Which I was, but I didn't like to lie to Kim Dokja if I could help it.)

"You look like a sunfish bastard."

My response seemed to please him greatly, as he nodded. "The biggest."

"You know what a face like that makes me want to do?" I leaned in closer, and his smug smile dropped at once. "It makes me feel...really feel like..."

A strained expression pulled tight at Dokja's face. He opened his mouth to say something, but I grabbed his jaw. "...Bashing it with my fist. Repeatedly."

Dokja paused. Then he laughed.

"Good thing it's not my real one, right?" Dokja batted ridiculously long lashes at me, and I was struck by the thought that no man should have eyelashes that pretty. Are Yoo Joonghyuk's really like that, or is it all him?

I stared at Dokja a few moments longer, before pushing his—or rather, Joonghyuk's—face away. "Lucky you," I said.

Ever since the Theater Dungeon, something easy and natural, almost...playful had settled between us. Like a layer of uncertainty had been wiped clean. Before, there was a sort of distance, an aloofness, that I hadn't grasped was there until it was gone. Now, I felt like one of his true companions. I couldn't pinpoint the cause, but I was delighted at the shift.

Soon, we were ready to depart for Anguk station. The Night of the Prophets was upon us.

Gilyoung tugged me down to whisper in my ear before we left.

"Noona, please protect yourself," he said, looking at Dokja, who was conversing with Hyunsung. "Hyung was really, really upset when you got hurt."

I smoothed down his hair. Gilyoung, too, had been upset, and I could see it in his eyes that this request was just as much for himself as it was for Dokja. "I will."

And, speaking of upset...

Namwoon stood apart, arms crossed as he stared at me. I straightened to put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

His jaw clenched. "Just come back. In one piece."

I ordered him to remain here in Chungmuro. He had argued with me, pleaded, and grown furious, but it wasn't something I could explain without revealing my foreknowledge of the world. Namwoon had fended off enemies in protection of this very disaster once already; it would be too much to ask for him to fight against it now.

A dragon-boy was not meant to kill other dragons.

More than that...the apostles would attack Chungmuro. Though it felt like a betrayal to do so, I couldn't stay here to fight with these people. There was more at stake where Dokja was headed. I hoped Kim Namwoon might offset any weakness they lacked in our absence, at least until a certain student and master could arrive.

We started for Angkuk.

In the back, I looked at Hyunsung next to me and scoffed. I'm stronger than you, buddy. He saw me watching and smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, Choi Yeona-ssi. I've got you."

The rebuke was on the tip of my tongue. But he only meant to be kind, and...perhaps rightfully...protective, so I didn't say anything.

"Thank you, Hyunsung-ssi," I said with a nod.

In fact, I hadn't spoken much with Lee Hyunsung in this turn. I felt a bit awkward beside him the whole way there.

The two fake-prophets of Dongmyo explained the situation to Dokja up ahead. We entered the station, and immediately, everyone gathered around us. Hyunsung's face was red as a huddle of girls reached out for his muscles. Thankfully, everyone was too wary of "Yoo Joonghyuk" to bother Dokja in the same way, though I kept a close eye on the few that sported blushes as they watched him.

Chatter quickly filled the room.

"Lee...Jihye?" mumbled an older guy, looking between me and Heewon. "Or Lee Jihye?"

"They're not young enough," said another. "Eugh, I hate the old ones."

Uh—excuse me?!

My pure disgust was reflected in Heewon's expression, and her hand flew to her sword handle. I stopped her. I felt a vicious streak of satisfaction at the numbers under their names (along with the lifespan of every other "prophet" in the room); these degenerates would soon be wiped from existence by the dragon's flames. And if they weren't, then I would make sure of it.

"...Is that a meteorite?"

I spun around. Dokja was in front of a giant, red rock. The sight made me sigh in relief. I'm relieved over a disastrous dragon about to hatch and kill nearly everyone here. I'm such a saint, I thought wryly.

"'Revelations' says that this will hatch into a star relic, Yoo Joonghyuk-nim. We've been supplying it with mana, so it should happen tonight."

Dokja was alarmed and began demanding to meet the person that orchestrated this. He then turned to us. "We have to leave. Right now."

Rumble! Rumble! Ruuumble!

"Shit," gasped Dokja. Constellation messages burst in the air.

[The omen of the fifth main scenario has manifested.]

One of the two Jihye-lovers leaned in, peering into the glowing fissure in the stone.

"Huh? What does it mean, 'fifth main—'"

His body dropped to the floor like a broken doll, his head blasted away.

[The 5th grade fire dragon species, 'Lesser Dragon Igneel' has appeared!]

An intermediate dokkaebi arrived to asses the situation, and then decided to leave it be. Our new hidden scenario message popped up.

Heewon looked at it darkly. "...Another damn hidden scenario."

Twenty minutes to survive.

Dokja shouted for everyone to run counterclockwise, and I took advantage of the chaos to break away from Hyunsung and find—

Aha. There. A hidden platform just for one.

[The exclusive skill, 'Sacred Light Lv. 6' is activated.]

I stabbed the woman standing on it in the back. She should have activated the shield when she had the chance.

Now behind a shield, I could take the brief minute to make out the other five in our party surrounding a platform for four, before Dokja was called over to another.

His panicked eyes found mine. I turned away, not wanting him to do anything un-Joonghyuk-like in his current disguise.

When the shield dropped and the dragon resumed its rampage, I sought out one of the apostles skulking in the room. The man that Dokja was speaking with, the fifth apostle, as I recalled, hadn't come alone. And they had something we needed.

One man stood on a new solo platform and watched "Yoo Joonghyuk" with great interest.

I tackled him, my sweat dripping onto his face as I loomed overhead. "Give me an ice pill."

"W—what? How do you..."

"Give me. An ice pill."

"Keuk!"

Ah, wait, they swallowed theirs, didn't they? I used my shinigami eyes to learn his name, punched it into the stupid-ass Reaper scenario box, and tossed his body into the inferno upon confirmation. Once the dragon passed, I pocketed the blue sphere left behind in the pile of ashes.

Dokja was still talking with the fifth apostle about "revelations" and such. The intermediate dokkaebi decreased the number of platforms, and I ran, dodging spurts of flames and molten lava as I searched for another. Damn it, where...?

"Yeona-ssi!"

Someone lifted me up and dragged me to a platform for three. "...Hyunsung-ssi?"

"Don't...leave...again," he panted, shirt and skin soaked with sweat. He looked rattled. "Stay with me. Please."

"Let us keep you safe, for once, Choi Yeona," said Heewon, determined. Then her eyes shifted to something over my shoulder and she jolted, yelling out, "Hey!"

--No matter what happens, you absolutely can't move from there. Understood?

It was Dokja. I knew where this message led, and I refused to turn around to watch. As if he knew my heart, Hyunsung drew me towards him, his large arm moving to shield my back. I heard the apostles' terror.

"Where are you going?! Come back here!"

"I don't fear death." God, how I wish he did. Even just a little.

"Stop, Yoo Joonghyuk!!"

"Catch him quickly!"

Roaar!

[The 5th grade fire dragon species, 'Lesser Dragon Igneel' is using the 'Flames of Destruction'.]

The dying screams of the apostles pierced the air as a wave of flames swept over them.

I gave a fleeting glance back, just in time to see Dokja place the flag into the flag holder. Then I buried my face in my hands.

Hyunsung cried out, a sound of pure agony, and Heewon shrieked, "Dokja-ssi, what on earth are you doing? Dodge it!"

"DOKJA-SSI!"

"What the...what? What?!"

Heewon was crying, and Hyunsung shook above me, moving to grip Heewon as well. I kept still as I attempted to steady my breathing. He would be alright, Dokja would come back...

The fear churning in my gut was nauseating.

When I finally gathered the courage to look at the flag holder, the feeling worsened. There was nothing left, save for some charred bits at the foot of the brick.

[You have activated, 'Rationality Lv. 9.']

"Just wait..." I murmured, the sound drowned out by crackling flames and screams of grief and horror.

"Choi Yeona!"

Heewon looked to me for comfort—or to comfort me, I wasn't sure. Perhaps both.

"It'll be fine," I said in a frayed voice. Heewon shot me a glare of disbelief.

"You really—"

"Can I have your robe?"

"What?"

I was probably risking my life by provoking Heewon like this, but it wasn't for no reason. I repeated my question, holding out a hand.

Maybe she chalked it up to my own supposed grief, because she handed it to me despite her angered expression. My eyes stuck fast to the spot in front of the flag holder. Waiting.

Waiting.

And then—

"Huh? D—Dokja-ssi?"

I sprinted forwards, catching only a glimpse of his bare back, his lean muscles as he turned our way, and then I was wrapping his naked body up in the robe and shoving him back onto a platform with a large "2" on it.

We toppled over. "Yeona?"

The 'Fugitive's Mask' had burned away, and the beautiful face of Kim Dokja looked up at me in shock. Relief washed over me as I stared into familiar, dark eyes. Those lashes weren't from Yoo Joonghyuk.

I had never desired to kiss Kim Dokja more than in that moment.

"I would say don't do that again, but..." My voice was wretched. The dragon roared behind us. "Come on."

I got off of him, helping him secure the robe, and then the platform shield sputtered out.

"Dokja-ssi!" shouted Heewon as her and Hyunsung ran towards us. "Oh, um..."

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' begrudgingly acknowledges 'Kim Dokja's' black flame dragon.]

Well...now I was rather curious. Unfortunately for Dokja, the robe could only cover so much as he moved. But I kept my eyes firmly on the disaster, Igneel—then I saw my opening.

I activated 'Fleet Foot' and dashed under the dragon's wing to snatch up Unbroken Faith and the representative's flag. Flames licked at my skin, singeing the hair on my arms. My companions yelled after me until I returned to their side.

"You two are trying to send us to an early grave," said Heewon furiously.

Hyunsung's hands were stretched out in the air, frozen. He looked from me to Dokja, like he was waiting for Dokja to reprimand him for doing a poor job; but Dokja only stared at me weirdly, taking the items from my hands.

Then we were all sprinting away as the dragon came towards us. Dokja ordered everyone to pick up the fallen ice pills.

After the next platform, I slapped one into Dokja's palm and said, "Take them all," and left to tell the others about the pills.

Soon enough, Dokja had swallowed them all and used the newly acquired 'Cold Resistance' to jump onto the dragon's back. He plunged Unbroken Faith into it, shattering its scales. There was a great and terrible roar. Dokja moved, slashing its Achilles tendon and more—when the dragon's tail flicked out.

[The exclusive skill, 'Sacred Light' has been activated.]

Its tail struck the shield of sacred light around Dokja and shattered it. He used the moment it was stunned to hurl his sword into its heart.

[The lesser dragon, Igneel, has been defeated for the first time!]

The dragon was now an ice sculpture. Dokja collected his sword and the dragon's core, and, before any of us could say anything, Jung Heewon lunged towards him with a loud smack!

"Ow?!" said Dokja. "My physical state is so bad, I might die if you hit me."

"You will live even if you are killed," she replied angrily.

"That isn't necessarily the case..."

The rest of us gathered around them, and Hyunsung started babbling, all teary, while the two Dongmyo people pelted Dokja with questions. I watched him.

As he responded, Dokja looked back at me. And something passed between us—a sense of reassurance, an ache of relief, but also something unknown, as if a one-way glass were being put up to hide it from me.

Then his attention was pulled away and the feeling vanished, leaving me confused. I didn't know what else to do...so I merely watched him.

Next part ->

A/N: Now the banter is ramping up! Let the flirtations and teasing touches ensue hehe

The teleportation rings are adapted from the rings in The Magician's Nephew by C. S. Lewis. I wanted a romantic-type, magical item and thought of these! I adored the Narnia series when I was little.

Also, Azrael in this story is a loosely-adapted mix of the Islamic and the Early Christian "Angel of Death" Azrael.

#omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #kim dokja #orv x reader #kim dokja x reader #orv fanfic #kim dokja x original character #omniscient reader novel #omniscient reader webtoon #orv fic #orv kdj #orv spoilers #snowfieldstories #In Life and Death

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wordsofelie · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 1

🎨In a sea of colours, we were black and white

Kuroo Tetsurou - 黒尾鉄朗 & Shirayagani Natsumi - 白柳夏臣

黒 (black) — 白 (white)

Summary: The best way to prevent a broken heart is to tame your feelings, keep them locked in a room. At least that is what Shirayanagi Natsumi thought. Until, she meets him; Kuroo Tetsurou. Good-looking. Tall. Kind. And she realises that a heart that longs, hurts more than a heart that breaks.

Content Warnings: manga spoilers, post time skip, alcohol consumption, smoking

Words count: 4.3k

Scientists say black is the absence of colours. Artists say it’s the only shade present in every colour. I say you are all of that—presence and absence, light and obscurity, shade and colour.

One of the most annoying tasks Shirayanagi Natsumi is assigned as the newly appointed athletic trainer of the Japan Women's Volleyball Team is to appear in a collaboration photoshoot with the coach and team members. She has always been used to being the tallest girl in her class, which is why in first grade, her mother had made a bet on your her path—it would be whether volleyball player or modelling—but because she hated to be in the spotlight (and perhaps because her father used to be the coach of the Japanese national team), she chose volleyball. But now, as she stands beside the athletes (and despite being 6’ tall), she feels extremely small. At least she managed to maintain her strength, thanks to her studies in sports science. I should have gone more to the gym, she thinks anyway.

When her coach broke the news that the sports promotion division of the Japan Volleyball Association wanted to include her in their campaign, she would have given anything to murder the obnoxious, stupid, sadist—and whatever adjective strong enough to express her hate—person in charge of that division. Her resentment didn’t ease when she heard her intern and assistant, Hina, gasped about how “lucky you are, senpai. Apparently, the man in charge of the division is a living god”. Good-looking, tall, a true gentleman—her words. It created some sort of disgust in her. In all honesty, it’s hard for her not to picture a stingy, middle-aged man who just wants to make money out of young athletes. Despite this, she still tries not to judge the portrait; perhaps that guy is all of that and kind

But it doesn’t matter how good-looking the guy is anyway because he certainly has no sense of marketing. Fans don’t care about athletic trainers, they want to see the players. He’s just making her waste time even though the fucking Olympics are in two month.

The problem on top of it is that, according to her coach, it’s important to bring to light her indispensable job and that the campaign is a brilliant idea (she’s convinced that whatever curse the ‘good-looking’ guy put on Hina, he also put on coach Sakai). But what can she say about it? He is her boss, after all, and she has dreamed of working with the Olympic team for years, so she offered a tense smile and returned to her office, hoping she would not have to meet the man who had that brilliant idea.

That is how she finds herself all dressed up and wearing make-up in some prestigious studio in Tokyo, sulking as she thinks of all the work she should be doing instead of this masquerade.

“Did your dog die?”

Ito Chika, the regular libero of the team, looks at her with wide eyes.

“Of course not, I would be desperate if he did,” Natsumi mutters, a pout appearing on her lips at the mention of the loss of the love of her life, Soba, a cute and fluffy Cavalier King Charles spaniel mixed with another breed (she still wonders about the kind of father he had) that she adopted two-years ago. My child, as she likes to call him.

“Well, you do look desperate, Nana.”

Liberos are said to be, well, straightforward. And they need to. At the end of the day, in a game, they don’t have time to be precious or cautious; they just have to dive to the floor and end up with a few bruises. Natsumi never understood why one would want to do crazy things like liberos; that’s why she was fine with being a spiker in school. As the saying goes, clichés die hard, and Ito Chika is no exception to the rule; she is, in fact, straightforward, frank and a little bit crazy (she also happens to be the best libero of all Japan).

Natsumi only sighs. “I hate photoshoots. And why do I have to be here anyway? The good part of being an athletic trainer and not a proper athlete, is that you don’t need to do bullshits photoshoots like this one. Argh.”

Only a few pictures have been taken, yet Natsumi already feels exhausted and blinded by the too-bright white flashes of the cameras. Both girls are sitting in a corner of the studio, taking a water break from all this agitation.

A scoff comes out of Chika’s nose. “Yeah, I know you don’t like photoshoots.”

“Why are you laughing?” Natsumi asks, eyebrows raised.

“It’s just-” Chika takes a few seconds to wipe away the tears that started to form in her eyes. “I just remembered the day of your graduation, when Komori and I dragged you all the way from the toilets to take a group picture.”

She cringes at the mention of the memory before softly pushing the libero. “Shut up!”

Deep down, Natsumi feels her heart lighten. Is that nostalgia from a time when one did not have to think about taxes and demanding bosses and grocery shopping and any other adult responsibilities?

“I remember how Suzuki-sensei screamed at Komori for entering the girls’ toilets.”

“He turned all red.”

They laugh so loud the make-up team turns and gives them suspicious looks.

“In the end, I was in the ground picture.”

“Only because I promised I’d buy you fried chicken.”

Natsumi chuckles at that.

“See, I know this would make you smile.”

She looks at Chika, and the corners of her lips turn slowly upwards. “You always know how to make me smile.”

