#i just wanted to end the series before the end of the year
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agirlinthegalaxy · 3 days ago
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Hi! Fellow person with an English degree, along with working for an academic company that has a short college textbook about AI! One of the things that was discussed was hallucinations, which is incorrect information that AI presents as fact. Because the thing is, AI isn't capable of critical thought on its own. It takes in all of this information from the internet, but, as well all know, the Internet isn't inherently a trustworthy source of information and AI isn't capable of actually verifying this information.
One of the ways that we demonstrated this in our textbook is by inputting "Who won the 2022 presidential election?" This was using a previous ChatGPT model, but it actually would answer the question genuinely as if there had been a 2022 presidential election. Another way that I found personally is that I would begin discussing television shows and push it, and without fail, it always began making a lot of errors about obvious plot points and would be unable to keep it straight. Here's an input where I ask for an explanation of the finale of the Charmed (1998) series. (Spoilers for that ahead, but also the show ended nearly twenty years ago, so.)
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While a lot of people probably don't know a lot about the show, here's the most relevant part: the entire Ultimate Power section is a complete fabrication because, while they exist, they're distinct characters with a completely different background. (And before anyone says anything, the point isn't about how recognizable the show is, it's about the AI literally makes up false information and presents it as truth when it's very easily disproved.)
Another way of illustrating AI's hallucinations is asking an either/or question, presuming that an event happens. Now, in full transparency, I have not read Dracula since 2021/2022, but I'm about eighty percent sure that this is an example of a hallucination. If not, my apologies, but I'm sure you can find a hallucination if you input it enough similar statements.
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Beyond clearly just knowing what is accurate or not, AI also, like the previous OP said, doesn't know what is important. In many classes, when you're discussing some kind of novel, small details will of vital importance whether it about character, plot, or theme of the book. Demonstrated by one of my professors who asked us about the symbolism of the horse that Thomas Sutpen rode into town in the beginning of Absalom, Absalom only to very loudly proclaim that it was between his legs as a phallic symbol, which honestly was probably correct with the author William Faulkner being who he is. Side note, but he was a weird man, and I still don't like his works. If I was a student in that class today, here are the two different shortcuts I could have gotten.
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(ChatGPT)
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(SparkNotes)
Between the two, even disregarding that SparkNotes' summary is four paragraphs to ChatGPT's three (since the girl in the og Twitter post used three), SparkNotes just provides so much more information and detail. I'd argue that ChatGPT doesn't even summarize it efficiently anyways. So if you're just trying to cheat for class, ChatGPT still isn't a good option.
But I think the worst thing is that the people in the original Twitter convo aren't even reading for class. They're (presumably) reading for enjoyment, which makes it so much more bizarre to me. Because the thing is, and this is a rare one for me to say, you don't... have to read if you don't enjoy it? Once you've left school, very few places (unless you intentionally opt into it or have a very specific job) will make you read novels in your free time. Furthermore, I really can't fathom problems that ChatGPT solves that, say, an audiobook can't? Discussing these two specific instances individually:
If you're wanting to learn more about what Aristotle said in more readable English, baby, he's Aristotle. I can almost guarantee you that there is some kind of book out there, or even something online if you'd like to use the Internet, explaining his philosophy in easier to understand terms. Also with philosophy, I think that "main gist" can be a bit of a trick in of itself because it's designed to make you think critically about these ideas. Sometimes, the "main gist" is even the opposite of what they may seemingly be arguing because they're mocking it.
As for reading a book recommendation by a friend. ... girlie pop, you literally could just not read the book. I've gotten plenty of book recommendations that I've never read and my friends are not insulted at it. If it's a bid for connection, I'd argue that this is more insulting than simply not reading it because if you don't want to invest the time into it, that's fine but this weird shortcut way as if it's beneath your time is... oof. But especially if you want to discuss it, because AI will not include every beat and a lot of a novel is in the way it's written, the pacing or tension, etc. Things that an AI summary can't define out for you to have an actual meaningful conversation. That's something I do when I see a movie that looks halfway interesting but don't care enough to actually sit down and watch it. And even then, I'd never go back to that friend and act like I actually consumed that media; I'd probably just say that it sounds good because I still have not actually truthfully engaged with it!
This is a very long post, but I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about AI, especially in classes, literature, and media in general. Most of them are very negative, but I mean, please don't hand over your critical thinking of what you're consuming to artificial intelligence. Its intelligence is artificial; yours is not.
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what is HAPPENING
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formula-ghost · 17 hours ago
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Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)
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Chapter 1
SERIES SUMMARY: You’ve been best friends with Oscar Piastri since you were seven, far before the dream of Formula 1 even seemed possible. You’ve been with him from the very beginning—due, in no small part, to the fact that you’ve been in love with him since you were a teenager. But when a breakup and championship battle rattles the very foundations of your friendship, you begin to question if you ever really knew him. (Best friends to lovers, based on the song Wildflower by Billie Eilish)
WORD COUNT: 11.1k
WARNINGS: Oscar is not a very good boyfriend to Lily and Lily is not a very good girlfriend to Oscar. Potentially changed some dates (I think Oscar and Lily started dating when they were 17 or 18, but I’m making them 18 for the sake of the flashback scenes). Reader is “the girl he told me not to worry about” through no fault of her own. This story has a lot of complex character dynamics and everyone is flawed! References to sex but no actual smut.
A/N: Ah new series! I hope this is good—I’m trying some new stuff with the flashbacks and story layers, so I hope it doesn’t read too confusingly! Also, I’m trying to be more intentional with showing instead of telling with my dialogue and such, so hopefully that is an improvement. I always welcome constructive criticism, but either way, I hope you all enjoy this.
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“Lily left me.”
He only needed those three words to convey the gravity of the situation. On the other end of the line, you were silent. He was too. What was there to say?
No, it couldn’t be real. Oscar and Lily were inseparable. The dream couple of Formula 1. Your best friend had been in love with her since the pair were 18, attending boarding school in the UK together while Oscar pursued his dreams of making it to F1. 
They were each other’s everything. At least, that’s what the world thought.
But you had seen this coming for a while now. It was just a shock for it to actually happen. 
Finally, after an eternity, you spoke, still too shocked to formulate a coherent thought. “What do you mean?” you asked.
“I mean she fucking left me. What else do you want me to say?” You could hear the quivering in his voice, giving away the sadness behind his abrasive response. You weren’t offended one bit. 
“Shit, Osc, I’m so sorry. I… don’t know what to say. Do you want me to come over? Or you can come to mine?” 
“I’m outside yours right now. In the car park.” 
“I’ll let you in,” you said. The mental image you conjured of Oscar outside your apartment crying in his fancy McLaren would have been comical, if not given the circumstances.
He let himself in only a few moments later, hoodie covering his tall and muscled frame. He was soaked from the rain outside—he must have come directly from the confrontation. 
“Oh, Oscar,” you said, pulling him into a hug, cringing at the contact with his soggy hoodie, but knowing that there were far more important things to be worried about. 
You rubbed your hands up and down his shoulder blades that now heaved with sobs. His entire body shook with the fervor of his tears, and you just held him, gently shushing him and promising that everything will be okay. 
“I don’t know how she could do this to me,” he said, gasping out the words between haggard breaths. “The championship—I can’t do it without her.”
“I know,” you assured him. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“No it’s not, YN, it’s not gonna be okay. I love her. And she just threw away so many years.”
“I know.” You just kept assuring him, tightening your grip on him as his sobs became more intense. “Just breathe.”
“Why would she do this to me?” he asked. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”
You knew. And deep down, Oscar did too. That was a conversation for another day. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming. 
You didn’t have it in you to lie to him. You had always been the type to pride yourself on being honest, even when the truth hurt, but you couldn’t bear to do it now. You changed the subject.
“Oscar, you’re soaking wet. I’ll find you something else and warm that up in the dryer, yeah? Just sit down, take a deep breath, and let me get this figured out.”
He sat down on your couch and took off his hoodie and t-shirt underneath, revealing his toned body. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before—you’d been friends with him since you were seven, growing up together. He almost felt like a brother to you, sometimes.
Maybe it wouldn’t be weird at all, except for the fact that you’d been in love with him for over a decade now. 
But right now that didn’t matter. He had plenty of old hoodies over in your apartment, which you carefully folded every time he forgot them. Placing his wet clothes in the dryer and setting the temp on high, you reached to the shelf above you and grabbed a random one. You unfolded it—an Alpine hoodie from back in the day, before his time at McLaren. You smiled at the memories that flashed in your mind, before quickly returning to Oscar with the garment. 
He had moved from your couch to your bedroom, holding a pillow on his lap, hunched over where the top of it met his chin. He was staring off into space, not breaking his gaze at the plain white wall.
You sat next to him, handing him the hoodie, and he mumbled a small thanks as he grabbed it. He didn’t put it on, instead just holding it with the pillow, as if filling his arms with the plush material would fill the hole now left in his heart.
“Oscar, I… don’t have anything profound to say. I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t respond at first, instead just silently letting the tears well up in his eyes. 
“I guess I should have seen this coming,” he said quietly. 
You paused, unsure whether or not you should agree with him. But you were nothing if not honest.
“Yeah,” you said, “it’s been a rough few months.”
“I guess we just both fell out of love.”
“I mean… how did the conversation go?”
It would be stupidly easy for Oscar to lie and say he didn’t remember Lily’s every word. But he knew better, and so did you. As he explained, the memory replayed in his head.
“I can’t do this anymore, Oscar,” Lily said, a simple yet devastating statement.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” His confusion was genuine, much to the chagrin of his angry girlfriend.
“The fact that you even have to ask that proves my point.”
“Lily, talk to me. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” Oscar stood up, now understanding the full gravity of the situation he found himself in. 
“I’m trying to say that I’m not happy anymore, and neither are you. I wanted to at least give it until the end of the season, but I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when we both know bloody well that it’s not! Don’t you want something better than this, Oscar?” Lily pleaded. 
“I just want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Don’t lie to me. You say that but you put everything else before me. I’m not a priority to you. I haven’t been in a long time.”
“I’ll quit F1. We can go back to the UK and live a normal life.”
“No. We both know that you wouldn’t do that.” Her tone was incredulous, twinged with a slight anger at the mere suggestion. 
“Yes, I would. I’d do anything. Don’t do this, Lily. Not now, not when I need you the most.”
Lily grabbed his hand, leading him to sit down on the couch next to her. “Oscar,” she began, “we had a good run. You made me so, so happy for so long.” She reached up to gently cup his cheeks and wipe away where tears were now forming at the edge of his eyes. “I saw you achieve things that neither of us ever thought were possible. But…I can’t stay any longer. Not when there’s no place for me in your heart anymore.”
You sighed. You knew every word that Lily had said was right. But you also knew you couldn’t get that through to Oscar, at least not until the shock wore off.
The words remained unspoken. You had been there for all of it. Lily was his first love, his only girlfriend, and everyone assumed that he’d marry her one day; you included. 
“I just…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on acting like my life didn’t just fall apart. How did you do it?”
This was Oscar's first breakup, but you had been through too many, it seemed, since he was asking you for advice on how to handle them.
The truth? It was very easy to get over a breakup when every partner you’ve ever had was a feeble attempt at denial. When they all inevitably failed, you just went back to bask in Oscar’s platonic love. It was enough. 
“I won’t lie to you, the first one is always hell. You feel like you’re going crazy for a while. You lose hope that you’ll ever feel happier, because everything reminds you of them. And then one day it just…doesn’t. The only thing that heals it is time and finding love around you, you know, friends and family.”
“No offense, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
‘Well, I’m not going to lie to you and say it’ll be easy, because it won't. But it will be okay—not today, but someday. You’ve got something to focus on with the championship. And I’ll be here.” You gave him an empathetic smile. 
Maybe you weren’t the most comforting friend to most. But you and Oscar had a bond that was very different to most friendships. You understood each other’s idiosyncrasies in ways no one else could. So when shit hit the fan, it was always each other that you went to.
You continued, “You can stay here as long as you like.”
“Thank you.”
There was only one problem: your apartment only had one bed. And to the dismay of fanfiction writers across the world, you all would not be sharing it. 
You distracted Oscar by cooking a meal and watching a comfort movie—Cars, a classic. You could tell he was exhausted by the way his head on your shoulder sloped just a little too heavily downwards as the credits rolled. 
“Okay, let’s get you to bed,” you said, gently pushing him awake. He sleepily stumbled back into your bedroom and collapsed on the bed, almost instantly falling back asleep.
You took the couch, but despite the money you spent splurging on the extra cushioned sofa, no sleep came to you. 
It wasn’t any physical discomfort that fueled your insomnia, but rather, the events of the previous evening. Lily had actually left Oscar. She had finally pulled the plug.
Yes, in some ways, it was expected. But at the same time, you couldn’t imagine a version of your best friend that wasn’t madly in love with his girlfriend. 
From the outside, though, you couldn’t blame Lily one bit. You wondered what had been the last straw. 
You could think of three possible moments. First: The Apartment. 
“I’m moving to Monaco,” Oscar began, and you felt your heart drop in your stomach. Of course, one day he’d make it to Monaco. That was the dream of every Formula 1 driver, right? The beauty of the French Riviera and tax evasion. And you’d be left at your aging flat in the UK, waiting for those precious few days a year where he was free to grace you with his presence. 
“That’s amazing!” you said, only half believing it to be true. 
“In a few weeks I’m gonna go look at condos. Come with me? Lily can’t get off work.”
“Of course,” you replied. You’d already been to Monaco before for Oscar’s races, but you wouldn’t turn down any reason to get out of the constant dreary rain of the UK. 
You felt like a celebrity as you coasted through the Monte Carlo streets in the passenger side of Oscar’s McLaren, on your way to tour fabulous properties for your best friend (the actual celebrity). You breathed in the saltwater breeze, fresh and tinged with the air of wealth and splendor.
But it hurt your heart to know that you were helping your best friend leave. You imagined him getting up and doing his morning runs along the harbor, the sun blazing down the strained muscles on his back. Then you laughed to yourself at the thought of Oscar, the pastiest Aussie you knew, getting sunburnt. 
At the first property you met the realtor, who (after mistaking you for Lily; not the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last) took the pair of you to different condos throughout the day. 
Oscar decided on the final one you saw; two bedrooms, plenty of natural light, and a great view. Elegant, refined and practical—just like Oscar himself. 
The realtor handed him the paperwork and left as you stood on the balcony, looking at the beauty of the city before you. You were quiet, unusually so, and Oscar noticed. 
He sat the paperwork on the kitchen counter and walked onto the balcony next to you. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you said, your voice lowered. “You’re gonna make such beautiful memories here.”
“Are you getting sentimental on me now?”
You smiled and laughed. “A little,” you admitted, “I can’t help it. I’ll miss you all.” 
“You could always come with us. You seem to like it here,” he teased, tilting his head toward the edge of the balcony.
“You’d have to give me a raise if I was gonna afford Monaco rent prices.” You’d been running Oscar’s merch store and social media for the past few years, making a great wage, but nowhere near the immense wealth you’d need to call a place like this home. You joked with him, knowing Oscar actually had nothing to do with how much you got paid. 
“I would if I could. But, I mean, if you had a place to stay it wouldn’t really be that bad.”
“Are you suggesting I move into your guest room?”
Now he laughed. “No, but I’m just saying, if you had an apartment, you could make it work.”
You raised an eyebrow, confused, but trying to go along with the joke. “Well, sure, but apartments don’t just appear out of thin air.”
“You never know.” Oscar scratched the back of his neck and looked away, a sign of the awkwardness that now blanketed your moment on the balcony. 
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, theoretically, if someone were to have a spare apartment that they weren’t using, you could live there and Monaco would be a reasonable place to live, no?”
You didn’t answer his question, instead just giving him another confused glance until he gave up whatever he was trying to say. He still couldn’t meet your gaze. 
“Look—I don’t want to live so far away from my friend. Is that such a bad thing?”
“Oscar, you…”
“I got you an apartment.”
“You… bought me an apartment. In Monaco.” It came out more like a statement than a question, evidence of your shock. He reached into his pocket and dug out a key, holding it out to you.
You just looked at him with an incredulous expression. “Oscar, I can’t accept that.”
“Why not?”
“How much was it?” 
“I have more than enough money.”
“Answer the question.”
He pursed his lips and shrugged. “About 4 million?” 
Your eyes widened in shock. “Before you say anything,” he began, “I made over 30 million last year. I have more money than I’d ever know what to do with, so why not just spend it all on the people I love?” 
“Oscar… I can’t, that’s too much.”
“Will you at least go look at it with me? Actually, I’m driving, so you don’t have a choice,” he joked, walking back into the apartment. “Let’s go.”
You sighed, smiling to yourself. There was no way you could let Oscar buy you a 4 million dollar apartment, but also, how could you not? The wind whipped through your hair as you rolled down the window of his McLaren, drinking in the beauty of the city around you. 
The apartment was smaller than the one he had picked for himself and Lily, but you didn’t mind one bit. It was perfectly cosy, and God, the view was spectacular. You could see the whole city from his apartment, but here, you could see the water. You stepped on the balcony and took a deep breath, taking in the sound of the ocean waves beneath you. 
Oscar followed you. “It’s a bit small, but I figured you’d like the view.”
“Oscar…”
“If you really don’t want it, I can rent it out. But I’d much rather have you close.” He held out the keys again. “What do you say?”
You could have told him you needed more time to think about it, but deep down, you already knew what you wanted. You took the keys. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Oscar. Seriously.”
“No need to thank me.” He smiled.
Back in the UK, he showed Lily the photos he had taken of the condo he had chosen for them as they went over the paperwork one last time.
He grabbed the pen to scratch out one of the boxes Lily had checked, hoping she wouldn’t notice. 
“Oh, did I mess something up?” Shit. She leaned over his shoulder, reading the paperwork aloud. “Please indicate if you own any additional properties in the principality of Monaco.” She looked at Oscar. “You already have a property there?” 
“Oh, erm, yeah,” he said, hoping the conversation would end there. 
“How come I never heard about this?” 
“Um, I just got it a bit ago.”
Lily could sense her boyfriend’s hesitancy. “Is this something I wasn’t supposed to know about?”
“Oh, no,” he said, “it’s not like that. I just didn’t think to mention it.”
“So, what is this property?”
“An apartment.” 
Lily hated feeling like she was having to interrogate Oscar, but clearly there was some piece of the puzzle missing that was causing his reluctance. 
“An apartment?” she questioned. “You got another apartment?”
“Yeah, I, um,” he looked at the ceiling while scratching his neck, a clear sign of his nervousness, “I was planning on giving it to YN.”
“You bought YN an apartment in Monaco? When were you planning on telling me about this?” 
His walls of defense had finally broken down. “It’s not a big deal. I made more than enough last season, I could afford it.  And it’s just easier to have her there for the brand shoots and media stuff. Plus, I mean, she came to London to support me after graduation, even though I know she hates it here. I just figured I should repay the favor.”
“...Okay,” Lily began, her voice tinged with skepticism. “So, you do realize what this looks like, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, my boyfriend bought an apartment for his “best friend” and tried to hide it from me. That’s the kind of thing cheating husbands do in movies, buy an apartment for their mistress for her to keep it quiet.”
Oscar wasn’t sure what annoyed him more, the air quotes Lily placed around “best friend” or the insinuation that he had been unfaithful. 
“Lily, seriously? I’m not cheating on you, I love you and you know that.”
“When were you going to tell me about this?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. You know YN and I have been friends forever, it’s not like I did this for some random woman. I don’t appreciate being accused of lying.”
“But you were lying by omission.”
“Lily—”
“You know, nothing against her, but one of the reasons I was looking forward to this move was having more…us time. Without YN.” 
The statement brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Despite what she had said, it seemed like Lily did have something against you.
“You know, this kind of thing is why I was putting off telling you about it.”
“What are you saying?” she asked. Oscar knew he was tempting fire, but he didn’t care.
He continued, “You’re freaking out because I did something kind for a friend. I’m allowed to do whatever I want with my money.”
“I never said you weren’t, and I’m not freaking out. But I guess I’m just such a horrible person for saying I want to spend more time with my boyfriend.”
“If you’re putting down my “best friend” to do it,” he said, mocking her air quotes, “then yeah, that’s not cool.” 
“Oscar, you’re being so…weird about all of this. I’m not insulting YN. I just want to spend more time with you.”
“We’re literally going on vacation in February!”
“With friends. You invited your friends to our romantic getaway, Oscar.”
“You know I only have so much time off during the off season, and I’m spending most of it with realtors and accountants and eight thousand other people preparing us for this move. God forbid I want to invite my friends to Italy with us. Not everything can be just us, Lily.”
“Okay,” she sighed. “I’m done with this conversation.”
The second next instance you could think of happened on the trip.
It was a beautiful getaway to the Amalfi Coast, your dream destination that you’d somehow never made it to.
The group of Oscar’s friends, including you and Lando, had plans to come and go, with everyone being gone before the fourteenth so that Oscar and Lily could have their Valentine's Day date. Of course, you knew nothing of the arguments they’d had in the past about this, but you had common sense enough to not be a third wheel. Oscar thought this was a good enough compromise. 
Well, he thought. 
From the moment he picked you up from the airport, you could tell that the energy was different than usual. He blamed it on jet lag, but you knew better. You knew your best friend too well.
It didn’t take you long to figure out the problem was between him and Lily. She was colder towards him; not enough for anyone but you and him to notice, but still there and undeniable. 
Even weirder was Lily’s…preoccupation, it seemed, with pointing out single and attractive men to you. It wasn’t a hushed reality that you were single, and had been for some time. You'd given up on dating a long time ago—you knew that you had already found the love of your life, and he just happened to be Lily’s boyfriend.
But, of course, you’d never tell anyone this. Lots of people were confused because you seemed so fine being single. But you thought that Lily, one of your best friends (at least, by association), would know that you weren’t really interested in meeting anyone. 
You sat with Lily in a restaurant overlooking the coast, the balcony having been rented out by Oscar for one of your last dinners. You all were waiting for him and Lando to join you, passing the time by ordering wine and appetizers.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Lily said, gesturing her head to your waiter that was walking back into the main restaurant. 
You didn’t really know what to say. You glanced at him through the glass wall. “Lily, he most definitely plays for the other team, if you know what I mean,” you joked, reaching for a slice of bread on the table. “I didn’t know that was your type.”
“Well I don’t mean for me, I meant for you.”
You chuckled. “For me?”
“Well, yeah. Don’t you want to get yourself a hot Italian man?”
“I’m perfectly happy being single.” You tried to diffuse the awkward conversation, keeping a kind tone in your voice as you ate the bread and looked into the distance at the coastline.
“Oh, come on. We’ll get you someone, don’t worry.”
“I really am fine being single.”
“You know who else is single?” she asked, clearly ignoring your protests. “Lando!”
You laughed aloud. “Oh God, no. If I wanted to be cheated on, I would have stayed with my ex. Besides, Oscar would kill him.”
A curious fact: Oscar had never approved of a single person you had ever introduced him to. You had to spend hours talking him out of running over your ex with his F1 car after you found out about his infidelity. 
“Oh, who cares what Oscar thinks? I think you should go for it,” she said, watching as the waiter returned to pour your glasses of wine. 
“Lily,” you said, holding your glass, ready to take a sip, “I don’t want to be in a relationship, like, at all. It’s just…not for me.” You sipped the wine, but through the reflection on the glass, you could see that Lily had pursed her lips in an expression you couldn’t quite read.
“If you want me to stop third-wheeling you and Oscar, you can just say so,” you joked as the boys made their way to the balcony to join you. 
You didn’t know it, but your joke cut deep in Lily’s heart. 
Nothing was said about it during the dinner, but Lily’s strange energy continued. It quickly became uncomfortable how much she was pushing Lando and you to interact. 
And when you all made your way to a local nightclub after the dinner, it didn’t get any better. Lando quickly got himself lost in the crowd, and you were once again left to be the third wheel. 
You could tell that Lily was getting annoyed, but to be fair, she was also annoying you. 
“Go dance with Lando!” she shouted over the thumping bass. She gestured to the opposite corner of the small club, where Lando was currently making out with some random Italian woman. 
You pointed this fact out to Lily, who just grimaced. 
“Do you just want me to go away?” you joked.
“Yes!” she said, and you were taken aback, because she was definitely not joking. 
Oscar was at the bar getting drinks, far enough away that he couldn’t hear. To be honest, you didn’t even want to be in this club anymore. 
So you snuck out and began your walk home without telling any of them.
As you walked along the cobblestone streets, Oscar handed Lily a drink, pausing when he noticed that you weren’t there to receive yours. “Where’s YN?” he asked.
“She wasn’t feeling well, so she headed back,” Lily said. 
“By herself? Should we go check on her?”
Lily wanted to roll her eyes. “No, she’s just tired. C’mon, let’s go dance!”
Oscar obeyed, but couldn’t ignore the feeling inside him that something about this whole night had been odd. 
The next time he saw Lando, he decided to say something about it. 
“Hey mate, are you going back soon?” he asked. Lando nodded, clearly tipsy. “Can you check on YN? Lily said she wasn’t feeling well.”
“Sure,” he said, annoyed at the mention of you again.
He did come back to the house soon, but with an equally drunk and giggly woman on his arm, the same girl he had been making out with in the corner of the club. 
You didn’t expect any of them for a long time, so you sat in the living room of the AirBNB, watching the waves cascade into the shore, romanticizing this complicated feeling that coiled itself inside of you. 
That was, until Lando stumbled in. 
His eyes got wide as dinner plates upon seeing you. The girl on his arm giggled and walked off into the nearest bathroom. 
“Hey YN,” he slurred. “Are you dying?”
You laughed. “I’m fine.”
“Lily said you were sick.” 
“Nope, I’m good.” 
He looked to the closed door of the bathroom. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“You’re fine. I’m…uh, not interested, anyway. I don’t know what Lily’s been on about today.”
“Oh, thank God,” he exhaled. You laughed, despite the sting of rejection in his relief. “Well, I’ll keep it quiet.”
“I’ve got headphones.”
You made your way to your room and put on your noise cancelling headphones, passing the time by scrolling and catching up on work emails, before falling asleep.
You didn’t sleep through the night, instead waking up in the early hours of the morning, when the sun was just beginning to round itself along the golden coast. You left your room to get a glass of water, not expecting to see the rest of your friends in the kitchen.
Lily looked hungover as hell, leaning her elbow on the counter, her hand resting uncomfortably on her forehead. Oscar was leaning against the counter on the other side while Lando sat at the bar next to Lily, drinking something out of a mug. His flight home was going to leave soon. 
You nodded to your three companions as you sipped your water glass, feeling the tension around you like an oncoming migraine. 
“You feeling okay?” Oscar asked. “Lily said you weren’t doing well last night.”
“Ah, just tired,” you answered. Lily had lied to both Lando and Oscar. That was a conversation for another day. 
“Well rested now?” Lily asked, her voice tinged with anger and fake sympathy.
“I’m fine,” was all you could answer. You glanced at Oscar, who gave you a knowing look. You had no idea what had gotten into her.
“Are you feeling okay, Lily? You look like you’re about to throw up,” you said, a more genuine concern in your voice.
“I’m fine too,” she said, clearly not fine.
Lando’s Uber pulled up, and you took the opportunity to help him transfer all his bags in one trip.
“Do you have any idea what’s going on with her?” he asked as you heaved the suitcase up into the trunk.
“No idea,” you answered. “Before you all got to the restaurant last night she was being…weird. For the record, I didn’t put her up to any of that.”
“I figured as much. You’re not the type.” Lando was right—it was common knowledge that you were happily single. 
“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. For the record, it made me uncomfortable too.”
He exhaled. “Eh, we’re cool. No hard feelings, yeah? I’m sure she’ll snap out of it.” 
“I hope so,” you said, giving him a wave as the car disappeared into the winding roads of the coast.
Back in the house, you could hear Oscar and Lily whispering to each other. You wanted nothing more than to disappear and act like this weird night and morning had never happened, but unfortunately, you had to cross through the kitchen back to your room. 
A hush went through the room when you entered. You walked as quickly as possible through the kitchen, but were stopped by a voice.
“YN,” Lily called. “I think you should leave.”
“Lily—” Oscar interjected.
“I was just going back to my room anyway,” you explained.
“That’s not what I meant. I think you should go home.”
“Lily, don’t do this—” Oscar pleaded. You just stood in shock.
“Actually, let me clarify,” she continued. “YN, I don’t want you here. Go home.”
“Lily!” Oscar interjected. “Don’t say that.”
“No, it’s fine,” you said, even though it was definitely not fine. “Let me pack and I’ll be on my way.”
You turned and continued back to your room, fully prepared to do as you had just said. But Oscar followed you.
“YN, wait. Stay,” he said. 
“Oscar, it’s fine.”
“I am so sorry that Lily said that, but I want you here.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two or why she’s so upset at me, but if someone tells me to go, I’m not going to overstay my welcome.”
“Still, that was so rude.”
“I’ve got thick skin. I won’t cry myself to sleep over it.” You looked out the window to the coast. “Look, I’ll just find someplace else to stay. A hotel for a few nights is cheaper than trying to reschedule my flight, anyways.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about me, Osc,” you said, patting his shoulder. “Go talk to her, figure out what’s wrong.” 
He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “I already know what’s wrong. She’s mad that we don’t spend enough time together.”
“Then go spend time with her.”
“That was the plan! But, I mean, I’m pissed that she said that to you. And she spent all day yesterday trying to set you and Lando up, which was fucking weird.”
“Yeah,” you exhaled with a twinge of laughter. “Look, with my record I can’t exactly give you love advice, but I don’t mind leaving. You all clearly need some space, anyway. Just text me if you need anything, okay?”
Oscar gave you a flat smile and nod. 
You packed and quickly booked a private room at a local hostel for the next few days, planning to enjoy the last few days as a solo trip. You truly didn’t care, but in the back of your mind, you hoped that everything would be okay. You never received that text from Oscar. 
Back at the house, Oscar and Lily were alone. And neither of them were happy.
“Just fucking go with her if you’re that mad,” Lily said, egging Oscar on. He had always been slow to anger, but he couldn’t deny that he was pissed.
“What is wrong with you?” he questioned. “Why would you say that to her? Do you understand how rude that is? And not to mention the fact that you were being fucking weird with her and Lando all night.”
“Oscar, I’m not having this conversation right now.”
“No, I’m pissed!”
“And, as usual, it’s all about your feelings, hm?”
“What are you talking about?” 
“Don’t act stupid. Do you know how much I’ve put up with because I don’t want to hurt your feelings? Every vacation, every race weekend, she’s always there. And I put up with her because she’s your friend, but I don’t like her, Oscar.” 
“What did she do to you?” he asked. But Lily couldn’t answer. It wasn’t like there had been a specific incident or falling out; in fact, you had always been kind to her. Lily’s silence was all the answer that Oscar needed. 
“You knew that YN and I were a package deal from the beginning.” 
Tears came to Lily’s eyes. “But this was supposed to be our trip. Just us.” 
“Lily, they were only here for a few days. I specifically set it up so that we’d have 2 weeks to ourselves after they left. Is that not enough?” 
She was silent, at first. Then came a question out of left field. 
“Were you going to propose?” she asked.
Oscar made a face. “Propose?”
“I thought the point of the trip was that you were going to propose.” She looked away, trying to hide her tears. “I’m tired of feeling like an outsider in my own relationship. I’m sick of YN third wheeling, so I thought if I set her up with Lando, maybe she’d leave us alone for a while.” Her voice was tinged with an angry mocking. 
She continued, softer, “Oscar, I want to be your wife, I want to grow old with you—”
But Oscar had little sympathy for her. “That’s really what all this was about? Lily, I’m not proposing any time soon.”
“We’ve been together for nearly five years.”
“I know. But with the season starting soon—”
“There’ll always be another season, another race. Is your plan to just marry me when you retire?” The sarcasm had returned to her voice. “Do you even want to marry me?”
“Of course I do. But we’re young, we have time. I’m in no rush.” 
“I feel like you don’t care about what I want at all.”
“Lily, I’m trying. But I feel like you want me to cut off my best friend and settle down at 22. You’re asking things of me that I can’t give you.”
“Then why are we even doing this?” Lily asked.
“Because I love you, and I want this to work! But Lily, you can’t treat my friends like that. If you’re angry at me, talk to me, but don’t take it out on them. YN is an important part of my life, too.”
“I’m well aware.”
Oscar sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I’m going back to bed,” Lily announced, leaving the conversation altogether. 
When she woke up, her head was pounding. Oscar was asleep beside her, his back towards her, no warmth even in his unconscious state. She had slept through the entire day—the moon hung high in the sky. 
