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admiringlove · 3 months ago

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➵ pairing. gojo satoru x fem! reader.

➵ summary. a trip to hogsmeade. a hidden passageway. secrets slipping through the cracks like candle wax left too long in the heat. when everything unravels at once—whispers in the dark, truths half-spoken, tensions simmering beneath frostbitten fingertips—what do you do? arguments, stolen glances, and the weight of something inevitable, waiting just beyond the door.

➵ warnings. detailed descriptions of bodily injury; angst; mentions of death; mentions of alcohol; mentions of sex; etc.

➵ genre. wizarding world au; academic rivals to lovers; enemies to lovers; angst; fluff; adventure; etc.

➵ word count. 17.2k.

➵ author's note. big thanks to @gojofile for proofreading. have fun reading, and i hope slytherin prefect gojo warms your hearts <3 also also, taglist is no longer open. tysm if you signed up!

➵ navigation. previous, masterlist, next.

The next few days pass in a strange, muted haze.

You drift through the corridors like a ghost, present but not entirely there. The world moves around you, but you don’t feel yourself moving with it. There are things you know you’ve done—managing the Dueling Club, fulfilling your prefect duties, attending classes without missing a single lesson—but none of it sticks. Your body carries you through the motions, hands turning pages, mouth forming answers when professors call your name, legs taking you from one place to the next without hesitation. You follow a routine, something structured, something predictable, something that keeps you from slipping into the spaces between.

At night, you move through the school’s secret corridors, fulfilling the students’ requests with an efficiency that is almost mechanical. You sneak into offices, slip potions into waiting hands, retrieve lost items from places they shouldn’t have been in the first place. And then, for the first time in what feels like years, you sleep when you’re meant to. Properly. You let the exhaustion pull you under without fighting it. No lingering in the common room, no staring out of windows, no pacing the halls in the quiet hours of the morning.

You don’t know if you’ve been talking to people properly. You don’t even know if you’ve been talking at all. Words feel like an afterthought, like something distant, like a spell that takes too much effort to cast. You float past conversations, answering only when necessary, and even then, your voice sounds different. Detached. Almost unfamiliar.

And you haven’t spoken to Fushiguro or Gojo. Not once.

You aren’t sure what to make of that. You aren’t sure if it’s strange, if you should have sought them out, or if they should have sought you out first. Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it means everything. You tell yourself you don’t care either way, but you know that’s not entirely true.

The library is quiet in the way it always is—hushed murmurs slipping between bookshelves, the faint scratch of quills against parchment, the distant rustle of pages being turned. The lamps flicker low, throwing long, shifting shadows over the wooden tables. Dust floats in the lantern light, suspended, moving in the slow, unhurried way that makes the air itself feel heavier.

You sit with Utahime and Kento across from you, and Shoko next to you. The four of you are buried in stacks of parchment, quills poised over half-written essays, ink smudged at the edges of your fingertips. The air smells like parchment and candle wax, like the faintest trace of something old, something forgotten, something that lingers in the bindings of books that haven’t been touched in years.

The words on the page blur together after a while. You blink down at your parchment, fingers tightening around your quill as you try to focus, try to summon the same ease that had carried you through everything else this week. But the more you try, the more it slips away.

"Gosh, I haven't been to Hogsmeade at all this year. Neither have you, right, [L/N]?" Utahime asks.

You nod absently, yawning, as you trace over the same line in the textbook again. The Elixir of Life—the potion created from Nicolas Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone. The promise of immortality, of endless years stretched out over time, of something that should be unattainable. Your mind latches onto the thought for a moment, wanders through the weight of it. What would it be like to exist outside of time? To live through centuries, untouched, unchanged? To watch everything move forward while you stayed the same?

The quill slips from your fingers, rolling across the table.

"We should all go," Utahime continues, not noticing your distraction. "Even though I loathe your two best friends, Shoko, I think it’ll be more fun with all of us."

"Yeah, I’ll ask," Shoko says, tilting her head, "They’ll probably say yes. Although not for this weekend, remember, we have those tests for DADA and Potions next week. And the Potions paper is to be submitted this week."

Utahime groans, long and dramatic, slumping over her parchment. The corners of Shoko’s mouth twitch, amused.

The words slip past you, distant, muffled. You can feel Kento’s gaze on you—steady, thoughtful, the kind that lingers just long enough to mean something. You glance up, forcing a smile, quick, practiced, something light enough to brush away any concern before it settles. He raises a brow, skeptical, but doesn’t push.

Somehow, that makes it worse.

"I might head in," you mumble, stretching out your fingers before pressing your knuckles into your palm, letting them crack one by one. The sound is small, almost lost under the rustle of parchment and the faint, rhythmic tapping of quills against wood. "I can’t focus anymore."

Kento looks up from his book, studying you the way he always does—like he’s weighing something, like he’s waiting for an answer you haven’t given yet. "Want me to come with?"

You shake your head, already reaching for your things, shoving loose parchment and ink bottles into your satchel without much care. "No, but would you cover my prefect patrol tonight? I’m too tired to even stay for dinner. I’ll be sleeping."

He watches you for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright."

You don’t look at him when you murmur your goodbyes, don’t look at Utahime or Shoko either, even when Utahime says something about overworking yourself again and Shoko mutters a half-hearted agreement, distracted as she scribbles something onto her parchment. The words slip past you, barely registering.

You step out into the corridor, and for a minute, your mind feels heavy, fogged over. Your limbs move as if by instinct, taking you down the familiar stone corridors, but you don’t really feel the weight of your body, don’t feel the movement. Your eyes stay fixed on the floor, on the flickering candlelight stretching shadows against the stone, on the way your own silhouette wavers with every step.

It’s quiet, and you let yourself sink into that quiet, let it settle over you like a thin veil. Everything weighs down.

"Skipping dinner, are you?"

You don’t need to look to know who it is. His voice is easy to recognize—low, lazy, a little rough around the edges, like he’s always amused by something only he understands.

You glance up just as Toji falls into step beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, moving with that unhurried confidence of someone who knows exactly where he’s going, even if he’s got nowhere to be.

"You creep," you accuse, narrowing your eyes at him. "You were listening to our conversation?"

Toji only laughs, shaking his head, completely unfazed. "I was quite literally sitting at the table behind you," he says, voice light, easy. "Was there before you lot even came in. Not my fault you didn’t notice." He stretches his arms above his head, exhaling, like this whole exchange is nothing more than a casual amusement to him. "Got to send in applications to the Ministry soon, y’know. The Auror program. Entrance exam’s coming up too."

"Ah," you mumble.

Something about it—about the way he says it, about the way he’s so quick to explain—makes your chest go tight for reasons you don’t want to name. Maybe it’s true. Maybe he really has been busy. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t spoken to you at all these past few days.

Or maybe it’s just an excuse.

You glance at him, studying his expression, but there’s nothing there that gives him away. He looks as relaxed as ever, hands still in his pockets, walking beside you like the past few days haven’t been filled with silence.

"Didn’t peg you for the type to want to be an Auror," you say instead, tilting your head slightly.

Toji hums, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh? And what exactly did you peg me for?"

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Dunno. Something a little less... structured. You don’t strike me as someone who follows rules."

"Maybe I like a challenge," he muses. "Besides, who said I’d follow them?"

You roll your eyes, but there’s an undeniable fondness creeping into the edges of your exhaustion. "That sounds about right."

"Don’t worry, princess," he drawls, smirking. "If I make it in, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for troublemakers like you."

"Yeah, sure," you deadpan. "That’d be a first."

He chuckles, and for a second, just a second, it almost feels normal again.

"You doin’ okay?" His voice is softer now, like he’s treading carefully, like he’s testing the weight of the words before letting them settle between you. "Really. Haven’t seen you at all this week."

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. "U-uh, yeah," you say, nodding a little too quickly. "Just busy, I guess."

It’s not a lie. Not really. You have been busy. You’ve been drowning in schoolwork, in prefect duties, in Dueling Club, in everything else that lets you keep moving without having to stop and think. But that’s not what he’s asking. Not really. He speaks like this whole thing is some game of Quidditch, and he’s the Keeper, knocking the Quaffle away before it ever gets too close to scoring. Keeping it moving. Keeping it out of reach. You watch him for a second longer than you probably should, trying to decide if he’s doing it on purpose or if it’s just muscle memory by now.

You say nothing. Just turn down the corridor, heading for the staircases.

"Let me walk you up?" he asks as you take the first step upward.

"You really don’t have to," you say, pausing, looking back at him. "Your common room is the other way."

"Yeah, but this gives me time with you," he murmurs, licking his lower lip as he steps closer, into your space, head tilted just enough to meet your gaze.

It’s the only time you’re taller than him. The only time you can look down at him like this, with him standing a step below you, chin tilted slightly up. You’re almost tempted to take another step, just to see how much more height you can gain over him, just to see what it feels like to have the upper hand, even for a moment. And maybe it’s that. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. But you exhale, slow, measured, and nod. "Yeah," you say. "Okay."

His smirk is lazy, self-satisfied. "Good choice, princess."

"You just like bothering me," you mutter, turning back to the stairs.

"True," he concedes easily, falling into step beside you. "But you like it."

You scoff. "I really don’t."

"You do," he says, grinning now, the kind of grin that makes it feel like he knows something you don’t. Like he’s already won whatever game you didn’t even realize you were playing. "C’mon. Admit it."

You shake your head, exasperated, and keep walking. But your lips twitch, just slightly, at the corners.

A week passes. Then two days.

The Room of Requirement shifts to accommodate your needs, as it always does—its towering shelves rearrange themselves at your command, its long table is scattered with parchments, and a fire crackles faintly in the hearth, keeping the air comfortably warm against the late autumn chill. You flip through the latest requests, sifting through the scrawled handwriting of students who have come to rely on you and the others for things they cannot obtain on their own.

Nothing particularly interesting this time. Someone needs a book Pince keeps locked in her desk, another has lost their pet, a third wants ingredients they aren’t allowed to have. Last week, you'd stolen a vial of Draught of Living Death from Snape’s stores, nicked Gillyweed from Sprout’s greenhouse, and smuggled out something particularly valuable from Filch’s cabinet. Business as usual.

All is well—until Gojo Satoru bursts into the room.

The door slams open with a force that rattles the hinges. You flinch, snapping your head up, and immediately, you know something is wrong.

Something in the way he moves.

The usual ease in his gait, the careless arrogance that drips from every step—it’s absent. Instead, there’s a stiffness to him, like he’s trying too hard to appear normal, like every shift of his body pulls at something raw and aching. His jaw is clenched, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. His uniform is disheveled, his tie loosened, the collar of his shirt rumpled.

"Who pissed in your tea this morning?" you ask, eyebrows furrowing.

You haven’t spoken much since the fight. He’s been keeping his distance, and you’ve been letting him. You’ve had the Marauders’ business to handle, while he spent the past weekend away from school, excusing himself under the pretense of family obligations, though you both knew he was secretly working on the genealogy portion of your little escapade.

Now, though, this is different.

"I really don’t want to start right now," he mutters, shaking his head. His voice is low, frayed at the edges.

You catch it again. The unnatural way he moves, the hesitation in his steps, as if every motion costs him something. A deep, instinctual unease settles in your stomach.

"Are you okay?" you ask, your voice sharper now. "Something isn’t right. Why are you walking like that? Are you hurt?"

"It’s not like you care," he scoffs, moving toward the long table. His usual bravado is still there, but it feels forced, like he’s holding it together through sheer stubbornness. "The ancestry part—it’s going to take more time."

"No, wait," your eyes narrow, tracking the way his torso subtly twists as he moves, the almost imperceptible grimace that flickers across his face before he smooths it over. "Let me see what’s wrong."

"Absolutely not," he snaps, voice pitching slightly higher, as if the very thought is offensive. When you reach for him, he swats your hand away with more force than necessary, stepping back. "No. Stop it."

"Gojo," you warn, your patience thinning, "let me see what’s wrong. You might need to go to the Infirmary—"

"Since when do you care?" he demands, louder now, a biting edge creeping into his voice. "You’ve never given a shit, so why now? You were going to foul me in the Quidditch game a week ago. I could’ve fallen and broken my bones or something, but you were fine with that, right? What’s different now?"

You step forward and grab the front of his robes, and whatever words he was about to say after that die in his throat.

His whole body stills under your touch. His eyes, narrowed in irritation just moments ago, go wide, startled, as if it has just occurred to him that you’re close—too close. His breath stutters slightly, and for once, he is completely, utterly dumbfounded. He doesn’t even resist when you guide him away from the table, doesn’t have a quip ready, doesn’t pull away like you expect him to.

When the backs of his knees hit the couch, he sinks into it without argument, blinking up at you in stunned silence, his mouth slightly open like he can’t quite process what just happened. The moment stretches between you, heavy and uncertain, before he exhales sharply, wincing as he shifts.

And that, more than anything, makes you pause. Because Gojo Satoru never winces.

Your hands, still braced against his shoulders, feel the tension coiled beneath the fabric of his robes, the way his body is drawn tight with pain. You frown, fingers instinctively pulling back.

"Is that where you’re hurt?" you ask, watching him closely.

His mouth presses into a thin line. He doesn’t answer.

"Do I need to call Madam Pomfrey?"

"No," he blurts, shaking his head too quickly. "N-no, don’t call her."

"Gojo," you say again, his name a warning on your lips, "I hate your existence, yes, but you can’t work in this condition."

His mouth twitches at that, as if he wants to argue, but his body betrays him. His shoulders are rigid, his breathing uneven, and up close, you can see it. How utterly drained he looks. The fight is there, as it always is with him, but it’s losing ground against whatever has happened to him.

"Let me help?" you ask, your voice quieter now. "I don't hate your guts as much as you think I do."

Gojo doesn’t answer immediately. He stares down at his lap, his hands curling and uncurling against his knees, fingers tightening like they need something to hold onto. His face is unreadable at first—blank, composed, the kind of carefully controlled mask you’re used to seeing on him when he wants to act like he’s above everything. But then, you see it.

The slight furrow of his brow, like a loose knot being pulled just enough to show the tension beneath. The way his eyes flutter shut for a fraction of a second too long, as if bracing himself. There’s something fragile in the way he holds himself, a hesitance that makes your stomach twist. And the fear—it’s there, too, small but unmistakable. A flicker of something buried deep, an instinctive flinch before a blow that never comes.

You’ve known him too long not to recognize it. It’s rare, so rare, that he lets anything slip. But this? This, he is making obvious to you. Or maybe he’s too tired to hide it.

He exhales slowly, something inside him caving as he looks up at you, his usual sharpness dulled by something heavier. And when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

"Don't tell anyone," he mumbles. He says it carefully, like the words might crack if he’s not careful, like admitting them out loud is already too much. "Only Suguru knows. Shoko might have an idea, but she hasn’t seen it."

"Seen what?" you ask, blinking. You don’t understand. Not yet.

Gojo clears his throat, blinking up at you almost hesitantly, and then, he starts to move.

You don’t register what’s happening at first. His fingers go to his tie, loosening it with practiced ease before pulling it free completely. Then, he shrugs off his robe—fluid, almost effortless, as if it’s second nature to him. Even though you know that every motion must be pulling at something beneath his skin.

You take a step back, a little confused, your heartbeat climbing against your ribs. His hands move next to the buttons of his shirt, and immediately, your palms fly up to cover your eyes.

"Satoru, what are you—"

"I'm not trying to shag you, Fawkes," he cuts in, and there it is, that dry, sardonic humor, slipping in like armor. Like a last line of defense before something breaks apart completely.

It doesn’t sit right with you. The words are light, but the air between you is heavy, suffocating. You peek through the gaps in your fingers, your breath catching in your throat just as he pulls the fabric of his shirt aside. And then, you see it. Your hands fall away from your face as horror floods through you.

Scars.

They stretch across his torso, stark against pale skin. Some old, faded into silvery remnants of pain long since endured, while others are newer, still pink, still angry. A latticework of healed wounds, of places where his skin has been split open and sewn back together, over and over again. A map of injuries that do not belong to someone like him.

Gojo Satoru—the most brilliant Seeker of your generation, the most untouchable student in your year, the epitome of effortless arrogance, of perfection bred into blood and bone—is covered in scars.

Your stomach twists violently, the image searing itself into your mind, refusing to let go. You don’t understand. You don’t understand how this is possible, how someone like him—who laughs so carelessly, who walks through life like nothing can ever touch him—has been hurt this many times. How no one knew.

How you didn’t know.

Gojo exhales, slow and steady, watching you carefully. As if gauging your reaction. As if waiting to see if you’ll flinch, if you’ll recoil, if you’ll say something that will make him regret showing you.

But you can’t say anything at all. Because all you can do is stare at him, at the evidence of something that feels too big to process, at the proof that there is a part of him—this hidden, wounded part—that you have never, ever seen before.

"Say something," he whispers. His voice is uneven, as if he’s barely holding himself together, as if the wrong word might be the final push that sends him spiraling. "I know what you're thinking. It's ugly, and disgusting, and you're probably judging me—"

"Where does it hurt?" you ask, so softly it almost dissolves in the space between you. The words barely exist, barely form, like speaking too loudly might make another wound appear, another scar etch itself into his skin. The thought sickens you. You couldn’t risk that. You wouldn’t.

He swallows thickly, his throat bobbing. He looks down at himself, at the war mapped across his body in raised lines and bruised skin. His hands tremble as he lifts them, hesitating before gesturing toward his shoulder—the same place you had grabbed him earlier, unknowingly pressing into a nasty bruise. Then, slowly, his fingers trail lower, to the deep bruising along his stomach, to the side of his ribs where fresh gauze is haphazardly secured. The sight makes something in your chest twist.

You step forward. Carefully. Slowly. Like he's the most fragile thing in the world. And maybe, right now, he is.

He doesn’t flinch when you kneel in front of him. He doesn’t move when you lean in, close enough to examine the wounds but not enough to crowd him. You hold your breath, not wanting to disturb the silence between you, not wanting to make this moment anything more than what it is.

Then, you see it. The bandaging. The gauze. A foreign, unfamiliar thing in the world of magic.

"Why is there gauze on this?" you ask, barely above a whisper. Your voice is steady, but there's something behind it—something careful, something that wavers. "Nobody in the wizarding world uses this. This is Muggle medicine. We have enchantments, spells, things that heal without leaving a trace."

You look up at him, and you wish you hadn't. Because when your eyes meet his, you see it. The fear. Not of pain, not of the wounds themselves, but of you. Of your reaction, of what you might think, of whether or not you’ll look at him and see something broken.

But all you feel is the ache blooming in your ribs, sharp and relentless, because how had he let it get this bad?

How had he been living like this?

"You wanted to be more like me, right?" he says, voice taut, not with anger but something bitter, something exhausted. "This is what it's like. Being a pureblood. Especially in the Gojo bloodline."

You blink. The words are leaden, settling heavy in the space between you. "Your parents did this to you?"

"More or less." He exhales, shaky and uneven, reaching for his robes, his fingers curling into the fabric like he’s suddenly aware of how much of himself he’s revealed. You see it in the way his shoulders pull inward, in the way his throat bobs. He can’t stand for you to look at him any longer. And just as he's about to cover himself, you reach for his wrist, firm but not forceful. "Can I help?"

He hesitates. A long, weighty pause. "I can't let you. I haven't let Suguru help, either," he murmurs, voice quieter, more fractured. "If the scar's gone, they'll—"

"It won't be." You squeeze his hand, gently, reassuringly. "Trust me."

Another pause. Then, softer, more careful: "Is it still bleeding?"

He nods, swallowing hard, gaze dropping to the gauze, the dark stain spreading over the white. You sigh, nodding once as you pull your wand from your boot. "This might hurt a bit, okay? Let me help."

You move carefully, peeling the gauze away from his skin. It sticks at first, the dried blood clinging stubbornly, and you wince at the sound it makes as it pulls away. Beneath it, the wound is ugly—deep, angry, raw. Blood wells up sluggishly from the broken skin, glistening under the dim light. The stitches are an atrocity. Uneven, poorly spaced, almost haphazard, thread pulled too tight in some areas and too loose in others, as if they were done in a hurry. You blink, glancing up at him, but he's already looking away, his mouth pulling into something almost sheepish.

"House Elf. Dobby," he says, giving a weak smile.

"Right," you murmur, exhaling sharply. "I'm afraid I have to undo them."

He nods once, eyes fluttering shut as if steeling himself. You whisper, raising your wand over the stitches, "Dissuo."

The effect is immediate. The sutures unravel, pulling apart like an unseen hand is gently tugging the threads loose. Blood beads at the surface again, the punctures from the stitches still visible, dotting his skin in cruel little half-moons. You work quickly, removing the strings where they’ve fully unraveled. He flinches when your fingers graze his skin, and you mumble an apology, to which he waves you off, his expression unreadable.

You swallow, shifting onto your knees, steadying yourself. The next spell—it's rare. You aren’t even sure you can do it properly. But once, you overheard Snape speaking of it to Dumbledore, back when you were in his office. It’s powerful. More powerful than anything you’ve ever cast before.

Taking a slow breath, you whisper, "Vulnera Sanentur."

Your wand moves in slow, fluid arcs, tracing delicate circular motions in the air. You speak the incantation again, then a third time, voice quiet, almost reverent. The blood recedes, as if retreating back into his veins, and the torn flesh begins to knit together. It’s not instant, nor painless—you see the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers dig into his knees, white-knuckled. But it works. The wound closes, leaving behind a pale, raised scar. Healed. Not erased. Never erased.

Gojo exhales, a breath he had been holding onto for too long, his eyes flickering down to where the wound had been. His fingers twitch, hesitating, before pressing lightly against his side, testing. You watch him, and he watches his own hands, as if unsure whether to believe what he’s seeing.

"It’s done. Although, it only healed the tissue. If you want the scars to go away, you have to use Dittany," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he just blinks at you, his expression slack with something unreadable. Then, slowly, as if his mind is catching up with his body, his lips part, and his brows lift. His entire face transforms, shock spilling into every crease and line. He looks at you like you've just rewritten the laws of the universe.

Then he laughs. Not loud, not his usual bright, careless cackle, but something quiet and disbelieving. A little breathless. A little awed.

"Where in hell did you learn that?" His voice is hoarse, but there's a familiar lilt to it now, teasing, even as the remnants of surprise still linger in his gaze. "More importantly, can you teach me?"

Something in your chest eases, uncoiling like a knot that had been tied too tight for too long. He looks like himself again. His eyes aren’t dull with exhaustion or wary with fear. They’re alight, searching, full of something that almost looks like hope. And for the first time tonight, you feel like you can breathe.

You shake your head, your lips tugging into a grin. "Only if you tell me how you made our trusty map."

His eyes narrow immediately, and just like that, the moment shifts. His mouth twitches, and he reaches for his shirt where it’s draped over the armrest, pulling it toward him with a lazy sort of defiance.

"Keep your secrets," he mutters, slipping one arm through a sleeve. "I'll keep mine."

You roll your eyes but don’t push, don’t pry. Instead, you rise to your feet, brushing the dust from your knees before reaching out. Your fingers barely ruffle through his hair as you place a hand on the top of his head.

"Don’t worry too much about the ancestry list, yeah?" you say, voice softer now. "You can take your time. I know it's hard, what you're doing."

Something flickers across his face at that, too quick to catch. He shifts, his posture stiffening for the briefest second before smoothing out again, but the hesitation lingers in the air between you. He knows something. Something he's not telling you.

But you don’t press. Not tonight. Not after this.

You exhale, turning toward the long table, toward the stack of parchment and the requests still waiting to be sorted through. "I'm gonna get started on Marauders' business," you say, glancing at him only briefly as he tugs the hem of his shirt into place. "I'll see you later."

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, softer than before, "See you later."

And for the first time in weeks, you believe him.

You're on patrol the next night, taking the list of duties from the Head Girl before heading up the stairs to the next corridor. It’s a quiet shift this time. No long treks across the castle, no winding through the dungeons or climbing the Astronomy Tower. Just a few dimly lit hallways to check, a stretch of silence to exist in. You are alone for a moment, waiting for your assigned partner, when you hear hurried footsteps—quick, uneven, like someone is running up the stairs two at a time.

Then he appears, breathless and grinning, hair askew as if he’d been racing against time itself. Gojo.

You frown. "I thought I had Patricia from Ravenclaw with me on this side of the castle. What are you—"

"With a lot of charm and my face, I can do anything," he cuts in, nudging your shoulder with his own. "Including switching patrol duties with other people."

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue. You could, but it wouldn’t change anything. Gojo always finds a way to get what he wants.

The two of you walk side by side through the corridor outside the Great Hall, the hush of the castle wrapping around you both. Your footsteps echo in tandem, the sound rhythmic. The torches flicker as you pass, their glow casting long shadows against the stone walls. You scan the dark corners for movement, ears pricked for the sound of someone sneaking through the halls, but the night is still.

Being a Prefect has its perks. If you weren’t, your work as a Marauder would be so much harder, more inconvenient. You wonder if Gojo ever thinks about that—if he ever feels the weight of secrecy pressing down on him the way you do.

Then, quietly, almost hesitantly, he says, "I never really said thanks, did I?"

You glance up at him, brow furrowing slightly. Gojo doesn’t thank people. He doesn’t apologize, either. Not really. Not in the ways that count.

"You don’t have to," you murmur. "Anyone else would’ve—"

"No," he interrupts. His voice is softer now, edged with something unfamiliar. "No one else did do anything, did they?"

"That’s because you wouldn’t let them," you say, shaking your head. "I’m sure Suguru would’ve found a way to help if you’d just asked. He’s the only one other than me that knows."

Something shifts in his expression, just for a second. A flicker of something unreadable.

"Exactly," he murmurs. "That’s why I didn’t ask."

You don’t know what to say to that. The words settle into your bones, leave a strange feeling behind, like a splinter just beneath the skin.

Gojo nudges you again, his voice lighter this time. "You were right, though. About me being stubborn."

You scoff. "I’m always right."

"And humble, too," he teases. "Truly a rare combination."

"You’re one to talk."

"Yeah, but you like me anyway," he grins.

You don’t respond. You don’t need to. The warmth between you says enough.

"Did you hear about it?" you ask after a few beats, voice low in the quiet hallway. "Everyone wants to go to Hogsmeade together."

Gojo's lips curve, that familiar glint sparking in his eye as he turns to you. "I am so going to spike Utahime’s butterbeer with firewhiskey." A pause, then, almost as an afterthought, "Or hex her. Haven’t decided yet."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Why are you always at odds with her?"

He clicks his tongue, as if the answer should be obvious. "I’m at odds with you, too. All the time. Some people are just more fun to irritate than others."

"You are… insufferable," you mutter, rolling your eyes as the two of you finally reach the library. The heavy wooden doors loom ahead, and you lean against one of the stone pillars outside, exhaling softly. It’s a moment of respite—just a breath—before Gojo shakes his head, something more serious settling into his features.

"I really do have to visit the Ministry again this weekend," he murmurs. "I should—"

"Don’t do that," you cut in sharply, eyes locking onto his. "I don’t want to see another gash on you."

His gaze softens, but there’s something unreadable behind it. "Listen, Fawkes, this is serious, right? We can’t just… do things like this. I have to get into the Ministry somehow, use my father’s connections. Maybe say I’m writing a paper for school. Those foolish receptionists see me and melt, anyway. My father won’t know. I won’t go home at all this time."

Your arms cross over your chest. "And if your parents find out you were snooping around at the Ministry, God knows what will happen to you."

His expression doesn’t change. He just watches you, like he’s weighing something.

"Isn’t that how it went last week?" you push.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "This is a usual occurrence. Although that gash was… rare. It never gets that bad." A beat, then, quieter, "Something is happening. I’m sure of it. My parents have been more and more stressed lately. Dobby said tensions are high at home in his last letter."

Your brows furrow slightly. "I ought to meet this elf," you muse, half-joking. "He seems like a real treat."

Gojo huffs a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "He’s shit at listening to me. Never obeys properly. But he’ll make sure no harm comes to me." He hesitates, just for a moment, then, in a voice so low you almost miss it. "He even puts himself between my father and me, when…"

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

You swallow. The words sit heavy between you, unspoken but understood. You shift slightly, peeling yourself away from the pillar, standing just a little closer to him now.

"You really should be more careful," you murmur.

Gojo tilts his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the weight of the conversation. "What, worried about me, Fawkes?"

You scoff, turning toward the library doors. "No. I just don’t want to have to patch you up again."

"Mm," he hums, as if he doesn’t believe you. Then, teasing, "You should come with me. Make sure I don’t get into too much trouble."

You shake your head vigorously. "Absolutely not."

"Then at least admit you’d miss me if something happened."

"Gojo."

He laughs, full and bright, the sound stretching down the empty corridor, lingering in the hush of the castle’s late hours. You roll your eyes, pushing open the heavy library door, the familiar scent of parchment and old books greeting you as you step inside.

Gojo follows, glancing around, hands tucked into his pockets. His voice drops to a conspiratorial murmur. "Doesn’t look like there’s people snogging each other in here."

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "You sound disappointed."

"Not disappointed. Just relieved." He grins, nudging your shoulder. "Would’ve been awkward. For them."

You roll your eyes, already moving toward the librarian’s desk to check if there’s anything left to be locked away before closing up. The library is empty, save for the faint crackling of the enchanted lanterns floating near the bookshelves, casting long, flickering shadows against the high-arched ceilings.

"Come on," Gojo says after a beat, leaning against the desk like he owns the place. "Let’s close up and head to the Room. We’ve got an hour. We can work on requests for tonight instead. Keep it lighthearted."

You sigh, shaking your head, but the exhaustion in your limbs is already giving way to the familiarity of routine—the quiet, effortless ease of mischief shared between the two of you.

"Alright, fine," you mumble, shooting him a look. "But you’re doing most of the work."

When you’re headed for the Great Hall the next morning, a hand catches your wrist and pulls you sharply to the side. A breathless yelp escapes you before another hand covers your mouth, warm and firm, silencing you before you can cry out. Your heart stutters, a rush of panic prickling along your spine—until you hear the voice, low and amused, so close it sends a shiver down your neck.

"Shh, princess. Just me."

Your pulse slows, but only slightly. You shove his hand off, scowling as you step back, glancing around to make sure no one else saw. "You cannot sneak up on people like that," you whisper, voice sharp, "Gosh, with everything I’ve been dealing with, I thought I was actually in danger."

Toji tilts his head, studying you with sudden interest. "What things?"

You hesitate. The weight of secrets presses against your ribs, the things you can’t tell him, the things you shouldn’t. "Things I can’t tell you," you say eventually, folding your arms, "Same reason I sneak around all the time."

"Ah." His mouth quirks, the expression unreadable. Something shifts behind his eyes, though. Like a thought just out of reach, a puzzle piece clicking into place. Then he nods, stepping back, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Alright. Meet me near the Black Lake tonight?"

You pause. The Black Lake. You haven’t been there since everything changed—since the first pieces of the mystery began unraveling, since you and Gojo began putting things together, since the cryptic notes led to something far darker than you had anticipated. Your stomach twists. You exhale. "How about the Astronomy Tower?"

Toji raises an eyebrow, smirking. "Getting romantic, are you?"

You roll your eyes. "Filch won’t catch us there."

"How do we know that?"

"Prefect duties end at eleven. Filch can’t stay up past midnight, and Mrs. Norris is the only thing we need to be wary of. I usually carry treats with me," you murmur. "So, midnight. Astronomy Tower."

He watches you for a beat, eyes dark, considering. Then he nods, leaning down slightly, just enough for his breath to ghost against your ear. The movement is slow, deliberate. Almost teasing. "Alright, sure."

You don’t let yourself react. You swallow down the odd flutter in your chest, school your features into something neutral, and push past him toward the Great Hall.

The warmth of the Great Hall greets you like a familiar embrace, the golden morning light spilling through the enchanted ceiling, dappling the long wooden tables. The smell of fresh toast, eggs, and pumpkin juice fills the air, and the low hum of conversation surrounds you, grounding you back into something normal.

You spot Utahime and Kento immediately—Utahime waving her hands animatedly, Kento looking as unimpressed as ever, though there’s a small, patient smile at the corner of his lips. You slide into the seat next to Utahime, sighing as you reach for the nearest platter of toast.

"You just missed Shoko," Kento informs you, flipping through the pages of a book beside his plate. "She left early for the Hospital Wing. Something about Pomfrey needing help with something."

"Of course she did," you mumble, biting into your toast.

"You’re late," Utahime says, nudging you with her elbow. "Almost thought you were ditching breakfast."

"Almost did."

"Yeah, yeah." She waves you off before pulling out a small notebook from her bag and flipping through it. "Anyway, Hogsmeade. I need to plan properly. I refuse to get distracted this time."

"By what?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Sweets." Utahime sighs dramatically. "Last time, I spent all my money at Honeydukes and had to borrow from Shoko to get actual supplies. This time, I have a strategy. First stop: Scrivenshaft’s. Then, Zonko’s. And then, only then, I will go to Honeydukes. That way, I won’t spend everything at once."

"You act like that’ll stop you," Kento says dryly, turning a page.

Utahime glares at him. "Shut up, Kento." Then she turns to you. "Oh! I was also thinking, I want to send some sweets home. My mom loves Honeydukes’ Fizzing Whizzbees. What do you think I should get for my dad?"

You hum, chewing absently. "Chocolate Cauldrons, maybe? They last a while. My dad likes those. My mum's more into Chocolate Frogs, though. She thinks they're cute—until the enchantment wears off. Then she feels too guilty to eat them, says it’s like killing a pet."

Utahime snorts, not looking up from her notes. "Right. Because clearly, the ethical dilemma only kicks in once it's stopped moving."

You roll your eyes, nudging her. "Shut up."

She grins, scribbling something down with newfound determination.

You let them chatter then, let the noise of the Great Hall settle over you like a soft blanket. But somewhere, beneath the warmth of the moment, your thoughts keep flickering back—to the pull of everything, to the weight of the night ahead, to the quiet, nagging feeling that things are shifting, and you aren’t sure in which direction yet.

Classes slip by in a blur, the hours folding into one another until they are nothing more than a string of half-remembered lessons and the scratch of quills against parchment. In Potions, you answer correctly—something about the precise brewing time for the Draught of Living Death—and Snape, after a long pause, begrudgingly awards you five points. The question had been difficult, one of those deliberately obscure ones he liked to throw at students to watch them squirm. Only Gojo might have known the answer. But Gojo, of course, was asleep in the back, head propped up on his arm, hair falling over his eyes, utterly undisturbed by the world around him.

The day drags until your last class—Magical Theory. The final bell has rung, students are already filing out, their conversations rising into an indistinct hum as they shuffle toward the corridors. You close your book, tuck your quill into its case, slip it into your bag with careful, practiced motions. You should be leaving with them. You should be thinking about dinner, or about the plans Utahime had been prattling on about all morning, or about anything other than what you are about to do.

The thought has been clawing at the edges of your mind, insistent, restless. You can feel it, curling its way into your thoughts, taking root like an unspoken thing waiting to be acknowledged.

You clear your throat. "Uh, professor?"

Professor Fig pauses by his desk, glancing over his shoulder. His robes are different from the other professors'—layered, flowing, more reminiscent of the old-world wizards you’d read about in Muggle fantasy books. It suits him, you think. It suits the way he teaches, the way he speaks of magic not as a set of spells and incantations, but as something vast and ancient, something stretching beyond the limits of what you understand.

He tilts his head. "Yes?"

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. You shouldn't be asking this. You don't even know why you're asking it, not really, except for the fact that it has been gnawing at you ever since the pieces began to slot together, ever since you started looking at magic differently—at everything differently.

You inhale, slow, measured. "How did... dark magic originate?"

There’s a beat of silence.

You shift, adjusting your grip on your bag. "Just out of curiosity," you add quickly, as if that will somehow lessen the weight of the question. "You talked about ancient magic today. And all of it was just... good magic. None of it was dark."

There. The words are out. They linger in the air between you, heavier than you expected. You brace yourself for his reaction, for the way he might look at you differently now. For the way you might not be able to take this back.

He almost smiles. As if he’s been waiting for this, as if the question was always meant to come from you. Then, with the careful patience of a professor who has had to explain something a hundred times but never tires of it, he says, “There isn’t one. Not an exact origin, anyway.”

He leans back against his desk, folding his arms, watching you—not unkindly, but with that knowing glint in his eye, the one that says that he knew it was coming. His voice is even, measured. “Some believe the first true forms of dark magic were the Unforgivable Curses—spells crafted not to protect, not to heal, but to control, to torment, to kill. The complete opposite of what we might consider ancient magic, the kind that nurtures and restores. It’s a bit like philosophy, in the Muggle world.”

You shift, straightening your spine, as your fingers curl around the strap of your bag. “Philosophy?” You tilt your head. “Like Hegesias? Kant? Socrates?”

A small chuckle leaves him. “You know your Muggle theorists well.” There’s no condescension in it, just the simple amusement of someone who’s surprised and impressed in equal measure. “Not many Muggleborns keep reading up on Muggle history once they find out they’re wizards. It’s like they forget the world they came from.”

He exhales, thoughtful. “But yes, some magical historians argue that dark magic has always existed. That it had to exist, an inevitable counterpart to light. Just as nature balances creation with destruction, magic manifested in dual aspects—healing and harming, shielding and cursing. Maybe the first wizards didn’t invent dark magic. Maybe they just... stumbled upon it. The same way humans stumbled upon fire and learned it could both warm and burn.”

He watches you carefully, gauging your reaction, but you only blink at him, absorbing.

“The Egyptians,” he continues, “were known for resurrection spells and curses meant to guard tombs. The Greeks and Romans experimented with necromancy, with magic that could bind souls, tether them. That kind of magic was never meant to be used—only studied. But people always push boundaries, don’t they?”

“So...” you hesitate, weighing your words, trying not to sound too eager. “The origin of magic itself is unknown?”

“In simple terms? Yes.” He shrugs. “No one knows where it began. Only that it did. And over centuries, it was shaped, rewritten, controlled.” A pause. “Outlawed, even.”

Your fingers twitch at your side. You glance at your shoes, then back up at him. “Is there any reading on that? On how it was outlawed, how it was regulated?”

His lips twitch, not quite a smirk but something close. “Plenty. I can recommend some books, if you’re interested. Though I should warn you—it’s not light reading.”

“That’s fine.” You huff out a breath, pulling a notepad from your bag. You don’t know why you feel oddly breathless, as if something is settling over you, pressing against your ribs. “Actually, I’d like a list of famous dark wizards or witches, too. If possible.”

Professor Fig watches you for a moment, weighing something unspoken, and then he nods. “Alright.” He reaches for his quill, begins scrawling titles onto a piece of parchment. You listen to the scratch of ink on paper, the slow pull of silence settling over the emptying classroom.

When he hands it to you, his fingers brush yours—fleeting, accidental.

“Personal research, then?” he asks, his voice light, but his gaze sharp.

You grip the parchment, curling it between your fingers. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Something like that.”

Professor Fig exhales softly, watching you with an unreadable expression. Then, just as you turn toward the door, he says, almost gently, "I hope you're being careful, dear."

The words catch you off guard, settling like a weight in your chest. You hesitate for half a second—too long, too telling—before you school your face into something neutral.

“Always,” you say, but the lie feels thin, stretched.

And then you’re gone, slipping out of the classroom and into the dim-lit corridor, the weight of the list burning in your hands.

"Gojo, you there? I have something to show you!" you call out, stepping into the Room, voice bouncing off the enchanted walls. The space is dimly lit, shifting, alive in the way only the Room of Requirement ever is, molding itself to their needs—high-backed chairs, an ancient fireplace smoldering low, the long table pushed to the center. A place of careful plotting.

Silence answers you.

You exhale sharply, closing the door behind you. The weight of the parchment in your hand feels heavier now, the inked names and titles pressing into your skin like something alive. You cross the room, your footsteps muted against the worn wooden floors, and pin the list onto the board with a sharp flick of your wrist. The paper flutters for a moment before settling.

You stare at it. A list of books. A list of names. Names that mean nothing to you. Titles that might as well be written in an entirely different language.

Your eyes flicker across them, searching for something familiar, something to grasp onto—but there’s nothing. A deep, clawing frustration wells in your chest. You shut your eyes, pressing your fingers to your temple, before running a hand through your hair, gripping at the roots. How long is this going to take? How much more do we have to unravel?

The genealogy is Gojo’s burden. This, however, is yours. It won’t be easy. It won’t be quick. But it has to be done.

Most of these are in the Restricted Section.

You exhale sharply through your nose, tapping your fingers against the edge of the parchment. Typical. Nothing useful ever comes easy. But then—your eyes catch on a title. Magick Moste Evile, by Godelot.

Your brow furrows. You've seen that book before. You're sure of it. Not just listed in passing, not buried in some forgotten bibliography. No—you’ve seen it physically. On someone’s desk, or left open on a table in the library. You can almost picture its spine, its heavy, dust-coated pages, wedged somewhere near Hogwarts, A History.

It isn’t in the Restricted Section. Which means it’s within reach.

A flicker of urgency sparks in your chest. If you hurry, really hurry, you might be able to catch Pince before she stops letting students check out books for the evening. You don’t think twice.

Your feet are already moving, propelling you out of the Room of Requirement, through the winding staircases and dim-lit corridors. The castle hums around you, torches flickering, portraits murmuring as you pass. A suit of armor creaks as you dart past it, and somewhere behind you, Peeves lets out a delighted cackle—but you don’t slow.

The library looms ahead, its great doors still cracked open. You push through them, breath unsteady, scanning the aisles for movement. Madam Pince is still there, standing at her desk, her mouth pursed as she skims through a massive tome, quill tapping against the page.

You press your lips together, straighten your robes, and step forward.

“Madam Pince,” you say, voice even. “I’d like to check out a book.”

She barely spares you a glance, her quill stilling for the briefest second before she continues marking the margins of the book in front of her. "You're cutting it close," she says, her voice thin, clipped. "What book?"

You hesitate, your fingers curling slightly where they rest on the polished wood of the desk. Magick Moste Evile is not exactly light reading. Not something a casual student would check out before bed. If she asks why, if she pries even a little, you’ll need to have an excuse ready.

But she doesn’t, when you tell her. She doesn’t even blink. Instead, she lets out a long-suffering sigh, waving her hand toward the stacks. “Well, go on then. Find it quickly.”

Relief rushes through you so swiftly it makes you dizzy. You nod, turning on your heel, forcing yourself into a calm, steady stride.

The library is nearly empty at this hour, the last few students packing their things, the only sounds left behind the faint rustling of parchment, the occasional scrape of a chair against stone. The air is thick with the scent of ink and old paper, the dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows between the towering shelves.

You weave through the familiar aisles, heart pounding just a little too fast, eyes scanning the spines with practiced precision. You know the section—near Hogwarts, A History, somewhere in the dense, dust-laden row of historical texts. Your fingers brush over bindings, some cracked and peeling, others smooth with age. And then, there.