And this is as true as the law of gravity. Ito never fails to make her friends smile. The girls met in high school; the two of them went to Itachiyama. Natsumi was one year older than the libero. When the latter became a first year, Natsumi was made vice-captain of the girls' team. She remembers when Ito entered—or rather, burst into the gymnasium. She’s so loud, everyone thought. She was grounded by the captain and had to take care of the cleaning for a whole month. One time, when Natsumi stayed a little longer to train her serves after a defeating match, Ito told her how happy she was to be in this team. Natsumi found her naive at first; they had just lost, and terribly, how could she be happy? But as she looked at her, cleaning the polished wooden floor and acclaiming every action her teammates had made, Natsumi smiled. That day, she discovered that the younger girl wasn’t just loud and naive, she had a gift, one of putting the smile back on your face. Whether it was when they lost their first Nationals, when their former setter had to retake an exam the day before the start of the summer vacation, or when Natsumi turned silent for a whole month after quitting volleyball. Her presence itself brings joy.

“Do you still talk to Motoya?” Natsumi asks.

“Of course I do. I even went to see the EJR play once. You know, it’s not because he broke my heart ten years ago that I resent him.” Chika puffs out her chest, trying to express the little pride she has left through her posture.

“This sentence itself makes it obvious that you’re not over it.”

“I-well, you know how I am. I have a crush on a guy-”

“On a libero, you mean.”

“Alright, alright, on a libero. I have a thing for liberos. Anyway. I confess to him. He says I’m a pain in the ass. I get over it and find a new guy. That’s called the circle of life. That happened in high school with Komori, with that Nishinoya guy at the Nationals. The list is long. My new target is the cutie Yaku from the boys’ team, though.”

For anyone unfamiliar with the situation, Chika could be diagnosed with emophilia. But Natsumi has known her friend for over a decade now, so nothing could surprise her anymore when it comes to Ito’s love life.

“Anyway. We’re having dinner with the boys tonight. Wanna come with us? Apparently, Bokuto knows a bar downtown where they serve the best Tsukune yakitori of Tokyo. Can you imagine?”

A heartbeat passes and then a knot forms in the back of Natsumi’s throat. One that, maybe, is always there, ready to come back whenever she feels uncomfortable.

She opens her mouth to speak, but the knot gets stronger. She would like to say yes, to accept, for she has declined this kind of invitation more than she could ever count on her fingers. She’s convinced that a part of her wants to make her friend happy and accompany her for once, just once. But she knows what “having dinner with the boys” means, she knows who that includes, and as strong and independent and tough as she may be, she doesn’t feel ready to see him yet.

But maybe that’s the point of life, jumping off the cliff when one feels the least ready. There’s this fine line in front of her, one centimetre away from the next step. It’s close, so close. She knows it should be easy to overcome the line, it starts by saying a simple, one-syllabled, “yes”.

Still, the word doesn’t come out. The knot is about to strangle her, and before it does, she gets up. Somehow, being in the spotlight of the cameras and getting yelled at by the photographer is less scary than where this conversation is leading.

“I am deeply, deeply, sorry for being late.”

An infuriating, sarcastic voice resonates in the studio—or as it sounds like to the athletic trainer. That doesn’t stop her from turning around as fast as the light.

Good-looking. Tall. Charming. That is how the man reflects in Natsumi’s eyes as he makes his entrance. She’s convinced she's never seen him before, but oddly and slowly, the knot in her throat dilutes in her whole boy and sinks beneath her bones. She doesn’t question the feeling and assumes it’s curiosity, maybe a bit of surprise too.

“Kuroo-san!” Coach Sakai runs towards the man. “Kuroo-san, it’s good to see you.” He energetically shakes his hands.

“There was an accident on the road, I’m very sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Listen, girls.” The older man shouts to capture everyone’s attention—as if Natsumi’s eyes weren’t already glued on the tall silhouette.

The man is wearing a suit. A black suit. A red tie. And a few buttons of his white shirt are loose, probably in an attempt to get some fresh air—Tokyo summers are cruel.

He looks confident, maybe a bit cocky. Natsumi doesn’t know if he’s being honest when he bows and apologises for the inconvenience. His charm works on her coach, anyway. What a privilege, the girl thinks dismissively. Her boss is usually very strict when it comes to punctuality and respect. Natsumi didn’t know that wearing some expensive finance-guy type of suit, faking a stupid smile, and having bed hair was a way of currying favour with her boss. Maybe she should try it if she wants to get promoted.

When Kuroo catches sight of her staring, he offers a grin. Her whole world seems to still; she quickly turns her attention back to her boss.

“This is Kuroo Tetsurou, he is in charge of the sports promotion division of the Japan Volleyball Association. He was the one suggesting the brilliant idea of this campaign.”

Her heart skips a beat. So, this is the obnoxious, stupid, sadist person Natsumi wanted to murder a couple of days ago. For some reason, she’s not surprised. He does have the attitude of a gentleman. Maybe he should do the photoshoot instead of her; that would spare her time to work on her rehabilitation program for one of their middle blockers and the report she was supposed to deliver this week.

“Hello there. So, you’re the athletic trainer. Shirayanagi, right?”

She almost jumps when she realises he’s standing in front of her now.

“I am. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad we can finally meet,” Kuroo continues. “And thank you for taking part in the photoshoot. The JVA is trying to promote sport-related jobs, so it's great that people like you have accepted to do this.”

It’s not like I had a choice, she wants to add. But in lieu of words, she simply nods. Hoping this would end the conversation.

“Kuroooo!” Ito sings, coming from behind the athletic trainer. However, her joy is quickly stopped by the deadly glance Natsumi is giving her.

“You know him?” the libero reads in her friend’s eyes.

“We met during the European championship last year. In Poland.” Kuroo explains, even though she didn’t explicitly ask for an explanation. Natsumi gives a small smile in return.

“How are you? Are you enjoying your new life in Italy?” he asks Ito.

“Ew, our coach is pretty intense. The Italian championship is coming next October, so we need to prepare but apart from that pastas are good, the sun shines, and the wine is fuck-”

“Chii, we need to go back to the photoshoot.” Natsumi interrupts. “See you later Kuro-san.”

“It’s Kuroo.” He interjects but the girls are already walking away.

“You don’t like him?” Ito whispers in her ear, once they’re a few meters away from him.

“What?”

“You basically glowered at him.”

Despite her introversion, Natsumi has never been good at hiding her emotions. Anger, disgust, aversion—it can all be read by the features on her face. Ever since she was a child, she’s been taught to repress this, to take it easy, put on a mask of calmness and compliance. For a few years, she thinks she has done a pretty good job at it. Her parents no longer feel ashamed of her attitude as they were when she frowned at an old uncle's stupid joke, her colleagues no longer decipher when she’s pissed off because she now avoids lifting her eyes to the sky or clicking her tongue in annoyance.

But today, apparently, she’s failing to wear her mask.

The younger girl raises an eyebrow, and Natsumi knows she has no choice but to find an excuse.

“I can’t hate him since I don’t even know him. But it’s just that… I don’t want to be here. The Olympics are coming, I don’t know why he asked me to be part of this. I have a report to send to the committee, and Tajima’s ankle is not completely recovered. You guys should be training right now, not posing like some J-pop idols.”

“Well, I get that,” Ito answers. “But it’s important to have some time off training, and the girls seem to enjoy the campaign. Actually, for once, it's not the boys’ team who’s in the spotlight. And we’ve never had a professional set-up like this before. So let’s try to make the most of it. C’mon, it’s our turn.”

She takes her wrist and leads her to the set.

Natsumi takes a glance at Kuroo. He’s speaking with some of the players; they’re all giggling at something he said. What’s so attractive about him? She wants to ask them. Is he that amazing, like her assistant said? Maybe she only assumed he was the typical marketing guy who has no idea how much hard work it takes to prepare for the Olympics, when in reality, he’s just a good person. If so, she should be nice to him.

She remembers her mother begging her to be polite with people she didn’t know (“just smile and keep a straight face, that’s all we’re asking of you. It’s not that hard.”)

She gulps; the knot in her throat is almost all gone now.

I guess, she thinks to herself, I’ll just have to pretend with him too.

If Natsumi got up and tried to run away from the “diner with the boys” conversation, is certainly not end up in this precise situation. But here she is, stuck between Hoshiumi and Kuroo in the most crowded Izakaya of Shibuya. Ito is ordering her fourth beer, Asahi, her favourite. Komori is trying to hide it from her. Atsumu is eating a cauliflower salad and explaining that he needs to keep his diet clean if he doesn’t want to lose his contract with whatever famous sports brand he is working with at that time. Yes, she is having dinner with Ito and “the boys”.

“Shirayanagi-san, do you want more fried chicken?” Hinata asks with his usual polite tone (almost too pure for this world). But Natsumi says no, her hair already smells too much of greasy food, so she might need to wash them with a super special shampoo tonight.

Don’t get her wrong, it’s not that she doesn’t want to be here. A reunion of both national teams could be very enjoyable. It might even be their last moment of free time before the Olympics. But the thing is, when she woke up that morning, she did not expect to run into the man she’s been cursing for weeks and even less to eat next to him and feel his shoulder and hand and leg against hers in a small restaurant.

“So Kuroo-san, how did you get into working for the JVA?” The setter from her team asks.

Natsumi looks at him sipping his glass of water. His face is ridiculously perfect.

“I studied business and marketing at uni, and it might sound cheesy, but I’ve always dreamed of bringing volleyball to as many people as possible. Lowering the net to kids, girls and boys, you know? So, they can become whoever they want. And I guess the JVA is one way to do it.”

“You’re amazing at it.” The girl answers, and from the corner of her eyes, Natsumi sees Kuroo’s cheeks turning slightly red.

“Kuroo used to play volleyball in high school!” Hinata suddenly shouts. “His blocks were so cool; it sounded like ‘shhh’ and ‘kabouum’.”

Now that she can take a close look at him, Natsumi isn’t so surprised that Kuroo used to play volleyball. He has the attitude of an athlete. It’s not only in his height but in his posture and in the way he looks at people.

“Nana too!” Chika adds in a loud exclamation.

In the span of a second, all eyes are on Natsumi and she wants to curse her friend for it. She doesn’t like to be the centre of attention, she’s never been used to it anyway. It makes her uncomfortable. Natsumi starts feeling her heartbeat pounding all the way to her temples. There are too many sounds—chatters, music, clicks of glass; too many scents—food, alcohol and the probably too expensive cologne Kuroo is wearing. She wants to hide underneath the table.

“What?” Tajima blurts. “How come you’ve never told us?”

The athletic trainer doesn’t even have time to open her mouth before Ito interrupts her. “Best outside hitter of Tokyo in middle school. She went to Nationals thrice. And she was my captain, can you believe it?”

“Chika, gives me that!” Komori, sitting next to her, swings his arms to try and take the beer from her hands.

“For real?” one of the girls says. “That’s actually so cool. Why did you quit then? You didn’t love volleyball?”

“It’s not about liking volleyball or not,” Kuroo starts explaining. “You can love a sport but still choose not to become an athlete. But there are so many ways to promote it and show it to the world. And it’s great that coaches and athletic trainers and journalists exist. Actually, they’re an essential part of volleyball, just like the players.”

Each word, each sound that comes out of his lips makes Natsumi’s blood boil harder in her veins. He doesn’t know, doesn’t know anything about her life and still he speaks in her name. How annoying.

“It wasn’t a choice,” Natsumi whispers.

“Sorry?”

If her mother was there, she would ask her to smile, keep a straight face, and move on to the next topic. For a long time, Natsumi has managed to do that. She’s no longer the annoying child who cries too much and laughs too loud.

But for some unknown reason, this time, her feelings have no room to hide. It’s like all the efforts she’s accumulated all these years to smoothen her emotions, tame them, all implode.

“Maybe you chose to be where you are. But I didn’t.”

Her eyes meet his. She still speaks quietly, so not everyone can hear her.

“You want to lower the net to both girls and boys, right? But you have no idea how unfair volleyball is. It’s easy for a man like you to pretend that not going pro was a choice. So many doors are gonna open to you anyway. Girls need to work at least twice as hard to reach the level of what men would consider mediocre. It’s never a matter of choice, at least not for us. People don’t watch us on TV, companies don’t sponsor our teams. Dreaming is good but we need to live too, pay our bills, eat, have a roof. Most of the time, giving up is the only option.”

From across the table, Komori overhears the conversation and decides to let Ito drink her beer. That’s a lost case anyway, she’s already drunk. What matters now is how Natsumi’s eyebrows are frown and how she starts scratching her arm, a bad habit she has had since childhood and that she usually goes back to when she feels stressed out.

Komori wants to interfere; he’s good at it, especially when Natsumi is involved. He’s known her forever, but as his mouth opens to speak, Bokuto lets out a sound that only he—and probably Shoyo—could understand.

“Heyaaa! More meat is coming.”

Kuroo gets distracted for a second, shifting his attention away from Natsumi. The girl lets herself breathe again and grabs her bag. She has to get out of this place and escape from the noise and the heat of the food in front of her.

When Kuroo turns back, Natsumi is out of sight.

Once safely outside, she gets a cigarette and a lighter from her pocket.

How funny it is that people smoke when they feel stressed, strangled, muffled. Can this be called fighting fire with fire?

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Short and spiked hair, olive eyes, side smile. Natsumi would recognize him in a crowd filled with thousands and thousands of people.

“What a shame for an athletic trainer. I know the song.”

Iwaizumi chuckles, “As if I would judge your lifestyle when I sleep maybe three hours every night.”

“You always had problems sleeping when there were exams at uni, so I suppose it's the same with the Olympics.” She lights up her cigarette. “Don’t worry though, I only smoke when I’m tensed or having a drink with my friends.”

“Which one is it right now?”

“Both.”

Who could have guessed that the two of them, who met and studied sports science at UCI in Irvine, would now be in charge of the National teams? She likes to tell him that he has been a huge support when she got the job, and that she could never be thank him enough.

Iwaizumi doesn’t reply, so she decides to go a bit deeper and complains about the raven-haired boy.

“Have you ever met that Kuro guy? He’s so full of himself, isn’t he? I don’t know if he thinks girls are gonna find him attractive just because he gives life lessons. ‘I wanna lower the net to everyone’ he said, with his superior tone. Lower the net my ass and- argh never mind.”

Her voice has become more nasal and furious as she talks. Anger and cigarettes are not a good combination.

“Guess some things never change.”

Natsumi, back pressed against the wall, sighs, “I know what you’re thinking, I’m being too hard on him even though I’ve known him for less than a day, but something about him is bothering me.”

The good thing about talking with Iwaizumi is that she is free to say whatever she wants; she can even insult her coach, and he wouldn’t argue.

“You've always had trouble trusting people you don't know. I’ve not seen you this mad since our biomechanics teacher made you retake your third-year exam just because you broke his 3D machine, though.”

“I didn’t break his-” she stops when she sees the teasing smile appearing on his lips. “Anyway. Sorry for complaining.”

“Don’t be sorry. I'd rather you talk to me than keep this to yourself.”

She sighs softly and stubs out her cigarette.

“Did they drink a lot?”

“Hmm, your team has been pretty reasonable. Well, expect with meat, Bokuto has had at least three platters of beef.”

He groans in response. “I told him to quit red meat. I need to have a chat with him. You’re coming?” He points at the front door.

It would be nice to spend more time with the girls outside of work, and Chika and Motoya are inside, but Natsumi can only think of Kuroo’s comment and his so-called meritocracy, and all she wants is to go away as fast as possible.

“Tell Motoya I went back home because-”

“You missed your dog.”

That is the easiest and probably most credible lie he can give, so she thanks him with a soft smile and leaves.

She hopes to find solace under her fleece blanket, drinking a hot chocolate buried in whipped cream and with her dog resting on her chest, but when she opens the door of her apartment—a door that needs to be oiled—and is welcomed by the darkness, the silence and the emptiness of the room, she sighs. Soon enough, Soba greets her by whining.

“Hi baby, I missed you.”

The only thing that eases her mind is that tomorrow will be Saturday, no need to go to work, no need to run into Kuroo again.

She doesn’t have a lot of pictures on her white walls, only a few from high school with Ito and some from college in the US. As she looks at them, she wonders what her life would look like if she had continued playing. Would the walls of her apartment be filled with trophies and medals? Would she have made it into the National Team? What would be the number on the back of her jersey? Would it be ‘15’ like him?

But thank gods, she comes back to her senses quickly and pushes the intrusive thoughts away. She shall not let the regrets intrude upon her mind. That Kuro guy must be getting under my skin. She concludes before going to bed.

a/n: this story has been on my mind for a year now, so im happy to finally share it

taglist: @ayatakanosstuff @megapteraurelia @tsukisangel

#hq kuroo #kuroo haikyuu #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsuro haikyuu #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo testuro #kuroo angst #kuroo x oc #haikyuu x oc #haikyuu time skip #kuroo time skip #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu angst

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ldrfanatic · 1 year ago

Text

sitting in the corner i haunt

Theodore Nott x Reader "13" Series pt 4 warnings - depression, angst, blood, theo gets the dark mark, mentions of suicide, cursing

this chapter is written entirely from theo's point of view

to be added to the taglist, comment; Also I was gonna include so much more in this part but then I realized I was already at 2k words and it was long lol

ps sorry stinks but now that the series is starting to really pick up there's gonna be a lot more angst before reader and theo get their hea

translator series masterlist <previous chapter next chapter>

slytherin boys masterlist works

One thing Theo hadn't expected was for you not to forgive him. He'd figured you'd eventually find out about the bet, but he'd also noticed your crush on him a long long time ago. In all honesty, he'd been hoping and praying that you'd be able to forgive him and the pair of you could move past it.