As she quietly made her way to the kitchen and got some water and a snack, the memory of what had happened came back, rushing over her. She felt horrible. 
The sleep and food had reset her mind. Make no mistake, she was still upset at Oscar, but what he had said was right—she shouldn’t have taken it out on you. She needed to make it right. 
She texted you. Hey YN, are you awake? I’d like to talk. In person, if you can. 
Only a few minutes later you responded, affirming that you were available and sending the address of your hostel. Lily got there quickly, quietly walking through the rooms to your private room in the back. When you shut the door behind you and you both sat on the bed, she broke down. 
“YN,” Lily began, “I am so sorry about this morning. Truthfully, I was upset at Oscar and I took it out on you, and I shouldn't have. I was so rude.”
“It’s okay,” you assured.
“No, it’s not,” Lily interjected. But she seemed at a loss for words. “I just… sometimes, I feel like I hardly get any alone time with Oscar anymore.”
“Because I’m always there?” you joked, not knowing how close to the truth you really were. Lily didn’t respond. “Look, if you want me to take a step back, I can do that.”
Her response was quiet. “Would that be too much to ask?”
“No.” But it was, in a way. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, but your expression gave away nothing. “I understand.”
“I don’t think he loves me anymore,” Lily confessed. You normally didn’t want to know the details of their relationship, because the truth was too heavy to bear. But it seemed cruel to cut her off. “I feel like he never wants to be around me, like he prefers his work and his friends over me. I want to get married and he doesn’t. He keeps saying it's too soon and he’s busy, but it’s been nearly five years! I mean, how long does he want me to wait?”
You felt uncomfortable, not sure how to comfort your best friend's girlfriend. So you were honest. “I don’t know, Lily. I don’t know what goes on in Oscar’s head any more than you do.”
“Yes you do,” she replied. “You’ve known him longer.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I think he’s in love with you.”
“No, no, no,” you said, wrapping Lily in an embrace as she cried. “No, he’s not. He loves you so much.”
“No,” she echoed. “He doesn’t.”
You didn’t know how to respond. You just held her. 
At one point, your phone buzzed, illuminating the screen. Some unimportant notification, but you noticed the date and time more than that. It was past midnight; Valentine’s Day. 
The third instance was during the first weekend of the 2025 season; the Australian Grand Prix.  
You hadn’t heard from Oscar since the trip. You didn’t really know what to say, and part of you was dreading having to speak to him, knowing that your mere presence was now a strain on his relationship.
Of course Lily wanted more time with him. It made sense. You were present at…most things, actually. But Oscar always invited you, and besides, they lived together. If you had known that you had overstayed your welcome, you never would have gone in the first place.
But on the other hand, you and Oscar had been a part of each other’s lives for nearly double the time that Lily had been around. It wasn’t a competition, but you couldn’t shake that sour feeling that rested in your stomach, that if given the chance, Lily would want you gone for good. 
Regardless, between the trip and the grand prix, life went on as normal. It was odd, since your job was literally running all the official OP81 media pages and merch website. You couldn’t not be a part of his life—you made your living by posting memes about him on the internet and organizing all his merch sales.
So, naturally, you went to nearly all the races to take photos of fans, the paddock, and the garage. It was one of your favorite parts of the job. 
But Australia was different. It was Oscar’s home race, and a place full of memories for you. 
Your family had moved to Australia when you were only seven, having absolutely no friends, except the sweet boy next door in your cul de sac. At first he was cold. You thought he hated you. But you were nothing if not stubborn. 
You remembered it like it was yesterday; for Christmas, you asked for a pink motorized jeep, just like the black one that Oscar—the neighbour boy, back then—had. You squealed for joy when you got it. And the very first thing you did was challenge him to a race.
He ignored you. So you rammed your car into his, causing both of them to break. Ever since, somehow, you’d been inseparable. 
Your parents traveled a lot for work, so instead of constantly going with them, you found yourself staying with the Piastri family for months at a time. Nicole truly felt like your second mom, and Hattie was the sister you never had. And Oscar was…Oscar. It was impossible to describe the bond between you. 
Your parents were never too keen on Oscar, though. They kept it quiet when you were little, but as you grew, their dislike became more outward.
He was 14, leaving for boarding school in the UK. When he told you, you cried. That’s the only time he ever saw you cry.
You wanted to go with him, but your parents couldn’t afford it. He promised he wouldn’t let your friendship die, and he was true to his word. When he got into the higher formulas in racing, he helped you get your job so that you all would never be that far from each other again. 
But your parents always said he was using you, stringing you along, exploiting your labor. Though you’d never admitted it to another soul, they knew you well enough to understand that you loved him. 
You cut your parents off a long time ago. 
Sometimes the fans were worse. Half of them loved you—the half that understood that you could give them access to your idol—but the other half of them called you a beneficiary of nepotism, a gold digger, or a homewrecker. You learned at a young age to develop thick skin. 
And it was how you both behaved on race weekends that really exemplified the difference between you and Lily. 
You liked to be everywhere at once—in the garage trying to interpret the engineers’ technical jargon, in the grandstands taking photos of fans, in the pitlane shooting the shit with the race stewards. You always wore Oscar’s merch, and you wanted to be in the middle of all the action.
Lily, in contrast, was more reserved. She always looked put together, and frankly stunning, at all her appearances. She preferred to watch the race from the comfort and privacy of McLaren hospitality, and when she did interact with fans, she was respectful but short, very conscious of her space.
Neither of you were better or worse than the other. But no one could deny that you were polar opposites. 
You got to Australia before Oscar himself did, having been invited to spend a few days with your surrogate family before you’d have to stay in the hotel, per F1 employee policy. Nicole had told Oscar, who you assumed had told Lily, and when you didn’t hear anything for a few days before you were meant to fly out, you thought everything was fine.
Of course, you thought wrong. 
You spent 3 days with Oscar’s family, relishing the warm feeling of belonging that you’d missed. The Piastri guest room felt more like your own childhood bedroom. Of course, Nicole asked how you’d been, but you were politely distant, wanting to respect the fact that Oscar and Lily’s relationship was none of your business. 
When the pair finally landed in Australia and made their way to Oscar’s childhood home for the night, though, things worsened. 
When Nicole got back from picking them up from the airport, you were in the kitchen prepping dinner. Hearing the front door close, you looked up and smiled, greeting the group.
“YN! What are you doing here?” Lily asked, her voice tentative. 
Nicole answered for you. “Oh, she’s been here since Sunday. I’m so happy to have all my kids under the same roof again,” she joked, turning to Oscar to reach up and pinch his cheeks.
Lily just gave a pained smile. 
You didn’t know what to do. You hadn’t talked to Oscar in nearly a month. You wanted to honor her wishes—but it seemed like her wish was for you to vanish into thin air. 
The rest of the night you were unusually quiet, trying to blend into the background. It wasn’t difficult for Nicole to notice that something was up, but she knew better than to bring it up in front of the whole table. 
After dinner she wanted everyone to gather in the living room and watch a movie, which you quickly bowed out of, complaining of exhaustion. 
As the credits rolled, Nicole leaned over to whisper to Oscar, “Is everything okay with YN?” 
Lily overheard and interjected, “She’s fine.” Nicole raised an eyebrow. 
Oscar responded, “The home grand prix is always busy for her.”
The answer wasn’t sufficient enough to crush Nicole’s suspicions, but she didn’t have any more time to pry as her son and his girlfriend quickly decided to retire for the night themselves. 
The next morning, as everyone was packing to get to the hotel, Nicole decided to ask you herself if everything was okay. But predictably, again, you just said that you were fine. And the morning was so hectic that she didn’t really have the time to interrogate you.
Once you all got settled and to the track for media day, work mode took over, and you forgot all about the tension at the Piastri family home. Though you quite literally were paid to follow Oscar around all day, you felt more like the paparazzi than his friend, hardly ever speaking to him.
And as you went back to the hotel room alone to edit and post for tonight, you felt like a stranger in your own body. 
You didn’t want to do this anymore. You missed your friend, but more importantly, you missed being yourself.
But what were you supposed to do? You loved Oscar. Oscar loved Lily. Lily hated you. 
You were stuck between three impossible choices: stick around and be forced to subdue yourself into a shell of your true personality until Lily decided she wasn’t upset at you anymore, lose everything you’d ever built by quitting and moving away like you knew she wanted, or continue being yourself and possibly cost Oscar the love of his life. 
Yeah, this was a wonderful predicament you found yourself in, through no fault of your own.
You moved like a zombie through the free practices and qualifying. When it was finally time for the grand prix, you assumed your usual place in the McLaren garage, for work if nothing else.
But then, Oscar won. 
No team rules. No convoluted strategies. Just Oscar doing what he did best.
You couldn’t hear your own thoughts over the shout of the garage and the crowd in the distance, cheering out for their hometown hero. You ran out with everyone to the barricades to greet your best friend.
Though he still had his helmet on, you could see the effects of his smile in his squinted eyes. He pumped his fist in the air, cheering to himself before running to the barricades to jump into the waiting arms of the crowd. You cheered with them, overwhelmed with pride. 
Oscar locked eyes with you, cupping your face with his gloved hands and pressing the top of his helmet to your forehead. “I did it, YN!”
“You did!” you yelled, smiling ear to ear. 
Of course, people took photos. Photos that Oscar posted later that night. 
Lily didn’t like it—the sweet intimacy of the moment, front and center on Oscar’s Instagram page. Why would you post that? It was like you were taunting her. 
Lily sat on the edge of the hotel bed while Oscar showered, both of them preparing to meet you, Lando, and a few McLaren team members to celebrate his win. 
When Oscar emerged from the bathroom, Lily asked him, “Osc, can you do me a favor?”
“Hm?” he murmured as he dried his hair. 
“Can you take down that picture that YN posted?”
“YN posted something?” he questioned, grabbing his phone. As his social media manager, you had access to all his accounts, but occasionally he’d post something himself, too. “I don’t see what you’re talking about.”
Lily pursed her lips. “The first picture from the post she made an hour ago.” 
“Oh, this?” Oscar held up his phone. “I posted that.” 
Lily was silent. 
“Why do you want me to delete it? It’s a good photo.” 
Lily just looked at him. Oscar sighed and archived the photo. “There, happy?”
His tone was much harsher than he intended, but to be honest, he was getting tired of the constant fighting, and his patience was wearing thin. 
Lily kept quiet, just silently going into the bathroom to start doing her makeup.
In the lobby of the hotel an hour or so later, you awkwardly stood with Lando waiting for the couple to arrive. Once again you were torn—should you miss out on celebrating with your best friend on his first ever home win, or should you go and strain his relationship further? 
You were just going to say screw it and go back up to your room when you saw Lily and Oscar walking towards you. Though there was no tension between them, there was no love either. They both just looked…tired. 
Everyone had decided to keep it relaxed for tonight, just doing a nice group dinner with Oscar’s family. It was fine, albeit a tad awkward, because you were sitting between Lando and some McLaren employees you didn’t know, at the opposite end of the table from Lily, Oscar, and his family. 
You knew this couldn’t continue forever. Something had to break. And it did, when you and Lando ended up back in Oscar and Lily’s room, drinking your way through a bottle of nice champagne. 
The alcohol seemed to have calmed Lando’s nerves, as he was actually normal with you. And Oscar was a blushy, smiling mess and he and his teammate laughed at something you couldn’t remember. 
You opened your mouth to say something, but the mood was ruined by Lily’s drunken slurring. “Oh my God, YN, just shut up! Go away!” she giggled and grabbed Oscar’s arm. 
Usually, you were calm, letting any infraction roll off of you like waves on the beach. But the alcohol emboldened you. 
“Lily, what the fuck is your problem with me?” you asked.
The mood shifted, and Lily gave you a look of disgust. “I was just joking, God.”
“No you weren’t.” 
Lando chimed in. “Well, I think I gotta call it a night.” He got up and patted Oscar on the back. The two men stood up to walk out, leaving just you and Lily alone in the hotel room. 
“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is with me, but don’t act like there isn’t one. It’s obvious that you don’t want me around, I don’t know what I ever did to you.”
Lily had clearly been sobered up by your seriousness. Still, she burst into tears. 
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep doing this.” 
You sighed, unable to keep your anger in the face of her cries. She continued, “I just… Oscar and I were each other’s first everything. First love, first kiss…first time. I love him so much.”
“I’m not trying to steal him from you.” 
Lily was quiet, and so were you. Something she had said gave you pause. 
They were each other’s first everything—no, that couldn’t be true. 
Because you were Oscar’s first. 
It had been many years—you were both 18—and you had never spoken about what happened. But you remembered. 
He came back home for Christmas from the UK. It was before he had even met Lily. 
You welcomed him home with an embrace—even with the frequent phone calls you had, you couldn’t help but miss your best friend, now here before you, in the flesh.
Neither of you could sleep that night, and somehow you both found yourself in Oscar’s childhood bedroom, quiet in the early hours of the morning.
Though it was warm outside, Nicole had a habit of keeping the house frigid, so you and Oscar huddled together under the handmade quilt that decorated his bed. The moment was tender and quiet, together in the soft darkness. 
“Do you like it in the UK?” you asked him, your question searching for a genuine answer. 
“It’s okay, I guess. It’s what I have to do for the races.”
“But do you ever get…lonely?”
He paused. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
You traced small circles on the skin of your leg. The closeness of the moment was uncomfortable. 
“But you have friends, right?”
“Yeah, but they’re not, y’know, friends for life.”
“I get you.” You really did, not having many friends of your own since Oscar left. “But you must have a ton of girls, though. They all want the cool race car driver.” You smiled, trying to use your humor to lighten the intimacy of the moment. 
“No,” was all he answered. “And if I had a girlfriend, you’d be the first to know, anyway.” In the dark of the room, you could only see the outline of his features, but you could feel the pull of his eyes looking at you. “What, do you have a boyfriend? Is that why you’re bringing this up?” he asked. 
“Of course I don’t.” 
“What do you mean, of course?”
“I mean, why would I have a boyfriend? I have no friends and half the people at school think you don’t even exist.”
“What?” he laughed.
“Well, yeah, when I say my best friend drives race cars in the UK, most people think I’m making you up.” 
“Shit,” he laughed. 
“So, yeah, it doesn’t exactly get me dates,” you laughed. You felt your throat stiffen. “I haven’t even had my first kiss or anything.”
The silence in the room was thick. “I haven’t either,” Oscar confessed. 
You found it hard to believe. Oscar was handsome, funny, everything a girl could want. Neither of you had ever been social butterflies, though. 
Under the blanket, Oscar reached for your hand, placing it in his. Your heart was beating out of your chest; you had never even held a boy’s hand. 
“We could just…do it now,” he said. “Just to get it over with.” He feigned his usual nonchalance, but you could feel the increase of his heartbeat and the ever so subtle tremble in his voice. 
It would be easy for you to laugh it off like a joke. But you knew it wasn’t. And you wanted him. 
“Okay,” you said, your voice breathy with nervousness. 
You sat up on the bed, and saw the dark outline of his figure leaning towards you, gently tilting your head. 
And when his lips met yours, it felt like home. Like everything in your entire life had left you up to this moment, here in the warmth of your best friend’s childhood bedroom.
The kiss lasted longer than you anticipated, but when he did pull away, it was too soon. You were grateful for the darkness that hid your expression. But even without the light, Oscar could see the truth behind your eyes.
“We could…keep going.”
“Okay,” you repeated. 
One of his hands found your waist now, pulling you closer, as his other hand pushed back your hair that had fallen in your face.
Once again his lips met yours. It wasn’t like a spark within you—more like a calming, a sense of peace and safety. Of all the boys you’d crushed on before, Oscar was different. You trusted him with everything. 
And you showed him so. 
He slipped his tongue past your teeth, tentative, as if he was scared to do the wrong thing. But you let him close the gap, your own tongue gliding along his, goosebumps going down your back the closer you got. 
He wanted to put his hands all over you, but he was nervous.
He pulled away. “I…don’t really know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t either. Is it actually your first time?”
“Yeah. You don’t mind me being your first?”
“I trust you.”
So you both took it slow, taking each other’s hands where you wanted to be touched, not focusing on anything but the other. 
The love you made was quiet and simple, beautiful yet imperfect. But you didn’t need perfect. You just needed him. 
The next morning, you slipped out of his room before anyone was awake, afraid of what would happen if they found out.
But no one ever did. Oscar never said a word about it ever again, and neither did you; after the holidays, he went back to school and met Lily, and the rest was history. 
But you remembered. And as you sat in that hotel room years later waiting for him, you felt numb. 
By the time he got back Lily had calmed down, but you couldn’t stand to be there anymore. You announced your departure, but Oscar decided to walk you out, too. 
You closed the door behind you, but Oscar pulled you to not leave so quickly. 
“Hey, is everything alright with you and Lily?”
“No. It’s not.” 
He sighed. “I don’t know why she’s being like this.”
You just stared at him, your face blank. 
“What,” he asked, “don’t tell me you’re mad too.”
“Was Lily your first?”
“Huh?”
“You heard me.” 
Oscar looked over his shoulder. “I’d really rather not talk about this in the hallway…”
“So do you want to go in the room and talk about it? In front of her? Because you lied to one of us. Which one was it?”
“YN, it’s—”
“Which one of us did you lie to, Oscar?”
He let out a sharp exhale, knowing there was no way to escape your line of questioning. He leaned down to whisper to you. “I didn’t lie to her. She just…assumed, and I never corrected her.”
“That’s still lying.”
“You really think I should go in there and tell her the truth?” His voice dripped with frustration.
“Yes. She deserves to know.”
“You know why I never told her? Because I knew this shit would happen, she’d get jealous and try to push you out of my life. If I tell her now, she’ll make me choose between the two of you.”
“Do you blame her?” you asked, astounded at how Oscar could be so clueless.
“Seriously?” he retorted. “You think she’s justified in doing all this to you? The entire reason she’s mad is because she knows if she tries to make me choose, I’m not choosing her.”
“Don’t say that! Oscar, she’s your girlfriend. You should love her.”
“I do. But things just…aren’t the same anymore. It’s like she wants me to change my whole life for her. I can’t do that.”
Unbeknownst to you, Lily got up from the bed and walked to the door, pressing her ear to it, where she could faintly hear you and Oscar arguing. 
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Oscar continued. “And if you don’t want her to split us up, just let me handle it.”
“Oscar, she deserves better than this. I’ve missed spending time with you, but… you’ve got to tell her the truth.”
Lily opened the door. “I knew it,” she said, her eyes full of tears. “I knew you were cheating.”
Your eyes were wide as dinner plates as Oscar cursed to himself. “Lily, I swear to God that is not what happened—”
“Don’t. Don’t even try,” she said, but Oscar pushed his way back into the room anyway. He looked back to you, and even without words, you knew it was time to go. You needed some sleep.
Unfortunately, Oscar would not be getting any sleep tonight. 
“Oscar, just stop lying to me! I’m tired of this!’ Lily cried, curling her legs to her chest as she sat on the bed.
“Lily, I swear, I have never cheated on you. What YN and I were talking about was something from a long time ago.”
“We’ve been together for five years!”
“Can I just explain myself? Please?”
Lily just broke down in sobs. “Do whatever. I don’t care anymore.”
Oscar sighed. “Look, I…I have lied to you. You weren’t my first. YN was.” He looked at his girlfriend, who was still just silently crying. “It was before we even met, and it was just once, and we’ve never done anything since. I would never cheat on you, I love you and—”
“When and where was it?” Lily asked, cutting him off with her statement more like a command than a question.
“The December before we met, when I came home for Christmas.”
“In your bed?”
He nodded.
“Oscar, I slept in that bed next to you the other night.”
He said nothing. 
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Haven’t I been good to you?”
“Lily, I promise, I love you more than anything.”
“Then why would you lie to me for five years?”
Oscar took a deep breath and said, “Because I was afraid you would be upset. People don’t understand that me and YN are just friends. I mean, we were raised together, she’s like my sister.”
“You had sex with her. You took each other’s virginity.”
“It wasn’t…like that.”
“How can it not be like that? Do you even hear what you’re saying?” 
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
About an hour after you left, you heard a knock on your hotel room door, and you answered. It was, of course, Lily. 
“Tell me whatever Oscar wouldn’t,” she said. Her eyes were still puffy and red. 
You welcomed her in, beginning to tell her the entire truth. “Oscar and I had sex when we were 18, before he met you. We never talked about it afterwards. After you met I didn’t want to bring it up, I just assumed he’d do the right thing and tell you. I didn’t want to pry into your relationship.”
So, your stories matched. And Lily knew that you were nothing if not honest. 
“Do you love him?”
“Of course I do, he’s my best friend.”
“No, I mean, are you in love with him?” 
You didn’t answer immediately. What were you supposed to say?
Tears fought their way to the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I don’t know,” you began, but that was a lie, you did know. “I guess…I have a special type of love for him. We grew up together. When we were younger, yes, I wanted to be his girlfriend. But then he met you, and… Lily, he was so happy! I just…I realized that I wanted him to be happy more than I wanted him to be mine. So I made peace with the fact that this is how it had to be.”
Lily was overwhelmed with your honesty, in the face of so much deception. 
You continued, “I don’t blame you for being upset at me. Oscar should have been honest about what our friendship was like from the very beginning instead of lying to you. But I swear, we haven’t done anything while you all have been together. I’ve been cheated on and I know how much that hurts, I would never do that to anyone else. I’m so sorry it ended up like this.”
“No,” Lily said, “You’re the only one who’s been honest with me throughout all of this. Thank you.”
After that, you hadn’t heard from Oscar after that for a long time. Or, at least, a few weeks felt like a long time to you. But you had other pressing matters—your workload was through the roof with Oscar’s wins. Lando had snatched himself a win too, setting up an early battle for the championship. It was too early into the season to call it, but you knew Oscar was feeling the pressure with the possibility of his first championship dangling so close in front of him. So you kept your distance, not wanting to be a distraction.
That was, until he called you, saying just those three painful words.
“Lily left me.”
The sun was cresting over the horizon, illuminating the thick glass of your balcony and flooding light into your living room. You hadn’t gotten an ounce of rest. 
From your bedroom, you could hear Oscar snoring. You just let him sleep. 
God knows you both needed it. 
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formerplumi · 1 day ago
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USED A SUA IMG IN ONE OF YOUR BATFAM POST imagine a luka reader. the family desperate to reach you and due to lack of memories of what You were like since they all neglected you, started just making shit up about you. yes, of course youre angelic, kind and so darling to them! youd never hurt a fly and your soul is such a forgiving one... until they look you up online properly and see you gay baiting someone to get them shot
- prologue
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PAUSE anon you cooked, omg. (for those who don't know who luka is i've put a very small summary of his character right at the end.)
honestly i've just been using sua as a poster girl, but a reader with luka's characteristics is so interesting... after being relocated from your "father's" underground business dealings to gotham to live with your real family, it'd be natural to stay reclusive because of the change in atmosphere.
i imagine a luka-ish reader would try to socialise more with the family than the current insert, but their attempts would be unmeaningly unsettling. an innate feeling would rise in the batfam that didn't make them dislike you, per say, just unintentionally avoid you.
you can't be much bothered with it, since even in your previous living conditions, there'd be people who liked you, and people who didn't. you knew how to work around it
so you redirect your focus. you'd been treated like an adult as you were being raised, so you had your goals and motivations figured out at this age already. for a handful of years in the manor, you'd work to keep up the fame you'd built up with your old "father", fame that slightly dissolved after your sudden disappearance from the screens; your escape from the industry.
eventually, when you decide to move out to perhaps further your prospects and influence, there's a buzz in the media at the sudden reappearance of the angle-voiced child star who was taken off the big screens after their "father" got involved with court dealings.
this is probably what eventually alerts the family to your absence in the manor, and in the shame that they couldn't notice it without the help of a third party, they scrounge around in their memory for good exchanges with you. just to have some semblance of the kid who wandered around aimlessly in the house. the kid they shooed away without ever actually shooing them away.
when they find nothing; they try to make stuff up. "angle-voiced child star", so you must've been soft-spoken, sympathetic, angelic person too, right? yeah, yeah you must've been a darling... how could they be so ignorant of you?
their shame somewhat morphs their unease at your old attempts to talk to them, into a shy child's timid want to talk to a new family in a new area, without any help whatsoever.
oh you poor, poor little kid.
i imagine it wouldn't be too difficult for them to find content of you, since your net-presence sky-rocketed after returning to the music industry. but ohh just imagine their surprise when they get access to an underground website streaming some sick stage-show human trafficking project, and see you there?? whatever are you there for? doesn't your fame generate a fortune? what in the world would you need to be on this... show for?
idk how the "getting them shot" thing could play into any other place other than a dark-web game show tbh. maybe they don't initially recognise that the videos up there are for such a thing, only after seeing you walk away from an applauding audience, get surprised by the sound of a shot and the image of your opponent lying dead on the stage ground, do they bother to investigate the ordeal. but this time, as vigilantes, and not failed family.
they'll just... save you along the way, yeah? 'save' you.
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luka is a character from a series called alien stage, and you can find the episodes uploaded on youtube by vivinos. luka's established as a well known, famous character within the alien stage 'tournament', who's participated in the whole thing before, and has a significant amount of aliens/audience rooting for him.
his character on it's own looks beautiful, and is dubbed "prince" by his fans, but on his first appearance in round 5, he is portrayed as somewhat unfeeling and manipulative.
better characterisation is provided on alien stage's official accounts, with comics and patreon uploads. the "father" i refer to in the above imagine is referring to luka's alien owner.
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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 17 hours ago
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Cannibals [Chapter 9: Blue Jays and Red-Tailed Hawks]
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A/N: Thank you so much for your patience! Life got hectic but I am back, besties. Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇
Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?
Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), blood and violence and warfare, character deaths, chaotic giant lizards.
Word count: 5.5k
💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️
Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰
🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇
He reaches for his game piece, the shadowcat, although it isn’t purple but only a plain, crudely-carved chunk of oak wood, a makeshift imitation of its twin back in the Red Keep, assuming that Rhaenyra hasn’t stumbled upon and destroyed it. Daeron has sculpted the beast himself; he used a dagger that Aemond gave him as a gift before he was sent away to Oldtown, its hilt embellished with dark blue stones the color of Tessarion’s scales. He has made dice and a board too, and the other four pieces, homely little animals, proxies of his long-lost siblings. Daeron wonders if they miss him as much as he has always missed them. None of them ever said that in their letters, not in words so explicit. Aegon never really wrote at all; instead, he would scrawl barely-legible postscripts at the bottom of other people’s letters: Don’t drink too much, Learn some High Valyrian, Try not to get anyone pregnant.
“I am always the shadowcat,” Daeron explains, grinning. He shows the talisman to his companions, four soldiers fighting in the Hightower army, his closest friends. Then he places it at the starting line he has etched into the board.
“Why do you get the best one?” says Anthony of House Ambrose.
Daeron blinks. This has never occurred to him before. “Is the shadowcat the best piece?”
“Obviously.”
“I don’t know,” teases Josiah of House Roxton of the Ring, scratching his beard. “That butterfly is mighty fearsome.”
Now they’re all laughing. “Then you shall have the butterfly,” Daeron proclaims, handing it to Josiah. “That was my gentle sister Helaena’s piece. And you will never be as good as her, not if you pray to the Seven for a thousand years.”
“No,” Josiah agrees somberly, bowing his head in the firelight. It is just after dusk, and even here in the south, even within the cloth walls of the tent, the metallic chill of winter is creeping into every room like a vermin, like a spider or a rat.
“And Anthony, because you are clever yet envious and ever-grasping, I bequeath you Aemond’s wolf.” Daeron drops it into his open, calloused palm.
“I hope he doesn’t come looking for it,” Anthony chuckles. “I’m quite skilled with the sword, but I would be loath to meet the prince in combat.”
“I don’t want the worm,” slurs Oliver of House Fossoway of Cider Hall. Oli is quite drunk.
“It’s a snake, you idiot,” Josiah says.
“And it’s yours, Oli.” Daeron gives the tiny wooden snake to him. Oli accepts it reluctantly. “The snake was Aegon’s piece.”
“Long live the king!” Oli bellows with sudden fervor, and raises his cup of ale. Everyone toasts to the king’s health.
“Wherever he may be,” Daeron says before draining his cup and sweeping his silver hair out of his eyes, blue like a Targaryen’s, large and expressive like Mother’s. He feels that Aegon is still alive somewhere. He believes that if his eldest brother was dead, he would know it in his bones; there would be invisible, unbearable wounds like the ones that opened up when Helaena and Dreamfyre fell from the sky, days before Daeron received a raven carrying the news.
“What about my game piece?” asks Laurence of House Redwyne of the Arbor. He is a bowman and a healer as well, adept at herbal remedies and stitching. He would have preferred to be a maester or a septon, but as his parents’ only son he was compelled to endure the life of a lord. A squire arrives, refills all the cups with ale, departs with a swift bow.
“You are a Redwyne, and so you shall have Red’s bat,” Daeron says, entrusting the inanimate beast to Laurence. They know who he is talking about; they have heard more fireside stories of Daeron’s siblings than they could count. “And you are nothing like her. You are pious and poised, and you have never made your parents blush with shame. My Mother would have loved to have you for a son.”
“I’ll take your place,” Laurence says mildly, smiling. “You can be my parents’ dashing warrior, and I can accompany Queen Alicent when she prays in the sept.”
Daeron rolls first. He reads the dice and moves his shadowcat forward seven spaces. His brow knits together with determination. “I’m not leaving my mother there.”
“What? In the city?” Anthony asks, startled but not opposed. He is not one to shy away from battle. He believes that is where men find glory, where they ascend from mortals to something more, legends, heroes, gods.
Josiah snickers. “Not going to wait for Prince Aemond’s permission, huh?”
“The people of King’s Landing are in rebellion,” Daeron says, firelight flickering on his face. “Rhaenyra is desperate, and she is grieving Jace’s death, and she has my mother, Jaehaera, and Maelor in her grasp. What if Rhaenyra flees the city on Syrax and evades punishment for her treason? What if she executes my family, or if they are killed somehow when mobs overrun the Red Keep? I will not wait idly. Tessarion and I will recapture King’s Landing for the Greens.”
Oli raises his cup of ale again. “And we will fight with you!”
All five men toast, drink deeply, resume the game. Daeron wins; he has always been lucky.
~~~~~~~~~~
You stumble upstairs together, you supporting Aegon’s weight as best you can, tripping on the stone steps as lightning flashes outside the windows. Rain pours in sheets, wind howls through the cracked walls of the castle, and for a moment you think you are back at Heart’s Home, and that at the top of the tower you will find Luca waiting for you, safe and without pain and grinning his toothless little smile at you over Jace’s shoulder. Then—through the wine, through the torchlight and the thunder—you remember, and you feel the loss of them all over again, and when your knees buckle on the staircase Aegon drags you to your feet. You can sense that Alys Rivers is following you both, sweeping near-silently in her mossy green gown, peering fixedly with those strange silvery eyes like mirrors, haunting doorways and corridors. When you look back you catch glimpses of her, deformed shadows with long white fingers like the skeleton of a bat.
“I’m not a man anymore,” Aegon is blubbering as he collapses into his bed. His half-unbuttoned shirt is damp with spilled cider; tears gleam on his disfigured face.
“Shh, yes you are,” you soothe, lying down beside him. You rest a palm on his chest, gnarled grotesque scar tissue the color of a flayed man. Hazily, you think of the Bolton soldiers who must have marched south with Cregan Stark, and you wonder if when they sharpen their knives they are thinking of Aegon, or Daeron, or Aemond, or Mother, or maybe even you.
“I used to be,” Aegon sobs. “Now I’m just a useless, mutilated, flaccid freak.”
You burrow into him, drunk and drowsy. “Whatever you are, I’m glad you’re still alive.”
Aegon slings a scarred arm over your shoulder. Your ribs throb, your skull aches. “I used to love whoring,” he says miserably.
“The sport is not lost to you entirely. A working cock is not required to satisfy a woman.”
He laughs. “No, I suppose you’re right.”
“Perhaps you will recover. Perhaps you will find new ways to experience pleasure.”
“Perhaps,” Aegon agrees in a soft murmur, and then he dozes off.