Magick Moste Evile.

It’s thinner than you expected, its cover dark, the title embossed in dull silver. A chill prickles at the base of your neck as you pull it free from its place, the weight of it settling into your palm. You don’t stop to think. You tuck it under your arm and head back toward the desk, each step measured, controlled.

Madam Pince barely looks up as she takes it from you, her long, bony fingers flipping it open to the front page. She hums—disapproving, maybe. Then she plucks a stamp from her inkpot and presses it firmly onto the parchment inside the cover.

“Due in one week, you can renew it if you'd like. Although, I suspect you probably won't,” she says, sliding it back across the desk. Her gaze flickers up to you, sharp as a bird of prey. “Mind how you treat it.”

You nod once, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” before turning on your heel and making your way toward the doors, the book clutched tight to your chest.

Only when you’re back in the corridor, the heavy doors creaking shut behind you, do you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You have it. Now you just have to figure out what the hell you’re going to do with it.

It is nearly midnight, and the castle is draped in silence. Shadows stretch long against the stone walls, the torches burning low in their sconces. The halls smell of old parchment and melted wax, the cold seeping through the cracks, curling at your ankles. You walk with measured steps, quiet, cautious, the weight of the book still heavy in your mind. It’s tucked safely beneath your pillow, as if that would somehow keep its secrets contained.

You wish you had the Marauders' Map. The thought flickers unbidden through your mind as you scan the corridor, watching for the telltale flicker of lantern light, the soft pad of Mrs. Norris' paws against stone. But asking Gojo would be a hassle. He would never let it go, would press too much, would grin like he already knew what you were up to before you even said a word. And you don’t have the patience for it tonight.

The stairwell to the Astronomy Tower is steep, winding, each step a whisper beneath your weight. The wind meets you before the night sky does—sharp and biting, threading through the seams of your cloak. You draw it tighter around yourself as you push open the final door, stepping onto the tower’s open balcony. The sky yawns vast above you, endless and dark, studded with stars so bright they seem like pinpricks in fabric, light bleeding through.

You make your way toward the edge. The stone is cold beneath your fingers as you lower yourself down, legs swinging over the side. The drop beneath you is dizzying, an endless stretch of darkness broken only by the faint silver sheen of the Black Lake far below. The rush of it makes your pulse stutter, just for a moment. It’s a reckless kind of thrill—this feeling of being right on the cusp of danger, of letting yourself lean too far just to see how close you can get before you tip over.

You breathe in deep. The cold air fills your lungs, clears your head. For the first time in hours, maybe even days, the tension bleeds from your shoulders, the nerves settling. Up here, it is quiet. Removed from everything. There is nothing but the wind and the sky and the way the night stretches endlessly before you.

And then—

Footsteps.

Your spine stiffens before you can stop it, the moment of peace rupturing like glass cracking under pressure. You don’t turn immediately, but you feel it—the presence behind you, the shift in the air.

Then his voice, low and easy.

“Didn’t peg you as the reckless type.”

You glance back. Toji stands a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, head tilted just slightly. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something caught between amusement and curiosity.

You swallow. Your fingers flex against the stone beneath you.

“I’m not,” you say, turning back toward the sky. “Just needed some air.”

“Astronomy Tower’s a bit extreme for fresh air, don’t you think?” He steps closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s right beside you. He doesn’t sit, not yet. Just watches. “We could’ve gone to the courtyard.”

“Too much of a risk.”

“Or the owlery.”

“Too many owls.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, and you hear the rustle of fabric as he finally lowers himself beside you. His presence is solid, warm even in the cold.

There’s a pause. A long one.

Then, his voice, quieter this time. “You alright?”

And it’s that question, the simplicity of it, the weight behind it, that makes your stomach curl.

"Yeah," you murmur, the word slipping out with the breath you exhale, dissolving into the cold night air. "I think so."

Toji shifts beside you, his coat rustling against the stone. He leans back on his hands, tilting his head toward the sky, as if he’s counting stars. His voice, when it comes, is quiet, threaded with something unreadable.

"Care to tell me anything?" he asks. "Or are you just gonna keep hiding behind those secrets of yours?"

A soft, fogged breath escapes him, barely visible in the chill. It’s colder now—cold enough that you can see each exhale lingering for a moment before fading. You watch it instead of answering right away, your fingers curling over the stone ledge.

"I'm stressed," you admit finally, voice small but firm. "Some things are happening here. Bad things."

A slow, amused exhale. “Bad things,” he repeats, as if testing the words on his tongue, like they might taste different if he says them himself. Then, after a beat— "That why you've been so distant?"

You turn to him then, eyes steady on his profile. His gaze is still cast outward, toward the Black Lake, the stars, the sloping silhouette of the Forbidden Forest in the distance. The sharp line of his jaw is softened by the moonlight, and for a moment, he looks entirely at ease.

"I'm not the only one who's been distant," you say simply. "You are, too."

At that, he glances at you. His mouth curves, half amused, half something else. "You keepin’ tabs on me?"

"Maybe," you say, tilting your head, teasing, but your words are quiet, careful. There’s no accusation there—just an observation, something truthful.

He exhales through his nose, a sound that could almost be a laugh, then leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Happens this time of year," he mutters, his voice lower now. "Quidditch, classes, life. Too much shit to keep up with."

You hum in response, your gaze flicking out toward the grounds, where the lights of Hogsmeade flicker faintly in the distance. A thought tugs at the corner of your mind, small but insistent.

"Speaking of keeping up with things," you say, nudging his boot lightly with the toe of your own, "we’re going to Hogsmeade next weekend."

Toji raises a brow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Me, Utahime, Kento, Shoko. Gojo, obviously," you say, rolling your eyes. "Saturday."

Toji snorts. "Sounds like a loud group."

"You know Gojo," you say, exasperated. "Everywhere he goes, the volume increases."

Toji chuckles, shaking his head. "True." Then, after a beat, he glances at you. "What, you askin’ me to come?"

"Not exactly," you say, shifting slightly, nudging a loose pebble off the ledge with your fingertips. You feel the moment stretch between you, hanging in the cold air. Then, finally, "I was thinking, if you're free, we could grab a Butterbeer together. While we're there."

You don’t look at him when you say it, but you feel his gaze on you. Then, a slow, lazy grin spreads across his face. “You asking me on a date, sweetheart?”

You scoff, shoving his shoulder lightly, but there’s warmth in your face that you hope the night disguises. “It’s just butterbeer, Toji.”

"Yeah," he says, stretching out the syllable, like he’s considering it. "Yeah, alright. Could use a Butterbeer. Maybe you’ll even pay for it."

You scoff, rolling your eyes, pushing off from the ledge. "Absolutely not."

He laughs, the sound low and warm, following you as you stand, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs. "Figures."

"Smart of you," you say lightly, shaking your head as you move toward the stairs. "I think we should get going. It's late."

"Yeah, yeah." He stands, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. "See you Saturday, then?"

"Looks like it."

And as you both slip back into the darkness of the castle, the wind still howling outside, something uneasy stirs in your chest. Not quite relief, not quite comfort—just a fleeting moment of warmth, fragile and uncertain. Because even as you walk beside him, even as the night air lingers on your skin, the weight of your secrets presses heavier than before.

You finish Magick Moste Evile in two days. The words claw at your brain, settle in the crooks of your mind like an itch you can’t scratch. You don’t even need to look at the pages anymore—whole passages loop in your head, phrases heavy with meaning, with implications that sit thick in your chest.

You read another book, too, one detailing the rise and fall of dark wizards, their obsessions, their downfalls. Their desperation, their genius, their cruelty. The ink on your fingers is permanent now, smudged into the cracks of your skin, stained like the thoughts pressing against your skull.

It’s almost the weekend. You’re sitting in the Room of Requirement, the longtable before you covered in parchment, scrawled notes, half-formed thoughts. Candles flicker in their sconces, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone. The air is warm, thick with the scent of old books and melted wax, but there’s something else, too. Something heavy.

You don’t know why you feel so tense.

Gojo walks in half an hour later, quiet in a way that is wrong. The sound of the door creaking open, the steady footfalls of his boots—these things are familiar. But the silence that follows isn’t.

You look up, and he isn’t looking at you. He’s clutching a few books, knuckles white, gaze fixed on the pinboard. His face is unreadable, his usual glibness absent, replaced with something you can’t quite name.

“Hey,” you start, hesitant, “I wanted to talk to you about some things. And some people. I spoke to Professor Fig about dark magic. Its origins, how it evolved, all of that, and—”

“Fawkes, hold on a second—”

“No, wait, I have questions,” you press, the words rushing out now, like if you don’t say them now, they’ll slip through your fingers, “Look. There are things in these books that don’t add up, contradictions that—”

“Fawkes.”

The way he says your name is different this time. Sharper. Final.

You blink at him, thrown off by the sudden shift in his tone. He’s still not looking at you, his jaw set, tension coiled tight in his shoulders.

You try again, softer this time. “Just.. let me finish, and then I’ll let you say your bit.”

And then he laughs. A short, hollow thing, entirely humorless.

“I don’t want to say my bit,” he snaps, and before you can process it, he slams the books onto the table. The sound is deafening, echoing off the stone walls, sharp as a slap.

You flinch.

There’s a beat of silence where neither of you move. Your pulse is pounding against your skull, the room suddenly too bright, too suffocating.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you say, staring at him.

Gojo presses his hands against the table, exhaling sharply through his nose, head tilting forward, white strands of hair falling into his face. His jaw clenches.

“You never shut up about things, do you?”

The words hit harder than they should. Something sharp twists in your chest. Your grip on the quill tightens, breath coming in a little faster now, shallower. The tension in the air is thick, suffocating.

And then you laugh. Short, bitter, disbelief curling into something hot.

“How are you such a two-faced person?” you snap, voice rising. “One day, you’re thanking me for helping you not die, and the next, you’re screaming in my face!”

Gojo exhales harshly through his nose, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. “Oh, come off it—”

“No, seriously, what is your problem?” You slam your hands onto the table now, matching his stance. The parchment in front of you shifts, some falling to the ground. You don’t care.

Gojo finally looks at you. Really looks at you. His eyes are bright, electric, furious.

“Have you ever considered,” he says, voice low, dangerously controlled, “that maybe I don’t want to hear you be annoying all the damn time?”

Something inside you goes very, very still. The room feels different now. Like something just cracked, and you don’t know if it can be put back together.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

“Fuck you,” you say, voice trembling with rage. “You know I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important. You know I wouldn’t be looking into this if I didn’t think—”

“Oh, please,” he interrupts, scoffing, running a hand through his hair, “you’re looking into this because you can’t help yourself. Because you always have to stick your nose in things that aren’t your problem.”

“It is my problem,” you snap, voice loud, cracking at the edges. “It’s all of our problem, Gojo! Do you think this is just fun for me? Do you think I’m doing this for a fucking hobby?”

“I think you’re doing it because you don’t know when to stop.”

You shake your head, exhaling harshly, hands clenched into fists. “You really think so, huh? That I’m just- what, doing this for shits and giggles?”

Gojo laughs again, incredulously, running a hand down his face, like this conversation is physically exhausting him. “Merlin, you just don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t,” you snap. “Because you never tell me anything. You just- you just shut me out—”

“Because I have to!”

He’s yelling now. It echoes off the stone walls, the candles flickering from the sheer force of his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Gojo takes a step back, running both hands through his hair, his fingers pressing against his scalp like he’s trying to contain himself.

He’s breathing hard. “I figured it out.”

His voice is raw. Rough. Like it physically hurts to say. Your chest feels too tight, your heartbeat a dull roar in your ears.

Gojo swallows hard, staring at the ground. His fingers twitch at his sides. His jaw clenches, then unclenches. He shakes his head, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“I figured it out,” he says again, quieter this time. And then, voice cracking, as he continues, “And I can’t fucking tell you because it’s going to hurt me.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. Your pulse is a violent thing in your throat, too fast, too uneven. Gojo doesn’t look at you.

The weight of his words presses down on your chest, and you don’t know what to do with it. Something is breaking.

“Who is it, Satoru?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the thick silence between you like a blade. Your chest is heaving, breath unsteady, fingers pressing into the worn wood of the longtable. He won’t look at you. His head is bowed, eyes downturned, his fingers gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.

“Who is it?” you repeat, softer this time, but no less insistent.

The candlelight flickers, casting shadows over his face, deepening the furrow in his brow, the tension in his jaw. You step closer, your palms flat against the wood now, the heat of frustration curling up your spine. He’s standing on the other side, rigid, trying so hard not to speak. You can see it—the war raging inside him, the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard, the way his fingers flex like he wants to reach for something but doesn’t know what.

Then, a quiet curse, hissed through his teeth, barely audible. And when he finally looks up at you, his expression knocks the breath from your lungs.

You’ve never seen him like this before. He looks… small.

Like he’s been carrying something too heavy for too long, and now, under the weight of your gaze, he’s starting to buckle. His eyes are glassy, but his mouth is twisted, regret pooling in the corners of it.

“I’ve known for a week now,” he admits, voice hoarse, like it’s scraping against his throat. “Since I went home.”

Your breath catches. The meaning behind his words settles over you in an instant—thick, suffocating, cold.

“And you didn’t care to tell me?”

The anger snaps, sharp and sudden, breaking through the thick fog of silence. Your voice is louder now, a sharp contrast to his broken whisper. He flinches. You don’t give him time to recover.

“I’m going to ask you again.” Your voice is shaking, but it’s firm, stronger than before. You straighten your spine, wipe the dampness from your temple with a trembling hand, forcing your breathing to steady. “Who is it?”

Gojo takes a step back. Just slightly. Barely noticeable. But you see it. You feel it.

“I-I can’t—”

“Who is it, Satoru?”

You’re pushing now. You know you are. Your voice is something authoritative, something fierce, something that doesn’t feel like your own. It’s cutting around the edges of the room, filling the spaces between the bookshelves, the stone walls, the towering ceilings.

He’s fighting it.

You can see the battle waging in his mind, the way his hands twitch at his sides, the way his lips press into a thin line, trembling at the corners.

You exhale, long and slow, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I want a name.”

You lower your tone, grounding yourself, pulling in every ounce of control you have left. “I promise you,” you say, softer now, slower, like you’re offering something fragile, something real, “we won’t do anything stupid. I won’t go to any professors. I won’t go to anyone for help. We’ll figure this out, yeah?”

For a long moment, he says nothing.

The only sound in the room is the distant flickering of candlelight, the shallow inhale of his breath, the way your pulse roars in your ears.

And then, finally, his shoulders cave. His hands press into the table. His head dips forward, a sharp inhale ripping through his lungs, like the very act of saying it is physically painful.

And when he speaks, his voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“…It’s Suguru.”

It’s a whisper, barely carried through the air, but it crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your heart drops, and your body goes cold.

Your fingers tremble where they press into the wood.

Gojo keeps his head down, his breathing uneven, like the words have stolen something from him, something irreversible. His entire frame looks smaller now, hunched inward, like he’s trying to make himself disappear.

He won’t look at you. You don’t know if he can.

"You've known for an entire week that your best friend is practicing dark magic at school, and you didn’t think to tell me?"

Your voice barely registers above a whisper, but it lands between you both like a weight. Heavy. Sinking. Pressing down on the silence, crushing what little air is left in the room. He doesn’t react at first. Not outwardly. But you see the way his fingers twitch, the way his throat bobs as he swallows thickly.

"You knew this whole time," you continue, the words slow, deliberate, coated in something cold. "And you just… let it happen."

Gojo exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face, but it does nothing to soften the sharp edges of his features. His jaw clenches, his eyes squeeze shut like he’s bracing for something.

"I needed proof," he says, his voice strained, the words barely pushed out through gritted teeth. "That it was actually him. I had a hunch before, but I confirmed it during the weekend—"

"So you knew before anything," you cut in, your tone sharp, slicing through his words like a blade, "and you didn’t fucking tell me."

Gojo’s head snaps up, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to anger, but you don’t stop. You step forward, closing the space between you, your chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven.

"Are you an idiot? Seriously?" The frustration curls hot in your throat, bubbling over, words spilling faster now, sharper, crueler. "Did you think he’d just stop, out of nowhere? After starting to practice dark magic?"

Gojo flinches. Just barely. But he does.

"I did!" His voice cracks as he shouts it, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls, making the candles flicker wildly in their sconces. "He’s my best friend, okay? I thought—fuck, I thought he’d stop if he realized what he was doing was dangerous!"

"You’re an idiot," you say, voice dripping with disbelief. "You think someone who has already started practicing dark magic will just- what? Randomly fucking stop one day?"

The room feels too small now, the air too thick. The space between you and Gojo crackles with something volatile, something on the verge of shattering.

You take another step forward, and he steps back.

You grab the parchment off the table—the one you had been writing notes on just moments ago, before this whole mess unraveled—and shove it toward him, jabbing it against his chest with enough force to make him stumble slightly.

"Take this," you demand, voice clipped, breath still uneven. "Clear out every question I’ve written on it."

Gojo stares at you, blinking like he doesn’t understand, his expression unreadable.

"What?" His voice wavers slightly, but you don’t care.

"We’re going to learn what he’s doing," you say, your voice leaving no room for argument. "And then we’re going to figure out how to stop him."

Gojo swallows. His fingers tighten around the parchment, knuckles paling.

"You’re not…" he hesitates, his voice quieter now, unsure. "You’re not going to report him? To Dumbledore?"

"You think I’m as stupid as you?" you snap, eyes narrowing. "No. We’re going to fix this. Make it right."

Something flickers in his expression. Something you can’t place. Fear, maybe. Hesitation. Or maybe, just maybe, relief.

The next morning, the carriages roll through the frostbitten grounds, wheels creaking against the dirt path. The sky is an expanse of dull gray, thick with the weight of oncoming snow, and the cold seeps through every seam of your coat, burrowing deep beneath your skin. You tug your gloves higher, flexing your fingers inside the worn leather, but the chill lingers.

Inside the carriage, Utahime sits across from you, arms crossed, wrapped in a thick woolen scarf. Shoko leans against the window, breath fogging up the glass, tracing something absently against the frost before wiping it away. The ride is bumpy, the wind cutting through the cracks in the wood, but inside, it’s warm enough—cozy, almost. A stark contrast to the tension pressing against your ribs.

Nanami had grumbled about his seating arrangement this morning, less than pleased at being forced to share a carriage with Gojo and Geto. Something about how Satoru would “eat his brains out” before they even reached Hogsmeade. You had barely listened, mind elsewhere, preoccupied with the thoughts that had been gnawing at you all morning.

"You’re going to see Toji at the Three Broomsticks?" Shoko’s voice is light, teasing as she pokes your side. "How scandalous."

The corner of your mouth twitches, but the expression doesn’t quite form. You turn your gaze back toward the window, watching the trees blur past.

"It doesn’t feel like I’m doing right by him anymore," you admit, voice barely above a murmur. The words feel foreign, strange on your tongue, as if saying them out loud makes them more real.

Utahime tilts her head, curiosity sparking in her dark eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You don’t like him?"

"I don’t know." You exhale, a slow, measured breath, watching it cloud in the cold air before dissipating. "It just… feels wrong. Like I rushed into everything, and now I’m having second thoughts."

Shoko hums, blinking in thought. The carriage jolts slightly as the wheels roll over uneven ground, and you grip the edge of your seat.

"Well," she says after a moment, voice thoughtful, deliberate, "you were pretty occupied when you got involved with him."

Her eyes flicker to you, gaze sharp despite the lazy tilt of her head.

"Have you ever thought about the fact that you probably just needed some stress relief?" She pauses, watching your reaction carefully before adding, "And that’s where he came in?"

The words settle into your chest like a stone. Heavy. Unforgiving.

You press your lips together, looking away. The distant hum of chatter from the other carriages drifts through the cold air, mingling with the steady crunch of hooves against the frozen ground.

You don’t answer.

When all of you reach Hogsmeade, the cold is sharper, cutting through the layers of wool and leather wrapped around you. The air smells of damp stone, chimney smoke, and something sweet—melted caramel from Honeydukes, maybe. You step down from the carriage with a sigh, your boots sinking into the frost-bitten ground, and pull your cloak tighter around you.

The village is alive, filled with the kind of careless, easy chatter that makes your skin prickle. Students scatter in different directions, voices rising over one another as they debate where to go first—Zonko’s, Scrivenshaft’s, The Three Broomsticks. The usual. There’s a lightness to it, a kind of mundanity that feels almost foreign to you now.

You glance over your shoulder, and your stomach turns when you catch Gojo’s eyes already on you. He’s watching, silent, gaze unreadable behind the winter glare of his glasses. He looks... too calm. Too collected. Like he’s trying too hard not to let anything slip.

You slow your pace as the others move ahead, letting Utahime take the lead, watching as she and Shoko disappear into the crowd toward High Street.

“You look like you��re suspicious of him,” Gojo murmurs beside you.

You blink, startled by his voice so close, turning to find him walking in stride with you, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His tone is even, almost lazy, but his words are precise. Calculated. Shit. You hadn’t even realized you were being so obvious.

“Sorry about that,” you say, voice tight, shoulders tensing. He laughs, light but not quite amused. “It’s alright. I did the same thing when I first found out, too.”

You glance at him, brows furrowing. “Really?”

He tilts his head slightly, a ghost of a smirk on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I find that hard to believe,” you say. “You seem unfazed by everything all the time.”

Gojo exhales through his nose, the breath curling into the cold air between you. “When you find out your best friend is up to things you can’t even say out loud,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something barely above a whisper, “it becomes as difficult as breathing underwater.”

The words settle over you, thick and suffocating. You don't speak. Because what can you say to that?

A pause. Just long enough for the weight of the conversation to settle. Then, like clockwork, Gojo’s shenanigans begin again.

"Man, is she really dragging us all to Scrivenshaft’s?" he groans, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. "What a load of crap. I don’t wanna go." He swears under his breath before perking up, mischief lighting his face. "Hold on, I’ll fix this. Let me just get up there and take us all to Honeydukes."

You snort as you watch him bound ahead, zeroing in on Utahime like a predator on its prey. He tugs at her coat collar, leaning down to mutter something about her scarf being atrocious, how she has the taste of a grandmother, how she’s leading them to the most boring shop in all of Hogsmeade. Utahime glares up at him, swatting his hand away with the kind of practiced ease that tells you this is routine, a well-rehearsed play between the two of them.

You shake your head, laughter slipping from your lips, before your gaze flickers sideways. To Suguru.

He’s quieter than usual. Not that he was ever particularly loud, but there was a time when he spoke more freely, when he matched Gojo’s ridiculousness with an easy smirk and a sharper wit. Now, though, he lingers at the edge of the group, shoulders slightly tense, expression unreadable. His humor—when he does engage—is dry, quick, sometimes cutting. You’ve always thought he might be funnier than Gojo, in a more effortless way. Gojo is all spectacle, all loud and attention-seeking. Suguru? Suguru picks his moments.

"You alright?" you ask, keeping your voice light. "You look stressed."

He glances at you, then hums, a vague nod. "I think so." Then his mouth quirks, just slightly. "I felt you eyeing me. You should be doing that to him."

He tilts his head ever so slightly toward Gojo, and you blink, thrown by the implication, your brain stuttering for a second before you whip your head up to meet his gaze. Suguru chuckles. Not mockingly, but teasingly, his dark eyes alight with something unreadable.

You scoff, crossing your arms, huffing out a breath. "Don’t make jokes like that. They’re not funny."

He hums again, but this time, it sounds more amused.

"I’ve seen your face go red twice now because of him," he muses, his voice low, even. You narrow your eyes. "And?"

"And," Suguru continues, shrugging, "I didn’t think you’d be the type to deny yourself something."

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms tighter over your chest, ignoring the way your heart skips, the way your pulse stirs beneath your skin.

"Don’t be ridiculous," you mutter. Suguru only smirks.

"Alright, everyone," Gojo announces, clapping his hands together like he’s about to deliver the most important decree of the century. "All those who want to buy boring things like quills and ink, go ahead and shuffle on inside to Scrivenshaft’s with the one and only ogre of our group, Iori Utahime."

Utahime, unimpressed, smacks his arm—hard. "Why do I even bother with you idiots?" she grumbles, pushing past him toward the shop, her long scarf whipping behind her.

You giggle as she disappears inside, shaking your head. You’re not in need of anything, anyway. Your mother had sent you a fresh set of supplies just last week, so there’s no point in wandering in just to stare at parchment and overpriced quills. Kento, ever the responsible one, follows Utahime inside, leaving the rest of you standing on the cobbled street.

Gojo exhales dramatically, spinning on his heel to face the remaining three of you. "Now that the boring ones are gone," he says, clapping a hand on Suguru’s shoulder, "who wants to go to Honeydukes?"

Suguru barely glances at him. "You’re buying," he says flatly, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "I’m not spending even one galleon in there."

Gojo gasps, affronted. "The audacity," he mutters.

"I have to exchange money first," you chime in, stretching your arms over your head. "I’ve run out of wizard money."

Gojo turns to you, scandalized. "'Wizard money,' she says," he mocks, nudging your shoulder. "You should really work on your lingo, L/N. It’s been six years, and you still talk like a Muggle."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Six years, and you still manage to get on my nerves."

Shoko and Suguru exchange a knowing look, both of them shaking their heads as they laugh.

Utahime, unimpressed, smacks his arm—hard. "Why do I even bother with you idiots?" she grumbles, pushing past him toward the shop, her long scarf whipping behind her.

Suguru barely glances at him. "You’re buying," he says flatly, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "I’m not spending even one galleon in there."

Gojo gasps, affronted. "The audacity," he mutters.

"I have to exchange money first," you chime in, stretching your arms over your head. "I’ve run out of wizard money."

Gojo turns to you, scandalized. "'Wizard money,' she says," he mocks, nudging your shoulder. "You should really work on your lingo, [L/N]. It’s been six years, and you still talk like a Muggle."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Six years, and you still manage to get on my nerves."

Shoko and Suguru exchange a knowing look, both of them shaking their heads as they laugh.

Utahime steps out of the shop just as you finish speaking, Kento following behind her, adjusting the strap of his bag. She claps her hands together, eyes bright. "Alright, next stop, Honeydukes!"

"W-wait," you stammer, taking half a step back. "You guys go ahead. I have to exchange my cash first, and then I have to meet someone."

"Meet someone?" Gojo parrots, spinning on his heel to look at you, eyebrows raised. His gaze is scrutinizing, a little too sharp. "What, you got a hot date?"

You shake your head quickly, swallowing hard. "Nothing like that, I just—"

"Yeah, she has a date," Utahime cuts in before you can finish, her voice loud enough to make passersby glance over. She grins, hooting obnoxiously, "With the one and only Fushiguro Toji."

Silence. Everyone stops.

All three boys turn to you at once. Six eyes—three very different expressions.

Kento, whose jaw was practically on the floor, fixes his face when you glance at him nervously, clearing his throat like he wasn’t just gaping. Suguru, ever composed, only raises a brow, his expression unreadable, though there’s something amused at the corner of his lips. And then there’s Gojo.

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Your fingers curl into the sleeves of your coat, your heartbeat hammering a little too loud in your ears. You force yourself to swallow past the dryness in your throat, to move your feet, to do something.

"I-I should go," you mumble, already turning away.

And then Gojo scoffs. Loudly.

"Don’t come back if you’re shagging him."

The words hit like a slap, sharp and flippant, dripping in sarcasm. Your breath catches.

Suguru smacks him on the back of the head, not too hard, but hard enough to make Gojo roll his eyes. "Ignore him," Suguru says, voice smooth, a little exasperated. He looks at you, softer now. "Come to Honeydukes after, yeah? We’ll do other things until then. Let’s save sweets for last."

You nod, but your face feels too hot, and you don’t trust yourself to say anything. You turn on your heel, leaving before Gojo can say anything else.

The Three Broomsticks is warmer than outside, but you don’t feel it. The moment you step in, the air folds around you like something alive—thick with the scent of butter and spice, the burn of firewood curling in your nose, the low thrum of conversation rising and falling in waves. The warmth presses against your skin, but the cold lingers in your bones, an ache that won’t shake loose.

The pub is crowded, as it always is on Hogsmeade weekends. Students in scarves and woolen coats cluster around heavy wooden tables, their voices overlapping, laughter curling toward the rafters like smoke. Someone knocks over a mug, and the sharp clatter cuts through the noise before disappearing into the din. The walls glow amber in the firelight, flickering against brass sconces, shadows stretching long and soft against the wood.

You glance toward the door, but Toji isn’t here yet.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag, pressing against the leather. It’s fine. You’re early. He’s late. No big deal. But still, the weight in your stomach doesn’t ease. You move toward an empty booth near the back, slipping into the seat. The wood is cold beneath your palms, and you rub them against your thighs, trying to quell the jitter in your hands. Your gaze flicks to the door again, watching with a quiet, creeping kind of dread.

He arrives fifteen minutes later. No urgency in his step, no apology in his face. He slides into the booth across from you, unhurried, like he belongs here, like time bends for him. Like he isn’t even remotely sorry for making you wait. And you think, absently, that he probably isn’t.

"You waited long?" he asks. His voice is low, smooth, carrying over the noise of the pub like it was meant to be heard.

You shake your head. "Only fifteen minutes."

"That's a while for just butterbeer," he murmurs, not quite an apology. "Sorry about that."

The words are weightless, effortless. And then he grins—sharp, lazy, a flash of teeth that is more knowing than amused. One arm slung across the back of the booth, completely unbothered. "You keep checking the door? Lookin’ for me?"

You huff, rolling your eyes, but you don’t deny it. He knows you won’t.

He only laughs, tipping his head toward the passing barmaid. "Two butterbeers."

You watch as she nods and disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone with him again. He tilts his head slightly, watching you the way he always does—like he can see straight through you, like whatever he finds there is more amusing than it should be.

"Nervous, sweetheart?"

Your spine stiffens, but he catches it. Of course he does. The smirk pulls wider.

"Not at all," you lie.

"Yeah?" He leans forward, resting his chin against his knuckles, eyes glinting. "You ever been on a date before?"

You roll your eyes again, but you feel it—the heat creeping up your neck, betraying you. "It’s not a date."

His grin stretches, wide and wolfish. "That’s not an answer."

You make a face, turning your head slightly, but he doesn’t let up. He never does.

"You’re serious, huh?" He whistles low, shaking his head. "Six years in school, and not one single date? What, you too busy with your books?"

You don’t take the bait. Just shake your head, pressing your lips together before exhaling. "I had other things to focus on."

"Like what?"

"Like my future."

The words come easy. A practiced response. Something you’ve always had tucked away, something neat and safe, something that keeps you from having to think too much about what you never let yourself want.

Toji snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Big dreams, big plans. You always been like that?"

You shrug. "And you? Always been like this?"

"Like what?" he asks, tilting his head, leaning back against the booth, watching you with that same unreadable expression.

"Like," You search for the right word. "Like you have it easy."

For a moment, nothing changes. But there’s something there—a flicker in his gaze, gone before you can place it. Then, he chuckles, shaking his head.

"I don’t have it easy," he says, like it’s a joke, like it’s funny. "I just don’t try too hard. I don’t have to."

And that’s the difference, you think.

"Right," you say, though your voice comes out quieter than you intend. There’s something needling at the edge of your thoughts, something sharp and insistent, a sensation like the point of a knife pressed just against the skin.

And then, there it is, the thing that’s been gnawing at you all along. It’s been there from the moment you stepped into the warmth of The Three Broomsticks, from the moment you saw him waiting at the table, his fingers drumming idly against the wooden surface, the way he always does when he’s waiting for something he already knows is coming. Shoko’s words have been running in your mind like a song stuck on repeat, one you were too distracted to hear properly. Until now.

Your stomach twists, a slow and unpleasant sensation, like you’ve eaten something that doesn’t sit quite right. You suddenly feel too aware of everything—of the hum of conversation around you, of the scent of butterbeer thick in the air, of the way your hands feel awkward and misplaced on the table, as if they don’t quite belong to you.

And then the drinks arrive, placed before you with an ease that feels almost cruel. The foam rises in the glass, golden and thick, threatening to spill over the rim. You wrap your fingers around it instinctively, the warmth pressing into your skin.

"I should tell you something," you start, but the words stick in your throat, as if your body itself is resisting. You clear it, try again. "I'm... I'm not really sure if we should—"

"You don't have to say it," he interrupts, and there is something too easy, too practiced in the way he says it. He lifts his glass to his lips, takes a slow sip. "I know, already."

You blink. The room feels like it tilts, just slightly. "Wait, what?" You put your own drink down without taking a sip, barely registering the way the liquid sloshes dangerously near the edge. "What do you mean, you know?"

"I know, princess," he says with a shrug, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it doesn’t matter at all. "I know these things. I've done them before. But I was the one in your position, you know."

There’s something about the way he says it that makes your throat tighten, something about the way his words slip so easily from his mouth, so unaffected, as if they don’t belong to him at all.

"No, it's not like that, I swear," you say quickly, shaking your head. The words feel desperate, urgent, like if you don’t say them fast enough, they’ll disappear before they can be understood. "I just… I think I was so occupied with everything I was doing. Quidditch, the Dueling Club, Prefect duties, assignments, and well—"

"The thing you supposedly can't tell me," he finishes, and his voice is light, almost teasing. "’S alright."

"Is it?" Your voice is softer now, unsteady. There’s something fragile in the way you say it, in the way you look at him, searching for something you don’t quite know how to name. "I feel like I hurt you. Or used you."

His lips twitch—not quite a smile, but close. And then he laughs, a soft, quiet sound. "You?" he says, shaking his head. "If I remember correctly, I'm the one that closed that curtain around you and stepped closer. If I had simply stayed where I was, nothing would've happened."

You stare at him. The room around you feels too full, the air too thick, the butterbeer in your glass already cooling to something unappealing.

"It’s okay," you mumble after a long moment, dropping your gaze to the table. "I didn’t mind."

He doesn’t say anything to that. You don’t look up to see what’s in his expression. The butterbeer between you remains untouched.

When you step into Honeydukes, the warmth inside is almost suffocating, a sharp contrast to the late October chill outside. The air is thick with the scent of caramel and chocolate, of spun sugar and the sharp tang of citrus peels dipped in honey. Shelves overflow with every imaginable sweet—levitating sugar quills, fizzing whizbees that crackle like fire embers, licorice wands that twitch in their boxes like living things. The shop is alive, humming with laughter, the sound of coins clinking, the soft rustle of paper bags being filled.

You let yourself get lost in it, at least for a moment. You laugh at something Utahime says without really hearing it, the sound slipping out of your mouth as if on autopilot. You reach out, touching the hem of Shoko’s scarf—plush, cashmere, a deep burgundy she supposedly purchased today—before making some half-teasing remark about how indulgent she is. It’s easy, slipping into this, letting the motion of it carry you forward, like stepping into a river and allowing the current to take you.

And then Gojo appears. As he always does—like a disruption. He waves something small in your face, his grin sharp and boyish, his fingers curled around a handful of miniature fireworks, the kind that crackle in midair before spelling out crude words. "Swiped 'em."

"You’re such a twat," you say, unimpressed, narrowing your eyes at him. "So rich, but you still steal things like a shithead."

"Did you not get snogged?" he retorts immediately, flicking one of the fireworks against your arm. "Is that why you’re so pissy?"

You shake your head, exhaling sharply before stepping away, putting distance between you, though the warmth of his presence lingers in the air around you. You make your way to a shelf stacked high with Saltwater Taffies, the wrappers gleaming in bright, candy-colored hues under the shop’s golden light. You reach for a few, fingers brushing the waxy paper, already moving to pay when Gojo’s hand closes over yours.

"It’s on me this time, yeah?"

You blink up at him, momentarily thrown off by the casualness of it, by the ease with which he says it. The kind of ease that makes it feel deliberate. Your brows knit together as if you’re waiting for the punchline, for the inevitable quip that always follows whenever Gojo does something seemingly selfless. But none comes.

He shakes his head, almost amused, then takes the taffy from your hands, walking toward the counter with an unhurried, effortless stride. And just like that, he buys them. Without a single word, he returns, slipping them into your bag so seamlessly it almost feels like an afterthought. His voice is lower when he speaks again.

"Consider it a thank-you gift. For everything."

Your breath catches. There’s something in his tone—something careful, something measured. Something that doesn’t belong here, in a crowded shop filled with laughter and sugar and warmth.

"You can’t be that nice to me in front of everyone," you whisper, voice almost frantic, fingers tightening around the straps of your bag. He’s standing too close now, inches away, and it makes your pulse skitter, your chest tighten.

His lips curl into something that isn't quite a smile, barely there at all. "Everyone’s busy entertaining Utahime’s shenanigans. Look." He tilts his chin slightly, eyes flicking across the shop. "The only person who probably saw anything was Suguru."

You swallow. Your heartbeat kicks up a little, stumbles over itself. You don’t look at Suguru. You don’t look at Gojo, either. Instead, your gaze drops—to your hands, to the floor, to anything but the way Gojo is looking at you.

Then he says it.

"I’m going back."

The words don’t settle in right away. At first, they don’t even make sense. "What?"

"The One-Eyed Witch Passageway. Cellar. Straight to the courtyard at Hogwarts." He says it all too smoothly, as if he’s done this before. As if it’s just another part of the evening, another thing as simple as slipping stolen fireworks into his pocket. "I’ll wait. Come along."

And then he’s gone, slipping past you, disappearing toward the cellar door before you even have the chance to process it.

You freeze. Your palms are damp. Too damp. Your breath stutters as you try to make sense of what just happened, of how quickly the moment shifted, of the fact that Gojo just left, as if he knew you would follow. As if he expected it.

You shake your head. Vigorously. You can’t. It’s too dangerous. The others would notice. The air suddenly feels stifling, too thick, too warm, like you can’t quite catch your breath.

And then you feel it. A stare.

Your eyes lift.

Kento.

He’s looking at you. You don’t move. You don’t blink. Your body is locked in place, frozen in the space between two choices, and you don’t know what he sees when he looks at you. But you know this—he saw. He saw everything.

Your throat tightens.

Kento’s gaze flickers past you, to the cellar door Gojo disappeared through. And then—slowly, deliberately—his eyes return to yours.

And he nods.

He nods.

Your stomach drops. Your heart stumbles over itself. For a moment, you don’t understand. You look at him, then back at the door, then at him again. Your mouth opens, but no words come out.

Until, Kento’s brows furrow. A quiet exhale. And then, his gaze shifts—one last time—to the cellar door.

You understand, then. He’s telling you to leave. With Gojo.

Your breath stills in your chest. Your fingers clench at your sides. You hesitate for only a moment longer, the world pressing in around you, the weight of the decision settling heavy in your bones.

And then you move.

You slip past the shelves, past the others, past the warmth of the shop, toward the door that leads down to the cellar.

Now you know. Who sent the notes.

It was Kento.

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m8hammed · 7 months ago

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The Story of Mohammed Hussein Ismaeel and His Family: A Journey of Struggle, Loss, and Hope 🍉 🙏💔

Hello everyone,👋🙏

I’m Mohammed Hussein Ismaeel, a 23-year-old Palestinian from Gaza, and I write to you today from a place of deep sorrow and isolation. My family and I have been through unimaginable devastation, and I am here, pleading for your support to help us survive.

My Family's Painful Journey 🗝 🍉🕊

We were once five in my family: my mother Rajaa (51), my father Hussein (58), my sister Iman (18), and my younger sister Noor (13). Our lives were simple, filled with dreams for a better future. But the war has taken almost everything from us.🍉

On October 7th, six days into the war, we were forced to flee our home and seek shelter in Al-Maghazi refugee camp in central Gaza. We spent two and a half months there, surrounded by fear and chaos. Then came the night when the camp was bombed. We lost two of our relatives, and many of us were injured, including my father who now struggles with a severed tendon in his finger.🍉

Loss, Isolation, and Despair 🍉💔😭

After leaving the camp, we found temporary refuge in Rafah and then Deir al-Balah. But I am now separated from my family, living alone in a tent. My life feels like it's falling apart. My sister Iman has contracted hepatitis due to malnutrition, my father suffers in silence from his injury, and our dreams have been shattered.

I lost my job just before graduating, and Iman had to abandon her studies. Noor, the youngest, hasn’t been to school in months. I was working on a master’s degree in business administration, a future I once saw as bright, but now, all I see is the dark reality of our situation.🍉

Friends Scattered, Left Behind 💔💔💔😭

Not only has the war taken our home, but it has also taken my closest friends. Some have fled to America, others have passed away, and the few left are too far to reach. I am here, in a tent, alone, clinging to a fragile hope for survival. I haven't felt the touch of a normal, civilized life in over a year. I don't know what it's like to sleep peacefully or to live without the constant fear of death.🍉

A Call for Help 🙏🙏💔

I am tired. I feel lost, like I no longer belong to this world. I’m pleading for your help, not just for me but for my family. We need your support to escape this place, to find safety in Egypt. Any donation, no matter how small, can make a difference. Please, share our story, help us reach those who can make a real change.

From the depths of my heart, I thank you for any help you can offer. Your kindness and compassion will never be forgotten in these dark times.🍉

Verified by 🙏👋

@Ibtisams and

@el-shab-hussein

Link vetted her 🌹🙏

Note📝: My previous account was deleted, and this is my new one. I hope you can continue to support me during these difficult times.

Thank you very much ❤️

With gratitude,

Mohammed Hussein Ismaeel

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vigilante-3073 · 4 months ago

Text

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

PART 6

Summary: Edward and Bella's wedding day was fast approaching. Bella begins to struggle with the idea of becoming a vampire. She also wonders what a future with Edward could look like if he continues his turbulent relationship with Y/N.

TW: Mentions of marriage, manipulation, lack of regard for the feelings of others.

Edward stood on the terrace, looking out into the forest and watching the sun rise through the trees. Y/N made her way over to him, crossing her arms and leaning against the railing.

The silence settled easily between them and for a moment it almost felt like it used to. He hoped that their tense exchange from the previous day would be forgotten, but Y/N had never been one for turning over new leaves.

Y/N had always been impulsive and Edward dealt with it well until her impulsivity put Bella at risk.

"That gaudy ring that your human has been parading around with leads me to believe that congratulations are in order... I didn't think you had it in you to make so many life ruining choices in so little time," Y/N stated.

"How did you find out?" Edward asked.

"The real question is why you hid it from me," She replied.

"I didn't hide it," Edward said.

"Did you think I wouldn't come back if you told me you were engaged to her?" Y/N questioned.

Edward hesitated, "I needed you," He stated softly.

Y/N hated that he thought the simple statement justified his lies to her. Edward had never been outright cruel, he moved in the shadows with practiced precision. He kept his hands clean while burying the knife in her flesh like he had done countless times before.

Edward lied by omission, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You needed my power, not me," Y/N said.

"I care about you, Y/N... I want you to be here with us," Edward said.

"Where exactly do you think I belong in this perfect life you've created for yourself, hmm? Following you and your wife around until she eventually dies so you're not alone?" Y/N asked, looking over at him.