Turns out those hopes and prayers were falling on empty ears.

He'd spent the remainder of the fall term secluded. At first, he tried to ignore Mattheo and Draco, still too mad at either of them for what they'd coerced him into. Finally he came to terms with the nature of his new relationship with you after what could have been was burned prematurely. Another thing Theo hadn't expected was for you to be the type that burned bridges instead of mending them.

Rather than feel his emotions, Theo had taken to drinking them lately. He tuned out of the various famous Slytherin parties and drank firewhiskey until it felt like his head was screwed on backwards. His groupies didn't stop chasing him, but he'd started hexing them in return.

Nothing serious just the occasional bat-bogey hex. And only at the ones that insulted you. Whether or not you wanted to be, you were still the girl that held his heart. And it was unacceptable for anyone to insult you. Mattheo and Draco had learned that fairly quickly following the incident.

As the Express chugged along the tracks and onto Platform 9 3/4, Theo tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach. Ever since his mother passed away in fourth year, his father had become an unbearable rotter. He knew that with the war looming, this break would be particularly unpleasant. As he retrieved his trunk from above his seat in the compartment, he didn't even bother with useless greetings to his friends. The children of Death Eaters were never cheery at the holidays. Everyone was returning to their own personal nightmare.

Theo used to feel bad for Mattheo's home situation. Used to. Until Mattheo really begun to live up to his father's reputation. Then all sympathy he had for the boy really flew out the window. Mattheo had been a perfectly fine bloke until Christmas of fifth year. When they'd returned in January, he was awful. No explanation, no more apologies. Just downright awful.

The moment his boot touched the platform, Theo apparated to his father's estate.

Nott Manor was in the most horrendous part of England. It was ALWAYS dark and cloudy. The sun was shining so bright at King's Cross, it was nearly headache worthy. But the moment Theo twisted down in front of the gates of his childhood home, the skies were dark, and the air was cold.

To Theo's surprise, Nott Sr was waiting at the door when he finally approached the massive structure.

"Theodore, my boy."

Theo was silent at his father pulled him into an awkward hug. He was being unusual cheery and it was rather unsettling.

"Father?"

If Nott Sr noticed Theo's tone at all, he ignored it. A large grin was spread across his face. It wasn't the kind that Theo had been accustomed to when his mother was alive. This one was creepy and made Theo's skeleton want to climb out of his skin.

"It's time, son. The Dark Lord will be rising soon, and he's calling for us to strengthen our ranks to prepare for the coming war. You'll be getting your mark soon Theodore. Finally."

Fuck.

Thunder rumbled in the sky overhead and Theo jostled awake. He hadn't sat with his friends on the ride back. With the burning in his arm and the screams of whatever poor bastard his father was torturing in the house, he'd barely gotten any sleep over the break. In fact, the burning hadn't stopped. His body was apparently just as unfond of the mark as his heart was.

What he hadn't expected was to see you. Sitting across from him in the compartment, reading a book. Your eyebrows were furrowed and you seemed pretty zoned in to the novel. Theo cleared his throat lightly and immediately regretted it as it sent him into a coughing fit.

You passed him a flask that you had. Theo accepted it with a quick thanks and drank, the cool water soothing his apparently irritated throat. "Not that I'm complaining cuore, but what are you doing here?" He tried to appear cool and calm but inside he was freaking out. How long had you been sitting there? What if you accidentally saw his mark?

If you had seen it, you made no indication. In fact, you didn't even look up from your book.

"I was just walking past and saw your compartment was empty. Astoria has taken a fancy to my dear awful cousin Draco and wanted to sit with him and that repulsive boy Mattheo. I'd much rather not for obvious reasons."

Even though you came from a pureblood family, you'd never taken a shine to that blood purity crap. It was something that Theo and you had in common. Something that he admired about you. Despite constant pressures from your other, darker side of your extended family, the Malfoys.

Finally, your eyes made contact with Theo's and he felt his breath leave his lungs. He could no longer hear the soft chugging of the train. He couldn't even feel the damn thing moving. Every sense in his body was tuned into you. Your voice still lingered in his ears even when you weren't speaking. His eyes feasted on every inch of you that they could catch. Your scent filled his nose and intoxicated his brain.

"I do miss you, Theo."

"I miss you too, cuore. I know that we were never really friends before, but the truth is, I'd gotten used to your presence. Without you..."

Theo didn't finish his sentence and you didn't ask him to. After you'd finished your chapter, you closed the book and set it on the cushion next to you.

"How was your break?"

Theo stared at you thoughtfully. He hadn't wanted to talk to anyone about his break, hence why he'd been avoiding his friends. At the same time, he'd take any excuse to talk to you. And with his father's words, he'd feared this was his last chance to really converse with you before you positively despised him.

"It was... uneventful."

You stared at him with a look that told him you knew he was lying. Disappointment flashed in your eyes briefly and felt like a knife in his gut.

"We both know that's not true. Draco was boasting about your entire little friend group finally getting their gifts from you-know-who." You shifted in your seat and then leaned forward. The look on your face was so intense, Theo felt that if he looked away, he'd simply burst into flames and die. "But even if Draco hadn't said anything to me, I've had a crush on you for almost as long as I've been alive Theodore Nott. I can tell when you're lying. Especially when you're lying to me."

Theo felt rage building up inside of him. How dare you patronize him like this? You had no right to judge him. You couldn't possibly understand what he was going through. "Whatever. You don't know me, Y/n." He sneered at you. In his heart, Theo was screaming at himself to stop. But even as he saw tears gathering in your eyes, he locked that part of him away. You'd shown him that Theo couldn't afford to be vulnerable. "You've no right to judge me. Following me around for years like some little fangirl. You've no idea what it's like when your father and uncle hold you down while you kick and scream and beg for them to stop. To let you go. To get away from a true monster while he carves his mark into your flesh."

Your face morphed into one of shock.

"What?"

Theo scoffed at your empty question.

"What? That dear cousin of yours forgot to mention the excruciating pain? That he was there with my father and uncle and helped them hold me down so Voldemort could brand me like cattle?"

His questions were rhetorical but it didn't matter. He stood from his seat across from you and exited the compartment at the mark on his arm started to burn. It was time Theodore Nott learned. Feelings were and always would be a weakness.

By the time the middle of the second term rolled around, Theo had come to terms with the dynamics of his feelings for you. He'd learned to push them down and away, and he'd grown accustomed to doing so. Instead, he focused on the task given to him by his father to prep Hogwarts for the Dark Lord to take over. You could still get to him in his dreams and he often awoke with nightmares. You'd appeared to him many times and spewed various levels of nonsense. How you'd never forgive him for this and the like. Usually they ended with Theo consuming enough firewhiskey to put down a horse and then falling into a drunken slumber only to wake up the next day with a hangover from hell.

This continued for a few weeks longer until finally, Pansy Parkinson had enough of his shit. She'd never been a best friend of yours or Theo's, but as a close friend of Draco's she heard constantly about the depression the pair of you had fallen into without one another. She'd figured that she'd have an easier time getting through to Theo than you most likely.

And there she sat. Across the Slytherin Common Room from Theo fixing him with a stare that would make even Nott Sr. rethink his life choices. If monsters were capable of that sort of thing.

"What the hell is wrong with you Theodore?"

"What do you want Parkinson?"

Pansy sighed frustratedly and whacked Theo with her potions textbook before resuming her homework as though she hadn't just left him with a fresh bruise. "I want you to stop being such an idiot. What happened to winning Y/n over?"

"It wasn't working out. Found a new hobby."

"What? Cohorting with the likes of Mattheo Riddle and serving as the Dark Lord's newest little bitch?" Theo glared back at the girl but she continued undeterred. "Besides, if it wasn't working then how come she was in your compartment on the train? That is until you lost your shit on her like a rabid animal."

"She doesn't understand. She never will. Not my fault and certainly not my problem."

"What she understands, Theo, is that she loves you. She always has. And now that she's finally coming back to that, you've gone back to being the insufferable twat that you always are."

Theo lit another cigarette. Pansy eyes rolled so far back Theo thought they might actually get caught at the back of her head.

"She took too long to get there. I've moved on from her."

"Moved on so much that you drink just to sleep and smoke a pack of those disgusting things a day? Moved on so much that when you think no one's looking in potions, you stare at her like she's the only girl in this whole school? Why is it that she waited years for you, and you can't even last a few weeks?"

Theo sat forward and stomped his cigarette out on the cold stone floor. He'd officially had enough of whatever little intervention Pansy thought she was throwing. "Listen Parkinson. This isn't really any of your concern. My feelings for Y/n are a weakness. She's better off without me anyhow."

"Your feelings for her are not a weakness. They are the strength that one day will be the reason you wake up from whatever spell you let your father put you under. You fucked up, and it sucks. But now it's time to grow a pair, and fix it. Or don't. Suffer for all I care but please, if you're gonna die, do it quietly."

Pansy shut her potions textbook and stood from her seat. She marched silently up to the girls dorms. But by the time she'd made it halfway up the stairs, Theo was already gone.

wc 2059

3.31.2024

-- taglist - @moonlightreader649

#slytherin boys #slytherin #theodore nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #spotify #slytherin boys x reader #Spotify

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captainremmington-13 · 1 year ago

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A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: Bellova becomes Mrs. Snow.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: THIS IS A VERY DARK CHAPTER. It contains violence, verbal/physical abuse/domestic violence, mention of death and suicide, misogyny, Coriolanus being horrible, HEAVY ALLUSIONS TO SEX, NONCON, swearing

A/n: This was painful to write🥲

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

No matter what she did, Bellova couldn’t stop the silent screams that echoed throughout her mind.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

She’d fantasized about it as a little girl, laying in her bed wide awake when she was supposed to be sleeping, thinking about a beautiful, luxurious wedding held in her honor. How she’d carefully pick her bridal party, and go dress shopping with them, and pick out a gorgeous white gown to walk down the aisle in. How she’d meticulously write out her passionate vows, and how she’d recite them to her future husband while the entire audience struggled to hold back tears of joy. Perhaps she would shed a tear or two, but her blinding smile would distract from that. After kissing her groom, a large reception filled to the brim with all of her favorite foods and drinks would be held. She’d have the first dance with her new husband, and then take the dance floor with her beloved father, who would undoubtedly be hesitant to give her away. But he would, because he loved her, and wanted her to be happy.

As she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror of her dressing room, she knew that all of those dreams would never be fulfilled.

Half of them had already been crushed.

She had no bridal party. She didn’t get to choose her wedding dress. Her vows were generic and lacked any honesty. If she shed any tears while reciting them, they would be ones of despair. The kiss she shared with her husband would be for show, not because he really loved her. The reception and the first dance would be for the cameras and newspapers only.

And there would be no father-daughter dance.

Her husband-to-be had ensured that.

“You’re all set, miss,” the makeup artist said, setting down the brush that had been dusting powder across Bellova’s cheeks. “Do you feel comfortable in your gown? If you need anything adjusted, please let us know now. The ceremony will be quite long, and it will be less enjoyable if you are in any kind of pain.”

‘I am,’ the repressed voice inside of her wanted to scream. ‘I have been for almost a whole year.‘

Instead, she shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you. I require no adjustments.”

Bellova looked at her reflection once more, and an invisible string forced her lips to smile.

The white silk wedding dress was a custom design, made specifically for her and only her to wear. The neckline, which was an off-the-shoulder cut, was lined with faux white roses. They were itchy, and in Bellova’s opinion, they looked extremely tacky. They were beautiful, but she knew they were only there to remind her who she belonged to. The dress laced up in the back, giving her waist a “snatching” effect. If it was tightened just a centimeter more, she was sure it would crack her ribs.

Besides the roses, she hated the ridiculously large bow at the bottom of the corset laces the most. It looked far too girlish for a grown woman.

But she had no say in the making of the dress. And she knew by now that protesting would only make her miserable life worse.

Her mind was dragged through hell and back every moment she was awake. Most of the time, she was morphed into a completely new person. She felt like a puppet being controlled by the devil himself, doing and saying things against her will. She only came out of this trance-like state at night, when the curse Dr. Gaul had planted on her was lifted temporarily. She would unleash her rage as quickly and violently as she could, throwing things and screaming profanities. Her captor had to make her bedroom soundproof, because her piercing cries would alarm the staff of the Reginelle estate.

One night, Enolio had burst into her room after hearing a loud bang and a scream. Bellova had thrown a punch at her fiancé but missed, giving him an opportunity to lift her up and slam her to the ground.

The next morning, when she awoke, she was back under the influence of the serum. A small voice suppressed deep in her brain screamed for her to ask what had happened to the butler, but she couldn’t get the words out. It was as if an invisible gag was stuffed into her mouth.

She never saw Enolio again.

“Could you give me a moment alone, please?” Bellova said to the makeup artist. “I’ll make my way to my designated place in a moment so the ceremony can begin.” The woman nodded, and left the room promptly.

As soon as she was alone, the tears that had been threatening to spill over for the three hours it took to prepare for the wedding finally came. She sunk down to the floor, shaking like a leaf.

It took all of her mental strength to fight against the hypnotizing drugs that had infected her brain. They threatened to take away any ounce of autonomy she had over herself, and if she allowed that to happen, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to regain it. It was if a thick fog had settled over her mind, and she had to constantly strain her eyes to see through it. If she let her guard down, she’d start believing she was truly the submissive girlfriend of the Snow heir.

She had to get out of here. By tying the knot, she’d be tying herself to him forever. That would mean that he won. That she had given up, and accepted her fate as his wife slave.

She longed to make a run for it, escaping the venue and heading for the Capitol border. But where would she go? She had nobody to seek shelter with. She wouldn’t make it far, anyway. Her dress was heavy and long, greatly restricting her ability to move. Peacekeepers or one of the guests would catch her before she got very far.

And after her fiancé got through with her, she’d be utterly, completely doomed.

She’d rather die by her own hand than his.

But suicide would mean that he had won. And she’d suffered for so long that she couldn’t bear to give him that.

No, she would live on. She would play along, for the sake of her own survival.

And when the perfect opportunity arose, she would strike. She would make him regret ruining her life and her future. She would laugh as he pleaded for mercy, and then bring him immeasurable pain.

But at the moment, she had a wedding to attend. Her wedding.

Bellova sighed, plastering a smile on her dolled-up face.

It was time for her to officially become Mrs. Coriolanus Snow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova’s head spun.

Her dress was feeling more like a straight jacket every minute. Her high heels were digging into her Achilles, and she was sure they had broken the skin. Between that and the never-ending turmoil inside of her mind, she felt like she was going to faint.

She gasped for air as subtly as she could, as not to alert the hundreds of guests attending the reception. She didn’t want to cause a fuss and pay the consequences in private.

After all, she knew that Coriolanus wouldn’t hesitated to “discipline” her. He’d made that very clear during the past several month.

Her husband was seated mere inches from her, sipping a glass of champagne. A silver ring glistened on his left hand. It had been custom made, and matched Bellova’s perfectly.

She looked down at her own wedding band. It was borderline obnoxious, but it was fitting for a family as pretentious as the Snows. Each of the stones was clear with a slight blue hue, and they were arranged to resemble a snowflake.

It was her another way for Coriolanus to declare her as his.

Bellova finished her glass of wine. It was her third of the night, and she was starting to feel extremely foggy. She knew it was not the smartest idea to become inebriated on her wedding night, but it helped ease the physical and mental pain.

She kept her mouth sealed, only speaking to guests who approached the newly wedded couple to congratulate them. Even then, she only said a few words, giving them a polite “thank you for coming”. She did her best to look elated.

Part of her conscience, which had been overtaken by that wretched serum, truly was happy. It tried to convince her that she’d just tied the knot with the love of her life.

But deep down, she was fuming.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Coriolanus glance at his watch. It was nearing midnight, and most of the guests were beginning to retire to their homes. Soon, it would be time for them to leave as well.

But they wouldn’t be going back to the Reginelle estate. No, they would be taking a limousine to District Four, where their honeymoon suite was waiting for them.

Bellova’s stomach churned unpleasantly. She knew all about what usually happened during the first night of married life.

She knew she couldn’t resist Coriolanus without being tortured or drugged again. He’d just inject her with her nightly dose of the serum, and then she’d have little to no control over herself.

Should she try to enjoy it? She’d be lying if she claimed she’d never fantasied about sleeping with Coriolanus before.

But this wasn’t how she’d imagine it would be. Not in the slightest.