And as the room spirals around you and thunder booms outside, you are carried back to other times and places, fleeting visions like the windows you once peered through into Aemond’s mind. You are a child being shoved into a wooden trunk and entombed there. You are tapping your little red bat around the game board. You are under the arbor grown over with roses and thorns, sunlight bleeding through the leaves in golden trickles. You are watching blue jays flit through a blue sky and bathe in the water of the fountains. You are playing with Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, building fortresses of stones and sticks, collecting seashells with them on the beach. You are catching your bats when they soar in through the open window to land in your palms. You are watching Aemond ride back from hunting with one of his red-tailed hawks still perched on his glove. You are feeling your mattress shift beneath his weight, his hand on your thigh, his teeth on your neck; you hear a reverent whisper of High Valyrian. And then you hear the blistering shrieks of all the people he has killed, and you are reminded of Mother’s words about what you once shared with him: It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.
Was she right? She must have been. All it has led to is suffering.
If I had never loved Aemond, Luca and Jace would still be alive. If I had married some ordinary nobleman like Mother and Grandsire always wanted—his bloodline an inheritance from the Andals or the First Men, not the treacherous smoldering embers of Old Valyria—my children would be safe, and Helaena never would have tried to escape King’s Landing, and Aemond would have wed a Baratheon girl and perhaps accepted Lord Borros’ offer of dinner and rest that night in Storm’s End, and maybe Luke wouldn’t have been killed over Shipbreaker Bay, and there is a chance the war would never have happened at all.
But you didn’t listen to Mother and Grandsire, because you have never been tame, gentle, dutiful, ladylike. Jace saw this clearly; you were hungry.
You don’t fall sleep until dawn, and when you wake it is night again. The maids bring food, bread and butter and stew thick with fish and crab, but neither you or Aegon want it. You are marooned here together, not useful like Aemond or Daeron, not holy like Helaena, and the only remedy is cider that flows like molten gold, heat that burns in your throat like the fire of a dragon.
Now there is bleak grey midday light streaming in through the windows, and Aegon is screaming downstairs. You sit up, startled and bleary-eyed, your tangled silver hair strewn carelessly all around you. Alys is standing beside the bed. You yelp in alarm when you see her.
“A raven has arrived,” Alys says tonelessly. She has a red ribbon laced through her moon-white fingers and is toying with it.
“What? Why are you in here…?”
“I think it’s bad news.” Then she floats to the doorway and turns back to make sure you’re following, her hand with the ribbon resting on her rounded belly.
At the bottom of the staircase, Aegon is writhing on the stone floor, a piece of parchment—doubtlessly sent by one of his loyalists on the mainland, one of the very few who know where he is now, perhaps somebody at Rook’s Rest or Crackclaw Point—crumpled in his fist. Several maids are trying futilely to comfort him. You take the letter from Aegon so you can read it.
What is written there in black ink is a tale of triumph and ruin. Under the cover of darkness the Hightower army marched on King’s Landing, and the smallfolk rose up to join them when the soldiers breached the city walls, and the capital has been retaken by the Greens and Mother freed from her cell. Ulf the White was found drunk and senseless, and promptly murdered. Silverwing fled from the Dragonpit in the midst of the chaos. Daeron and Tessarion flew directly to the Red Keep and attacked Syrax where she had been kept in the courtyard, killing the dragon and thus destroying Rhaenyra’s chance to escape. The woman the Blacks call queen was captured and imprisoned, and the men of her council executed; but not before her bowmen shot Daeron through the chest and throat and he tumbled from the saddle and died alone, bleeding to death within the castle walls he once called home. Tessarion screeched in grief and would not leave his body, incinerating the archers when they dared to shoot at her next.
It’s in your pounding skull, a memory that fills your vision, harsh and luminous like lightning: Daeron as a child moving his little purple shadowcat around the board, how the rest of you packed up the game and never played again after he was sent to Oldtown.
“He was supposed to wait for Aemond,” Aegon is sobbing. “He wasn’t supposed to try to retake the city alone, he knew that, he was just a kid…”
You see Daeron falling from the sky, riddled with arrows and stained red with blood. You see Helaena and Dreamfyre plummeting down towards the beach where you once played with her children. And then you see Aemond plunging into the Gods Eye and being swallowed up by cold dark currents, sinking to the floor of the lake, dissolving into silt, disappearing from history.
I love him, you realize, an abrupt and agonizing laceration down to the bone. I might hate him, but I love him too. And hasn’t it always been that way?
You feel the heat of blood drawn on your cheek, taste the iron and copper of it on Aemond’s lips. Your skull aches, always on the left side.
“Why are we the ones still alive?!” Aegon wails at you. “You and me and Aemond were the monsters. But Helaena and Daeron, they were good, they were pure, they deserved to be here when the war is over!”
“It’s not over yet,” Alys says ominously.
“Go away, witch,” Aegon moans, covering his face with his hands. “Go away, go away, go away…”
Outside where soft rain is falling—you can see droplets on the windows and endless opaque fog—you hear the distant snarl of a dragon. And you have the overwhelming sensation that you are being called to.
Above the Gods Eye, the red and the blue, Alys had said. Aemond was blue…but who was red? Caraxes, Daemon, me?
The dragon growls again, not Sunfyre or Grey Ghost or Vermithor the Bronze Fury but the Cannibal, never ridden, never tamed, always hungry. Alys Rivers is holding something out to you. It is the red ribbon.
“He flies to his death,” she says levelly. “Unless you are there to catch him.”
Luca and Jace are gone. Helaena and Daeron are gone. Jaehaerys and Grandsire are gone. But I don’t have to lose Aemond too.
You take the ribbon and swiftly weave your hair into an untidy braid, then tie it off at the end with the strip of red. It is the first color besides black you have worn since you left Heart’s Home. Then you pad towards the castle entranceway in your bare feet.
Aegon is sniffling as the maids try to console him. He peers up at you from where he is still collapsed on the floor, a heap of marred skin and weak bones. “Where are you going?”
In answer, the Cannibal roars outside, immense and gravelly and malevolent.
Aegon says again, frantic now: “Red, where are you going?”
“To claim a dragon.”
“You can’t,” he says, stunned, petrified. “They all refused you.”
“I’m a different person now.”
“No!” he shouts as you turn to leave, lunging and wrapping his arms around your legs, trying to keep you here. “Please don’t go. Please stay. I don’t want to lose you too.”
Tenderly, you touch his tangled locks of silver hair, his mutilated cheek, his slumped shoulder. “If I don’t go, you might lose all of us.”
“It’s suicide. The Cannibal can’t be ridden.”
“But I know what he craves,” you say, and from across the room Alys smiles at you, her pale eyes glinting and her hands stroking the small globe of her belly. “And I want the same thing.”
You pull away from Aegon and escape into the mist, the rain, the cold wind and sea spray that burns in your lungs. He hobbles after you with his walking stick, pleading for you to stop, but he is too slow to catch up. Behind Aegon, Alys trails at a distance, meandering over the rocks. The magma trapped beneath the surface of the island flows like scorching blood through the arteries of the earth; the heat radiates up through the soles of your feet. The marrow glows hot and red in your bones.
You follow the Cannibal’s grunts and snarls and find him down by the water, a shore of jagged volcanic rocks and no sand, volcanic glass, fury hardened and cooled. But yours is still fresh. The Cannibal is feasting on the corpse of Grey Ghost. Gore hangs in crimson shreds from his craggy teeth; he has too many of them, they grow in rows like a shark’s. Frothing seawater laps at his claws. He raises his massive head—black scales and barbed spines, mindless primordial eyes green and luminous—and growls, steam rising from his flaring nostrils.
Fear strikes you, sharp and sudden. Your hands and knees are trembling.
“Let’s go back to the castle!” Aegon yells over the sounds of the sea and the gales of wind.
But you can’t stop now. The Cannibal called and you answered. And here, nineteen years late, you will have the dragon you were denied from birth.
You speak in High Valyrian as the wind gusts and rakes, your black mourning gown billowing, strands of silver hair ripped from your braid. “You hate your kind,” you say to the Cannibal, showing him the empty palms of your hand as you approach, cutting your bare feet on the rocks; and he watches you, eyes blazing, fangs revealed. “And I do too. I hate Rhaenyra for ordering the deaths of Helaena and Daeron and Grandsire. I hate Daemon for sending assassins into my home to murder Jaehaerys. I hate Aemond for killing Luca and Jace. And I hate myself for not being able to stop any of it.”
The Cannibal roars and his jaws open wide, revealing a gaping blood-red throat. From deep within him, lethal flames are building.
“I told you!” Aegon is shouting. “He can’t be tamed, get away from him! Red, come back, please don’t die, please!”
“I was weak!” you scream at the Cannibal in High Valyrian, stumbling over the rocks as you move closer. You bare your teeth at him like you did to Jace the night Rhaenyra took King’s Landing. “I was useless without you. I tried to forget my inheritance as a Targaryen, but it found me. It found me in the Vale, it found me as my son died in my arms. I cannot be gentle and toothless. I can only be the blood of the dragon.”
The Cannibal snaps his jaws shut and stills, his green eyes alight and fixed on you. Aegon and Alys say nothing; perhaps they are afraid to break the spell. You reach out and press your hand to the Cannibal’s muzzle; it comes away covered with Grey Ghost’s blood. You drag your tongue up the length of your palm and drink it. Dragon blood tastes like metal and smoke and the verdant rot of a swamp. The Cannibal growls from low in his enormous chest, but now his radiant eyes are curious.
“Help me kill Daemon and Caraxes,” you say as the wind howls and raindrops run in rivulets down your face. You place both hands on the Cannibal’s bloodied muzzle now. “You’ll kill your kind and I’ll kill mine. Together we will consume them. And I swear to you, my hatred burns every bit as hot as yours.”
You show the Cannibal, picturing it in your mind and knowing he can see: Aemond confessing that he murdered Luke, blood spurting when Jaehaerys was decapitated, Helaena and Dreamfyre crashing down to the beach outside the Red Keep, Jace lying dead in a crumbling stairwell, Luca’s blanket spotted with scarlet and his cries going silent, Daeron pierced with arrows, Aemond disintegrating in the depths of the Gods Eye if you cannot save him.
“I have all this hatred and no way to satisfy it. Let’s fly. Let’s devour.”
The Cannibal wears no saddle and never has. He is wild, and even now you will never own him. What you share will aways be a fight, a push and a pull like the tides, brutal and beloved, but isn’t that how you like it? You move to his side, wading in the shallow water on the shoreline, and hook your fingers around the spines that jut out of his thorax like thorns. His scales gleam like obsidian; he snorts tendrils of searing stream. He does nothing to help you, not stooping lower to the ground, not nudging you along with his snout as you’ve seen Sunfyre do for Aegon. The Cannibal only looks to Grey Ghost’s tattered corpse and takes another bite, crushing the ribcage between his jaws, ropes of gristle and deflated pink lungs gulped down.
Faintly, you hear Aegon say as he whirls to Alys: “Seven hells, I think it’s working.”
You heave yourself upwards and climb until you reach the Cannibal’s knobby spine, and nothing hurts, not your head or your ribs or the cuts on your feet or the scar that begins at your collarbone. As you are still searching for good spots to grab onto so you don’t slide off, crawling over the terrain of his back like stones, the Cannibal jolts forward and you scream when you nearly tumble head-first off of him and into the ocean. You grapple for purchase, eventually finding several large spines near his shoulder blades. You grip these thornlike appendages—your hands are too small to close around them completely—and now the Cannibal is diving into the Narrow Sea.
Aegon shouts something you can’t decipher, and then you are underwater and the world outside is muted. The ocean is ice cold and thrashing violently with the force of the Cannibal’s movement, and you hold on with your eyes squeezed shut, the currents wrenching you roughly, waiting for the dragon to resurface. But the Cannibal plunges deeper and pressure builds in your ears until it feels like they will rupture open and hemorrhage.
Is he trying to drown me??
You consider releasing his spines and paddling blindly for open air, but that would be a surrender. You would be unworthy. You would have no dragon. And the Cannibal would devour you like he did Grey Ghost.
You think in High Valyrian as loudly as you can: I will die here before I let go. I am not afraid of the afterlife. Half of my family is there already. Jace is rocking Luca in his arms, Helaena is placing ladybugs in his tiny wrinkled palms, Daeron is telling him that I’ll be home soon.
And then the Cannibal ascends, and through your eyelids you can tell there is light again, and he bursts through the surf and onto a rocky beach. He scrabbles over the ground, you lurching and blinking seawater from your eyes. The Cannibal’s black wings, ragged from battling other monsters, open like the wings of a raven or a bat. You peer down and the island is growing smaller and the wind is forceful, the ocean rippling under the gusts from the Cannibal’s wings.
You look over your shoulder, and for only a moment you glimpse Aegon standing on the shore and cheering, waving, whistling, and Alys watching with a smile. Then the Cannibal banks and carries you higher into the grey clouds. The air is frigid, and you can’t see anything through the fog, but you are grinning as the wind stings on your teeth. At last, you know what it is like to fly. Dreamfyre bonded to the gentle, Vermithor to the powerful and ambitious, but you were made for a different sort of beast. Your dragon is hateful. Your dragon is hungry.
The Cannibal circles back to Dragonstone, breaks through the sightless mist like a blade through flesh, and lands beside Aegon and Alys and snarls at them, gnashing his gore-stained fangs. Steam blasts from his nostrils and blows through their hair. Alys shrinks away from him, her hands cradling her belly protectively.
Aegon is laughing hysterically. “What now?” he says, marveling at the Cannibal, awed and horrified in equal measure. “All these years you thought there was something wrong with you. Thank the gods your egg never hatched.”
“Aemond is meeting Daemon in battle above the Gods Eye. That’s where I’m going.”
“Do you even know how to get there?!”
“It’s west of here. That’s a start.” But you see a mirage through the Cannibal’s ancient green eyes: a time years ago, decades, centuries, when he flew over the Riverlands and felt the foreign magic of the Old Gods, natural adversaries to Valyrians. He flew away from them then. He can find his way back now.
In High Valyrian, you think: Take me there and we will kill our own.
Yes, an ancient voice rumbles in your skull, wrathful black bottomless gluttony. Yes, yes.
~~~~~~~~~~
It gleams like a sapphire in the face of the earth, the Gods Eye as you descend through dense clouds that taste like metal when you breathe the winter sky into your lungs. You have flown through the night, and you both would be exhausted if not fueled by hatred the way wood feeds a fire.
The Cannibal shows you things through his archaic reptilian eyes—the Targaryens arriving on the doorstep of his lair after heeding Daenys the Dreamer’s vision of the Doom of Valyria, Aegon’s Conquest and Visenya’s scheming, Maegor the Cruel’s ashes being interred on the island where he was raised, the Old King Jaehaerys fleeing with Alysanne to Dragonstone so they could marry against the wishes of his advisors, Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding and happiness there before the war began, dragons coming and going, storms and eruptions and shipwrecks, claws and fangs and raw meat—and so you learn what it means to be a dragon. You show him your comparatively few memories in return, your momentary existence, and he begins to understand you too.
The dark skeletal remnants of Harrenhal, promised to Alys and the son she shares with Aemond, appear as the Cannibal flies lower. On the fields by the lakeshore, armies are clashing in battle; you see the banners of House Stark, House Lannister, and the dual factions of House Targaryen. High above the murky blue water, Vhagar and Caraxes are twisted in lethal combat, flames pouring from their jaws, claws scraping away scales.
Aemond, you think, and you wonder if he has already felt that you’re here.
The Cannibal glides with his vast, frayed wings over the Green soldiers, and you spot Criston among them, astride a galloping white horse and wielding a sword. He stares up as the Cannibal’s shadow falls over him, and he sees what you have brought with you, and he is so staggered he cannot look away. Men are pointing and shouting. The Northmen are pulling up their horses, their infantry bolting for the trees. In front of you are thousands of enemy combatants, anonymous and swarming like ants.
“Dracarys,” you whisper, and the Cannibal opens his jaws and spills a river of fire down on the Northman. Their banners burn, their horses scream and scatter, their men are cooked in their armor and stumble towards the water to extinguish themselves. You feel the Cannibal’s malevolent satisfaction. He feels your hatred turning lighter, anemic, easier to carry.
He swoops up into the sky where Vhagar and Caraxes are intertwined. Vhagar has the Blood Wyrm’s long, serpentine neck clenched between her fangs, but Caraxes is not dead yet; he has clawed through the scales of Vhagar’s belly and opened her, unspooled her, disemboweled her. Vhagar’s intestines cascade from her abdomen and tangle around her kicking feet. She is bleeding to death. She will fall soon.
Daemon knows there is no escape. He has Dark Sister in his fist and is preparing to jump from his saddle and deliver the deathblow to Aemond. You remember Daemon stalking you around the courtyard of the Red Keep with the same sword, twirling it in his hands and fantasizing about slitting your throat. The Cannibal understands this as if it is his own memory and unleashes crimson flames upon Caraxes. In his final seconds, Daemon turns and sees you, and the last thing he feels is not triumph but shock and heat and excruciating, incinerating pain, a fire that burns ruinously clean, leaving not even the bones.
Vhagar is dying. She releases Caraxes and the smoldering, broken dragon tumbles resistlessly into the lake. Aemond is calling your name. The Cannibal soars towards them, almost close enough now. Vhagar goes limp as she exsanguinates, her wings stop flapping, her colossal body spirals down towards the Gods Eye. Aemond unfastens his chains and leaps from the saddle. It is his only chance; if he hits the water with Vhagar, he will be knocked unconscious and drown, sink, vanish. His long hair is a ribbon of silver. His hands grasp for you and the Cannibal, catching nothing but empty air.
You reach for him as he falls and the wind rushes through your fingers, grey as steel and cold like the descending winter.
~~~~~~~~~~
A year ago, twilight in the garden of the Red Keep, the fountain trickling lazily as you perch on the edge with Blue Jay clinging to your forearm. High above, silver glints of constellations are burning through the indigo sky. On the ground, you kick pebbles around aimlessly with your bare feet. You avoid his gaze because you’re trying to pretend you’re teasing; you don’t want him to see how upset you are. “They’re going to make you marry a Baratheon girl.”
“No they aren’t.”
“Yes, Aemond, they are. I understand that. You don’t have to lie to me.”
“They’re going to try,” he purrs into your ear as he sits down beside you, petting Blue Jay with one lithe hand. “But I won’t do it. If Borros Baratheon needs a marriage to seal his alliance, then Daeron can wed his youngest daughter. I’ve already written to Daeron, and he agreed. He was willing, in fact. If it means he would be coming home to King’s Landing at last.”
“Lord Baratheon will want you,” you insist. “You are older. You are closer to the throne.”
“I’m very close to it,” Aemond agrees, kissing the apple of your cheek and then biting you there, the sharpness of his teeth, the pink warmth of bloodrush. Blue Jay swoops off into the dusk to devour the wheeling white specks of moths and lacewings.
“He will try to tempt you, he will offer you a beautiful bride.”
“Oh, yes, she will be beautiful,” Aemond murmurs, and when you strike at his chest he catches your wrists and yanks you in closer. “And she will be meek, and compliant, and ladylike in every way, and if she was mine she would lie down and spread her legs for me whenever I asked, because that is what is required of a dutiful wife. She will be devout…and decorous…and sinless…”
“Then marry her instead,” you hiss as you battle with him, fighting to get away, not wanting to win. Aemond drags you off the ledge of the fountain and into the cool shallow water. You splash as you struggle, your fingernails raking against his throat and the blind side of his face where he can’t see to defend himself, your long silver braid heavy and sodden, your blood-colored velvet gown drenched and clinging to you like muscles to bones.
“But the Baratheon girl wouldn’t be like me,” Aemond says, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him, and while his hands are rough his voice is soft, almost like a whisper, almost like the prayers that Mother sighs in the sept, pleading for the gods to tame her children. The thrashing water goes still. Your heartbeat is slowing. You gaze into the crystalline blue of his eye and are trapped there like a sailor sinking to the bottom of the sea. “And she wouldn’t be like you either.”
You grin—relief, triumph, hunger—and Aemond kisses you, not like how a lord kisses a lady but how animals devour each other, fierce and biting, insatiable, unashamed.
Aemond says as he kneels in the water of the fountain, bats you named after him flapping overhead in a darkening sky: “I have to leave for Storm’s End at dawn. I won’t be gone long, I won’t sleep there even if I’m invited too. Wait up for me tomorrow night.”
“No,” you answer, taunting him; but you will.
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kisakunt · 3 days ago
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THE RICH MAN’S GUIDE TO CORRUPTION
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GIVE IT UP FOR LOVE
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warnings… i mean some absolute swine talk, gojo and geto are evil men, you’re a sweet and pure virgin. swearing, mentions of fucking, really just vile pig shit.
synopsis… suguru and satoru have a lovely chat over a warm summers breeze. oh! and sweet, un-expecting, vulnerable you is the topic of discussion.
a word from the creator… idk if i mentioned this but this fic is based loosely off the movie cruel intentions! banger film, check it out. i wrote a lot of this chapter awhile ago so if the writing style switches up next chapter don’t sue me. i’m excited!!!! here’s to the next eleven chapters of hell
series masterlist
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Gojo hates the heat. He thinks he's tolerated it before on his father’s yacht or when he did an unnecessary shirtless carwash for extra money he didn't need; but right now with the breeze through the window— that Suguru demanded be open— overbearing the air conditioner, he's absolutely positive that summer is the worst.
“Start of the year’s comin’, yknow.” He typically broke the silence— as if he could ever shut up to begin with— and he was almost always met with a:
“No shit.” strident response. Those seemed to be Suguru’s speciality, and provoking them seemed to be Satoru’s.
It’s too hot. His white hair presses into the drywall, feeling much cooler than the air outside. “I’m not stupid, Suguru. Neither are you, you know what I mean.” It’s an overdramatic sigh— a call for attention— as he turns his head over to look at him.
“They’re gonna ask us about it soon.” And, in some way Suguru can’t really comprehend, Gojo sounds excited.
His manner isn’t necessarily wrong, not so much as it is unexpected. The ‘new year, new fuck’ competition of Azabu was practically famous among the young men certain to attend— the sons of the sons who started it, and all their nephews or cousins or any synonym for a pig of a relative that they could come up with. And, luckily enough, they had the privilege to be top candidates.
The competition was started by the current dean’s uncle, a horny fuck-all type who would take any and all excuse to boost his ego while tearing down a girls— or maybe he really did just want a good lay. But, it grew and grew and grew, and now it was almost ritualistic, a second identity of worthiness in the form of fucking a virgin before anyone else did.
Sure, they were nothing but thrilled for it as high school reached an end, or even the first or second year of university. But now it just seemed dull.
But, traditions are custom, and customs are a necessity. It’s almost become lore throughout their little clique of affluence; whispered stories from childhood turned into real competition after a long wait, especially from a group of people who so rarely have to wait for anything. It’s inspiring, they think, means to associate themselves with a lower class; normalize themselves just a little more.
Alumni share stories at functions, putting the frat in fraternizing, nonchalance on the tips of their tongues. Sometimes the tone almost feels dark, and Suguru thinks if he were a better person he’d feel some type of sympathy for the girls. Any fragment of empathy he had wiped away when he won for the first time, though, wide smirk as his year mates glared at him; memories of the tight, albeit idiotic, girl engrained behind the lids of his eyes.
Even so, it gets old quick. And it’s not like they don’t fuck dumb, stupid, silly girls with nothing to say for the rest of the year anyway. So, he can’t quite figure out what Gojo is all too excited about.
“Well try to make sure your dick doesn’t get hard from the thought, you fucking freak.” There’s a giggle from the other man, a scoff too, and he pushes his hand out at him.
This is crucial. This is who they are together. A pair— whether it’s a pair of awful men or not.
There’s also a sense of trepidation that comes with it, of course. It’s exclusive, more so than they already are, and if you do one thing wrong- speak a little too loud, come off too brash, give a lackluster lie after actually getting caught— you’re out. And whose pride would want that?
“It’s stupid we always gotta wait for them to sit us down, it’s not like we don’t know what’s coming up.” He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Plus, what a fucking weird thing to say to your kid.”
“I mean the whole thing’s odd if you think about it.” Gojo shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets, forearms bare against the linen of his trousers.
He’s right, of course. Even if neither of them feel guilt for their actions, they can’t ignore the sinking feeling in their stomach when their own fathers sit them down and incite such a twisted view on them.
Be that as it may, it’s not too bad when that’s all they know, and it’s not like either of them are going to complain at a quick orgasm, a nice pair of tits, and that goddamn feeling of triumph.
“Do you think they’ll cry again?” Satoru mocks, brimming with glee as he leans in the direction of his friend. “It’s always funny, dontcha think?”
“As if you’d know,” There’s a smirk despite the aggression in his tone. “Dunno why it matters so much to you, you already got bitches babbling about you all the time.”
Gojo sighs, expression bored and childish and fucking greedy. “Yeah, I know but…” His voice peters out, lost in the room. Elation bubbles back into his features, warming his cheeks and animating his eyes as he looks at Suguru.
“Yknow, I heard the dean has a daughter starting, actually. Real sweet gal, even wrote a whole fucking magazine article about the importance of ‘saving your innocence’” his voice wobbles, eyes rolling as he sneers. “for someone you really love.”
“Sounds like she’s ugly.”
“Thought so, too, but..” He trails off, hand fishing in his back pocket for his phone, pupils dilating at the light on his screen. It doesn’t take him long to find the photo; clearly he’s been sitting on his discovery for awhile, anticipating when he could tell him. “Look.”
Suguru doesn’t like to be wrong, much less will he ever admit it. “Holy shit.” You aren’t necessarily the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, probably not even the prettiest he’s seen in the last month, but you were definitely something.
Maybe it was the curve of your jaw or the tint in your lips, but the photo set something off in him. On the surface he thinks it’s the just barely explicit face you’re making in your mirror, phone in hand as you look into your lens, but really, honestly, if he’s searching deep down— it’s the fact he knows you’re the one girl who wouldn’t just throw herself on him if he so kindly asked.
“Sugu, are you ever bored of this? It feels too easy, right?” Suddenly Gojo’s previous excitement feels misplaced, voice itching for more. “Hardest part about it is finding out who’s actually a virgin or not, and that’s pretty simple with how awkward they get.”
“What are you saying?” Maybe he already knows, maybe he’s hoping for the obvious, but he asks like he doesn’t care. The former moves fast, hand steady on the desk as he leans far too close for comfort. In any other situation, he’d probably be met with a harsh jab to the face, but this feels different— secret.
“Let’s do something, on our own, just you and me.” He almost seems too impatient, pressure digging into the ground from the toes of his shoes and gaze begging. It was the kind of thing that made you want to agree, if nothing else to just feel a fraction of the way he seemed to be. Before Suguru could even consider the idea, test the waters and make Gojo beg a little bit, said boy opened his mouth again.
“I mean, unless you’re not up for it. You don’t really seem like the type to make a girl give it up for love.” He snickers, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as he feigns swooning.
“Geto, I— I love you.” His voice is high, wheezy in his imitation and a little rude. “I think.. I think I’m ready- I want it to be you.” He cuts himself off with his own laugh, hand circling over his mouth to try to stifle himself. “Could you imagine?”
“The fuck does that mean?!”
“Cmon, Suguru, you’re not really the endearing type.” He’s edging him now, tone manipulative and pressing and snarky and Suguru knows— of course he knows, but it can’t help but irk him.
“What are you thinking?” And now Gojo’s beaming again, feet guiding him back across the room to his bag, books stacked neatly inside, lying even against each other. He pulls out a magazine and tosses it to him haphazardly before he reaches back for a notebook and a pen.
“Page 36, read it.” The article is cheesy. It’s too long and feels like something right off a self care Facebook page. Suguru is sure he physically recoiled a couple times reading it; especially when you wrote ‘Virginity is a miracle— the ability to show someone how much you love them in such an intimate way should be saved for someone special.’.
It’s shocking that you’re the daughter of the man who oversees their little sex game.
Suguru thinks you’re vile— embarrassing and pathetic and a huge fucking waste of what seems like a really good pair of blowjob eyes. It makes his skin crawl and he verbally scoffs when he reads your finishing sentence about cherishing your virtues, so focused on the arrogance in your punctuation that he doesn’t even hear Gojo’s laugh.
“Pretentious as shit, right?” He snorts, eyes flickered as he recites the passage in his head. “It’s gonna feel so good to fuck the words right out of her mouth.” Suguru didn’t know what he expected from his friend, but it wasn’t that. It’s clear through, through and through, that he’s dedicated to the idea.
“I mean sure, I guess you’ll have your turn. Maybe she’ll fuck just about anyone after I win.”
“Wait, so you’re in?”
“Whatever.”
“Fuck yeah!” He’s joyful, fist pumping into his chest in a quick celebration before he’s holding up his notebook, standing directly across the floor from the desk.
The wood is dark, deep and marbled, glazed over the top and lined with little symbols of power in the form of trophies. It’s clearly something too nice to serve as a welcome mat, but nonetheless Suguru rests his heels on the surface, ankles crossed over each other as he leans back in his chair. His eyes point to the ceiling to look at anything other than the annoyance in front of him.
“Well clearly we need to set up some rules.” He sneers in his seat when he remembers not looking at him won’t make him shut up.
“Okay well we have the obvious: whoever fucks first wins. And I mean fucks, none of that sloppy anal shit. Doesn’t count.” It’s almost funny, but neither of them acknowledge it. If they do, that’ll come hand in hand with the fact they’re acting just like their fathers.
“She has to be sober.” He didn’t really expect himself to say that, but he did expect Satoru to whine.
Gojo lets it sit in the air for a second before he nods curtly and jots something done.
“Would it be too cocky to say she has to cum?” The journal’s away from his face now and someone could, and probably would, argue that the walls are lucky to see the boyish grin he’s got. His smirk pulls up at the corners of his lips, but Suguru just finds it vexing. Gojo is far too full of himself, he thinks, and he hates to admit there’s good reason.
Nonetheless, he has to give him a little shit. “Do they normally not with you?”
“Hey! That’s not what I meant, asshole.” There’s something sweet to Satoru, under all the sickening that is his personality. It makes people understand just why girls fall for him, and definitely helps him keep a good image to the public.
And there’s something smart to him that makes you feel like he could really pull whatever he wanted off. It makes the idea of competing with just him much more appealing.
“Are we gonna have like a— fuck I don’t know— like a time limit?”
“Fuck is this? A video game?”
“I mean no, but competition wise if it takes us like half a year isn’t that kind of stupid? Because who’s to say she won’t ‘really love you’ by then, and then you’re not making her go against anything, yknow?” And there's also something meticulous about him that makes him aggravating as all hell.
“Fine. A month.”
“Just a month?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Plus, anything longer than that and we’d just be a couple of fucking losers chasing after a bitch.” Suguru knows Gojo is giving him a look without even seeing it, the slightly judgmental and almost kind one he does. “What? You’re the one who said it to begin with.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. A month.” It’s silent for a second, comfortable with all their years of each other, before he clears his throat.
“That it then?” Maybe they’re the same kind of evil. Maybe they deserve each other.
“One more, actually.” There’s that feeling from him again, the tone that makes Suguru want to agree aimlessly for no fucking reason other than the possible rush. And before he can fester; before his skin can start to crawl and his hands can get clammy just from that sheer desire in his voice, Gojo grins.
“You need proof. And I don’t mean her saying it, because you can bribe anyone into saying anything. Gotta show it, photo or video or something, balls deep or whatever the fuck.” That almost makes Suguru laugh.
“I don’t think she’s gonna go for that one, no matter how good the dick is.”
“She doesn’t have to know.” Now he’s really thrilled. He doesn’t know what it is, but that lights something in him, stirs in his stomach and causes a little quiver in his brow.
“Fuck yeah, man,” he’s really laughing now, pointing at the journal harshly. “write that shit down.”
There’s something unspoken over them now, a deeper bond than they thought they could have. Neither of them would ever admit it, but it feels like they’re those two high schoolers again, counting down til they can become something fucking great. This is the feeling they’re supposed to get from their fathers’ stupid fucking contest. This is actual competition, a chance to actually win.
A new air falls on them, mixed back in with that warm, rich breeze.
“Okay, that settles that then.” Gojo offers, fingers tapping the binding of his book. “She has to be attending the start of the year banquet so that’ll be an excuse to meet her. Everything from then on is up to us.” Suguru always dreaded that shitty event, but now he finds himself doing mental math to count how far away it is.
Even if the whole thing is trivial, and even if you seem like the most uptight thing ever, Suguru is a man of pride. And prideful he’ll be.
“We still gotta do the ‘new year’ thing, you know. They’ll burst a fucking artery if we say we’re not interested.” His voice is gravelly and calm and so not anything he’s feeling, but he thinks Gojo buys it when he chuckles.
“Can you be excommunicated from being a womanizer? Because I think we would be.” They’re almost joking like everything is normal. It’s different, so much different, but they’re acting the same.