"I'm turning her into a Vampire after the wedding," He said.

"Oh, how sweet of you to consider me when planning your happy life," Y/N replied bitterly.

"Don't patronize me, Y/N," He snapped.

"You started it," She said calmly, straightening up and turning towards him.

Edward huffed, "That wasn't my intention," He said.

"You're a fool, Edward. I have told you that you need to cut her loose and you've chosen to shackle yourself to her instead," Y/N said.

"I love her," Edward stated.

"She is plain... The only thing that makes her interesting to you is the fact that you can't read her mind. The fascination will wear off after a few decades and you will toss her away like chewed gum," She said.

"I would never do that to her," Edward snapped.

"But you did it to me without an issue," Y/N replied coldly.

Edward huffed, "You were a danger to her, Y/N," He said.

"No, I wasn't. If I wanted the girl dead, she'd be dead and you know that," Y/N said.

Y/N was right, she didn't need to be able to use her powers to kill Bella. Y/N may have had some ill intent during their previous interactions, but she hadn't taken any action.

Y/N had been Edward's trusted friend for years and he couldn't imagine a future without her. He loved Bella, but Y/N was family and he wouldn't turn his back on her.

"You're right," Edward muttered.

Y/N looked over at him, almost confused by his response to her, "Did you just agree with me?" She questioned.

Edward shot her a look, "I did, but don't let it go to your head... I know that you haven't been welcoming to Bella but I want to be able to trust you around her. I'm willing to continue our friendship if you are," Edward said.

"Is your little girlfriend going to be okay with this?" Y/N questioned.

"It doesn't matter. You're one of the most important people in my life and she'll have to deal with it," Edward said.

Y/N smirked, "Already picking favorites before you're even married... Good luck with the wedding," She said, stepping away from the railing and moving inside.

Edward lingered on the balcony, he felt unsettled after their interaction and he couldn't pinpoint why. Y/N knew about Edward's engagement and the plan to change Bella after the wedding which had been his biggest cause for concern.

No one in the family had told her, which meant that the news had come from Bella directly. Edward's relationship with Bella had been strained lately and an unsupervised interaction with Y/N could definitely explain it.

Bella hadn't been sleeping, her nights were filled with bad dreams and restless sleep. When Edward asked her about what was worrying her, she brushed him off and told him that everything was fine. Edward hated not knowing what she was thinking, she had been quiet and it worried him.

There had been no yelling or use of excessive force during his conversation with Y/N which should have made him feel better about their situation, but it didn't.

They were in uncharted territory and Edward couldn't help but feel on edge. Bella was still an undoubtedly fragile human and he just needed to keep her safe until the wedding. After that, she would be a Vampire and a permanent part of the Cullen family.

Edward suddenly stiffened when he realized where Y/N had gone. She would do anything she could to push him and Bella further apart, even if it meant using his own words against him.

...

Edward raced to town and arrived in Bella's bedroom quickly, Y/N was sitting in a chair while the young human hovered awkwardly by the door.

"Hello, Edward. I was just updating your human on the details of our talk. I think you have a couple things that need to be discussed," Y/N said, standing up from the chair.

Edward grabbed her wrist, "Why would you do this?" He asked angrily.

"I just think everyone needs to know where they stand before our friendship can continue. The human agrees, don't you?" Y/N asked, looking over at Bella.

"Leave her out of this," Edward snapped, grip tightening on her wrist.

"Stop it, both of you. My god, you're like children and it's ridiculous," Bella said, Edward released Y/N's arm.

"Look, she's right about knowing where everyone stands, but I know that she only came here to try and mess with my head," Bella stated.

"Not as stupid as she looks," Y/N muttered.

"Shut up," Edward snapped.

"Can you go? You've caused a sufficient amount of issues now, Y/N," Bella mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on her feet and crossing her arms.

"It would be my pleasure," She said, turning her attention to Edward.

"Have fun cleaning up the mess you've created, Edward," Y/N smiled, disappearing without another word.

Edward let out a huff, "Bella, I was going to tell you about reaching out to her," He started.

"When?" Bella asked, making her way over to him.

"You haven't been sleeping lately and I didn't want to add another thing onto your plate," Edward said.

"I haven't been sleeping because of all of this," Bella said, gesturing between them, "She hates me and she's getting in my head about everything. I have nightmares that she kills me before I make it to the altar," Bella said.

"She wouldn't do that," Edward stated.

"I think you're seriously underestimating her, Edward," Bella said, shaking her head.

"Y/N has a problem with me, not you. I haven't been entirely honest with her lately and that's on me," Edward stated.

"Why are you keeping things from her? If she's really your friend, you should be able to tell her everything," Bella said.

"Y/N and I have a complicated relationship, Bella. I can't just abandon her and I need you to respect that," He said.

Bella huffed, "What if I said 'it's her or me'?" She questioned.

Edward faltered, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again. He didn't know what to say, he assumed that the answer would be easy but he hesitated.

Edward had never allowed himself to think about fully giving up on Y/N. He didn't love her, but she was his best friend. He felt like he was missing something when she wasn't around.

Having Y/N disappear from his life had proved to him that he would never be ready to close the door on her.

"Wow... I don't even know what to say," She muttered, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"I don't love her, Bella, but she's my best friend and I won't abandon her," Edward said.

"She's a big girl, Edward. I'm sure she can handle it," Bella stated.

"No, she can't," Edward snapped.

Bella looked shocked before she let out a shaky exhale, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you... I just- This is something I am not willing to compromise on. Y/N has been through a lot and I owe it to her," Edward said.

"Fine, but I need to know that nothing is going to happen before or during the wedding," Bella said.

"I promise," Edward nodded.

Bella hoped that she could trust him, but the nightmares continued to plague her. She wanted to tell him that he needed to choose her, but his mind was made up.

His hesitation when she asked him to pick between her and Y/N only served to solidify her doubts. When she put him on the spot, he picked Y/N and in high pressure situations he was likely to do the same thing.

The wedding was only days away and a pit was beginning to form in her stomach. Marriage was one thing, but becoming a Vampire was not something that she could opt out of easily. Edward put a lot of weight into the idea of marriage and once she became like him, she would be stuck.

Bella couldn't walk away from him after he gave her immortality. She also struggled to cope with the idea of having her entire life be stuck in such a toxic loop.

Y/N was reactive and manipulative, pushing them apart whenever they got closer to one another. She was possessive of Edward and had some serious issues that would interfere with their relationship for the foreseeable future.

Bella hoped that things would fall into place, but she was beginning to feel like they never would.

...

Edward and Bella were getting married tomorrow. Alice had planned absolutely everything for the wedding. She took care of the guest list, the invitations, the flowers, the dress and everything in between.

The property of the Cullen house had been fully transformed for the wedding. Intricate flowers were hanging from overhead and a beautiful arch had been created for them to get married under.

Bella was still having nightmares, but refused to acknowledge them as the wedding day approached. Bella hadn't heard a peep from Y/N since she meddled in their relationship after her conversation with Edward.

Y/N had moved back into the Cullen house, but had been keeping to herself for the most part. Bella was almost beginning to wonder if Edward was keeping her in check or if she was quiet for a more malicious reason.

Edward visited Bella in her bedroom before his bachelor party and they talked about his past. The conversation threw her off, it almost seemed like he was trying to give her a reason to call off their engagement.

Their relationship was still tense, but it was starting to go back to the way it had been. Despite Y/N trying to get under Bella's skin about Edward reaching out to her, the conversation had actually helped.

They were able to lay their cards on the table and be honest. Edward's connection to Y/N was complex and problematic but it was always going to exist. Their conversation lifted some of the weight from her shoulders, but hadn't relieved it entirely.

Bella sent him off to his brothers for his bachelor party before settling in for a night of restless sleep. Edward's bachelor party involved a rather entertaining hunt and some juvenile behavior with his brothers until the sun began to rise.

Edward walked through the forest on his way back to the Cullen house with Jasper and Emmett. Morning dew glistened on the greenery and birds began to chirp in the trees.

"I wonder what Y/N is going to get up to today. That's one hell of a wild card to have at your wedding," Emmett said with a smirk.

"She's not going to try anything," Edward stated.

"You sure about that?" Jasper questioned.

Edward huffed, "I don't know what she's up to lately," He said.

"Might be best to put Carlisle on Y/N duty. He can keep an eye on her for you," Emmett said.

"If I do that she'll think I don't trust her," Edward said.

"But you don't," Emmett stated, climbing over a fallen tree trunk.

"I don't want her to know that," Edward shrugged.

"I'm glad she's moving back in. I missed having her around," Emmett said.

"Me too," Jasper nodded, "She's fun and she makes you loosen up a bit," He said, looking over at Edward.

"She hates Bella," Edward stated.

"Nah, I don't think so. Just seems like she's trying to keep you from doing something stupid," Emmett said, Edward shot him a glare.

"Hey, I don't think it's stupid, but she definitely does," Emmett said, holding his hands up.

Edward huffed, "I'll talk to her. She has to know how important the wedding is to us," He said.

"Good luck with that," Jasper smirked.

The trio fell silent as they approached the Cullen house, splitting off into their respective rooms while Edward made his way to Y/N's bedroom.

He knew that Emmett was right and he needed to talk to Y/N. She had been far too quiet for it to mean anything good. He knocked on her door gently, lowering his hand and waiting for her to reply from inside.

Edward knew she was in her room and the silence frustrated him. Edward opened the door after a moment had passed, Y/N was sitting in her armchair with a book in her lap.

"No response means no one's home," Y/N muttered, flipping the page in her book.

Edward stepped into her room, closing the door behind himself, "I need to talk to you," He said.

"Well, if I wanted to talk to you I would've opened the door," Y/N replied.

"I'm getting married today and I need you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid," Edward said.

"I'm not willing to make that promise, Edward," Y/N stated.

"I can't have you there if you're going to pose a risk to the humans we've invited," He said.

"Uninvite me then," She said, closing her book and looking up at him.

Edward huffed, "You're my friend and I want you to be there. I don't think it's an outlandish request to ask you to behave," Edward said.

"Clearly you haven't met me," Y/N stated.

"I thought we were starting over after our last conversation," He said.

"Are you talking about the conversation where you invited me to be a third wheel in your marriage? Because I don't consider that to be a promising jumping off point for us," Y/N stated.

Edward shook his head, "You're insufferable, you know that? I have been bending over backwards trying to make things work between us and you don't care," He said.

"You brought me here under false pretenses, Edward. You have dragged me along like a fish on a hook for half a century. Forgive me for making you grovel a little bit," Y/N snapped.

"You're a hypocrite... You talk about the things that I've done, but what about you? You haven't always had good intentions with me either," Edward stated.

"We're both awful people, but at least I'm willing to admit it," She shrugged.

Edward sighed, "I don't want to fight with you, Y/N. I just want us to be civil and I would like to have you at the wedding," He said.

"I'll go, but I can't promise to be happy about it," Y/N replied.

"That's all I ask," Edward said.

...

PART 7

#edward cullen x y/n #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x oc #edward cullen imagine #edward cullen #twilight x reader #twilight imagine #twilight #twilight x you #twilight x y/n #twilight x oc #twilight x female reader #rosalie twilight #rosalie cullen #carlisle cullen #alice cullen #jasper hale #emmett cullen #esme cullen

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stxrvel · 1 year ago

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injustice (3)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! a lot of curse words, a lot of self-deprecation and low self esteem. no proofread. this is nawt silly writing, we're diving right into the aNgSt. jumpscare? iykyk a/n. hi guys! this was a rollercoaster for me to write, but i hope it doesn't come as harsh as i think it is. pls let me know what you think in the comments!! see you next week!!

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

You had gone through a scenario like that in your head several times. A variety of moments, conversations and looks that always ended in the same unpleasant, inevitable and demoralizing way: you were forgotten by the people you loved most in the world. Only when you reached 18 would you realize how heartbreaking the dull thud of the silence of indifference was, how sharp and icy the loneliness was, how it penetrated and paralyzed your bones; but at that time, at 16, you could still convince yourself that all those things were only in your head and would always be there.

“Now that you're the last to go, you guys are much more likely to forget about me.”

“Of course not! In fact, as soon as I start earning money I'll save up to take you with us.”

Jungkook shook his head, his narrowed eyes judging you as if having insecurities was a sin. You believed his words at that moment, because being the last one still with you, 'cause you were going to graduate from school in the same year, it was the only thing you could do. Hold on to the idea that you really weren't going to be forgotten, because the mere conception of a future without your best friends was inconceivable.

“Jimin-hyung said he was going to try to call more often,” your friend went on, his eyes fixed on the bass on his lap and his important task of leaving it neat before returning it to its holy post in the school's music room. “I haven't talked to them in about three days.”

Jimin and Taehyung had left just a couple of months ago, but thanks to the opportunities opened to them with their incredible willingness, discipline and some string twitching on Namjoon's part, they had managed to get into a great academy to train and fulfill their dreams.

That also brought with it, as irreversible side effects, that your communication with them was drastically reduced. You had to constantly remind yourself and Jungkook that it was out of their control. With their future at stake, there was something for which they had to exert extreme effort and for which to sacrifice some other things.

“It's normal that they don't have as much time as they used to, Kookie.” You lowered your head, noticing the way his hands delicately handled the instrument on his legs. Since Jimin and Taehyung had left there was no time of day when you could tear yourself away from Jungkook, which is why you accompanied him to his extracurricular music lessons when you really should have been studying for the college entrance exam. “Life after school gets really hectic.”

“I've heard that college life is quieter.” Jungkook twisted his lips, wiping between the strings and his fingerprints left on the bass every time he moved it back and forth to clean it. It was an almost irresistible cycle.

“The only one at college right now is Seokjin and even about him we haven't heard much.” You leaned back against the piano, noticing Jungkook's movements pause for a moment as he surely reminisced about the few times he had been able to talk to Jin that month.

It had been two years since Seokjin had graduated and traveled all the way to the capital to study medicine. Needless to say, it was more than clear that communication with Jin would be almost nil from then on, but Jungkook always used to pout about it.

“It's just that Jin-hyung also chose a rather demanding career.” Jungkook twisted his lips, as if suppressing Jin in his head, waving the microfiber towel over the edges of the bass.

“And the others are trying too hard to carve their way through. It can be as complicated as going out to look for a job right after graduating.”

Jungkook nodded, admiring his cleaning job with a frown. He looked so focused that it caught you by surprise when he spoke again.

“You already know if you're going to college, noona? We're graduating this year.”

You blinked once, twice, three times. His nonchalant self went back to waving the towel over nonexistent smudges as you breathed in and decided not to go that route. “Will you?”

Jungkook raised his head, pausing his movements for a moment to try to analyze your gaze. With a sigh, he let out your poorly disguised way of shifting the focus of the conversation to get up and hang the instrument, glowing, on the wall of the music room.

“I don't know yet… Namjoon-hyung says he can help me.”

“Isn't it your dream, why do you doubt it?”

“I'm not sure, noona. What if I don't measure up? What if I fail?”

When your friend turned away, the mirror to his soul showed his vulnerability dancing on the edge of his eyelids. His distrust constricted your heart, a hand closing around your throat at the inner conflicts you knew Jungkook used to have and in the face of which you often couldn't do anything about because he didn't usually share such things.

“Then you try again.”

“Noona…” Jungkook wanted to grumble, it was obvious from the way his eyes moved to the ceiling, his head cocking as if he was about to give you a big life lesson on why you can't survive on motivational phrases.

But Jungkook was a softie about such things, even if he tried to hide it.

“Jungkook, you are literally a golden promise. No process is ever easy, especially in the industry you want to get into, but don't think for a second that you're going to outgrow it. You're one of the most capable people I've ever met.”

Your friend stopped his steps, when after hanging up the bass he was returning to your post in front of you, raising his head as if caught committing a prank. But the vulnerability in his eyes remained, and by the way they shone in the dim light of the room, still blinking to try to contain the emotion, you knew your words had tugged at just that thorn in his heart you were trying to pull out.

“Thank you, noona.”

“I'm just telling the truth.” You lifted a shoulder, shaking your head nonchalantly like it was no big deal, and Jungkook just let out an amused chuckle.

“You do know we'd never forget about you, right? How could we?”

“How could we?”

Yuna shook her head, frowning at her phone, oblivious to the way you cringed at her choice of words.

“She's bringing celebrities into the store and she want us to leave? Don't we work so well that we always take the top employee of the month spot even though it should only be held by one person? Don't we deserve that gift?”

You watched her, marveling at how after just a few seconds so many emotions could build up into an overwhelming knot in your chest. The old notes of an old piano played in the back of your head, bringing to the surface memories of when life was easier; when you thought you had it all and nothing would ever be better than that; when you thought you were enough.

“So what do you plan to do about it?” you blinked, focusing on the notation of bills in your notebook with an invisible hand squeezing your heart.

There was no use thinking about such things after so long.

Yuna pursed her lips, her expression serious and forceful. “I think we should have a sit-in.”

“We should? That sounds like more than one person.”

“Do you disagree with me?”

“I'm happy with going home early, especially on a Friday, you know?”

“y/n,” Yuna came up to your face over the cash register display case, her forearms resting on the glass and her eyes so bright with determination you were sure her head could light the whole store on fire the way she was scheming and scheming, running around like her life depended on it, “we could be close to meeting the seven gods of Olympus, and you think the best thing to do is go home?”

“Just in case you forgot, I have a business to run now.” You reminded her, moving to poke her with your middle finger all over her forehead and push her away from the cash register now that a new customer had come in.

“What business should a business matter when you could meet the reason for existence itself?”

Yuna dropped onto the display case, her body sliding like jelly until only her head was left on the glass. You and the new customer watched her, her arms limp at her sides and her gaze lost. A lone tear running down the bridge of her nose.

“God, you're so dramatic.”

“Does that mean yes?” Her head snapped up like a spring, a big smile scaring the soul out of the customer who ducked behind your friend to run for their order.

“No and stop acting like that, you're going to scare away customers.”

Yuna whined, her exaggerated tantrum leading you to wiggle your feet all the way to the cellar.

“I'm offering you the holy grail, and this is how you pay me?”

The sound of her feet shuffling behind you kept your head sane. Even though his insinuations were baseless, your heart was pounding so hard you felt your ribs throbbing through your muscles and skin.

Your boss had written to Yuna that you two could leave the store early today because she had a private meeting to attend. She asked them to leave everything to Patrick, including clearing the store of customers and not to worry about paying for the shift, because there would be no discount at the end of the month. Yuna was faithfully and blindly convinced that your boss really wanted you to stay, because she spent almost ten minutes with her eyes glued to the screen almost without blinking, watching the 'typing…' appear and disappear under your boss's contact name. 'I'm sure she's debating how much confidence she has in us…', she said as her red eyes missed no detail of that important chat and that primordial moment, ending in an offended 'none!' when her last message came through.

In the same way, Yuna convinced herself that the meeting that would take place in the same place where your feet were planted was going to be attended by the seven entertainment kings of the country. The unmentionables, for all practical purposes. Where had she come to that conclusion? There was no foundation. Had your boss given any hints? None. Yuna had her head in the clouds believing she could meet her idols if she insisted a little longer.

“Would you really prefer to stand your friend up to meet seven men you don't even know for sure will show up here?”

“Well…if you put it that way it sounds like I'm doing something wrong.”

“Mmm, you just figured that out?”

Yuna dropped her shoulders as you took off your apron. Her tactics weren't going to work and it was time to give up. She half-heartedly opened her locker and stood looking at you with puppy dog eyes. You felt as guilty as if you had stepped on her tail by accident.

“Look, if I'm being honest, I doubt gigantically that Sol will tell you that you can stay if you ask her.”

“Not even for everything we've been through together?”

“She's still our boss, Yuna.”

Your friend mimicked your actions with a slower speed, her emotion draining away little by little. When her head cocked to the side, halfway through taking off her apron, you only sighed.

“The worst that can happen is I get fired, right?”

You weren't surprised that she was nevertheless willing to cross that line.

“That doesn't sound like much to you?”

“I can always write her a 'ha, ha, just joking' afterwards and get out of harm's way.”

You didn't contain the irresistible urge to roll your eyes and Yuna took that as her own signal or green light. Next thing you knew she was pulling out her phone and typing animatedly on the screen.

“I really don't think you should do that.”

“I have to try! Can I call myself a good fan if I don't do even the impossible?”

“You don't even know if they'll come.”

“I have a hunch.”

With her hand over her heart, Yuna sent the message and you feared for her life. While Sol was not at all close to the idea and conceptualization of a crazy and ruthlessly demanding boss, she did draw the line at several specific situations that they had both learned to respect. One of those was, of course, private meetings at her place. You and Yuna had set up the place countless times for Sol to sit quietly and chat with her most famous acquaintances, because her office was too formal to deal with them there, but her own home was extremely informal for the same purpose. The cafeteria served as a middle ground, the perfect place to be comfortable when talking business.

“Patrick is coming.” Yuna spoke again and by the way her eyes didn't leave the screen you could tell Sol hadn't responded yet.

“I wish you the best of luck, Yuna.”

“Thank you! Coming from you it's a blessing, indeed.”

“And why's that?”

You finally stood up, closing your locker with your strap bag over your right shoulder. You were ready to leave while your friend was still biting her index fingernail waiting for an almost impossible and inconceivable message from her boss.

“What else can I expect from the writer who blew up overnight and is soon going to be one of the New York Times bestsellers and famous worldwide?”

“Ah,” you turned your head, unable to contain inwardly the way a warmth settled in your chest; you still had a hard time accepting how things had turned out, but as long as you couldn't control the influx of orders that had to take a back seat, “smooth.”

Yuna smiled and when her eyes met yours you swore she was about to tell you one more time how proud she was of you, but her phone vibrated in her hands and the last thing you saw her eyes widen exaggeratedly before her scream shook the foundations of the store and almost the entire city.

“SHE SAID YES!!!!”

Arriving home unleashed immeasurable chaos.

As soon as you opened the front door, a river of books fell like dominoes, with your father's groans and your mother's screams in the background, the sound of your work echoing in your head like lightning as stomping echoed through the house.

“Seojun, I told you to be careful walking…!”The angry expression on your mother's face disappeared the moment she recognized your face, her features softening as she knew it was her daughter. “Honey. What are you doing here so early?”

“Is that y/n?” your dad's exclamation rang out from the kitchen.

“Yes!” your mom yelled back.

The welcome was nice, but things only got more and more tedious from then on. On the one hand, you had your father telling you about accounts, numbers and multiplications of how much you had to take out of your pocket to pay for the prints, how much you would make if you sold all the books you had printed and how much you would get back, and on the other hand you had your mother telling you about the countless publishers who had written to your dm's seeking to sponsor the sale of your books, taking advantage of the boom that had been generated by the phenomenon that was Kim Taehyung.

Seojun, who had decided to move back home for the weekend to help with whatever was needed, was telling you that they had had to hire five different deliverymen -three of them trucks- to be able to deliver as many orders a day as possible, while vehemently hitting your father's forearm to remind him to include that in the accounts.

Your father was in charge of everything related to money, your mother of the direct communication with customers and Seojun of the orders; everything was done by them, with Yuna's help when she was not working, with the excuse that after so many years you just had to sit down and enjoy the fruit of your sowing without any worries.

But at that moment, when they had just let go and thrown all their worries at your feet, they stared at you expectantly.

"We need a loan."

Your mother jumped in her chair. "That's what I said!"

"That's not necessary." Your father shook his head, as he surely would have done when your mother suggested the idea judging by the expression that had planted itself on her face. "Take a loan from my wallet, but don't do business with those bankers. They'll gouge your eyes out with interest."

"Or take a publisher's offer. They'll take care of all this." Seojun pointed out, his long black hair brushing his eyebrows even though he shook it nonchalantly so he could get a good look at the three of them.

"Publishers can be freeloaders too." Your mother counter-argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, yeah? How many publishers have you signed on with to assert that?"

"Wow, careful with that tone, Mr. Lawyer." Your father pointed at your brother, while your mother only raised an eyebrow at him in response. Seojun sank into the chair, barely dragging an apology through his teeth.

"It's not a bad idea either, Dad."

His brown eyes returned to meet your gaze and you noticed the hesitation in them.

"Well, ultimately, it's your decision, honey."

Your mother squeezed your shoulder.

"I say we should listen to the lawyer."

"Hey!" Seojun frowned, straightening up on the chair. "Don't put such a big responsibility on me!"

Your father snorted. "But then weren't you comfortable a while ago giving orders and saying that I don't know what thing you had already seen it in class and that's why you knew what we had to do?"

"Dad…" Seojun elongated.

"Are you ready for such a position or not, Seojun? Tell me to start looking for another lawyer."

Your mother barely contained her laughter, only because of the offended sideways glance her own son sent her way. Laughter blossomed in your chest, too, like a big breath of fresh air in a field of flowers. You didn't know you needed that moment so badly until the tension disappeared from your shoulders as you laughed with your parents and your brother grumbled with his arms crossed.

A new batch of orders just went out - thank you so much for your purchases!

You looked at the story your mom had uploaded to Instagram in the solitude of your bedroom. The rest of the day was spent strategizing and planning marketing ideas that would likely lead you to ruin. In a defeated silence, you admitted that Yuna was really needed.

You had texted your friend a while ago, as the sunset was beginning to paint the sky with colors, but she still hadn't even checked her phone. Her last connection was a few minutes after you left at noon. You decided not to insist, even though you were a little curious about who had finally shown up at the store.

The best thing about that busy rest of the afternoon was that you'd been able to keep yourself busy enough to completely ignore the way you'd been whipped up by a few memories that morning in Yuna's company. A simple question had caused all that. And of course, with a heart as weak as a chick's and willpower almost non-existent, you let yourself be pulled right in that moment of loneliness into the well of memories.

“Jungkookie?”

Your voice pierced the silence and a shiver ran through your body as the darkness greeted you back. A few minutes passed after you plunged into the completely darkened room, walking tentatively and slowly inside, you heard a movement just outside the door you had just entered.

“Noona…”

You couldn't see him, but you didn't need to. The sobs that filled the room were enough to be able to guide you through that darkness, as indistinguishable as coal, and wrap your arms around his hunched figure on the floor beside the door.

The house was alone and as dark as that room the last night Jungkook would be there. Passing through the empty corridors of his house was a torment, but you could only imagine how your friend would feel in his place, unable to stop time as it slipped through his fingers.

Several times he had already told you that he didn't want to leave. You didn't think he meant it.

“They're waiting for you downstairs.”

“I know. I don't want to go, noona.” Jungkook moved his arms to wrap around your waist in a desperate grip, his erratic breathing against your neck breaking your heart. “I want to stay. It doesn't matter if I never become an idol. That's not important.”

“Jungkook…”

“I don't want to leave you…”

His halting voice was barely understandable, trying to be muffled by the jacket you were wearing that night when you went to see him off and didn't find him in the car with his parents. The heater seemed not to be a worthy opponent for that cold night.

“Jungkook, you're not going to leave me. We'll keep in touch. Why do you worry so much?”

“I don't want to be like them,” his pained voice pierced your chest; the movement of his body from the way the sobs were attacking him was almost uncontainable. “I don't want this distance.”

“Change is always hard, Jungkookie, but I promise you we'll be in touch always. I'll do my best to make it so.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I'll even come visit you as soon as I can.”

“No. I said I was going to pay for your trip.”

“See? You're not going to leave me.”

“Still I'm scared, noona. What if I'm not enough for them? What if I can't raise enough for you to come live with us?”

“You are enough, Jungkook. From the tips of your fingers to the tips of your hair, there's nothing about you that won't allow you to achieve your dreams, understand? You are destined to be a star. I know it's hard to leave behind everything you know in life, but believe me it will all be worth it. You will come out on top and you will succeed.”

“Noona…” Jungkook cried again, burying his face in your neck once more, clinging to you like the anchor that carried him to the surface of the ocean; the ocean shaped by his own tears. “I… don't… want… to… go…”

The hiccups that attacked him from his intense crying made it difficult for him to speak and you hadn't felt such pain even when the other boys left. There were tears shared, promises whispered and hugs that lasted longer than they should have, but no one had clung to your body as if they feared you were going to disappear at any moment and wanted to seize every second before the impending end.

“It's okay, Jungkookie,” you ran your hands up and down his back trying to calm his crying, trying to control your own as treacherous tears rolled down your cheeks with the darkness as your witness. “We'll meet again. You can wait for me. Then we can melt into another embrace and say how much we miss each other.”

Your phone vibrated on the bed, the notification startling you with its aggressiveness. Another vibration followed that one and then another. Turning on the screen, you found that half an hour had passed since you'd last seen the clock, and in passing you came across Yuna's name on the caller ID. You sighed, remembering the effusiveness with which she said goodbye in the afternoon and mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

"Hey," you greeted, mildly surprised that her exclamations hadn't reached your ear first to interrupt your greeting.

"y/n, how were sales today?" her calm voice filled your hearing and a slight wrinkle implanted itself between your brows.

"Mmm, it was all good. We have several domiciliary and the prints are coming out with the deadlines arranged. With Seojun we considered that maybe taking on a publisher wouldn't be so bad, but I'm not sure yet."

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling, shallowly biting your nails, waiting for the moment when Yuna would burst out, but it didn't come.

"Oh, yeah. We'll have to consider that. I'll go early tomorrow morning to seize the day." Yuna answered quietly, with the faint sound of things stirring in the background of the call. Surely she had just arrived at her apartment.

"Yuna?"

"Mhm?"

"How was the afternoon?"

"Oh, it was normal, really," she replied, her voice flat, as if the thought had barely crossed her mind since the moment she'd left the coffee shop. "I didn't see anyone memorable."

"Ah, so your knights in shining armor didn't attend?"

"Sadly, no." Yuna sighed, her unchanging attitude finding a little more sense in your head. She sounded more tired than anything.

You talked a bit more with Yuna before she excused herself to go about her evening routine and finally get some rest, specifically stressing to you how boring the whole afternoon had been and how every second she only thought about going home. You also told her a bit more about the ideas you and your father had half-heartedly spun as marketing strategies, but very earnestly your friend asked you not to do anything until she was there.

When her name disappeared from your caller ID, an Instagram notification popped up at the top of your home screen. The vibration felt like the pounding of a sledgehammer against wood, your sentence handed down with no chance of appeal, the blood in your veins freezing and an endless emptiness in the pit of your stomach.

jeonjungkook97 just followed you!

It was followed by the notification of a message from Yuna.

Unnie | 19:01 holy shit. jungkook just followed you on ig, right?

No fucking way. Another fucking account to block.

It wasn't like you couldn't deal with them. You had been doing it for about ten years. But now they just seemed to want to throw themselves in front of your face one by one and you weren't strong enough to handle that. Maybe your resolve needed to be more forceful; maybe you should be sure you hated them instead of feeling like your body was shaking and you could melt like jelly in the sun every time you felt they were one step closer to you. For a while, that was all you wanted; to find them; to be found. But now…?

The weekend was spent in a hodgepodge of managing your book sales and the seesaw of emotions you had in the face of the estranged but impactful actions of your old friends. You tried not to think about it too much; you really tried, but it was very difficult. It was easier to let the memories wash over you instead of diligently packing up the books on which you had squandered your blood and tears.

Your books, yes, that was the most important thing.

From the posts and hashtags, even though it had only been a couple of days, you could see that some people -those who had actually read the books- were already posting their opinions and reviews and you knew you had had plenty of time to prepare for that moment, but you really weren't ready to face it. You didn't know what it was; whether it was the pollen, the aligned planets, PMS, mercury retrograde… but all of those things were weighing you down too much recently and you weren't ready to hear the opinions.

And you couldn't help but keep asking yourself why? Having spent so much time, between so many experiences and so many personal changes, why now they decided that they would come back into your life? How dare they after ruining your life by completely abandoning you? Many times you wondered what was missing in you; what was never enough for them… sometimes you believed that this was how it was meant to be; just the seven of them, before you came along. It was always them seven first, then you.

Between lows and highs, between sadness and joy, you still had to keep working.

"Get rid of that face if you're not going to tell me what's wrong with you." Yuna crossed the cafeteria in front of you, picking up some glasses and plates on the table as lunchtime approached.

"I don't have any face."

"You've been in a somber mood since Saturday. You look dead."

You clicked your tongue, taking advantage of the fact that the store was nearly empty to do the math. "Don't be over the top."

"I'm just being honest and genuinely concerned about my friend, can you blame me?" Yuna reached the sink and simply left the dishes there to approach the cash register. Your eyes refused to meet hers, unsheathing a strange annoyance in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm fine," you moved the money automatically, doing the math in the back of your head as second nature, "don't worry so much."

"Ok, if you don't want to tell me about it at least try to distract yourself a little, why don't you take an extra half hour for lunch?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Sol would never know."

"I'm not going to do that."

Yuna pouted, dropping her chin onto the back of her hand. You knew she was about to fly you out of that chair the moment all the bills were safeguarded.

A whiplash of pain shot through your chest at the alternative of having to leave the cafeteria, alone, hovering with your thoughts once again, as you tried to shove the food down your throat. But Yuna happily dragged you out of the cafeteria, leaving you in the middle of the street with your little bag and lunch money, wishing you a happy break as she wandered off once more to deal with the sparse crowd of customers alone.

Maybe you should have told her you'd rather not eat than be alone, but…

That was the story of your life.

So you walked to that restaurant a couple of blocks away, where they sold the cheapest food in the area, and waited patiently while answering Yuna's messages to clear your mind.

Going through your social networks, you once again came across the cover of your books in the pre-viewing of a video and felt the bile in your throat. Let's see, you were happy. Or well, you were trying to convince yourself because you still had that bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach that wouldn't let you enjoy this blast like you should and it had a first and last name of its own. But, generally speaking, it was great that your books were selling, forgetting all the other circumstances that led to that happening.

So, standing in front of those videos, you were tormented by not being able to watch them. A self-published author should be prepared for that kind of thing. No, any author should be. Sharing your art with the world implicitly entailed confronting the world's expression in front of it. It was inevitable, of course, and it was also the energy that could start an engine or the fingers that put out the match. At that precise moment, you still didn't want to know what your destiny was.

You hated that. You hated feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why was life so heavy if you had just begun to live it?

Ah, too much pondering for one lunch.

And to think this all started with an Instagram story.

Having an existential crisis because you couldn't stand dealing with the stress and pressure of the extreme demand you were having and because of mixed feelings for a bunch of idiots resurfacing after so many years was one of the last things you thought you'd have to go through that year. Fuck, or ever in your entire life.

Taehyung might have done you a favor as well as a disservice.

But that's how you spent a while longer, as you walked back to the coffee shop, the noise of the city not being enough to quell the bustle of thoughts crashing against each other in your head.

Being in the eye of the hurricane, however, didn't mean you were safe. You barely had a breath of fresh air before the eyewall hit you hard once again.

"Noona…?"

You froze a few steps away from the cafeteria. You feared not only the way you immediately recognized the voice, but the way your body froze, fear, panic and uncertainty clouding your sense.

You were in the alley behind the coffee shop. You didn't usually go in that way, but you had taken a slightly longer way back, only because you were too busy thinking about whether or not your body was up to a longer walk.

You were so close to the door that you could almost hear Yuna's voice on the other side, barely muffled by the beeping that echoed in your ears as panic took over your body.

You didn't want to turn around. Your body was having every possible negative reaction, as if it was fighting an infection, the lunch you had just shoved down your throat seeking to make its way back into your mouth and the feeling of dizziness momentarily clouded you.

Was this how you planned to react if you ever saw them again? Was this how you acted out the scenarios you imagined in your head at night when your memories went back to the last time you saw them?

The only difference between those imaginings and what was happening at that moment was that before you could prepare yourself; you knew what was coming; you had control. Now? Your legs were about to give out, the weight of your body too much to bear.

And you wanted to mock the pathetic behavior you were engaging in. You should turn around, slap him and scream at him that you never wanted to see him again. But your heart was beating and feeling and… how could you deny it anything after so many years of being neglected?

But maybe you were imagining it. The little sleep you had this weekend and all the memories you dragged from the trunk since you saw that Instagram notification must have made you crazy enough that you heard voices, his voice, anywhere… you were still near a busy street, it could be anyone-

"y/n."

And, yet…

You didn't turn around knowing what it would entail to give his voice a face, even though you could madly and frankly recall every line of its length, and you spoke harshly through your teeth even though your labored breathing made your chest heave.

"What are you doing here?"

"Noona… you're really here."

You cringed as you heard his footsteps and clutched with inhuman speed at the lock on the door in front of you.

"I asked you a fucking question: what the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

The silence didn't give you an answer, but you could glimpse it. With your patience on edge and years of emotional repression it was impossible for you to deduce how you would react in such a case, but it didn't seem too far-fetched, even if Jungkook's surprised inspiration said he didn't expect you to be so harsh and rude.

As if you cared.

—Yes you did care, in fact, that's why your heart was beating wildly against your ribs, the choking sensation increasing, the nerves on edge and the tears all over the corners of your eyes, but you had to stand your ground. After so, so long… why, why, why, why?—

"I… I…" Jungkook seemed to be having trouble finding his voice, even though in his profession the words came melodiously and easily out of his mouth. If you turned to look at him, you might have noticed that his face went from happiness to anguish with the speed a bullet goes through a field, "I wanted to see you…"

He sounded so small. The five-foot-ten-plus man, who you're sure was almost a head and a half taller than you, might as well have been a badly wounded puppy behind you. You knew from the way he spoke that he was holding back tears, but you didn't let that sway you. He didn't deserve it.

"Who gave you the right to come here?"

You didn't let him answer, not knowing if he was even going to, tightening the lock on the door you were about to walk through at any moment, bile in your throat making you fear the fall as if you were at the top of a skyscraper.

"How the fuck did you even find me?"

"Well, I-"

"I don't fucking want to know!"

You cut him off, the dryness and venom in your voice making you tremble. You were so sad, so distraught and so angry at the same time.

"And I don't want to see you. So leave."

"Noona…"

"Fucking leave, Jeon, for fuck's sake!"

You moved, almost as if by inertia, opening the door and slamming it behind you, the noise so deafening that it echoed in your ears for several seconds until you heard Yuna's footsteps approaching you and felt her arms wrap around your body.

You didn't know what she was saying, you just leaned against the door and let yourself fall, your body shaking in cry after uncontrollable cry, truly wondering how everything had gone so far; wondering how, after so many years, you still allowed them to have that power over you; a power they didn't deserve and shouldn't have.

You felt shattered in that moment, every piece of you scattered in the hold, every moment of your life replaying on its glassy, sharp edges. Even with half of you staying afloat, Yuna held you until the tears stopped flowing and with renewed resolve you promised yourself that this was never going to happen again.

Jungkook had taken you by surprise, but from now on none of them would ever catch you off guard.

a/n: i dont really know what to think about this chap. sometimes i like it sometimes i dont. i guess thats just how it works. pls letme know what you think! thank u for all the support! <3

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592 @yoongznme @queenbloody @leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison

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venomvalley · 3 months ago

Text

PILLOW PRINCESS — PART III

A PARTY AT HOUSE CAZEA ↬ councilor!sevika x fem!piltie!reader // 5k words

SUMMARY: Your mother suggests that you host a welcome party for Sevika. The problem? Too many to count.

TAGS: 18+ only! evil mothers, toxic yuri, smut, infidelity

NOTES: this chapter has everything yaaaayyyy

-> READ ON AO3 | PILLOW PRINCESS MASTERLIST

That evening, your parents stroll through the doors of your home shortly after you finish your bath, your mother joining you in the bathroom as your father's booming laughter echoes up to the second floor.

“I am very disappointed in you, dear.”

“What did I do this time, Mother?” you ask with a sigh, leaning over the sink to apply your night cream.

“You never told me that there was a Zaunite in our midst. I had to hear it from Abigail's aunt—who, by the way, is looking dreadful nowadays.”

You meet her gaze in the mirror, rubbing the excess cream over the back of your hands. “What's your point?”

This time of night, you've been drained of the energy needed to both entertain her dramatics and feign interest. Can barely manage both on a good day.

“My point is that we must be the first House to host her. This is a historic time we're living in, dear girl, and unless you want our name to wither away into obscurity, you need to plan ahead. Think of your children, and their children, and—”

“Mother.” You turn around to grasp her by the arms, shocking her out of her building monologue. “I understand your concerns, but my responsibilities are a bit short-sighted at the moment.”

She sniffs, raises her chin to look down her nose at you. “As soon as you see her, extend the invitation to your home. Unless you want me to do it.”

You would rather slowly impale yourself on the iron fence in the gardens.

“It’ll be done.”

Her insistence that your home hosts the party is unsurprising. No better power play to display your inheritance of wealth and influence to all of Piltover’s affluent.

Her painted lips curl into a tight smile, bracelets jingling as she pats you on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”

Your mother’s orders prove more difficult than you originally thought. Sevika has turned into a ghost over the last three days, and you hoped to spot her in the halls, or the pavilion, or the garden in the backyard, but the blasted woman has vanished.

Thus leaves only one desperate option: her office. The thought of seeing her again makes your lungs twist inside your chest, but the lingering anger from your argument doesn't sway the need to protect her from your witch of a mother for as long as possible. She's dealing with enough. No need to add to it.

Luckily for you, she stands in front of her office with a book tucked tight between her thighs just as you step out of yours.

“Councilor. Just the person I wanted to see.”

She looks at you out of the corner of her eye, struggling with the lock on the door. “I’m busy.”

You ignore her. “My mother extends an invitation to meet at my home. A welcome party, of sorts. If you value the future of Zaun, I suggest you come dressed in your best clothes.”

After a moment, the lock opens with an audible click, and she grabs the book to tuck it beneath her arm. “I'm not some dog you can order around.”

“You can decline if you wish, but given the nature of your goals and our previous agreement, I assumed that meeting the most influential family in the city would interest you.” You shrug. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

Speaking with her so formally, the same way you speak to everyone else in Piltover, hurts you in a way you can't explain. But perhaps it's for the best. Keeping your distance to focus on more important things than your odd infatuation.

Like building a family. You haven't forgotten about that whole ordeal. Gods, if only you could.

“I don't even know where you live,” she says, low and resigned.

Above everything, you hate this for her.

“I'll give you an invitation tomorrow. It should have everything you need.”

With a sigh, she nods her head, and you stroll back into your office.

Sevika steps into the grand foyer and the entire party grinds to a halt. Fifteen minutes late, soaked by the rain, looking almost regal in her brown and gold outfit. Even switched out the piercing below her bottom lip to match the gold of her jacket buttons.

The throng of people part for both you and Tristan as you descend the steps and approach her. You plaster on your best smile for the crowd, twirling your wedding ring around its finger.

“Councilor, I would like to formally introduce you to our home.” You rest a hand on Tristan's shoulder, and he steps forward.

He gives her his name, offering a hand for her to shake. “It's very nice to finally meet you, ma’am.”