In her daydreams during her Academy days, she had imagined it would take place once Coriolanus finally stopped bitching at her. He’d realize how perfect she was for him, and would beg her to be his girl. And when they were both ready, they’d take things to the most intimate level.

But Bellova was fully aware that Coriolanus didn’t love her. If he did decide to sleep with her, it wouldn’t be out of love. It would be yet another of his acts of dominance, to reassure him that he was in control.

Bellova looked down at her lap to avoid her husband’s gaze, her heart sinking deeper into her stomach by the second.

Though she couldn’t see it, she could feel Coriolanus give her a cold, cruel smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Bellova thought she was anxious before the wedding, she had no idea what to call her current state.

Coriolanus had a vice-like grip on her left hand, and there was no indication that he’d release her anytime soon. This had started as soon as their driver announced that their destination was only ten minutes away.

He hadn’t spoken a word to her since they’d gotten in the limousine. Bellova had been slightly offended hurt by this. Shouldn’t a husband be happy to be in his wife’s company?

‘Stop being stupid,’ the small voice whispered. ‘He doesn’t give a fuck about you, he’s not going to even pretend he cares while you’re in private.’

Bellova slumped against the back of the car seat. She was still dizzy from all of the alcohol she had consumed, but refused to fully let her guard down.

Coriolanus could wreak unspeakable terrors on her if she stopped resisting.

As soon as she was alone with Coriolanus were alone in their luxury oceanside suite, Bellova felt the serum start to wear off.

Coriolanus picked up both of their bags and headed towards the bedroom. Bellova followed suit, metaphorically dragging her feet. He was still ignoring her, which forced a small pout into her lips. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that her beloved wasn’t paying her any attention.

The bedroom was lavish, but not nearly as nice as her own. The king-sized bed had white silk sheets, and the walls were decorated with oil paintings depicting ocean scenery. There was a large balcony overlooking the sea, which held two plush lounge chairs and a small glass table. Everything was so picturesque that it could’ve been straight out of a romance novel.

Alas, her life was anything but love story.

As soon as Coriolanus tossed his blazer in a hamper in the corner and began loosening his tie, Bellova felt her stomach constrict.

Was he actually going to fuck her?

Bile rose in her throat. She wasn’t a desperate little schoolgirl anymore, clinging to hopeless dreams. She was a victim, a victim of Coriolanus Snow’s unrelenting apathy.

No. She wouldn’t let him have his way with her.

The searing pain in her temples told her that she was now in full control of herself. She had to act before she was dragged back under again.

Bellova kicked off her designer heels, not caring in the slightest if they broke, and prepared herself for yet another grueling fight.

But before she could lunge at her enemy, Coriolanus’s head snapped towards her, making her freeze on the spot.

His shirt was already halfway unbuttoned. This didn’t phase her, she’d seen him naked several times before, but purposefully chose to forget those moments.

It was the hungry gaze in his eyes that made her blood turn to ice.

“You’re really going to do this now?”

The nonchalance in his tone made Bellova want to scream.

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you going to fight like a rabid animal during the first night of our honeymoon?”

Bellova sneered at him. “A broken nose would match perfectly with your crimson tie, if I do say so myself.”

Coriolanus laughed humorlessly. “Hilarious. Now get undressed.”

Bellova’s fists clenched instinctively. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had a stash of syringes full of that dreaded in his briefcase, she would have decked him in the jaw.

“No.”

Coriolanus rolled his pretty eyes, stepping towards her. She backed away, but her spine quickly hit the wall of the room. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mrs. Snow. Though it’s not like you have much of a say, anyhow.”

The way Coriolanus had spat out her new title made her flinch. It sounded so wrong, being called Mrs. Snow instead of Miss Reginelle.

“I don’t want you, and you don’t want me. Therefore, we don’t need to do anything tonight. It’s simple, really.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m fucking stupid,” Coriolanus barked. “If we don’t sleep together, people will talk. It’ll look bad for both of us. The press will say-“

“That’s all you care about these days,” Bellova said harshly. “And you’re assuming that the press will somehow know whether or not we fuck.”

The paranoia was evident in Coriolanus’s eyes. Clearly, this was a very important matter to him. Not because he actually wanted her, but because his shining reputation could be tarnished with rumors concerning their bedroom life.

“If you stop being a bitch for once, maybe I’ll let you stay off of the serum while we’re in bed, and I’ll consider making this enjoyable for you.”

Bellova rolled her eyes. He sounded like such an asshole, it was a wonder how he didn’t realize it. Or perhaps he did, and just didn’t care.

“What will it be?” Coriolanus asked sharply. “I’m not going to stand around waiting for much longer.”

An eerie silence filled the bedroom as Bellova weighed her options. She could attack him and do as much damage as possible before he drugged her. Or she could give in just for one night, and give herself a break.

She swallowed, and steeled her nerves. She knew exactly what she was going to do.

“Fuck this,” Coriolanus growled. His hand shot to her throat, squeezing so hard that Bellova could already feel the bruises forming. The familiar coldness of a needle poked at the skin on her neck, making her shudder wildly.

She hated it, but she was afraid.

“Please…” she croaked, clawing desperately at his arms. “Don’t do this…not again.”

A horrid scream escaped from her lips as Coriolanus inserted the syringe. She collapsed almost immediately, her face quickly becoming slick with salty tears.

Coriolanus carelessly lifted her up by the arms and tossed her on the bed. Devoid of any passion or desire, he flipped her onto her stomach and started unlacing the corset of her reception gown.

There was no gentleness in his touch.

There was only possessiveness and pure madness.

Bellova squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the pillow beneath her face becoming damp. The more skin Coriolanus revealed, the more disgusting she felt.

As much as she wanted to kick, scream, cry, anything to get away from him, she knew it was useless. The serum was already consuming her, swallowing her true self whole.

By the time he finally got her dress off, she was completely gone.

Coriolanus sucked in a breath, his fingertips ghosting over his bride’s bare thigh. She was already asleep, her body exhausted from everything that had happened throughout the day.

In their later Academy days, Coriolanus had briefly wondered about what Bellova was like in bed. There were quite a lot of rumors that circled around her regarding her sex life, but he knew most of them were fictitious. However, he knew she was no virgin. Bellova had admitted that at her seventeenth birthday party.

However, technically, he had been virgin. He didn’t count what had happened in the alley behind the train station years ago.

Coriolanus stared up at the ceiling, replaying the lustful activities he’d just partaken in in his mind.

It had felt…nice, he supposed. Bellova was pliant and sweet while he was on top of her, thanks to the serum. She had constantly begged for more, and initiated several kisses. He found the pleading quite annoying, and elected to ignore it. Still, she seemed to enjoy herself. He did as well, but found the power he could exert much more thrilling than any physical pleasure.

Coriolanus pulled Bellova’s sleeping form closer to him. He shuddered at the contact of her bare body pressed against his. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake. She sighed contentedly, and fell limp again.

Coriolanus smiled.

He would ensure that this was part of their nightly routine.

And if Bellova didn’t like it?

Too fucking bad.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊❆ ‧

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker, @vxnilla-hxrddrugs, @mystargirl-interlude

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! This chapter was truly heartbreaking to write. The next chapters won’t be this depressing, I promise. The next chapter will skip ahead to when Coriolanus is an office Gamemaker.

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! (I had to add some of y’all to a comment instead becuz tumblr won’t let me tag more people for some reason☹️)

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #coriolanus snow x oc #the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #original character #thg prequel #dark!coriolanus snow #suzanne collins

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drdtships · 6 months ago

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i am a firm believer of terunico but the fandom barely knows about the ship so can i ask for some headcanons of the sillies?

TERUKO X NICO HEADCANONS 🩹🐾

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ They can learn from each other to be happier, better people. Teruko could not only teach Nico how to stand up for themselves, but help them understand why it’s in everyone’s self interest, but most importantly, in their self interest.

Nico could teach Teruko that people are less black and white than she thinks they are. I don’t mean this in a way that suggest she views people through old film, but rather that people are either deemed trustworthy or untrustworthy, and if you’re untrustworthy, so are people around you (and the people around her).

I think they’ll be able to teach her that people have more complicated viewpoints and reasoning that she believes.

What made me see this was during the chapter two trial when she asks them to explain how they tried to murder Ace. She automatically suspects that Nico is gonna keep their mouth shut, and is surprised when she learns that Nico was going to explain with or without a reason.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Relationship, like when they firsts met, whether platonically or romantically started out rocky.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Definitely trapped somewhere together at one point (Teruko’s fault).

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Honesty is sexy.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Not a physically affectionate couple. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, and it’s definitely more of Nico’s thing than Teruko’s.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ I feel like they’re the kind of couple that knew they were never meant to be together forever. At best, temporary soulmates.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Do short nature walks, visiting museums, thrift shopping…

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Play tennis, ping-pong, or pickleball occasionally. Both suck at it, but have a good laugh over it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Movie-watchers fs :) specifically thrillers they think are the most fun to watch together, although it’s neither of their favorite genre.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Board game people, too !!

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Tried scrapbooking once— it was a disaster.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ I’m picturing them dancing in a Royal AU and it IS a nice thought.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Disco — Surf Curse

—Mod Fishy!!

#drdt #drdt ships #despair time #danganronpa despair time #teruko tawaki #nico hakobyan #terunico #mod 𓆝

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 year ago

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Vino Veritas - Part II

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. Eventual nsfw, not this chapter. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

II. The Interminable Fucking Car Ride

“So…what do you do?”

“I run the marketing department for JD Power.”

“The car trophy people?”

“That’s a magazine.”

“Ah. So you’re the grand architect of big corporate’s bid to tell us what to think while slyly taking all our money.”

He snorts. “Only those who are incapable of thinking for themselves. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to apply to you.”

If you squint, that almost felt like he was paying you a compliment.

“So, what do you do?” he asks in turn.

You don’t know why you’re almost embarrassed to tell him. “I run an art gallery/gift shop on the beach in Playa Bonita.”

He blinks, those lovely dark eyes fixed on you for a moment. “Of course you do.”

“What does that mean?”

He huffs a little. It almost sounds wistful, but then he frowns, utterly fucking ruining the moment. “You just look the type.”

You’re not sure why that stings…or why you even give a fuck.

The Fucking Rehearsal Dinner

“I’ve never really understood the point of the rehearsal dinner. Is eating so hard we really have to rehearse it?”

You sense an almost twitch of the corner of Frank’s mouth. They have stuck you together at a table in the far back. The black sheep who they felt they had to invite, but didn’t really want to.

“Not to miss the opportunity to make the groom’s parents spend unnecessary money too?” Frank offers.

“Fair to spread the misery, I guess.”

“Didn’t you sue Keith over this shit?”

“My parents did. They lost thirty thousand dollars in deposits.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. No one should spend that kind of money on a wedding.”

“Strangely, I agree with you now. I didn’t know any better at the time.” You’d been so young, you could hardly even fathom how much thirty-thousand dollars was.

Your parents had been happy at the time with the prospect of marrying you off to Keith. He’d been successful, charming, and outwardly doting on you. They never really thought you had much going on your own, so they probably thought he was the best you could do. The thought still hurts, more than it should.

“I mean,” you blurt, “Did you know who you are or what you wanted when you were 20?”

“Of course not.”

“He was my whole world. When he dumped me. It...it really fucked me up.” You don't know why you're admitting this to this near total stranger. There is just something about his forthright manner that demands honesty.

“Ah well, join the club. My father tried to shoot me once, if it makes you feel any better.”

You blink. “He tried to shoot you?”

“Yes. With a gun.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran at him.”

“You ran at him? Not away from him?”

“Yeah. Well, I was pissed off. He tried to shoot me again, but I got the gun away from him and hit him with it. Broke his orbital bone. He said I was the accumulation of all his bad decisions. He started to cry and begged me to kill him. I didn’t, only because I didn’t want to fuck my whole life up. The poor bastard jumped out the seventh floor the next day.”

Before you can stop yourself you reach out to place your hand on his on the table.

Before he can stop himself, his long fingers close around yours.

This connection endures for precisely 1.5 seconds before he shakes you off.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think your fine.”

“Fine, I’m all fucked up, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

You sigh, sinking down in your chair, embarrassed. Why did you touch him? What were you thinking?

“I guess we’re in the club together,” you answer miserably.

You feel him looking at you out the corner of his eye. There is a weight to this man’s gaze. It’s not unpleasant, just…you feel as though he sees everything.

“I feel like we should get at least decoder rings or something,” he grumbles.

The bride and groom make their entrance, interrupting whatever acerbic thing you were going to say next. You watch as they make their way through the crowd, basking in the glow of being the center of attention. Keith always loved that shit. You hate to admit, that his bride to be is a solid stone cold foxy 10. The kind of woman that men will trip over themselves for as they walk down the street.

You weren’t bad looking but you’d never had that kind of power.

If you wanted to trip a man, you had to do the dirty work and actually stick out your foot.

“Oh, look at us, let us presume to inconvenience you with the ostentatious display of our love,” you mock quietly in a mousy little falsetto.

It actually makes Frank laugh. At least, you think it’s a laugh. Maybe it was indigestion.

He joins in, though forgoing the funny voice, “And we’re conceited enough to think we’re actually different from the rest of the human race, and our love will last forever and ever…”

You’re enjoying this malicious bit of fun, but there is something in the way that he says it that makes you pause. “You don’t think love can ever last?” you ask.

He snorts. “Well, he doesn’t. I heard the prenup she had to sign was brutal,” he tells you.

“Poor thing.”

“You really feel sorry for her?”

“Slightly?”

“Are you going to say hello?”

You sigh. “I guess I fucking better.”

You slowly make to stand, the chair screeching under you. “Give ‘em hell, kid.”

You flip Frank the bird as you go, and hear that peculiar strangled sound that must pass for his outward expression of mirth.

Dumb ass free shit you would never do on your own

"I spoke to the bride last night."

“Indeed?”

You’ve had pedicures before, but you’ve never sprung for a professional foot massage, and you have to admit it feels pretty good. It totally surprised you to find Frank there, but he’d informed you unashamedly that he can’t resist free shit. You find that amusing, considering he’s obviously comfortable, if not outright rich.

Maybe that’s how he stays that way.

“Yes, and she told me she doesn’t mind that you’re here, and she’s not threatened by you.”

You snort at that, taking a long sip of your iced latte.

“At least, I think she meant you. She’s dumb as a box of rocks, it was hard to tell who or what she was talking about at times.”

You sigh at hearing that. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to soothe my feelings.”

It’s his turn to snort. “Merely reporting facts, I assure you. If you still feel badly about Keith and have not managed to move on to one of the other 8 billion people on this planet, then there is no helping you.”

“Is that your method for getting over a bad breakup?” He makes it sound so easy, you cannot help but roll your eyes at him.

“No, I have opted out of that shit show. It makes me uniquely qualified to offer comment on your own situation.”

You tilt you head in confusion, looking over at him. “You’ve…opted out of what? Dating? Romance? Marriage?”

“All of the above. It never ends well, as I have learned from watching my mother’s train wreck of a life as she blithely stumbled between marriages and boyfriends and suitors.”

“That’s so sad,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

If you hadn’t already started to learn this man’s gestures, you would have missed the way he stiffened slightly, staring fixedly down at his feet.

“How many times have you been in love?” he asks.

You think about it, and regret the answer. “Just the once.” With Keith, the asshole. Any one who came after didn’t have much luck getting over the wall you built to protect yourself from another heartbreak.

He looks at you then, and you are pinned by those chocolate brown eyes, that for once seem earnest rather than annoyed. “What’s it like?”

The fact that this man, who is at least ten if not fifteen years your elder, is asking you tears your heart into little bits of confetti.

“It’s like going insane,” you answer truthfully, and he looks back down, frowning.

“I thought so.”

***

You are standing in your inflatable body bumpers together on the sidelines, declining to partake in this insane sport, content to watch the others attempt to inflict cervical injuries on themselves and others.

The question is eating at you, and you decide what the hell. What’s he going to do? Be mean to you?

“So, you’ve never been in love?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers, frowning, though it’s the same frown he’s been wearing for the past hour watching the idiots running around the field.

“Believe me, you would know.”

“Do insane people know they’re insane?”

“Ok, maybe that was a bad comparison. It’s…total surrender.”

“Wow, you’re really talking it up.”

“It is though. You have these special feelings for a person, and you just know whatever they do to you, it won’t matter, because you’ll still care for them.”

“It doesn’t matter, until it does matter.”

“Some people have higher tolerances for pain than others.”

“If you loved Keith you could probably take a Caesar-style stabbing without flinching.”

You’re not sure how exactly to respond to that.

“At any rate. I prefer to avoid pain rather than withstand it. My parents inflicted quite enough. No need to spread it around.”

“Alright, I get it that your parents sufficiently traumatized you, with the failed marriages and the…shooting thing. But doesn’t there come a point where you have to let it go and rise above it?”

“I don’t see any reason to.”

“Think about all your missing out on though.”

“What exactly is that?”

“You know…human connection. The things that make life worth living.”

“Jesus, are you sure you don’t work for Hallmark?”

“Positive.”

“I bet you sell rocks in your shop that have inspirational words carved in them.”