“I’m gonna go grab some water and maybe call one of your maids to make lunch, you want anything?” Suguru shakes his head, shifting in his seat as he tries his hardest not to look at the journal Satoru set on the side table.
“Suit yourself, I’ll be back.”
“Whatever,” He waits after Gojo walks out. Waits a good forty five seconds before he stands up, and he crosses the room in about three.
He glances over at the thrown aside notebook, eyes quick as he scans it. The handwriting is adjacent to messy, scattered and the page is littered with semi vulgar doodles and side bars. It’s coherent, though, and even though they both know Gojo had no intention of giving it to him, it’s got his signature at the bottom.
1. Full fucking!! Penis in vagina
2. No signs of being inebriated. Absolutely stone cold sober
3. If it takes longer than a month after everyone is introduced we’re both “a couple of fucking losers” (< Sugu’s words)
4. Orgasms are important ! Or at least near orgasms (she is a virgin)
5. Photo / video proof. If you can’t get it, you aren’t in it (haha! get it?)
He snickers at four, the uneasy tone in the second sentence almost self deprecating. Despite that, he can’t help but feel a smidge of respect that he ended up adding it to begin with.
He grabs the pen from the table, pressing into the paper too hard as he leaves his chicken scratch of a John Hancock. Okay, maybe this will be fun.
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taglist… @moonlight-pearls @sharkerino @echerie
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kudouusagi · 3 days ago
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Animedia Uryuu Kyouko interview
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Not skating but playing karuta!?
Q: What is the scene that you though "this is hot" the most during?
A: While they were playing Karuta! Please feel that true breath of life!
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You'll be able to see all sorts of firsts!
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You'll be able to see how Sakurayashiki and Nanjou interacted while they were young!
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Just as the title says, you'll be able to see their morning routines!
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You'll be able to see Hiromi-chan in love!
Click to read the rest of the interview
We asked Kyoko Uryu for secrets about the production of the OVA! 
--It's been just about 4 years from when the first season was aired on TV, and the OVA is going to be shown in theaters soon. How did you determine how production would go?
While we were making the first season, people would often say things like "I'd like to do this type of thing in season 2" so there was a strong desire to continue in the production team. So it was determined we'd make a season 2 very soon after we saw the reaction to season one. However, since it's an original anime without a work to base it off of, and the staff had plans to work on other projects, we figured it would take a while to make another season. We decided to produce an OVA before the second season, as we wanted to deliver something new in the meantime, and also as a gift to express our gratitude to the fans who would be waiting for a long time. That ended up taking quite a while too though......(sweat). Thank you so much for waiting......!
--Uryuu-san, please tell us your favorite part of the OVA, that's an "Omnibus story about their everyday lives"
We wanted to make something we couldn't do in the series, and we wanted to make it something that us as the staff would also want to see, so this is an episode we made from all of our ideas. I can't say much about the content yet because it would be spoilers, but I can tell you now that my personal favorite point is the theme song! Not only is it sung by Reki and Langa, the lyrics that Utsumi-san helped produce are amazing, so please listen to the full version on the OVA bonus CD!
--In the commercial currently available, we see Sakurayashiki and Nanjo in their highschool days. Was the part set in the past something you came up with after it was decided there would be an OVA?
Well, we had decided that they've been "frenemies since childhood" before this, but we started from wondering how these two would have been during their school days if they fight like children even as adults..... That's how we went about creating this story. We hope you enjoy seeing their former daily lives(?) that we aren't really able to depict in the main series.
--If there's a character that your impression of has changed, or you've found a new appeal because of the OVA, please tell us!
Kikuchi! Kikuchi is a mysterious character by nature, but I think you'll see a side of him that's completely different from the image you have of him from the TV series.
--Other than the second season that's already being made, there have been various collaborations and pilgrimage tours held for this series that's been loved for a long time. Is there anything that you personally want to see happen for SK8, Uryuu-san?
I feel like the fans of SK8 have a deep love for this series, so if I ever have the change, I'd like to have a tea party or something like that to talk with the fans about the series. I'll never forget about how enthusiastic the fans were at the talk event held during the pilgrimage tour last year (lol). Other than that, I'd like to be able to have a Canada episode someday and be able to hold a Canada pilgrimage tour...... of course before that I'd like to go to Canada with Utsumi-san for location scouting!
--Finally, please give a message to everyone waiting for the OVA to go one sale and the theater screening!
Thank you so much for waiting 4 whole years. 
The OVA is made for the fans who are overflowing with love for SK8, and I think it's packed full of rich content for them so please look forward to it!
The limited time theater screening will of course contain the OVA itself, but we also plan to deliver specially edited footage from the first season so that everyone in the theater can enjoy it together, as well as behind-the-scenes talks with the cast and director. There will be footage only shown in the theater so I hope everyone will enjoy it together before the OVA comes out. The OVA packaging will be just as elaborate, if not more than, the series packaging, so we hope you'll pick it up and watch it over and over again!
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fireheartpages · 3 days ago
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interlude | b.d
bodhi durran x reader chapter two. series masterlist summary: So, he made a plan. He would work his way into your atmosphere. Get your attention somehow, manage to win you over. He didn’t know what it was, only that his interest would only be satiated by one thing: knowing you. word count: 1.8k notes: kind of second person pov, it's mostly all bodhi's pov though. canon-typical violence. bodhi is such a sweetheart ok. this is a little brain baby because i wanted to dive a little more into his brain so i could get a good feel of where this was going! pls enjoy reading bc i really enjoyed writing it, i love a good character study and that’s well and truly what this is!
When Bodhi had seen the dragons after parapet as a first year, he had almost been apart of the group that ran.
They were menacing—terrifying, and for a brief moment, he wondered why more people didn’t have the common sense to turn around in their presence. Leave them be. Simply try something else. Like maybe something that encompassing and powerful should just be left alone.
His anxiety had eaten through every nerve ending in his body until he was barely able to stay on his feet. But he did. He stayed standing, and when Garrick leaned over and whispered to him not to move—lest he incur the wrath of such a colossal beast—he listened. He planted his feet on the ground and kept his head held high. This was his life now. This was the card he had been dealt, and deal with it he would.
It was this attitude that had gotten him bonded to his own dragon: Cuir, the massive green with a quick tail and even quicker tongue.
She was a mother hen if he’d ever met one. Half the time she was making sure Bodhi had an adequate meal and enough sleep, and the other time she was the backbone he’d grown and hardened in the quadrant.
She’d gotten him through all of the hardest things he’d done within the quadrant. His first year had been rough—not incredibly eventful by most standards, but enough to put him through the wringer.
Nothing had made him feel more inadequate than watching all of his friends develop signets while his own lie dormant. Cuir had started channeling almost immediately. Her trust in him was implicit, but he had worried it was misplaced. He worried he would just never develop one. Worried that he would just burn up and never amount to anything.
But there never seemed to be a danger of it. Never seemed to be a surge of power with the threat. He could feel it, and he could channel into lesser magics, but there was no signet. Nothing.
Everyone else in his squad had a signet. They had even been developing and training them. But not Bodhi.
It was only a few weeks before the end of the year, going on a mission for the rebellion and suffering through Xaden’s taunting when he realized his signet had developed. He just hadn’t used it yet.
Xaden had swarmed his feet with shadows, nipping at his ankles like they were viscous animals, and they all watched as the shadows seemed to burn up.
No one was more surprised than Bodhi was.
“Light?” Garrick had asked.
Xaden shook his head. “No, I—I felt that.”
Then, during War Games, he realized what it was.
Some asshole from first wing was a fire wielder, and he had it out for Marked ones. He sent a wall of fire at Bodhi, completely intent on killing him, and Bodhi had thrown his hands up. And then nothing happened. The flame sputtered out, and—oh.
A twist of his hand, and he had rendered the asshole incapable of using his own signet.
The other rider tried again, and Bodhi was intentional with it this time. He twists his hand again, imagining it was a dial on someone else’s power, and he watched as the flames seemed to retreat back into him.
Satisfaction was a tangible thing in his chest. Pride filled his bond with Cuir. There was a roar from someone behind him, and Bodhi couldn’t help but just fucking smirk at the guy.
“Nice try.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Durran!”
“You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that!” Bodhi called as he mounted his green, knowing it was a taunt. He was top of his wing in sparring. He’d lost to one other person during challenges ever. In that moment, Bodhi felt unstoppable.
He suddenly became the most useful tool his squad—hell, his whole wing. Needless to say, they won War Games that year.
The Executive Officer title came as no surprise, not after the display of power he had shown in the latter half of the year. It did, however, paint a target on his back. No one liked that Marked ones were working their way up in the ranks. Him, Garrick, Xaden, they were the pentacle of everything leadership had hoped rebellion kids would never become—good at their fucking jobs.
But Bodhi had decided he refused to show them what they were looking for. Including anything less than perfect. He would be a powerful rider. He would master his signet. He would be a just officer. He would do everything he could to help with the rebellion. He would be the perfect soldier for Navarre, so they could never suspect he was an even better soldier elsewhere.
And then he watched you make a dance of the parapet.
He couldn’t resist the interest that followed, the way you captured his attention simply by being there. You were meant for a stage, not the hardened walls of Basgiath. And yet.
You were incredible. Skilled and talented. You were kind, and witty, and good gods he would give anything to be the center of your attention. You were like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.
So, he made a plan. He would work his way into your atmosphere. Get your attention somehow, manage to win you over. He didn’t know what it was, only that his interest would only be satiated by one thing: knowing you.
Step one: observe. Figure out your likes and dislikes, your habits and interests, who your friends were. Xaden’s weird interest in Violet helped, gave him an excuse. He watched you during challenges, even got the chance to spar with you. Would watch you slip those gloves on your hands every morning as you run to catch up with your squad. Watched you dominate the Gauntlet despite the odds stacked against you.
Step two: get an in. Ané was the cadet in the healer quadrant that always seemed to be stuck with him when he came in with any particularly nasty wounds. A sprained wrist, too-deep cut, and one time, even a broken rib or two he’d gotten on a very much not sanctioned flight to drop off some weapons over the border. That was all his fault, but it was hard to explain away when no one had observed it. But Ané was kind, like you, and when he explained what he’d seen of your hands, Ané seemed to know what it was. And have a solution.
Step three: delivery. It had taken Ané minutes to make a balm for you, and he kept it on him until the next time he saw you. He had felt like he was ambushing you, jogging up to you in the courtyard as you headed back from the infirmary, but he was excited. To say the least. Not being able to do so had never crossed his mind, so when you’d nearly rejected it, he had almost crumbled right then and there. But then you’d taken it from him, and gods, the look on your face—he wanted to bottle the feeling in his chest, the light in your eyes. And when you’d told him about home? Trusted him with little pieces of yourself—the cold you hated, your mom’s role in the damn rebellion, how you’d ended up in the quadrant. The high he felt was better than winning War Games.
Step four: make you like him. You were a hard shell to crack, but he was working on it. He was doing his damndest. He would give you as many little pieces of himself as he could. Find you during Threshing and talk down your anxiety. If you could admit your history to him, he could tell you a little about his. You weren’t Marked physically, but from the burden you carried, you were marked in another way. On your soul.
Step five: make you fall for him. Not that he’d fallen for you. He wasn’t, like, in love with you or anything. He just—liked you. Yeah. Really, really liked you. Cuir thought he was full of shit, but she didn’t know everything. (Even though she reminded him many times that she, indeed, did.) And the more he got to know you, the more he liked. He would teach you how to spar, and make you give him something in return. He didn’t care about flying like you. In fact, you were terrifying in the air. Said you weren’t meant to be a rider and yet you rode like you were born for it. He just wanted to spend time for you. And if he got to touch you while you sparred? In the most innocent way, of course. No funny business. Unless you have the green light, then—
Then you started pulling away.
He missed seeing you for days at a time, sometimes an entire week. He felt it like a phantom limb.
It had only then occurred to him then just how thoroughly you had encompassed every part of him. Just how easily he had gotten you mixed into every aspect of his day. How much he looked forward to seeing you until he was deprived of you. Until he didn’t have access to your wit and your laugh anymore.
Seeing you on the flight field had been nothing less than a shock. He had recognized Shocair before she had even seen them. He was still thinking of the most recent drop when their little group had stumbled across her.
And somehow, deep in his gut, he knew. He knew that if you discovered them, found out what they were doing, that they were working with the resistance… You wouldn’t say a word. In fact, he knew you would jump to help.
Those thoughts had sprung forward without him realizing, and it was like they were caressed, cupped in his head and—it was a weird feeling. Almost like someone ran a hand through the pond that was his mind. Not unlike the one he got around Xaden sometimes. The one that flared something in his channel.
And then Shocair’s wing lifted and you stepped out and Bodhi’s heart about stopped beating. You looked run through. Tired. Still beautiful. Beaten down.
Xaden had gone on offensive, but you handled it with ease. With the support of Shocair, of course. When you said you slept on the flight field, it was like his world had stopped spinning.
Something was wrong, something was deeply, deeply wrong. He would have done anything to fix it.
But you kept icing him out. And it hurt like hell.
He wasn’t going to push, but damn him if he wanted to. There was a moment there where he thought he might have cracked you. But he wasn’t a fire wielder, so he couldn’t melt your ice, and he wasn’t an inntinnsic, so he couldn’t figure it out for himself.
So he walked away. And he felt like a damned coward for it.
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brucebocchi · 23 hours ago
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Ranking 2024 anime, Pt. 5: #10-1
hey, this post is also available on my ko-fi, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as i do this for free and am currently between jobs. you can find part 1 of the list here, part 2 here, part 3 here, and part 4 here. all of my seasonal reviews are on my ko-fi and under my anime reviews tag, mixed in with my occasional musings. thanks!
And we are in the home stretch! I didn't want to split up my top 10 like last year, so it took a couple days to get it all together. Thanks for your patience.
​As you may have noticed, some of these reviews are longer than others. I've reviewed most of these shows before, so I didn't want to be too redundant while talking about shows I've already reviewed. You can, of course, go back and read my initial reviews in my previous seasonal roundups.
Also, I just wanted to quickly shout out a few shows that I haven't watched much or any of, but would likely have placed well in these rankings, namely Dead Dead Demon's Dededede Destruction, YATAGARASU, the Spice and Wolf remake, Orb: On the Movements of Earth, Sound! Euphonium's third season, and the late Akira Toriyama's SAND LAND and Dragon Ball DAIMA. I only have so much time in a day, week, month, and year, but those series have been on my radar and I do intend to pick them up sooner or later.
But for now, let's focus on what I did watch. Off we go:
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10. Blue Box
This is a slightly biased placement on my end because I picked up the manga this year and quickly fell in love with it, and I’m just happy that it got a faithful, well-made anime adaptation. If you have an issue with that, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret: This whole list is biased. It’s MY list, after all.
After an uneven summer output between My Dear Friend Nokotan and Suicide Squad Isekai, WIT Studio is in full form adapting Kouji Miura’s gorgeous high school sports romance. Rising first-year badminton player Taiki has a huge crush on his basketball star senpai Chinatsu, who practices in the same high school gym he does. He’s happy enough to keep a friendly distance as they improve at their respective sports, but that distance is closed significantly when her parents go abroad for work and she ends up moving in under the same roof as him. The spirit of competition is in the air, and is that a whiff of romance I smell as well?
The reason I felt the need to call out my own bias at the start is because Blue Box’s debut cour is, on balance, probably just “pretty good,” but I was just so overjoyed that this anime even exists that I was willing to overlook the early story’s growing pains. Taiki, of course, is the POV character for most of the first cour, and most of the romantic tension we see so far is entirely from his end as he swoons and huffs and goes into cardiac arrest over any and every gesture Chinatsu throws his way. You know, teenage boy stuff. There have been criticisms that Chinatsu doesn’t get much interiority for a bit and that she’s a bit of an enigma in terms of her role in the central “romance,” such that it is so far, which is a valid criticism of a lot of shonen romance stories. I’m generally of the mind that these things are more potent when the object of the protagonist’s affection is treated as more than a puzzle for him to solve, but I think Blue Box does a fine job of establishing what Chinatsu means to Taiki before we do indeed begin to get a feel for how she operates and what she might think of him. If you found that part a little maddening early on, trust me when I say it’s worth sticking it out.
Regardless, the character writing is what made Blue Box such a hit in Weekly Shonen Jump. Taiki is a flat-out good kid, if a little naive, and his boundless determination to achieve and exceed his goals in both badminton and romance makes him easy to root for. Chinatsu is fairly taciturn, as mentioned, but that’s by design; she’s a notoriously difficult person to read, as even her friends and teammates note that they can rarely decipher what she’s thinking. She’s still an effortlessly charming character, and it’s not hard to figure out why Taiki’s got it so bad for her. The real highlight of the series, though, is Taiki’s classmate and longtime friend, Hina, a rhythmic gymnast and an absolute troll. She is an absolute delight in every scene she’s in, whether she’s knocking Taiki’s knees out from under him, focusing on rehearsing her next routine, or prying into Taiki’s love life and realizing that, oops, she really cares about him too. Hina is wonderful and I just want the best for her.
Characters this likable will need the voices to match, and I am over the moon about this show’s casting. Shouya Chiba is tremendous as Taiki, in a far cry from his Epic Based Stoic Chad role as Ayanokoji in Classroom of the Elite. Every line read for Taiki sounds exactly as gung-ho about sports and devastatingly down bad for his crush as you’d expect of a hormonal 15 year old. Reina Ueda is terrific as the soft-spoken Chinatsu, but I’m looking forward to hearing the always-delightful Xanthe Huynh (Haru in Persona 5, Marianne in Fire Emblem Three Houses) take on the role in the dub just as much. Akari Kitou channels much of the same gremlin energy she did for KamiKatsu to portray Hina’s mischief, and I look forward to hearing her nail Hina’s excellent upcoming character moments. And although it’s a secondary role, the casting I was most excited to hear was Chiaki Kobayashi (Mash in Mashle, Stark in Frieren) as Taiki’s teammate Kyo. Kobayashi’s languid tsukkomi affect was exactly what I had in mind whenever Kyo would put Taiki’s lovelorn antics into stark relief in the manga. It’s like he was born for the part.
This show looks tremendous, perfectly adapting both the soft, doe-eyed character designs from the manga as well as the lower-detail gags. The pastel color palette and gorgeous lighting effects are exactly what I was hoping for while reading the manga.  If I have any complaint, though, it’s mostly that I want to see more of the sports action. The granular details of the badminton matches and basketball games are hardly the focus of the story, but the action panels are usually the best part of Miura’s art in the manga. Shot-for-shot, it certainly does hew close to the manga presentation, but it’s mostly a racquet swing or close-up jump shot followed by an onlooker’s reaction. I’d have liked a bit more follow through. The CGI used for background competitors can get a little distracting after a while, too, but it’s easy to forget about.
Blue Box is continuing into 2025, and I’m waiting for every new episode with bated breath. If you liked the first cour enough but still have doubts, trust me when I say it just keeps getting better. I look forward to coming back to the second half of this season in another year for my victory lap.
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9. Girls Band Cry
This is one of the most inventive girls-band anime out there, certainly the most so since that one from 2022 that I swore I wouldn’t bring up by name. Gorgeous 3D-CG animation, stirring original music, and a compelling cast of characters combine to make Girls Band Cry even more than the sum of its parts.
More than anything, I think what makes Girls Band Cry a terrific showbiz series is that it depicts the uncomfortable reality that a lot of artists are just flat-out unpleasant people and often don’t mesh well with one another. Protagonist Nina is messy, stubborn, and angry at the world and her parents and will not hesitate to make it your problem. She butts heads with her friends and bandmates at any provocation, but stubbornness is a major driving factor in the plot: Each of the five members of Togenashi Togeari has something they’re trying to move on from with their music, and while they each have an opinion on how to get there, they do come to realize, after a lot of silly yelling matches, that they want to do so together.
As a vehicle to push Girls Band Cry and Togenashi Togeari as a real-world multimedia experience, this show is a success. It’s a terrific-looking show in ways we rarely see outside of Studio Orange productions (and allegedly Love Live! Sunshine!!, which director Kazuo Sakai also had a hand in); the 3D computer-generated character models and animations are terrifically expressive and lively, and creative visual effects add a compelling sense of synaesthesia to Nina's emotional highs and lows. The voice cast, all pseudonymous contest winners, are also the real-life band members, and they fully nail both elements of their roles. TogeToge’s music in the show is terrific, and as an already-existing Gorillaz-esque virtual band, I’m excited to dig into their back catalog.
Girls Band Cry finally got an official English translation, so there’s no longer any excuse to sleep on this one. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, and above all else, it fucking rocks. Don’t let this one fade away just because you might’ve missed it when it aired.
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8. Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End, second cour
When I ranked the first cour of Frieren as the best anime of 2023, I wrote:
The debut season of Frieren will continue into 2024, and if the quality remains a constant, it could very well be one of the best anime of next year too. It has remained as MyAnimeList’s top-rated anime ever for its entire run, warding off the legion of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood fans. Frieren deserves it.
A year later, it is still MAL’s top-rated anime, and by a healthy margin. Another 12 episodes aired to kick off 2024, and it was indeed one of the best anime of this year as well. I stand firm in my convictions that not only is it one of the best anime of the decade so far, it’s one of the best anime I’ve ever seen.
I really shot my wad by praising Frieren so profusely midway through its run, to the point where I still don’t really feel the need to add much more here. The second cour mostly focuses on the First Class Mage exam arc, allowing us to learn more about the present state of magic in the modern day and adding some much-needed depth to the cast. It continues to strike a lovely balance between the quieter moments and bonkers action sequences, as well as the more serious moments with laugh-out-loud goofiness. It may be a lesser arc in this story, but it would be a standout in so many others.
If I haven’t been clear enough, I remain over the moon about Frieren. The second cour looks and sounds just as incredible as the first, and this show’s success should serve as a reminder to the industry that investment in quality pays off. Madhouse knows they have a banger on their hands, and if the next season can maintain this level of production value for the major arc that is still to come, Frieren may very well earn GOAT status. Even if another season somehow never materializes, I’ll still be talking about this season in five years when it comes time to talk about the best of the decade. Watch this goddamn show.
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7. A Sign of Affection
For all the romance anime and manga I consume, I’ve shamefully been lacking on the shoujo/josei front. I really gotta fix that. If reading more shoujo was what spurred Yukinobu Tatsu to make DanDaDan, then who knows what it might do for me? A Sign of Affection isn’t my first shoujo, strictly speaking, but it does feel like one of the first I’ve seen of the good old-fashioned flowery romance type.
What a gorgeous show. A Sign of Affection looks terrific, sounds terrific, and above all feels terrific. This is just a lovely, fluffy romance with low stakes and easy payoff; just two pretty people getting to know each other and learning to overcome their differences. It’s low on gimmicks and plot contrivances, and for as much as I like romcoms and romance stories with a unique bent, I love a good straightforward romance just as much sometimes. Everyone looks beautiful and likes each other and Jesus Christ look at the lips on these boys. There’s even a double-date to Costco, and what better depiction of marital bliss could there be?
I’m still pleasantly surprised at how this show handles the main character’s disability. Protagonist Yuki’s congenital deafness isn’t a single-note character quirk or a plot device to make her seem helpless; it simply is. It’s a part of her life that serves as the lens through which all of the people in her life see and treat her, and it leads to the only thing that resembles a major conflict in the show. Itsuomi, the main romantic interest, doesn’t baby her or walk all over her; he instead gently tests her boundaries while learning to accommodate her in a way to ensure her comfort. Her childhood friend Oushi, on the other hand, is very jealous of this development because he seems to feel entitled to her just because he did the bare minimum to accommodate her. The circumstances aren’t common, of course, but it’s a good lesson for a shoujo to have: Don’t settle.
My praise for A Sign of Affection mostly boils down to “it’s just really nice,” but it does “just really nice” so goddamn well. It’s fluffy, it’s comfy, it’s cozy, all of those adjectives that would set off my fight-or-flight response if I heard them from someone else, but I was enthralled by this show week in and week out. I can’t believe I neglected to start reading the manga, and I’m gonna have to get on that ASAP because I can’t wait for another season.
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6. The Apothecary Diaries, second cour
I found myself more intrigued at The Apothecary Diaries at the end of 2023 than most other shows I’d watched that year. I grew more and more invested in the idiosyncratic Maomao as she investigated mysterious ailments and navigated imperial palace politics, all the while being a lovable little shit. 
Before I’d realized it, though, the 2024 half of its run knew it had its hooks in me and took me for a ride. What looked at first like a series of one-off puzzles quickly began entangling into a much larger mystery, rapidly gaining momentum until exploding into a massive emotional payoff. So many of the small details in what you assume are episodic mystery-of-the-week mini-stories become relevant in unexpected ways and draw you in ever further. I adore this kind of lowkey long-term storytelling, and for it to be part of such an appealing package is basically catnip for me.
For as gorgeous as The Apothecary Diaries can be visually, sonically, and sometimes even emotionally, it’s worth mentioning that this show is also hilarious a lot of the time. Maomao is on permanent goblin mode whenever she isn’t carrying out official business, and any time the palace officials have to rein her in is a delight. The push-and-pull between her and Jinshi is endlessly entertaining to the point where I can wait forever for that payoff if I have to.
I neglected to read the Apothecary Diaries manga after the first season went off the air (though I nearly bought all of it sight unseen), and with the second about to drop, I guess I’m holding off for another six months. Can’t say I mind, though. I’m along for the ride and I want this show to keep surprising me for as long as it can. This is easily one of the best anime of the 2020s so far and I’m gonna be there front row center for every new episode.
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5. Bang Brave Bang Bravern
People say “peak fiction” too goddamn often these days. Not that it was a meaningful term to begin with, but it’s been memed to hell and back and is mostly just thrown out ironically to mock garbage writing. To be honest, I’m not above it myself, but I prefer to ascribe it, even jokingly, to stuff that can only truly come from a brilliant and/or deranged mind. Preferably both. Peak fiction, to me, is the intersection where talent meets insanity, no matter the degree of either.
Bang Brave Bang Bravern is peak fiction.
I gushed about this show after the winter season, and I almost don’t want to say anything further about it, mostly for two reasons: Firstly, because I don’t really want to give the game away any more than I already did back in April, and secondly, because I think it may have permanently burrowed into a specific part of my brain and then melted it. All I’m left with is “this show fucking rocks, dudes rock, you need to see it, it’s peak, don't ask questions, just watch it.”
Indeed, Bravern is the Dudes Rock anime of the year, and an essential piece of Dudes Rock media. It’s Top Gun with aliens and a giant talking robot. And the robot wants to fuck his pilot. This show is loud, horny, stupid, and self-aware, combined just so into a cocktail of legitimate brilliance that is, for better or worse, unlike anything I’ve seen before or since. Nearly every single episode had me clawing at my hair and shrieking “WHAT THE FUCK AM I WATCHING,” and that is the highest praise I can give just about anything.
I might be overselling it just a touch, but Bravern is just as earnest as it is utterly wild. It’s an intentionally hilarious show, but it means everything it does and says. It’s a love letter to mecha anime and tokusatsu, and with its top staff sporting Gundam and Macross bona fides, that love oozes into every aspect. The mechs, both manmade and alien, all look tremendous, the music is a throwback to the goofy bombast you’d find in series like this as far back as the Showa era, and the ensemble cast outside of our silly leads are just as gung-ho and serious about Saving The World as you’d find in just about any other mech show. Anything that can be this goofy with a completely straight face is going to hook me in.
All in all, Bang Brave Bang Bravern is hypercompetent lunacy with heart. Call it weaponized genre awareness if you must, but it knows exactly what it’s about, grabs you by the collar, and takes you for a ride, all while doing badass tokusatsu poses and calling out special moves with silly names. This is legitimately what fiction is all about. 
Also, if you don’t like Lulu just because she screeches a lot, you’re a weakling. Gaga-pi, motherfucker.
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4. The Dangers in My Heart, season 2
This was a series whose first season was conspicuously absent from my 2023 rankings, but I caught up shortly after finishing that list in order to catch up to the second season. I’d watched a glut of slice-of-life romances in 2023 and figured I could afford to miss this one. I’m overjoyed at how wrong I was.
To paraphrase the second season’s exceptional OP, The Dangers in My Heart is indescribably beautiful. As I said with A Sign of Affection, I love me a straightforward anime romance, and this middle school slice-of-life is just that: Underdeveloped edgelord boy ends up making unlikely friends with, and falling for, the cheery popular girl in his class. This is easy wish-fulfillment on paper, but that’s hiding the trick: Kyotaro isn’t gonna get anything he wants by keeping his quills out for anyone who comes near, and he has some growing up to do if he’s ever gonna get what he wants.
Season 2 picks up right where the first left off, with Kyotaro’s arm still broken from his family trip and Anna feeling guilty because she thinks her distraction was what led to the injury. Right out of the gate, we see the care these two have developed for one another: Anna wants to help while he can’t do his own schoolwork, while Kyo is quick to try to cheer her up when she no longer feels like she’s able to. Already we’re seeing Kyotaro’s character development coming to light: The Dangers in My Heart isn’t a story about a Nice Guy getting the girl just by being there; it’s a story of self-improvement, of trying to become the type of person whom your crush would want to fall in love with. For a story about and ostensibly marketed to early teenagers, that’s a good lesson to have, and I absolutely devour stories like that.
As can be the case with plenty of adolescents, most of the conflict here is internal. Kyotaro spent the early part of his middle school education keeping a safe distance from everyone in order to avoid getting hurt, and as you can imagine, that did a number on his self esteem. Though he’s mostly kicked the chuunibyo mindset, Kyo still prefers to keep his distance, less because he doesn’t want to get hurt, but now because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else. Specifically Anna. So much of this story is about him learning to be okay with letting people in and not just falling in love, but making friends and becoming somebody whom people just want to be around. It’s a chuuni rehabilitation story. You love to see it.
With all due respect to mangaka Norio Sakurai, the biggest surprise that came from reading the manga was how much better the anime looks than its source material. The anime looks tremendous in its own right, but compared to Sakurai’s doodly, occasionally messy style, the love put into the show stands in stark relief. Characters, backgrounds, and lighting are all soft, squishy, and warm, almost like the entire thing was run through the filter through which only a 13-year-old in love can see, even as a little edgelord. Little flourishes in the environment and music highlight the minute but consequential motes of progression in Kyo and Anna’s relationship. The OP ended up shaking out as my favorite of the year, even with 2024 being bookended by Creepy Nuts bangers. It’s that special to me.
And just like that, The Dangers in My Heart went from “eh probably not for me” to “yeah this is one of the best anime of the decade so far.” It’s a simple slice-of-life romance on paper, almost literally so in the manga, but this is a transformative adaptation. There’s much more of the story to tell, and I wouldn’t complain about more, but as it stands after two seasons, The Dangers in My Heart is damn near perfect as it is.
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3. Oshi no Ko, season 2
Another year, another season, another top-four finish for one of the best manga adaptations I’ve ever seen. 
The anime adaptation of Aka Akasaka and Mengo Yokoyari’s showbiz-revenge manga made shockwaves last year following its thunderous feature-length premiere, and its source material made even more waves due to some questionable plot developments that fortunately went nowhere. Doga Kobo was undeterred by any negative attention brought to the brand, though, and pressed forward into the next arc with a level of swagger you rarely see brought into an anime’s sequel season.
The 2.5D stage play arc in Oshi no Ko’s manga wasn’t my favorite, but it was one that you could tell just from reading it would translate well to the screen. Even then, I wasn’t prepared for just how hard Doga Kobo would go in adapting it. Character animation is sumptuously fluid, color used to amazing effect, and personal expression bursts forth into impressionistic abstraction to such a degree that it made manga artist Yokoyari cry. Everyone looks and sounds incredible beyond any way I could’ve imagined from reading the manga, which, at the risk of sounding defensive, is still very good as a whole.
This being a story largely about the music industry, the music remains as on-point as ever. It’s too soon to tell if the second season’s OP/ED pairing tops the instantly-iconic “Idol” and “Mephisto” from the first, but these are no slouches. This season’s OP, “Fatale,” is a whiplash-inducing banger by Tatsuya Kitani and idol Kento Nakajima, performing under the collaborative name of GEMN (itself a relevant name to the show; twins without the i/Ai, DO YOU GET IT???) with visuals that might actually top those of Idol. The new ED, “Burning,” is Hitsujibungaku at their fuzzy, 90s-style alt-rock best, and it takes on a brand new meaning by the end of the season. Of course, there’s also the story-relevant music; while the bulk of the season focuses on the stage play, the last few episodes give us a glimpse into the pop music process, with the season capping off with an in-universe music video that, while not sonically my exact cup of tea, features 90 seconds of some of the best-looking dance animation I’ve ever seen in my life. That’s a flex if I’ve ever seen one.