She looks down at his hand, then at you, then back at his hand, and the next time your gazes meet, you widen your eyes and give a slight jut of your chin in his direction. She shakes it after a breath-holding moment, greeting him with a sharp nod.

“Might we interest you in some refreshments?” he asks, taking a step back to loop an arm around your waist. Her eyes dart to the movement as he waves a hand, beckoning her to follow.

The crowd parts once again as you lead her to the kitchen, whispers and stares cloaking you like a second skin as your ever-curious family indulges in the new wave of gossip.

When the three of you step inside, the kitchen bustles with cooks and servants and guests alike. A grand space made to fit thirty people at once, stocked with the best appliances and gleaming, marble countertops. Stunning chandeliers on each side of the room, flower-filled vases recently watered, candelabras casting a warm glow about the space.

She takes the glass of champagne you offer with a curious furrow to her brow, bringing it to her nose for a sniff.

“Don’t worry, it’s very good. My love’s favorite, actually,” Tristan says with a bright smile, pulling you into his side.

He looks down at you just as she raises a brow, and you meet his loving gaze with a shy smile of your own. The stress of the night threatens to cave your chest in, to stop the flow of your heart. A secret you share with the past, one-night lover stood across from you, and the husband who knows nothing about your sexual… proclivities—an unbelievably awkward situation to be in. A plot fit for a forbidden romance book.

No. Perhaps a thriller, instead. At the end, the princess is stripped of all titles and exiled from her land for bringing shame upon her family.

“Right,” she says, tone deadpan before she downs her champagne in two gulps and sets the glass back on the table sprawling with food and drink.

In that moment, your mother strolls in with the too-strong smell of jasmine perfume, destroying any semblance of a good mood you might have managed to recover.

“My dear girl.” She kisses you hard on the cheek, breath stinking of the harder liquor you keep hidden in your personal stash. “Oh, this party is simply wonderful. You’ve outdone yourself for our new guest.”

With a sway to her step, she walks over to Sevika, barely skirting the hand you grab her arm with. You curse inwardly, shooting the Councilor a pitying look before turning toward the presence of your father just over your shoulder.

“I warned her against the liquor, dear,” he mutters, head lowered to your ear. “But you know how the blasted woman is. Stubborn on her best day.”

Your mother wheels a bewildered Sevika away from the kitchen with an arm notched in her elbow, speaking in a rush. “I simply must introduce you to my sisters. They’ve been so excited to finally meet someone from the Undercity. Oh, but it’s Zaun now, isn’t it? Did you know that my daughter was one of the only Councilors appealing for your city’s recognition, and by the gods, she actually did it! I admit, I had my doubts, but—“

Her voice trails off as the bustling crowd swallows them up, and you heave a sorrowful sigh. Gods bless her.

Tristan leads you around the room to mingle, catching up with third cousins twice removed, meeting the grandchildren of your great aunts and uncles, cooing at the babies born of your distant in-laws. It all happens in a rush of questions and suggestions and applauding of your achievements. Everyone asks when you’ll be having children, if you’re pregnant, why you aren't pregnant yet—all questions you expected given the size of your family tree, but no less invasive and uncomfortable. At one point, Tristan looks like he might vomit, and you excuse him on your behalf to the bathroom.

Take a breath, you whisper, hand squeezing at his bicep. It’s alright.

Your mother talks Sevika’s head off for the better part of an hour, and the next time you circle back around to spot them, Sevika looks ready to take a flying leap off the second floor balcony. You approach the pair with a smile, the neck of your most recent glass of champagne squeezed tight between your fingers.

“Why, hello. I see you’re still talking, Mother.”

She gives you a smile in return, but her eyes harden to stone. “Yes, well, there is much to talk about. As you’ve told me before, our differences are what bring us together, yes?”

You’re used to this game: the invisible tug-of-war that your mother plays so well. A war of wills, won by only the most stubborn of psyches. A good thing, then, that you’re your mother’s daughter.

“I’m sure other people would like to speak with her, Mother. To learn about their… differences.”

She must see something in your face, or doesn’t want to make a scene in front of the crowd, because she relents surprisingly fast. Turns to Sevika with a tight-lipped smile and says, “Perhaps my daughter is right.” Turns back to you. “Why don’t you take our guest on a tour of your home? Show her all that Piltover has to offer.”

More like flaunting your wealth, but she’s already given you more grace than she holds in her whole body, so you refuse to press the issue. Instead, you wave your guest along then bow to your mother upon your retreat.

You lead her through the crowd and into one of the winding hallways inside your home, heaving a breath once the last person is out of sight. “So. You met my mother.”

“Quite the character.” She leans against the wall, eyes trailing over the intricate pattern of your mother’s hand-picked wallpaper. “She talked about your husband the whole time.”

“Yes, she tends to do that.” You take a sip of your drink, mouth suddenly dry, the champagne bitter on your tongue. “I'm the failure of the family, and I ruined her chances of having more children, so she's always resented me.”

“Why?”

“Half the people you see out there are related to me in some way.” With a tired sigh, you fluff out the layered skirt of your dress and take a seat on the floor. The shoes your maid chose for the evening already threaten blisters on your heels and toes. “To put it simply: we have large families because we believe that more children means more of an opportunity to do something noteworthy for our House, and my birth seems to have cursed us. Tristan's impotence just solidifies the theory.”

She stands in silence for a long while, brows tugged together in confusion, before finally saying, “I will never understand this shit.”

You laugh for the first time tonight, chest lighter than it’s felt in weeks. “Trust me, I wish I didn't.”

Despite your previous spat, talking with her is… easy, and you wish it wasn’t. Emotional distance would benefit you greatly, but she’s seen more of your soul than every guest in your home put together—even your parents and your dear, sweet, loving husband. Her presence brings a comfort that you haven’t experienced ever in your life, so removed from all the political intrigue and House infighting that you can drop your carefully-curated act and simply be yourself.

The want to be close to her is a dangerous thing. An exhilarating, terrifying, taboo one. Your mother would lock you away to a life of solitude if she knew the inner turmoil of your thoughts.

“About last week…” she begins, shuffling in place, eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I still stand by most of it, but…”

“Wow. How kind of you,” you say, tone a tinge too bitter than you meant to portray.

“Look, I’m trying. Give me a break.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time? I understand that things have been horrible for you, and while I don’t hold what you said against you, it still hurt. Gods, did it hurt.”

At least she has the decency to look ashamed. “It was a low blow. I can admit that.”

“If you wish to insult me, there are many things I’m guilty of being. Just—please, don’t use the only night of happiness I’ve ever experienced to mock me.”

You rise to your feet with a shake of your head, stumbling as you regain your footing against the ache in your feet. You know not to look at her right now. Too fearful that she’ll witness the build-up of tears blurring your vision. If your mother can’t make you cry, then you refuse to let her, especially over something so inconsequential.

(The most important night of your life.)

You walk down the hallway, uncaring if she follows or not, but her presence lurks a little ways behind you, boots a steady thud against the floor. Giving you much-needed space. A kindness you rarely, if ever, experience.

“So. I still need a mentor.”

Her voice stops you in your tracks. Almost teasing, her attempt at fixing your sour mood. Little does she know, your night was ruined hours ago.

“I’ll petition the Assembly to hire Shoola on Monday.”

“I don’t want Shoola. And from what I’ve read from those books you gave me, the Assembly doesn’t like to change their mind.”

Damn it. She’s right. Both of you know it.

You turn to glare at her, hands placed on your hips. “And you say I’m convincing.”

She’s closer than you originally assumed, and in three steps, she stands before you, craning her head down to look you in the eye. Such a mirror to your first meeting that you back away on instinct—right into the wall with her following behind.

“I’m learning. That’s what you wanted. Right?”

Your breathing quickens, heart a drumming beat inside your ribcage. Heat pools in the pit of your belly when rough fingers rise to adjust the sleeve of your dress, her touch inciting a buzz just beneath your skin. The trail of her knuckles across your shoulder and up the pulse of your neck threatens to buckle your knees.

When was the last time you felt such arousal? Not out of need while locked away in your bathroom with a hand beneath your night dress, but visceral want at the touch of another?

Three years. You know when. Remember it vividly, dream about it, fantasize about the touch of her hand and the slick heat of her tongue as you lay beneath your husband.

He could never compare.

She leans down, lips ghosting against the curve of your ear. “For what it’s worth, I like it when you’re on your back.”

She mouths at the delicate skin just below your ear, and you shudder, hands rising to the curve of her waist, the fabric of her coat soft beneath your touch.

“My… my bedroom is just down the hall, if you—“

She exhales a laugh, teeth teasing along your pulse. “Do you invite all your new guests to your bedroom, princess?”

“Only the ones I like.”

“Short list?”

“You have no idea, Councilor.”

She lets you whisk her down the empty hall to the double doors of your bedroom. Once inside, she walks around, inspecting the only lived-in space in the entire house. The beauty products on your vanity, two stacks of sleep clothes on the end of the bed, a childhood stuffed animal you brought from your parents' home sat in the armchair near the balcony.

She chooses the small, one-eyed bunny to pick up. Turns it over in her hand, thumbs at its matted fur.

“I would’ve killed for one of these when I was a kid, but my old man couldn't afford it.” Her lips stretch into a sad, almost bitter smile. “My aunt made one for my birthday out of this old jacket she couldn't wear. I fucking loved that thing.” She sets the bunny back down, trailing her fingers over a floppy ear. “Don't know what happened to it. Probably in a box somewhere.”

You're unsure why she tells you this. Many reasons, you suppose. Highlighting the different lives you've lived, sharing a personal anecdote, or maybe she just misses her family.

Regardless, “I'm sorry.”

She looks up at you, grey eyes stormy and shimmering. “I didn't tell you for pity.”

“I'm not pitying you. I'm just… sorry.” You curl yourself around the nearest bedpost, fingers tracing the intricate carvings in the wood. “After I left the brothel, I saw this mother and child sitting in the street, starving to death. I gave them all the gold I had, but I wanted to do more. I wanted to ensure that nobody would ever have to live like that.”

You push away from the bed then walk over to her. “You asked me what my dream was for Zaun? It's that nobody starves in the street, and parents can afford to buy their children toys.”

She shakes her head as you step up beside her. “And if it’s not possible?”

“All we can do is try.” A forefinger catches on her pinky, pulling her hand to yours. “But I need your help. Nobody knows that place like you do.”

Your other hand rises to cup her face, thumb tracing the blue scars on her cheek. Back and forth and back and forth as she stares down at you, eyes searching your face for… something. You brush the hair out of her eyes, only for the strands to immediately fall back into place.

Her brows dip into a furrow. “Whatever you think is between us, it can't go anywhere.”

“Won’t or can’t?”

“Does it matter?”

“The difference lies in the degree of willingness: between those in the relationship, or that of an outside influence. So, which are we? Won’t or can’t?”

She thinks for a moment, glancing off to the side, before her eyes meet yours again.

“Both,” she mutters.

And then your lips meet in a desperate kiss, both of you surging forward at the same exact time. Her lone arm tugs you against her, so steadfast your lungs threaten to deflate as your hands curl over the nape of her neck to pull her closer. The kiss is hungry, angry—her, that she wants this; you, that you’ve gone so long without it. Her mouth is soft, and she tastes of champagne and berry cocktail, tongue hot and curling inside your mouth.

You’ve never experienced such raging desire. Had it projected onto you many a time, by the leering gazes of older men looking for a trophy wife, the young suitors with their tomcat libidos. But never like this: being desired and desiring in return.

She walks you back toward the bed, lips an overwhelming chaos against your own. Uses your body for her pain, her anger, her grief—jerks your dress off your shoulders, bites down hard on the skin covered by your sleeve, grabs you by the waist and lays you back on the bed. Beneath you, your dress crumples, and you briefly consider the fabric wrinkling (what that means for your put-together propriety) before she's kissing you again, and every thought pertaining to the people outside this room dissolves in whisps of smoke.

She buries her face in your neck, panting, shoulders tense beneath your palms. Hisses under her breath, “What the fuck am I doing?”

You lay frozen beneath her, legs spread to make room for her hips, snapped back to the present with a sweeping chill of recognition. Her question echoes in your own mind, over and over again, because what are you doing? Succumbing to lust beneath a woman in the very spot your husband sleeps in, while he and your parents and extended family chat a hallway away. You should hate yourself. Should stand up and tell her that this can’t continue, but you’ve never been known for your self-control, and the hand she slides up your inner thigh makes your hips twitch in anticipation.

"Shit—tell me to stop," she grits, sat on her haunches to peer down at you, hair a curtain around her eyes as she works your dress over your hips.

Why would you ever do such a thing? You've been dreaming about this for three years now. Yearning for her touch every time you lay down in this very bed.

"I don't want to," you say, voice little more than a whisper as you guide her hand to the gusset of your silk underwear, already–

She groans, tracing her thumb around your clit, the fabric sticking to the outline of your pussy. "So wet. All this for me?"

You nod, a desperate whimper trapped in your throat—the sound punched from your lungs when she slips a finger beneath the hem and feeds it into you. Thick and long as you remember, curling and twisting to make room for another. She knows exactly what to do. Massages all your sensitive spots, thumbs over your clit, brushes against your cervix when she thrusts in deep. A master of her craft, plays your body like an instrument.

Beneath her jacket, the muscles of her arm flex and shift deliciously, pretty eyes downcast to gaze between your legs, and you reach up to comb a hand through her hair so you can see her face. Still soft and thick, face equal parts handsome and beautiful. The most stunning woman you've ever seen.

You pull her in for a kiss by the back of her neck, and her weight topples over, chest heavy against yours. Gods, you forgot that her only arm is currently occupied.

"Sorry," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and curling an arm around her shoulders.

"You could've warned me," she grumbles, rolling to the side to lay next to you.

You hook a knee over her hip, pussy blooming around the fingers still buried inside you. "I know. 'm sorry."

She nuzzles against your cheek, sinks her teeth into the curve of your jaw as her fingers quicken their pace. The slick squelch of your pussy makes your ears burn, and she begins to mock you:

Letting me fuck you with your ring on? What would your husband think?

Haven't been this wet in three years, I bet.

Does your husband know you're this easy?

Her words really shouldn't affect you the way they do. You should be angry at the mention of your husband, the reminder of your infidelity, but somehow, she knows exactly what you need. Knows that her humiliation sends you crashing into a breath-stealing orgasm.

(Nobody in Piltover would dare talk to you in such a way, and maybe that's the appeal. Her dragging you off your golden pedestal to remind you that you're still human.)

She coos into your ear, says, "There you go," as you clench hard around her fingers, head thrown back against the sheets. Your teeth threaten to break from how hard you clench your jaw, each moan dying in your throat.

You have to be quiet. Nobody can know.

The afterglow bathes you in guilt. Boneless, relieved, calm guilt. She stuffs her slick fingers in your mouth, and you suck them clean on instinct, meeting the heat of her gaze. Her eyes flicker over your face before settling on the pucker of your lips, their shade of grey dark and cloudy.

The advent of a thunderstorm.

When she pulls away, her fingers slick with saliva, you slide a hand over her hip, skin warm beneath her trousers.

"Can I return the favor?"

She exhales a humorless laugh. Says, "No need. I have people for that."

Jealousy has no place swirling around in your gut, considering where you met her in the first place. But you can't help it. What do these people have that you don't? Why are they good enough for her?

"Why not me?"

She sits up then moves to the edge of the bed. "I like my women to know what they're doing."

"I've never even—" Stop. There's no point. "Fine."

You aren't sure why you're even here anyway. Why she infatuates you so. Why you want so badly to prove yourself worthy, to please her. You come from completely different worlds. This will only end in tragedy.

Then why—why—do you insist on making the situation so difficult for yourself?

"Fix your lipstick," is the last thing she says before leaving the bedroom.

Once again, you're alone. For the first time in your life, after years of basking in the silence of an empty room, you wish it weren't true.

But you heed her advice. Straighten out your dress, fix the state of your makeup, flatten down your unruly strands of hair. By the end, you look fairly presentable again. Nobody should know that you just cheated on your husband.

You stroll back to the lively party with the ghostly stretch of her fingers between your thighs, each step leading you closer to the hum of music and a bustling crowd teetering on drunkenness.

Aunt Elise catches you at the final stretch of hallway, reaching out a hand for you to take. "My sweet girl. What a lovely party you've set up for us."

She pulls you into a one-armed hug, the other busy holding her drink, and you pray that your dousing of perfume covers up any… lingering scents.

"Nice to see you, Auntie."

She steps away then pins you with a sharp look over the rim of her glass. “So. Our new guest cuts a nice figure, doesn't she?”

You stiffen at the mention of Sevika, her warm hand and soft lips on you lingering fresh at the back of your mind. Her quick exit, too.

“I suppose.”

“Don't tell me you haven't noticed, dear girl. You took your sweet time on that house tour.”

Ah. Just like Aunt Elise to stick her nose in everything—especially where it doesn’t belong. A favorite pastime of hers.

“We had… matters to discuss. About Piltovan law.”

Her head tilts to the side, eyes thinning in confusion. “Is that why your sleeve is ripped?”

You jolt to attention, pulling your arm to your face to inspect the fabric.

And then she laughs, half-collapsing against the wall. “Oh, I just knew it! I knew it! You weren't as subtle as you thought, you know.”

Your heart drops like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach as the last of her giggles fade. You might be sick, right here on the floor, and she steadies you with wide eyes and a hand on your elbow.

“No, my dear, it's alright. I've known for a very long time." A soothing hand rubs over your arm. "This changes nothing.”

You fall into the hug she offers, chin perched atop her shoulder. She smells like lavender and lemongrass, clean and earthy. “Please don't tell anybody. I'm begging you, Auntie.”

“Your secret is safe with me. It has been for years, alright?”

At least you have two people now that know. Two people that you trust to keep your world-ending secret. Aunt Elise is your favorite family member for a reason. She’s always treated you like a person, always gave you the reprieve of freedom at her home when your mother’s incessant hovering drove you half-mad. As a child, she let you dirty your skirt in her garden and carry bugs in your pockets and climb the fruit trees in her backyard and never once yelled at you about propriety or femininity or the price of girlhood.

Maybe the six children she gave birth to, the last two—a set of twins—that she raised as a grieving widow, helped shape her worldview into something more delicate than your mother and the rest of her sisters.

“My poor, sweet girl. I don't envy you one bit.”

“How did you know?”

She hums, the vibration passing through to your chest. “There were signs. You never much looked at the boys like you did the girls, and don't get me started on you running off every suitor your mother lined up for you.”

So, you truly weren't as subtle as you thought.

“And Mother doesn't know?”

“She used to suspect, but you know how she is. As long as she gets what she wants, nothing else matters.”

Mother knowing your preferences and ignoring them for her benefit makes your situation even worse because it isn't surprising in the slightest. Self-serving witch. Can't have a daughter who prefers women. No, that won't do. How else will she continue the precious family bloodline?

A cold hand cups your chin, and you meet your aunt's severe gaze.

"Don't let anybody rule your life. You only have one to live."

With those words, she turns and enters the ballroom.

#posting this then logging into my minecraft world #sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #x reader #my fics #fic: pillow princess

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wandagcre · 2 years ago

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drive you mad (part 2) | sam carpenter 🔞

(Mob Boss!Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader)

You had enough of your complicated relationship with Sam. You’re trying out new coping mechanisms to move on, but sadly, even going on a date with another person didn’t make things better. However, your best friend had too many tricks under her sleeve, willing to try them all to have you again.

WARNING: dom!mob boss! sam, sub!reader, fluff, some of sam's daddy issues, possessive sex, strap-on, subdrop, jealous sam, breeding kink, blow job, dubcon(?), humiliation, fake cum, praise, edging, implied size difference, mentions of violence and stalking, manipulation, stockholm syndrome, toxic relationship, just a lot of reader and sam fucking like rabbits omg, not proofread +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 18k+ Note: BEAR WITH ME. I am aware of how much of a lengthy (wink wink) last part this is but I swear things are looking good ;) hope everyone enjoys it!

[ LAST PART of TWO | Previous ]

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Apparently, the worst thing that can happen is that your date for tonight shares few similarities with Sam.

You try to be humoured with how it started with your same friend again, it’s like she simply knew what your type was. Your date's name was Lucy and while she didn’t possess the tanned skin that you loved; she was still taller than you, her mother tongue happens to also be Spanish, and she also had an attractive set of thick eyebrows.

The resemblance in terms of characteristics was uncanny.

At first it felt foreign to you to dive into an established romantic date after a while. Besides the comparisons that your brain kept making, you were also unsure if any of the ones with Sam actually counts.

Nonetheless, it's been so long since you’ve been into one, you feel like a newborn learning to walk.

To Lucy’s credit, it was an enjoyable experience. She was considerate of your taste, threw you compliments that weren't only out of politeness, and preferred that the two of you decide which place you’ll be more comfortable in. Lucy was specific and admittedly it helped, because you had the tendency to be indecisive. She was chatty and at times it was comical with how she told you little stories that genuinely made you laugh as you dined in an Italian restaurant.

Lucy also took you to an arcade that recently opened. It was creating quite a buzz around, based on how you constantly see teenagers flock enthusiastically in the area.

Surrounded with glowing lights and bold, colorful neon signs, packed with a variety of games you haven't even seen before. The place was indeed inviting for you to let loose.

“This is cliché. But in a good way. I haven’t been in a place like this for a while now,” you look up to your date who had an unwavering smile.

“See! Clichés can be good! Opens the forgotten memory you once enjoyed.” Lucy beamed at you. “What’s your favorite game to play? I’d have to say I’m great at these things, so we’re totally going to win something by the end!”

“Even the claw machines?” You jab playfully at Lucy's confidence. “Aren't they always rigged? I believe just the same since I never won anything from those things.”

“Can't argue with that. Sometimes it's all about the timing and well, other times, all rigged business as you say. Lucky for you, I happen to be good at this stuff!" Lucy stretched her hands outward, comically, cracking her neck muscles as well.

You can’t help but snort at the sight. Nerves were slightly put into ease, because tonight was going well. She won you a dolphin stuffed toy and she definitely hard carried the gunning zombie game of two players, where Lucy amusingly acted out as though she was in real despair with your character constantly dying. You had a great time.

Even if Sam continued to ebb in your mind.

“Lucy, thanks for tonight.” She opened the car door for you and you exhaled with relief because you did enjoy her company. “I had a lot of fun, even if I kept dying on those two player games.”

She leaned on her car, Lucy’s look remained at you. “I did too. I was happy to be accompanied by a beautiful date. Totally worth the coins! But do know that I don’t mind if we do this again…” she extended her hand to yours, silently asking for permission if you’d let her hold you, which you accepted. “And I also won’t mind if you say no. I’ll be a bit bummed, sure, but I can handle it.”

You sense Lucy's nervousness as she fiddles with your hands, head looking down while sporting an upturned mouth. You’re still wearing the jean jacket she lent you from earlier, and insisted that you needed it more because she can handle the cold breeze better.

You loathed to think that maybe, if a specific woman didn’t occupy your mind and body this much—maybe—you’d get a better shot with the lovely woman right in front of you.

“I appreciate how you’ve been so good to me all night,” you tighten your hold, it was softer than what you were looking for. Unaccustomed to the calloused hands you have grown to love over the past few months.

“I sense that there’s a but…”

Then all of a sudden, your phone rings.

It was the devil herself.

Sam.

Retrieving your phone from your purse, you stared at the screen for a few seconds. Not even debating if you should answer, simply frozen that Sam is calling you. She wasn’t the caller type, knowing that she liked to give head's up before anything. So you thought it must’ve been an emergency if she was this insistent.

Worry filled you. Yet, you don't trust yourself to answer right away, knowing you were bound to embarrass yourself or worse; be easily pulled in by Sam's sweet nothings. She was your weak spot, your ability to say no vanishes with ease.

Taking a peek at your notifications, it only shocked you, seeing that Sam was bombarding you the whole evening. They were sweet first, her usual cheery self, until they got cold for some reason. You stifle an uneasy grimace—hating how this was confusing you to no end.

Pocketing the phone back, you had no energy for this tonight. There’s no escaping this situation or this woman, really. Why did you think it was a good idea in the first place? You decide on calling Sam the next day to get things over with.

“Are you okay? I don’t mind if you’re going to answer that,” Lucy asks with a comforting smile, gesturing at your phone that rang for the second time.

You shake your head, trying to compose yourself.

The ringing eventually stopped.

“No. Uh, where was I?” You clear your throat. She looks at you expectantly. “Again, Lucy, it’s been nice. But I think for now all I can handle is… friendship.” you answer in a heartbeat and for a moment, your date was crestfallen at your answer. “But you’re right, you know. Cliches can be nice. I never thought I actually needed this.” It was genuine; not a mere attempt of cheering her up. You didn’t realize until now how you needed to unwind in a way that wasn’t discrete nor foreign.

After a few beats of silence, the woman nodded, perhaps she has accepted her fate for tonight. Lucy bounced back to her unaffected and cheery disposition. Before parting ways, she surprisingly left a soft kiss on your cheek, almost at the corner of your lips.

“I’m content with the fact that I managed to change your mind over one thing.” Lucy quips and shoots you a playful wink.

You were still blushing at the sudden action but you didn't quip at it, giving back her jacket. “Thank you really. For keeping me warm and making this night wonderful.” Lucy says and waves goodbye one last time to you with a toothy smile on her face.

Standing from the pavement in front of your apartment, your eyes follow your date’s car as it drives farther away from you. Still stunned and occupied with your own thoughts, you pay no mind to the roaring engine in the streets, at this late hour—thinking it was one of the many overbearing and supercilious owners that likes to boast of their possession.

You rolled your eyes internally, and immediately headed to your apartment. Reaching your room, maybe the only thing you've cleaned up was your hands. Nothing had felt good for the past few days—work was demanding. Sam kept blowing up your phone, but she didn't make any move to come and see you and that bothered you still.

Even if this date was the most normal you've felt tonight, the exhaustion easily took over your body.

The paranoia comes in waves, surprising you every now and then. Because sometimes, you felt as though eyes were on you.

Mind drifting to Sam again, you wonder what could she be up to these days. What could’ve been the reason for her to call you out of nowhere. Has she missed you this much? Your heart flutters at the thought.

Was it a good thing? To avoid Sam this long even with her small attempts of reaching out?

Of course, it wasn’t. You idiot. Taking off your boots with a resigned sigh, you lazily placed them on the floor. The plushie was still on your other hand and you plopped the dolphin stuffed toy next to you in bed. It was easy to get lost as you laid all comfortable on warm sheets and cold pillows—you're off to la-la-land, dozing off completely into a dreamless state. As your body relaxed, you found it odd how all of a sudden it smells like chemical.

It was strong and vivid for your taste, that even if your brain sends a jolt of panic, you are numbed—unable to move nor wake up.

Like a terrible nightmare, it seemingly paralyzed you until you blacked out again and you didn’t have any more time to analyze it further.

How many hours has it been?

You worry that you’ll miss work. Disoriented, you feel yourself starting to wake up with eyes calibrating as they open. It smells different, though it’s more pleasant; earthly and flowery than the blur of chemical induced you've experienced before. Was it a dream? Your heart started racing—this is definitely not your bedroom. The mattress was softer than yours, the layers of sheets felt gentle against your skin. Not to mention you didn't have this amount of pillows underneath your head, like you were some sort of royalty. The bed was too wide for your limbs that were acquainted with the minimal space you were used to. Then it clicks to you; you are definitely in a different place.

But wait.

You've been here before.

In your hazy sight, you yanked on your forearm as your wrists felt oddly sore and prickling your nerves, only to find out the restraints that kept you for god knows how many hours. Your breathing pattern started racing—attempting to shake off the handcuffs. It was tight. You were still wearing your flowy dress as you glanced at your body.

"Good morning, mi amor." says the deep voice that rattled you.

Your sight makes out a figure of a person standing in front of you, ominous, yet had an amused look on her face.

How did you get in here? Into Sam's room?

"Sam? What—?" you rasped out weakly. "I don't… what is this?"

Sam had the audacity to smile through her little contraption. You poor sweet thing, she had anticipated many things; first comes the confusion.

She’s wearing your favorite shirt, worn out and tightly fitted to her body. With how Sam is built, you fear that the fabric will rip if she keeps on moving. It’s the same one you've lost during senior year and luckily for Sam, she found it in her room during one of your sleepovers and upon finding them, she had no intentions of returning it to you. The timing was perfect, she carried this piece of you as her father left her with no choice but to move away from your town then. Sam stood barefoot and her legs were covered with her silk sleepwear.

"Hush, It's okay, you're okay. You’re safe with me, (y/n/n)." Sam cooed as she sauntered your way, the bed dipping as she gently straddled your legs. It’s the same softly spoken tone you heard many times before, but Sam's actions remain to perplex you. "Relax, you’re at home—with me."

Then comes the panic.

You huff out frustratedly, "What home are you talking about? This isn't my– it isn't–! Fuck, I need you to uncuff me!” with gritted teeth, you try to kick your feet and legs in the air in protest. You didn’t like being forced into this. It was simply insane. Because either way, you were hopelessly drawn and possibly in love with Sam—enough to comply with whatever she desired.

Your wrists tug on the restraints again making them clink against the headboard and to no avail, you weren't able to loosen them up. It was a genuine pair of handcuffs. This wasn't a prank. The terror rapidly coursed through your veins, much more now that you can't move your legs as well, being trapped in Sam's weight.

"But you're with me. I've told you before, I missed having you, I even repeatedly begged you to come back home. You belong here with me."

Sam had wanted to do this hours ago—missing to be in your proximity, evading your space fully. But she knew it'll suffocate you and she couldn't risk putting her favorite pretty girl into a worse spiral of panic attack.

"No, no, no... I was with- this wasn't where I went right after Lucy... I- I got home, my house and I remember sleeping on my bed," Surely you aren't mad. You can recall the events step-by-step, hence this current situation you're in has left you confused. "How did I get here?"

"First, no mentioning of other women when I'm with you. Or ever at all." Sam breaks out a growl. When you gasp, she holds your jaw, tilting them up. Her hold onto you shifts, thumb now soothed your cheeks gently, wiping away the tears you were unknowingly shedding out of panic. "I had to do it my way, mi amor. I'm sorry."

And it swiftly shifts to anger.

A snarl breaks out of you in the midst of panic.

But oh, Sam could never hurt you.

"What the fuck is your way, Samantha?!"

Sam believed that you only need a little more push—convincing how perfect the two of you are together. After all, she has waited for you for so long and had expected that your reunion was enough to prove that. She has been so good to you. Sam thought; why did you have to look for more? She can give you everything.

"This right here." Sam quipped airily, a teasing look written on her face. "The last time you were in my bed... you were eager to leave. And you did, abruptly and odd, when I first thought of it. Then, you didn't plan on returning at all. That hurt me so much, (y/n/n)." Sam's gaze changed to hurt, head tilted as the intensity of her doe-eyes bore into yours.

Guilt prickled on your side. While you disapprove of Sam's ways, maybe you could have prevented it—this. Confronted her after what you found out. She's a friend first that you cherished before being entangled intimately. After all, communication also goes both ways.

"So, you basically took me? Handcuffed me, too. This is kidnapping, you know I could—"

"Report me? If I were you, I wouldn't waste my time. These cops are sloppy and way too easy. But still, they do make a good ear and connection for me, I must say."

You gasp at her implication. You should have expected it.

"Unbelievable. You've gone crazy, Samantha."

Sam shifted her weight, locking your hips with her thighs. Your breath hitched at the force, much more when you felt something hard poking at your pelvis.

"I hate it when you call me that. You're pushing it, baby. First you ignored me and your solution was to go and date someone else? I thought I made myself clear that I didn't like sharing you with anyone else, (y/n/n)?"

You blinked rapidly.

"It- It wasn't like that—"

"No? If it weren't for Tara and Martin giving me a heads up, you would've invited that girl to your house, wouldn't you?" Sam uttered with gritted teeth, "She must’ve done it to spite me. The nerve to leave a lipstick stain on your pretty face, tell me, did she kiss you?" Her thumb swiped your bottom lip, as if to erase the remains of what once laid in there, then up to your cheek but much more firmer than this time.

Sam was already debating ways on how she will dispose of this Lucy you speak of. Her eyebrows now furrowed and the loving eyes were ripped off, anger fixated on the red mark on your soft cheek.

"What? I don't—no, no, Sam. I'm telling you, it was just a simple date. We only ate at this restaurant and—what does your sister and men have to do with this?" you asked, growing confused even more.

If you loathed how defensive you were, Sam however, took immense pride in it. It just meant that you still cared for her feelings. So, there was something indeed. She wasn’t being delusional all this time—like her father distastefully implied.

Sam cowered onto you lower, her dark hair curtained as you were underneath her.

"Tara's wife owns the restaurant that you visited last night. As for Martin, well, I ordered him to call me in case something happened. Imagine my surprise when they both did."

He was following this whole time. That explained one of your conundrums of feeling eyes on you these days.

"You've been following me around?"

Sam was immovable, unphased by your words. She didn’t confirm nor deny your implication.

"You've got nothing to worry about. Come on, love — it's me." The pad of her fingertips trace on your features feather-like. "I won't let anything bad happen to you. Haven't I made that very clear?"

You scoffed at her nonchalance. "See, I would have believed you if you didn't take me unwillingly out of my apartment and cuffed me in your bedpost!"

"But I've always wanted to see you tied up like this. It was only a matter of time. Besides, I can recall you getting all flustered when I brought it up before. Wasn't it a confirmation on your end?" Sam had her pearly teeth clamped on her bottom lip. As she dropped the words, your cheeks grew hot. "Call this... me reading between the lines." Sam husked out right on your ear.

"Samantha, you are something else." A strained voice weakly comes out of you.

"I'm taking that as a compliment."

You rolled your eyes. "'course you will."

Sam hiked up your dress further, exposing your undies. You squirmed at being exposed and she smacked the side of your thigh in return. You yelped as it stung in your skin, throwing your head to the side of the pillow.

"Now, don't put up that attitude with me princesa."

It was embarrassing enough how you're affected with Sam and her way with words. Were you damp in the southern part? She has to stop and not pry further with her advances—or else she'll never live it down.

"I just don't understand how you were so insistent on taking me here," You peer at Sam who had her jaw clenched as she detached her hold to you. "I dunno, we could've talked about this normally. In a space preferably where I’m not restrained like this. Samantha, I mean it. I can't play any more games with you."

Sam raised an eyebrow over your words. A game? She was absolutely displeased with how little you think of her admiration for you. The disbelief was written all over her face.

She became eerily stoic at your words. You didn’t like being the receiver of her blank expression.

"The last time I did, you were adamant on leaving me. Fully avoiding me right after. You didn’t even pick up my call. And a game? Is that what you think it is? Oh, princesa. You're absolutely driving me up the wall. You're shutting me out, I’m familiar with it.”

You couldn't retort anything back at her words, gulping as you found the truth behind them. Sam was right; you've always wanted to run away from any forms of confrontation.

You were never good at dealing with them.

Such a poor little thing, Sam thought. This was evidently giving you a whiplash, her attitude and unconventional ways, but she doesn't think she can wait any longer and the unforeseen little date you had last evening just accelerated, no, ruined her plans.

"Was she any good?" Sam lowly questioned with her other hand trailed underneath your dress, running on your upper thighs as she moved back. You shiver at the contact and warmth that spread goosebumps all over your skin.

Sam refused to call this woman by their name, it would make things harder for her. She detests how for a moment, you chose someone else over her.

You helplessly squirmed, making the handcuffs clink repeatedly once again. "She- she was nice—" you truthfully said.

When you wiggled out your legs, Sam overpowered you. She gripped your plush thighs, opened them to have herself placed in between, with your folded legs raised in the air, she took her hips to push them downward to stop you. Her own core met yours and you felt her packing.

"Nngh—!" you heated up, so close from erupting louder.

And Sam? She hated to see you suppressing them. Especially when you have deprived her of your sweet presence for so long. But she has already learned that loosening up too much wasn't the good approach. She barely knew a lick to romance, not when her upbringing was surrounded by coldness and violence. She thought in realistic terms, the romantic movies that you loved and forced her to see were pathetic. Adorable that you found hope in them, so she gave that formula a shot when she saw you again.

Only to see that you slipped away from her. It was ineffective, so to say.

Sam decided that she was going to create her own.

"Wrong answer, honey.” she smiled. “You say that yet I can tell you're already wet for me, aren't you?"

You didn’t like how this turned out as foreplay and what was worse, is how you were enjoying this deep inside. Sam being in tune with your body—she already knew that. You just needed a little more… breaking.

"Fuck off, Sam. Just uncuff me already!"

"Now don't get me started. Say, I'll make a deal with you," Sam combed her fingers through your messy hair. "If you're wet once I inspect you, we'll do things my way. If you aren't– maybe– I will let you go."

Astounded with her proposition, annoyance crept into you.

"What's so fair about that?"

"The illusion of choice." Sam grinned mischievously. "But you can't possibly be wet aren't you? It's still early in the morning and your words are insisting that you dislike this whole setup." she gestures on your body, huffing at how you're still resisting her.

"You don't own me," you attempted to stand for yourself.

Mirth settled on Sam's features. She tilted her head and an unsettling smile was set on her lips.

“Haven’t I proved that otherwise from time to time?”

You look away at her crystal clear innuendo. Of course it's Sam. Everything that she did always had you transfixed and mesmerized by her.

"You're just mocking me now. Seriously, maybe if you knew why I pulled away..." you wryly replied.

"That's the thing, I don't! It frustrates me what I have done wrong," Sam now appeared equally exasperated as you.

You look at her bewildered. She had the nerve to say all of this, while her eyes were pleading at you. It was jarring to witness her crumble and desperate to seek answers in the softest way she can, while having you handcuffed.

"I heard you! That day, when you cooked for me and wanted me to stay in.” There wasn't going to be another chance if you didn't pour it all right now. With a shaky breath and a lump in your throat, you continue. “I accidentally eavesdropped on your phone call, confirming that you were going to a strip club. I hated that you were fucking around, even when we– whatever we were. I thought it was better to stub it out right after that. Apparently, I’m still not good with keeping things casual.”

Her calloused hands came back to softly soothe your face. You were close to shedding tears as previously.

"But… I've never been with anyone else since we met again."

"Bullshit." you quickly spat out.

She gave you a stern look. Sam was displeased with how you were denying her. Still, she evens out her breathing, holding back from taking the reins for now.

"I swear on it with a knife on my throat, (y/n/n). I had to go for work reasons. I recently acquired the place so I had to finalize some things. It also helped to muddle our meet-ups in case someone was lurking."

It made you tense up underneath Sam.

"And pray tell, why the hell would someone be lurking at you—better yet, at us?" you curiously asked, worry dripped at your tone.

Sam exhaled, her eyes momentarily shut.

"Because I deal with an under-the-table business, honey." Sam meets your eyes again, holding onto the headboard. "It's the main reason why I had to step up, as I said before. My old man let his temperament slip terribly, fucked up, and I had to take the reigns. That's why I disappeared. I didn't have much choice." She appeared solemn as she admitted the truth you've been longing for.

Sam leading a mob made so much sense now for you. Always wanting to be discreet, her men tried to blend in—not wanting to stand out, and especially that night where Sam was disoriented and had bruising, injured fists, more times than you can count after your first time seeing them.

The glint of amusement on Sam’s eyes did not go amiss for you as she gently stroked your hair. “Though, I gotta hand it to my old man. I hated how his voice nagged constantly in my head, how he figured out that I had feelings for you then–utilized it to taunt me every time I fucked up.” Sam scrunched her nose. The resentment seeped vividly as she revealed more. “He’ll always say, I can’t see you yet or- or that I don’t deserve you if I can’t defend you—that I’m weak. You were my silver lining, (y/n/n). Still is.” She confessed, stroking your jaw softly as though you were her most prized possession.

Similar to that one night, your affection for Sam overpowered your common sense. You were moved by her words, ached that she had to be tormented at a young age. Feeling bile rising up your throat; you then realize how deep were you enough to be willing to ignore the unconventional and wicked ways of Sam, even if it raised red flags. But it doesn’t mean that it wasn’t posing an immense weight over you.

It was all new information to you. For god’s, she had to kidnap you and cuff you to her bed. You never thought that your sweet Sammy could ever—

"That's... okay- okay. It's a lot to take in," you whispered to Sam who was internally worrying at your response.

Before you can delve more to the sirens threatening to grow louder, Sam scooted her lower body away from gripping you, and now you feel her lips softly yet so eagerly peppering your face with kisses.

"We don't have to talk about it right now, but I just want you, (y/n/n)."

She pinched your inner thigh, making your mouth open agape from the shock. Sam took it as her chance to meet your mouth with hers, no hesitation now as she was eager to kiss you. Her lips moved and you tentatively returned the gesture, dancing with familiarity that you didn’t know you badly craved for weeks now.

You groan at the overwhelming feeling of Sam and how she moved against you. Wet and eager sounds of kissing vibrated delectably to your body and it made Sam shift to a hunger and lust fueled kiss.

Soon you were gasping for air. Sam reluctantly pulled away as you did, chasing your lips for more. She was more than pleased to see you equally half-lidded and affected with now swollen lips.

“God, I wanna be inside of you already…” Sam husked out as she swept back her hair. “You’ve made me so desperate, you have no idea.” The ragged breathing made you throb. She moved aside to spread your legs apart and you became wetter at what’s about to happen. Sam quickly placed herself between your legs, now folded up. “Do you wanna feel me?”

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough for Sam.

She grabbed you by your cheeks, “I need an answer, mi amor.”

“Yes!” you breathed out, nodding dumbly.

Sam grinned wolfishly as your need starts to crack upon the surface. She knew that this irresistible feeling goes both ways. Still, she thrived on seeing this each time, being proved right.

“Arch your back for me.”

As you complied, Sam slithered her own body flushed against yours. It gave her enough space to reach behind to unzip your dress, tugged it down, her look barely faltered with a glint in her eyes.

She saw your matching jade underwear pieces. Seethe began to bubble inside of Sam as it sinks in that you dressed up too nicely for your date last night. It drove her crazy, how your gorgeous tits were threatening to spill out of its confinement; you were such a sight for her.

Only for her and it should always stay that way.

She cupped them out of your bra, finally revealing your supple breasts. It only took one glance for her desire to take over and now you’re pressed against Sam. She feels your nipples harden on her as she begins to mark you from your neck, to your sternum, and coated them with her spit as she sucked on them needily. Throughout the process, all you could do was spill moans helplessly, eyes closed and arched your body for her—gladly letting Sam do however she wanted.

Now your body was littered with red and purple marks, some parts glistening with her saliva.

“I want to taste you too, fuck, I don’t know which one I’ll do first.” Sam admitted, voice all raucous. Taking a peek of her needy, doe eyes was enough to make you feel lightheaded. “No more dates with other people alright? So god help me, I’ll fucking behead anyone who dares to.”