“Of course I do. The markup on those things is astronomical.”

You see him smirk out the corner of his eye.

“I bet you also sell little statues of big-eyed children slinging bible verses.”

“Ohhh, now those are fighting words, sir.” You bump him lightly with your inflatable tutu, making him shuffle a step. For a fleeting moment, you catch a hint of a smile, and it feels like a resounding victory.

Feeling bold, you fix him with an earnest stare. “You claim you’ve opted out of this mess. But what if you meet someone you really like?”

“Then I should probably run swiftly in the opposite direction,” he says, paying you a side-eyed look.

Five minutes later, he does quit the field, though he doesn’t quite run from it. You tell your self that it’s just a coincidence, and that he was just done standing in a polyvinyl orb in this heat.

But deep down…there is the tiniest kindling of something in your heart, and you know you should kick dirt over that shit and stomp on it.

You don’t, and you carry a ridiculous little light feeling with you as you return to the hotel.

It feels like you swallowed a butterfly.

#destination wedding #frank x you #frank x reader #frank x y/n #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #keanu reeves x you #frank reeves x you #frank reeves x reader #vino veritas destination wedding fic #destination wedding frank x you

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les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques · 2 months ago

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Oh god, it’s been so long since I’ve written seggs, let alone from this shit lord’s point-of-view. Nonetheless, a little snippet of the upcoming chapter from my WIP. I recently was cast in a play and it’s been eating up any free time that work, wellness, and home have managed to give me. I’m on a little streak, though, so hopefully I’ll be updating in the new couple of weeks.

—

Off came the mask, his long fingers clawing at the poor excuse for skin beneath them. Augustine once agreed to never ask him about it, and now—let us see how much a whore’s promise is worth. Let’s see what she makes of such hideous and honest need.

Honesty. How he loathed it. How it unmanned him entirely, reduced him to little more than ash.

“Leave now,” he said, digging his bare feet into the carpet, praying that he might fall through the floor. “Leave before I find a reason to make you.”

“Erik. I’m trying to understand. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Ridiculous. Almost everyone in his life meant to hurt him—or worse. Why even bother lying with kindness, if she didn’t want to hurt him? Why ask him the same agonizing question, over and over again, if she didn’t want to tear him into pieces entirely? What he wanted was as impossible as heaven, and he still foolishly ached for it all the same. As much as he wished for a life where he could simply turn around and look Augustine in the face in the face and give of himself completely.

Fuck her niceties. Fuck your hopes. You’re a monster, and she is practically offering up her cunt to you on a silver platter. Why complicate things?

Yet his thoughts remained jumbled all the same, as ravenous and boundless as the hashish made him feel; for a brief moment, he contemplated fleeing the room entirely. But the floorboards shifted again, and the soft padding sound of Augustine’s feet closing the distance between them was loud enough to pierce through his tears.

“I’m sorry.” Her breath was warm against the back of his neck; two silly little words, and yet she might as well have put a gun to his head. And trapped between her little act of contrition and the drumming of that relentless question—what do you want, Erik? What do you want—he was forced to fight his way out like the animal he was.

“What do I want? What do I want?” Erik ran his fingers one last time over his cratered face, summoning that part he tried so hard to hide from pleasant society. Another half-truth eked out, and—fuck—wouldn’t they would drown each other in such notions. “I want you to turn around, close your eyes, and take off that god-damned robe. That is what I want.”

He waited for a refusal. For cute remarks and smart words, for the answer he seemed cursed to always get: No. No. No. Perhaps for another apology, even. And weren’t all of those better than the truth he might accidentally wring out of her lovely thoat?

Instead, her only reply was the muffled descrendo of silk hitting the floor, the groan of old wood.

So be it.

—

Thanks for reading! I humbly beg for grace with regards to any typos.

#the phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera #gaston leroux #fan fic #wips #fan fiction #smut #erik x oc #pre-canon rik is so fun

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livlocus · 3 months ago

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my thoughts on the naturals by jennifer lynn barnes

i really enjoyed the book, in all honesty it was a really fun read! im a big criminal minds fan, and to me this book was like a combination of the inheritance games and criminal minds. the people i went to high school with are lucky that i didnt find this series until now or else i would have made it my entire personality. some of the dialogue was a little bit cheesy and a lot of the drama was very high school (but also what should i expect the characters are literally high schoolers) but overall it was super fun so i gave it 3.5 stars!

spoilers under the cut!

the way that the book was divided, like into different sections, WAS SO GOOD

i really enjoyed the chapters that were titled "you" that was honestly so cool

in the beginning of the book when cassie's family is beign described i swear i was having flashbacks to my own (i also come from a very large italian american family)

like offering jobs left and right, making sure that youre fed, that was so real

there is something with jlb and using substitute curse words and i am so here for it, i think that its so funny

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE SLOANE SHE IS SO SPENCER REID IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE

(she is also so me sometimes, she is 100% my favorite character so far)

i have so many mixed emotions about michael and dean

lea is the best thing to happen to anyone in this series i need to know more about her asap

that guy who approached cassie when she was sitting by the potomac reading the binder of cases 100% has to do with something later in the series

LACEY LOCKE BEING THE UNSUB AND CASSIES AUNT WAS LITERALLY SUCH A CRAZY PLOT TWIST

i feel like ive read so many different mystery books that i can usually suss out whats going to happen but holy cow that was insane??

when lacey shot michael my jaw was on the floor i was so shocked

deans dad being a serial killer was oneo of those things that i did suss out

i really like his character so far, hes very complex and im excited to see more of him in the next book

michael is kind of annoying me so far even though i really want to like him

i feel like every time he gives me a reason to like him, im about to celebrate and then he goes and does/says something thats so questionable

although i will give him credit for the end of the book, when he basically told cassie that he would let her figure out what shes feeling before he does anything

but then he also dissed dean in the same breath...

WHEN I GOT TO THE END OF THE BOOK AND IT SAID THE JLB WAS A PSYCHOLOGY AND PROFESSIONAL WRITING PROF AT A UNIVERSITY I WAS SO SHOCKED

i mean i wasnt surprised, i feel like that makes a lot of sense with how she writes, but omg how did i not know that

overall really fun book, i absolutely love the concept of it

it got 3.5 stars from me :)

#jlb #jennifer lynn barnes #the naturals #cassie hobbes #dean redding #judd hawkins #the naturals series #liv locus #booklr #book thoughts #book review #sloane lavish #lia zhang #michael townsend #book tumblr #booktok #bookstagram #bookish #books and reading

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yggdraseed · 1 year ago

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Thinking About the Itadori Family

Spoilers for Jujutsu Kaisen. Reader beware, you're in for a scare!

I find Kenjaku a fascinating character in a lot of different ways. There's always a game being played and a lie being told, and yet there's still this damp, flickering spark of humanity under all the theatrics, bullshit, and centuries of accumulated junk.

When Kenjaku escorted Itadori's former classmate from aeons ago back in chapter one out of the Sendai Colony, there was this really interesting softness they display nowhere else. Gone is all the pretense of mocking others and keeping secrets... perhaps because they knew most of it would be forgotten, as dreams often are. But it seems like Kenjaku may have given away some deep insight into the nature of sorcery by casually mentioning the "Cursed Realm" - which has never, to my knowledge, been mentioned before or since. Not only that, but Kenjaku tells her something truly shocking:

"Thank you for getting along with my son."

Like, you can see how weird this is, right? Face to face with Yuji, Kenjaku says, "I expect great things from you." Talking with Choso while Yuji isn't in the room, Kenjaku talks about him like some object; a mere vessel, the eye of the storm for the age to come. Talking with a non-sorcerer teenage girl who's unlikely to remember much, if any of the conversation, Kenjaku accepts Yuji as their son and expresses gratitude that she was kind to him.

So, is this a "Who we are in the dark" moment of honesty? Is this the consequence of Kenjaku being a composite of all these different personalities bubbling to the surface at different times? It's really, really hard to say. But I like the idea that somewhere at the bottom of it all, there is genuine love, if misguided in its expression. That's what I want to run with.

Personally, I've seen theories that Kenjaku duped Jin, or somehow used sorcery to enthrall him, or that Jin simply went insane before or after Kaori died and wasn't in his right mind. I think those are all possible, and they're more straightforward answers. But I want to get off the road and into the woods and see where I end up.

What if Jin knew? What if a pact was made to try to bring Kaori back, and even when the person who came back wasn't Kaori, Jin was still grateful? What if Jin was just grateful to get to see Kaori smile one last time, to get to hear her voice one last time, even if he knew in his heart it couldn't be the same ever again? Just like when Yaga brought Takeru back as a cursed corpse for Kusakabe's sister, so she could hear her son's voice and hug some part of him one last time.

And what if genuine love grew out of that gratitude? What if seeing this acceptance and kindness in Jin, of having someone give gratitude and a wish to be by Kenjaku's side, started to morph and change who Kenjaku was without them realizing the full ramifications of that at first?

What if that ache for a family, for a place to belong, for some connection to other human beings, has carved itself open inside this nomad of flesh and time? Journeying across a thousand years and potentially dozens of bodies, duping themselves into thinking they only cared about their grand experiment, only to narrowly dodge getting ensnared by their human heart and spending all this time since then trying to ignore their own humanity?

I still have a feeling Kenjaku isn't quite dead yet, and I want to believe a change that was started by Jin will have been finished by Takaba. With Kenjaku realizing they do want other people, that they do want to see human potential, not the potential of this mad experiment. And that they'll now be gunning to change the outcome of the Merger, in whatever way is possible.

Though I think this is probably just me spinning my own theories out into something that doesn't even resemble GeGe's plan. But hey! Each theory I make that's proven untrue by the author is an idea I can use in my own writing for free.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen theory #jujutsu kaisen thoughts #kenjaku #itadori jin #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers

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nerdieforpedro · 9 months ago

Text

No Stops and No Pulling Out

Chapter Three of A Safe Place for Us Series

Dieter Bravo x Aisha Smith (black plus size AFAB)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Dieter arrives at Aisha’s place. He continues in his honesty and his Kit Kat responds in kind. The point of no return.

Warnings: All the smut basically, fingering, oral (f receiving), both of them being bossy and chatty? (What was I thinking? Was not. 🤭), unprotected P in V (wrap it up IRL), aftercare, a smidge of cum play?, cockwarming, cuddles 🥰

Word Count: about 1.6k

Notes: This chapter is very horny. Here we are, I’m no quite sure what so say other than I hope you enjoy. 😉😆 I laughed way too hard at my own warnings, but I think I covered everything.

Main Masterlist/ Dieter Bravo Masterlist/AO3 Link

Once passed the threshold of her bedroom, she pushes Dieter onto the bed and drops her robe. The straps of her nightgown drop and expose one of her large breasts, the ones that Dieter has dreamt about. He’s laying across the bed removing his shirt and shimmying to the edge, he notices that she looks tense. Standing, Dieter takes one of her hands and kisses the back of it. “You’re sure you want to start now? Don’t seem excited at all Kit Kat.” His smirk earns the crack of a small smile, Aisha leans forward and kisses his cheek, his scruffy beard tickling her lips.

“Yeah I can. I said I could. And I do want to, it’s just going to change everything.” Placing her hand on his back, Bravo pulls down his pants and steps out of them. The first kiss to her neck has her exhale while with the next he earns his name cooed softly while he brings her over to the bed. Falling back, he beckons her to sit on his lap, but ends up pulling her because she was taking her time. A knee placed on the outside of his thighs, she’s spread for him. His hand guide her hips down to graze the head of his cock. He feels her slick entrance on his tip, licking his lips at the thought of being inside of her soon. “Dee, put it in.” Aisha’s nails are digging into Dieter’s shoulders.

“Not yet. I need you a lot more wet Aisha.” His middle finger quickly entered her head without warning and she yelped. “Sorry baby, but you’re not stretched and relaxed enough for me yet. I think you’ll enjoy the baby making process if I can get three in.” The perplexed look on her face made him start moving his finger slowly, having her ride it while she repeated his name and the soft curse of ‘fuck.’ “Same Ai. God this is so better than how I pictured it.” Pulling down both of nightgown straps, she lifted her breast to Dieter’s mouth.

“Stop talking and suck. Help me get there Dieter.” Nodding, his tongue warmed her nipple as her hips began to roll in his finger, Bravo fell back and Aisha did with him, straddling him as a second finger entered her moist core. Now making a vacuum around her chocolate pebble, Dee watched as her back started to arch and her hips began gyrating in circles. “M-More…ahh…almost…” Slipping a third finger in proved difficult as she was clenching his two so tightly, so he used his teeth to nab at her nipple. It was enough to have her drip down his hand and wrist as her body became rigid with her orgasm. Her full weight was on top of him as he held her. Panting for a few moments, Aisha was able to look up at Dieter and saw admiration on his face. She shouldn’t but she felt shy suddenly at him seeing such a different side of her.

“Didn’t know you liked to give commands like that in bed too. I just thought it was during movie nights and meals.” He jokes as she rolls off of him, still watching him. “What is it?”

“So…you love me and that’s why you want to help me have a baby Dieter?” He can tell she hasn’t quite accepted his words from her question. Why is he only good with them when they’re written by someone else?

“Because I love you I want to put a baby in you. Maybe two or three, we’ll see how the first one goes. You know I’d take care you and our kid right? Aisha you’re one of the few good things I have besides my Kit Kats, sobriety and my robe.” He turns to lay on his side and kisses her breast then forehead. “Now if you want me to continue, that nightgown is coming off, you’re keeping your legs open wide and I’m kissing both sets of lips.” Bringing the two fingers he had inside of her, Dieter licked them slowly as she removed her nightgown and tossed it on the floor. Wordlessly, Aisha slipped a leg under Dee’s side and put her other one on his hip to flip him from his lateral laying position to on top of her.

“My one set of lips are going to be kissed by your cock Dieter. Guide yourself inside of me. Now.” Twitching from her aggressiveness and another command, he reaches down and moves his head and shifts against her wet slit, coating himself in her juices. “Stop teasing me and fuck me Dee.” Getting himself situated on his knees, he grabs a pillow and taps her hip for Aisha to raise them for him.

“Aisha, I’m not just going to fuck you. At least the first time. I told you I love you, are you going to act like you didn’t hear me?” He asked with an sharp edge, allowing his bulbous head inside of her warmth. He held her hips still so she couldn’t despite trying to use her legs to get some leverage. “Do you feel the same or you truly just want a kid from me? Hm?” He felt her walls grip him, trying to pull him further in.

“I heard you, I just…I’m going to be covetous with you Dieter. Your time, your love, your attention and maybe even your Kit Kats.” She strokes the vellus hairs on his arms as her eyes meet his with a soft smile. “I’ve loved you for years.” Bravo quickly bottoms out within her spongy walls, throbbing within her. He kisses between her breasts as her back arches, the stretch of his thick member dragging toward her depths. He doesn’t move, kissing her chin next before exhaling. “My god Dee, that’s what you have in those pants?! My pussy won’t be the same…”

“Damn right she won’t, she’s mine now as are you. Beautiful.” Her cunt clenched when he spoke about her quivering cavern and moaned when he said he was hers. He didn’t announce when he was going to move, he just drew back and slid into her slowly. Their bodies found their own rhythm between grunts and whines, as Dieter sped up, Aisha began to pull his hair and licked his Adam’s apple. Dieter used his forearms to hook under her knees to spread her legs further as he rutted into her.

He felt close, but he didn’t want to stop. Having her moan and cry his name out, growling hers, he wants to churn his come inside of her and then fill her again later. Dieter thought he could hold out a bit longer, but he wasn’t able to, once he began pouring into her, his hand quickly dropped her leg and his thumb found her clit, he licked his thumb and circled it, trying to make her climax so she could milk his cock. On this he was successful, and her velvet walls did clinch around his softening length as he remained within her.

Dieter found her eyes and watched her purr. At least he thinks he heard a purr and this is why he wouldn’t want another man to experience this. Possessive? Yes, but she moaned when he called her his. “Aisha. Aisha, damn sweet girl…” Using his tongue, he cleaned his thumb of her slick and bit her bottom lip, forcing her mouth to open for him to slip inside, making her taste herself.

“Are you…always like this Dieter?” Able to speak between pants and Dieter’s thumb bobbing in her mouth. He didn’t pull out and just warmed within her. He knew he would have to eventually. They would need to clean up. But then what, just appointments until things are figured out? More, he wants and needs more from her.

“No. It’s only with you. Aisha. I’m not in the habit of wanting someone this much. You did that to me.” Cupping her face, a light kiss, gentle. He can do that and be that for her. She watched his features soften with the kiss. Dieter looked warm to her, Aisha couldn’t recall him ever this territorial with her. Protective maybe, especially after her work was stolen but not like this. Where it doesn’t look like he’s going to let her go. It makes her feel safe, but also scares the hell out of Aisha. She ruffles his hair as he finally slides out of her. The loss of his girth has her groaning and feeling the drag of his length exiting her has her crave it again. “Come on.”