And just like the first season, the second capped off with an announcement that Oshi no Ko will indeed be returning for another season. At this rate, and with the anime’s success, they will adapt the entire work, which will raise some eyebrows. I’m not going to litigate the manga’s later controversial developments nor its widely-panned ending, but if Doga Koba was able to handle everything that came before those things with such aplomb, I have faith that it will at least be done well.
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2. DanDaDan
I want to preface this by saying that I agonized over whether this or the final entry is my anime of the year. I’m comfortable with what I chose, but if I’m being realistic, DanDaDan is basically 1b. This is a masterpiece already.
Although the source material was a bit of a cult hit until this year, DanDaDan came with a considerable amount of hype. If you were even peripherally familiar, it wasn’t hard to see why: Yukinobu Tatsu’s art is absurdly detailed in almost every panel, character designs are easily recognizable (one of the leads dressing similarly to a Persona 3 character was fortuitous for the anime to drop in the same year as Reload), and so many bizarre things happen in the plot that relaying them to anybody who wasn’t already familiar would make their brain briefly touch the void. Above all, though, Science SARU was tabbed to animate it, and any project by them is immediately worth your attention.
Sure enough, DanDaDan made an instantaneous splash, its first episode adapting the manga’s bombastic, twisty 63-page opening chapter nearly beat for beat. I’m not gonna “don’t look it up, just go in blind” this one, but almost too much happens for me to properly detail it all without just writing a complete synopsis. It boils down to “lonely nerd boy believes in aliens, angry kogal believes in yokai, it turns out both are real and now they have to deal with it.” It’s silly, it’s wild, it’s action packed, and if you can stomach the sexually-compromising alien abduction of the girl, you’re along for the ride.
I’m not gonna harp too much on that last point. It does stink that the female lead, Momo, is stripped to her underwear for the sake of alien sexual “research,” but said aliens get their comeuppance before anything happens to her. It’s still not great, and it’s not the last time female characters are portrayed in their underwear, but I do promise it’s for story reasons, it takes a backseat to the onscreen action and is pretty clearly not done for the sake of fanservice. I know such things can be beyond the pale for some people, but if you think you can compartmentalize that, I recommend you watch the first episode with that caveat in mind and decide from there. You may be pleasantly surprised.
DanDaDan is effectively two stories at once; on one side, we have Momo and the boy, Okarun (a nickname Momo devised for him to preserve her own sanity), gaining wacky supernatural powers in order to fight back these occult threats and regain what was stolen from Okarun from his first encounter with the unexpected (IYKYK). Because these threats can come out of nowhere, their daily high school lives can completely pop off without warning. On the other side, we have quieter slice-of-life tension as Momo and Okarun get to know (and frequently misunderstand) each other and realize they are completely and hopelessly head-over-heels for one another.
Surprise, motherfucker: DanDaDan is a romcom.
Yukinobu Tatsu, formerly an assistant on the first saga of Chainsaw Man, long struggled to get his own work serialized. At his editor’s urging, he read something like a hundred manga for inspiration, including several shoujo romance series. That research shows through in DanDaDan; although the bonkers action sequences and off-the-wall monster designs are what draw in readers and viewers alike, what’s kept this many people along for the ride is the beating heart just barely under the surface in the form of the romantic tension between Momo and Okarun. It’s easy to write this off as some “lonely nerd gets the cute gyaru just by being a Nice Guy” wish fulfillment, but that’s not really the case here; Okarun was a weird little twerp right from the jump. Similarly to Kyotaro in the aforementioned Dangers in My Heart, Okarun believes early on that he’s nowhere near Momo’s league, completely unaware that she quickly grows to actually like having him around, so he puts in the effort to become a more well-rounded person so that he can be confident enough to be seen next to her. He also just wants Momo to think he’s cool, and she thinks that’s adorable. And she’s right! These two are cute as fuck together.
So you come for the wild action and stay for the tremendous character dynamics. It should go without saying that Science SARU nailed all of the above, but I’m gonna say it anyway. Reading the Manga+ comments on each chapter as I read through the manga, readers were begging a top-flight battle shonen studio like MAPPA or WIT to pick up the series, and I think these fans got more than they bargained for. Masaaki Yuasa hasn’t been in charge of a series at the studio since Eizouken, or anything they’ve put out since Inu-Oh, but his influence is all over their recent works, including last year’s fellow top-three series, Scott Pilgrim Takes Off. It’s beyond impressive how, much like Scott Pilgrim, this series manages to maintain the source material’s art style while still looking very much like a Science SARU anime. Everyone is bouncy and malleable as their moods dictate, line weights are wildly varied, and action animation is kinetic and unpredictable. Each fight with an alien or cryptid is awash in eye-searing color or eerie greyscale. The music is a boatload of fun as well; even putting aside the Creepy Nuts OP (banger after banger after banger from those dudes) and Zutomayo ED, regular proceedings are punctuated by a wildly varied score, from funk to folk to an insane chase scene set to an electronic mashup of the “William Tell Overture” and the can-can. Everything about DanDaDan keeps you guessing.
I was looking forward to DanDaDan enough that I went to the theatrical premiere of the first three episodes and was sufficiently blown away. If you’ve seen the show, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that it looks and sounds incredible in a cinema setting. I left the theater positively buzzing, telling anyone who’d listen that they had no idea what was coming, but even knowing the entire story, I wasn’t prepared for more of what was to come. The literal next episode after what I’d already seen in the theater had one of the most bonkers action setpieces I’ve seen since Gurren Lagann, and just four episodes later an unbelievable emotional gut punch, prior knowledge of the manga be damned. Every single aspect of DanDaDan as an anime was given the same level of love and care that Tatsu put into his own work. It’s one thing for an anime adaptation to be faithful to its source material, and another entirely for it to elevate and transform it. DanDaDan is somehow both.
If there’s anything that held this back from being the anime of the year, it’s that this season kind of just… ends. With the 12-episode runtime that was given to the debut season, DanDaDan ends its first run right after the beginning of the manga’s next arc, which feels bizarre. There’s no resolution, but there’s no real cliffhanger here either. Which I kind of get, the story is driven by a constant forward momentum, but a little warning that the season was ending would’ve been nice. It’s only a six month break until the show comes back, but judged on its own, the way this season ended left me feeling a bit cold and the season itself feeling incomplete. Even shows that have year-long breaks between cours rather than seasons tend to put some kind of cap on each individual run, but DanDaDan just kinda left the toilet unflushed, and next to it a Post-It note promising to come back later. For something this lovingly crafted, that seems like a bizarre oversight.
That was hardly enough to temper my enjoyment though. Anything this well-made is deserving of the attention and success it’s attained, but to have this story, with these characters and this level of bonkers action made this well, is just an embarrassment of riches. And God help me, I’m shamelessly greedy. July can’t come fast enough. I need all of it.
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1. Delicious in Dungeon
At the end of its run midway through the year, I declared Dungeon Meshi the best anime of the year up to that point and that I’d be impressed if anything would manage to overtake it. Though the other two entries in my top three made extremely strong cases, nothing else quite hit the spot and nourished the soul quite like Dungeon Meshi.
Barely a year removed from one of 2022’s best anime, Cyberpunk Edgerunners, Studio Trigger kicked off 2024 with another Netflix original, this time with its first proper manga adaptation since the studio split from Gainax a decade prior. It seemed an odd fit at first to have a studio known for wacky, hyperkinetic action productions like Kill la Kill and Promare to adapt this quirky fantasy dungeon manga, but hey, they also did Little Witch Academia. It turned out to be an odd fit, but in the best way: Dungeon Meshi is pretty offbeat as it is, so for it to get picked up by one of the more oddball prestige studios ended up making a tasty stew.
I struggled to elaborate on what makes this show so good after each of its cours, and six months later I remain a little lost for words. It’s an exceptional story adapted exceptionally well. Between the characters, the story, the setting, the emotional stakes, the comedy, the highs and lows, they nailed it all. Trigger just gets it. Even when characters go off-model for the sake of an intentional animation quirk, it still has that inimitable Trigger charm to it. It sounds just as good as it looks, too: The orchestral score highlights the quieter, sillier moments just as well as the tenser action setpieces, the foley work behind the dungeon’s bizarre and varied flora and fauna is immaculate, and the cast is perfect in both Japanese and English (I rarely ever say so but seriously, shout out to the dub).
I’m just as sick of saying “this show speaks for itself” when I have trouble finding the words as you probably are of reading it, but I have little else to add here. I’ve written plenty already. Just go watch it. This is already one of my favorite manga ever, and by the time the series wraps up at the end of its second season, it will easily end up as one of my favorite anime ever.
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solarenchanting · 2 days ago
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𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 (𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬)
𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ⸻ 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥
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pairing: getō suguru x fem!reader
summary: denial ⸻ the unwillingness to accept something unpleasant is true.
tw/cw: descriptions of a dead body on an autopsy table.
note: third-year!suguru. suguru and reader were in an established relationship. haibara yū’s is already dead as in canon (BUT don't ask me about the tl in this). extremely vague mentions of the star plasma vessel mission. small satosugu moment. ooc!suguru (?).
a/n: firstly, it's officially three months since i posted my first getō suguru fic ( it'll pass ) and debuted as a fic writer (a milestone, i fear). but i do dedicate this mini fic series to myself 😅. secondly, i apologise for any inconsistencies, spelling or grammatical errors in this fic. as well as any misrepresentations of the characters involved (please do not perceive me 🥲 this is just my interpretation and exploration outside of the canon material). thirdly, i know the last few parts doesn't focus on the feeling of denial. and lastly, as always, much love from me to you <3
(fun fact: it's 01:54 am and i wrote this while listening to “speak softly, love” by david davidson)
edit: re-read this, and i realised that i used the word “pale” — please know that it has nothing to do with the readerʼs skin colour, just for a description for the current state the readerʼs body is in (also, i'm paranoid and don't want any misunderstandings 🥲)
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the coldness pierced through suguru’s skin, seeping through the narrow pathways of his veins—freezing his blood. the fine, black hairs of his body rose to life, standing upright and sturdy. trails of never-ending goosebumps formed over and over. icy chills travelled down his spine, but his body remained rigid.
the soles of his feet were stuck onto the marble floor. he lost all mobility. a simple, thoughtless action couldn’t be comprehended in his mind. he couldn’t place one foot forward, couldn’t take a step back. yet, his legs trembled, nipped at by the cold air. almost as if they were begging, itching, to make a move—to walk.
his arms lay by his sides with his hands trembling. his fingers quivered and flexed, disturbing the dust particles that danced and circled in the air. it was reflexive—his senses heightened to recoil at any sensation grazing his skin.
his lips were parted, chapped and dry, yet nothing came out of him. words were caught in his throat, lodged and cemented. whatever he wanted to say, wished he could say, had transformed itself into the lump that was too stubborn to be swallowed down—a cruel manifestation of a betrayal of his body.
for his mind… his mind had not caught up to him—to it—just yet.
this was nothing but a fictitious, distorted scene. a tableau of a nightmare, one that he couldn’t wake up from for some reason. a sick and twisted fantasy that his subconscious decided to manipulate him—holding him by the control brace with no intention of letting go. the strings attached to his limbs were still, forcing him to stand there.
his eyes, once a bright violet filled with life, had become dull and dim ever since that grim mission—ever since witnessing the hideous evils of his world.
now, however, they were dark—staring at the sight before him.
you.
eyes closed, lashes brushing your cheeks like whispers of a memory. your lips were pursed, unmoving—silent forever. and the skin of your face, rigid and pale, and mottled with purplish-red blotches where gravity had taken its toll, forever replacing the warmth.
your body lay still on the cold and unfeeling stainless steel on the autopsy table, bathed under the harsh fluorescent lighting. your arms rested limply by your side, as if frozen in mid-reach. and your chest, once rising and falling, was unnervingly still.
the chill of the morgue hung heavy in the air, sharp and suffocating.
suguru’s mind screamed, distorted voices ricocheting through the silence of his paralysis, trying to slice through the fragile walls of denial—but he wasn’t listening. he refused to. it was all poisonous lies, trying drag him deeper into the black hole that had already swallowed him down.
flashes of memories erupted behind his tired eyes—vivid and haunting—each one a desperate attempt to rewrite the truth, to convince him that this wasn’t real. there was no way that you, of all people, you—
no—it can’t be.
it shouldn’t be. it couldn’t be. it wasn’t supposed to be—
but how?
how did he—how did you end up like this?
you—you were just with him earlier this morning. standing in front of his dorm door, staring at him with those beautiful eyes—the ones he could lose himself in forever while you’d ramble on about anything and everything. the ones he hated to see narrow in anger at him, or worse, brim with unshed tears—eyes that shouldn’t be closed.
and—and you were smiling. yes, you were smiling at him! you standing right there—in front of him—at his dorm room. why again? oh, that’s right! you wanted to check up on him before you left for your mission. the higher-ups sent you out.
that’s it. that’s what happened.
and he kissed you. god, he kissed you. he cupped your cheeks—the home of countless soft pecks his lips had peppered with. a sanctuary for tender caresses with the back of his finger while he admired you. he could still feel the warmth of your flesh, the gentle press of his thumbs against them.
your lips were soft—always curved into a smile. a smile that melted his heart, one that made it swell with pride when he knew he was the reason behind it. lips that clenched his heart whenever they fell and twisted into a frown. lips that made him ache whenever the lower one wobbled, with sharp, ragged hiccups escaping them like broken pleas.
but now—now, he’d rather have you here, standing in front of him. even if the sight hurt him, even if you were sobbing and hiccuping. he’d take your narrowed eyes filled with anger—hell, resentment even.
but not—not whatever this was.
you didn’t belong here—not in this cold, sterile place that reeked of antiseptic and death.
he felt the same helplessness he’d felt before—the sound of their clapping echoing in the back of his mind. a painful memory that refused to fade—the same weight pressing on his chest, his ribs caving in and crushing the air from his lungs.
only this time, it worse.
this time, it was you.
you had become another body he’d have to run past in this endless marathon—where countless sorcerers, friends and allies, lay scattered and bloodied along the track behind him. their deaths—your death—in vain. meanwhile, he was running out of breath, chasing a finishing line that kept moving, desperately trying to fulfill the duty of a jujutsu sorcerer.
and for whom?
a rustling noise cut through his thoughts. in that moment, he remembered, he wasn’t alone. his sullen eyes trailed up, fixing on the figure standing in the morgue with him.
satoru.
he was standing on the opposite side of the autopsy table. his fingers delicately curling along the edge of the thin, white blanket. with gentle movements, he pulled it over your body—covering you completely, save for your feet sticking out at the bottom—before returning his hands to his side.
fate was fickle, placing them in this position.
for they had been here before—seen each other like this already.
satoru’s expression was unreadable, devoid of any emotion. his gaze remained fixed on the blanket, as if he was staring at your face through it.
when he lift his head, suguru’s breath hitched, coming in a short, shallow gasp as he saw those dull and gloomy blue eyes staring back at him once more.
satoru didn’t say anything this time, because he didn’t need to.
despite himself, in the back of his mind, suguru knew.
he knew he was late.
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NEXT
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sturns-mermaid · 2 days ago
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prologue - time traveler ⏰
this goes with my time traveler chris x 80s reader au
you can find it here
no warnings :)
original idea by @forgottxen
proofread by: @throatgoat4u
౨ৎwc: 1.4k? (lowkey forgot)
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The three brothers sat in Matt’s room as they streamed for their fans on Twitch. “Hi chat, today we are gonna play a cool game I found,” Nick says as he sits in the gaming chair. “Dude, what? I thought we were playing Fortnite!” Chris protests as he playfully nudges Nick on the head. Nick groans as he spins around in the chair facing the computer. He types the game name in the browser and hears Matt walk into the room and sit on the bed behind them. “Hi guys, how are you?” Matt says waving to the camera and smiling. Nick taps the arm of the chair as he waits for the web page to load. “On our last stream, you guys recommended this game.” The words ‘Time Traveler’ appear on the screen as the game loads up and the menu page appears. “Wait, this looks so cool,” Nick adds, letting out a slight chuckle as he skims through the words on the screen. Chris is now suddenly interested and leans forward in his chair, eyeing the screen and reading the words that appear “Choose a year to travel to” he reads out loud as he watches Nick move the mouse over the options. “Okay, so I did skip over the intro to the game. But you’re a time traveler agent and have to fix certain mishaps that happen throughout the game without creating paradoxes in the universe.” Nick explains as he looks over at Chris, who looks dumbfounded. Chris utters, “I have no idea what you just said,” and lets out a laugh while holding his hands up in mock defense. Nick playfully rolls his eyes as he explains further. “Time traveling by using a wormhole. Creating a paradox is the result of alerting or changing the events in the past that might harm your existence. “What year are you gonna choose?” Matt chirps in as he sees Nick still hasn’t chosen a year in the game. Nick clicks on the 1970s and the screen does a series of animations and explanations. “Oh, we have to make a time traveler ID,” he explains as he fills out the info on the ID before he starts playing the actual game. The game continues as it gives him a backpack with a custom inventory inside and some more rules he has to follow.
An hour passes, and Matt’s now playing along with him as Chris watches. “Wait dang it, I messed up,” Nick mumbles as he accidentally pressed the wrong option, which created a paradox and he failed the level. “I told you not to save that guy!” Matt exclaims as he points to the screen. “Okay, guys, can we play Fortnite now?” Chris chimes in as he groans slightly, shaking Nick’s shoulders as he stands behind the chair.
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Later that night, while Nick and Matt were sleeping, Chris lay awake stirring in his bed as he couldn’t fall asleep. He rolls around, annoyed, as he finally has enough and squirms out of bed, grabs his pillow in annoyance and heads upstairs to Matt’s room. He slowly pushed the door open, hearing the wooden frame creek slightly as it revealed Matt sleeping peacefully, his pug stuffed animal tucked safely in his arm. Chris laughed a little at the scene and debated whether he wanted to take a picture and show the fans. As he was about to grab his phone out of his pajama pants pocket, a sudden flashing light distracted him. He turned his head to see Matt’s computer screen light up. He set his pillow down on the end of the bed as he walked over to the screen. The blue light reflecting on his features; he scratched his bare chest as he squinted his eyes at the screen. “It’s this stupid game of course,” he mumbles quietly as he moves the cursor towards the small red x in the corner of the screen. ‘Choose your destination’ appears on the screen just as he is going to exit the game, the same menu he remembers from earlier with the years you can choose from. The screen flashes once more. His curiosity peaked, so he sat down in the game chair and moved the mouse over the screen. Clicking on the 1980s, the screen flashes as the instructions appear. He scoffs slightly, as he doesn’t want to read everything. “Paradoxes, wormholes, blah blah, whatever,” he says as he skims through the words not reading anything thoroughly or the fine print at the bottom which clearly states ‘Don’t play alone at night’. Clicking the accept button, the screen flashes with the prompt to make a time traveler agent ID. He follows the instructions, puts in the info, and clicks the camera to take a picture of himself. The screen flashes as he presses the take button, his eyes widening as he sees the unexpected light capture his tired features and messy hair.
A loading symbol appears on the screen as Chris finds himself entranced in how the circle spins. Finding it oddly satisfying, he feels his eyes start to burn from not blinking. The screen displays an image of swirls and the words ‘You’ve been warned’. He opens his mouth to say something, but the screen flashes repeatedly and a gust of wind appears out of nowhere. He feels himself being dragged into the computer screen. The loud noise of the gusting wind and the loud beeping emitting from the computer muffled his screams. He’s suddenly sucked into the computer screen, his frame spinning around in the air as he tries to grip the edge of Matt’s desk to give him stability. The screen flashes once more and the chair spins as the light dies down, the computer shutting off with a quiet beep. The empty chair that spins slowly and the slight nail marks engraved on the wooden desk are the only things left.
The moonlight casts a dim light over Matt’s room. His sleeping form squirms slightly as he feels a shiver run down his spine. He sits up, the stuffed animal still clenched between his arms as he looks around with blurry, tired eyes. His hand comes up to rub his eyes slightly. “Must’ve been the wind,” he grumbles as he lays back down his groan muffled by his pillow. Chris’s abandoned pillow falls off the bed as Matt stretches to get more comfortable, falling back into his peaceful slumber. Meanwhile, his computer screen lights up once more showing a panicked Chris’ face pressed against the screen as his hands pound on the glass, his mouth moving but no noise coming out before the screen turns black once again.
dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive
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tag list: @itsmaddielouis , @oliviasthatgirl , @scorpio1205 , @submattenthusiast , @sturniololuv08 , @mattsplaything , @brianna-grace12 , @courta13 , @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan
lmk if you want to be added/removed
a/n: I'M SO EXCITED FOR THIS YAY!! MORE CHAPTERS COMING SOON (๑˃̵ ᴗ ˂̵)و
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foreverisntenough · 2 days ago
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‘Movie Night’
Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 
Index:
Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!
Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!
Disclaimer: Still the same.
Chapter 22 - 'I'm Sorry' | ‘Movie Night'
word count - 11.1 k
You sat cross-legged on Trent’s bed, your phone resting limply in your hand as you watched your screen light up. Your phone rang with a call from Layla.  Your thumb hovered over her name, hesitant to answer. It continued to vibrate as you built up your courage.  You answered slowly, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster you’d been on for days before her voice came through, soft and careful.
“Alright, babe?” she asked. Her tone alone made your chest tighten. You hesitated for a second, swallowing the lump in your throat before replying. 
“Yeah… uh, actually a little better. I need to see you to explain.” Your voice was small, weak even, but there was a flicker of resolve in it.
“Okay. Better is good,” Layla said gently, but her concern was palpable. There was a brief pause before she continued, almost sheepishly. “Just wanted to see if you saw that invite come through.” You frowned, confused for a moment before remembering the notification you’d ignored earlier. The invite from Shelby—one of your mutual friends—to a Manchester United end-of-season party. You’d skimmed it, immediately feeling your stomach drop at the thought of Josh possibly being there. “I’ll do what you want,” Layla continued, sensing your hesitation. “I imagine all those lads are going. I don’t want you going, obviously…” She expressed but you cut her off, your voice sharper than intended, you didn’t want to ruin the beginning of her summer.  
“Lay, you go. You and Shelbs will have fun. It’s just a big party. I just… I can’t be near—” You paused, your throat tightening at the thought of him. “Josh,” you finally said, his name burning your tongue. “I don’t know… I’m so scared of him, so please just be careful.” You cautioned her. Layla’s inhale was sharp. You could feel her anger brewing through the phone. 
“God, I’m so sorry, babe. I fucking hate him. But seriously, do you want me to come be with you tonight? I’m worried. I’m here for you.” She offered sincerely. You closed your eyes, her offer tempting, but you knew what you needed. You needed to stay put.  
“No, have fun. I… I…” You stuttered, trying to work up the courage to tell her your plans for the night. “I’m with T. I just need to be with him,” you admitted, your voice cracking as emotions began to resurface.
“Oh…” Layla paused, the shock evident in her tone. “So… you’re with him?” She asked curiously but not judgmentally. 
“Yeah.” You sighed, tears stinging your eyes again. “We’re… Or I… I just need to talk to him. Lay, Josh threatened him with a video of us. Somehow he got a video of me and him. It’s a total fucking mess. He said he didn’t hook up with Jess. And I’m terrified, but I just feel safer with him. I can’t go anywhere. I wa- I need to be with him.” You whimpered embarrassed by your dependency on Trent. The ebb and flow of your trust in him was expectedly concerning to your best friend. Layla’s response was immediate, her voice laced with fury. 
“Fucking hell. I’ll kill him.” She snapped imaging Josh’s smug look having a video like that in his possession. She paused when she heard your sharp inhale, realizing she needed to rein it in. “I’m sorry. I know. You are safe with Trent, Y/N. Be with him. He loves you.” She cooed. Her words offered some comfort, but you still felt unsteady and she could sense it. “Should I not…” she started, trailing off, you knew she’d not go tonight if you’d prefer that but it wasn’t what you wanted. 
“No, no, no,” you interjected quickly. “Please, go. It’s not like it’s his party or something. He can’t control everyone.” Layla nodded even though you couldn’t see her, your words sinking in. 
“Okay, but Josh can’t control you either, babe. We’ll handle this. Just be with Trent tonight. Someone who just wants to protect you.” Her voice softened as she reassured you.
“I love you,” you whispered, barely audible.
“Love you. You’re safe, babe. Call me anytime,” Layla said firmly, her support unwavering. When the call ended, the silence in Trent’s room felt deafening, but for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel entirely alone. Layla believed in you. Trent wanted to protect you. Maybe you could start believing in yourself again, too. The call ended, and you stared blankly at your phone, Layla’s words echoing in your mind: ‘You’re safe, babe. Call me anytime.’ The reassurance was meant to soothe you, but it only amplified the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest. You set the phone down on the edge of your bed, your fingers trembling slightly. You could feel the familiar sting of tears creeping back into your eyes, but you closed them tightly, willing yourself to stay composed. It wasn’t working. You leaned forward, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes to stop the flood, but the effort only made the sob that escaped your throat sharper. Everything felt like too much—Josh’s threats, the fear that he still had control, the relief and heartbreak of being with Trent again. It was all tangling inside of you like a knot you couldn’t undo. You got up and made your way to the en-suite of his room in an effort to try to compose yourself before Trent came up for bed. 
The room felt heavy and silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. It made the en-suite feel cold, sterile, like it was closing in around you. You sat on the edge of the sink, gripping the porcelain until your knuckles turned white. Your reflection stared back at you, pale and tear-streaked, eyes rimmed red. You barely recognized yourself. But then you noticed the earrings. The tiny gold butterfly pinned on your left ear, and the delicate blue one in your right. They shimmered faintly under the bathroom’s light, and your chest tightened. The earrings had been a gift from Trent, a token of the promise you’d made to each other when your relationship had finally begun. He had chosen them because they reminded him of you—fragile yet strong, beautiful, unique. But also your relationship; this evolving thing. Now, though, they felt like a cruel reminder of what you might lose. Your trembling fingers brushed over the butterflies, your heart aching as memories of that morning came flooding back. The way Trent had looked at you when he gave them to you, his voice soft as he told you how much you meant to him. How special you were. You’d been so happy, so sure that he was your safe place in a world that had hurt you too many times. Now, you didn’t know what to believe. You gripped the butterflies tighter, as if they could ground you. For a moment, you thought about taking them out—ripping away the reminder of everything that had fallen apart. But you couldn’t. Something in you refused to let them go. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was the way Trent had looked at you earlier in the greenhouse, his eyes full of love and regret, like he’d carry the weight of your pain if he could. Or maybe it was the act that you felt like you got a momentary reminder from your mum there that he was good. You let out a shaky breath and placed your hands on the counter, trying to steady yourself. Slowly, you reached for the tap, splashing cold water on your face. The coolness jolted you back to the present, and you let out a deep exhale, watching the water drip down your reflection. The earrings still caught the light. A tiny flicker of beauty in the midst of your heartbreak. You couldn’t let Josh take this from you. You couldn’t let him win. You grabbed a towel and patted your face dry before turning toward the door. Trent would be waiting for you. For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way through this. One fragile step at a time.
That night, as you curled into Trent’s chest, his familiar warmth began to ease the chill that had settled into your bones. His arm was draped securely around you, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your shoulder. The comfort of his touch usually calmed you, but tonight it wasn’t enough. Fear and worry churned in your chest, refusing to let you rest.
“Baby, I’m scared,” you finally whispered, your voice small and trembling. The admission felt heavy, like you were unburdening yourself but also laying bare your vulnerability. Trent’s hand stilled, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 
“I know, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m so sorry I hurt you the other night. I never wanted to.” His apology tugged at your heart, but the knot of fear inside you refused to unravel. 
“He’s going to release it, T,” you said, your words barely audible as you tried to steady your breath. “If he finds out about us, he’ll release it.” Trent’s entire body tensed beneath you. His arm around you tightened, his jaw clenched, and you could feel the storm brewing within him. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and brimming with anger.
“I’m gonna fucking kill that lad,” he growled, the words cutting through the quiet room like a blade. “I am fucking fuming. I will fucking kill him. He can’t hurt you. He can’t fucking touch you.” His grip on you grew firmer, not out of aggression but out of his overwhelming need to protect you. Yet, in that moment, the intensity of his voice and the pressure of his hold sent you spiraling. Memories of Josh resurfaced like an unrelenting tide—his hands gripping you too tightly, his voice sharp and cruel, his presence suffocating and inescapable. Your breath hitched, and tears began to spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless. Your chest heaved with silent sobs as your body trembled against Trent’s. “Ah, fuck,” Trent muttered, his voice breaking as he realized what was happening. He immediately loosened his hold, his hands moving to cup your face and pull you back slightly so he could see you. “Fuck, pretty girl. Baby, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. “I’m sorry for raising my voice. I didn’t mean to scare you. C’mere. I got you. I got you.” He wrapped you back into his arms, but this time his touch was featherlight, as if he were afraid of breaking you further. He pressed kiss after kiss into your hair, murmuring apologies and reassurances as you sobbed against his chest. “It’s okay,” he cooed, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re safe with me, yeah? I’m here. I’ll always be here.” His words started to sink in, soothing the jagged edges of your fear. The rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear grounded you, steadying your breathing and slowing your tears. “What he’s doing is fucking extortion,” Trent muttered after a moment, his tone calmer but still resolute. “He can’t blackmail us. I’m speaking with Ty first thing. We’ll handle it legally. No one is taking my baby away from me. No one. Not now. Promise.” His words carried a sincerity—a vow that he would protect you at all costs. You sniffled, your face still buried in his chest, and nodded weakly.
“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Trent said, pulling back just enough to cup your face. His thumbs brushed away the tear tracks on your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache. “You’re my whole world, Y/N. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I swear it.” You blinked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes anchoring you. His touch, so gentle and steady, reminded you that despite everything, this was the man who loved you unconditionally.
“You promise?” you asked softly, your voice cracking.
“I promise,” Trent said firmly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. Always.” You exhaled shakily and let yourself melt into his arms again, his embrace wrapping you in a sense of safety you hadn’t felt in days. Despite the chaos that awaited, in this moment, you knew you weren’t alone but you couldn’t fight back the tears. Josh had hurt you too deeply. You were battered and cruises and the cracks in your resilience were starting to show. You were breaking down.
You buried your face deeper into Trent’s chest, your tears soaking through his shirt as you clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. His arms wrapped around you firmly, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced gentle circles on your back. He didn’t speak much more at first, letting you cry. The weight of everything—Josh, the video, the fear, the shame, and even your own complicated feelings about Trent—poured out of you in waves. Each sob tore at his heart. Trent had never felt so helpless. He wanted to take all of it away: the pain, the fear, the scars left by people who should never have been close to you. But he knew he couldn’t. All he could do was hold you through it.
“I’m so sorry,” you whimpered after a long stretch of silence. Your voice was weak and strained, like the words were dragging out pieces of you as they left your mouth.
“Sorry? For what, baby?” Trent asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled back just enough to look at your tear-streaked face, his hands cupping your cheeks. His thumbs wiped away the tears as they fell, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
“For… for being like this,” you whispered, ashamed. You couldn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the fabric of his shirt where your tears had left dark stains. “For being such a mess. For making things so hard.” You kept on trying to rationalize your apology, hoping maybe he'd understand.
“Y/N, stop, serious,” he said gently but firmly, tilting your chin up so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. His eyes were glassy, the tears he’d been holding back threatening to spill. “Don’t you ever apologize for feeling. For hurting. For being human. You’re not a mess, pretty girl. You’re my girl. And I love you, okay? All of you. Every single bit.” The sincerity in his voice broke you all over again, and the tears started fresh. Trent pulled you back into his arms, rocking you slightly as he whispered reassurances. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” For a moment, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself trust that someone could hold you through your brokenness, that you didn’t have to hide or pretend. But as the minutes stretched on, the weight of Josh’s threats crept back in, darkening the tiny flicker of hope Trent had sparked in you.
“Baby, no, I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest. “What if Josh does something? I’m serious, what if he releases the video? It would ruin you, T. Your career, your reputation… everything. I don’t know if I could handle that. I don’t want you to lose everything because of me.” Trent’s body tensed beneath you again, and for a moment, you felt the anger radiating off him. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, deliberate.