You nodded, now eager to comply with Sam as your whole body ached for her. Your green light made her weak in the knees—she worships you. Sam swore that she won’t hesitate to kill more for you, if they cross you or come between the two of you.

Sam pulled you in by gripping your legs, lower body completely arched for your core to meet hers as she knelt at the bed in front of you. She thrusted her hips upward and the dull ache of your pussy throbbing intensified tenfold. She continued teasing you and while your arm and wrists were beginning to ache, knowing you can’t do anything, you started to cry, pleading for the woman to do something.

“Please Sam, can you just– shit, it hurts, I need you… please…”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Sam gently released her hold of you, pulling down her sleepwear and revealed the strap that dangled between her legs.

You involuntarily widen your legs at the sight. Fuck, you were so ready for her. She smirked at this and tugged your underwear down. Your arousal flowed like crazy, the vivid imagery of your wetness stringing on the fabric of your panties and Sam was intoxicated at it, more so with your heavenly scent.

“Wanna fuck your mouth first, (y/n/n).”

With no further warning, Sam hovered against you once again, leaving your pussy exposed and being teased with the mere air, feeling yourself drip already at her expensive bed sheets. Strong thighs and muscular lower abdomen peeked through her tight shirt, covering your entire sight.

Sam tilted her head and you see the mirth on her face. Unexpectedly, she grabbed the middle of the strap’s length and slapped it harshly on your cheek and mouth, barely an ounce of respect. You were a fan of how she loses herself onto you—because of you.

Body twitching repeatedly, without a doubt, you were craving for more.

“I need my good girl. Come on, open up for me.” Sam orders, probing your mouth open with the tip. Sam’s scent was intoxicating for you, too, with barely space from her core to your face, you almost wanted for her to ride you. Maybe later. “And I need to prep you first.”

Wanting to please her, you met her lust filled gaze and opened your mouth wide, tongue stuck out. She immediately pushed in a few inches, your tongue already swirling around the silicone. It stretched your mouth. With closed eyes you were sucking so eagerly that Sam moaned at each thrust she did, hit the back of your throat that you had to adjust your breathing through your nose–and how you easily complied with no hesitance. You covered it in the slick of your spit until your cheeks hollowed, eager to please even if you were close to gagging. Drool sloppily dripped on corner of your mouth; equally lost as her right now and Sam loved that.

No one and nothing else can compare to this sight.

“Shit, you love me moving like this huh? Being cock drunk, you’re pooling already in my sheets…”

She grunts as she thrusted harder, getting more turned on as the slick wet sounds become aggressively loud in the confines of her bedroom. Sam kept her gaze on you the whole time–loved the sight of your eyes welling up with tears out of pleasure, drooling on the corner of your mouth, and you were releasing throaty moans as she moved on your mouth.

“You missed this, don’t you?” Sam breathily asked, the bed creaked along. “Because I sure did,”

You hummed loud in agreement and this urged Sam to grab the shaft of her strap, with one final thrust, she poked it against your cheek, the head of the cock bulging against it. She groaned at the imagery—ingraining it on her mind. She pulled out with a pop noise and you were already dishevelled.

“Fucking hell, (y/n/n). Not so responsive now are you? Fuck, if my cock was real I would’ve made you swallow my cum already. Spilling them warm on your throat. You would’ve loved that, wouldn’t you?” Sam asked you through her rapid breathing and held you by your cheeks again to fully look at her.

“Yes, yes! I’ll swallow it all. I need you, I always need you, Sam,” you admit with no shame and spread your legs wide once again, your hole soaked and clenching over nothing—all for her.

“Must be your lucky day then. Because this is a cumming strap, mi amor.”

As your eyes widened, Sam pumped on the shaft, directing it to your mouth that was slightly ajar and you felt liquid oozing on your lips and tongue. She dragged it until spurts were all over your face, torso, and then your lower tummy.

You made sure to put on a show for the woman, seductively licking off the remains of her fake cum, fully immersed as if it was the real thing. Sam groaned and moaned, immediately pulled you for a bruising kiss that made your head spin.

“I know you wanted more but I need you to be patient,” Sam muttered as she pushed your inner thighs outward, positioning herself between you. “Shit, you’re dripping. I was right. Soaking, just like I expected you to be.”

“Yes, yes! But for the love of god, uncuff me, Sam… I want- no- I need to feel all of you,” you begged for her mercy. Sam simply bit your exposed clavicle. As you moaned, the action sent delicious tingles all over her body.

“No, not just yet.”

Sam’s calculations were going well so far, she’s about to have you and then keep you forever.

There’s no escaping her now.

You whined a bit more as Sam had her grip on the back of your knees, making you fold as she pressed herself beneath you. She held you by the ankle and threw them above her shoulder. Fuck, she’s got you folded. Maybe Sam should’ve let you do some stretching first.

“Need you to take a deep breath for me, pretty girl.” Sam uttered with her voice all gruff, and looking at her, you see the sheer sweat becoming evident on her skin though not as much as yours. “You didn’t like me so much earlier but now, I’m barely in, and your pussy is clenching already?” she mocked you. Her giggling burned your body, you did not expect how enjoyable it was to be ridiculed in this way. “Loosen up for me.”

With a bated breath as you relax your throbbing core, Sam slid her cock further, the head and a few inches entering you with ease than earlier. Sam was keen on looking at your expression and your mouth, in case it was too much for you. She knew it was a new thing for the two of you, she can only imagine that it’ll be a new adjustment compared to her slender fingers.

This was an insane type of stretch for you. The biggest you’ve ever taken.

“See? You’re taking it so well. I’ll make it fit.”

Eventually, it wasn’t enough for Sam as you expected. Drunk with the sight of your pussy swallowing her whole, she picks up her pace and rammed the cock inside of you—full of hunger and determination to see you fall apart; she needs it more than air.

“Shit! S-Sam, can you just–”

“Shhh. Don’t be so greedy now, where are your manners?”

The curve of the whole shaft inside of you was vivid against your walls, her impatience getting the better of her as the pace was ragged, no longer gradual. It was downright pornographic–you didn’t expect to be this loud and wet. The ache of being deliciously stretched out made your eyes roll back to your head and let out a moan. The sloshing and slapping sounds were too defined for your ears.

“You… you’re going to be the end of me, Sam,” You whisper as you bucked your hips, the squelching of your sopping pussy only motivated Sam to thrust deeper who smiled at your words.

She waited for you for so long and to finally have you was intoxicating beyond her comprehension.

“As you are mine,” Sam replied and with a newfound fervor, she began fucking you deep into her mattress, hitting the depths of your soaked pussy. The bed uncontrollably shaking and with her grip on the headboard–you feared that she might actually break it.

“Oh m-mmh! Fuck, oh-Oh my god!” you cried, not even able to ground yourself through holding onto something as you’re still cuffed.

“Shhh you can take it. Just a little more,”

Your arousal dripped enough to smear itself to Sam’s hips and thighs. She grunts loudly as she fervently pounds the strap on you, "Esto es mia." her accent dripped deliciously and you whimpered, whole back arched, as Sam splayed her hand, pushing the bulge of the strap that appeared on your lower tummy. “You like that baby? Needy little thing, I’m going to fucking breed you until all you can think of is me.” you wish to have your nails dug and scratched over Sam’s muscular back, finding the ideas she kept on seeding onto your dirty mind pleasurable more than ever.

Your stomach twitched like crazy, the tangled coil grew unbearable now for your liking. Both of your muscles burned but it was barely an issue for Sam who was still relentless.

Just as you were close as Sam hit the right spot, her pounding came into a full halt.

With hazy sight, you try to blink a few times. Sam started to pull out, while you cried, canting your hips to chase more of the strap and she simply took deep breaths. She growled, slapping you harshly by your inner thighs—you yelped unadulteratedly, the sting crossing the line of pain and pleasure. Sam muttered a string of curses in her mother tongue as soon as she saw the strap coated and glistening with your slick.

The tension on your stomach twitched madly in waves. It doesn’t help that your clit was throbbing painfully to reach the needed high. You wail as you turn your head to the side, burrowing to the soft pillows. Your vision turns warped as you grew dizzy, staring at the high ceiling.

The harsh reality sinks in. Like a cold bucket of water spilled onto you, you realize that you’re in Sam’s complete mercy. She makes it known with her giggling that resonated in the spacious room, making you feel humiliated. Though, it oddly adds to the erotic atmosphere. She worked you up–gaping hole still clenching, now onto nothing.

“This is what happens when you do dumb things and deprive me of your pretty self, mi amor.” she smiled and stroked the apple of your cheek, wiping the tears away.

Sam couldn’t wait to fully break you.

While previously wallowing in deep yearning and questions, Sam however, took it up a notch. It was terrible; aware of Sam’s tendencies to be rough in bed, nothing had prepared you from yesterday. Her intentions were clearly personal and she took the detachment horrifyingly and dealt with it in unimaginable ways you never thought could happen to you. For gods’s sake, she was following you and not so long ago you were in her bed. Uncertain how you’ll face this mess, there’s one thing that you were sure of: you cannot get enough of Sam.

Isn’t that terrible?

You woke up gasping for air—your body doesn’t feel like yours. It felt as though you were paralyzed, your motor senses weren’t coordinated as you wanted them to be. It was like being plunged into a body of water for hours, coldness surrounded you and oxygen was scarce, you were completely deprived. Your lungs were clogged up and you didn’t know how to manage the air through your body. Panicking at this, the tears involuntarily well up your eyes, blurring your vision and just in time, someone catches you.

“Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Warmth covers your body. The soothing voice kept on lulling you to calmness. The grasp was firm on your midsection—continuously rubbing back and forth. It wasn’t like being trapped anymore. “It’s just me, mi amor. It’s Sam—your Sammy. Try to breathe slowly with me, come on baby, you can do it.”

The voice faintly goes through your hearing but it was distinguishable enough. It was still difficult to breathe but being in her proximity, you feel her pattern of breathing. She takes a deep breath and draws out the release just as slow.

“Breathe with me, come on honey,” The voice urges you gently, sweeping the hair away from your face. She anchors you through the turbulent waves. Sam thought; How can you still look so beautiful even at your most vulnerable? If anything, this had made her even more set with her plans—wanting more days of waking up next to you.

Your breathing was less ragged, albeit still unregulated.

Sam wanted to see your eyes now, the one that she loves the most, and your subdrop is depriving her of it.

She tries to paint an easy picture for you in hopes of calming you down. “You’re alright. You stayed with me—in my house the whole day. It’s nighttime and nothing bad is going to happen to you. What’s going to happen is that you’ll rest the whole day. I’ll prepare some food, we’ll go for a bubble bath, and reapply a soothing cream to your sore thigh and we can watch some romantic comedies that you like so much—you’d pick the movie, of course.” Sam finishes with a light chuckle.

Finally, the panicking has settled down, her words have lulled you to calm down. You aren't drowning in the vast and deep sea nor restrained like a prisoner. It provided enough details that you didn’t know your mind longed for.

“Sam,” you drawl out with your hoarse voice. You’re met with the beaming hazel eyes, crinkled at the corners, attentive to your next words. “Fucking warn a girl next time.”

“No promises.” She teases you, nose scrunched and tickling your side lightly.

You fight off a weak smile threatening to spread on your lips. “What do you mean no promises? I don’t think I can walk! Don’t even look smug right now–I mean it.”

The woman in front of you was not guilty at all. Shrugging her shoulder, Sam was seemingly ready to get up.

No!

You shrieked. Panic immediately courses through you, tugging her down harshly to your side once again. Your grasp was in her arm. Why were you so adamant to have her beside you? It was unexplainable but if anything is certain, your body couldn’t handle it if she left you. Not after letting her have her way with you earlier—you refuse to feel disposable, even by the slightest. You wanted more of Sam.

Sam, on the other hand, was shocked at the action but not at the reason. She blamed herself—knowing you were still processing your feelings, how rough she has been—she should have remained gentle, at least for now. Sickeningly, she loved having your attention this way. It felt like a teaser of what was more to come—to eventually have your full devotion; equally as she does to you.

“I’m sorry, honey, I was about to carry you.” Safe with me now. She murmured to no one, soon as you clung to the front of her body, legs wrapped tightly to her waist. Her arms and hands quickly caught you for support. You nuzzled in the crook of her neck, making her shiver delectably more so as you tangle your fingers on her hair—scratching lightly on her scalp.

Not long after as she started walking, she pressed multiple innocent kisses to the expanse of your neck. Sam sighed. God, everything had to be so addicting about you—even your scent. She gently drops you to the cold marble of her kitchen’s counter and before you could protest, Sam reminds you of the plans she had made for tonight.

You’re surrounded with appliances that you had no idea how to properly pronounce, one that you would’ve only seen in the magazines. She always wanted the best of the best, it seems. Hell, Sam can start a cooking show if she wants to. This part of her house wasn’t too decorated, you noticed, somewhat lifeless. You tuck the observation at the back of your mind, a piece that could be useful later on.

Soon as you settled in, Sam told you that she intends to make an appetizing flatbread and her own concoction of guacamole dip. How she managed to improve her culinary skills in these years remains to surprise you. Younger Sam was already capable of making edible food fixes and some humble meals, but her skills as she made them was evidently different and an upgrade.

Your curious eyes remained at Sam as she moved. Her apron appeared threatening—it read don’t make me poison you! Attached with a kiss mark was ridiculously endearing to you. But also very, very hot. The way Sam tied it around her waist and how it clung to her fit figure. Not to mention, you were rewarded by the sight of Sam’s hair tie momentarily trapped by her teeth then doing a messy half-pony with it.

She first started with the dough with the trusty rolling pin, her arms flexing and contracting at each force she put into it. The veins were slowly becoming prominent as Sam does her work, the outline of its curves bulging, also making themselves known. Remnants of the powder were a nice touch as she was making a meal for you.

Don’t even get started with her knife skills. Sam easily chopped through the vegetables, completely hypnotized by the motion, you failed to notice that she was preparing some greens that you personally had a vendetta with. Your eyes were fixated on how she cut through them with much precision and ease. Then, you recall her admission, leading a mob—you can only imagine how swift she must be with her sharps when using them in business situation, the menacing glare and—

What?

Now, you were thoroughly confused.

You gulped and squirmed on your seat. The ache in between your legs made you remember how she deprived you of orgasm previously which was a first. She even promised to breed you. But you didn’t know whether it was an act of mercy, knowing if she pushed you more, you would have spiraled much worse the following hours when you woke up or was it an act to build an excitement through you.

No wonder, similar to the physical hunger, you found everything in front just as equally gratifying. Even the thought of her malevolent ways, which you initially had conflicting thoughts about. You were still aching and sore, it didn’t help that Sam was quite the eye-candy as she maneuvered in her own space. Shit.

“I know you still don’t like these. I remember you shoving them sneakily on my plate whenever we ate dinner at your house back then.” Sam snapped you out of your…derailing thoughts. Oh, you wanted to be railed, alright. She dusts off her hands on her aprons after washing them. “But you have to eat up your greens, missy. Don’t make me force you.” she quips in a jest, eyes scrunched at you.

“I don’t have much choice, do I.” You deadpan and roll your eyes as Sam hummed, agreeing. “How come you don’t have a personal chef?”

Might as well shift your thoughts to something else. Admittedly, you also wanted to know more about Sam. After the continuous bombs she had dropped to you as she fucked you to oblivion.

“Ouch, baby. You haven’t even tasted what I’m cooking and you’re already doubting me?”

You laughed. “No. But I heard it’s what rich folks have. And you must be busy.”

“Not for you, never too busy.” She replied, quickly like it didn’t need much forethought. She shot you a charming smile and proceeded to chop away. Did your heart do the somersaults? Hell yes. You were always puddy when it comes to this woman. “Sometimes I do… but I prefer doing it personally for you. Especially today. But on another occasion, maybe you’ll see my personal chef.”

“Do I sense an early invitation for an indoor date?” you tease her.

Sam nodded her head adorably. “Well, yes, (y/n/n). I thought that was clear already. More things to come.”

Well, that joke of yours bit you quickly in the ass.

You coughed and turned around to your side to hide how affected you were. This version of your Sammy would need more time to be processed into your consciousness. Few weeks apart and you’re still clammy and hopeless at her forward nature.

“You haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend yet. For all I know, this feels like another booty call for me.”

“A booty call?”

Okay, maybe that was a bad idea. Sam halted her motions, you flinched in your seat as she spun the knife effortlessly in her fingers, then gripped the knife and pierced it in the chopping board—the sound resonating in the kitchen.

“You are my girlfriend and it better stay that way.” A lilt of aggression and possessiveness dripped in her honeyed voice. She couldn’t stand you doubting more of her actions. Or worse, you mentioning any traces of your past experiences of hooking up with other people. “Like I said, I despise having to share you amongst all things. I thought I made it clear; no talking of other people–more so when you were entangled with them at one point–around me. I absolutely cannot stand it.”

Her jaw grinded as it bothered her. Sam didn’t know whether she should throw up or plan to hunt them all down and slice them all up, gut them up like a fucking fish, as she pays them a little visit. Starting with this Lucy woman you just went on a date with.

Shiver ran through your spine at her tone, coupled with Sam’s harsh parting of your still sore legs, settling between them as yours dangled on the marble counter. You turn into jelly oddly both at Sam’s admission of wanting you—claiming you—and her hand that greedily ran on your ribs, dangerously under your breast, and the other brought up your inner wrist, and pressed a kiss softly.

“I wasn’t– I just wanted to clear this out. It confused me for a while, what we were. I just needed it spelled out. For the sake of my inner peace.” You stammer out and Sam’s features slowly relax to your admission.

“Well, you are mine, mi amor. I’m reiterating that for a million times more until it sinks in to you.”

She professed, tilted her head and leaned to you with no hesitation, and as you met her halfway, one of her hands rested to the side of your head, pulling you for a chaste kiss. You burned for Sam, chased her touch, and the butterflies on your stomach were still there. Not even the little cheek kiss from your date last night could compare by the slightest.

Soon as Sam pulled away, your stomach growled, reminding you of actual hunger. She chuckled upon hearing and quickly resumed her work.

“I didn’t know you were this…” You stop to find the right words. Sam tilted her head to the side again, always attentive to you. “Passionate.” Possessive, almost. Maybe you would have said that but you didn’t want to break such an intimate air between you. Not when Sam is officially your girlfriend.

Sam however, found it amusing. She’s surprised you barely caught up with her nature. Even in your younger years, she assumes that you only took it as protectiveness. Casualties were barely encountered then because you were attached to the hip, by default nobody wanted to mess with you as everyone was aware of Sam’s intimidating self. She was all talk and bite.

"You can say possessive and I won't be mad. I don't want you holding back to me."

“Okay. I was about to say that. Were you ever like this with other girls?” you timidly ask out of curiosity.

She shook her head. “No, just you.”

Sam clearly remembers this girl from her lacrosse team who wanted to ask you out for homecoming. Unlucky for her, Sam had heard her previously in the locker room, talking about you as they perceived you both in sweet and disgusting ways.

She mentally agreed with how they recited your beauty out loud. You are definitely a piece of art to Sam. She unashamedly admired you out in the open, but it appeared that you were oblivious to it. But then, they also talked about how you were possibly freaky—your innocent and quiet nature was a mere ploy in their eyes and they would like to tap your ass and ramble more of your curves.

It may or may have not intendedly caused Sam to perfectly stage an accidental scene to break the girl's ankle during one of the practices then sneered for her teammate to 'watch out next time' and 'not even think about you' in the slightest.

“Guess I was indeed full of surprises, hm?” She simply replied, getting a glass and a bottle of your favorite flavor of fruit juice for you.

How did Sam even know that this was your go-to comfort drink?

With wide eyes, you accept it gratefully.

“Yes, you are.”

Not long after, Sam had finally finished up preparing food for you two. The serving was definitely quite generous. She didn’t hesitate overfilling it with the toppings and sauce. She brought up a piece of her creation in your mouth, which you easily took a bite of. The food and its flavors melted in your tastebuds. You couldn’t help but moan in pure delight.

Sam laughed. “That good?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re stroking my ego, baby.” She places her palm flat on her chest, seemingly flattered. “Don’t talk with your mouth full—you know this.”

And you? You almost spluttered out the food you were chewing. Sam and her devilish antics will be the end of you.

It wasn’t you to be contained in one place. You were always moving, whether there was a force or not. Yet, for the last few days, you manage to be unmovable. Miraculously taking your sweet time with Sam. Time seems to fade when it comes to her. More than anything, you were in disbelief you get to call your long time crush as yours.

The small haven the two of you built for the last few days came to an inevitable end with Sam having to attend to her business matters.

You were displeased, the bubbling separation anxiety somewhat coming to the surface already. Just before Sam left, she pulled you into a deep make out session, and both of you were getting handsy. Gleaming at the thought of finally getting a sense of release, to your surprise, Sam managed to break away and compose herself—smoothening the material of her dress shirt and fixing up her tie.

To pile more to your frustration, you saw the emerald upholstered chair that Sam shamelessly paid and took when she fucked you senselessly at that lingerie boutique. As expected of the woman, she had it in her placed in the resting area of her house.

Before deciding to explore more of the nooks and crannies of Sam’s home; you eventually noticed the red lights at some corners placed in the bedroom and a brilliant idea popped out in your mind.

You retrieve your phone and dial Sam to confirm and quell your thoughts.

“Miss me already?”

“Terribly so.” you fiddle with the strings of Sam’s hoodie–the owner giggling to your direct confession. “I just noticed, but are these cameras in your bedroom?” your eyes flit to one to your right.

Sam cleared her throat. “Before you detest the idea; baby, it’s all for safety. If it makes it all better, I’m the only one with access to the bedroom cameras.”

You almost snorted because of course, she would.

Audibly, you sighed out of relief with a hand clutched to your chest. “Thank god. ‘cause I was about to touch myself.”

You’ve dropped the words so casually that Sam for the first time, was out of words. Faintly, you picked up something on the other end, a sound like a clear fall–unbeknownst to you, you have successfully made her flustered beyond her comprehension.

“Sam? Don’t tell me you hung up on me,” you rolled your eyes.

The woman took a deep breath. “No. Still here.”

“Good…”

Your eyes remained on the camera, giving the best of your pleading eyes–hoping it’ll somehow be visible enough through Sam’s static screen. Hand slithering on your ribs then your covered mounds, making you groan out loud and eventually your fingertips hovered around your pelvis–a flimsy underwear that you Sam chose for you to wear earlier. It was practically see-through. Your body felt feverish, eyes fluttered shut.

It would be so easy to dip your fingers inside…

You hear Sam growl. “Don’t touch yourself. Not without me there. I swear to god, (y/n/n) I’m not playing with you…”

A whine escaped your lips at her order, actions coming into a full stop. It was no use to sneak off, aware now there’s cameras in her house and Sam was bound to figure it out no matter what.

It took Sam half an hour to reach you. You’re met with a determined woman, loosening the tie on her neck and unbuttoning her dress shirt halfway as soon as she barged into her bedroom door—while you gasped, looking still the same as Sam last checked on her monitors.

She manhandled your body, as though you weighed nothing. It spurred your libido higher than ever, mouths crashing and Sam devouring you until your lips bleed and bruised. The only thing that came out of your mouth was her name and more moans that echoed beautifully in her room. Bodies flushed together, you grinded in perfect sync, breasts brushing that made you putty. The familiar gliding of her hands soon met your soaked center. Sam slid her long and slender fingers, entering you but not fully. She started to rub circles slowly until you were worked up enough, playing with pressure, she pumped them deep into your throbbing pussy. Sam grunted at the squelching sounds, obsessed with the warmth of your core. You easily took her in, greedily swallowing all of what she can offer to you.

The twitching of your stomach was absurd and seemingly nonstop. Yet again, Sam noticed, and she took out her coated fingers out of your sopping apex.

“No, not yet princesa.” She devilishly giggled, breathless as you were on top of her lap. You simply cried and squirmed, as the lack of release was making you crazy. “Give me a good reason,”

Your hips bucked but Sam was moving away. You didn’t like it at all. Surely, you were going to combust if you were deprived of this heaven for much longer.

“Please, I can be good! Sammy… I’d do better!”

How can Sam deny you now? She giggled at your state. Sam had to admit, edging you was a form of sick atonement that she wanted to pull out of you. Forged as a punishment for leaving her dry while she was understanding and patient. Her devotion was clear as a day and you’ve failed to notice that. Yet, it was also a ploy to have you in her orbit, even by sexual means. With a sardonic smile, Sam absolutely had fun with it.

“Now you’re talking. Just like how I want you, (y/n/n).”

With newfound fervor, she resumes her motions to your pulsating and insanely wet pussy. You clenched repeatedly around her digits. It released a throaty moan out of Sam, low and breathy, spurring you to arch your head back.

“Tell me how much you need me.”

“N-need you… only—s-shit—just you, Sam! Nngh!”

Pride deeply surged on her chest. If it were possible, her love for you only heightened.

“Oh, I love you.” She confessed against your skin. “Cum for me, (y/n/n).”

The endearing look that Sam had in her hazel eyes had made you even more lightheaded as you took a peek at her. She loves you? You couldn’t believe it. Just in time, your body shook in pleasure as finally you were able to cum. With weeks worth of teasing, it definitely scratched an itch but somewhat it wasn’t enough, yet you couldn’t raise your voice for more as it exhausted you. Maybe you should start working on your stamina, you thought. But then again, Sam was insatiable with her teasing and foreplay. She had been sinfully eyeing you and grabbing you so casually without any promise of making you cum.

Your profession of love to Sam came out in a mumble. Of course, it was no-brainer that you reciprocate her love, too. She simply laughed at your state, body slumped and nuzzled on her neck, a gentle kiss pressed out of appreciation for her. Sam held you tighter, combing through your hair that had grown sticky due to sweat, all softly and breathing in your scent. She smiles upon realizing that you used her own shower items instead of yours, one that she provided, knowing which products you used religiously.

As this was happening, Sam bestowed your little date with a gift. A bloody pig head awaits the woman, the item placed not out of her doorstep but rather from the inside. The scene was gory for her or any sane person’s liking. The trail of redness was spread through her floor and has oxidized. It left a stench of rot, that flies were starting to appear in your date’s home. Sam is anything but rude, so her present came along with a note—one that relayed a clear message of threat for the woman to stay away from you and it would be better if she moved away.

Sam would have made her death swift, dealt with it clean this time as she has no longer a message to relay for you, a contradicting safety and fear which she can both offer—all in order to have you.

Your stunt of touching yourself today effectively reduced Lucy’s sentence. She cut her plans short and had given this woman a second chance and made a simple scare instead of personally gutting her up with ease. Although if she pulled any attempts of challenging her again, Sam would no longer be merciful to her.

Another day of Sam giving you a bouquet of flowers. To her surprise, today was different. Soon as you placed them carefully on a vase filled with water, quickly you retrieved your own gift for her. She always gave you something and you wanted her to know how you always thought of her, too.

You handed Sam a dark blue colored mug that was rough around the edges, a proof of your inexperienced clay making. Designed with stars and the waxing crescent as the main subject, the outline is painted in gold.

“What’s the occasion?” She asked, still in awe.

“Should there be any? It reminded me of you,” You smoothly replied. Her eyes twinkled and it was easy to say that it was a success.

Sam was over the moon. You remembered. Honestly, it was hard not to, because her pillow sheets were still related to the cosmic – only portrayed with much elegant material. Then her ramblings and how Sam would take you out to simply admire the moon at night. As she held your present carefully, you thought now of how it was a fitting symbol for her, with her tendencies of being a night owl and broody. She chuckled at your perception of her.

“Oh and I’m broody?”

You add, "It makes you hot and mysterious though, don't worry."

“We should watch the night sky sometime again. I missed doing that with you.”

With Sam’s eyes crinkled in delight and her million dollar smile directed at you, caught you in her grasp with your feet in the air—her hold flooding you with warmth and adoration—it wasn’t much work for you to smoothen and forgive her of the previous disagreements you’ve had with the woman.

She was simply your Sammy, far from the frightening glimpse you’ve seen of her as someone determined and powerful of a mob leader.

Somehow, you managed to get back unscathed when you returned to work. With absence equivalent to a honeymoon trip, you didn’t know what excuse the universe had provided over you. You explained a made up family-related emergency problem, even though you haven’t seen them in years, and it worked like a charm on your end. You weren’t fired even with the sudden absence, no resentment in your bosses’ tone, and your coworkers simply wondered and then welcomed you back.

What you did not know was that your absurd omnipotent of a girlfriend conjured something, effective enough not to pull much attention in tying her name with yours. Sam already invested in your company. It was clear for her that you wanted your own thing, getting out of work so quickly. She respected this wish of yours. A negative push from her would have made you shut like a clam and she didn’t want that—not when Sam was making progress already.

Were your spirits lifted? Without a doubt. Luck didn’t strike you this much, so you gladly took it in.

Initially, you planned to go back to your apartment after work then call your girlfriend. You can’t deny that you missed your own space, wondering if it was dust littered already, given your absence for how many days.

Although, a car was already waiting for you outside.

“After you.” Martin greets you, opening the car in the backseat. You offer him a polite smile. To your surprise, Sam was seated there too. Immediately, you tackle the woman for a tight hug. Sam returns it with a loving smile and you didn’t want to let go of her addicting embrace.

She looked stunning with her navy turtleneck and usual trousers, along with her polished leather shoes. Sam’s attire always complemented her tanned skin that you love so much–especially with the gold accessories that adorned her look. If anything, getting a sight of her energized you and made your mouth water.

She laced your hands together. “How was work?”

“Good as it can get.” You sighed contentedly, head already leaning to Sam’s broad shoulder. “I don’t know what magic you pulled, but I wasn’t berated at all? And this guy from the other cubicle was the only thing that annoyed me by far.”

“What’d he do to you?” Even without looking, you can already see Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You giggle as it wasn’t a serious matter. “Relax. I just couldn’t tune out his singing and humming today. It got on my nerves… he didn’t exactly have the voice of an angel.”

“Oh I’m sorry you had to put up with that?” Sam meekly says in hopes of comforting you and her thumb rubbing on the back of your hand.

“You know I should be the one asking you–how was your day?” you retort. You always wondered how it worked; Sam being a mob boss. She must’ve always been caught in some form of distress.

Sam bit her lip. She looked at the rear view mirror before answering you. There was nothing much to hide at this point.

“Good. Somewhat smooth, no one annoyed me with a shitty singing voice.” She replied in a deadpan which made you laugh. “No one had to face my knife nor my fists, surprisingly.”

“That for real?” your eyes went wide.

“You asked,” she mumbled. Sam held your hand tighter as though you were going to disappear in thin air. “It’s nothing like a war, (y/n/n). I know your head is getting all creative–but the machine gun out in the open? Not real. Not an efficient way to stay low, either. Sometimes it’s about looking at paperwork and more on discussions. But lately it’s more of in between securing deals, cordially as we can. Then like I said, sometimes… it takes force and grit—in case things go south.”

A pout spreads on your lips. It pulled out a hearty chuckle from Sam. As she suspected, you indeed had a comical imagery of her work.

What she didn’t know was how you grew into liking the vision of her being stern and domineering. You even thought of her office, how her seat must’ve looked like a throne to sit in. Completely lacking in warmth, assertive, cold and calculated as she gave orders around.

You blurt out, “That’s hot.”

“Hot?” Sam looked at you in disbelief and some flattery. “I didn’t expect that from you, (y/n/n).” an amused smile graced her features.

You simply shrugged and soon yawned.

“When was the last time you had time to rest? You deserve this, mi amor, and so much more. It wouldn’t hurt if you let go once in a while.”

It got you thinking. Sam is right. You weren't used to having this privilege; by means of simply resting and existing in a peaceful space. Always trying to get by, going through the tedious nine-to-five routine. You’re forgetting something but you have already succumbed to the idea that crashing onto your girlfriend’s place (once again) was a given, due to your sleepy state.

“Before you fall asleep on me, I got you this,” Sam shuffled on her seat as soon as you leaned against the car’s headrest, mindlessly fiddling with the sun pendant placed below your jugular notch. Sam got it for you a while back.

She reached at the back of the car and pulled a gorgeous bouquet arrangement. It was becoming a common occurrence every week, since you managed to make a deal with the woman. You had issues with being spoiled too much and Sam petulantly met you halfway, understood it, even if she acted like a kicked puppy. This was her alternative of spoiling you of love—amongst other things. Sam balanced her unconventional approach of romance through this, willing to give this traditional courting-like gesture another shot, not wanting to be too rough with you as it wasn’t an image she wanted to be fully attached to.

Another huge motivator for her was the discovery of your admittance when she came up with this unannounced, saying that the first and last time you received them was in high school and it was because of her. Sam can recall the time, unknowingly having missed the sight of you being tongue-tied and absolutely flustered. She loves how you glowed at this little gesture.

And now, Sam is eyeing you between like a meal to devour and the trace of gentleness is found on her hazel eyes, as always. Her fingers cradled under your jaw.

You can get used to this.

"But I'll miss you. didn't we plan movie night today?" A rare sight of Sam, pouting and tugging you close, was beyond endearing.

You almost felt bad. Pressing your lips against your girlfriend, you then lead her onto a chaste kiss. "I'm skipping just for tonight please? And it's not like I won't miss you too, either. because I certainly will."

"So smooth with your words."

"I've learned from the best."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. She didn't know whether she'd be pleased at this situation or not. Her issue lies from your current outfit, she thought it was too short. It didn’t help you were a walking vixen and dangerously unaware of it. The idea of you prancing around with filthy leering eyes following you all night? It made her blood boil.

That was already a job taken by her and hers alone.

Her grip loosened around your waist, turned into soft caressing. She beams at you, knowing it was your favorite sight and part of her.

"Mmm. Maybe it was bad that you were taking notes. Too much of it I'd say."

Your phone pings again, your friends were already telling you that they're on their way. A part of you detests to be away from Sam – but you think that your memory has gone oddly hazy and you cannot remember the last time you met up with your friends. You get out of your shared room but not without Sam hovering and sending you off with a kiss and personally driving you there.

Meanwhile Sam was somewhat pleased. Sure, she wanted all of your time, but she had to admit how she reveled in the way you have easily forgotten of her obsessive and conniving ways. Your girlfriend wouldn't let you out of her sight, of course. Constantly worried about your safety and a step ahead, decided to plant two men with a set of skills present on the scene; a safety net in case your fun night out changes its course, her gift of necklace served as an audio receiver and the expensive watch had a tracker.

What you hoped to be a good time, ended up on a terrible note. You disagree with your friends as you open up a few more details to them. It was all because of your curfew and they perceived your relationship with Sam as too intense. That was a given, right? It’s a love thing, you suppose. You fiddle with the necklace she gave you, pondering over how as though they didn't see Sam in the same light as you did. She wasn't borderline abusive. In fact, she had been greater than ever to you, more carefree, unrestrained and unfiltered. You feel it too, she was more relaxed and eager to disclose any information you wanted from her.

Now on your fifth drink? Or sixth? You scoffed and giggled. You were bummed because it took Sam a lot of convincing that you were going to be safe. That you had your own pepper spray with you and that nothing can happen with your friends beside you. It was good, refreshing even. Until it wasn’t.

“I’m just saying, you have to watch out for yourself. And we’re here. Anytime.”

“Are you sure you can trust her after that? She seems… pushy. Won’t take a no for an answer.”

“Seems too fast, (y/n). It won’t be bad if you raised your opinions every now and then, you know.”

It echoed once again to you. Sam was the best for you. Everything between you was consensual. You understood her ways, simply because it was how she was made. You can only imagine how several years of being moulded into a domineering leader with a strong gut have drastically shaped her, refusing to think of it further how you weren’t there for her.

You downed another shot and as you drank away your disappointment of your friends’ criticism of your girlfriend, a greasy man was already eyeing you.

Then you realize Sam's words from one of the nights you spent with her. She was right; these people in your circle wouldn't get it. Not as much as the two of you do.

Upon your realization, a man not so discreetly manoeuvres his way through you. You deny him but he was insistent. It was gross how he was a mouth breather, his stench hovering over you.

“The more the merrier, baby.” He didn't even believe that you had a girlfriend, in fact, he even grinned disgustingly at this information.

“You have one second before I call the fucking cops.”

“That’s a lame excuse–” He whined, looking away in disbelief thinking you were bluffing. “C’mon, I can make you straight… all it takes is a night with me,”

You took that chance to stealthily use your phone and clicked on speed-dial. You were surprised it connected to Sam instead of the cops. You don’t remember changing it although it was a better alternative, truthfully. With the initial shock, it override the rising suspicion from you; how your girlfriend set it herself.

Some men came over to assess what was happening. The greasy man rambled too much, far from convincing with how visibly uncomfortable you were. Thankfully, they came into your rescue. You hoped they were good guys. So far it seemed promising that they pushed the guy who was making you uncomfortable. They had a strong build and now were exchanging in a verbal disagreement. It was getting heavy that you had to step away and as soon as you bumped from someone at your back; it was your girlfriend, doe eyes swarmed comfort to your body.

“Get in the car, mi amor. It’s parked at the front. Lock the doors and wait for me there, hm?” She caressed your cheeks. You were clearly shaken up, still Sam was proud of how you nodded and tried your best to look at her. “I’ll handle this.”

Her thumb caressing gently on your hips, you look at her once again, to see not even the situation and what it holds for the man—but to see if she was truly alright. Sam reassures you again that it’ll be alright and focuses again on the man that had been bothering you.

Where the hell were your friends? Sam groaned lowly in frustration. It was good how she decided it was a good idea to wait out for you. Who knows what could have happened. She takes a glance at the man who added rain on your terrible drinking night-out. She lured him out. He was ecstatic, the idiot not even knowing his fate for tonight. Him trying to take advantage of you sealed it for himself.

Sam already figured that this would be easy, his throws starting on a terrible form, giving away how he didn’t have a proper knowledge of its basics. He might’ve been taller, but his lack of skill proved him to be useless. Sam immediately went for an opening, fist met his face then swoop his feet quite literally which hit his knees badly to the pebbled ground. He groaned out of pain, curses flowing out of his mouth.

“Please! I’ll do anything! Spare me, I haven’t- I didn’t even touch her!” He begged on his now decapacitated knees.

Sam quipped, “Should I be happy about that?”

“N-no, but–”

“You harassed her. Insisted on wanting to fuck her.”

Over a dim corner outside, Sam sighed and took out the silencer concealed in the back of her jeans, and personally shot him right in the head. She liked seeing her power over these people. Always begging for a way out, so desperate.

Her men didn’t even flinch, trained and desensitized. In another vehicle parked near to the scene, a few more men came out of it, dressed for clean up and quickly carried him out for disposal.

She didn't want things to be messy. But she had been listening to your entire conversation; unbeknownst to you that the necklace also served as a down low spy-like device for her. Sam was happy that you were quick to jump in her defense–how you trusted her. Frankly, she was afraid that her attitude and sense of ethics would be something you’d be disgusted with. Being proven otherwise, it warmed her heart, increasing her devotion tenfold if it were even possible at this point.

It was easy to lure you out of your circle of friends grasp. She thought of some point how useless your friends would be, now that you have her. Sam knows they’ll only add as a burden and mess.

As she drove the two of you back home, her free hand constantly rubbed random patterns on your exposed thigh. The streetlights were just as warm as your girlfriend’s touch. Her constant glances at you each time you were in red light. The reassuring smile that barely left her plump lips.

When you waited for her – you didn’t even care what could the man from the club could face. Was it terrible that you reveled in the high possibility of him being a dead meat?

One thing for sure is that you only had one good takeaway this evening.

With your parents out of the picture a long time ago, disapproving of your ‘lifestyle’, and siblings being far and preoccupied with their own lives — this was it for you: Sam is your family. Each time an emergency or a milestone happens to your life, only Sam is there for you, without fail.

You only needed her and she was more than enough.

"Tara wants to see you." Properly and not from afar as Sam instructed, the voice echoed in her mind. "Not today, because I want you all to myself right now. Some other time, maybe."

Your eyes crinkled. "When have you not? But yeah - I'm totally in. She was practically a baby when I last saw her." Both of you giggled at your remark.

You discovered another room in Sam’s house. Barely gone through all of them, you found out just now how she had a gaming area. Littered in between retro and modern game machines, and how it glowed differently from arcades, made it appear much inviting. Now in low lighting in the afternoon, you ended up playing pool with your girlfriend. It was a game you always sucked at; with your shitty aim and handling. Bad news for you, it’s Sam’s favorite and opposed to you, of course she was great at it.

Terribly cocky too.

Not that you minded, because she was attractive for how she flaunted it. She’s carefree with you, seemingly retracting to her playful self that gave her a youthful joy of a glow. With her dressed up in tight cycling shorts that were covered with a sweater around her midthighs; Sam looked appetizing.

Back to the game, your motor movements suffered. Each time you aim and thrust the pool stick, the ball bounced off like a fish - far from the pocket points. Missing the target was also a common mistake for you.

She laughed. “No, baby, you’re holding it wrong too.”

“How is it any different from yours?” You retort.

“It can be your posture as well and the pressure you apply when hitting. Don’t be mad now.”

Huffing, you were so close to breaking this pool stick. “Maybe if you showed me!”

Sam chuckled. She liked your adorable scrunch getting all focused to at least score a point. she gets from your behind, bodies now flushed. Her soft chuckling continues as she notices how you stiffened at the contact. It blows her mind, how years ago things were in reverse; it was her who always panicked at your comforting touch. she welcomed it, relishing each second, replaying the memory of times she missed you before meeting again. She beat herself up mentally at how different she should have approached it.

Sam shook her head, focusing on the present. she has you now and it's all that matters.

“You just have to…” She took your forearms in a grasp and smoothly ran them to your hands. “Hold it like that. Your other fingers for balance however, depend on your level of comfort. It’s a matter of practice–which is what we’re doing.”

“Is that so?” You tease her, turning your head enough to meet her face, hooded eyes greeting you. You feel Sam growing breathless much as you do.

Her hazel eyes had a specific glint to them. They beautifully shone and no doubt had a swirl of lust growing bigger onto them. You purse your lips to hide the spreading smile. Instead, you retaliate by leaning over the table exaggeratingly; practically bending over it. Sam could no longer hold back a small moan escaping her mouth.

It was a matter of a different game and Sam decides she’ll humor you.

However, it was proving to be a difficult task. You just had to rub your ass against her hips. Now practically enveloped by her, weight almost all into you. You wiggle a bit more. Then you felt something else. Fuck. Was she…packing?

She had a cocky smile now. It’s been a while since she has used this on you.

“Mmm, mi amor. And your aim? Don’t push it up like this,” She grabbed your hand to reenact it. The ball thumped as it bounced – showing how you usually hit. More of her weight was on you, her front deliciously pressed on your back. “I noticed you tend to do that.”

“Oh, do I?”

You were playing dumb now. Although, with skins inevitably brushing, it doesn't take long for the two of you to crumble and give in to do something with the tension.