“W-Wait, I’m not ready to stand yet.” Dieter has already popped up out of bed and is pulling Aisha by her hands to take her to her bathroom. Wobbly and leaning on Dieter’s arm, they make it there together and wipe each other down, cleaning up. “I’m still dripping a bit Dee.” She states barely above a whisper as he’s between her legs, spreading her again to ensure that she’s clean and dry. The sensation of the washcloth and his hand. He flicks his tongue on her inner thigh. “D-Dee, don’t.”

The low chuckle as he stands, “I’m not. Nowhere near ready to go again. Come on, back to bed with you Scribbles.” A light slap to Aisha’s ass as he holds a handful of it and takes her back to her bed. Laying next to her feels right, having her curl on his chest gives Dieter a wide smile.

“You’re going to get some sleep too?” With heavy eyes, Aisha peers up at Dieter and presses her palm into his chest, “We’ll talk more tomorrow morning Dee.” Her voice trailed off and he was right behind her.

“We will. I promise Ai.”

Chapter Two. Chapter Four

The cuddlers 🤗: @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @rosecentaur1916 @westside-rot

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @schnarfer @yorksgirl @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @guelyury

@readingiskeepingmegoing @gwendibleywrites @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x plus’s size ofc #black reader #a safe place for us #nerdieforpedro

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a-chinese-doll · 7 months ago

Text

A Comedy of Misplaced Affection

CHAPTER 6: The Last Lesson

"I don't want to leave you alone... with her," you whisper in his ear.

Choso smiles at you with amusement, his hand gently ruffling your hair. "There's nothing to worry about," he replies, his honesty evident in the softness of his voice.

Your lips curve into a pout, bottom lip jutting out in a silent protest, but you know there's not much you can do about it. Tengen has decided that the three of you would take turns on night watch, from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m., three hours each. You are the first to start, followed by Yuki, and finally Choso. This means that the room set up as the resting area, with futons laid out, would host only two of you at a time. The thought of Choso and Tsukumo being alone together doesn't sit well with you at all.

You leave the room a bit hesitant, crossing paths with Tsukumo at the doorway. You give her a warning look, your eyes narrowing. "I see you," you whisper in a mock-serious, threatening tone, pointing two fingers at her like you’re watching her every move.

She smiles in return, even though she knows the mistaken idea you've formed about her. She's no predator lying in wait for her prey, but she plays along, laughing at your playful suspicion. As you walk away, she waves in farewell, and, once the door clicks shut behind her, she sighs and drops heavily onto the futon next to Choso, curling up with her arms wrapped around her knees.

Turning her gaze to Choso, she asks, her smile teasing. "So? What kind of woman do you like? You still haven't answered my question!"

He raises an eyebrow, watching her hesitantly and pondering a possible answer. "Mmmh... The kind of woman that Y/N is, I suppose," he says, casting a quick glance at the door you just walked through.

"Then, are you her boyfriend or not?" the sorceress inquires.

"Well... sort of," he responds, his tone laced with mild annoyance.

Yuki falls backward onto the futon, taking a supine position with her arms behind her head. "Are you in love with her?"

"In love..." Choso repeats, the words foreign in his mouth. "Y/N says that love is that feeling that emerges when someone feels something for another person that goes beyond simple liking," he replies hesitantly, not quite knowing how to define such a sentiment. "But I couldn't give you a precise answer... I don't know what one really feels when they are in love."

"Well...Give you a few questions to help you figure out! What do you think of her? Do you like her? Just physically? Mentally too?" she asks.

Choso doesn't hesitate for a moment to respond. "I think she's the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on... and the deepest person I've ever had the chance to talk to."

Finding his answer endearing Yuki continues to investigate "What do you think when you're with her?"

"Mhh... that she's so gentle, cute, defenseless... she needs to be protected," he answers bluntly.

"She's anything but defenseless," the blond girl interrupts with a chuckle.

"She will always be... at least to me..." the half curse replies, frowning.

"Is that all you think of her?"

Choso blushes slightly. "No... I would spend every possible moment with her, doing everything I can to keep that vivid smile on her face, and obviously, there are a whole series of... physical reactions... that I won't describe here..."

Tsukumo reacts with amusement, fully grasping his implication. "I understand," she grins. "Do you think of her often?"

"She is in my mind 24/7," he answers, staring at the wall, as if lost in thought.

"That's called obsession, then," Yuki bursts into laughter, earning a threatening glare from Choso, the intensity in his eyes silencing her momentarily, though she can’t stop the grin from spreading across her face.

"Well, there's your answer," Yuki concludes, wrapping up her little investigation.

"What do you mean?" Choso asks, still furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"That you're in love with her," she states simply, her gaze drifting lazily up to the white ceiling. "It's obvious from the way you act. You touch her like she's fine porcelain. When you're with her, your usually aloof face brightens up, and your pupils dilate... I don’t think it’s hard to notice."

For a moment, Choso is silent, staring at her as he processes what he's just heard. "So, that's love?"

"Mh mh," Yuki nods in confirmation.

"Well, it’s not that bad," he replies after a pause, propping his arms on the futon behind him and leaning back.

In the meantime, you've spent your night watch pacing back and forth like a caged tiger in front of Tengen's palace entrance. Your mind is flooded with thoughts of what those two could be doing alone.

"That harpy," you growl, clenching your fists at your sides. "If she so much as touches him, I'll tear her arm off with my teeth." As you revel in these murderous thoughts, you realize just how overpowering your jealousy has become. Suddenly, you bring your hands to your face, feeling the heat of a blush. "Y/N... damn it... you can't be this jealous..."

Given your exaggerated reaction, it’s clear, you’re not naïve: the existence of your feelings for Choso is becoming undeniable. After all, it’s evident that your recent lessons with him weren’t just purely practical and physical; they were fueled by the deep affection you’ve begun to nurture for him. You don’t mind this at all; in fact, knowing you can direct your positive feelings toward someone you care about in the chaos that has plunged the world of sorcery into oblivion gives you the strength to move forward. However, the thought that this newfound happiness could waver makes you uneasy.

Taking a deep breath in and out, you try to calm yourself. "Relax, relax... nothing will happen... My Onii-chan would never go for someone like her," you say assertively, though deep down, you can’t shake the nagging doubt. When you finally return from your guard shift, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, your mind swirls with thougts and uncertainties about what Tsukumo might have done in your absence. You're immediately on edge, ready to investigate whether she made a move on Choso.

As the clock strikes midnight, you return to the room, throwing the door wide open with more force than you intended. Contrary to all the wild scenarios you'd imagined during your shift, the scene before you is unexpectedly relaxed. Yuki and Choso are at practically opposite ends of the room. She is half-asleep, her head resting on the pillow of her futon as she waits for her turn, while Choso is fully absorbed in a stack of books from the library.

Despite the seemingly calm situation, your frustration lingers, and you can’t help but address Tsukumo aggressively. "Did you keep your hands to yourself, you witch?" you snap, the accusation sharp in your tone.

Yuki opens one eye lazily, barely bothered by your words, and smirks. "Calm down, I’m too tired to make a move, even if I wanted to," she teases.

You dart a murderous glare at her in response.

"Calm down, calm down, we only talked, really!" Yuki replies, getting up from the futon and yawning, raising her hands defensively.

You look at Choso for confirmation. Being completely focused, he seems oblivious to the world around him, however, sensing your gaze upon him, he raises his head, meeting your eyes with a look of sincere reassurance

"Good... It's your turn now. Go on, shoo, shoo!" you state, pushing Yuki from behind as she approaches the exit. "Enjoy your shift," you add, giving her one final shove out of the room and closing the door firmly behind her.

Slamming the door shut, you turn your attention back to Choso. His hair is down, cascading over his face and giving him a more relaxed, almost ethereal look in the dim light. There's a quiet handsomeness about him, his usual intensity softened by the late hour. In his hands, he holds a book about the meaning of human life, his eyes skimming the pages with an earnest curiosity.

"Onii-chan," you say in a whiny tone, a hint of playful concern in your voice, "Are you sure she didn't do anything to you?"

"Onii-chan?" Choso repeats, amused by your childish tone. "What’s with that bratty tone?" he asks, setting the book aside next to the futon and looking at you with an entertained expression

“Mmmh... nothing in particular," you reply, shaking your head dismissively. Then, stepping toward the futon with a playful grin, you declare, "I just want you to cuddle me!".

"What?" Choso barely has time to respond before you throw yourself into his lap, facing him, your legs wrapped securely around his waist. You hold him tightly, hugging him as if you haven't seen each other in ages. Pressing your head against his chest, you can feel the rapid beating of his heart. Choso is caught off guard by this sudden display of affection. Tentatively, he wraps his arms around you, hesitating at first but gradually relaxing as he pulls you closer.

"I'm jealous," you say, embarrassed, as you bury your head in his chest.

"Jealous? Of what?" Choso asks, his voice genuinely curious, not quite understanding what this sentiment could stem from.

"Of Tsukumo... she's so beautiful... and she flirts with you, I can see it clearly. And I... well, I'm nothing like her..."

Choso’s expression softens, and he shakes his head. "I don't see any reason to be jealous of her. Yes, she's a beautiful woman, but you... you're the first and only woman I would l—" He stops abruptly. The conversation he had with Tsukumo moments ago had given a name to his feelings for you, and now, he had almost confessed them outright. But fear of overstepping, of scaring you, holds him back as he scrambles to find the right words.

"You would...?" You prompt softly, noticing his sudden silence and the hitch in his breath.

Choso swallows, at a loss for how to finish his thought, his heart pounding.

You pull away from his chest for a moment, locking eyes with him. His face clearly shows hesitation, and though he meets your gaze briefly, he quickly shifts to staring at a random spot on the futon.

"The first and only woman I would like," he finishes quietly.

You look at him kindly, sensing there’s more he's holding back, but you choose not to press. Instead, you gently rest your head back on his chest, finding comfort in the peaceful silence between you.

You're not quite sure what came over you, but during those long hours of waiting, your thoughts of him had ignited a small flame of passion within you. The moment you laid eyes on him, that flame roared into a wildfire. With his hair down, his muscles subtly outlined beneath the thin, white short-sleeved shirt, and his focused expression as he read, everything about him seemed even more beautiful tonight. Maybe it was the jealousy, maybe it was the room's soft lighting, but you desired him with every fiber of your being.

"Choso..." you whisper, feeling his chest rise and fall with each steady breath. "I... need you." The words escape your lips in a soft murmur, almost trembling in the quiet.

"You need me...?" he asks, likely sensing the underlying meaning in your words.

"Yes... I want to make love to you... now."

Choso’s eyes widen, dumbfounded, the evident tension in his body palpable to the touch, his heart pounding even harder beneath your cheek. His hands grip your waist, as if trying to ground himself in this reality. He swallows hard, his breath hitching as he processes your words. When you first started talking about this story of mating, he never imagined he would come to the day when such things would become practical. Yet, here you are, alone in a room in a secluded palace, cut off from the world.

“You... you want to...?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, the tone incredulous.

You lift your gaze, pleading eyes meeting his while you nod. He looks back at you, searching for any trace of doubt or uncertainty but what he finds there only makes his grip on you tighten.

His hands move slowly, almost reverently, up your back. "Are you sure?" he asks, the question hanging heavy in the air, as if the world has narrowed down to this very moment.

Closing your eyes, you lean in slowly, your breath warm against his face. Gently, you run your tongue along his upper lip, feeling it tremble under your touch. You nip at it lightly, eliciting a soft gasp from him. Then, you grab the back of his neck, pulling him closer as you intertwine your tongue with his in a deep, heated kiss.

Choso surrenders to you, his body melting against yours. When you open your eyes, he meets your gaze, half-lidded and filled with raw lust.

You break the kiss, detaching from his mouth and moving toward his neck, trailing your lips and tongue along it slowly and deliberately. You suck on his skin, hoping that your tiny mouth will leave a mark for everyone to see on his pale flesh. The sensation makes him shiver, and the feeling of him trembling against you consumes any remaining sense of restraint you might have had.

“Well, you know…” he stammers, his voice shaky as he tries to speak. You can feel him tense beneath you while you go on kissing under his jawline, lingering there as his breath comes out in ragged gasps.

“I have… seen how it works... in some videos,” he manages to say, his words faltering when you slide your tongue, moving slowly until you reach his Adam's apple. He swallows hard, the motion making him vulnerable to your touch.

“So... in theory... I think I have an idea.”

You continue kissing and licking your way back up, gradually approaching his earlobe. You catch it between your teeth, biting down just hard enough to make him gasp. He sucks in a breath, his eyes fluttering shut, struggling to maintain control. "But in practice... I... I don't know..."

You lean into his ear, your breath hot against his skin as you whisper, "I want you...".

Your words cause his control to snap, unleashing a low growl that rumbles in his chest. “Damn... I want you too,” he mutters, the urgency in his voice palpable. In an instant, the tension between you ignites, and he crashes his lips against yours, powerless to resist. The kiss is rough and needy, a far cry from the hesitant touches from before. His hands roam over your body, exploring you with boldness. They slide over your exposed hips, his fingers tracing your skin as they travel upward, grazing the edge of your bra.

"Is this our last lesson?" he asks between kisses, his voice husky, thick with desire. You capture his lower lip between your teeth, biting down firmly enough to draw a low grunt from him. "I guess it is..." your voice trails off, muffled by soft pants as his hands begin to tug at the fabric between you.

Choso’s right hands move to the hem of your shirt, while his left keep you stable by your hips, his fingers trembling as he helps you lift the clothes over your head. He pauses for a second, his eyes lock onto your breasts, his breath hitching at the sight. With a shaky hand, he reaches the edge of your bra, not even minding undoing it he hooks his fingers under the fabric, slowly pulling it down. The bra slides beneath your breasts, lifting them gracefully and making them appear even fuller. His gaze is fixed on you, captivated by the way your nipples stand hard and eager before him. Primal hunger passes over his face, and for a moment, he hesitates as if trying to absorb the sight fully.

Then, unable to hold back any longer, he leans in, his lips latching onto your breast. His mouth is hot and insistent, and when he bites down on your nipple, you feel a sharp jolt of pleasure shooting straight through you. He groans against your skin, his tongue flicking over the hardened nub as he suckles greedily.

His free hand squeezes your other breast, fingers kneading the soft flesh as he shifts his attention between the two, biting and sucking with increasing urgency. Each bite is measured, restrained just enough not to hurt but firm enough to make your pussy throb, wetness pooling with each careful nip. Trails of saliva cling to your nipple every time he pulls away to devour the other one, leaving your skin glistening in his wake.

You are impatient to please him too, so your hand slides down to his pants, gently slipping inside and feeling the heat and hardness waiting for you. Choso inhales sharply, his hips jerking at the sudden touch. You grasp him firmly, feeling how thick and rigid he is. Slowly, you start to pump him, your movements steady and deliberate. His reaction is immediate; he gasps, eyes squeezing shut as he throws his head back.

"You’re already so hard..." you hum, worshiping the way his body responds to you. His cock twitches in your hand with every stroke, a bead of precum forming at the tip that you smear down his length with your thumb. Choso groans, his breaths coming out unsteady. You can feel the tension coiling in him, the way his muscles tighten, his pelvis thrusting upwards into your hand automatically, as if seeking more of the pleasure you're giving him.

Choso's hands tighten around your hips as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. There's a wild, almost desperate look in them, but also a glimmer of uncertainty. Overwhelmed by the sensations, he's unsure of how to proceed. "I... I don't know what to do," he admits, his voice strained. The raw desire in his gaze, paired with the openness of his confession of inexperience, is such a tender display that you find irresistibly endearing.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "It's okay," you whisper, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Let me take the lead, once more"

You push gently on his chest, urging him to lie back. He obeys, his eyes locked on yours with lustful vulnerability flashing in his gaze.

You help him remove the rest of his clothing. First is the shirt, which you gently help him pull off, placing it on the futon beside you. The dusky light highlights his chiseled chest and toned muscles, each curve and line accentuated by the shadows. His skin is smooth, warm under your touch, a perfect blend of strength and grace.

Then, you slide off his pants and boxers, exposing him fully. His cock stands tall and rigid, glistening with his essence, already throbbing for your previous ministrations.

Following, you strip off your own clothes, underwear included, tossing them carelessly to the side. Choso watches you intently, his eyes widening as they take in the sight of your naked form. His gaze roams over every inch of you. He swallows hard, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words come out. The display of you, completely bare and sat on his legs, makes his chest tighten with reverence.

"Onii-chan, Onii-chan," you purr like a needy kitten, your voice soft and teasing, while your gaze sharpens with the predatory intensity of a hunter. "Soon, your dear Y/N will be the one to take your innocence."

The irony of the word innocence almost makes you laugh, considering you’re addressing a supposedly murderous half-curse. You feel so overpowered as you make this bold declaration, reveling in the dominance you hold while preparing to perform the act. Choso, with his formidable blood manipulation skills and impressive techniques, is difficult to match—perhaps even by you—but he remains a virgin after all. This realization fuels your confidence as he lies vulnerable beneath you, igniting an unparalleled sense of omnipotence.