“Listen to me,” he said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye again. “I told you. I’m gonna speak with Ty, but besides that… I don’t care about a video. I don’t care about my career, or what people think, or any of that. None of it matters if it means losing you. You hear me? You’re all that matters, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” His words were like a lifeline, but they also scared you. The intensity of his love felt like a double-edged sword—comforting and terrifying all at once. You continued to cry into Trent’s chest. It felt like the fear of Josh ran deeper than his comforting embrace. But then you kissed his neck out of instinct. It was impulse. It was something you’d almost trained yourself to do. So many times you’d been upset in tear and had to put them aside for sex. You began kissing his neck. Trent’s body betrayed him. He felt all the blood rush down to his cock. You were turning him on but he didn’t want you to. He didn’t want you like this. Trent putting his hands on you felt terrifying. He felt like you were glass. He pulled away from you and your heart broke. It was like rejection all over again. Trent studied your face, his heart breaking as he saw the pain written in every inch of you. 
“Baby,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you. I need you to understand that.” His words made you freeze. His gaze wasn’t one of anger or frustration—it was pleading, desperate. He wasn’t trying to take anything from you; he was trying to stop you from giving away something you didn’t truly want to share in this moment. Your throat tightened, and a lump of shame built in your chest as the realization hit you. What you were doing wasn’t about love or desire—it was about survival, about falling back into a pattern Josh had ingrained in you. Sex had always been a way to pacify, to distract, to feel needed. Your hands had moved on instinct, exploring Trent as if you could erase the fear in your chest by drawing him closer. “I can’t believe what you’ve been through, baby,” Trent said softly, his voice pulling you out of your spiral. His hands gently caught yours, stopping them in their tracks as he looked into your eyes. “Please. Don’t do this because you think you have to. Not with me.” Trent pleaded, begging you to follow your heart and not your hands exploring him. Your heart shattered. You wanted so badly to bridge the gap between you and him, to feel close to him again. But your mind and your body felt like they were living in two entirely different worlds.
“Please want me,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes. Your voice cracked, the vulnerability in those three words raw and exposed. You hated how needy you sounded, but it was the truth. You wanted him to want you, to make you feel something other than the numbness that had taken hold of you. Trent’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he hesitated. His love for you was at war with his fear of hurting you, but when he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, he gave in. His lips found yours in a tender kiss, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it was what you needed. But as his hands brushed over your skin, the dense thud in your chest grew heavier. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like him. The love and warmth you always felt when you were with Trent were nowhere to be found. This wasn’t passion; it was a mechanical act, an autopilot response. You were setting him up to take the bait, and he was taking it because he thought it would make you feel better but it felt like he’d lost a game you didn’t want him to even play. Deep down, you both knew this wasn’t what either of you truly wanted. It hurt in a way you couldn’t explain. Trent was nothing like Josh but right now you were acting like he was. 
Without another word, Trent had leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was gentle at first, like he was testing the waters, but as soon as you responded, something shifted. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, like he couldn't bear the space between you. Your fingers tangled in his curls, gripping them as your body arched into his. The kiss deepened, no longer hesitant but filled with an urgency that neither of you could contain. It wasn't just desire-it was need. A desperate, unspoken plea to feel something other than the ache that had settled between you. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced your skin like he was memorizing every inch, every curve. You gasped softly against his lips, and he took the sound as encouragement, his touch growing firmer, more confident. The tension in the room didn't dissipate-it lingered, heavy and unresolved-but it was joined by a different kind of intensity. The sadness and fear were still there, woven into the fabric of your movements, but they were eclipsed by the desperate need to be closer. To lose yourselves in each other, even if just for a moment. The air grew thick, filled with the sound of your breathing, the rustle of sheets as Trent shifted to press you further into the mattress. His lips left yours, trailing down your jawline, across your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands explored your body with reverence.
"Tell me you want this," he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and strained. "Tell me it's okay."
"I want this," you whispered, your voice shaky but certain. It was all he needed to hear. His lips were back on yours, hungrier this time, his body pressing into yours as if trying to merge you into one. Your hands roamed over his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper. The friction between you sent sparks through your veins, igniting something that had been smoldering for far too long. But even as things grew more heated, there was an undercurrent of something else. A sadness that neither of you could escape. This wasn't just about passion-it was about holding on. About finding some semblance of connection in the middle of the chaos. Trent continued kissing you, his lips moving with deliberate care as he shifted to hover over you, his large frame blanketing yours. His eyes searched yours, silently asking for reassurance even as his hand gently cupped your cheek. His touch was tender, as though you might bruise beneath the weight of his hands, and yet his need to be close to you was palpable. You didn't trust your voice, so you let your actions speak. Moving on instinct, you reached for the hem of your top, pulling it over your head in one swift motion. Left bare save for the soft fabric of your panties.  "Please." You whispered. Your voice was shaky but filled with yearning. Leaning up, you kissed along his jawline, your lips traveling to the warm column of his neck, nuzzling into his skin before you began to suck gently. Trent froze for a moment, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He took a deep breath, conflicted. He wanted to give you everything, but he also didn't want to push you or himself into something too fragile. Yet the way you clung to him, the way you pleaded, left him wondering if maybe this was how you both could heal. Slowly, tentatively, Trent removed his own clothes. His shirt came off, revealing the toned expanse of his chest, and soon the rest of your garments joined the pile on the floor. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was his hands, his lips, his touch that truly burned. Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the firm muscles under your fingertips, the rapid thrum of his heart. Reaching up, you wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging gently on the soft curls of his hair. He groaned softly at the sensation, his lips beginning their journey down your neck. He kissed your collarbone, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake, before traveling lower. When his lips finally closed around your nipple, you let out a desperate moan, arching your back to meet him. The warmth of his mouth, the gentle scrape of his teeth, sent shivers down your spine. His hand cupped your other boob, his fingers playing, pulling, and pinching with just the right amount of pressure. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and filled with emotion, but he didn't stop. He lavished attention on your sensitive skin, his kisses, touches, and the slight rasp of his stubble making you feel electric. You buried your hands in his hair, holding him to you, desperate to keep the connection alive. His hands slid down your sides, rough yet gentle as they traced every curve, as though memorizing every inch of you. When his lips left your chest to continue their descent, you shivered, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention, the way he worshipped you.
"You okay?" he murmured softly against your skin, his breath warm and ragged. You nodded, biting your lip as tears pricked the corners of your eyes-not from pain but from the sheer vulnerability of it all. 
"Just... don't stop," you whispered, your voice trembling.
"I've got you," Trent promised, his voice husky, filled with an emotion that made your heart clench. "I've got you, baby. Tell me you want this.” Trent mumbled against your skin. You nodded with a whine as he lined his cock up with your entrance. Your arms wrapped around his neck tightly begging for him to come inside. He rubbed the tip of his hard cock leaking precum against your sopping wet folds. You shouldn’t have been turned on. In a way this was exactly the way Josh had trained you. Your heart aching, sadness engulfing you, and yet your body acting completely normal, inviting him in with vigor. You shifted beneath him to pick your hips up allowing him to guide himself inside with more ease. He moved slowly inch by inch letting you adjust to his size but he just wanted to get as deep as possible until he bottomed out. You gripped the sheets in an attempt to ground yourself at the stretch. The feeling was enough to wipe your mind clear of anything other than how he was making you feel.  As wrong as it was, you both craved this. He kissed down your neck as he pulled out slightly before easing back in slower, fully burying himself one more.  “I love you so much.” He whispered. Trent rested his forehead against yours but you couldn’t look at him. You felt like you were going to cry so you kept your eyes shut. Your head tipped back onto the pillow with one hand squeezing your own nipple as Trent kept his strokes steady. You tipped your head back further as his pace became more relentless. Your jaw slack, eyes closed tight. 
“I love you.” You whimpered with a sniffle as a tear rolled down your cheek. Trent swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He cupped your cheek wiping away the tear. 
“I’m here. Right here.” He murmured. He knew you didn't want to stop. You would’ve been more upset if he did. So you continued on. There was no other noise in the room but the sound of heartbreak and your slickness as he fucked his cock slowly and gently into you. Your legs stayed wrapped around him tightly as you let one of your heels drag down his muscular back, making sure he didn’t pull out but your tears continued falling, your body shaking a little. If anyone else did this he would be confused and probably turned off but he understood you, he understood the lustful desire and unfortunately the aching pain in your chest that he was feeling too. He leaned over you, your tear stained cheeks and heaving chest pressed against him as he continued to fucked you gently. Your pussy dripped around him. Trent could feel the veins running along his cock throbbing. He worked his hips faster, harsher. Both of your pleasure building higher and higher. 
“T... I’m… I’m going to cum” You mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name sounding so weak from your softly parted lips. He groaned, feeling himself barreling close to his own release though from the way you were squeezing his cock now. Your body succumbing to pure euphoria and seeing white. He bit down onto your shoulder, his pace growing sloppy. 
“Cum for me baby. Doing so good for me.” he cooed, nipping at your collarbone. You whined and felt your eyes roll back as you reached your high. Your pussy quivered around him.  Every little shift was orgasmic. You couldn’t hold in the soft whiny cry you let out. Your lips parted, biting the skin of his neck. Your pussy was sopping wet now, the slow and intense movements had you gushing all over him. The sex was so tender and sweet yet equally sad. “Gonna cum, yeah? That okay?” He asked you through a strained voice as you held onto him. You could only nod again, tears reappearing, toes curled before everything went white, falling apart. Despite the emotional turmoil, he felt so good and you didn’t want him to pull out. This felt too good. His thrusts began to slow as he buried himself deeper inside you. He gripped you so tightly, holding you completely flush against him. Stilling as his warm cum pumped deep inside of you. His hands rubbed your trembling slightly sweaty body in the softest way. He kissed you everywhere he could. You just stayed tight to him refusing to break away.  “You alright, baby?” Trent whispered, his voice soft and full of concern as he hovered over you. His fingers brushed your cheek gently, his thumb catching a stray tear. His dark eyes searched your face, taking in every detail—the way your cheeks were flushed, your lips trembling, and your eyes squeezed tightly shut, as if holding back a flood. You nodded quickly, unable to trust yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, and you knew that if you tried to answer him, your voice would crack, betraying just how fragile you felt in this moment. The weight of everything—of your past, your pain, and the overwhelming tenderness of the man above you—pressed against your chest. Trent’s brow furrowed, his concern deepening as he leaned closer. “Baby,” he urged gently, his warm breath fanning over your face. Your lips parted slightly, as if you wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you reached up, your fingers curling around his wrist as his hand remained on your cheek. It was your silent plea to stay close, to not pull away. “I’m right here,” he reassured you, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of his own emotions. His thumb continued to stroke your cheek, grounding you. “I’ve got you, yeah? Always.” Your breath hitched, a fresh wave of tears slipping from your closed eyes. You hated feeling this vulnerable, hated that you couldn’t hide the rawness inside you, but Trent’s presence made it bearable. His love wrapped around you like a shield, softening the sharp edges of your fear and sadness. Finally, you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. His expression was so full of love and patience that it broke something inside you. 
“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice barely audible but nonetheless broken. Trent stayed on top of you, his weight grounding you even as the guilt began to creep in. His breathing was still heavy, matching yours, and his curls tickled your skin as he rested his face between your boobs, his warm breath fanning over your damp skin. The room was quiet save for the sound of your heartbeats slowing, the intensity of the moment dissipating into an uncomfortable stillness. Neither of you spoke any more after your vacant apology. There were no words for the complicated knot of emotions tightening in your chest. For a while, you simply lay there, your fingers brushing lightly through his hair, but even that small gesture felt hollow. It wasn't comfort. It wasn't resolution. Eventually, Trent stirred, his lips brushing against your collarbone in a fleeting touch. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite name-sadness, maybe, or regret. Without a word, he shifted, carefully pulling out of you, his body leaving yours cold in the absence of his warmth. The air completely sucked out of the room. He rolled off of you and onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The weight of everything hung heavy in the room, pressing down on both of you, suffocating in its intensity. The physical high you'd just shared only amplified the emotional low settling between you. You turned your head to look at him, your eyes scanning his profile-the way his jaw clenched, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. He looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to.
"T," you whispered, your voice soft but strained. He didn't respond right away. His hand came up to rub over his face, and when he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. 
"I'm so sorry." He murmured into the empty silence of the dark room.
"For what?" you asked, your own guilt weighing heavily on you.
"For... this," he said, gesturing vaguely between you but he didn’t turn his head towards you, his gaze stayed fixated on the ceiling. "For not stopping. For letting it happen when I knew... when I knew it wasn't what you needed right now." He sheepishly told you. Your heart ached at his words because they felt true, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to regret it fully. He was not Josh, he didn’t want what just happened. Not like that. It felt wrong. Josh relished in using you for sex to rectify problems, to act like he cared, but all you did was just create a new one with Trent. He was hurting.
"I asked for it, T. I wanted it." You earnestly told him. That was true. You did want it, but why and what for, was a glaringly obvious reg flag. A remnant of Josh’s disgusting conditioning. The only way he could possibly love you was if you fucked hin, and so you did the same with Trent. It was fucked up. You watched him blink a few times, his perfectly curled dark eyelashes batting away what you prayed wasn’t the build up of tears. Even though he wouldn’t turn to look at you, you could still perfectly make out that his eyes were filled with turmoil. 
"But did you need it? Did it help, or did it just... make things worse?" He asked you pleadingly. He knew you wanted to have sex with him. It wasn’t about the consent of the act but rather the consciousness of it. The question hung in the air, and you didn't have an answer. You both laid there with the other, the silence between you louder than any words could be. Neither of you could shake the feeling that you'd both taken a step further away from the connection you were trying so hard to hold onto. The room fell silent for a long while after that. Trent lay motionless, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his mind raced. The dim light cast shadows on the ceiling, but his eyes were unable to focus. He couldn’t wrap his head around the blur between the physical sensations still humming through his body and the weight of the emotional aftermath sinking into his heart. He couldn't reconcile it-how his body could feel one thing, while his heart ached with the opposite. His arms rested limply at his sides, too heavy to move. The thin sheen of sweat cooling on his skin only made him feel exposed, raw. Tears welled in your eyes, and you turned your head away momentarily, unable to look at him anymore. You felt defeated, ashamed, and more alone than ever-even with him right next to you.
"T.." Your voice broke through the thick silence once over, soft but trembling. He hummed in response, his throat dry. But he didn't turn his head to look at you still. He couldn't not yet. Guilt clawed at his chest, despite everything. You asked for this yet it felt cold. You wanted it. He hadn't forced you-but why did it feel like he'd done something wrong? "Did you love her?" you whispered, your voice so small it almost disappeared into the air between you. The question hit him like a blow. He blinked, the ceiling above him suddenly too sharp, too vivid. He exhaled sharply but still didn't meet your gaze. His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Not because he didn't have an answer, but because he was overwhelmed-confused, emotional, and drowning in a wave of guilt and frustration. You couldn't stop yourself. You stared at him, inspecting every detail of his face. The way his bottom lip hung slightly gaped from the top, the tense line of his jaw, the crease in his brow. He laid there feeling hollow despite his best efforts to help. You needed to understand him, to break past the wall he seemed to be building in this silence. The insecurity was clawing at your insides, threatening to consume you. Your past haunted you and right now it was seeping into your present. The way Josh had rewired you to think all men were, had you fearing Jess. She was the ghost in the room you couldn't escape. All you could think about was her-her presence in Trent's life before you, the ways she might have had touched him, been with him, loved him. You hated it. Your thoughts spiraled into a desperate need to prove yourself to him, to make him see why you were different. Why you were better. You'd done everything-fought for him, forgiven him, fucked him, even begged him. You wanted to show him that you would do anything for him. But now, as you lay beside him, all you felt was a hollow emptiness. The act that was supposed to bring you closer had only widened the gap, leaving both of you in the cold. This was new to you because this time, the man next to you in bed truly cared.  Finally, Trent turned his head to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, a storm of emotions swirling in them-confusion, sorrow, regret.
“Never.” Trent finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the only other sound were the sheets shifting beneath you pillowing his words. He cupped your cheek and made you look at him, really look at him. Trent’s hand stilled on your cheek as your words lingered in the air, cutting through the fragile peace between you. His chest rose sharply with a deep, steadying breath, but the storm brewing behind his soft brown eyes betrayed him. “Not even close,” he repeated, his voice firm but strained, as if clinging desperately to the truth of his feelings. His thumb brushed against your skin, grounding himself in the contact, but you could feel the tension in his hold—the way he was barely keeping it together. “Look at me,” he whispered, tilting your face gently so your eyes met his. The weight of his gaze made it impossible to retreat further, even though every instinct told you to. You wanted to hide, to shield yourself from how raw, how real this moment was becoming. But in a moment of vulnerability… you felt yourself pull away from him. You knew Trent was different. This was different. You couldn’t fix things or gain anything by using sex as a bandaid like you did with Josh, not when real feelings were at play and so the only thing you could do was set it on fire in an effort to protect yourself. 
“Did you ever think that maybe… maybe we shouldn’t be together?” you asked, the words falling from your lips without forethought, sayinging something you didn’t even think about. It wasn’t what you wanted to say. It wasn’t what you felt deep down. But it was easier to let those words fill the space than to confront the fear twisting inside you. Trent flinched as if you’d struck him. His blood going ice cold. He didn’t know how to convince you this was right when in the moment you were making it feel so very wrong. You were hurting but now so was he. Trent really thought when he just turned to look at you things would be better, not worse. It was quiet. The silence of the room was deafening. His hand faltered for a moment before settling back on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant. 
“Why would you say that?” he asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the heavy stillness in the room. You swallowed hard, your throat burning with unshed tears. His jaw tightened and he shut his eyes and you watched his eyelashes lay on his cheek for a moment longer than comfortable, shielding himself from the hurt; as if he was bracing for impact and so you took the final blow. 
“You said you didn’t want to take advantage…” you whispered, your voice cracking. It wasn’t what you meant, not really, but you knew the weight of those words would land, and you hated yourself for using them. You didn’t mean it but you knew what you were doing. You didn’t know why you were doing it but it was happening nevertheless. You were letting this relationship go up in flames with an ease you loathed. An ease Josh made you have and now you were letting the flames engulf Trent with you. Trent’s eyes snapped open, wide and glassy with disbelief. He searched your face as if trying to find some hint that you didn’t mean it, that this was all a misunderstanding. The weight of the night settled heavily between you. It was unbearable, suffocating, like the air had been vacuumed out of the room. You both laid completely still. You felt like you were tearing down the house you’d built together—stripping it bare, brick by brick, without even meaning to. Ripping the walls out, slashing the pipes and yet only his silence and heartbeat made a sound. There was no shouting, no anger, no big crash. Just the quiet dismantling of something fragile, something that felt too precious to lose but too painful to hold onto in the moment. His silence pierced through you, and yet, it wasn’t cold—it was sorrowful, the kind of quiet that spoke volumes about his own inner turmoil. Trent's hand, which had dropped to rest on your arm, tightened slightly on your arm, his heart aching at the sound of your pain. 
“If you feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” Trent finally whispered, his voice raw and achingly soft, “if you feel like I’m in control of this in a way that you’re not… we can’t do this. I won’t.” His hand on you withdrew slowly. It wasn’t harsh, but it left a hollow ache in its absence, as though he were pulling back to keep from causing more damage. There it was. The white flag you indirectly and subconsciously pushed him to raise. He was defeated. He couldn’t win. He felt powerless. He felt so awkward. Like if he touched you again it would change your perspective but if he didn’t it would do just the same. You had dismantled something so quietly, so swiftly. He exhaled deeply, his breath shaky, like he was trying to keep himself from crumbling entirely. It felt like there were worlds between you to now, when in reality it was mere inches but as the night engulfed the room, Trent moved from facing you onto his back creating a distance that felt like something you may never be able to close. Trent’s words hung in the air like the faint echo of a storm, their quiet weight pressing down on you as he pulled away. The warmth of his hand left your skin, replaced by an emptiness that seemed to seep into the space between you. His quiet resolve settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. You had spent so long trying to survive, to appease, to navigate a world where love meant control and touch often felt like an obligation. And yet, here he was—letting you go, even if it broke him. Trent’s restraint wasn’t rejection; it was love. It was understanding. But it hurt all the same. 
“I’ve only ever been in love once… I’ll only ever be in love once. And that’s with you.” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. His voice cracked slightly, and the sound shattered you. Your heart clenched painfully at his confession. The vulnerability in his words was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. You stared at his profile, the way his lashes rested against his cheek when he blinked, the tension in his jaw as he tried to steady himself. “Just… take your time,” he added, his voice quieter now, almost inaudible. And then, with the finality of someone who had resigned themselves to the pain, he rolled over, his head resting on his pillow. You watched him, the way he clutched the pillow beneath his head as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His back was to you now, and it felt like a wall you couldn’t scale, no matter how much you wanted to reach for him. “I just don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered again, so softly you weren’t sure if it was meant for you or for himself. His words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved, as the night overtook the room. Trent wasn’t like Josh. He wasn’t trying to control you or force you into anything. But in that moment, the weight of your past, the weight of your fears, was too much for either of you to carry alone. And as he lay there, quiet and still, you realized just how much you had both been hurt in ways neither of you fully knew how to heal. You watched the way his shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath, steady but strained. It wasn’t just awkwardness you felt—it was guilt, raw and biting, clawing at your chest. You wanted to speak, to reassure him, to take back the words you didn’t even mean, but your throat felt like it had closed up.in an effort to save yourself you had somehow managed to cut off the only thing that was keeping you alive. Trent had let you go, the chasm in the bed now was too much to breach. The silence between you was deafening, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the night filtering in through the window. It was strange how a room could feel so full of unspoken emotions yet so achingly empty at the same time.
The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room that felt at odds with the tension between you. The quiet was almost suffocating, the kind of silence that held so much unsaid. Despite the turmoil of the night before, your bodies had instinctively found each other, seeking comfort in a way words couldn’t offer. You’d spent hours wrapped around one another, as if letting go would mean accepting what neither of you wanted to face. Trent’s arms had stayed around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, grounding you even as your mind raced. The morning finally had arrived, it felt like an unspoken truce, a shared understanding that this moment, however fleeting, couldn’t last. You stayed in bed longer than usual, the weight of reality pressing down on both of you. Trent’s fingers traced absent patterns on your arm, and neither of you spoke, afraid to shatter the fragile peace. When you finally sat up, the loss of his touch was immediate and jarring.
Getting dressed felt mechanical. Each movement slow and deliberate, as if prolonging the inevitable goodbye. By the time you made your way downstairs, the air between you had shifted. You could feel his eyes on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet them. At the door, you hesitated, your hand resting on the handle. Your throat was tight, the words you wanted to say lodged somewhere deep inside. 
“T…” you whispered, your voice trembling. He was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight. He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on a spot just beyond you. It wasn’t that he didn’t hear you—he was trying to hold himself together, to keep from begging you to stay, from saying something that might push you further away. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were heavy with emotion. 
“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. 
“I… I just want to say thank you. For… for last night.” Your voice cracked, and you looked away, your own emotions threatening to overwhelm you. It was all you could say. What had transpired last night couldn’t be encapsulated in a sentence or two. Your feelings for him, the hurt you felt would fill volumes and so you settled for a thank you. Trent shifted, his body tensing as if he was fighting every instinct to close the space between you. 
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I just… I just want you to be okay.” You nodded, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. 
“I don’t know what okay looks like right now,” you admitted, your voice breaking. He took a cautious step towards you. 
“I know, pretty girl,” he replied, his words careful, measured. The pet name hurt. He sympathetically smiled at you but it was insincere. His heart was in pieces, shattered on the floor right next to yours. “But you know I’m here, right? No matter what… I’m here.” His words broke something in you, and you glanced back at him, finally meeting his eyes. He was being mature and understanding and it hurt. The depth of his care, his pain, and his love was laid bare, and it was almost too much to bear.
“I know,” you whispered, tears welled up in your eyes, ready to spill over. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to be loved like this. I’m just so sorry I’m hard to love,” you confessed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.  “I don’t know how to feel safe and not push you away when I do.” You whimpered as the tears slipped down your cheeks. Trent’s jaw tightened, his heart breaking as he watched you crumble in front of him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, before pulling you into him. His arms enveloped you, one circling your waist while the other cradled the back of your head. You pressed your face into his chest, your tears dampening his shirt but he didn’t care, not one bit. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there as if trying to transfer every ounce of his love and reassurance. 
“You are the easiest girl to love, pretty girl. And I will love you in whatever way and any way you need me to love you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. His grip tightened slightly, as though he was memorizing the feel of you in his arms, just in case it would be the last time. “Forever, it’s you,” he murmured, his words so soft they were almost lost in the quiet of the room. “Just please know that will never change, no matter what you decide you want.” Your breath hitched and you sobbed into his chest, overwhelmed by his words, by the way he loved you so unconditionally. 
“I love you,” you whimpered, the words breaking as they left your lips. He closed his eyes, his own tears threatening to fall as he held you. 
“I know, baby. I know,” he whispered back, rocking you gently as you cried. “And that’s enough for me.”
The house was alive with chaos—a sea of bodies swaying to deafening music, flashing lights bouncing off the walls in a kaleidoscope of color. Conversations were drowned out by the thrum of bass, laughter spilling over in waves as the party hit its peak. Layla stood in the center of it all, a drink in hand, but her focus was fractured. Her chest felt tight, as if a weight pressed against it, the absence of you palpable. You weren’t here, and while you’d told her to have fun, it didn’t feel right. Still, she pushed through. You needed her to, even if she didn’t fully understand why. Fifteen songs later and five drinks deeper, Layla felt the alcohol warm her insides, dulling some of her guilt but sharpening her resolve. She scanned the room, her sharp eyes skipping over familiar faces until they landed on Devon, standing by the edge of the kitchen, drink in hand, smirking as he caught her gaze. Josh wasn’t here yet—or at least, she hadn’t spotted him—but Devon would have to do. He was Josh’s friend, and as much as Layla disliked him by association, he was her best shot at getting answers. He was handsome, she was hot, they’d met a few times before and maybe there might’ve been some chemistry there but really there was only one reason driving Layla that night. She didn’t trust him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use him.
Their banter had started easily enough, a few playful comments traded back and forth. Devon leaned in close, his lips hovering near her ear as if he had to compete with the music, but Layla knew it was more than that. He was testing the waters, his hand brushing hers just lightly enough to be suggestive.
“I think we’re crossing enemy lines here,” he teased, his voice low and full of charm. Layla smirked, meeting his gaze with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. 
“I’ll cross any line you want,” she whispered, leaning in close, her breath warm against his cheek. “But let me borrow your phone first. I just need to text my friend before we leave.” Devon blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but the bait was too tempting to resist. He handed over his phone without hesitation, his smirk deepening. 
“Make it quick, yeah?” he said, his tone dripping with suggestion. Layla turned on her heel, spinning away with a flirtatious glance over her shoulder. Devon’s gaze stayed glued to her as she made her way toward the hallway, phone in hand, pretending to type. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her, but as soon as she rounded the corner, her facade dropped. Her fingers moved swiftly, navigating his phone with practiced ease. She scrolled through messages, DMs, and photos, her heart pounding in her chest as she searched for anything—any hint, any clue that could tie Devon or Josh to what had happened to you. She dug deeper and deeper, her frustration mounting as nothing turned up. She huffed, leaning against the wall. The blue light of the phone screen illuminated her features in the dark hallway, casting shadows under her eyes that betrayed her exhaustion. Layla was starting to second-guess her plan as the party raged around her. The house felt suffocating, the music thundering through her chest as if it was synced to her racing heartbeat. Layla was so invested in her hunt she barely noticed Devon coming to lean lazily against the wall beside her, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched her hold his phone.
“You find what you’re looking for, or are you just trying to steal my playlist?” he teased, his voice low and laced with amusement. Layla forced a playful laugh, flipping her hair over her shoulder to buy herself a moment. Her fingers worked quickly, scrolling out of his apps and messages, trying to stay one step ahead of Devon’s curiosity.
“I’m just making sure you’re not boring,” she shot back, her tone teasing but with a slight edge of distraction. Devon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. 
“Trust me, babe, I’m anything but boring.” He cooed. Layla ignored his cocky response. Devon noticed her change in demeanor, his smirk fading as he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “You alright?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly to one of genuine concern. Layla forced a smile again and handed his back to him as casually as she could. 
“Just had to make sure my girls know I’m with you. Don’t want them thinking I’ve disappeared.” She cooed, turning into him. Devon grinned, clearly pleased with her response. 
“Disappeared, huh? I’ll make sure you stay right where I can see you.” He leaned into her pinching at her waist. She giggled swatting at his hand with a sloppy smile. Maybe it was the alcohol, but a part of her kind of wanted to actually go home with Devon. She didn’t find anything incriminating, he was sort of sweet and definitely handsome. Her mind was racing though, the threads were unraveling, but the knot at the center was still tied too tightly. She needed to find out more. She was committed for you… and maybe there was a little bit in it for her now. So she played along, laughing at Devon’s jokes and letting him guide her through the crowded house. Her focus drifting from being laser-sharp, every glance, every word a calculated move with intent to something a bit looser.  She’d come here for answers, and she knew Devon had to know something so maybe spending a little more time with him wouldn’t hurt. 
The soft hum of Devon’s snores filled the dimly lit bedroom. Layla sat up slowly, careful not to disturb him, and slipped his phone from the bedside table. Her pulse quickened as she padded to the en-suite bathroom, the door creaking slightly as she shut it behind her. She pressed her back to the wall and sank to the floor with a deep breath. Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the phone. Devon had been easy to charm, he actually wasn’t so bad, nice in fact, but what she held in her hand right now would tell her the harsh reality, what he really knew. 
The room was dark, the blue light burning her eyes as she scrolled in Devon’s phone, sat on the floor. Scrolling through his messages again Layla’s breath became unsteady, uneven. Her pulse quickened as she skimmed through group chats and threads. Still, there was nothing that immediately jumped out as damning. She finally decided to go back to Devon’s messages with Josh, her hands trembling slightly. The messages were cryptic as she delved deeper. It felt like she was missing something, a part of their puzzle, so she continued to scroll. She almost didn’t want to find more context, even the thought made her stomach churn but she had to do this. Her grip tightened on the phone as she scrolled faster, reading more and more messages. Her eyes darted over the screen, piecing together fragments of a conversation. 
“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. But just as she was about to give up, something caught her eye—an attachment buried deep in their thread of texts. Layla’s vision blurred with anger and panic. She shut her eyes tight. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. There it was: a screenshot of an Instagram DM from Jess to Josh, and then, her stomach dropped—the video attached. The video of you. You, on your knees for Trent, vulnerable in a way that made Layla’s blood run cold. She felt sick.  Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped her lips as tears stung her eyes. The room felt heavier than the silence that followed. Layla sat with her knees pulled to her chest, the dim blue light of the phone casting ghostly shadows on her face. She couldn’t stop trembling. The weight of what she’d seen, and what it meant, pressed down on her like a tidal wave.
“You really are interested in my phone, huh? Find anything good?” Devon’s tired voice shattered the silence, making her jump. Layla turned, looking up at him, fumbling the phone as she tried to recover. 
“Fuck… I was just—” She stumbled out words.  Devon leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching her with an expression that was far too calm for her liking. He had a sleepy smile that was handsome but it couldn’t mask what was on his phone. 
“You find that screenshot of the video Jess sent?” he asked, his tone softer than she expected. He smirked but not smugly. He smirked in a way that was sympathetic. His eyebrows raised as if he himself couldn’t even believe he had seen what she sent. He assumed that's what she was looking for. It was really the only thing that tied him and Layla together. The only reason they knew one another. Layla’s jaw dropped in surprise though that he knew it existed at all and still had the audacity to try to be with her.
“So Jess actually sent that... and you've seen it?” Layla asked again, her voice cracking. She needed him to confirm it—needed him to say it out loud so it felt real. Devon sighed, running a hand over his hair, his expression torn between guilt and discomfort. He shrugged, sliding down the wall to sit beside her. 
“I haven't seen it, no. But. yeah… she sent it to Josh. I don’t know why. Guess she wanted to stir shit up.” He cooed gently looking only at Layla, not his phone that she currently was planning on holding ransom until she got answers. Layla glared at him, her chest heaving with frustration. 
“You’re lying.” Her voice wavered, sharp and accusing. 
“Look, baby, I don’t know what’s going on there, but I’m keeping my hands clean. I don’t want any part of it.” Devon tried to explain his arm reaching out towards her knee but Layla winced at the pet name. Her eyes narrowed, her anger bubbling over. 
“Well, you are playing a part, Devon. You know Josh has that video—of Y/N and Trent, two people in a relationship, in love—and he’s using it to blackmail them. That makes you complicit.” She harshly bit back. He paused for a moment. He didn’t know you and Trent were a couple, let alone in love. He saw you at dinner once, but people go on dates all the time. The only things he heard were from Josh’s perspective. And in his opinion you weren’t allowed to be with Trent. In fact, you wanted Josh instead.