“Fuck this.” Sam muttered, fingers digging on your thighs as she immediately hoisted you up to the pool table. Back of your thigh’s skin rubbed to the rough texture of its surface, somewhat adding to your gnawing hunger.

Sam was bouncing with excitement to take you in here. Mouths crashing in dire need of each other, she explored your mouth as though she hasn’t before, tugging your bottom lip until you tasted iron.

“Oh, oh… god,” you whimper.

Sam gawks at you with darkened eyes. “You think you can tease me like that?”

Your jaw slacked as Sam's teeth sunk in the skin of your neck, far from finished and continued by nibbling with pent up fervor, and the pleasure of her ministrations as the moans rolled off your tongue with ease. Her open mouthed kisses were messy against your skin but nevertheless, you welcomed her through arching your neck to give her more space to paint you red and purple.

Some of the balls clanked as you guys moved desperately, grinding on each other.

“Look at you.” She giggled and had your cheeks on a firm grip. “My pretty girl so eager to get fucked dumbly. Did you feel my cock earlier at your little tease of a show?”

You helplessly looked at her with half-lidded eyes, nodding.

“Yes, please…Sam,”

“Please what?” She mocked you, doe eyes filled with mirth. Her hands slowly moved from your cheek to your neck. Sam gives it a squeeze, making you hum in delight. “I won’t continue if you don’t use your words properly.”

“I…I want you to breed me, like you said months ago,” you murmured and looked away.

Blood rushed in your clit. You were throbbing in need and full of embarrassment. But it was the truth that you wanted to be fulfilled. You didn’t know it caught Sam in a surprise, her joy and libido had gone through the roof.

Sam relishes onto this, a wolfish smile on her features as she takes every inch of your skin with her lips and hands. And you? you can barely keep up, clung onto your girlfriend’s neck to gravitate yourself in the spiraling haze in your head, pretty sounds continuously tumbling off your mouth.

What you want, is what you’ll get.

You managed to take off your top, now almost completely bare in front of your girlfriend.

“Good girl. So, so good. I knew you had it in you, mi amor.” You’re met with Sam’s patronizing smile. You gulp in excitement at the praise she’d given you. “You remember your safe word right?” She asked as her hands wandered, pulling your own shorts down and underwear. As you nodded, a predatory look was fixed on her face. “I’m going to make you forget it, I promise.”

Her irises were ignited with a newfound desire, turned you on your back and bent over as previously, against the pool table.

Sam stroked her strap and adjusted your legs. She wanted you wide and ready. Your slick was smeared on your innermost thighs and some of them formed with strings of your arousal, greeting her as she spread you out. God, she can’t wait to ruin you.

Without warning, the skin of your pulsating hole was being dragged out by the strap's length and all you can do is whimper loudly in complaint. The head teased you a little with her pace agonizingly slow. As she pulled out though it didn't last as she decided to ram the entire length back inside of you, absolutely filling you to the brim. You moaned as it burned inside of you. Sam reach on your tits for balance as she started thrusting, picking up a pace. With all things going on at once, your eyes rolled at the back of your head and face pressed against the rough surface.

"Wait... oh my god, fuck, wait!" You trembled underneath her, your palms outward against her the table, weakly attempting to push away determined Sam. "So- so big, Sammy, I don't... oh! d-don't think, I can't!" You deeply underestimated her cock. But reeling onto it was simply addicting that you felt conflicted.

“You can and you will. You wanted this, didn’t you (y/n/n)?” She mocks you again. Sam was right, you wanted this. “Whoring yourself to me, this is the least you can do. Fucking. Take. It.” Your girlfriend punctuated each of her words with a hard thrust, each time you swore that it went deeper into your walls.

Sam was spurred on with your erotic reactions. She wanted to see your limit, see you truly fall apart. For god’s sake, you were already dripping wet, gushing and smeared all over Sam’s cock and hips. Once she found a rhythm pleasing to you both, she moaned along you as the base also met her clit – sending shocks on her end as well.

You were so fucked out right now and an orgasm was ripped out of you so suddenly. “Nngh… oh!”

Breath heaving, you felt the wetness run down your legs. Sam slowed her movements and stayed deep inside of your walls. More liquid gushed out of you, mixed with your girlfriend’s fake cum. It felt heavy and so full inside of you that you can’t get enough. It was beyond gratifying and out of body experience.

“Another one, come on. I have to fill you up to the brim,” Sam whispered against your ear, white-hot that it sent shivers down your spine. Your hips surely will bruise after this, as she resumed pounding relentlessly against the fine wood. It also made you embarrassingly more wet, too. Her pounding didn’t falter at all, Sam’s own hips still at work.

“Fuck– I….Ah!” Your eyes were squeezed shut.

Sam took pride in your current state. She gripped you tighter on your lower back and the other firm on the edge of the table. Sheer sweat already covered the two of you and the pool table continued to shake, now no longer in a prim and proper placement; instead it was crooked due to the movements that were forced upon it. You were fucking like animals.

A vast incoherent mumblings came in a slew to you. Your head pressed against the table and tears came out of the corner of your eyes. Your ears weakly register the mean giggling of Sam. The erotic sound of the skin-to-skin slapping continued to fill the space of your room, synchronizing with the creaking sound of the table. With your mouth agape, you felt the shaft being thrusted in a different angle, the cock’s tip kissing your cervix repeatedly. Sam dug so deep into you that it made you dizzy already.

“Gonna fill you up real good,” Sam continued to penetrate you mercilessly, her aggressive and determined grunts vibrating pleasingly to your body and adding to the carnal state both of you were in. It was too easy to sliver her cock in and out of you now, fully lubricated given your sopping core. “My breedable little bitch. Fuck, I’d say you’re meant for this. Meant to take this huge cock, hm?” The stretch had you bucking your hips onto Sam, gyrating along her teasing thrusts in and out. “Tell me how good it feels. How I make you feel so good.” Her honeyed voice taunting you. Begging you.

You envision Sam’s words to your heart. If only it were possible, you wouldn’t mind a single bit of carrying her child. After all, there are countless good qualities that your girlfriend beautifully possesses.

“You… you feel so fucking good against me,” A strained, throaty moan tumbled out of you. Sam hummed in your validation. “O-only you can have me- do me like this, Sammy…”

With your reassurance, came the rocking feeling of being so full again. Now Sam doesn’t move an inch, refusing to do so and determined to keep all of it plugged inside of you. You’re sure that she has moulded her entire cock out of your warm walls, stretched it out with no hesitation until it explored undiscovered spots from before.

To your shock, Sam flipped you again. It was insane how she recovered so quickly. Almost buck naked she sat now on the pool table and made you come up to ride her properly. She’s met with barely a resistance on your pussy as she easily shoved it up again with no trouble, moaning loudly and growling possessively as the curve of her length faintly made its outline known to your lower tummy’s skin.

“God you look so beautiful with my cock inside of you.” Her grunts were vivid as Sam’s white hot breath directly hit your ears. You feel your core gush more wetness, body all feverish, loving how she's also desperate and enjoying this much as you do.

She needs you. She admires you. Sam wants all of you.

You bounced helplessly and cried some more, to the point that your safeword dangerously hovered on the tip of your tongue. Until finally, Sam emptied out her fake cum inside of you – some of them dribbling down and smeared some more. Both of you were heavily breathing and Sam balanced your bodies – yours being slumped and weak against her, breathing ragged and eyelids heavy. You were fully spent and satisfied.

“So beautiful. Are you alright, mi amor?” Sam asked in pure concern. The lust on her eyes slowly dissipated, soft and only focused on your current state.

“Y-yes,”

Then a person barges in. You’re pretty sure that it’s a man who just squealed. He caught the sight of you and your girlfriend in a compromising position. You jump slightly and it was a bad idea, because one: you are naked, and two: Sam was still nestled deep inside of you. She also grunted at your accidental rocking.

Your stomach churned as you and Sam sober up quickly. Of course, you didn't like being seen like this if it weren’t only for Sam’s eyes to perceive you unashamedly. As expected, Sam hurriedly covered you first – fast and most as she can, at least. Your back was turned away from the man who entered the room, facing the wall.

Meanwhile, Sam had her chin tilted up, seemingly exasperated. If it weren't for your comforting touch on her forearm, she's sure of combusting in a messier manner, sporting the intimidating signature look on her demeanor. She almost looked unrecognizable with her cold and unamused gaze.

"I instructed you to knock three times." Sam quipped with a deep voice. “The receiver was also there, was it not? You could have buzzed in and waited outside.”

"Miss Loomis.. I- I- I did, I knocked before—”

Being in closer proximity to her, you felt some wetness gush out of your pussy. Blood rushed on your cheeks, as you made the previously pristine and high-end of a pool table now all messy and coated of your fluid. You caught a sliver of Sam’s defined hipbones and lines in her abdomen were prominent more than ever. She tucked her strap back as she pulled the cycling shorts up as quickly as she could. The room felt still for what feels like hours.

"And is that enough? I strictly told you to never enter, especially when I’m with my partner."

Sam had a scrutinizing look over him. She’s more than fucking pissed. The mob boss has never seen his face before. It must've been a new recruit. If it were any other mistake, maybe Sam would have spared him.

But no, he had to walk in while you were naked.

She bent down to reach underneath the pool table. She retrieves a gun. Your eyes widen but she hushes you, reassuring that everything is fine. although her eyes expressed the clear fuming with her jaw clenched, you gulped at the sight.

Sam scoffed, she hated being messy in front of you. For her, increases the likely of you leaving her. "Don't turn around." She orders you still with gentleness lace on her tone. "I mean it. Just… stay here."

Okay, you're more than fine with the sight.

Definitely so wet and turned on.

Sam moves and so does the man. Out of the room, you hear a few clicks and the cocking sound of the gun – the metal, spring, and unlocking of the weapon and you don't look further than that. And with the door slightly ajar, there's a loud sound that clearly indicates a shot. It's quick and followed with a heavy thud. A clear shot has been made. Your eyes widened. It rang your ears a little but it soon faded.

"What the hell was that?"

"He's a dumb one, a new recruit." Your girlfriend replied blankly. She fluidly moves around the room and reaches for her phone, eyes not leaving your naked body. "I need you to do some cleaning up- uh huh. in here, near the living room- second one, yes." Then she quickly hung up.

"I hate being interrupted. He had to ruin it. Almost saw you, too. I'm sorry baby, but I had to finish him off.”

Sam sighed and rubbed her temple. She wasn't a fan of losing control in front of her beloved. Although this one tested her greatly, feeling an immense protectiveness, she didn't like one bit having any of her men seeing you in this vulnerable and naked state. Prancing around normally as though your sight isn't engraved in their filthy little dimwit brains. Now she worried only about your reaction; knowing your initial response was to run away, same as you did after opening up to her even then. She always pulled you close—held you tighter—whenever you did.

She left a tender kiss behind your ear. You were immediately flooded with comfort. Her touch had a tendency to numb your worries down. It was familiar and gentle. Were you afraid? Surprisingly, you were not.

Out of all times you’ve seen her ‘lose’ it – was seemingly always out of making sure that you're safe, free from worries, gives you enough room as much as she can (knowing that Sam cannot resist invading your personal space) and has done anything to harm you in any way.

Sure, she just killed in front of you. But now, you can care less – knowing what your girlfriend’s nature and work entails. Besides, she has done it in your honor. In a twisted way, you interpreted it as a sign of her unwavering commitment to you; that you’ve always been a family to her – one that she plans on building one with, anyway. So instead, you reach to cradle Sam’s cheek and pressed a lingering kiss on her irresistible burgundy lips.

“You have me, always. Don’t worry.” You profess to her - a promise you intend to keep.

Sam grinned, visibly relaxing. Finally you fully understood her viewpoint.

Does it make you equally sick? Who the hell knows.

taglist: @not-alesha, @women-lover-kisser , @bluetreecloud20 , @danniackerman , @natsbraids , @melissabarreraswife , @bratydoll , @fantasylandbitch , @rocknr0ll , @mokotodenis123 , @deliriosinrose , @red1culous , @jennasoneanonly , @gaylorvader , @pixielovers2account **i can't tag others? :[

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

#gg.writes #sam carpenter x fem reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter smut #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x female reader #sam loomis #lesbian #wlw #fanfic #au #scream vi

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megtrns · 6 months ago

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hello! i saw requests were open. :>

i feel like you would write for tf! one sentinel very well. pretty blue bastard, always draped in gold but - he does show the capability to be knocked down a peg.

a human, prized by the quintessons as "incentive".. they end up being a bit too entertaining and bring a fake prime to his knees instead.

a/n : hi robolvrr, thank you for being my first request ! thanks for putting your faith in me , i hope i won't let you down with this <3

shades of blue and shame. sentinel (tf one)/reader. (nsfw!)(mdni!)

as much as you hate to admit it, blue is a nice look on sentinel — electric cobalt accentuated by the streaks of fluorescent gold.

he paints himself like a king, all flashy and bright. which makes him more annoying to you, someone who knows the truth beneath his tower of lies. if the quintessons hadn’t been so kind to you, showering you with riches and keeping you happy, you wouldn’t have agreed to negotiating with him. it speaks volumes on how irritating sentinel was, for the quintessons had passed him on to you, a human initially abducted to better facilitate mediation between them and organic races. and this was the first time you had actually to put in the work, considering that most of the time, the quintessons don’t try to bargain before conquering entire planets.

you had no previous interest in cybertronians. you've seen plenty of impressive alien races in your line of work, the ability to transform and stand sixty feet tall shouldn't warrant even a sliver of special interest from you. but sentinel himself is a whole different conversation: conniving, shrewd, and self-serving to the point of tyranny, those who knew him behind his curated facade feared him. but while you've seen him bask in the sight of soldiers cowering at his pedes, you knew that for sentinel, nothing comes close to the feeling of being adored.

you've seen his optics and how they gleam under the sun as he steps out of his balcony to greet his naive citizens, chassis puffed out and preening as they worship him.

often you wonder how his people would react to seeing him for who he is: this cruel, deceitful pretender full of dirty little secrets. and considering that you've become one of those secrets, it gave you a sense of thrill to know that you could easily expose him: if not for a false saviour, for the mech he becomes when he's under you.

once you've discovered just how pliable the mech is under your touch, what started as a seductive technique to secure more energon for the hive turned into a weapon. you had your suspicions, from how you'd catch him staring at your cleavage (because he thought you were too busy reading the documents in your hand) to the subtle twitch of his fingers every time you furiously curse him.

before you would always have to go the extra mile to chase him down the hallways to yell your threats at him, these days you have the titan mass displaced and writhing beneath you, mouth gagged with the tie you always make an effort to wear for 'work'. with both thighs around his waist, knees pressed against the metal berth so that your cunt remains suspended over his weeping spike, you glide two fingers past the seam of his metal plating to stroke his neck cables: once, twice. he shudders at the contact, optics fluttering shut as his hips impatiently bucked upwards. but you pulled away, dragging a needy cry out of his vocal box.

" we had a deal, sentinel," you warned, ignoring how he jerked at the feel of your fingers gliding down his midsection. " haven't i been nice to you? since you didn't keep up your end of the bargain, maybe i should just leave you like this?"

he let out a sharp whine in protest.

maybe sentinel was also your dirty little secret, because as pathetic as you find the mech, you find your heart racing whenever he eagerly gets on his knees.

sentinel was never meant to rule, he was forged to serve : eager and subservient, all ready for you. his arrogance long forgotten, buried next to his pride.

and truly, there was a certain kind of thrill seeing him like this: eagle-spread with servos chained up to the wall, arms pulled up to either side of his helm, sleek, metal legs quivering against your skin.

you think blue is a nice look on sentinel, but maybe not as nice as desperation.

#sentinel prime #megtrns #sentine prime tf one #tf one #transformers one #transformers #maccadam #sentinel prime x reader

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kingkat12 · 7 months ago

Text

procrastination (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: FLUFF, biting, suggestive content, mentions of sex

summary: Roman knows exactly why you're up so late-- and now it's time to get you to admit it and go to bed

word count: 1,155

a/n: enjoy this oneshot i wrote at one a.m. yesterday to talk myself into going to sleep, and i hope it might work as efficiently for u as it did for me<3333

"You should go to bed,"

I turned away from my computer, staring back at Roman with an annoyed look in my eyes-- still, I was sure he would spot the heaviness of my lids instead, along with the way my lashes moved in slow strokes as I continued to battle sleep. "I can't. I have to finish this,"

"You don't have to do anything at all," he murmured, taking off his reading glasses as he put today's paper down in his lap-- I was glad he finally wore them after I had dragged him to the optician to get a prescription. "This is just yesterday's argument all over again."

I cocked a brow; "We're not arguing, though?"

"... You know what I mean,"

"We didn't exactly argue yesterday, either,"

Roman sighed, the yellow hues of a lamp nearby dipping into the golden brown of his hair. "Yeah, you're right," He placed the paper next to him on the couch, crossing his legs as he stared back at me. I wasn't sitting too far away as he had allowed me to use his home office today, and he was on the couch a little further away from the desk. I loved being in this room; it smelled like Roman. It looked like Roman. Everything from the minimalistic style of the interior to the whisky glasses scattered all around the room which he had forgotten to put coasters beneath. He continued; "We didn't argue, and I'm not going to argue with you now either. I'm simply saying that you don't have to get that stuff done right now."

"But--"

"It's not life or death, is it?" Roman shifted, uncrossing his legs as he moved to the edge of the couch. "How much work do you really think you can get done at one in the morning?"

I shrugged. Being put on the spot like this wasn't my favourite thing in the world. Realizing I had to get real with him to get my point across, I let my shoulders slump as I rolled the office chair an inch or two away from my previous spot near the desk. I had to do everything in my power to not start spinning around on it like I usually liked to do with chairs like these. "I don't want to sleep, though,"

Roman nodded, ready to attack the root of the problem; "Why?" he asked, voice soft and gentle.

I wanted to shut down. Go quiet again and get back to work. Still, I had a feeling this was coming from genuine concern-- and when Roman Godfrey is concerned about your sleep schedule, you know something is off. "I've procrastinated all day," I mumbled, tapping my fingers against the table as I grew uncomfortable with the truth I had suppressed. "I'm procrastinating now. And if I don't make my mind busy with something, I will think about the fact that I haven't gotten anything done today."

Humming, Roman folded his arms over his chest as he listened. Had he not been my boyfriend, I could've mistaken him for my therapist. "You staying up any longer won't change that, though,"

"Yeah," I breathed, no longer meeting his gaze. "But at least I'm not rolling around in bed right now feeling guilty about it." My sentence ended with a sigh, and it didn't take long before I drove my elbows against the hard wood of the desk and buried my face in my hands. Just talking about sleeping made me further exhausted-- was this what he wanted to get out of this conversation? My next words were muffled against my palms; "You don't have to stay up with me, if that's what you're doing. You should get some sleep."

Roman remained quiet, nodding to himself as he kicked back on the couch and ended up in a casual manspread. He grabbed the paper beside him-- "I'll make myself busy with this crossword. By the time I'm done, I hope you've come to your senses,"

I peeked at him through my fingers, and I couldn't help the confusion coursing through my veins as I spotted him reaching for a pen. Was he actually going to do this? Roman Godfrey... doing a crossword puzzle? I must've opened a portal into an alternative universe with my whining. "Come to my senses about what?"

Roman shrugged, filling in his first word on the paper as he no longer met my gaze. "How much nicer it would be to roll around in bed with me instead of doing whatever it is you're doing on your computer,"

Oh. He had a point. I hated when he did that. "Doesn't sound like we'd be getting much sleep that way either,"

Roman chuckled softly, mostly to himself, and wrote down another vertical word across the puzzle. "Perv,"

"... Me?"

"Yes, you," He tsked, pulling his pen away to think about which word to go for next. "Rolling around in bed doesn't necessarily have to mean sex."

I cocked a brow-- "Roman, are you perhaps having a stroke? Everything usually means sex when you're the one talking,"

"Well, tonight I'm a new man," He smiled as he found the answer for a word going across, finally meeting my eyes as he finished filling in the empty slots. "What do you say about making out like we're sixteen and sexually repressed?"

I nearly choked on air. "That's specific,"

"I'm not denying that,"

"How is that different from just... making out like usual?"

Roman leaned his head against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as he thought out loud; "I think it'd just be messier. So uncoordinated that we'd constantly be knocking teeth,"

It was impossible not to laugh-- "You want to knock teeth, Roman?"

He turned his head to me, his green eyes meeting mine with the loveliest of smiles. "Fuck yeah. I'll even bite you if we get that far,"

"... Christ," With a giggle, I shut my laptop. "Fine! I'll go to bed, but only if you promise to keep your teeth far away from mine."

Roman sucked in a sharp breath as he got up to approach me. He spun the chair to make me face him, and he leaned down far enough for his hot breath to graze my cheek; "Actually, I'll bite you right now if you don't get out of my chair, young lady,"

Oh, I loved this mood of his. "Your chair?"

"Yes. My chair," His classic smirk made an appearance as his eyes darkened; "And my girl."

It didn't take long before Roman scooped me up, hoisting me over his shoulder as I yelped. Still, I knew there was no fighting him. If I did, I'd get another one of those bite marks on my thighs that would linger for days, and I couldn't go through that again. To be frank, I planned to wear more short skirts going forward-- I was visiting his actual office tomorrow, and I planned to make my visit one he'd remember for longer than I had ever had a bite mark lingering on my skin.

#roman godfrey #roman godfrey x reader #hemlock grove #bill skarsgård #fanfic #x reader #fanfiction #bill skarsgard #oneshot #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgard fanfiction #hemlock grove fanfiction #holy fuck i need to fix my sleep schedule

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asta-writes-stufff · 9 months ago

Text

Spencer Reid x reader

Reader is on their period :( but at least they have Spencer to help make them feel better

Wc: ~700

Cw: no gendered pronouns but reader does have a period, nothing else i think :)

On my period rn and i wish i had a spencer reid to take care of me 😔

You’re sitting on your couch in the same position you’d been in all day, having taken a sick day when you’d woken up with horrible cramps. Spencer had settled you down on the couch with everything you might need before he left for work, and he’d done a great job of it considering you haven't moved since then.

You reached over to the coffee table to grab another square of chocolate and the TV remote to press play on the next episode of Star Trek, settling back into your previous position as you popped the chocolate into your mouth. The theme song had just started playing when, unbeknownst to you, the front door opened and Spencer entered, closing it quietly behind himself. He smiled at the sight of you as he kicked his shoes off, dropping his things by the door and making his way over to the couch to join you.

You jumped when he placed his hands on your shoulders from behind you but quickly relaxed when you realised it was just him.

”Hi, angel.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head as he massaged your shoulders.

You craned your neck up so that his lips were on your forehead. “Hi, Spencer. How was work?” You did your best to add a casual lilt to your voice, hoping Spencer wouldn’t pick up on how much pain you were in. He did anyway, of course.

”It was good, love. How about you, how are you? Is there anything I can get you?”

“No thanks Spence, I’m okay.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead again. “I know that it hurts, darling. You don't have to pretend it doesn’t.”

Your lips twitched into a smile, having known he’d see right through you. “Will you just sit with me?”

”Of course, my love.”

He walked around to the other side of the couch and fell into place beside you. You moved to crawl into his lap as his hands wrapped around your waist and helped pull you into him. While you buried your head in his chest, he reached for your heating pad and chocolate.

“What are you watching, angel?” He knew perfectly well that you were watching Star Trek but he wanted to hear your voice.

”TNG.” You muttered into his chest. “Last season. Not sure what episode.”

He muttered the episode number and title under his breath. “Mhm. That one.” You replied.

Spencer ran his fingers through your hair, gently asking you to tilt your head up to face him. “Can I please have a kiss?” You had no hesitation in wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss you. His lips were so soft against your own and you could slightly taste his lip balm, the warm vanilla flavour you were so familiar with. You had given him your tube of lip balm one day when he’d forgotten his own. He’d never gone back to using his old lip balm, explaining that it made him feel closer to you when he could always smell and taste the flavour he’d grown so used to on your lips.

Your hands shifted up into his hair as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth. His chest rumbled quietly when you tangled your fingers in the strands and tugged gently. You broke the kiss for air, pressing your forehead against his and smushing your noses together as you panted.

”That’s good chocolate.” He breathed out, smirking at the way your cheeks instantly grew warm at his comment. “Do you want some?” You offered, not knowing how else to respond. “No, that’s ok. Maybe you should have another piece though.”

Your face grew warmer still and you smiled as you reached for another piece of chocolate. You popped it into your mouth and his lips were back on yours in a second.

You settled onto the couch beside Spencer, a freshly re-heated heating pad on your stomach and an empty chocolate wrapper on the couch beside you, both courtesy of Spencer.

“How are you feeling now, angel?” He muttered as he nosed at the tip of your ear, his way of asking you to be honest with him.

“Better,” you smiled up at him. “A lot better. Thank you, Spencer.”

“Anytime, love.”

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #mgg x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x you #doctor spencer reid

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suskz · 1 year ago

Note

Guess who’s back~

hello my lovely angel <3

I was gonna recommend anonymously again but we need the pic.

so. Remember when chan broke us with this:

I was thinking about what if chan, like, handcuffed you to the bed? Being all rough and shit. Yep. I’m ill lol. So I was just wondering if you weren’t too busy if a fic/drabbles on the table? have a good day/night

remember to eat and drink water💕💕💕

Hi sweetie ♡

Need to say that rough sex with Chan has me on my knees 🛐

I’m sorry that it took so long for it to be finished. I rewrote ur ask like 3 times cuz I didn’t like the way it was coming out lol.

Then I found the right idea, but I’m not totally satisfied with how I wrote it in some parts. Still hope you like it!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

pairing: Bang Chan x fem!Reader

w/c: 2,5k

tw: smut ; rough sex ; dirty talk ; degradation kink ; praising kink ; choking ; handcuffing ; established relationship ; clit play ; it’s not specified, but there are safe-words between them, anyway reader doesn’t use any of them ; bruises.

When you see them, your eyes cling to the shiny pink metal you just found at the bottom of your boyfriend’s closet.

You take them and you turn them over in your hands, observing them carefully. It’s part of the toys he’s used in the past, just not with you.

Your relationship is quite new, and you haven't really discussed your sexual preferences yet. In fact, you're still discovering them, being new to your first romantic relationship. But the way your heart beats faster, your cheeks flush, and you feel a certain tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach at the images that come to mind at the thought of what he might do with those handcuffs, it leaves you with some questions.

But when you hear his voice calling you, you realize you've paused too long. You place them back in their spot and pick up the light white blanket he asked you to retrieve, which had been covering the heart-shaped handcuffs you've just discovered.

When you return to the living room, he’s putting the movie on TV. After cuddling up on the couch, with him half-lying down and you on top of him, covering yourselves with the blanket, he makes it start.

But you can't focus on it because of your previous discovery. Your desire to try it is so high. You think it's time to try introducing something new into sex, and that could be a good start. The only thing left to do is to ask. If only it were that simple.

"Channie…" his name escapes from your lips before you can rethink.

"Mh?" he directs his attention to you without taking his eyes off the TV.

Only when you raise your head to look at him does he do the same, locking eyes with yours.

"Well..." you say, unsure, "I found a c-couple of handcuffs under this blanket, in your closet," your voice comes out more stuttering than you want it to.

"Oh," he says surprised; he doesn't remember leaving them there, "I must have left them there by mistake, I'll put them back in place another time; thanks for telling me, I guess," he observes you closely, "Is there something wrong?".

"Uh... well," there's a small moment of silence, and finally you find the courage to tell him, "I thought we could try them." you take your eyes away from his, looking down, and you're thankful that there's no light in the room other than the one emitted by the TV because you feel your cheeks and ears start to burn.

The movie is long forgotten, and you expect questions from him, but he simply nods. He places two fingers under your chin and lifts your head so you can look him in the eyes, "Do you want to try now?".

"I mean, if you want to...".

"I want it," he replies immediately, "Now, be a good girl and go to the bedroom to undress while I tidy up here, okay?"

You nod quickly and head to the bedroom. You hear some noise in the living room and figure Chan is rearranging things while waiting for you to be ready for him.

You get rid of your pants and shirt, remaining only in your underwear, since you're not wearing a bra. You wonder if you should also take off your panties, but then you remember how much he enjoys touching you over them and seeing them get wet for him, so you keep them on.

You take the handcuffs from the closet and place them on the bed next to where you sit cross-legged, waiting for him.

And a few minutes later, you hear the door of the room open and you raise your head in his direction.

He pauses for a moment at the door, gazing at you, and his lips curl into a smirk. You feel your cheeks warm slightly as you watch him approach you.

He reaches you on the bed and positions himself over you, making you slide back until you're lying beneath him.

"I told you to undress completely, didn’t I?" he looks into your eyes, and before you can respond, one of his hands firmly grabs your inner thigh and you gasp slightly at the sudden touch, "But I won’t complain." He leans in over you and captures your lips with his.

He kisses you deeply and slowly, exploring your mouth with his tongue and intertwining it with yours. The room would be completely enveloped in silence if not for the subtle slurp of your tongues intertwining and the soft sighs escaping from your lips.

His hand that was on your tigh now begins to go up your body, brushing your core with his thumb in the process, continuing up your stomach and stopping at your breast, which he grasps, making sure to have your nipple between two of his fingers. He brings his two fingers together slightly to pinch it lightly, and the slight moan he elicits from you makes him repeat the action.

He breaks away from the kiss only for a moment; while his thumb teases your nipple, his other hand grips your inner thigh to open your legs further and lower his hips onto yours, pressing gently, which becomes rougher as you resume kissing, making both of you moan and making you feel how hard he is in his pants.

Before pulling away, he bites your lip, and then you look into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily. Your lips are red and swollen from the kiss, and he smiles, looking at you.

Finally, one of his hands reaches your most intimate part, sliding his thumb along it, feeling how wet you’ve made your panties, “Did I get you all worked up without even touching you properly?” he teases you.

You give him a fiery look, “The situation here tells me the same about you.” You reach for the crotch of his pants, grabbing and squeezing it, making him gasp. He returns your gaze and lightly slaps your pussy before lifting his body from yours, still remaining between your legs.

His gaze falls on the handcuffs next to you, and he takes them in his hands, observing them. “You’re just waiting for the moment when I fuck you with these, aren’t you?” he huffs a little chuckle through his nose. “First choking, now these; you like being submissive, huh? Leaving me in control of everything.” there’s a slight edge in his voice that shows how truly turned up he is. Just the fact that you’re trusting him so much, letting him have total control of your body, makes his mind slightly dizzy.

He looks at you and sees the desperation now colouring your features. “Now, face down, ass up”.

You do as you’re told, turning over and raising your ass, and putting your forearms on the bed to keep yourself slightly up so that your face isn’t pressed into the pillow. But without warning, his hands grab your arms and put them behind your back. You feel his hand just above your wrist, and then cold metal touching your skin, and you feel a shiver run through your entire body at the sensation.

His hand tightens its grip on your hip while the thumb of the other presses against your entrance, making your panties even wetter, then he pulls them down to your ankles. He would like to play with you a bit more, but he doesn’t feel that patient right now.

He lowers his pants and boxers just enough to pull out his cock, and you feel arousal coursing through your entire body at the thought of him fucking you with his clothes still on while you’re completely naked underneath him at his mercy.

He grabs the underside of your asscheeks —and beginning of your thighs—, spreading them apart and taking a good look at your hole clenching around nothing; then, one of his hands breaks away from your skin to slide two of his fingers inside, making you whimper.

You move your hips back and forth to the rhythm of his fingers, which is fucking slow, but his other hand tightens harder where it grips your skin, as a warning. And you hope it bruises.

He pulls them out and wipes them on one of your cheeks, and without any warning, he enters you in one swift motion, immediately starting to move without giving you time to settle properly.

“S-slow down—“ you ask him breathlessly, but he doesn’t.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” his breath is heavy, “To be tied up and used the way I like, huh?”. At his words, you clench around his cock, making him moan and grip your hips tightly.

He lowers himself onto you and rests his hands on the bed. Your face is pressed into the pillows as you try to stifle your moans. But it’s difficult with the way his cock moves so skilfully inside you, hitting your weak spots, making it so hard to hold back that you’re breathless and think about asking him to stop for a moment. You’re not usually so shy and never try to hold back your moans, but this time is different, maybe because of the handcuffs? You don’t even know.

But he notices. He stops, slides an arm under your breast, and lifts your body. His other hand grabs the headboard of the bed for balance.

His tongue licks that patch of skin behind your ear where you’re sensitive, “Why aren’t you making yourself heard?” he whispers and starts moving again, “I want to hear how good I make you feel, so don’t you dare hold back again.” it sounds like a threat, but you ignore that as his movements become faster than before, and soon he makes you fall back onto the bed, with half of your face on the pillows but your nose and mouth free, and this time you make yourself heard loud and clear.

“Good girl.” if the nickname didn’t make you moan loudly enough, his hand gripping your nape to choke you and push your head down definitely did.

With every thrust, you feel yourself on the verge of coming and you fucking love this so much.

Suddenly, you feel him stop, and your wrists are freed; but you don’t have time to understand what’s happening or to complain before he pulls his cock out of you and you’re turned onto your back.

He takes your arms and brings them to the headboard of the bed, where he puts the handcuffs back on you, securing them to it.

And then, he looks at you.

He observes your entire body, from your tear-streaked face with saliva-coated lips, to your wet, stretched out pussy, begging to be filled again.

Finally, your brain starts to reason again, and if possible, your cheeks flush an even deeper red. You feel exposed. You want to cover yourself with your arms, and you try, but the metallic noise that comes out reminds you of the situation you’re in. You try to close your legs —as much as you can with him in between them— but his hands roughly grasp your inner thighs, spreading them apart again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hives you a disapproving look, “Why should you hide from me, huh?” He seems annoyed, mad, and you shrink under his judgmental gaze. “I don’t think you deserve my dick inside you again. Maybe I should leave you like this: handcuffed to the bed, naked and needy for the rest of the night. What do you think about that?”.

You feel like crying at his words. He couldn’t really do that, could he?

You shake your head quickly.

“Obviously, a slut like you just wants to be filled with dick all the time,” he takes his cock in hand and slaps the tip against your clit, and as you moan freely, he suppresses the groan that tries to escape his lips. “isn’t that right?”.

“Please.”

“Please what?” he responds coldly, looking down on you.

“Put it in, please.” you beg him, looking at him with pleading eyes.

“What if I don’t?”.

You feel tears of frustration forming at the corners of your eyes, “Channie…”

He slaps his tip against your clit again, drags it to your hole, “You’ll cry if I don’t put it in, won’t you? What a crybaby.”, and then he finally pushes it in.

He starts thrusting into you again, a little slower this time, but deeper than before.

Again, you feel the need to grab onto something, anything, but you can’t, and this makes you frustrated.

He places his hand on your stomach and presses, “Feel it” he moans, “feel my cock pushing inside you”. When your mind registers his words and you glance down at his hand, he removes it, and you can clearly see the outline of his cock bulging from your belly.

This is what makes you both feel close to the edge.

Chan feels he can’t hold out much longer. His hand reaches down where your bodies meet and takes your clit between two fingers, lightly pinching it.

"Are you about to come? Huh? You want to come, don’t you?".

"Please, daddy please." Your eyes are closed and your head thrown back into the pillows, so you don't see the way his face tightens at your words. A loud groan leaves his lips and your walls are painted with white spurts of hot cum. You follow right after him.

You don't realize you've blacked out for a while until you open your eyes and see Chan filling your chest and shoulders with sweet kisses.

He looks at you, and finally his gaze is soft and relaxed, “How was it?” he asks you attentively.

You smile, “Amazing, as always”.

“Good.” He kisses you sweetly on the lips.

Afterward, he takes a warm cloth and cleans you, puts another pair of underwear on you, and one of his shirts simply because he likes to see you wearing his stuff, while he puts on his boxers.

He applies a soothing lotion on your wrists as you talk about how you felt, and finally, he lies down in bed with you, covering both of you with the blanket.

You rest your head on his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat relaxes you as he strokes your hair.

“Was I too rough?” he asks, needing to make sure you don’t feel any pain.

“A bit, but I also liked it because of that”.

"I wasn’t too mean, right? Everything was good?" he's sure you would have told him if it was too much for you, but he still feels the need to hear confirmation from you that everything is okay.

“No, everything was perfect, baby, don't worry," you stroke his side.

“Good," he says, feeling more relaxed, "sleep now." he caresses your shoulder.

You already feel your eyes can't stay open any longer, but you still lift your head to give him a goodnight kiss.

And you fall asleep like that, in each other's arms, in the relaxing silence of the night and the sound of your hearts beating for each other.

#stray kids #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader fluff #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x reader smut #bang chan hard hours #stray kids bang chan #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #asks ♡#user: bunnii-143

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askponyboymcurtis · 2 months ago

Note

A letter appears in the mailbox. The writing is in cursive and it smells of vanilla and coconut, some Soc girl from the year above always smelt like that.

“I hope this finds you well, Ponyboy. About a year ago, your parents drove me home from the Drive-In after I was left behind by some friends. I’ve not forgotten their kindness, and wish to give back to you and your brothers.

Enclosed is $50 (it’s all I could steal without my mother noticing), and an offer to talk about books sometime if you like. I hear from the English faculty that you’re quite the reader, and I have some books you might enjoy. Have my copy of The Catcher and The Rye, just in case.

All the best,

Elisabeth M.”

Wrapped in a little brown paper package is a well loved copy of J.D Salinger’s book, the pages revealing annotations, themes and opinions of its previous owner.

"Holy crap!"

Pony's jaw drops to the floor as he snatches the bill out of the letter.

"Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap!"

Curly looked up from his spot on Pony's floor, where he was nursing a can of Schaefer. "What? What's got you so excited, Pone?"

"Somebody sent me fifty frickin' dollars."

"Fifty bucks? Holy shit, Pony, that's crazy!" A beat. "We could buy so much marijane with that,"

He snickers. "Or, or, we could splurge and get the good cigarettes! Or, even, a bottle of vodka. I ain't never had vodka before,"

"You haven't had vodka?"

"Nope."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Well, damn, we gotta change that, for sure! C'mon, I bet I could get someone to buy a bottle for us,"

The can of beer was set down on the floor as Curly reached for Pony's hand. As Pony pushed himself off of the bed, he paused for a moment, looking down at the bill.

Curly's eyes locked onto Pony, quickly realizing he was thinking about something.

"What is it?"

“Nothin’.”

“Nah, Pony, we ain’t playin’ that. What’s the matter?”

Pony stammers over his words for a moment. “…I bet if I gave it to Darry, he’s have to pickup a few less jobs this month. Fifty bucks is a good chunk of our bills.”

“Huh.” Curly whistles, clicking his tongue. “That would be mighty nice of you.” He agrees, nodding. “Or, we could have some fun ‘nd get us some booze ‘nd cigarettes.”

There’s a moment of silence before Pony shakes his head. “Nah. I should give it to him.”

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

“You one hundred percent sure?”

“Guess so.”

“ ‘Yer no fun.”

“I know.”

The two reassume their previous spots, Curly back on the floor and Pony sitting on his bed. In the quiet of the moment, Pony picks up the letter to actually read it.

He picks up the parcel and unwraps it, smiling at the book. It looked real nice, compared to some of his books; but, no doubt, it was well loved. He carefully took the book in his hand, flipping through the well worn pages and reading a handful of the annotations.

A small draws across his lips. He tucks the book into the shelf behind his bed, turning the paper over to write his reply:

“Thank you kindly for all of the gifts. You seem real sweet, Elisabeth.”

“Know that the money will be goin’ to a good cause, and the book will surely be used in the near future. Thank you for thinkin’ of me and my family.”

— PB CURTIS ‘65

#ask ponyboy curtis #ask blog #the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #curly shepard #the outsiders musical #outsiders musical #curtis gang #the curtis gang #curly shepard fanart #ponyboy curtis fanart

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osohchoso · 5 months ago

Text

Blood and Chains

Chapter Three- Coffee and Pizza

Choso x F!reader

Previous | Chapter Index | Next

Content: very fluffy slice-of-life chapter, friendships, multiple pov, protective Choso, comfort, the creepy pizza man

˚　　　　✦　　　.　Choso's POV　 . ✦　　 . ★⋆.

A few more days pass by and Choso still hasn't sent the first text. Not because he didn't want to talk to you, but simply because he couldn't remember how to start a new text message. He's fine with responding to an incoming text, but starting a new one is a whole other story. He curses himself for not putting his number in your phone too. Learning how to navigate the world's technology has been harder than some of the special grade curses he's faced in the past four years.

He sits on the couch in his apartment, a random nature documentary playing on the TV in front of him. Barely paying attention, just using it for some comforting background noise as he stares at your contact in his phone. His fingers hover over the different options, wanting to guess which one will start a message. A worrying thought of pressing the wrong option and deleting your number all together passes through him, there isn't a guarantee he will accidentally run into you a third time. He knows you are probably disappointed that he hasn't reached out, or maybe you have forgotten all about him by now. He lets out a sigh and locks his phone, setting it face down on the couch.

CLICK! He hears a key twist in the front door, turning his head to watch as Yuji walks in. His brother instantly kicks off his shoes and drops his backpack by the door, letting out an exasperated sigh. Since the night Choso found you in the woods, Yuji has been off on a mission several cities away chasing down a group of sneaky special grades.

Yuji makes his way over to the couch and flops down, resting his head against the armrest and swinging his legs up onto Choso’s lap like a footstool. He offers his little brother a warm smile in return.

“How was your mission?” Choso asks.

“Exhausting!” Yuji groans dramatically. “I’m so glad to finally be back home” He then delves into the details about how him, Megumi and Nobara pushed their limits each day. Exorcizing a group of curses that were running from city to city. Thankfully, there were no injuries between the three of them. Choso listens intently, nodding from time to time, making sure to give Yuji his undivided attention.

“Nobara and Megumi are coming over tonight, we need a day to celebrate and relax after this mission” Yuji finishes.

“Hmmm…sounds like a good idea. What should we do tonight?” Choso asks. He loves hanging out with Yuji’s friends. Ever since the brothers connected with each other, they always made sure Choso felt welcome. It was nice, considering Choso doesn't really have any friends he can call his own. Ideas run through his head for tonight. Movies, takeout, game night…the options are endless.

“Actually…” Yuji’s sheepish voice brought him back to the present. Choso looks over at his brother and notices how he looks away, avoiding his gaze. Choso tilts his head and blinks at him, confused.

“I was hoping it would just be the three of us tonight…” Yuji continues, pulling his legs off of Choso and sitting up straight on the couch to look at him. “The three of us haven't had a day where it's just us hanging out in forever…please forgive me big bro” Yuji apologizes, closing his eyes and pressing his hands together while he begs for forgiveness. Choso was never upset, could never even stay upset at him.

“Don’t worry about me…it’s fine.” Choso reaches over and pats Yuji’s head. “You're allowed to have some alone time with your friends. I’m sure you don’t want your big brother hovering around you forever.” he chuckles. Yuji lets out a sigh of relief and opens his eyes again, thankful for not hurting his feelings.