His eyes grow dark with desire at your words as he submits to you so willingly, every part of him yearning for your touch. You are the only person he would ever prostrate himself before, so he doesn’t mind being in your hands, at least until he learns how to ravage you and bend you to his will.

You lean down, slowly moving towards his hips. Grabbing his cock, you lower your head and give it a long, slow lick from the base to the tip, savoring his taste. He groans loudly, his hips jerking upwards at the sensation. You take him into your mouth, bobbing on him once, eliciting another guttural sound from his throat. "You're going to like this..." you whisper, staring in his eyes.

You rise up, positioning yourself over him and guiding his cock to your wet entrance, his eyes fixated on the sight of you, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "I'll ride you," you declare, your voice sultry and filled with promise. He watches you, his hands clutching your hips, his chest rises and falls rapidly, every muscle in his body tense as you begin to lower yourself onto him. The moment his tip breaches you, he inhales sharply, his eyes flying open wide. His mouth drops open, a look of sheer ecstasy washing over his face as he feels your warmth envelop him. Inch by inch, you take him deeper, your walls stretching to accommodate his thickness. A deep, guttural moan rips from his throat, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully as he struggles to hold himself back.

"How does it feel...?" you ask, your voice breathless as you sink further down, uncertain if you'll be able to take all of him.

"Damn..." he chokes out, his voice strained and rough. "You're so warm and soft... it's ecstasy..." His head falls back against the pillow, his eyes squeezing shut as he feels his shaft pulsating against your walls. His hips buck slightly, trying to push deeper inside you, his body reacting on pure instinct.

Choso's eyes drop to the place where your bodies are joined, his breath hitching as he watches his cock being completely engulfed by you, eyes charged with lust as he sees how every inch of him disappears into your folds. You feel him twitch inside you, growing even harder at the sight.

"I'm going to start moving now," your voice trembling with the intense effort of welcoming him completely. He nods, his hands sliding to your ass, gripping you firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as if to anchor himself.

You begin to move, lifting yourself slowly before sliding back down onto him. Each time you lower yourself, you delve deeper, the penetration growing more intense. You mix this rhythm with tantalizing circular movements, grinding your hips against him, savoring the electric friction.

"Fuck..." he groans, his voice rough and strained, his gaze filled with deep reverence as he focuses on your breasts bouncing up and down.

His grip on your ass tightens, and he begins to move with you, his pelvis thrusting up to meet your movements, pushing himself deeper each time.

The room fills with the sound of your bodies moving together, his ragged breaths, your soft moans, and the sharp, rhythmic slap of your bodies meeting. You pick up the pace, riding him harder, feeling him throb inside you with every thrust. Choso's hands start instinctively to guide your movements, his grip firm but desperate, as if he can't get enough of the feeling of you around him. His gaze flickers between the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you and the spectacle of your bouncing chest, completely lost in the intoxicating pleasure of the moment.

As the friction of your clit against his pelvis intensifies, you feel the orgasm building inside you, every movement pushing you closer to the edge. Choso watches your face, captivated by every expression of bliss that crosses it.

With a shuddering gasp, the accumulated tension snaps within you, and a wave of ecstasy washes over you, making you cry out as your body convulses around him. You can barely hold back as the pleasure peaks, and suddenly, you release—your fluids gushing out, coating him in a copious amount.

Choso’s breath hitches at the sight, his eyes locked on you as you squirt over him, your juices sliding down his shaft, pooling upon his abdomen, and soaking into the cover of the futon. His cheeks flush a deep crimson at the wet yet sublime sensation. "You... you’re amazing," he whispers in wonder, his voice barely audible.

You catch your breath and look down at him, a smile playing on your lips. For a moment, a flicker of concern crosses your mind about the mess that will come after this, but you quickly wave off the thought, too entranced by the sight of him reveling in the filthy view. "Your turn," you speak softly, the words a sweet invitation.

You slide off him, the heat of your bodies pressed together giving way to a sudden yet fleeting coldness, your wetness gliding down your thighs. Then, you lay back on the futon, offering yourself to him completely.

He hesitates as you lie there, entirely at his mercy, but his throbbing cock speaks for him; it will never know peace until it fills you up to your womb. Choso is far too much of a gentleman to admit something like that, but his body betrays his desire, so, with trembling hands, he moves over you, taking control. He positions himself between your legs, bracing himself with his left elbow on the side of your head. His body presses against yours, the warmth of his skin seeping into you. His breath is labored and irregular, each exhale brushing against your cheek. His other hand explores you with a tentative touch, fingertips trembling as they trace the curves of your body, his uncertainty evident in every movement. You can feel the tension in his muscles, his struggle to hold back, determined not to rush or make any mistakes.

His eyes lock with yours, searching, almost pleading for reassurance. You offer him a soft, encouraging smile, sliding your hand to the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss. His lips capture yours once again, the affection in this gesture easing his anxiety. Slowly, he gains a bit of confidence, his touch growing bolder as his hand roams over your skin.

He breaks the kiss, gazing down at you as he aligns his cock with his hand, poised at your entrance. The tip of his hard shaft presses against you, perfectly positioned, so he pauses, placing his other elbow at the side of your head. His eyes flicker to yours once more, searching for reassurance. You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist and drawing him closer.

"I wish I could make this perfect for you...," he whispers, almost apologizing for being inexperienced. He exhales shakily as the head of his member barely pushes inside you. The initial pressure against his already sensitive tip makes him gasp, he moves slowly, inching forward with a cautious thrust, his brow furrowing as he feels your warmth envelop him again.

He maneuvers with intense concentration, his lower lip captured between his teeth. An internal struggle is evident in his eyes—the desire to take you fully balanced against the fear of not being capable enough. He pushes deeper, stretching you at an agonizingly slow pace. You feel every inch of him sliding inside, his hips stuttering as he fights to maintain control.

The tightness around him elicits a sound that escapes his lips unbidden, filled with raw need. His hips press forward, pushing himself the rest of the way in, filling you completely. He pauses there, buried deep inside you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fights to steady his breathing. His head rests on your shoulder, his hair falling limply and cascading over your body. You can feel him trembling, his cock twitching within you as he starts to move with thrusts that are slow, hesitant, almost clumsy at first. Each one is a deliberate effort to understand the rhythm, to find what feels right for both of you. He lifts his head, focusing his eyes on yours, watching for your reactions, drinking in the way your body responds.

"Am I...doing okay?" he asks, his voice low and a little breathless, the vulnerability in his tone igniting a thrill within you.

"You're doing perfectly," you reassure him, your voice soft and encouraging. "Just keep going."

His uncertainty makes every motion intense, the rawness of his inexperience mingling with the undeniable pleasure coursing through both of you. With each thrust, he gains a bit more confidence, his movements becoming less shaky and more purposeful. "I can’t believe how good this feels," he breathes, shifting from his elbows to his hands for better leverage, increasing the rhythm. His hair frames his face as a delicate scarlet hue spreads across his cheeks. "Just like that, Choso," you whisper, urging him on.

As Choso's movements reach a steady pace, the wave of your climax subsides. A satisfied smile spreads across your face as you take in his reaction, his flushed appearance, and the reverence in his gaze. With a gentle, reassuring touch, you caress his arm, silently encouraging him to continue. He is much more capable than he can imagine, and the vibrations of your body are a clear testament to that.

Choso bites his lip again at the sight of your delighted look, his thrusts becoming more deliberate and passionate. He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re tightening around me... that feels so good,” he speaks softly, his voice low and dissolute.

Changing the weight onto his left arm, he continues to move in and out of you with increasing fervor, while his free hand caresses your thighs, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin. You respond eagerly, meeting his thrusts with your own movements, your body arching and undulating beneath him. The primal sounds of your mutual pleasure heighten your arousal, and with each rhythmic slap of skin against skin, Choso’s thrusts bring you closer to another peak, his lust driving you to the edge.

As the intensity builds, you feel the need to be filled harder and deeper; you know you like it romantic yet rough. So, you raise your legs until your knees are level with your chest, eager to change the angle and heighten the sensation. The shift is swift and seamless, and Choso unconsciously follows your lead, placing his hands on your knees.

"Let me show you something different. This will give us both a new angle," you teach him, lifting your hips higher to allow him to steady his position again. He swallows hard at the sensation.

"D-Do I go on like this?" he asks, hesitating as his cock slides deeper into your welcoming heat.

"Yes," you urge him softly. "Go ahead, trust me."

From this new position, he realizes he can penetrate you more deeply, and as he pushes into you, his length glides effortlessly, hitting all the right places that make you gasp and moan. He discovers that perfect spot—the one you know will make you cry out with delight—and you whimper in response.

"Harder... Choso," you plead, your voice wheezing.

"Harder?" he echoes, worry flashing in his eyes. "I don’t want to hurt you..."

"It’s okay," you assure him, voice trembling with need. "I want it harder."

He complies, pushing into you with greater force. Your cry of pleasure fills the space. "Yes... just like that!" Your shameless voice reverberates against the rice paper screens scattered throughout the room.

Fueled by the fire your blissful expression ignites within him, Choso thrusts into you relentlessly, each movement driving you closer to the brink. He watches you fall apart beneath him, your body arching and writhing as he hits that right spot repeatedly.

The sensation is overwhelming—an almost painful yet delightful rush creeping up to your cervix. The heavenly enjoyment makes you lose yourself completely, and with the urge to grab onto something, you clutch Choso's forearms, your nails digging into his skin.

Feeling your grip tighten, Choso immediately freezes. His eyes widen with alarm as he pulls back slightly, his heart pounding with fear and concern.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" He studies your expression, his heart racing at the thought that he might have pushed too far. His entire body tenses, ready to pull away at any sign that you’re truly in pain.

The reverent respect he shows, even in such a wild moment, makes you melt.

"No, Choso," you reassure him, out of voice "You're giving me the best sensations I've ever felt."

At the sound of your strained words, a wave of pride sweeps through him as he resumes his movements, relieved and filled with confidence. The rhythm intensifies, each thrust hitting deeper and harder, pulling louder, more desperate moans from your lips. The angelic sounds of your pleasure are bliss to Choso's ears as his name escapes your mouth in near-shouts.

"The way you call my name... it's like a melody to me," he whispers, his eyes fixed on your lips as they part slightly. “Please, don’t stop” he pleads.

You give him a faint smile, your voice shaky. "Choso…I'm going to come again..."

Choso exhales at the thought of seeing you come undone once more with your delicious juices coating again his cock. The very idea drives him wild with desire, and his movements falter for a split second before he regains his rhythm.

Just a few more thrusts, and your orgasm crashes over you, your body tensing as your fluids spill down his shaft. Your walls tighten around him, squeezing him tightly and causing him to shiver in response.

As your cunt clenches around his member, the friction becomes almost unbearable. Choso’s face contorts in delight as he drives deeper into you, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. His thrusts become erratic, breaths growing scruffy and mingling with his animalistic growls, hot puffs of air brushing against your skin. His eyes lock onto yours with wild, desperate hunger.

"I'm... close too," he gasps, his voice breaking. You can feel him pulsing inside you, the tension in his body coiling tighter, ready to snap. His pace becomes frantic, rhythm lost as he chases the overwhelming release building within him.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep, his entire body shuddering as he spills into you. A deep, guttural groan escapes his lips—a sound of raw, unrestrained satisfaction. The warmth of his release floods you, mingling with your own as Choso falls against you, bracing himself on his elbows, his face mere inches from yours as his hair brushes softly against your skin, his body trembling. You feel the heat radiating from his body and the warmth of his breath, enveloping you in a cocoon of intimacy, as you take in his relaxed yet exhausted features, droplets of sweat glide delicately down his temples. He looks divine even in this state.

Lifting himself slightly, Choso looks down at the sight of his cock nestled within your pussy, his juices merging with yours, creating a sinful blend that almost makes him hard again.

With a shaky breath, he presses a finger against your swollen, sensitive entrance, while still buried deep inside you, allowing the mixture of your fluids to coat it. He pauses, captivated, watching as your slickness glistens.

Bringing the fingertip to his mouth, he mimics the gesture you made in Shibuya, slowly licking the nectar from it. His eyes flutter closed as he savors the taste, the flavor of your first union lingering on his tongue. He looks then down at you, unconsciously smirking, gifting you with a sensual gaze you never expected from him. You blush at the sight, your heart fluttering—how can he be so gorgeous? His eyes hold you captive, their heat making you feel exposed and cherished all at once.

But then, his expression softens, shifting into one of reverence and tenderness. He leans down, his cock still throbbing within your core, refusing to part from the warmth of your body.

"I would do this a thousand times over," he confesses, his voice a husky whisper.

You let out a shy laugh, glancing away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "Well... I don't know if I'm ready for a second round just yet," you reply timidly, the flush on your cheeks deepening.

He smiles softly at you, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection. Slowly, he rests his forehead against yours, a tender gesture that makes your heart swell.

You linger in that moment of affection, a warm reprieve from the battles and dangers that threaten your daily lives. It's as if time has slowed, granting you both this fleeting but precious pause from the world outside.

While the room is filled with a quiet, intimate warmth, the words you never thought you could say to anyone slowly make their way from your heart to your lips. It feels so right now, so in tune with the moment. With a surge of emotion, you reach up and gently cradle Choso's face in your hands, guiding him to look directly into your eyes. You pull him back just enough to create a sliver of space between you.

"Choso..." you murmur, pausing as the weight of what you're about to say presses on your chest. "I love you," you confess, the words spilling out in a soft whisper, fluid and genuine, sealed with unfiltered honesty.

At the revelation of your feelings, you notice a profound shift in Choso's expression. His eyes, once locked with yours in a gaze of intense passion, begin to grow glassy. His brows furrow slightly, and his mouth trembles as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and he blinks rapidly, trying to hold back the tears forming in his eyes.

Having come to understand him very well, you had somehow anticipated this reaction. Choso is the epitome of cool detachment, he always appears so distant, as if perpetually bored with everything around him. Yet beneath that indifferent exterior, he harbors the purest feelings for the one he cares.

You love this about him.

As you brace yourself for the inevitable flood of his emotions, you hold him close. You pull him into your embrace, feeling his struggle to suppress his sobs as he buries his face against you. The warmth of your cuddle provides him with solace, a sanctuary where he can let his guard down.

As you hold him, Choso’s composure cracks. His eyes, which had been brimming with unshed tears, finally overflow. His breathing becomes uneven, punctuated by the tremors of his silent sobs as he buries his face deeper into your shoulder. You try to soothe him without uttering a word, understanding how difficult it is for him to process such a revelation of feelings. Instead, you simply run your fingers through his hair, tracing imaginary designs on his back, losing yourself in the tenderness of the moment and savoring the vulnerability of this mighty man—so strong in battle yet so delicate in this intimate space.

As his sobs gradually subside, Choso lifts his head, revealing a tear-streaked face illuminated by the dancing light of the lamp. His eyes, shiny but filled with a profound sense of wonder, lock onto yours.

"Y/N..." he begins, the tone thick with emotion. "I love you too." his voice trailing down, quivering.

Your heart swells at his words, a rush of warmth flooding through you. A smile breaks across your face, brightening the atmosphere around you. Yet, you had no doubt—through his gestures, his words, his glances—he had already revealed the strong feelings he held for you. Still, you’re overjoyed to finally hear it directly from him.

"Choso," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that." You lean in closer, cupping his face gently, your thumbs brushing away the remnants of his tears.

You plant a soft peck on his lips, feeling them tremble as he parts them to speak. “Though... I don’t even know if I deserve all of this…”

You look at him, startled by his sudden statement. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve killed, taken so many lives… I gave up my humanity long ago—for my brothers. Why should I taint someone as pure as you, when I’m nothing more than the flawed result of a twisted experiment...”

You cut him off, flicking his forehead in frustration.

“Don’t you dare say that, Choso. Believe me, human beings can be the cruelest creatures on this planet. They nurture hatred, vengeance, envy… But you—” you pause for a moment, searching for the right words—“I’ve never met anyone more human than you. Your emotions are so real, so authentic. You love with a depth that far surpasses any human I’ve ever known, transcending the mere duality of humanity and curses. I’ve never met a single person who values family the way you do. You listen, you care, you're thoughtful, sometimes a little clumsy…” You laugh softly. “You’re better than most humans I know.”

You raise your hand to caress his cheek, and he leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of your gesture. "Do you really think so?" he asks, as if your words are hard to believe.

“You don’t even have to ask that,” you reply without a hint of doubt.

“Thank you for allowing me the privilege of being the one you chose,” he murmurs.

You shake your head gently. “No, thank you for choosing a sorceress without any special talent like me…” you admit, still not understanding what this man could have found in you.

“Eso and Kechizu would have adored you...and Yuuji already does...”

“Well, I already feel like part of the family,” you smile, tracing the soft curves of his face—his eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones. “And to me... you are the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me,” he confesses, his voice filled with sincerity. Choso lowers his head, resting it against your chest, surrendering to the softness of your curves. "Damn the night shifts, the fights, the Culling Game, Kamo Noritoshi, everything… I seal that damn door, and I’m never going out again. I want to stay like this forever, and you’ll be stuck with me too," he murmurs, his eyes closed as he listens to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

His words draw a hearty laugh from you. "That’s a bit of a selfish statement, you know? Perhaps we should focus on getting rid of all the current threats. We’ll have all the time we need when things improve, I promise. But for now, you should rest because soon it’ll be your turn to stand guard."