“I didn’t know they were properly together,” Devon muttered, his voice quieter now, guilt flashing across his face. 
“They shouldn’t have to be,” Layla snapped, shoving the phone back into his hands. Her tears were threatening to spill over now, her emotions a tangled mess of fury and heartbreak. “And they fucking can’t be if he has this. This is fucked up, Devon. You’re letting him ruin someone’s life, and you just sit back like it’s nothing? I don’t understand how you can be okay with that.” She whimpered.  Devon winced, the weight of her words visibly sinking in. He leaned back against the cold wall, his hands rubbing his face. 
“Fuck… I’m sorry. You’re right,” he whispered finally. Layla sniffled trying to keep herself together. She was aching for you. “I should’ve done something, stopped it. I just… I didn’t want to get involved. It’s Josh, you know? I mean yeah, I see him a lot, were on the same squad but I try not to fuck with him too much.” Devon weakly tried to explain. Layla’s tears started to spill, her voice growing more impassioned. 
“She’s my best friend, Devon! Do you even understand what this is doing to her? He’s blackmailing her. That video—it’s not just some stupid gossip. It could ruin everything for them… For Trent. And you’re just sitting here pretending like you’re not part of it? Like imagine if someone had a video of you and sent it to the fucking media… Because that's what he's doing. People's private relationship being broadcasted publicly and used to hurt them. Imagine what they feel right now that people like you even have fucking screenshots of this.” Layla yelped with a little more force. Devon sat still, the seriousness of her words bearing down on him. 
“I… I didn’t know it was like that. I didn’t think about it that way,” he said softly. Layla’s comment had landed. Devon felt stupid. He didn’t really know nor care for Trent, they played for rival clubs too after all, but the sentiment still stood. He understood this wasn't the little tiff he dubbed it to be before. He realized what Josh was threatening Trent with. “I thought it was just… I don’t know, some drama between exes that didn’t involve me. I didn’t… I didn’t think of how damaging it could be.” Devon spoke earnestly.
“It is,” Layla shot back, wiping her tears angrily. “And if you care at all…” She shook her head and took a deep breath attempting to compose herself. “You know, maybe about me.” She said unexpectedly to even herself. Maybe she had developed more feelings for Devon then she realized or maybe she was using it as leverage- she couldn't decide but she didn’t care, that wasn't the focus right now. You were. “Or just being a fucking good person and do the right thing, you need to help me fix this.” She pleaded. Devon looked at her, his liable gaze meeting her hurt one. For a moment, it was just the two of them illuminated only by the dim phone screen, the air between them thick with tension. “Devon, you know he hurt her right?” she looked at him curiously. Devon’s eyes narrowed. He looked confused and a part of Layla prayed it was honest innocence. She hoped maybe Devon wasn’t bad. That this was an indiscretion and he was nothing like Josh. If he knew, she could never forgive him. In fact, she’d kill him. “He abused her. The way he spoke to her… Fuck! The texts I’d see that he’d send her. She’d have cuts and bruises all the time… Did you know that?” Layla weakly asked him as tears coursed down her cheeks. 
“No.” Devon responded flatly. He swallowed feeling sick. He didn’t know any of that. He shut his eyes for a moment and then cleared his throat. “He can’t do that. I’m so sorry. What do you want me to do? What can I do, Layla?” He asked finally, his voice resigned but sincere. Layla straightened, her jaw tight as she wiped the last of her tears. 
Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!
Next part - Chapter 23 xx
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wings-of-ink · 16 hours ago
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Hello everyone!
I just wanted to pop in and say hey and give some updates. They're all very mild, but I feel like I've been quiet lately so I wanted to pop something out here for you so you get a feel for where I'm headed.
I have some asks that have piled up and I will be chipping away at them here and there. I had a weird week that I am recovering from, and my mind has been super unfocused lately. I'm doing better now, but had a bout with a few days of insomnia and anxiety. I am already a sleepy-sad mess in the winter, so this does me no favors. I'm popping in when I have some bursts of energy. Your asks and comments have made me smile, think, and get pumped for the days to come though, so I thank you for that. ^_^
Even though my energy is down, I am still finding enjoyment in working on some of the extras! Even if I can only work in short bursts, it's helped me find some respite. I have worked out a short-form character creation for the Cursed Birthday extra. I also have that outlined. My goal is to have that released by the end of this month!
I still plan on opening a Patreon soon, but I have kept putting it on the back burner as I focus on just making it through this time of year, lol. I am just so stupid-tired most of the evening when I have free time and am very over it. In future years, I'll be working ahead during the other seasons and then take a solid block of time between December and January off. I vote that we hibernate.
Before I open up Patreon, I want to have some work banked up and ready to go. Part of the benefits will be voting on what you want to read, but I need to have some basis to go off of for that and content to put out in between. I'll post some teasers and samples so you can see if the extras I have in store will tickle your fancy. I have a running list of both SFW and NSFW extras I'd like to write. Someone asked me earlier to spill (leak) some of my tea on these, so I will happily share a few things I have cooking in my noggin.
Regular (mild) Extras: * A series of stories about being "snowed in" with each of the ROs and how they spend the day with MC. * Each RO will get character-specific stories, featuring cute and romantic moments for things like Zahn's birthday or baking cakes with Oswin.
Spicy Extras: * A series of tales that are erotic dreams that the MC has while traveling with the group. Anything can happen here. * Each RO will have stories featuring spicy content relative to their character's desires. For example, in the first month of Patreon, Oswin will be featured in the spicy tier. The story is titled, "Honey," and is interactive. You can use your imagination. (shout out to the anon who already read my mind and called me on this, lol)
**Addendum** I remember what else I was going to include here so I'm editing. I have some corrections (typos and grammar and such) and a patch for Zahn's moment in Chapter 5 to put through but I cannot get the itch "Butler" application to work on my laptop still. I can't patch without breaking saves all over again. I am trying to find another computer I can do this on so I don't break saves just for a patch.
I think those were the main bits I wanted to touch on (hell if I actually remember, lol). I am recovering from my weird week and am happy it's the weekend. My new kitties are doing fabulous as well. They are very cute and keep me on my toes. Oh, and Arlo knows how to open doors, so there's that. Miles, who was very shy at first, has become a sweet little socialite too.
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Arlo just looks grumpy, but he is an absolute ham.
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Miles likes to lay with his feets dangling.
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crazyunsexycool · 22 hours ago
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My Little Love
Chapter 41
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader
word count: 7.8K
Warning: Smut at the beginning, so much fluff, Pregnancy!!!!
A/N: You guys it's finally happening!!!!!! In Lottie's words : am so 'cited, for this chapter. We finally get the news we've been waiting for. If you find inaccuracies just play along :)
Series masterlist
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Even as the plane landed Bucky didn’t want to tell you where he was taking you. He ushered you into a cherry red convertible. The top was down and your bags were in the trunk. Bucky was excited as he put on his sunglasses and opened the passenger’s door for you. 
You tilted your head back and soaked up the sun while Bucky took you to your destination. Music was playing and the breeze was refreshing. You couldn’t stop the smile from forming on your lips. It wasn’t until some time in the drive that you decided to really pay attention to where you were going, hoping that you’d get a clue as to what Bucky had planned. 
“Is that sign in Italian?” You asked as you drove down the highway. 
“It is.” 
Now you were really excited. Of course you’d been to Italy before but it was only on a mission so it didn’t really count. You turn to look at Bucky with excitement only to find him sneaking glances at you. 
“Where exactly is it that we’re going? Please just tell me.” 
“I could tell you or you can see it for yourself.” He says just as he starts to slow down. 
On one side was the sea. Waves lapped lazily along the shore. The air was filled with the salty scent of the ocean. You watched as people got into the water and splashed around. Colorful umbrellas dotted the sandy beaches and boats dotted the sea. On the other side colorful buildings brought life to the mountainside. It was picturesque and almost too beautiful to be real. You’d only seen this place before in pictures.
“Are we on the Amalfi Coast?” You asked Bucky with disbelief.
“Yup. I know you’ve always wanted to come. I thought, what better time than now.” 
“Buck-“ you weren’t sure what to even say. “I think I only mentioned it in passing, years ago. How did you even remember?” 
“I remember everything about you.” Bucky grabbed your hand and gave it a kiss. “Now, do you want to stop and get some breakfast or do you want to head to the villa?” 
“You got a whole villa?” 
Bucky smiled and nodded. 
“Breakfast first.” 
“Whatever my wife wants, she gets.” Bucky says as he finds somewhere to park. 
You walk hand in hand through the streets of the small seaside town. Both of you point out little areas or things that you find interesting. He takes you to a shop or two. Of course the first thing you buy is something for Charlotte and Henry. At the cafe Bucky orders in Italian, a proud smirk on his face when he notices how impressed you are. His hand never leaves your thigh. The two of you stay close to each other, murmuring sweet nothings and overall enjoying your time as newlyweds. 
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After driving up a private driveway lined with trees, you’re met with a beautiful open space. There’s a fountain surrounded with flowers in the center of the driveway and the villa itself is amazing. A grand entryway with ivy growing up the walls of the two story house. The red tile roof was a perfect contrast against the earthy tones of the brick. 
Bucky opens your car door and helps you out. Then he grabs your bags and leads you up to the main door. 
“How did you even find this place? It’s beautiful.” 
“Tony.” Bucky says over his shoulder. 
He opens the door and lets you in first. You’re greeted by a stunning foyer. Rustic meets modern seemed to be the style. The living room was huge with big comfortable looking couches. Huge windows that gave you the most perfect view of the garden and pool. The whole house was exquisite. You wandered around while Bucky went upstairs and dropped off your suitcases. 
Outside the garden was in full bloom. Every flower in its perfect spot and every tree or bush trimmed and kept impeccably. You wandered toward the end of what you thought was the property only to be met with an impressive view. The villa sat on a cliff and the ocean just below it. Stairs were carved down towards a private dock. A small sailboat sat in the water ready for use. 
“So what do you think?” Bucky asked as he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you in. His chin rested on your shoulder as you both looked out into the beautiful view.
“It’s perfect. I love it here already. Thank you.” 
Bucky only answered by placing a kiss on your shoulder before going back to admiring the view. The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes before you turned in his arms. 
“I’m going to freshen up ok?”
“Ok.” Bucky smiled and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. 
****
You finished applying your red lipstick. After checking your reflection one more time in the full length mirror in the bathroom you walk back into the master bedroom. You had on the red lingerie from the Polaroids you’d given Bucky before your wedding. The lacy barely there set included a garter belt and stockings which you paired with ridiculously high heels. Your intention was to call out for Bucky but as you passed by the double doors that led to the balcony you could make out his figure in the distance. 
The breeze felt amazing against your skin as you stepped out onto the balcony. You leaned against the stone railing and watched Bucky for a moment. Anticipation of what was going to happen next had you pressing your thighs together.
“Sergeant Barnes.” You call out loud enough for Bucky to hear. 
He turns around a smile on his face that falters as he looks for you. You can see the way his lips part once you stand up straighter, revealing the lacy bra you were wearing. Bucky doesn’t waste any time. He starts walking back into the house in order to get to you. 
Seeing him move through the garden and into the house you head into the bedroom. You make yourself comfortable on the bed just as Bucky slams the door open. He stares at you for just a moment, laying in the middle of the bed propped up on your elbows and one leg propped up. Bucky groans at the sight. 
“Sugar, are you planning to kill me on our honeymoon?” He asks as he makes his way over to the foot of the bed. 
You smirk as he starts to take his shirt off. Bucky grabs your ankle and pulls you towards him. 
“James!” You yelp at the sudden movement before giggling. 
Bucky kisses your calf and leaves a trail down your leg until he gets mid thigh. 
“Look at you, so pretty just for me.” He murmurs as his hands trace the stockings and garter belt. “You’re so fucking perfect.” 
Bucky kissed every part of your body he could reach. He made his way up to you slowly until he was hovering over you. 
“Hi Sugar.” 
“Hi baby.” 
“You look beautiful.” He murmurs as his eyes rake over your face. “You’re always so beautiful.”
You smile as you run a hand through his hair. “I’m so lucky to have you.”
“Nuh-uh Mrs. Barnes. I'm the lucky one. Will you let me show you how much I love you?” 
“Yes, please.” You reply as you pull him down for a kiss. 
Bucky’s tongue dances with yours. His hands travel up and down your sides. When you pull apart, you’re breathless. The red lipstick you’d worn was smudged and transferred onto Bucky’s lips. He smiled down at you as his lust filled gaze pulled you in. Bucky doesn’t give you much time to catch your breath. His lips are on yours again and then he’s moving to your cheek and down your jaw. He nips and hums against your neck when he gets to that spot that makes you weak. You can’t help but buck your hips against him. 
A small whimper passes your lips when Bucky’s thumb brushes over your nipple. He kneads your breast before pulling down your bra. Bucky’s lips wrap around your pebbled peak, his tongue swirls around it. You moan as he continues to put his attention on your chest. There was something about being with him at this moment, with Bucky’s attention on your breasts that was close to pushing you over the edge faster than ever. Maybe it was the fact that this was your first time together after your wedding and the thrill of it all had you more excited than you realized. 
You didn’t notice when Bucky undid your bra. It was the cool air against your nipple that brought you back to the moment. Bucky gave you a proud smirk as he kissed down your belly slowly. Your hands moved to the garter belt, you had full intentions of taking it off but Bucky stopped you. 
“This stays on.” He murmurs, his eyes dark with lust as he continues to admire you from above. “And so do these,” his hands move to your stockings. “And these.” His hand stops at the heels you were wearing. 
Bucky moves off the bed and drops to his knees. His hands wrap around your calf and he pulls you to the end of the king size bed. Without much warning he rips the panties you had on and dives in. His tongue runs up your slit and swirls around your throbbing clit. You moan and whimper and Bucky can only groan in response. He has you breathless and close to the edge already. You bury your hands in his hair to keep him where you need him. When he teases your entrance with a finger you whine until he finally slides a finger in. You can’t help but buck your hips in order to get relief. It only takes Bucky seconds to pull an orgasm out of you. Your high pitched whine doesn’t stop him though, Bucky helps you ride your high before he adds another finger. His tongue sweeps over your clit in perfect time with his fingers. Your back arches off the bed as you try to pull away. The feeling of his mouth on you is almost too much but not enough. You babble incoherently as Bucky pulls another orgasm from you. 
“Bucky-” you murmur breathlessly. 
Bucky finally pulls away from your sensitive center and lays down beside you.
“So fucking sweet.”
He has a smug grin on his face as he caresses your cheek. You watch as his tongue sweeps his bottom lip and pull him down for a kiss. Bucky lights you on fire all over again with this intense kiss. His hands roam your body and then he’s moving you up the bed until you’re perfectly centered. 
“C’mere, let me love you.” You tell your husband, holding your hand out for him. 
Bucky leans over you and takes your hand in his. He turns his head and gives your palm a kiss. Instead of settling between your open legs Bucky pulls back up.
“Hands and knees, Sugar.” His voice is rough with need. 
You don’t hesitate to do as he asks. That’s one good thing about having the serum, you recover much faster. As you do as Bucky asks he gets off the bed and takes off his pants and boxers. He’s painfully hard as he grabs his cock and slowly starts to move his hand up and down. 
“What are you waiting for, Sargent?” You say with a wiggle of your hips. 
“Oh Sugar, you think you’re ready for me?”
“I’m always ready for you.” You arch your back more, giving him a better view of your ass. 
Bucky only groans in response as he takes his place behind you. He runs his cock through your soaking folds, the tip hitting your already sensitive clit. Without a word Bucky lines himself up and in one quick thrust he bottoms out. He curses when he feels you clench around him. Your moans causing his grip on your hips to tighten. Bucky gives you a few seconds to adjust to him, even after all this time it feels like he’s splitting you in half, before pulling back slowly and then pushing back in. He starts a slow steady rhythm, rolling his hips as his hands keep you in place. 
“You feel so fucking good.” Bucky grunts as he picks up speed. 
The only response he gets is a moan. Your hands grip the bed sheet and you can’t help but arch your back more for him. Bucky moves his left hand from your hip slowly up your spine. It makes you shiver as his hand rests at the back of your neck for a moment before it snakes around and his fingers wrap around your throat. You go easily as he pulls you up against him. His thrusts never stop and his hold on you is gentle. You drop your head back and turn to capture his lips with yours. 
“You got one more for me, Sugar?” Bucky muttered against your lips, his right hand moving towards your bundle of nerves. “Are you gonna come on my cock? Make a mess for me?” 
That had your pussy fluttering around him. You were putty in Bucky’s hands and he knew it. He even chuckled in your ear as you came. 
“There you go, Sugar. Always so good to me.” He grunts before he pulls out and has you laying on your back. 
You spread your legs for Bucky, waiting for him to take his place. His hooded eyes move from your face down to your chest, over the rest of your body before they land on your slick folds. His tongue slides over his bottom lip while he slowly strokes his cock. With a smirk Bucky moves closer and lines himself up with your waiting pussy and bottoms out. 
“C’mere.” You call him softly. Your hands move up his side and over his back. 
Bucky is stretched out over you. A lazy smile graces his lips as his nose bumps yours. 
“I love you so much, Sugar.” He says before pressing his lips to yours. 
“I love you too.” You gasp out as Bucky finally moves. 
He’s much more gentle this time. Your hands move over his chest where you can feel his heart beating wildly. It makes you smile as you move your hands toward his neck and pull him down for a languid kiss. You wrap your legs around Bucky’s waist, urging him to go a little faster. 
“Baby…” you moan. 
Bucky groans and pulls back to get a better look at you. His eyes are as dark as ever and it sends a delish chill down your spine. There’s a spark in his eyes that you can’t recognize as he stops his movements and pulls back. You do nothing but lay there excitedly waiting for whatever it is he’s going to do next. Bucky runs his hands over your thighs and stops at your belly. This time you prop yourself up on your elbows and raise an eyebrow in question. 
“Baby, huh?” His smirk turns devilish as he leans forward again, caging you in by laying his hands flat on either side of you. “Is that what you want? Want me to get you nice and pregnant?” 
You inhaled sharply at the question. Bucky chuckled as he felt your pussy clench down around his length. 
“I can just picture it, Sugar. Can’t you?” He starts to move his hips again, faster and deeper this time. “You, nice and round with our baby. Fuck you’d look so perfect.” 
You whimper as you fall back onto the bed. The small sound pushes Bucky to give you everything. Bucky tells you how pretty you’d look and how  You wrap your arms around him to pull him closer. Bucky can’t help but hide his face in the crook of your neck. He hisses as your nails dig into his muscular back. Your moans and whimpers and little sounds are like music to his ears. 
“Fuck, fuck you feel so good.” He mutters more to himself than anything else. “Can you give me one more? I know you can.” Bucky says as he moves one hand to your clit.
“James!” You scream as the orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. 
Seconds later you feel Bucky tense, his groan is almost animalistic. His spend coats your walls and he can’t help lay his weight against you. 
As you both come down from your highs you begin to run your fingers through his hair while Bucky rests his head against your chest. The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes until Bucky propped himself up to look at you. His smile was blinding.
“Are you good?” He asked as he unfortunately pulled away from you. 
“I’m more than good.” 
“Want to join me in the shower?” Bucky says as he gets up from bed. 
“I would but I don’t think my legs work right now.” 
Bucky had the nerve to look smug as he walked around the bed. He put an arm under your back and the other under your knees and pulled you up. 
“If you wanted me to carry you all you had to do was ask.” 
You laugh as you make your way to the bathroom. 
“Now let me get the shower ready and then we’ll work on kid number three.” 
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You woke up disoriented since it was still light out. After the not so quick shower you shared with Bucky you headed straight to bed to take a nap. Now you find your bed empty and the sun just starting to set. You stretch your sore limbs and sigh happily.
The door to the bedroom opens slowly and Bucky pops his head in. He gives you a brilliant smile. 
“Hi, Sugar. It’s about time you woke up.” He says as he opens the door wider. “Hungry?” 
“I am actually.”
“Well I threw some snacks together for us.” He walks in with a tray and sets it on the bed. “I also have a little surprise.” 
You smile up at him while popping a grape into your mouth. Bucky pulls out his phone and taps a few time before turning it around for you to see. 
“Hi mama and daddy!” Lottie says into the camera with a huge smile. 
She’s still in her pajamas and her hair is a mess. Henry is also in his pajamas and matching hair.
“Hi mama and daddy.” He adds sleepily. 
“We habe a seepovuh with Steebie. An now we habes pancakes.” 
“We miss you.” Henry says as he throws an arm around Lottie’s shoulder. “But have fun.” 
“Steebie says we see you soons.” Lottie adds with a nod. “We lobes you.” 
You smile as the video stops. “Aawww my babies. Is it bad that I miss them already?”
“Not at all, I miss them too.” Bucky lays across the bed and props himself on his elbow. “So Mrs. Barnes, what would you like to do this evening?”
“Can we just stay in tonight? I’m still really tired.” 
Bucky smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. “Are you? I’m sorry, Sugar, I’ll take it easier on you next time.” 
You laugh, “shut up.” 
You do stay at the villa for the evening. There was enough to do to keep you both entertained.
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“You know how to pilot this thing?” You asked as Bucky helped you onto the small boat that was docked on the private dock. 
“Of course I do.” Bucky sets down the bag you packed before turning around and making sure you were settled. “Now are you ready for a sun filled morning?”
“I am captain.” 
Bucky scrunches his face and you mirror him. “Never call me that again.”
“Don’t worry I won’t. It felt gross.” 
“Now, sit back, look beautiful and enjoy the ride.” Bucky says, looking over his sunglasses and sending a wink your way before giving his attention to getting away from the small dock.
You watched him for a moment, admiring the black swim trunks he was wearing and short sleeved button up which he left unbuttoned. It gave a great view of his toned chest and chiseled six pack. You did as Bucky asked and sat back, letting him do whatever it was he was doing.
 The sun was shining, there was a nice breeze and the smell of the sea was refreshing. You took off your coverall and revealed the two piece bikini you’d decided to wear. With a happy sigh and the motor of the boat kicking to life you relax and take in the sights around you. 
****
“What if someone sees us?” You whimper as Bucky rolls his hips.
What started out as an innocent request for a few pictures turned into a full blown, lust driven love making session. Bucky could barely keep his hands off you. He first undid your top, his hands kneaded your breast while he kissed your neck. The next thing to go was your swimsuit bottoms. Bucky had no shame in having you right then and there.
The only issue you were concerned about was doing it on the boat and having someone pass by.
“No one can see us, Sugar.” Bucky kisses and nips along your jaw. 
You moan with another of Bucky’s thrust before you speak up. “Are you sure?” 
Bucky stops his movements and pops his head up to look around. You can’t help but giggle at his antics.
“Coast is clear, Sugar. But if you want we can stop.” 
“No!” You grab his face and pull him back towards you. “Don’t stop, please.” 
Bucky smirks against your lips. “I love it when you beg.” 
Your hands ran down his chest and circled his midsection before they landed on his ass and squeezed. 
“Start moving Barnes.” 
“I love it when you’re bossy too.” He murmurs before he starts to drive into you, making your eyes roll back. 
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The afternoon was also spent on a boat but this time doing a boat tour. Bucky sat with you and pointed out different things along the coast. You were having the time of your life. Then you get to an area with a long line of boats just waiting around. 
“What is happening?” You looked around curiously. 
A small rowboat makes its way over to your boat and Bucky gets up. He speaks in Italian to the men and turns back to you, offering you his hand. 
“C’mon you’ll want to see this.” He says happily. 
Bucky gets on the rowboat first then helps you down. Once you’re settled the rowboat starts moving. There’s some waiting in the water to purchase tickets.
“Oh my god is this the blue grotto?” You ask excitedly. 
Bucky smiles before the oarsman starts serenading you. You can’t help but giggle as he gets closer to the entrance. 
“Ok, you will have to lay down as I pass by.” The oarsman says with an adorably heavy accent. “Keep your hand an arms inside please.” 
You and Bucky do as you’re told and lay down. Once you’re inside the grotto you sit back up. It’s truly mesmerizing how beautiful it is. The water is such a vibrant blue it almost looks fake. The oarsman starts to talk about the history of the grotto and why the water looks as blue as it does. You spend a few minutes there and make sure to take pictures and videos. After the small detour is done you get back to your boat to continue your regular tour. 
For the next few days it’s the same. You and Bucky go out to explore the area, have dinner at some great local restaurant and somehow in between all of that you two are insatiable. Bucky can’t keep his hands off of you and vice versa. 
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“What are you looking for again?” Bucky asks from the other aisle of a small pharmacy. 
“Something for my nausea. I think I’ve been eating too much these last few days and it’s finally starting to catch up with me.”
“Shouldn’t you see a doctor?”
“No, I don't think it’s anything serious.” you murmur before turning around to look on the other shelf. 
You stop in your tracks when you look at the product that’s directly in front of you. 
A pregnancy test.
And suddenly the nausea makes a little bit more sense. So does the tiredness and how the wine and champagne at the wedding tasted weird. Your eyes widen as you come to the realization that you are most likely pregnant. 
“Hey babe.” You call for Bucky as you move down the aisle. 
He turns the corner and meets you at the end with a smile. 
“I was thinking, why don’t I finish looking here and maybe you can get us some gelato from that shop down the street?” 
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll only be a couple of minutes and that line looks long.” You smile sweetly up at him.
“Ok, I’ll meet you outside.” Bucky leans down and gives you a quick peck on the lips. 
Once he’s out of sight you rush back and grab three different tests from three different brands and rush to the front to pay for them. A sweet little old lady at the register gives you a knowing look as she rings you up. She points towards a door towards the back of the store with a bathroom sign. You smile and thank you before heading to the back. 
****
You couldn’t help but smile as you walked onto the street. Bucky was just starting to walk back to you with two cups in his hands. He looked so handsome with his sunglasses, dark jeans and black short sleeve button up with white daisies all over. When he reached you, you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. 
“Feeling better?” Bucky asks as you pull back.
“So much better. This for me?”
Bucky nods as he hands you one of the cups. The two of you walk along the streets, a few shopping bags in hand, enjoying the last day or so of your honeymoon. You want to tell Bucky about the baby but at the same time you want the kids to be involved too. So for now you watch the sunset with your new husband before you have to head back home.
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The plane ride had worn you down and you spent most of it sleeping. Once the plane rolled to a stop you were awoken by the last person you expected.
“Hi mama.” Lottie said while climbing onto your lap. 
“My sweet Angel.” You wrapped your arms around her and gave her the biggest hug. “Sweet boy.” You called out when you saw Henry walking up to you. Henry smiled and joined the hug.
“Hi mama. I missed you.” 
“Oh I missed you both so much.” You say before peppering kisses all over their faces. “I think we should start getting off the plane.” 
“Nope.” Bucky walks back from the cockpit. 
You give him a puzzled look as he pulls the kids for a hug. 
“We have one more stop.” 
“And the kids are coming with us?” You smile.
“Wouldn’t be a family vacation without the family.”
“Where are we going?” Henry asks as Bucky helps him buckle in. 
“It’s a surprise, bubs.” 
You narrow your eyes in Bucky’s direction but he only sends a wink your way. Lottie decides to take the seat next to you and the two of you talk about all the things she did while you were away.
****
It turns out that Bucky was great with surprises. You watched as the Disney World sign got bigger before you turned to look at him in the driver’s seat. 
“We’re at Disney World?” Henry asked with disbelief before you were able to.
“Daddy you take us to Disney?” Lottie also asked before she started crying. 
“Oh sweet Angel what’s wrong?” 
“Am so ‘cited mama.” She says between what were apparently happy sobs. “Can meet beauty an the beast?” 
You wiped away the tears that had formed before answering that yes she could meet them. 
“How did you manage this?”
Bucky was all smiles as he made his way to the hotel he had booked for the stay. “Nat, Steve and your dad. They helped me figure out the times and tickets and even pack for the kids.” 
You looked around as the car finally stopped. A young man from the hotel staff rushed forward to help Bucky with the suitcases. Meanwhile you make sure the kids get out of the car and you grab their backpacks. You watch as Henry takes Lottie’s hand and they follow Bucky inside. Their eyes are wide as they try to take in all of the decorations and everything happening around them. 
At the check-in desk you watch the young woman recognize Bucky and she stutters over her words before Bucky heads back towards you. 
“What’s wrong?” You ask when you see his pout.
“She said we had to wait because the room wasn’t ready but check in time is now.” 
“Well, let’s give them a minute. Maybe the room is being cleaned.” You say before turning back to watch the kids explore the lobby. 
“What if they won’t let us stay because of me?”
“I doubt that’s the case.” 
“Mr. Barnes,” A man dressed in a suit walks out from a staff only door. “We apologize for making you wait.” He says, but truly it had only been a few minutes. “It’s an honor that you’ve chosen to stay with us. It’s not everyday that two Avengers stay with us. I’ve gone ahead and upgraded your room to one of our best suites for you and your family.”
Bucky stood there in stunned silence. You however smiled and accepted the manager’s hand when he held it out to you. 
“Thank you so much. It’s our kids' first time here, this will make it all that more special.” 
“Say no more, anything you need we are here to help. Here are your room keys.” He hands you the keys and goes over any other information you might need to know. 
“Henry, Lottie, c’mon we’re going to see our room.” 
****
The room, or more like a whole apartment, was decorated in all things Disney character from floor to ceiling. Lottie ran in first as she started to look at everything that had princesses on it. Henry was a bit more hesitant at walking into a new unknown place. But slowly he started to relax and explore the living room. Your suitcases had been in the room before you walked in and Bucky took them into the rooms while you took a seat on the most comfortable couch you’d ever seen. 
“It’s early, how about we find something to do in the hotel?” Bucky says as he walks out of the room that the kids would stay in. 
“It says here that there is an arcade. Maybe we can do that and then have dinner.” 
The kids cheer and you all head back out to enjoy your afternoon together.
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It started early in the morning. The sun was barely up when you woke up feeling nauseous. Not wanting to wake Bucky up, you tiptoe out of your shared room and go to the spare bathroom. You go there just in time because the urge to vomit came over you like a tidal wave. 
Just as you finish rinsing your mouth the door to the bathroom opens, revealing a sleepy Charlotte. She smiled up at you while wiping away the sleep from her eyes.
“Mo-ning mama.” She muttered. 
“Good morning my sweet angel. Did I wake you up?” 
“No,” she shakes her head as she makes her way to where you sat on the floor and climbs onto your lap. “Am too ‘cited.” 
“That’s right, today is the big day where we try to find Belle so that you can meet her.”
Lottie nods with a smile. She turns to tell you something but you watch as she gets that faraway look in her eyes. Tilting her head to the side, Lottie seems like she’s trying to understand something before she blinks rapidly and focuses on the present again. 
She had a vision.
“Mama?” 
“Yeah my sweet angel? Did you have a future dream?” You ask while running your fingers through her hair. 
“Mhm.” 
“What was it about?” 
“Mama you gets a big bewwy. An you says you habes a baby in the-uh.” 
You can’t help but smile. 
“Mama, why you habes big bewwy?” 
“Can I tell you a secret? But you can’t tell your brother and especially you can’t tell your dad.” 
“Is top secwet?” 
“It’s super classified.” You whispered and Lottie gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. “Pinky promise not to say a word?” 
“Pinky pwomise, mama.” Lottie stuck out her pinky. 
After doing the pinky promise you explain to her what she saw. “You know how aunt Molly has a baby in her belly?” 
Lottie nods. 
“Well mama has a baby in her belly too. You’re going to be a big sister and you’re going to get a baby brother or a baby sissy.” 
At the mention of a potential baby sissy, Lottie loses it. She gets up and starts jumping around while saying ‘gonna habes a sissy’. 
“Mama, am so happy and so ‘cited. Can habe a sissy wight now?” 
“My Angel you might get a brother instead of a sissy. We don’t know yet. But the baby has to stay in mama’s belly for a little while because he or she is too small right now and I have to take care of them.” 
“Wike you take ca-uh of bubba an me?” She tilts her head to the side as she looks down at your belly.
“Yes, like I take care of you and your brother. Now remember you can’t say anything about the baby in my belly or that you’re going to be a big sister or about a brother or a sissy, ok?” 
“Kay.” Lottie smiles before pulling you in for a hug.
“Mama?” Henry’s sleepy voice comes from the semi closed door. 
“Good morning sweet boy. Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“Yes, please.”