“Maybe I’ll see if my new acquaintance wants to hang out tonight too” Choso smiles, this could be the perfect excuse to text you. And now Yuji is here to help make that text happen. Choso explains briefly about his meeting with you, how he got your number.

“OOOOOO!” Yuji teases. “You have a girl’s number!” he pokes Choso in the cheek with his index finger. Choso swats his hand away, blushing slightly.

“It’s not like that! I hardly know her” Choso protests. “Just promise me you’ll keep this between us. I don't want Nobara spreading rumors to every Jujutsu sorcerer we know” He also wants to keep you very far away from the world of curses and he is taking what feels like a huge risk to even see you. Choso holds his pinky up, which Yuji instantly locks his pinky around his.

“I promise.” Yuji smiles, and the two pull their fingers apart. “I’m just glad you're open to meeting new people again. After everything that happened with-”

“Don’t say her name” Choso interrupts him before he can finish, his eyes darken with anger. The black mark over his nose slightly changing its shape uncontrollably. “I don't want to hear her name ever again.” Yuji looks at him guilty, mouthing a quick 'I’m sorry'. Choso takes a deep breath to calm himself and relaxes his face, the black mark returning to its usual thick rectangle. He shakes his head to dismiss the painful memories before they can surface.

“This girl is different…” he trails off. “And I can't stay your shadow forever Yuji, I need to start finding my own friends too I guess.” Choso looks down at his hands as he admits this. He knew he would have to accept this one day or another. One day his brother will move out on his own to explore his own path in life. Then Choso will start to see him less and less. He hopes they won't grow apart and knows Yuji will always make an effort to spend time with him, but he's afraid of losing his brother. His only family he has.

“I think making new friends is a great idea, brother.” Yuji pats Choso on his back, flashing his unforgettable warm smile. It’s contagious, causing Choso to smile back.

“Okay…I need your help.” Choso picks his phone back up, unlocking it and opening your contact info again. “Don’t be mad Yuji…I forgot how to start a new text message again.” Choso laughs as he shows the screen to his brother. Yuji rolls his eyes, tapping the speech bubble icon on the contact page, effortlessly opening to a blank message. A line flashes in the empty text area, beckoning Choso to type.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　Your POV　 . ✦　　 . ★⋆.

You lean against the counter of the cafe, your shift dragging on. Only a few hours left until 5pm, closing time. Though the cafe really starts to die down after 3pm each day, currently there isn't a single customer. You wish you could close up early and call it a day, but there is always a chance of someone coming in for a late-night caffeine rush. You glance over at your younger coworker Sara, texting away on her phone. Her fingers typing furiously as she makes plans for tonight, Friday night. You sigh and pull your own phone out, knowing there isn't going to be anything. Ever since you gave Choso your number, you keep checking for a message, hoping for something that never arrives. Defeated, you slide the phone in the back pocket of your jeans. You frown. You were used to men ghosting you, but this time it hurt more for some reason.

BUZZ! Your phone vibrates in your pocket, startling you out of your self-pity. You quickly pull it back out. Unlocking the screen and staring at the message from the unsaved number.

Unknown number: Hey

You stare at it in disbelief. Is this him? Did he actually decide to text me? Excitement bubbles in your stomach as you type your response. He didn’t forget about you after all.

You: Hello, who is this?

You send your response, though you already know the answer. The next text comes instantly.

Unknown Number: Choso

You smile to yourself as you read his name again. You save his number in your contacts immediately. Sara looks over, a teasing smirk on her face.

“Who are you texting, Y/N?” she inches closer.

“None of your business,” you say, though your words have no bite to them. Sara just laughs and looks back at her own phone. You roll your eyes at your nosey coworker. She loves to gossip, loves to give unsolicited advice and loves to play matchmaker. It's annoying sometimes but in a little sister sort of way. You look back to your phone, noticing another text from Choso.

Choso: What are you doing?

You: Working :p

Choso: Oh…what do you do?

You: I work at Papa Coffee. It’s a cute café, you should come try it sometime.

Your heart races as you wait for his next text. The thought of seeing him with his silly pigtails in the cozy café decorated by your art, it warms your heart.

Choso: I looked it up, it's not far from my apartment actually.

Choso: Hey, want to hang out tonight? After you're done working?

You hold your breath as you read the last text. Hang out, he wants to hang out with you. Tonight! Yes, yes, yes! You say inside your head. You hear Sara giggle as she sees your eyes light up, smile growing bigger.

You: Sure, what do you want to do? :)

Choso: Soo…I don’t want to seem weird. But my brother is kicking me out for the night LOL. I can bring a movie if we can hang at your place??

My place? You think about your tiny little apartment. It seems risky to bring him to your home before you even really get to know him, he could be a murderer for all you know. Or am I just a booty call? You find yourself wondering. It's such an odd excuse to use to invite yourself over, but part of you pushes the worry away. You trust this odd stranger. So, you decide to take a leap of faith, putting all your trust into Choso.

You: Sure, I get out at 5. I’ll send you my address!

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

Time seems to move even slower now that you have plans to look forward to. A small rush of customers come in for some tea lattes, giving something for you and Sara to pass the time with. You wave to the customers as they leave with their to go cups, thanking them for their business. You check the time, 45 minutes left.

“Hey, I’m going to take a 15-minute break before we start hardcore cleaning.” You call to Sara as you hang the brown apron up on the wall, exchanging it for the bag dangling from the hook. She nods in understanding. You don’t smoke but your boss still wants everyone to take advantage of using their break times. Even if your break is just you sitting down to rest your feet and draw or have a quick snack. You walk over to the small seat in the corner, pulling out your sketchbook. You tap your pencil against your pursed lips, deep in thought.

“Welcome in” Sara’s customer service voice gets your attention. You glance up to see who walks through the front door, assessing if she needs help. Your eyes land on him. His puffy pigtails bouncing as he enters the cafe. He stands there, looking around, completely ignoring Sara as she tries to assist him.

“Choso?” you call surprised from the corner. What is he doing here? We planned to meet at my place, after I was done working. He turns as you call his name, spotting where you sit in the corner. He calls your name softly and waves, making his way toward the table and sitting in the seat across from you. You notice the ultra comfy clothes he wears, baggy black jeans and a gray sweatshirt.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, a soft smirk gracing your face at this surprise.

“I know I know, you're still working. I just got bored…and my brother’s friends arrived so it was time I left to give them space.” he leans back in his chair, taking in the sights of the café. His dark rimmed eyes roaming over every detail. The rustic interior, the twinkling fairy lights, your art framed on the walls. He looks back at you. “I don’t mind waiting,” he assures you. You set your sketchbook on the table and stand up.

“Well since you came all this way, let me make you a drink. My treat, a way of paying you back for my cab the other day. What would you like?” you offer.

“You really don’t need to worry about paying me back…but I'll never say no to a treat. Surprise me” he smirks.

You stand and walk back to the counter, hearing Choso’s thick shoes clomp behind you. You grab your apron and slip it on, tying it tight around your waist. Choso leans forward on the counter, resting his chin in his hand as he watches intently.

You grab a ceramic mug and begin to brew the espresso. While you wait, you steam some milk in a small metal pitcher. Your mind wanders, thinking of what kind of latte art you should surprise him with. An idea strikes you, it's going to be perfect.

Picking the mug of espresso up, you tilt it slightly to the side. The warm roasted aroma filling your nostrils. You start to swirl the steamed milk into the cup. Then lift the pitcher up to create more detailed swirls and blobs on the top. You are so engrossed in making this coffee masterpiece you don't notice the way Choso eyes your every move, curious as to what you're about to present to him. Then you pick up a toothpick, adjusting the way the foam sits on top to create some finishing details. You set the mug down and admire your work, sneaking a picture for the cafe’s instagram page before you hand it off to Choso.

You smile and set the mug down in front of him. Being made of coffee and steamed milk, it isn't the most detailed design but you can easily tell what it is. A round head with two swirly pigtails, the coffee showing underneath to create a distinct nose tattoo. Choso looks down at his coffee portrait, you see a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Is this…me?” he asks in disbelief, not looking up from the mug.

“Yup” you beam at him, extremely proud of this creation. He continues to inspect it, like glancing away will cause it to vanish.

“You're an amazing artist.” he finally looks up from the mug. You can't stop your cheeks warming at his praises, tucking a hair behind your ear shyly. “I don't even want to drink it, it would ruin the art” he looks back down at the cup.

“Thanks, but please enjoy it before it gets cold. I took a picture anyway.” You smile, watching as he picks the latte up for the first sip. His eyes widen as the taste crashes onto his tongue.

“Wow…that's a damn good coffee” He says softly, his tongue poking out to swipe over his soft lips. He glances over at a pile of prints you've made that sit in front of the cash register. His fingers start to mindlessly flip through them, admiring each one while sipping his drink. He stops when he sees a familiar scene. The rabbit in the woods. He pulls it out of the stack.

“You finished it.” he remarked. The color of the background is vibrant and green, the shadows of the trees stretching tall and ominous. But the center, that's the focal point. A small white rabbit, so soft you could feel it through the picture, its pink nose touching the lavender petal of the flower. He continues to look at it, warmth glowing in his dark eyes. You say nothing, just silently watch him admire your art. It's weird, how this comfortable silence sets over the two of you like you have known each other for decades.

“Ok enough yapping, let's clean up so I can go home” Sara’s no-nonsense tone interrupts the silence. You nod, ready to finish and head home with Choso.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

5 pm on the dot, You and Sara make for the doors of the coffee shop. Choso stands outside, his backpack over his shoulder, waiting for the two of you to finish the closing tasks.

“Oh wait!” Sara suddenly says before you flick off the light switch. She runs behind the counter, grabbing an envelope underneath. Thrusting it into your hands when she returns to your side.

“This is your art sales for today,” she explains. You cock your head, confused. You didn't realize anyone bought prints today. Sara points to Choso standing outside. “Your friend there bought the newest one, the little bunny, while you were in the back cleaning. He couldn't stop looking at it” She giggles.

“Oh! I had no idea. Thanks Sara” you smile, peeking inside the envelope. There was a lot of cash in here. “How much did you charge him?” You hiss, appalled. Stuffing the envelope in your bag.

“It wasn't me! He insisted!” Sara holds her hands up. “Look, I told him the price you had listed and he said, ‘that's way too cheap’ and paid double.” You can't help but giggle as you hear her deep imitation voice of Choso. You know you price your prints low, that's just how it works as a starting artist. Though you'll have to find a way to thank him for his generosity later.

You finish locking up the shop, double and triple checking everything is done properly, then say your goodbyes to Sara for the night as she turns in the opposite direction. You walk back up to Choso.

“Hope we didn’t make you wait too long.” you smile.

“Not at all,” he responds, his face showing no emotion at all.

“My apartment isn't too far from here either. Makes coming to work easy.” you start to walk down the street, beckoning him to follow. “You said you live around here too?” you ask curiously.

“About 10 minutes that way” he points behind us, the same direction Sara is walking. He’s been so close this whole time and you had no idea. It's crazy that you have never run into each other before.

You pass the time on this walk while talking about your day, you were honestly so nervous to be alone with him, you couldn't stop. One of your anxious habits, but he never made you uncomfortable, never judged. Just would listen, nod and hum in agreement as you talked. He was a great listener, always a man of few words himself. You wonder if he's just as nervous to be here with you as you are, but his facial expressions give nothing away. 7 minutes later you see your apartment building on the horizon. You reach in your bag and fish for your keys inside.

“What about you Choso? What do you do for work?” you ask as you continue searching for your keys, coming up to the steps of the brick complex.

“Hmmm…I would rather not talk about my job” he grumbles slightly, dodging the question completely. You are still curious but decide to press more another day. Maybe he had a really rough day today and doesn't want to think about it. You decided to keep tonight light-hearted and fun, no serious questions. Not yet.

You lead him through the main doors and up the stairs to the third floor. Your hand finally finds the cool metal of the key buried inside your bag. Unlocking and pushing the door open, unveiling a very messy apartment. There haven't been any visitors over in a while.

“Close your eyes!” you blurt out. A rumble of a laugh escapes his throat, but he does as you tell him. Closing his eyes as he waits in the doorway. You quickly rush around, throwing away take-out containers and picking up the pile of clothes you left in the bathroom. You leave the canvas you were painting on the dining room table, still needing to dry, but rinse out the dirty paint water cups you had lying around. One last look around and you decide this place looks…acceptable.

“Ok, you can open your eyes and enter” you call to him. He walks into your space, closing the door gently behind him. “I know it’s not a lot…but it's cozy.” You admit to him as his eyes wander over the interior. It's a small one-bedroom apartment with one bathroom and a combined kitchen and living room area. It's always been enough for you, a place to call your own.

“It’s nice” he gives a small smile as he walks over to your couch, plopping down like he's been here before. You quickly excuse yourself to the bedroom to change. Slipping on a comfortable pair of pink sweatpants and a loose worn-out band tee. You sit down next to him, being careful to keep a respectable space.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, pulling out your phone. He looks over and nods slowly. “Pizza?” you almost see a glimmer in his eyes at the word. You chuckle to yourself and open up the website for the local pizza place down the road. He scoots closer to look over your shoulder at your phone. His breath warm against your ear.

“Hey, that's my favorite place too!” he exclaims in excitement, the most emotion he's allowed himself to show all day. “My little brother and I order from there once a week. Get a supreme pizza, no mushroom extra onions” He's close to drooling as he speaks about his favorite order. The sight of this man, normally so stoic, getting so passionate about his pizza is honestly so cute. He notices you staring at him, wearing a smile. He takes a moment to compose himself again, clearing his throat and looking away. “I mean...only if you like that sort of thing”

You chuckle lightly. Then tap the options on the screen and place the order. 30 minutes.

“Hey! You should have let me pay” he objects.

“Nope! You way overpaid for the print you bought at the cafe.” you scold him. The tips of his ears turn bright red and he looks away. You caught him. He had no idea that Sara told you it was him who bought that cute bunny picture.

“Well…maybe you should charge your worth. Then I won't have to overpay” He grumbles under his breath. He acts like such a tough guy on the outside, but you see his soft interior shine through with each passing second.

You kill more time by chatting with Choso. Talking to him is so easy, it comes naturally. You feel as if you have known him your entire life. His dark eyes remained locked on yours the entire time. He asks lots of questions about your life and your passions. You show him your art account on Twitter and hand your phone to him, watching as he scrolls through. Various drawings of your favorite anime characters, replicated in your art style. A knock on your door startles the both of you. Pizza is here.

You stand from the couch and walk toward the door, glancing back to see Choso still engrossed in scrolling through the art on your phone. Opening the door, you see the delivery man on the other side. He looks at the receipt, repeating your name then looks up. Eyes roaming over your body uncomfortably. You nod at the sound of your name, reaching out for the pizza. He turns away, keeping it out of your reach.

“You're a pretty one,” he smirks, peering past you. From where he stands, he's unable to see inside your apartment and assumes you're all alone. “There is no way a girl like you can eat all this pizza by yourself. Need some company, dollface?” he licks his lips, looking at you like prey.

“No…I’m Fine-” he interrupts you by reaching out and grabbing your wrist with one hand, his other balancing the pizza box.

“Nonsense…” he tightens his grip, an evil grimace curling on his lips. You try to yank your hand away but he has you captured too tightly. Blood pumping through you, roaring in your ears, you freeze. A deer caught in the headlights. Through your panic, you don’t notice the quiet footsteps of your muscular friend coming behind you. Not until you hear his hand grip the front door, the wood groaning under his strength. You look up, Choso stands behind you glaring down at the delivery man threateningly. The man looks back, releasing your hand quickly. Fear crossed his face as Choso continued to glare.

“Pizza” Choso commands, his deep voice echoing in the hallway. The man hesitates for a moment before thrusting it into your hands. The air between the two men grows thick, tense. So you retreat back inside, wanting to stay far away from what might unfold next. Setting the pizza on your counter you peek back over by the door. Seeing Choso with his arms folded, talking sternly. The man then nods and bows apologetically before sprinting toward the exit of the complex. Choso closes the door, locking it, then walks back to where you stand in the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, he holds out his hand, palms up, in front of the wrist the man grabbed. He looks up at you, concern swimming in the dark orbs of his eyes. You hesitate before placing your wrist into his hand.

“I’m fine. Thank you” you whisper, trying to sound brave. It’s obvious how scared and rattled you really were. You don’t trust most men, they are all creeps with bad intentions. All except for the one standing in front of you, who holds your wrist so gingerly. His rough thumb lightly gliding over where the man gripped you, soothing any remaining pain. You don’t pull away, allowing his touch to calm your heart rate. All your worries melting away.

“Pizza will get cold” you whisper, staring at his fingers. Part of you doesn’t want to eat anymore, the warm meal tainted with the memory of this encounter. Your stomach growls loudly. The other part of you clearly craves this. Choso releases his hand from you, his face turning to his normal unbothered look. Your wrist now feels slightly cold, missing his warm touch.

You each fill your plates with a few slices of pizza. Then make your way to the couch in the living room. He reaches into the backpack, pulling out a DVD case.

“Movie time?” he asks, holding up the DVD. You read the title.

“Human Earthworm 4?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. “Never heard of it.” He hands it to you, which you pop into your PS4 and plop back down next to Choso.

“Yeah…my brother has been asking me to watch this for years now.” he laughs warmly. “He told me to watch it tonight, I guess it doesn't matter if we haven't seen parts 1 through 3”

You both settle next to each other on the couch, you look down at your pizza. Bell peppers. You hate them. Picking them each off one by one, you place them on top of Choso’s pizza. He eyes you, skeptical.

“You don’t like peppers? We didn’t have to order this pizza…we could have gotten something you liked instead.”

“You just seemed so excited about this.” you giggle. “More peppers for you I guess” you shrug. He simply rolls his eyes at you but doesn't complain. The room is filled with the sounds of chewing and the strange movie on the TV. You find yourself instinctually shifting closer and closer to Choso, until your shoulders touch.

Twenty minutes into this movie, this god-awful movie. You are confused by the plot and the worms really gross you out. You sneak a glance at Choso, wanting to glimpse his reaction to the film. As you turn your head, he stands up without a word, walking over to the TV and turning it off. His eyes meet yours, a blank expression you can't read. You burst out laughing, which must have been infectious because his laughter followed suit.

“I’m going to kill Yuji” he wipes a tear from his eye. You can’t control your laughter, buckling over on the couch. That movie was seriously so bad.

“Next time, I’ll pick the movie.” You giggle after composing yourself again.

You shift into playing a board game for the rest of the night. You learned that Choso has a fondness for games just as you do. The game Life being a favorite for both. You play games, chat and listen to music together. You see more and more of that soft side of Choso, seeing him open up slightly. Seeing his playful humor shine through his usual quiet demeanor. It’s addicting to watch his personality unfold before you.

As the night winds down, the two of you settle into the couch. A documentary on dinosaurs playing quietly on the TV. Choso fights his tired eyes to stay open, he planned on going back home tonight once his brother’s friends left. You pull a blanket over the two of you, huddling up next to him. That seemed to be the last straw, accepting his fate, his eyes fluttered shut. No longer able to fight sleep. You take a moment to watch him. His beautiful peaceful face. His head flops down onto your shoulder, his pigtails tickling the skin of your neck. Butterflies take flight inside your stomach.

“Choso?” you whisper softly to him.

“Mmm…” he murmurs, adjusting his head to get even more comfortable against the dip between your shoulder and neck. You decide to let him sleep against you for a bit, he always looks so tired he must need a good night’s rest. You lean your head onto his, loving the warmth radiating between your bodies.

“What were you even doing in Shibuya that night…” you whisper, wondering out loud. That moment, a moment led by fear and worry became a turning point in your life. That moment led to now, to a sweet sleepy Choso snoozing away on your shoulder. You don’t expect him to respond, but he continues to surprise you.

“Saving you” he breathes quietly in response, you're not even sure if he's awake. If he's talking in his sleep or if he knows what he's saying. Either way, you smile. You had your suspicions that he's the reason you were alive. To you, he's a hero.

dividers by @anitalenia

A/N: thanks for reading! :) I'm trying to work on uploading everything I have posted on my Ao3 so expect chapter 4 later this week too!

Also! If anyone wants to be added to a taglist for this fic let me know!

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stinkrascal · 10 months ago

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previous | next | beginning

TRANSCRIPT

Breanna: You like to drink, huh? Vladislaus: I was planning to clean... Breanna: Uhuh, I bet. Vladislaus: [ clears throat ] It is no matter, we must continue our training. Breanna: Training? We can't count all that walking we did as training?

Vladislaus: Training one's powers is very different from training one's legs, my dear. Breanna: To be honest, I think I got the hang of it. Vladislaus: What makes you say that? Breanna: I dunno, I just do.

Vladislaus: Very well, then. Perhaps our training can wait. It's dawned upon me I know very little about you. Breanna: I dunno nothing about you.

Vladislaus: Tell me something about yourself. Breanna: You tell me. Vladislaus: About... yourself? Breanna: About you, dumbie. Vladislaus: ...What would you care to know?

Breanna: Where you from? Vladislaus: I can't say. Breanna: What, it's a secret? Vladislaus: I have no memory of my origins. Breanna: Oh. Oopsies. Well I'm from Louisiana, I lived in Evangeline parish most my life.

Vladislaus: What about your family? Breanna: ...What about them? Vladislaus: You must have someone worth mentioning. Breanna: I got a mom and a sister. That's it. Vladislaus: That's it? Breanna: Well, I used to date this one guy... Vladislaus: What of your father? Breanna: He died when I was little.

Vladislaus: I'm sorry. Breanna: It's fine, I don't even think about him honestly. What about you? Do you got any family? Vladislaus: None that I remember.

Vladislaus: I have spent two centuries here. It is only here that I have any meaningful memories. My spawn are my family, now. Caleb, Lilith... and you. Breanna: Huh? Oh. Cool.

Vladislaus: [ chuckles ] Perhaps cool is not the word I would use to describe one losing their memories to the passage of time, but to each their own. Breanna: Nah dude, I hope I lose every last one.

Vladislaus: You say this, but when your past begins to feel like a distant dream, I think you will feel differently.

Breanna: I think you got a big fuckin' head.

Vladislaus: All I ask is you pace yourself. The transition from human to vampire is more overwhelming than you give credit.

Breanna: I'm being careful, you don't have to remind me. I'm not stupid.

Vladislaus: I am urging caution, that is all. I realize your quick progress has emboldened you, but that is all the more reason to heed my warning, girl.

Vladislaus: You cut it very close today. Breanna: ...It really was an accident. Vladislaus: I never said it wasn't.

Vladislaus: You are only a fledgling. Of course, it is so that your powers... escape you at times. That is why I urge you to be cautious, my dear.

Vladislaus: [ snickers ] And that is why we have a rigorous training routine! Breanna: Rigorous, my ass. We haven't done shit today. Vladislaus: Nothing escapes you.

Breanna: Uhuh. You're alright Mr. Straud. Vladislaus: Vladislaus, please. Breanna: My momma always told me to respect my elders. Vladislaus: Thank you for that. Breanna: So how old are you anyways?

Vladislaus: [ sighs ] Old enough to know better. Breanna: I'm 21 by the way. Vladislaus: Good to know. Breanna: So you're like 30? Vladislaus: Is that a serious question?

Breanna: Yes? Vladislaus: I am well over two centuries old, my dear. Breanna: Oh. I meant, like, your body. Vladislaus: Isn't it rude to pry a man about his age? Breanna: That's only for women dumbass.

Vladislaus: Where do you think you're going? Breanna: Oh, nowhere. Just going to find Lily. I gotta ask her something important. Vladislaus: Have you forgotten your training? Breanna: We're vampires, why would we train in the sun?

Breanna: Shouldn't we train at night? Vladislaus: I hear your point. Breanna: It's pretty sad you need me to tell you how to do your job dude. Vladislaus: It is, isn't it?

Vladislaus: Farewell, little creature. Stay out of trouble. Breanna: Always!! ❤

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 story #sims 4 story #vladislaus straud #oc: breanna turner #🌱#straud: all #straud: standstill #idk why but breanna also being from louisiana is so embarrassing to me like im embarrassed to post this #yeehaw i guess

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 9 months ago

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The Warrior's Wrath - Part 2

Source for pic

Word Count: 5994

Tags: Medieval Scotland AU; Highlander Kid; Blurry non-con; Angst without happy ending; Fluff and angst; have I mentioned ANGST? soft Kid; feral Kid; Blood and gore; Killer might have a crush on reader (didn’t notice I did this until I was editing); MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You and Kid, the fiercest worry of your village, get married and happiness is just within your reach. Until Blackbeard, the laird, comes to claim prima nocta and takes you. Somehow, you are able to placate Kid’s anger before you go, yet, when you return filled with marks and bruises, Kid can no longer be controlled.

Notes: Highlander Kid lives rent free in my head and I can’t help it. This one got away from me, though. I meant it to be around 5 or 6k words, it turned out to be almost 13k. Historical note, there’s no concrete historical evidence to support the existence of prima nocte, but this story was heavily inspired by Braveheart - God, I love this movie. I do hope you enjoy it! I’m so sorry for breaking your heart again. I thrive on angst!

PS: Decided to compromise and split this into two parts but posted at the same time!

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane

MASTERLIST

|Part 1|

Kid slept through lunch and most of the afternoon and when he woke up, you had already instructed Killer to ask him for help with a very important task that needed his craftsman expertise, so he wouldn't observe you too closely again.

Killer gave you a frown and a veiled judgmental look that you decided to ignore and, by the time they returned, you had dinner on the table. Kid's portion had a special ingredient in it.

And it wasn't just love.

He fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow and a soft sigh left your parted lips as you cleaned the table and applied more poultice to your wounds. They seemed less inflamed now. Their colour was a bit more faded and the swelling on most of them had gone down.

You nodded as you prepared for bed. You could do this.

-*-

You were woken by a wave of heat and pleasure. Something so strong that immediately pulled a moan from your open mouth.

The room was dimly lit by the light of the crescent moon coming through the window and the small flame of the burning embers in the fireplace, but you could make out Kid’s fiery red hair between your parted thighs. Though you didn't need any sight to realise what he was doing.

His tongue licked and lapped at your lower lips, tasting, sucking nibbling. He was teasing you awake with the gentleness of his touch, purposely dragging his tongue around your clit.

“Kid!” You huffed, eyes shutting hard as your fingers clenched the sheets.

“We still haven't tried this bed out, lass. I don't know why I've been so tired, but I'm not postponing this anymore.” His calloused hand grabbed the back of your knee as he hoisted your leg over his shoulder. “The other one.” He commanded you as you silently obeyed and placed your other leg on top of him.

The room was dark. He wouldn't notice the dark finger-shaped bruises around your hips. There was barely any light, he wouldn't notice the crust already coating the bite mark on your right thigh. You could scarcely see the orange of his eyes so there was no way he would notice the purple of the bruises on your buttocks.

Right?

Besides, you couldn't even think straight as he plunged two digits inside you and bullied your throbbing nub. His efforts now only aimed to get you off as you were already awake, all previous gentleness quickly forgotten. The pressure building in your core made your legs clench around his head and he groaned into you, the low vibrato of his voice adding another layer of pleasure, tightening the coil and making your back arch.

The pain from the bruises on your back and the bites on your nape mingled with the waves of pleasure that overtook you almost without warning.

“Mmph, Kid! I'm gonna-...” You didn't even finish your sentence as it turned into a litany of moans and mewls, thighs clenching and squeezing Kid's head, pulling him further into you as you rode out your high on his face. “Stop, enough, love.” You tapped his head lightly as your legs released him from your grasp, clit aching and throbbing, begging for rest.

He emerged with a wicked grin on his face. “All tapped out, lass? This is just the beginning. I'm not done with ya.”

Your heart leapt and rejoiced at his words, but your body was so tired and sore that it begged for rest. You needed to stall him.

“My love, let me just brew us some tea. I'm so tired that I need a little pick-me-up.” You kissed his forehead and swung your legs to the side to get up. You were naked - Kid's work - but quickly stirred the embers in the fireplace, adding some kindling and bringing it back to a roaring flame so you could heat some water. You planned to mix a bit of nightshade in Kid's tea. That would put him to sleep.

Except you didn't notice how your husband silently followed you to the brightness of the fireplace - he was the fiercest warrior for a reason.

As big as he was, he moved with the stealth of a stag, so you didn't hear him until his hand was on your arm, stilling your movements. Biting your lip you tried to suppress a hiss. He could see you clearly now.

All of you.

All of your bruises and marks and cuts.

All of your shame.

Your eyes searched for his, embarrassment and fear written all over your face. He gazed at you with a piercing scowl on his lips, orange orbs scrutinising every bit of skin, taking in the full extent of what the laird had done to you.

To his wife!

“Kid…”

“So ya weren't disgusted by me.” He grunted. “I thought ya just didn't want me anymore. But ya were just hiding this.” He dragged out the last word, his growl shifting the sound to something dangerous.

“I…”

“That fucker.” The eerie calmness of his voice made all the hairs on your body bristle and brought tears to your eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid.

The tea, he needed the tea.

“Let me just-...” He cut you and your movements off by grabbing your waist and laying you down on the deer pelt you had on the floor - you had put it there for cuddling.

“Shut up, lass.” His voice was hoarse and pained. He forced you to lie back as his eyes ran over your body, taking in all the wounds, bites, scratches, cuts and bruises. There were so many. You knew.

You lay still. Your eyes shut as you tried to keep your tears hidden inside. You never wanted to hide something like this from him, but you had to.

“Did ya really think I wouldn't notice this?” You had never heard him speak so calmly. It was another stage of rage you had never encountered. And it was terrifying.

“I hoped I could hide it from you.” The whisper that left your lips felt foreign and odd. And you still couldn't meet his gaze.

“For how long? Ya were going to deny me for how long?”

Biting back a sob you shook your head and scrunched your shoulders. “How long it took.”

“That fucker hurt ya. Why? Ya fought back? If ya wanted to fight I was ready for it before he took ya! Ya didn't have to do it alone!” He emphasised his anger with a punch to the floor and you inhaled deeply. This type of anger you were familiar with.

“It wasn't like that. He realised I wasn't a maiden anymore. Then he ripped my wedding dress and told me he would make me forget you.” Finally your eyes met Kid's as you smirked and a silent tear ran down the corner of your eye. “I told him there was no chance of it happening with his tiny dick.”

You saw as your husband's lips twitched, and his orange eyes brightened with the slightest hint of humour. Yet he didn't laugh.

“So he did that.” He gestured to your body and you nodded solemnly. You had to find a way to drug him before he did something drastic.

Except he just inhaled. A deep breath as he closed his eyes. You could almost feel his anger draining away from him so you didn't dare speak a word.

When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but love in them. Kid lowered himself above your body and you felt his lips on yours, very softly, then they moved towards the bruise on your jaw. You let out a low hiss because of the pressure but he didn't say anything. Instead he continued, kissing every bruise on your neck, on your breasts, chest, belly, legs, thighs…

Your husband worshipped your body like he had never done before. You knew he loved you deeply, and you loved him beyond anything rational, but he showed his love with coarse gestures, with brutish affection. Never like this.

Slowly you laced your arms around his neck, pulling him back to you just as you saw his fist clenching, knuckles turning white and veins protruding from his biceps. He was stuck on your thighs, where there were some of the worst bruises.

“My love.” You brought him back to reality, pressing your lips firmly against his, noticing the lingering scent and taste of yourself in his mouth, not caring one bit. “It’s still me. I’m fine. Forget it, please forget it.”

Kid didn’t say anything. He pressed his knee against your legs and you parted them so he could slot himself there. He kept trailing kisses all over your body. Soft kisses. So, so soft. He was trying to caress you at the same time, but with only one arm he couldn’t find support to keep upright.

Grunting and cursing about his limitation, he sat down and used his arm to hoist you up so you could sit on his lap, one leg on each side. You used this leverage to grab his face with your hands, tracing your fingers through the scar on his face and kissing him gently. “Kid…” You didn’t quite know what you were about to say. Something to try and steer away his anger.

Whatever it was, it was quickly set aside when he claimed your lips again. A kiss so sweet and so soft, so unlike anything you were used to, that it almost brought tears to your eyes. Clawing with your hands, you pulled his shirt over his head and aligned yourself with his hard dick.

His arm circled your back as his hand settled on your nape, deepening the kiss and he gave a gentle thrust, sheathing himself completely and swallowing your soft moan. You rocked your hips gently, following his slow pace.

It was utterly different from all the times you had been together with him and yet, still as pleasurable as when he was using you brutally. You couldn’t explain why this heat coming from within you felt different, except that it just did. It built in soft waves, spreading slowly to your toes and making your head light. So much so that you had to bury your face in the crook of his neck, your fingers tangling themselves amidst red locks as faint moans escaped your lips, just to keep you tethered to reality.

His head fell on your shoulder as well, lips kissing softly instead of biting angrily; his hand caressing you instead of pressing and bruising. He was treating you as if you were a delicate flower instead of the wild thistle he knew you were.

And for all the old gods and the new, you didn’t even know you needed to be treated this gently until the tears started streaming down your face. Hot droplets, one or two at first, and then an unending torrent. You saw them fall on Kid’s shoulder, and you were sure he felt them because he stopped for a second before resuming his languid, soft thrusts.

“It’s ya and me lass.” He whispered near your ear while his arm gripped you tighter. “Always ya and me. Always.” He punctuated each word with a harder thrust and the wave of pleasure that hit you with the last ‘always’ came unannounced, crashing over you like a raging tsunami, making you cry out his name as your whole body clenched around him, locking him in a desperate embrace.

He finished a few thrusts later and you remained locked together for a while. You don’t really remember falling asleep, you recall him softly cleaning you up and helping you to bed as you muttered softly: “It’s me and you Kid.”

And then darkness took over.

-*-

The dawn came too fast. Light seeped through the window lazily as the birds chirped their morning song, too close to your window, reminding you that it was time to get up and get ready for the day.

You felt happy. Your heart lighter than it had been since your wedding day. Last night you had made love with your husband. You loved the way he roughed you up, taking you hard and possessively, claiming you as his whenever and however he pleased.

But last night felt different. And it was healing in more ways than one.

Your hand reached for his side of the bed, searching for his body so you could claim some cuddles and kisses. Even if he protested a bit, you knew he was a softie for your affection.

But the bed was cold and he was gone.

Gasping, you jolted upright, stifling a cry of pain as your body protested with the effort. Your eyes immediately went to the mantle, to the designated place of his axe, silently praying and begging all the gods for it to be there, resting idly against it.

It wasn’t there.

Nausea overtook you and you barely had time to find a bucket to vomit of bile that surged up from your stomach. You knew where he was.That was why he had been so gentle and so caring last night.

He had gone to seek vengeance.

-*-

After he put you to bed, Kid donned his kilt, a scowl on his lips as he regarded your spent, sleeping form. He could still recall the shape and indent of every bruise, every bite mark, every scrape and - that fucking fucker - every cut.

There was no way he would let this pass.

Throughout the night you were gone, he had come to terms with what happened. Flanked by his best friends - Killer, Heat and Wire - they had drunk themselves into a stupor. He was willing to forgive that laird bastard for what he had done.

Kid had promised you.

But now he was seeing red. After what he had seen, after the marks that useless arse had left on your body and your soul - your tears had broken Kid in two - he would never let that bastard live another day.

With you tucked safely in bed, he pressed his lips to your forehead. You were the love of his life. He had never felt this way about anything or anyone. He had learned long ago that vulnerability was a weakness, something to be taken advantage of.

Except with you.

With you he could be vulnerable, kind, gentle, warm… you would never judge. Only reciprocate.

“I love you forever.” He mumbled into your hair as his hand lingered with one last caress before he left your home.

He was going alone. With all the rage he felt, he knew he could take on the world if it stepped in his path. Except the one who did was Killer.

“Where ya going?” Killer asked, a soft chuckle letting Kid know he already knew the answer.

“Claim some blood. Wanna come with?” The growl that accompanied his statement was involuntary.

“Been waiting for it. I saw that fucking bruise on her jaw. That fucker.”

They both started to pace towards the dense forest. “Those were not the only ones. He scarred her all over. Fucking bastard, I’m gonna carve a grin on his fucking face.”

“We’ll help.” Heat and Wire said, emerging from the shadows.

Kid grinned maniacally. Fuck, the four of them would burn the world down.

Just for you.

-*-

As you left the house, looking frantically for Kid, hoping he was just sparring with Killer, you realised that all of the four warriors were gone. Your stomach churned again and you threw up some more behind a bush.

Your worst fears had come true. This was all your fault, you forgot to give him the tea.

Tears streamed down your face as your heart clenched in your chest. He would come to you alive, you knew that perfectly well, but he would never live down the murdering of a laird. He would be sentenced and executed. Hanged, most likely, beheaded if there was any justice left in this world.

But he would be torn from your arms. For eternity.

As you slumped to the floor, your wet eyes fixed on the battered path that came from the woods and led straight into the village, you heard him. A boisterous laugh, a thunderous cocky roar of victory. He’d done it.

-*-

Kid had gone straight to the laird’s quarters, leaving his men to handle whatever else came along. They were told to try and hold back on the killing, but they were free to do as they pleased.

Fortunately for them, most of Blackbeard’s household hated his guts. They let them pass without bothering them. Only some of his personal guards gave them trouble. But Kid strode on. His eyes burned with rage, his hand clenched around the handle of his axe, which was calling for blood.

Kicking the door of his room down, Kid rejoiced from the startled yelp that came from the bed. The bastard had been in a deep slumber, but Kid wanted him wide awake for what was coming next.

“Lass, go away.” Your husband growled at the girl that was in bed with Blackbeard, a very young girl. And that only managed to fuel Kid’s rage. A groggy Blackbeard tried to get up, but Kid drew a knife from his belt and threw it at him, hitting his nose with the hilt and eliciting another yelp.

“Ya stay right there.”

With two long strides and while the laird was still clutching his nose in pain, Kid approached and, as soon as his enemy removed his hands from his face, he delivered a powerful punch to the same spot where the knife had hit, effectively making him lie back down.

“I said, stay down, fucker.”

Kid snarled, his lips curling back, revealing his menacing canines.

Blackbeard opened and closed his eyes between groans, as the punch from your husband had made him very dizzy, almost unconscious. A perfect stage for what came next.

With dexterous fingers, Kid tied Blackbeard’s wrists together, threw them over his head, and secured them to the bedpost. He repeated the procedure with his legs, and then nodded in approval.

“Just like a fucking pig ready for slaughter. Ya fucking asshole.”

The laird blinked, his mouth opening and closing, revealing his many missing teeth and lending him a terrified look. Your husband leaned down, putting his face right next to Blackbeard’s bleeding nose. “Remember me?”

Blackbeard spat in Kid’s face, which only managed to make Kid's cackle more menacing. “I remember your wife very well. She squirmed a lot beneath me and-...”

Kid didn't let him finish as his forehead collided with Blackbeard’s mouth, knocking out a few more teeth. “Keep my wife's name out of ya filthy fucking mouth or I make this last way longer than it needs to. And ya won't like it.”

“Her name wasn't the only thing in my mouth.” He taunted and Kid cracked his knuckles against his leg.

“The long way it is, then. Even better.” It was a good thing that Blackbeard was too busy blinking back tears from the sting of the headbutt, or he would've noticed the unhinged glint in Kid's eyes.

It was also fortunate that he was spitting out teeth and blood for a good part of the minute because he missed seeing Kid lay out his knives, ready to exact his vengeance. In the slowest, most painful way possible.

-*-

You got up on shaky legs, nausea still making you wobbly, but you strode with purpose towards your husband, your eyes wide as saucers and your mouth hanging open.

You had seen him bloodied from fights and hunts before, but right now he was soaked in blood. Head to toe, there was barely an inch of skin that was clean.

With each step you took, more tears fell from your eyes, and your heart clenched more tightly. Breath hitched in your throat as your limbs trembled and shook relentlessly.

“You idiot, reckless, careless, moron!”

Killer whistled as he, Heat and Wire stepped out of your way.

“Feckless gowk, you're always, always, thinking with your fist instead of your head, Kid! Why?” Your voice grew louder and louder, reaching a screech so high that would make a forest banshee squeak in fear. As soon as you reached him, he greeted you with his cocky smirk, tilting his head sideways and looking down at you with a bit of blood smeared near his lip.

“Hello, lass. Miss me?”

You clenched your fists, relentless tears still dripping down your face, drenching you in sorrow. Pressing yourself against him, you punched his chest, over and over while your eyes tightened and sobs clawed at your throat.

Somehow you still managed to speak between heaves and hiccups.

“You promised me a lifetime! A lifetime entails an actual life! Why did you do this, Kid, why? Gods, why?” Your legs gave out but before you collapsed, his strong arm enveloped your waist, pulling you into a crushing embrace.

You locked eyes with him and his were filled with tenderness. Something he reserved only for you.

“Lass, for ya I'd make the whole world bleed. Over and over again until all the rivers ran red.”

His words hung around you, heavy and painful and you kept sobbing into his chest, your fingers clawing and clenching his blood-soaked shirt.

“It's ya and me, love. No one in between.” He finished as you felt yourself drifting into unconsciousness. “Forever.”

-*-

You barely had a few hours with him before the sheriff came to take Kid away to the gaols. He didn't protest. You however did.

Your screams were heard all over the Highlands. How it wasn't fair, how the laird was dreadful and terrible and how no one liked him or thought he was fit to lead. You even showed them most of your bruises.

When none of that worked, you dropped to your knees and pleaded. You begged like never before.

To no avail.

They didn't even let you say goodbye to him properly.

-*-

Kid had weeks to ponder his wrongdoings as he sat in jail. He was pondering all right, but they were not wrongdoings in his eyes.

He thought about the way it felt as the tip of the knife sank into the laird’s thigh, right where you had a mark. He thought about the cut he made from Blackbeard’s lip to the exact place where the bruise on your jaw was. He also thought about the joy it gave him when he ripped the laird’s balls out with his bare hands.

It was such a shame the bastard passed out from shock and blood loss immediately afterward. Such a shame.

On other days, most of them, actually, Kid thought about you. Your scent, your touch, your lips, your hair, your smile…

But mostly, your love.

-*-

You tried everything. You spoke with the highest ranks in the clan - the ones who were deciding both Kid's fate and who ruled the land - but they quickly dismissed you.

You spoke with the druid who had officiated your wedding but he couldn't do anything to help. When you managed to speak with the sheriff, he told you Kid had made a deal of his own. He would gladly pay the ultimate price and serve as an example: even if the laird was a total bastard, there could be no rebellion, much less from within the clan.

But only if his friends were spared the repercussions. Killer, Heat and Wire wouldn't be charged.

The sheriff accepted.

-*-

They decided on a beheading. Which was much more humane than just leaving someone dangling from a noose. That was torture if the neck didn't snap right away.