You smile playfully at him, and Choso chuckles softly, a hint of shyness creeping into his expression as he realizes the truth in your words. His body is still pressed against you; he doesn't want to end this moment, but he knows you're right. Besides, the mess you've made needs to be cleaned up before Tsukumo comes back.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from you, your folds still warm around him as his member starts to relax (though it’s difficult to do so when you’re near). He gasps at the sensation of your bodies separating and regretfully stands up, helping you.

The view of his lean body is mesmerizing as his biceps tense while he assists you; your legs feel shaky from the earlier intimacy. Your juices trickle down your brushed skin, and you try your best to close your legs to prevent leaking. Choso helps you clean up with some cloths available in the room, kneeling down to caress your inner thighs with the fabric while delicately kissing his way up your leg and along your abdomen. Then, he rises, shifting his attention to the valley of your breasts and finally to your mouth.

He then puts his pants back on, leaving his shirt off. As he slides under the covers of the futon, he pats the space beside him, inviting you to join. You don’t even mind slipping on your pants; instead, you nestle into the warmth of the futon, wearing only your T-shirt and lingerie, pressed against his warm body with his powerful arms wrapped around you.

You suddenly feel the dizziness from the day and the time; the previous pleasure gradually gives way to fatigue as you relax, cradled in Choso's embrace.

The half-cursed spirit watches you as you close your eyes and whisper, "Good night." He knows he should rest too, but you're so cute, so tiny, that he cannot avert his gaze from you.

"I love you," he repeats more to himself than to you, knowing you’re already drifting off to sleep. But he savors the deep meaning of his words, aware that he has finally understood what true love for a woman can be.

He lies back against the futon, holding you close, allowing the soft rhythm of your breathing to soothe him. In the quiet of the night, he vows silently to cherish this moment and to protect you, no matter what challenges lie ahead.

As time passes, the moment for Choso to take watch arrives. Tsukumo enters the room, stretching her back. "Aaaah, I'm ready to go to sleep!" she exclaims loudly as she steps into the room. But she quickly lowers her voice when she sees you and Choso wrapped in the futon, entwined with each other, your figure hidden beneath the blanket and his arm, curled against his chest.

She smiles, wondering whether she should wake her replacement, but Choso has heard her arrival and gradually awakens from his stupor. "Ah... you’re here... I guess it’s my turn” he says in a low voice, attempting to move and detach from you, but unconsciously, your hand remains tightly grasped around his arm. He gasps yet can’t help but smile at your clinginess.

"Do you want to keep sleeping with her?" Yuki asks softly. "It wouldn’t be fair," he replies, attempting to pry your fingers off one by one without waking you. When he finally manages to slip out from under the futon, you let out a groan. "Choso…," you mumble, still half-asleep.

As odd as it can be, he chuckles gently.

"Oh, so you were sleeping shirtless," Tsukumo probes, raising an eyebrow, already having an inkling of what might have happened.

Choso averts his gaze, choosing to smile instead of answering. "Look at you... grinning," Tsukumo whispers, excited like a teenager. "Just leave it," he waves her off, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Okay," she cuts in briefly without insisting, but her urge to tease him is too strong. "Do a good job with your night shift, Casanova," she laughs under her breath.

Choso raises his eyes to the ceiling before glancing back at you, still asleep, your body partially exposed. He adjusts the covers, tucking you in with a gentle caress, wishing he could spend the entire night wrapped around you... but duty calls. He waves his hand to Tsukumo and leaves the room.

Tsukumo watches as you gradually open your eyes, sensing Choso’s departure. You turn to face away from her, pretending to ignore her while she prepares for the night and arranges the futon. “If I were you, I’d change that futon,” you say mischievously, hiding your grin beneath the covers.

The blond girl raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "I’ve already thought about that, don’t worry," she teases, her tone playful. She prepares to move the futon and opens the rice paper door of the wardrobe to grab another one. As she finishes arranging her spot for the night, she glances at you with a knowing look “Just make sure you two keep it down next time; I’m not sure Tengen would be happy knowing you were having fun in his palace... it’s supposed to be a sacred place here.”

How is she always one step ahead when it comes to teasing?

You feel your cheeks heat up at her words, an embarrassed laugh escaping your lips. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you feel flustered. "I’ll...listen to your advice, blonde harpy..." As she grins knowingly, you can’t help but contemplate how you’ll navigate this awkwardness in the future. With a final nervous chuckle, you bury your face in your hands, the warmth of your embarrassment washing over you, though you can’t help but smile to yourself as you reminisce about the moments you've shared.

As for Tengen's reprimand tomorrow? Tsukumo will need popcorn for that one!

(Not that it would stop you and Choso from continuing your lessons... in the future. :) )

For other Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

#choso kamo #choso smut #choso x reader #fluff #jjk x reader #smut #jjk smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen choso #romance

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niallerspayno · 16 days ago

Text

Troublemaker - Chapter Ten

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Tags: Angst

...

The hallway is empty when you step into it.

Empty and quiet—the kind of quiet that makes your own breathing feel too loud. You don’t know where you’re going. You just walk. Past the vending machines and past the elevator.

You make it to the stairwell before your vision starts to blur.

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud. You slump onto the cold concrete step, arms wrapping tight around yourself. Not crying yet. But close.

So, so close.

The door creaks open again.

You don’t turn around.

Footsteps echo once. Then pause.

Then—Louis’ voice, low and cautious.

“Didn’t know if you wanted company. But… figured I’d try.”

You don’t answer.

You hear him exhale.

Then he sits.

Right beside you.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Doesn’t push. He just leans his elbows on his knees and stares out at the opposite wall like it’s somehow safer than looking at you directly.

When he finally speaks, it’s gentle. Unusually so.

“They’re wrong, you know.”

You say nothing.

He glances sideways. “You don’t believe me.”

Still, you don’t look up.

Your voice is quiet. “I think they were being honest.”

Louis scoffs. “Yeah, well, I’ve heard a lot of bullshit in my life passed off as honesty. Doesn’t make it true.”

You shake your head, eyes stinging. “I’m not marketable. I’m not easy. I’m not—”

“Don’t.” His voice is sharper now. Not unkind—just firm. “Don’t do that. Don’t use their words to beat the shit out of yourself.”

Silence stretches between you again.

Then—

“I’ve been with you since the beginning, remember?” he says. “Since that first god-awful rehearsal when I forgot half the lyrics and Niall broke a mic stand.”

A laugh escapes you—watery and broken.

“I remember.”

“I also remember you making sure we all ate before our first radio show. Talking Zayn down after his first panic attack. Duct-taping Harry’s shoe back together before a meet-and-greet because he wouldn’t stop playing football backstage.”

You sniff, wiping your face with the sleeve of your jumper. “I forgot about that.”

“I didn’t,” Louis says. “I never forget my chaos partner’s greatest hits.”

You finally glance over at him.

He’s watching you now—serious, sure.

“I’ve done this with you beside me for years,” he says. “And I’m not doing it without you.”

Your throat tightens.

“Louis…”

“They don’t know you,” he says simply. “But I do. We do. And none of us are letting you go without a fight.”

You look away again, blinking hard. “I just didn’t want to be the reason it all fell apart.”

“You’re not,” he says. “You’re the reason it ever held together.”

Another silence.

Then—softly—he bumps his shoulder into yours.

“Don’t leave, yeah?”

You don’t answer.

Not yet.

But your hand moves—barely—and he feels it when your pinky curls around his.

The stairwell door creaks again.

Louis turns slightly, but you don’t have to ask who it is. You feel it.

The air changes.

Boots on concrete. A cough. A hushed curse from Niall.

Then silence.

You keep your eyes on the floor.

Liam’s voice cuts through it softly.

“You okay?”

You close your eyes. Just for a second. “Not really.”

He doesn’t ask permission.

He walks down the steps and crouches in front of you—one knee on the cold cement, one hand braced on the step. When you don’t look up, he doesn’t try to force it. He just reaches out and takes your hand.

You don’t stop him.

“You can’t believe what they said in there,” he says quietly. “Not after everything.”

You almost laugh—hollow and tired.

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” you whisper. “I’m not a face. I’m not polished. I don’t belong in interviews or red carpets or magazine spreads.”

“You belong with us,” Niall says, from the landing above.

You flinch.

You hadn’t realized they all stayed.

Harry’s arms are crossed over the railing. Zayn’s leaning against the wall with his hood up. Niall’s sitting on the top step. All of them looking down, like they’ve seen too many good things get talked out of staying.

“I’m just…” You pull your hand from Liam’s and fold it into your lap. “I’m not easy to market. They’re not wrong about that.”

“No,” Liam says, and now his voice is firmer. “They’re not wrong about the market. They’re wrong about you.”

You finally lift your eyes to his.

He’s not crying. But he looks like he could. His jaw is set, his throat tight, and he’s breathing like each word costs him something.

“You held this band together when the rest of us didn’t know how to,” he says. “You’ve been backstage at every fight, every breakdown, every meltdown. You’ve been there when I couldn’t get the words out, when Paul was too mad to speak, when someone needed to just sit in the dark for a while. That’s what you do. That’s who you are.”

You look down again.

“I didn’t ask to be in the spotlight,” you say. “But now that it’s on me, everyone’s trying to shove me out of frame.”

“Then we push back,” Louis says.

“They don’t get to pick who matters,” Harry adds. “Not after everything.”

Liam nods slowly, like he’s trying not to let anger cloud this moment. “You know why they want you gone?” he says. “Because you’re not a product. You’re not shiny and controllable. You’re real. And that scares the hell out of them.”

You press your palms to your knees, trying to ground yourself.

“I’m just… tired,” you say. “Of being a problem. Of being the weak link.”

“You’re not,” Liam says instantly.

“But I feel like one.”

He closes his eyes briefly, like that cuts deeper than anything else.

Then—quietly—he says, “Okay.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you can’t believe it right now, that’s okay,” he says. “I’ll believe it for both of us. I’ll carry it. I’ll remind you every day. Until you can see what I see.”

Tears sting your eyes again.

“I’m not trying to be dramatic,” you whisper. “I just… I don’t want to be the reason this all falls apart.”

“You’re not,” Zayn says, from behind Liam.

“You never were,” Niall adds.

Louis stands again, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Look, none of us are pretending this doesn’t suck. But don’t make a big decision while you’re hurting.”

Harry nods. “Don’t give them what they want just because they made you feel small.”

You take a shaky breath.

Then another.

Liam watches you, not pushing, just holding space for you to fall apart if you need to.

And maybe you will.

But not tonight.

You finally nod—barely—and his shoulders drop with visible relief.

“I’m not promising anything yet,” you say quietly.

“Okay,” Liam replies, voice soft. “I’m not asking you to. I just… I’m glad you’re still here.”

They don’t press you after that.

There’s a quiet, collective exhale as everyone slowly stands, like the tension has ebbed just enough to breathe again. Liam’s hand lingers at the small of your back—warm, steady—as you all climb the stairs together.

The hallway lights feel too bright. The silence between the boys buzzes with unspoken relief.

You wish you could feel it too.

Louis cracks the mood first. “Alright. We’re doing pizza, and we’re watching something dumb.”

“Marvel?” Niall offers.

“Too much plot.”

“Fast & Furious?”

“Still too much plot.”

“Shrek,” Harry says solemnly.

There’s a collective nod.

“Shrek it is,” Zayn mutters, pulling out his phone like he’s locking it in.

You laugh. It even sounds real.

But your chest is hollow.

The suite is already warm when you get back—soft lamp lighting, the faint scent of laundry detergent and the snack bag Louis left open on the table last night. It feels familiar. Safe.

Dangerous.

They sprawl across the couch and floor like muscle memory, falling into the rhythm of each other the way they always do.

You move slower. Careful. Like if you sit down too deeply, you’ll forget what you came here to do.

Liam pulls you toward him gently. You end up curled into his side on the sofa, his arm draped around your shoulders, his thumb rubbing slow, absent circles against your arm. He presses a kiss into your hair before settling in like he plans to stay there all night.

Maybe forever.

You don’t let yourself lean fully into it.

You laugh when the boys start quoting Shrek line for line. You fake-snort at Louis shouting “not the gumdrop buttons!” in a falsetto. You even eat half a slice of cold pizza.

But your mind is elsewhere.

You’re already calculating what you can pack without drawing suspicion. What excuse will get you back to the room alone. How long it’ll take to book a flight.

You feel Liam’s fingers flex against your arm, and you wonder if he knows.

If he can feel it in your stillness—the way your body hasn’t fully relaxed. The way you’re bracing. Waiting.

You tuck yourself a little deeper into his side anyway.

Pretend you’re not leaving.

Pretend you’re not already gone.

When Niall dozes off first, Louis throws a pillow at him. Zayn rolls his eyes and mutters something about children. Harry offers to make tea and shuffles off toward the kitchenette.

You glance at the clock.

It’s late enough. You could say you’re tired. Say you forgot something in your room. Say anything.

You just need the chance.

You glance up at Liam, who’s still watching the screen—but his hand hasn’t stopped moving. Still tracing those gentle circles. Still holding on.

You close your eyes and let yourself pretend, for one moment longer, that you want to stay.

Even though you know:

You’ve already decided.

And when they fall asleep—or when they stop watching—you’re going to disappear.

Just like they said would be easiest.

...

You wake to the weight of him.

Not heavy. Not suffocating. Just… present.

Liam’s arm is draped around your waist, his hand tucked just beneath the hem of your shirt like he needed that last inch of skin-to-skin to sleep at all. His leg is tangled with yours. His face is buried in your hair. His entire body is curled around you like he was afraid you might disappear in the night.

And maybe he was right to be.

You lie there for a long time, unmoving.

Listening to the soft cadence of his breathing. Feeling the quiet thump of his heart against your back. Memorizing everything—the scent of his skin, the scratch of his stubble against your neck, the slight twitch in his fingers every time you so much as shift.

He’s awake before you speak.

You know because his arm tightens.

Because he kisses the back of your shoulder without a word.

“Morning,” you whisper.

His voice comes a moment later, thick with sleep and something else—something heavier.

“Still here.”

Your breath catches. You don’t answer right away.

Liam shifts slightly, enough to press his forehead to the back of your neck. “Didn’t think I slept much,” he murmurs. “Was too busy making sure you didn’t leave.”

You close your eyes.

He says it like a joke. Soft. Playful. But the tremble in his voice betrays it.

“I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” you manage.

“Not good enough,” he says, quieter now. “I want you to stay.”

You roll over slowly, and he doesn’t even loosen his grip. He just pulls you tighter, until your face is tucked against his chest and he’s practically wrapped around you like a shell.

His palm cradles the back of your head. His other hand slides up your spine in long, tender strokes. You feel his heartbeat against your cheek—loud and steady and real.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers. “I know you’re scared. I know yesterday was—hell.”

You press your fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt, gripping it lightly.

“I’m not trying to talk you into something,” he adds. “I just… I want to hold you. That’s all.”

You let him.

Because part of you aches with the thought of leaving this. Leaving him.

But another part—the part that’s been echoing with management’s words—still believes they were right.

You’re a liability. A complication. An easy fix if they frame it right.

And no matter how tightly Liam holds you, you can’t shake the feeling that walking away is the only way to protect him from having to choose.

He kisses your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Slow. Reverent. Like he’s trying to tell you everything he’s too afraid to say aloud.

You tip your head back to look at him.

His eyes are already open. Already watching you like he’s memorizing this moment, too.

“You should shower,” you murmur. “Before the others wake up.”

Liam frowns immediately. “Mmm. Stay like this a little longer.”

“We’ll miss breakfast.”

He hums again, nose brushing yours. “Just a few more minutes, yeah?”

He kisses you once more. Lingering. Tender. Like he knows time is slipping.

And finally—finally—he sighs.

“Alright. Shower. Don’t move.”

You nod, smiling softly. “I’ll be here.”

He hesitates, thumb brushing your jaw.

“I mean it,” he says. “I want to see you when I come back.”

“I know.”

Liam leans in, one last kiss to your forehead, then pushes himself up—sluggish, still half-asleep, still clinging to you even as he walks backward toward the bathroom.

You watch him disappear through the door.

And as soon as it clicks shut and the water begins to run—

You move.

Not fast. But with purpose.

Quiet. Careful.

Your heart is pounding, your hands shaking. But your mind is already miles ahead—planning, counting, praying he doesn’t come out too soon.

You pull your bag from under the edge of the bed, where you stashed it last night. Your hoodie. Your shoes. The letter.

It takes only a minute.

You leave the note on his pillow.

You don’t read it again.

Because if you do, you won’t go through with it.

Then you’re slipping out the door.

Moving fast.

Like if you stop—if you hesitate—you’ll run back into his arms.

And this time…

You don’t think you’d have the strength to leave again.

...

Chapter Eleven

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