Kid was grateful for that.

They were going to make an example out of him, but they were still thankful for the service he had provided. Blackbeard had been in charge for a short time but the damage had been extensive. Both to the vaults and to the towns and villages under his command.

The sheriff confessed - over drinks Kid should have been denied but wasn’t - that he should be made a hero instead of a martyr. But life was just like that. ‘One minute you're here, the next you're dead.’

Kid tried to push his luck a bit more and asked to see you.

The sheriff said he would see what could be done, but his smile and wink gave Kid hope.

Kid just needed to make sure you were all right. He knew you would be mad at him, cursing him, condemning his soul to wander aimlessly with all the grudge you held against his actions, and he needed to apologise to you.

Not for what he did, he would do it all over again - except, maybe, leave the laird conscious for more time - but for what he put you through. And for breaking his promise.

He would love you forever, that he would. Except his forever would be far shorter than yours. And perhaps that was something you couldn't forgive.

-*-

When the sheriff came to get you so you could see Kid, you almost wept. You were knee-deep in your herb garden, trying to gather some peppermint and chamomile to brew a tea that might help keep food in your stomach, as you didn’t seem able to hold anything down these days.

You were mistaken, though. You thought he meant you could bring Kid home to you. But it was just so you could say goodbye. His execution was scheduled for the next day.

Quincy and Killer had to help you through your shock as you tried to regain your breath. Even the sheriff seemed flustered by your fit. Yet how could you help it? When the love of your life was going to be executed?

After your friends forced you to drink some of that tea, you accompanied the sheriff to the gaols, dread making your stomach churn as the nausea returned tenfold. The smell of the gaols alone was enough to make anyone queasy.

But soon enough the sheriff led you to a small room - not his cell - where Kid was waiting for you, his wrist shackled to the stone wall. As soon as his bright orange eyes fixed on yours, you became a sobbing mess.

Closing the distance between you with a small sprint, you jumped and dangled from his neck as he took two steps back gaining enough leverage from the chain to hug you back. “Kid! Kid! Gods… oh, gods…” Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you sobbed and cried until your throat was raw and your tears had dried.

“There, there, lass. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He kept repeating those soothing words, his dry lips placing gentle kisses on your skin. You showed no signs of letting him go anytime soon, so he slumped against the wall and slid down, cradling you in his strong lap as your arms held on for dear life around his thick neck.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard the soft thump of Kid’s head against the wall and you moved to look into his eyes. He looked pained and exhausted as he let out a deep sigh.

“Forgive me, lass.” His mumble made his chest rumble and, instinctively, you pressed closer to him. “I broke our vows. I cannot give ya forever. But I’ll always love ya.”

Fresh tears ran down your face, gathering at your chin and dripping off. You didn’t even bother with cleaning your face as the tears would only carve new paths, like a river that keeps flowing, shaping the earth as it passes.

“Will ya? Forgive me?” You should. You wanted to. But his parting would leave a chasm so big within you that you didn’t know if you could. Besides, there was something else he needed to know.

“I’m carrying a child in my womb.” You said softly. You had suspected it for a while, but now that your monthly cycle had fully stopped, you were sure.

You felt him stiffen against you, the soft caresses of his hand against your back suddenly halting as he turned his head to look into your eyes. You indulged him by lifting your head, a strained smile pressed upon your lips as you realised, far too late now, that this information was bringing regret to his eyes.

If you had known sooner, perhaps you could have prevented this. He might’ve stayed home instead of seeking vengeance. He would still be with you tomorrow, and the day after, and the one after that. Because there would be a child to tend to as well.

Except there was a slight problem.

With a trembling lip and shifting eyes, you grasped his dirty ragged shirt. “I don’t know… gods, Kid I don’t know if the child is…”

“It’s mine.” He roared. A primal growl escaping his lips as he swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “I know it’s mine. I know it, lass.”

You nodded at him, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks once more. “It’s yours.” Kid dipped his head as he took your lips into his and you couldn’t bear the thought that these moments were the last you would spend with your other half. “Kid, beg for clemency. Please, Kid. Beg for your life. Say you’ll repent for your sins. Admit you were wrong and ask for mercy. For me, for the child, for us! Please, Kid, please!”

He shook his head softly, seemingly out of strength to contradict you, and you continued. “Please! They hated the laird, they’ll forgive you if you plead enough! Even if you stay in jail for the rest of your life, please, love! Please!”

The words kept catching in your throat. Desperate, raw, filled with sorrow and grief. You didn’t know what else to do.

He simply kissed your forehead and sighed. “Lass, a warrior doesn’t beg. A warrior has his pride. I will not beg.” He seemed resigned to his fate now, you knew there was nothing else you could say that would swindle his will. He was a warrior through and through and you knew he would never live in shame. Even if it meant he had to be away from you.

“Please…” You begged one last time.

“Love, ya’ll stay away tomorrow. I don’t want ya at the beheading. I don’t want ya to remember me like that. Ya’ll stay home, feed, take care of our child. Raise him to be a strong, powerful warrior like his father. Stay away.”

You shook your head as another fresh wave of sobs made your shoulder heave. “Say you’ll beg, Kid, please, for us…”

“Stay home, forgive me. Make me these promises, lass, so I can go in peace.” This unfamiliar softness in his voice only broke you more. You needed to forgive him so he could rest in the afterlife. You knew that. But you also knew that forgiving him meant you had to accept the fact that you would never see him again.

That he was lost forever.

And that was a terrifying thought.

Instead you pressed your lips against his, deepening the kiss, drawing him close, clawing at his body in desperation and grasping every bit of him, trying to imprint his mark upon yourself so you could forever remember the shape of his body against yours.

After an eternity you whispered: “Aye, Kid. I forgive you. I love you forever.”

“And always.” He finished in a mournful tone.

-*-

Quincy stayed with you. Killer wanted to be at your side, to help you through the pain, but you needed Kill to be there for Kid. You were still hoping he would beg for mercy. Deep down you knew he never would, but there was a very slight tingle of hope in the pit of your stomach and you almost didn’t dare give it any attention.

Your nausea was overwhelming and you were bedridden, barely eating and with no will to even open your eyes.

Noon was the time of the execution. Ten minutes to go.

“He’ll beg. He has to beg.” You whispered to the wind, Quincy was holding your hand, feeding you tea from time to time, her face heavy with the loss.

Five minutes…

“Quincy… he can’t leave me! He can’t!” The sobs and hiccups pulled more bile from your stomach, your limbs trembling relentlessly as your head throbbed and ached.

Noon.

The bells didn’t ring and you hoped. Your breath hitched in your throat. They only rang the bells when the execution was over. The bells were silent.

The bells were silent.

Shallow breaths left your parted lips, your tears frozen in your eyelids as your hand crushed Quincy’s, who stood by you without making a sound.

Then the relentless toll of the bells started. Each toll carved away a piece of your heart. Each chime brought a wave of agony up your chest. Each clang resounded deep in your soul, bringing flashes of the brief time you spent with Kid: his smiles, his frowns, his growls, his eyes… the light in his bright orange eyes which you would see no more.

The pain was unbearable.

With each heave you made, gasping for air that seemed to never reach your lungs, your heart broke another piece. With each wail that left your lips, a part of your soul left with it. Your heart had parted from this world.

And now you were left empty.

Forever.

-*-

“Push! Push, lass! A little harder, come on!” House instructed, her hands deep in your thighs, helping the baby be born.

You were spent. The last eight hours had been laborious, painful and filled with memories. You were physically drained and emotionally exhausted.

“I can’t!” You whined, a fresh bout of tears leaving your eyes as you cursed and tried to push.

“Ya can! Ya know why?” House looked up from your thighs, a wicked smile spread upon her lips as she lifted her bloodied hands and clapped, droplets of blood flying around her. “I see a redhead!”

And with a hearty laugh you gave a final push, your strength renewed, your love rekindled.

“It’s a boy!” House exclaimed as the sweet sound of cries filled your ears.

-*-

The stone marker was very simple. Heat had carved a red flame upon the stone with Kid’s name on it. Every month you visited it, leaving a wreath of wildflowers on top of it. White heather and clovers, primroses and daisies, meadowsweet, and ropes of ivy to symbolise fidelity and eternity.

An exact copy of the headdress you wore on the day of your wedding. You didn’t take any other man, though you didn’t make that promise to Kid, you couldn’t find enough strength in you to give yourself to another person.

And Kid would be waiting for you in the afterlife. You were sure of it.

Your child was already one year old. A fiery redheaded boy, the spitting image of his fierce father. Every night you stared at him for the longest of times, seeing so much of Kid on your son, wishing your husband were by your side to share the joy.

He would have loved to carry the little one on his shoulders, to make him giggle, to spin him in the air… he would’ve been proud to train him in the ways of the warrior, to follow Kid’s footsteps.

He would’ve been proud.

“Your father was very brave. He gave his life to defend our honour. He’s watching us!” The tears were still a constant, but rarer now. The ache in your heart somewhat subsided, but was still there. Throbbing from time to time. A painful remembrance of what could have been.

With a sigh you placed the wreath on top of the stone and uttered the same words you uttered every time: “It’s you and me, Kid.”

Forever and always.

The End

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #op #scotland au #highlander kid #kid x you #kid x reader #you x eustass kid #eustass x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass captain kidd #eustass kid #Spotify

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linkspooky · 9 months ago

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DUEL VS. DUEL: Yubel and Judai vs Ai and Playmaker

If you haven't noticed YGO! often recycles different characters and plot ideas throughout its various spinoffs. There's usually a rival whose ace monster is a dragon, a best friend character to support the main character, there's almost always a guy like Bakura who has several things wrong with him. This isn't a criticism, I actually love the way that each spinoff builds off of all the other series while also remaining its own thing. There's a lot of meaning you can decipher from analyzing the intentional callbacks the authors put in to previous series so that's what we're going to do today.

Both GX and Vrains feature a third season where the protagonist's partner character becomes the main antagonist for the entire season, and manages to pick off the protagonist's friends one by one until they're all alone with the protag for the final duel. Both of these characters, Yubel and Ai aren't motivated by hate but rather a twisted form of love and the parallels between these two duels don't stop there.

Yubel and Yusaku: Love vs. Ai

The partner character appears in almost every YGO! series with the exception of 5DS and Sevens. It began with Yami Yugi, a second personality created inside Yugi who played took over and played games in Yugi's place and cursed everyone who offended him only to eventually build a partnership with Yugi that lasted for most of the series until Atem reclaimed his name and memories and became his own person again.

These partner characters usually assist in duels, and are either another personality existing inside the protagonist, or if they're external like Astral or Ai they still share a special link with the protagonist.

Yubel and Ai are unique because they are both partner characters who turn into major antagonists. They don't just share the role of antagonists there's also several similarities between the two of them, from motivation, their connection to the protagonist, and both characters being built around the concept of love. This is probably intentional because the scenario writer for all of Vrains also worked on large parts of GX and was the main scenario writer for Season 4.

To introduce both characters, Yubel is a Duel Spirit. They were originally a human child named Yubel who was the closest friend of the boy who would eventually grow up to be the Supreme King and reincarnate in the modern day as Judai Yuki. Yubel gave up their humanity and in a painful surgery became a hideous dragon with an impenetrable body in order to protect Judai.

Afterwards the boy who would eventually become the Supreme King swore eternal love to Yubel. Yubel's devotion followed Judai into the next life, where because Yubel gave up their humanity they reincarnated as a card spirit instead that only Judai could see. They used their considerable power to protect Judai from anyone they considered a threat, including other neighborhood kids who beat him in card games. Judai as a result became completely isolated. Which Yubel didn't mind because Judai was their entire world and they believed they should have been enough for Judai.

Judai decided to send Yubel's card away into space in the hopes that the space rays would calm Yubel's troubled soul, but instead Yubel became corrupted by a cosmic force known as THE LIGHT OF DESTRUCTION. Yubel endured ten years of torture and agony all along. At first they called out to Judai in his dreams, but his parents eventually forced Judai to go through a procedure that made him forget all memories of Yubel.

Alone and forgotten Yubel crashes down to earth and is torn to pieces. As an arm they parasitize several people until they gain enough power to reconstitute their body, and then dragon Judai and all his friends into another dimmension all as a part of their grand scheme to finally reunite with Judai and awaken his memories of the Supreme King.

Even though they were hurt by Judai, Yubel isn't motivated by revenge, but by love and a desire to be together with Judai and secure all of Judai's love for themselves. Yubel's twisted definition of love was formed when after crying for help one final time, they snapped and told themselves a lie in order to keep going. That ignoring Yubel, making them suffer, leaving them all alone it was just the way that Judai expressed his love. Yubel then becomes dedicated to showing that love in return and effectively dragging Judai down to their level.

Yubel: I was suffering as you came to forget about me… Yubel: It burns… It hurts…It’s killing me. But why? I love him so much. Why is Judai treating me like this? Yubel: And then it hit me. This is just a form of Judai’s love. Judai is hurting me and making me suffer because of his love for me. But you see, I couldn’t possibly forget about you in the time i’ve suffered. Yubel: So when I solved the riddle that you posed to me, I was delighted. And that fueled my decision. I would try to fill the entire twelve dimmensions with my love for you. Yubel: And once I did you would have to recognize my love for you, wouldn’t you?

Ai is also a character that's connected to Yusaku's childhood. Ai is an ignis, and artificial intelligence that was created by basically torturing six children by forcing them to duel over and over again and then scanning their brains and modeling six different AI off of the data.

The shadow ignis or AI quite literally came from Yusaku's brain, even though they don't meet until much later on in life. From the onset there's a lot of differences between Ai and Yubel's role as partners. Ai is Yusaku's partner for most of the series, and is effectively introduced as a stranger and has to build a bond fo trust with Yusaku over the first two seasons.

Whereas Yubel was Judai's best friend and favorite monster in childhood, but Judai has forgotten about Yubel in the first two seasons and when Yubel finally does appear again it's as an enemy. The bond between Yusaku and Ai forms and then falls apart, whereas both Yubel and Judai start out with their bond completely broken and over the course of season three they reunite and come back together.

Ai is motivated by first his own survival, and second the survival of all the other ignis who are currently being hunted by several human corporations, a group of hackers known as the knights of Hanoi, and one Ignis themselves known as Lightning who turned traitor to the other Ignis. Yusaki and Ai's shared goal is to find a way for the Ignis and Humans to co-exist without one of them trying to pre-emptively wipe out the other because of the danger both of them pose to each other.

Over the course of the story though, as one by one Ai loses his friends in the fellow Ignis who either die or are absorbed, he comes to obsess over Yusaku as his one remaining friend. Yubel and Judai's feelings for one another are a holdover from a previous lifetime they become estranged and reunite again, whereas Ai comes to love and obsess over Yusaku similiarly to Yubel does and it's precisely because of those obsessive and overprotective feelings he decides to terminate their relationship permanently.

Ai enacts a plan similiar to Yubel's to destroy Yusaku's friends one by one all while threatening the entire world. Yubel sought to fuse the dimmensions together, while AI wants to start the inevitable fight between the Ignis and Humanity on his terms.

While their role in the story and characters are similar, they're also contrasting opposites in many ways. Yubel started out as a human and gave up their humanity to become a duel spirit. Ai started out as an artificial intelligence, he thinks as an artificial intelligence who has trouble understanding humans, and while he becomes more humanlike all the time he's eventually hampered by his inability to think like a human. Yubel is also much older than Ai having lived two lifetimes with memories of both, whereas Ai is essentially a child, a fledgling sentient being who still doesn't understand many things about the world.

Their different levels of maturity really show in their understanding of the world around them, or rather Ai's naivete and lack of understanding. Both characters are built around the concept of love, with love for the protagonist as their main motivation but Yubel while twisted demonstrates a deep understanding of love.

Yubel is able to see inside the hearts of people and uses their intimate knowledge of their inner darkness in order to twist people according to their own desires. Yubel's actually a deeply empathic character able to understand people's feelings sometimes better than they understand themselves, they just use that empathic understanding for evil.

While their understanding of love sounds insane at times they're also able to make deep observations about not only people's relationships to each other but the darker nature of love. As much as we shy away from the idea of hurting the ones we love on purpose, there's a seed of truth in the fact that whether intentionally or unintentionally being close to someone means you will hurt them. That pain is a natural part of love. She's also able to suss out the unhealthy love and devotion shared between Amon and Echo quickly.

Yubel: I get it now… You weren’t in love with Echo. Yubel: No. You may have loved her just enough to clear the conditions in place for you to control Exodia. Yubel: But then, you didn’t truly love each other. Yubel: You were only unfairly hurting her, while you would stay unharmed. Yubel: You wouldn’t suffer. You wouldn’t be in pain.

Yubel also ultimately seeks a love between equals. As much as they frame themselves as Judai's protector, what they want is for Judai to be dragged down to their level so Judai will finally understand them.

Their entire plan revolved around isolating Judai until Judai understood the pain of suffering ten years alone in space that Yubel went through. When Judai snaps and becomes the Supreme King taking a similiar dark turn to Yubel, Yubel turns out to be right in the end. By the time they've reunited both Judai and Yubel have done terrible things and hurt the people they loved.

Yubel: So when I solved the riddle that you posed to me, I was delighted. And that fueled my decision. I would try to fill the entire twelve dimmensions with my love for you. Yubel: And once I did you would have to recognize my love for you, wouldn’t you? Yubel: That is why I sought to fill all those linked to you - your world - with both sadness and anguish. Yubel: ANd my line of thinking wasn’t wrong. Yubel: I mean you are right before my eyes, Judai.

Yubel operates on a principle of empathy and understanding through shared suffering. Whereas, I would argue while Ai cares about Yusaku they are not particularly empathic nor do they understand Yusaku. This is because Ai is practically a newborn existence naive to the world, and also as a computer with a computer brain fundamentally thinks differently.

However, I'd also argue that Ai also doesn't really want to try to change their thinking to bridge the gap between humans an AI. In despair they've completely given up on trying to understand humans. They also on some level don't want to change, because they arrogantly assume they know what's best for both them and Yusaku.

Ai has given into despair from losing their loved ones and suffering isolation just like Yubel, but I think a key difference is that everything Yubel does no matter how twisted is a desperate attempt to reunite with Judai, to understand Judai and be understood by them. Whereas, Ai doesn't want to try anymore.

Ai: Back then I would have done anything to save my friends. Yusaku: There's nothing you could have done there was no other way. AI: I know that. [...] Yusaku: Ai, you have the power to change this. Yusaku: As a special ignis you have the power to live with humans. Find a way to backtrack from this. AI: You trying to pull me back? AI: Thank you Playmaker, but you don't understand. I learned when everyone was gone that when you lose friends your heart breaks. AI: My heart was broken back then and I lost all self control. Yusaku: If losing a friend makes your heart break then are you trying to break my heart?

Not only does Ai not want to understand, but they also deliberately ignore Yusaku's feelings and personal autonomy. Yusaku is a kidnapped child who had a lot of their life robbed from them and manipulated they hate anyone who disrespects their free will but Ai walks all over it and disregards all of Yusaku's opinions. They do the one thing Yusaku asks them not to do, because Ai incorrectly assumes they know best.

They also don't really understand Yusaku on a fundamental level and as I said, they don't want to make the effort to bridge the gap either.

It seems kind of silly saying which one is worse, because both Yubel and Ai violate Judai and Yusaku's personal autonomy multiple times. They both act selfish and entitled towards the person they love. They both also intentionally hurt that person and then turn back around and claim it's protecting them. They both act incredibly possessive and try to manipulate their partner into doing what they want.

They both have the gall afterwards to claim they're doing so out of selfless devotion, downplaying any feelings of selfishness on their end. Both consider Yusaku and Judai's other friends to be targets in order to get at their partners. Both will inflict pain on the person they love and are so devoted to in service of getting what they want.

The only real difference is motivation because as I said, as controlling as Yubel is it's out of a desire to reunite and be equals. They're both in too much pain to express their love in any kind of healthy way, but Yubel at least wants things to be better whereas Ai has just given up. The fact that Yubel's themed around sharing pain too also makes them and Judai equals, whereas Ai is trying to have power over Yusaku and take Yusaku's decisions away in order to force Yusaku to do what he assumes is best.

That might be the most important difference between them. Whereas Yubel wanted to live together with Judai, Ai wanted to force Yusaku to kill him in order to avert a potential future where Yusaku dies trying to protect Ai. It's a motivation that turns one story into a love story, and the other into a tragedy.

Judai and Yusaku: Hero vs Anti-Hero

Judai and Yusaku are two characters who could not look to be any more different at first glance. Though they're both themed around heroism Judai starts as the fun loving kid who admires heroes and is always dueling to save others when his friends are in a fix. Yusaku is the loner anti-hero who is on a revenge quest all alone against the Knights of Hanoi.

Yusaku starts out unwilling to make friends and refusing help from others. Judai on the other hand is constantly surrounded by people. Though both of them are forced into the role of always dueling to protect others and carrying the responsibilies of other people on their shoulder. Often times it's forced upon them unwillingly and they have to take on too much responsibility.

Judai forms unhealthy relationships with people that are based on him always needing to clean up their messes and those same friendships eventually unravel. Whereas Yusaku spends three seasons learning to form healthier relationships with people, and the climax of the first season is even Yusaku developing from dueling for revenge to dueling to save his very first friend in Kogami.

Judai loves dueling and even duels exclusively for the fun of it, often in the first two seasons protecting others and facing the villains as an afterthought. Yusaku on the other hand hates dueling because of the trauma he was forced to undergo as a child and despite being the strongest duelist simply views dueling as a means to an end.

Perhaps the most interesting way to compare them is their opposite journeys. They're both commentaries on heroism. They both eventually gain alter egos that are really just emphasizing different traits of their personalities. The Supreme King is the embodiment of Judai's selfishness and his fixation on always winning and dueling for power. Yusaku is a socially withdrawn kid, and Playmaker his internet identity is the way he fights back against his abusers. He's also a strong willed, determined and active where Yusaku is almost entierly passive. They're both ultimately the same guy though, Supreme King is a part of Judai, Playmaker is Yusaku with more freedom to be himself online.

However, Judai starts out as a straightforward hero and goes on to be a dark deconstruction of the pure hearted hero. All of Judai's flaws that go unaddressed because people constantly put him on a pedestal eventually lead to his ruin. The pressure Judai is always under to win turns into an obsession with power.

Judai: Why? What did I do that was so wrong? I… I did the right thing! And yet… everyone keeps leaving me! What… What is wrong with me? Supreme King: Yuki Judai. To be willing to be evil to defeat evil. This world exemplfiies survival of the fittest. It must be ruled with power. Judai: Power? I don’t have that much power… Supreme King: You hold the Super Polymerization card in your hand. Defeat the spirits that stand against you. Breathe their lives into it and complete that card.

Judai also exists in a narrative that won't allow him to be a hero. GX deconstructs all kinds of heroism and self-sacrifice. Edo Phoenix's quest for revenge is called out as him being childish, and unwilling to grow up from the trauma he suffered as a child. Johan is the most straightforward hero, but his decision to sacrifice himself to protect Judai and everyone else is what starts Judai's breakdown. When Jim duels against the supreme king he declares he's not sacrificing him to save the world but rather trying to help a friend.

Judai's eventual character growth in choosing to fuse with Yubel isn't a sacrifice, but rather Judai finally growing up and taking responsibility for the way he hurt Yubel.

Yusaku on the other hand is on the journey from going from an anti-hero who fights for himself and his own personal revenge to becoming a more straightforward hero. I wouldn't say Yusaku's arc is more shallow in comparison just because it's not a dark deconstruction, rather it's exploring a different topic the responsibilities of being a hero.

His greatest moment of character growth in the first season is going from caring only about revenge, to dueling the pesron who saved him as a child because he wants to save his very first friend.

You could say Yusaku because he's not allowed to crumble is actually under more pressure than Judai is. He's almost forced into the role of a hero and not allowed to be selfish, while Judai from start to finish is a selfish character even if he grows up quite a bit over the course of the story.

Yusaku is also someone who from start to finish follows his own sense of unbending justice. Where, Judai doesn't have any consistent moral code. He's defined in the first two seasons of only dueling for the fun of it, and by Season 3 he's deeply troubled that he doesn't have a reason to duel like Johan does.

Following his own justice is actually deeply important to Yusaku, probably what he values the most actually. Since his life was thrown off by the Lost Incident he starts out deeply untrusting of others and even when he grows past that he hates people who try to influence him and insist they know what's best for him. It's what led him to not only be deeply offended by Zaizen telling Yusaku to back down and let him handle it, but also him refusing Zaizen's help.

This quality of Yusaku's also dovetails into my next point where we finally get to comparing the two duels.

A LOVE STORY vs. A TRAGEDY

The setup for the duel is identical in both cases. Yubel and Ai have eliminated almost all of Judai and Yusaku's friends and now they are on the endgame of their plans. Yusaku and Judai are both dueling against their former partners to stop them, and both partners refuse any attempts to work things out any other way and force a fight.

However, the motivations of each member going into these duels are so opposite that it makes a neat little foiling square.

Starting with Yubel their motivation for getting into the duel is simultaneously a desire to reunite and express their love for Judai, and a thinly veiled cry for help.

Judai: If you hated how I treated you, then you should have gotten revenge on me. Yubel: Hate? Revenge? What are you talking about? Didn't I tell you? I went to this trouble hoping it would make you happy, Judai. Judai: Make me happy? After my friends suffered by getting hurt and killed. Yubel: But that's love isn't it? Yubel: I wanted to torment you to share the depths of my love.

Yubel's plan is to both awaken Judai's memories of the supreme king by engineering his downfall, and also after taking his friends away one by one to fuse the dimmensions together so Judai and Yubel can be together forever with Yubel by his side protecting him. As Yubel defines their entire existence and worth by being Judai's protector and doesn't understand why Judai would ever reject their protection or need friends other than them.

Yubel: My every waking moment was for you. Yubel: I even got rid of everyone around you who tried to make you cry. Judai: Yubel. By doing that you hurt the friends I had around me. Judai: None of my close firends even wanted to duel with me. Yubel: You had me as a close friend, didn't you? All you had to do was focus only on me.

Yubel frames their actions as selfless while also acting out an entitlement that they're owed Judai's love for all of their devotion to him. They're also willing to hurt his closest friends, isolate him, and basically throw tantrums in order to get it.

When they come to the slow realization that Judai won't return their feelings, it leads to them breaking down slowly over the course of the duel. All of the lies they told themselves about the love between them and Judai slowly starts to unravel along with their mind.

The duel beings with Yubel actively enjoying all the pain Judai is inflicting upon them. When Judai activates the supreme king though, and starts dueling seriously to eliminate Yubel, it chips through Yubel's delusions and Yubel is no longer able to keep pretending that pain is love.

I couldn’t have lived with the heartache unless I felt that I was being loved…

Moving on to Ai, the primary difference between Yubel and Ai's motivation is that Yubel's plans are a thinly veiled cry for help while Ai refuses to accept any help.

Yusaku: Find a way to backtrack, Ai! Ai: I can't. Ai: Sorry, but there's no backtracking. Ai: Let's go, Playmaker!

Their desires are opposite too. Yubel's plan is to continue living with Judai, and Ai's plan amounts to forcing Yusaku to kill them.

Ai: If this attack gets through I lose. AI: Well, make up your mind already. AI: You came to get them back, right? AI: You're everyone's hope so you have to do it, even if I'm the opponent.

Yubel and Ai are both incredibly manipulative characters, and Ai in particular is holding all of Yusaku's friends hostage in order to make him do something he does not want to do and will hurt him beyond repair. He's also inflicting the same trauma the loss of all of his friends and the loss of an important friend the same way that Yubel wishes to make Judai suffer the same way they did by isolating them from all of their friends and pushing them off the edge to bring out their darkest emotions.

However, once again Yubel's manipulations are done with the intent of getting Judai to understand them whereas Ai no longer wants to try understanding Yusaku and presumes he knows best.

Ai: Back then I had to do whatever it takes to save my friends. Yusaku: There's nothing you could have done to save them. Ai: I know there wasn't. Yusaku: Ai, that simulation was lightning's trap. He knew if you saw it while in despair your heart would fall into darkness. So don't worry about it. Ai: I considered that possibility. Because he left it after he fought us. AI: So I redid my own simulation and ran it over and over. But the result wouldn't change.

Ai also chooses to trust simulations and the words of his enemy Lightning over the words of his own partner and the urging of Yusaku that they can try to take a third way out together. His basic inability to trust is what damns him, relying on controlling manipulation instead to coerce and eventually force Yusaku to do what he wants and what he has decided is best.

It shows in his plan to, Ai's conditions for the duel is that he'll either copy himself and spread the copies into all of the mass manufactured robots or Yusaku will have to stop him with his own hands at which point Ai's programming is terminated. Either way Ai dies. The only real way for Yusaku to save Ai is to convince him to stop the duel which Ai won't do.

Ai: Oh I didn't tell you. When my copies are created, as the final trigger my free will will be divided and given to them. Yusaku: What will happen to you? AI: My free will will be broken apart. AI: I'll be no more. If you win you'll retrieve everything I took and I'll be no more. Either way, I'll be no more. Yusaku: Ai, you're making me choose how you die?

He's stripped away all of Yusaku's choices. Yubel is stripping away Judai's choices to but once again it's out of a desire to be together with Judai while Ai is doing the opposite forcing Yusaku to be an enemy and end him with his own two hands.

Moving onto the process of the duel itself, the duel begins with both Yusaku and Judai trying to talk their partners down from dueling and finding some other way to settle this.

They fail but for opposite reasons. Judai because his pleas with Yubel are half hearted and done more in the spirit of lip-service. Judai fails because Yubel sees through his half hearted attempts. In their previous duel Yubel calls out the fact that Judai went to the ends of the earth to save Johan, but after subjecting Yubel to years of torture barely lifted a finger to reach out to them.

While Yusaku genuinely shows a desire to solve things with Ai with anything other than dueling, but Ai is the reason they have to fight. Ai is the one who forces Yusaku's hand. While Judai does not understand Yubel and does not empathize, Ai is the one who fails to understand Yusaku and how much pain forcing this conflict on him causes Yusaku. He also doesn't want to understand, while Yubel is at least self-aware of the fact that they are intentionally hurting Judai.

Yusaku's sincerity can be seen in how much he refuses to victim blame Ai, starting right away and continuing through the duel. Repeatedly over and over again Yusaku tries to reassure Ai that the guilt he's experiencing isn't his fault. Whereas, Judai victim blames Yubel continually. Yusaku is a character who values responsibility above all else, while Judai is avoiding personal responsibiltiy even though they're the ones who put Yubel in a situation where they were tortured.

Ai: As you know I got rid of my friends and ended up alone. There were only six of us but we foolishly hated each other. Yusaku: AI that's not your fault. AI: I know but it doesn't matter who's fault it is. I'm earth's last surviving human. And that fact won't change. Playmaker I sort of understand how you felt. Being alone is very painful. Yusaku: [...] I understand your sadness but don't let this fate sweep you away.

Whereas, Judai quickly resorts to victim blaming Yubel pretty quickly.

I made a lot of friends… And they all taught me something… real love is wide enough, large enough and deep enough to fill the universe. Your so-called love is only a conceited delusion.

There's also a distinct difference in both Yusaku and Judai's behavior throughout the duel. Most of the time it's Yubel iniating conversation with Judai because as I said by the time their second duel has started Judai has given up on understanding Yubel and dismisses them as crazy and beyond comprehension. Whereas Yusaku is the one who initiates most of the conversation with Ai.

Moving onto the duel part of duel it's interesting to note how different Yubel and Ai's dueling styles are. Yubel dominates almost any duel they're in. They toy with the likes of Ryo and Amon. Even when Judai duels them to a draw, the duel went exactly as Yubel planned because their true objective was to snatch away super polymerization from Judai's graveyard.

Yubel's boss monster is also unbeatable. It never takes damage, in fact most of the cards in Yubel's various decks don't take damage. Their ace monster for the sacred beast deck is a card that inflicts 10,000 damage once a turn. Advanced Darkness crystal beasts allows them to negate all damage done by sending a card to the graveyard. Even when judai manages to get Yubel off the field it simply upgrades into a stronger form.

Ai on the other hand duels on the ropes and duels very defensively, Yusaku at several points is about to go for game and end the duel in one hit and Ai only manages to barely avoid ending the duel early with a trap card or the like.

Yubel's main strategy is to prolong the duel until Judai is forced to pick Super Polymerization with spell chronicle. They want Judai to choose them and choose staying together with them by spell chronicle. Whereas at multiple points Ai continues to encourage Yusaku to crush them with everything they have.

Once again, one wants empathy, the other disregards Yusaku's will.

Yubel: My suffering becomes your suffering. Yubel: Such empathy... Yubel: Nightmare pain. It has us wrapped in the same anguish, and the same love.

Ai is forcing Yusaku's hand because once again, no matter the result Yusaku kills Ai. On the other hand, Yubel grows increasingly disturbed by Judai's lack of mercy.

Yubel: Oh my, you shouldn't be so heartless my dear judai. Judai: We can't protect what matters to us just by being kind. I'm prepared to fight for the friends I love to the end even if it becomes becoming a demon or the devil.

Judai also quickly abandons heroism for the power of the supreme king, whereas Ai practically forces Yusaku to choose being a hero and saving his friends. Judai prioritizes Johan and then the rest of his friends over Yubel, Yusaku doesn't want to choose and a horrible choice is forced upon him.

Yubel for their part is aware of Judai's hypocrisy, once again they demonstrate a deep understanding of Judai. Whereas, Ai doesn't understand Yusaku one bit, while at the same time claiming to know better.

AI: When it comes to memory and calculations we're far superior to humans. We can figure out humans' faults and contradictions. AI: That's why it's easy to become arrogant. With Ai's with free will it's in their nature. AI: Something awakened within me. They're not evil thoughts. But I wonder, in order for me to live why do I have to adapt to humans. AI: I feel differently from humans.

Ai continually urges Yusaku to choose his friends over him. He forces the choice where there should be done. On the other hand Yubel wants to be chosen over Judai's friends. Out of a sense of entitlement but also a fear of being abandoned again.

Yubel: The camraderie of yours with the neo-spacians will be of no use to you. And my love alone is much stronger. Yet even so you're saying that you'll choose friendships with the neo-spacians over my love. [...] Yubel: Judai so you want to drive me away at any cost. Do you and the neo-spacians find my love to be such a hindrance.

Once again, Ai remarks frequently that the loss of their friends made them give up all hope on continuing. Yubel on the other hand is capable of enduring almost anything. They're defined by their endurance and determination to hold on. When they burn up on re-entry they slowly piece themselves back together. When they're disintegrated after Johan's sacrifice, they take Johan's body and then slowly restore themselves once more. Judai duels them to a draw, that's yubel's plan all along and they take super poly. Judai destroys their boss monster, they just summon another one.

Ai on the other hand fundamentally believes free will in Ai's will lead to conflict and that future is inescapable, so they force Yusaku's hand in ending their existence.

AI: You said humans don't want sudden changes. AI: But I can't help my own changes. I may become someone like Bohman or Lightning so I want to vanish before that happens.

Ai has already reached their breaking point, whereas Yubel is slowly driven to their breaking point by Judai's lack of empathy throughout the duel. Yubel similiarly becomes suicidal like AI, but only after Judai continually insists that they're only dueling to destroy Yubel. Once again, while Ai's plan is to self-terminate for Yusaku's "sake" choosing to die while Judai lives on without them is something Yubel would never do.

At least, they might take a bullet for Judai, but they don't want to be alone and abandoned while Judai goes back to live on happily with all his other friends. Yubel wants to be chosen, Ai wants Yusaku to choose his friends. In fact, it's the idea that Yusaku wouldn't abandon him even if the war against Ai and Humans did happen that drives Ai's decision to die rather than let that happen.

AI: When I lived in the simulation I saw it. What my existence will lead to. You get dragged into it and perish. I can't choose that future.

Once again though, it's a decision Ai makes out of an inability to trust Yusaku. Also, if Yusaku wants to stay by Ai's side in spite of the danger it poses to him, that's Yusaku's choice. Ai may perceive himself as protecting Yusaku, but he's also disrespecting his autonomy.

It's also driven by a lack of understanding of what love and trust are. That's not entirely Ai's fault, he is in fact a newborn who recently lost every single one of his friends due to the conflict between humans and AI. It makes sense he'd have trouble trusting humans even the one that's been by his side all this time.

Whereas, Yubel wants Judai's understanding and breaks down when Judai continually denies it to them.

Yubel: Do you hate me that much? Yubel: I thought of this twelve-dimmension universe as a space for us together... so I tried to fill the universe with my love. But if you're calling on your friends and going to such lengths to get rid of me I no longer need to fill this universe with love. No, I no longer need this world. Let me put an end to this universe, to the void as well, and to our time together. Yubel: It was fun Judai, even those who helped lure you to me had dark, dark hearts. I feasted upon their hearts and waited for the reunion with you, my beloved. Yubel: I even invited you to that first dimmension. Well, I enjoyed that duel as well. Until he interfered. But I suppose you just weren't ready to accept my love back then. Yubel: I mean, the darkness in your heart, the supreme king was lying dormant. Yubel: Though I did have your friends help me. Which pulled out the darkness in your heart and ushered you this far. Yubel: I didn't think you were so hardheaded. You're the one at fault. If you can't grasp my love I don't need you. Or this universe. You can all just vanish into dust.

Judai needs to accept responsibility for both what he did to Yubel, and his own actions for the supreme king and how both him and Yubel can be pushed to do terrible things when they're alone and in pain. Part of the motivation for Judai's demonization of Yubel is he wants to keep playing the hero because the guilt of everything he did as the supreme king is crushing him and making him borderline suicidal.

On the other hand Ai is the one who's given up on trying to understand others. Yusaku is doing the best he can to both balance his feelings for Ai and desire to save him against his responsibility to save his other friends but he can't really be held personally responsible for Ai's actions. Whereas Judai on some level is responsible for Yubel's actions since he created the situation in the first place and continually chooses to abandon Yubel instead of trying to reach out to them.

Yubel is right to an extent that this situation is his fault and he never made any attempts to save them. Whereas, Ai is being manipulative when he forces Yusaku to make the choice to kill him putting all the responsibility on Yusaku's shoulders.

Which is why when the duels end in completely opposite fashions. Judai's way of taking responsibility is to fuse together with Yubel, whereas Yusaku refuses to fuse with Ai.

In Yusaku's case the refusal to fuse isn't turning down Ai's proposed third option, or a peaceful solution to the duel. After all, if Ai called off the duel right there Yusaku would accept it and work to forgive Ai for what he did to his friends. Even if they continue on as individuals it's not like Yusaku would leave Ai's side. In fact his reason for refusing Ai's offer to fuse is that he wants them to remain together as two individuals.

Fusion means two entirely different things in this context. Judai acknowledges there's a risk he may no longer exist after fusing with Yubel but like, they keep going on as two seperate individuals and consciousnesses even when they share the same body. Whereas in Ai's case, fusing with Yusaku would destroy both of them and give birth to a completely new being. Ai is using fusion as yet another method of self destruction, because he doesn't want to change himself and doesn't believe in the capacity to change himself.

Yusaku: Even if we become one, that's not the solution you're seeking. We only have one life. One consciousness. Yusaku: If I fuse, I won't be me and you won't be you.

Ai makes his choice out of his inability to face the future. He wants to self terminate, either by distributing his free will among copies or fusing with Yusaku to become someone else because he doesn't trust in his ability to grow and change. In fact he's avoiding having to change and grow up.

Yusaku: So living is a series of bonds! That's what life is. AI: So I have to do that forever? Yusaku: Yes. AI: That's a lot of work. And you can't do that unless you're strong. Yusaku: That's why people become stronger. And that occasionally leads to conflicts. But even if that happens we have to keep fighting. Keep searching for bonds even if there's no solution. AI: I was thinking too logically like an AI. Yusaku: You can't rush living. AI: But I don't want to keep fighting if there's no solution. Since I've lost the desire to fight I'll just vanish.

You could say that Yusaku's unbending nature and his responsibity as a hero made it so he couldn't fuse with Ai or throw the duel but like, there's only so much Yusaku could have done. He didn't give up trying to convince Ai at any point and it's not fair to put Ai's refusal to give up on their suicide plan on Yusaku.

It's also Ai's decision to activate TA.I. that made them lose the duel, so in the end Ai did self terminate. Even in the Yuma vs. Shark duel where Yuma is a character who will never sacrifice anyone even if the whole world is at stake, and kept throwing the duel and prolonging it to try to convince Shark, Yuma was unable to reach him in time. In both cases it's also Shark's decision to go all out for a final attack, and Yuma's decision to negate his own attack and not attack in the hopes fo reaching Shark that loses Shark the duel.

On the other hand, Judai's decision to fuse is him finally taking responsibility. Ai gave up on trying to change the future and himself whereas Judai's decision to fuse is him growing up from a child to an adult.

I also want to state I don't want to victim blame Ai for being suicidal, and not having the strength to go on. Not everyone does in that kind of situation, it's perfectly human (even though he's a robot).

Ai's story is also meant to be a tragedy. In tragedies characters succumb to their flaws instead of overcoming them. GX and VRAINS' third season are two entirely different genres of story, one is a love story where two traumatized people finally reunite and heal and Vrains is a tragedy where Yusaku can't save Ai.

Even then Vrains doesn't state that Ai doesn't deserve salvation, even if he chose to refuse help and didn't want to be saved. Yusaku's very last actions in the series are diving into the net to search for some remnant of Ai and it's implied after months of searching he's not stopping anytime soon. Even if Ai gave up on himself, Yusaku hasn't given up on Ai.

That's another thing even if Yusaku refused fusion with Ai, he still would have stayed by Ai's side. Ai literally simulated a thousand futures and Yusaku in every one of them stayed by Ai's side even if it led to his death. Yusaku still wishes to be with Ai and searches the net for Ai in the end of Vrains. He calls Ai the best partner even when Ai's in the process of breaking his heart.

So while both of these duels have very different endings, I'd say they both still advocate for forgiveness and love. Both duels are true to the message of YGO! that bonds are the most important thing and what give our life meaning - which I think is beautiful. People cannot live on their own and make bad choices when they're alone, but in the end it's bonds that save us.

"If there's no absolutes then what's left?"

"Bonds. Bonds between individuals. Bonds between one another. That's all there is. That also changes with time. A huge trigger can cause a huge change. Bonds may be severed but new bonds can also be formed. So living is a series of bonds. That's what life is."

Also as a final note on this post I'd like to thank @talaofthevalley their takes on Yusaku are all great and talking about Vrains meta with them really helped writing a lot of this post.

#ygo meta #yugioh gx #yu gi oh gx #yu gi oh vrains #yugioh vrains #yugioh #yu gi oh #yusaku fujiki #playmaker #ai #soulshipping #yubel #judai yuki #jaden yuki

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