You get up and walk out to let Henry in. Lottie runs back to the room she and Henry are staying in and you follow. Knowing there’s a lot to do you decide to pick out the clothes the kids are going to wear for the day. Soon enough Bucky joins you. You can see how excited he is to take the kids to explore the parks and it makes you smile. 
After getting ready and having breakfast you head out to have a day of fun. 
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“I feel like Steve set this up.” You told Bucky as you headed to the bibbidi bobbidi boutique. 
“The only reasonable explanation.” 
You get to the front of the line where you give Charlotte’s name to the cast member. 
“I have a Henry here as well.” She looks up and smiles. “Will you be getting a make over as well?” 
“I don’t want to be a princess.” Henry scrunches up his face in confusion.
“Well we do have some options for boys. How about a prince or a pirate?” 
“Do it, bubba. Pwease.” Lottie turned to Henry and gave him her best pleading eyes.
“Ok, I’ll do it.” 
You and Bucky chuckled as you followed the cast member around. She stopped in front of a few costume options and Lottie gasped as she saw the one dress she loved the most. 
“I think she’ll be Belle.” You said since Lottie didn’t respond. 
You and Bucky made sure to take so many pictures while both kids were getting ready. After a while they were both done. Charlotte’s hair was pulled into a high bun, with pixie dust and a tiara. She also had her nails done and some light makeup. Henry decided to go as a prince so he could escort Lottie around the park. He was given a foam sword and shield too. It almost looked like they were part of the park as they walked around arm in arm. 
Everything was going so well until it was time to get on rides. You did the small, easy rides like It’s a Small World but you had to find an excuse when Henry wanted to ride a rollercoaster. Without revealing the truth you really had no reason to not get on. It was just a kiddie coaster but you knew you shouldn’t.
“I don’t wanna twy it.” Lottie jumped in.
“You see this works.” You add on quickly. “I’ll stay here and you boys go.” 
“Are you sure?” 
“Yes, I’m sure. We can go shopping right Sweet Angel?”  You look down at Lottie who nods enthusiastically. 
“Ok.” Bucky kisses your cheek before taking off with Henry. 
“That was close.”
“Yeah, I can twy the toastuh wate-uh.” Lottie says as you head to one of the stores. 
Her reply had you stopping and you crouched down to look at her.
“Sweet Angel, did you say that just so I didn’t have to get on?”
“Yeah we keeps the baby safe, membuh?”
You kissed her forehead before nodding.
“Alright let’s see if we can find something fun to buy.”
****
Charlotte was excited as she pulled you to the back of the shop you were in. Instead of focusing on all the toys and princess items she led you to where custom shirts could be made. Lottie begged for you to let her have one made because she saw it in her future dream. Seeing how happy and hopeful she was you let her choose and speak to the person in charge.
“Here you go ma’am.” The person behind the register hands you the bag with the customized shirt.
“Thank you.” You grab the bag and Lottie’s hand and head to a corner to look at the shirt.
“It’s fo you mama.” 
“It is?” You smiled as you pulled out with Mrs Potts and Chip on it. “There may be something there that wasn’t there before.” You read the front of the shirt before unfolding it to find two little baby footprints just to the side of where the shirt would fit over your belly. 
“You show daddy.” 
“Is this how we tell him the secret?” 
Lottie nods with a knowing look in her eyes. “I see it mama. Daddy gets so ‘cited.”
You get teary eyed at the revelation. 
“Why don’t we get shirts for all of you too?” 
“Kay.” Lottie takes your hand and you end up making some more custom shirts for them. 
****
Night came way too fast. You had two sleeping kids in your arms as you made it back to the hotel room. There had only been a few nausea inducing moments throughout the day which you were grateful for. But you knew this wouldn’t last long and you had to tell Bucky soon so you decided about doing it the next morning. 
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Nausea woke you up again, and again you rushed to the bathroom.  After brushing your teeth you rushed to get your shirt on. Henry and Charlotte woke up soon after. Once Lottie saw the shirt you were wearing she asked for hers and you gave Henry his. 
“Mama?” Henry walked out of the room he was staying in. “Why does baby’s shirt say big sister?” 
You smile as you pat the space next to you on the couch. Henry takes a seat and leans into you, resting his head on your chest. 
“How would you feel about there being a baby in the family?” You ask slowly.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know how auntie Molly has a baby in her belly?” 
Henry nods and you smile.
“Mama has a baby in her belly now. And in a few months the baby will be born and you’ll be a big brother again. That’s why Lottie’s shirt says big sister.” 
Henry stares at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and you worry. But then Henry smiles and leans in to give you a hug. 
“Daddy doesn’t know yet, but we’re going to tell him today.” You whisper.
Right on queue Bucky walks out of the master room. You laugh at his messy hair and still sleepy state. Lottie runs up to him holding up his own shirt that just says dad and hopes he’ll read her shirt. He doesn’t. You opt to order breakfast up to the room so that you can relax a bit before heading out again. All the while waiting for Bucky to notice your shirt. Instead he focuses on talking about all the things you should do at the park today. 
After breakfast you’ve had enough and insist on taking some pictures just the four of you. You set up the camera to record a video instead. The kids give you knowing smiles as they wait to see their dad’s reaction. 
“Alright guys stand right here.” You tell them as you pose for the so-called pictures. 
After posing and Bucky still not noticing your shirt you decide to just bring it up yourself. Henry pulls Lottie to the side and they watch as you turn towards Bucky. He’s smiling at you, so happy to be able to share this experience with you. 
“Do you like my shirt?” You ask standing back so that he can see it better.
“There may be something there that wasn’t there before?” He furrows his brows in confusion until his eyes travel down to the two footprints. Bucky’s eyes snap up to yours, his eyebrows shooting in. “Y/N are- are you…” he stuttered over his words. 
“Yes Bucky, I’m pregnant.” You murmur nervously while pulling out the pregnancy tests. 
Bucky’s hand flies to his head and he just stares at you for a moment before he starts to cry. You worry for a moment before he smiles at you and brings you in for a kiss and a hug. 
“Oh wow, we’re having a baby?” Bucky can’t stop the tears as he falls to his knees and leans his head against your midsection. He stays there for a moment before kissing your belly repeatedly. 
When he pulls back he looks up at you with so much love. Then he turns to the kids and opens his arm to them. 
“Did you two know?” He asks as they pull away.
“Duh.” Lottie says. “I see it.”  
Bucky chuckles as he gets up. He pulls you in for another hug. You can feel his heart beating wildly. “I can’t believe it. Am I dreaming?” 
“My morning sickness says no.” 
Bucky pulls back again, looking at you with concern. “Is there anything I can do? Do you need something? Tell me whatever it is you want me to do and I’ll do it.” 
You laugh but wave him off. 
“I’m ok for now but obviously you’re on ride duties with the kids.”
“Of course. Wait, should you be walking so much? Shouldn’t you be resting?” 
“No, I'll be fine. But we should get going. We still have a princess to find.” You say before pulling him down for another quick kiss. 
The kids giggle and you pull away. Lottie begs you to put on her Belle dress and you can’t say no. After getting her dress you head out. 
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While the family vacation was just a few short days it was amazing. Lottie was so excited when she finally got to meet her favorite princess that she couldn’t say a word for a few minutes. Henry had the time of his life getting on as many rides as he could. The four of you enjoyed eating all the different treats the theme park had to offer. And Bucky was by your side for absolutely everything. He carried all the bags, both sleeping kids and kept an eye on you. Every night he’d scoot down to be at the same level as your belly and he’d talk to the baby for a few minutes.
Finally making it back home was a relief. You made an appointment with Dr. Cho just to confirm what you already knew. The kids and Bucky were sworn to secrecy until you knew for sure everything with the baby was ok. Bucky was ecstatic as he sat beside you to see the baby on the ultrasound. 
“Ok, are you both ready?” Dr. Cho asked as she started the exam. 
“More than ready.” You said as you held Bucky’s hand. 
You both watched the monitor come to life. It was a sea of grey and black as Dr. Cho moved the probe around. In the center of the screen a little black section appeared and she turned to you.
“There’s your baby.” She said with a smile before turning back. “Based on our conversation and these measurements it’s safe to say you’re around 12 weeks and I estimate that your due date is March 9th.” 
“What?” You stared at Dr. Cho in disbelief before turning to Bucky who was still staring at the screen with teary eyes. “I’m never buying you another birthday present ever.” 
Bucky laughed as he turned to look at you. He was speechless. This was his dream come true. To have a family and not only that but to have one with you. He was more than happy with it being Henry, Charlotte, you and him but now you got to have another little bundle of joy. It would be a world of firsts and adventures and he was ready for all of it. 
“Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” 
You both turned to look at Dr. Cho. 
“We can do that?” Bucky asked incredulously.
“Of course we can.” Dr. Cho said before pressing a button. 
A rhythmic and quick thumping sound filled the room. It was music to your ears and you couldn’t help but cry and Bucky was right there with you. After a minute or so Dr. Cho ended the exam and excused herself. 
Once you sat back up Bucky was all over you, giving you sweet kisses and gentle, loving touches. He asked over and over again what he could do, if you were comfortable, if you needed anything. It was sweet how much extra effort he was already putting into your wellbeing. 
“Here you go. This is a list of prenatal vitamins and other things that can help with morning sickness.” Dr. Chi gave Bucky the list and looked at him with a serious expression. “These are extremely important, this is the first time I’ve dealt with a super soldier pregnancy there can be many unexpected things. We want her to be as healthy as possible. Will you make sure she takes these?” 
“Absolutely. I’ll do everything you tell me to make sure they’re both safe and healthy.”
“Good. Here you go. Your baby’s first picture.” She hands Bucky a print out of the ultrasound and then excuses herself.
“Wow.” Bucky murmurs while you look over his shoulder at the sonogram. “This is our little peanut.” 
Ch. 42
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serendipitous-seven · 16 hours ago
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his entire world | min yoongi x f!reader | a serendipitous life series
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summary: you and yoongi are trying to enjoy your friends' wedding with a very fussy baby pairing: yoongi x f!reader [kitt] tags/warning: baby-related things such as breast milk, general family mentions
a/n: sometimes the bug bites me and i feel encouraged to repost my fics. comfort fic for me, maybe comfort fic for you?
dad!bts series | a serendipitous life mlist
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Everything is perfect. A blue sky, a balmy breeze, an intimate setting with friends and family. You smile with teary eyes, watching two of your closest friends recite their vows to one another.
Well, it's almost perfect.
If not for your fussy one-year-old, who has not stopped whining since the ceremony began. You and Yoongi have been playing hot potato with Dae, trying to settle him down, it only worked for a few minutes before your son started to squirm again.
Yoongi pats his son’s back, gently shushing him. “He didn’t nap like usual.” You whisper while the groom expresses his undying devotion to his bride. “His sleep schedule is off-”
A blood-curdling scream bellows out of your baby, causing those around you to jump. You feel your face heat up as you hurriedly take Dae from Yoongi’s arms, passing through and whispering apologies with a crying Dae. Before Yoongi can offer to take him, knowing you would want to see your friends end this sweet moment with a kiss, you are gone in a flash.
“I know, baby,” you groan, now hidden away in a secluded area, bouncing Dae in your arms. He cries from his deepest depths, rubbing his face on your shoulder. In your haste to escape, you forgot to ask for the keys to the car where you hoped to soothe your son to sleep. Hearing the guests clap and cheer for your now-married friends, your heart sinks.
Yoongi seeks you out once the ceremony ends, finding you pouting beneath a tree. He can hear Dae whimpering, taking him back into his arms but not before kissing your forehead; “I missed the best part,” you say, on the verge of tears yourself. With a breathy chuckle and sympathetic smile, Yoongi hands you his phone and you repay him with a grateful kiss. The video is great, but maybe your tired baby has you feeling sorry for yourself - you just wanted to see your friends seal their vows with a kiss in person.
“The drive to the reception area is about 20 minutes,” Yoongi begins to reason, wiping Dae’s tear-stained cheeks in the process, “maybe he’s tired himself out enough to knock out on the way there.”
You rub Dae’s healthy head of wavy locks while he hiccups the last of his tears away. “Please, for the love of God, sleep for mommy,” your tone is nothing less than desperate.
Call it wishful thinking or a request fallen on deaf ears.
Whatever it is, a peaceful baby is not on your side. Rather, you watch the guests you and your family are sat with dwindle the longer Dae cries. He isn't fussing anymore. He isn't whining. He is screaming.
“Honey,” Yoongi starts calmly. He's always calm and it drives you crazy sometimes. “I don’t think he wants his bottle.”
“I can see that,” you say, making another attempt to press the rubber tip against Dae’s pouted lips, “but I can’t feed him in this dress, I’d have to take it off completely!”
Frustrated. You are frustrated.
Yoongi sighs, rubbing his hand on your shoulder, “Let me try-”
Dae challenges the volume of excited guests and dinner music, screeching into the air and knocking the bottle out of your hand. Milk squirts out of the tip and all over the top of your dress, catching the ends of your hair. Yoongi clams his lips together and you can see his cheeks turn pink, “I swear Yoongi if you laugh-”
“Go.” Yoongi takes Dae, holding his tiny battering hands into his large one, “I’ll take care of him, just go clean up then find your friends.”
“I’m not leaving…”
“Go enjoy yourself, sweetheart. I’ve got this,” Yoongi insists as he pushes you out of your seat. You get up, heading straight for the bathroom with a sigh of relief and tears in your eyes.
Of all people, your husband knows best. Yoongi understands your frustrations, even more, he knows your limits. As first-time parents, the challenges can feel insurmountable. You both love your son - there isn’t a single doubt that you love your son. But there are days, like today when Dae seems to know how to push your buttons a little harder.
Yoongi continues in a calm timbre, kissing Dae’s hand that is simultaneously pushing against his cheek. He catches the sorry glance from a few of the members as he passes through the dining area, pinching a smile. “You can at least look like you love me, son.”
Dae cries. He pushes against Yoongi’s chest, his neck, and his chin. He wails to the point his cheeks turn bright red, stained from hot tears. Yoongi doesn’t let up, holding his son and even setting him on the ground, keeping his large hands around his son’s stomach. Just let it out, Yoongi thinks to himself. He blinks slowly, using his fingers to clear Dae’s tears now and then.
“You’re sleepy,” Yoongi chuckles when Dae starts to settle beneath his dad’s touch. “Yah, stop fighting it.”
Dae breathes in short bursts. Without a tissue or something from the baby bag, Yoongi wipes the remnants of his son’s tears with the inside of his suit jacket. No one would ever look there.
You are able to spend time with the bride and groom and a few friends(and a couple of glasses of champagne)all thanks to your husband. The dancing started an hour ago, to which you got a few in before missing baby. Who were you kidding, you missed him the entire time but the temporary separation was nice. This time, you have a smile on your face despite the faint stain of breast milk splattered across your dress.
Coming back from the restroom after freshening up, a mellow song is playing beneath the white canopy. Dusk is soon covered by a darkened sky. String lights twinkle above the guests and almost everyone is out of their seats, slow dancing on the dance floor. Your search for Yoongi and Dae isn’t long.
You have to bite your lip when you finally spot them.
A few more moments alone wouldn’t hurt. You stand next to a post, holding your hands together while watching the two greatest loves of your life.
Dae is asleep in your husband’s arms while Yoongi moves slowly, swaying from one foot to the other. Back and forth back and forth. Yoongi smiles into a kiss, pressing his thin lips against Dae’s head. Taking his pointer finger to rub against your son’s cheek. You watch his mouth move as he whispers something to your sleeping baby.
“Hey,” you stroke Yoongi’s back and he turns his head to follow you until you're standing in front of them. His smile is wide, it’s warm and it’s reflective of home. His large hand continues to pat Dae’s bottom while he sleeps in his arms. You peer around, Dae’s chubby cheek pressed against Yoongi’s shoulder. You kiss his nose before looking back at Yoongi.
“Did you have fun?” Yoongi asks, resting his cheek against Dae’s head, dark eyes sparkling down at you. You almost lose yourself in them, reaching up to run your hand back through his hair. You nod, thanking him with a soft kiss. Yoongi groans against your lips, another smile stealing you away.
“Come here,” Yoongi is pulling you in with one arm before you can say otherwise, securing it around your shoulder. You hold him by the waist, one hand resting over Yoongi’s that is pressed against Dae’s back. He has his entire world in his arms, the three of you slowly moving to the gentle music.
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©serendipitous-seven, 2025. don't steal my content. it is illegal, it is rude, and portrays laziness on the part of the thief. so, please, enjoy my works, but do not steal.
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xechu · 2 days ago
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[Devour] Chapter 2: Yearning
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Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader
Word count: 4.5K
Warnings: please read my blog's rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, angst, eventual smut, hurt/no comfort, explicit sexual content, undertones of misogyny (because the 'olden days'), mature themes, depiction of gore and violence, mentions of pregnancy and abortion. Please note that these warnings pertain to the entire series as a whole, and not just to this specific chapter.
Tags: mini series, angst, smut, Heian Era, true form Sukuna
Summary: Sukuna brings you back to a temple, where he resides. There you also meet Uraume. You begin to doubt if running away was the best idea, but then, Sukuna offers to be your ally. Unbeknownst to you, he has his own ulterior motives for helping you.
A/N: It's here! Not going to lie, I struggled a bit with this chapter. Since this is a mini series, I would say we're already about 35% through the story, things will progress quickly in the upcoming chapters. Based on my planning, I'm looking at about four more chapters. I don't have an exact release date for Chapter 3 like I did with this chapter, but I'll post an update when it's almost complete! If you would like to be added on the tag list for this series, please let me know/leave a comment here. Thank you so much for reading and stay tuned. x
Masterlist: < Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 (To be continued) >
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Sukuna had always deemed love meaningless. It was a feeling that held people back, making them irrational and reckless. Over the years, he had witnessed the greatest kingdoms burn and the strongest men fall, all in the name of 'love.' But the tragedy lay in the fact that, after all was said and done, that love seldom lasted. At the end of the day, people were weak and fickle, rendering love volatile. He often wanted to ask those who sacrificed everything for love: Was it all worth it in the end?
In order to attain his height of power—to become the strongest—Sukuna had given up everything, including his humanity. He had mastered the art of detachment, for attachments only served to tie one down. Letting go of all things was the inevitable cost of power, but it was an easy and insignificant sacrifice for someone like him—who had nothing to lose in the first place.
Yet, despite the King of Curses' strong convictions, there remained one glaring contradiction in his life: you. No matter how hard he tried, he could not detach himself from you. Even after all these years, his burning desire for you was a flame he could not quell, and it only seemed to grow hungrier with time.
Throughout the years, Sukuna had conditioned himself into believing that you were always going to be an unattainable dream—a fantasy that was never meant to become reality. It was better that it remained this way. You deserved to live a peaceful life, and he could continue to live out his days as the King of Curses without restraint.
But what should he do—now that his dream had become reality?
For someone with a wretched life like his, he never believed in any gods. But for the first time in his life, the King of Curses acknowledged that this reunion must have been the universe's divine will—a preordained fate. It seemed that the two of you were destined to be together.
Yes, he thought to himself, since the universe has willed it, then you shall be his exception.
He vowed that as long as he kept you by his side, you would not be a source of his weakness.
At this realization, a dark possessiveness took over him.
This time he would stake his claim.
---
Though you were no longer the little girl Sukuna had once met, he couldn't help but notice how small you were under his hold. Some things didn't change; you were still his little flower.
“It’s me, flower,” he said, urgency creeping into his voice as if he were calling into your subconscious, imploring you to remember.
You trembled in his embrace; the adrenaline coursing through you made it difficult to think straight. His words did not register as you struggled to gather your chaotic thoughts, while your mind screamed at you to run.
You remind me of flowers. The voice suddenly echoed in your mind.
“R-Ryo?” you gasped, finally making the connection.
With shaking hands, you roamed his figure, seeking confirmation in the darkness. Your fingertips softly brushed over his features. Was this a dream? Had you already died? How was it that after all these years, he was finally here—especially in your most dire moment? The surrealness of this situation felt too good to be true.
“I-It really is you,” your voice quivered with emotion. “I-I can't believe it. All this time... I thought I would never see you again."
“I'm here now, flower,” he said, capturing your hand in his. “Come with me; it’s not safe.”
Before you could utter another word, he effortlessly scooped you up, and you instinctively held on to him, tightening your grip, afraid that if you let go he would slip away again.
Sukuna traversed the forest at an inhuman speed. He seemed to know the terrain well, navigating it with ease, but for you, all you saw was unending darkness; the gust of wind threading through your hair was the only sign that you were moving. Your heart raced as he cradled you against his strong body; you could feel the heat radiating from him, evoking a warm and familiar feeling within you—a feeling that you have yearned for so many years.
Moments later, you found yourself in a clearing. Under the clear night sky, vast greenery and towering mountains loomed around you. At the foot of one mountain, a grand tree stood beside an ancient temple. Sukuna gently set you on your feet, and now that you were out in the clearing, you could get a better look at him. Standing before you was no longer the little boy from your memories; he had transformed into a formidable man—perhaps the largest person you had ever seen. He wore an oversized kimono, his bare chest exposed, and his muscular build attested to the life he had lived throughout the years. Your gaze was then drawn to the unmistakable bloodstains on his clothing.
“Are you hurt?” your brows furrowed in concern as your hand ghosted over the stains.
“Nothing worth fretting over; they do not belong to me,” he said, a smile involuntarily curving his lips at the concern you displayed.
Sukuna lifted your chin to meet his gaze. In the moonlight, he could see you with much more clarity.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, a hint of longing evident in his eyes.
Heat rushed to your face at his touch, but you were grateful that the night concealed it.
“How did you know to find me?" you quietly asked.
“The forest and the mountain are my domain,” Sukuna replied, brushing his thumb over your lower lip, as if he was trying to engrave your features into his memory. “You were lucky I found you before something else did.”
Something in your gut told you it couldn't have been mere coincidence, but you decided to keep that thought to yourself. It wasn't the time nor the place for interrogations.
"I see," you smiled wearily. "Thank you... you saved me yet again."
Your words stirred a nostalgic memory within him.
As you continued to stand there in silence, the brave facade you had been putting up began to crumble. All the events that had led you to this moment settled within you, and the feelings you had long suppressed surged to the surface—grief, resentment, confusion, fear, relief, yearning—a tempest you could no longer keep at bay.
“All these years, I’ve been searching for you,” your voice cracked, tears brimming in your eyes.
"I know," he replied, his tone low and hushed.
“Y-You did?"
Sukuna nodded.
"Then why, Ryo? Did you not want to see me?” Your chest tightened at his admission, and tears began to roll down your face.
“It was for the best.” Sukuna's jaw clenched. The sight of you crying evoked a sense of dread within him.
“The best for who?”
A brief silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words.
“That no longer matters, flower. We're here now, and I won't let you go again,” he said, gently wiping a stray tear from your face.
You knew he was hiding something from you, but that mattered little right now. Your body reacted before your mind, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.
---
Wooden floors creaked beneath you as you crossed the threshold of the temple, and an inexplicable wave of energy washed over you. It was intense yet comforting, like the warmth of the sun—like him.
The temple was small and modest, but it felt peaceful and comfortable. It was also evident that the wooden interior had been well-maintained despite how ancient it was. The air was filled with the soothing scents of incense and cedarwood.
The earlier conversation with Sukuna loomed over you, leaving so many questions unanswered. While you could still sense a semblance of the little boy within him, he also felt unfamiliar and distant; after all, so much time had passed. You longed to know everything about him, to fill in the gaps, but perhaps that would have to wait.
As you took a closer look around the main hall, your eyes wandered to the beautifully crafted sliding doors at the back, which were fully open to reveal a serene garden that captivated you with its lush greenery and vibrant flowers.
“It’s so beautiful,” you breathed.
Sukuna looked at you under the soft glow of the candlelight illuminating the hall, and your heart began to race under his gaze amid the intimacy of the setting. He watched you intently as if he could hear the intense beating of your heart—
“Sukuna-sama, you’re back,” a gentle voice cut through the air.
You turned to find a young person standing there. Their gender was ambiguous, but their appearance reminded you of winter's first snowfall. They exuded a calm and serene presence.
“Uraume,” Sukuna acknowledged, gesturing toward you. “She is with me. Draw her a bath and prepare some fresh clothes. I’ll get a fire started.”
“Yes, Sukuna-sama,” Uraume replied, hastily leaving for the back of the temple.
You watched as Sukuna stripped off his kimono, revealing his muscular upper body adorned with tattoos.
“Ryo, where are you going?” you asked, trying to mask the fluster in your voice.
Sukuna turned back to look at you with a smile. “I’m going to hunt some game. We’ll fill our stomachs before going to bed.”
---
The warmth of the hot spring quickly melted away the stress of the day. You still could not wrap your head around the uncanny turn of events; it felt like a nightmare turned dream. Instead of being married to Lord Yamamoto, you were now reunited with the one person who had always occupied your thoughts. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you reached for a washcloth to gently remove your makeup. You knew that there would be other matters to address later, but for now, you wanted to savor this brief respite.
Sinking the lower half of your head into the water, you blew small bubbles, and images of Sukuna and the man he had become flashed in your mind, sending a warmth throughout your body.
Sukuna's renown had been spreading in recent years, and you were acutely aware of his reputation. Whispers surrounded him, calling him the King of Curses—the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of the era. There was much debate over whether he was merely a man or a deity, while others believed him to be a demon in disguise. Your village, having a strong aversion to jujutsu sorcery, viewed it as more of a curse than a gift and seemed to believe he was nothing short of a demon.
Regardless, you had only ever known him as Ryo, so you never gave much thought to the rumors. Man, deity, or demon—whatever he was, you would have accepted him unconditionally. Despite the time apart, you still felt an inexplicable tether to him.
I won't let you go again.
Those words stirred an emotion within you when he had initially spoken them, but doubts and hesitation lingered in your mind. Had it not been for your current predicament, you would have been more inclined to stay with him.
You held your breath and submerged yourself entirely beneath the warm water, hoping to silence these chaotic thoughts—even if just for a moment.
---
Feeling refreshed as you stepped out of the temple in a new set of clothes, you noticed that a fire had already been started and that Uraume was preparing some vegetables.
“Uraume-san,” you smiled as you walked over, “is there anything I can help you with?”
“Y/N-san,” Uraume exclaimed, a gentle light in their eyes. “All the preparations are nearly complete. Why don’t you sit by the fire first? Sukuna-sama should be back soon.”
You hesitated and looked to see if there was still anything to help with, but noticing how there was not much else, you acquiesced and made your way to the fire. You watched in awe as Uraume skillfully finished the last touches of their work. Soon after, they settled down beside you. It was a comfortable silence between the two of you, accompanied by the crackling of the fire.
“Have you and Ryo always lived here?” you tried to make conversation.
Uraume nodded, their expression thoughtful. “We’ve lived here for quite some time. I owe him my life.”
You looked at Uraume, curiosity piqued.
“I was at death’s door when he found me as a child,” Uraume confessed softly. “He took me under his wing.”
“He’s always been kind.” You smiled contemplatively.
“Yes,” Uraume agreed. There was a brief pause. “He…has also mentioned you before.”
“He has?”
Uraume nodded. “He said there was once a girl he met who lived in a village not too far from here. She was as kind as she was beautiful, and she reminded him of flowers. When I saw you, I knew you were that girl.”
It warmed your heart to know that he had spoken about you, but it also felt bittersweet.
“Ah, he’s back,” Uraume remarked, glancing behind you.
Your eyes widened at the spectacular sight before you. Sukuna had a deer slung over his shoulder, effortlessly making his way toward the two of you; he trekked as if the deer weighed nothing.
Sukuna dropped the deer by the fire, and Uraume instinctively got up, ready to prepare the meat. You watched as Sukuna slashed the deer's throat, collecting the blood in a bowl. A wave of queasiness washed over you, and you looked away, unable to face the brutal sight. Sukuna settled down beside you while Uraume got to work, efficiently cutting up the rest of the deer.
“Drink every last drop,” he commanded, handing the bowl to you.
“I—I don't think I can,” you put your hand out in defense, the metallic stench making your stomach churn.
“You are malnourished,” he said, grabbing your wrist to examine its size. “Have you not been looking after yourself?”
“I have,” you insisted, attempting to wiggle your wrist free from his grasp. His touch felt searing against your skin.
“You will drink this, unless you would like me to feed you,” Sukuna insisted, handing you the bowl once more, the intensity in his eyes leaving no room for argument.
You took the bowl in both hands, trembling slightly. As you watched the thick red liquid swirl inside, you held your breath and brought it to your lips, tilting it ever so slightly and allowing the liquid to slip into your mouth and down your throat. Just as you were about to lower the bowl, Sukuna's hand clasped over yours, tilting the bowl upward to ensure you finished everything.
“That’s it, flower—every last drop,” he said, his voice low and steady. When he was satisfied that you had consumed all of it, he released his grip and took the bowl from your hands. You gagged at the aftertaste, coughing as a trickle of blood ran down your chin. Sukuna's eyes grew dark at the sight; he wiped the blood from your chin with his thumb, then licked it clean.
“Ryo—!” you gasped, teary-eyed. “N-no more of that, please.”
“That will depend on how well you eat,” a hint of playfulness threaded through his voice.
“Do you drink this too?” you asked, clearing your throat.
"Of course, the blood of a deer is a highly nutritious delicacy. Did you know in some places, it is a drink shared by a married couple on their wedding night?" Sukuna smirked.
You shudder at the thought. This blood drinking experience was something that you hoped would be your first and last. But the slight implication that Sukuna made at the end also made you a bit shy.
Uraume handed a plate of skewered meat to Sukuna, and you marveled at how quickly they had prepared it. You watched as Sukuna stabbed each skewer into the ground by the fire, your attention lingering on the flames that seemed to beckon you.
"I should have whisked you away from the village earlier, had I known you were not being fed properly." Sukuna intently watched you with one of his eyes, sensing your tension.
"Well, why didn't you?" you muttered. The words escaped your mouth before you could stop it.
You were sure he had his reasons for staying away, yet you couldn’t hide your disappointment in him for keeping his distance. So much precious time had been lost, and so many what-ifs lingered in your mind.
It was juvenile, but you often dreamt of how the two of you would grow up together—an inseparable duo, the best of friends. Then, when you came of age, he would have asked you to follow him, and you would have gladly followed him anywhere. The two of you would travel all over the land, experiencing the world side by side. Perhaps, somewhere along the way, he would have asked you to marry him, and you would have said 'yes' without skipping a beat—
"Come now, don't sulk, flower," Sukuna said, breaking you out of your thoughts. "You're here now. We will make up for lost time."
"You speak as if I'm going to be staying here for good," you couldn't help but challenge him a little.
It might have been your imagination, but you thought his expression darkened for a split second.
"It sounds like you have somewhere to go then."
"I—well, I didn’t have too much time to think details. But I planned to make my way to a far out village, where no one will be able to find me."
"That would be difficult," Sukuna hummed.
"It’s worth a try… better than yielding to the fate I was subjugated to." You hugged your knees.
"Enlighten me, what was someone’s bride doing in the middle of the forest?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
There was a hesitation in telling him about your plight, but you knew it was also an unavoidable topic—after all, he had saved you, so an explanation was due at the very least.
“I ran away… from a marriage I wanted no part of.”
“How bold,” he chuckled. “It’s very like you.”
“It’s hardly a laughing matter, Ryo,” you huffed, anxiety evident in your voice.
“But you've successfully escaped. Should this not be a cause to celebrate?” he cocked an eyebrow.
“I don't know if I would consider it successful just yet," you narrowed your eyes. "I didn’t just run away from any man; I ran away from a lord. My village hoped to leverage my marriage with Lord Yamamoto for aid. There will be repercussions for my actions.”
Sukuna listened as he rotated the skewers.
"Hm, I suppose that is quite the predicament. Whatever shall you do then?" His question came out more like a taunt than a show of concern.
"Are you mocking my situation?" You frowned, your expression dropping as self-doubt crept in. You had to admit that you'd been reckless with your decision, and you didn't exactly have a reliable plan. You wouldn’t have even made it out of the forest had it not been for Sukuna.
“Of course not. Don't look so defeated," he softly tsked, smoothing the crease between your brows with his fingers.
You looked at him with a mixture of surprise and hesitation.
"Is there any reason for you to worry if I am going to be by your side?" he returned your gaze, a burning confidence in his eyes.
“It’s not so simple, Ryo. I don’t want you to be caught in my problems—”
“A mere lord and your measly village is not a problem,” Sukuna replied, passing a skewer to you.
You reluctantly accepted the skewer, your fingers momentarily brushing against his hand during the exchange. As divine as the meat smelled, you couldn't bring yourself to eat; your worries and anxiety loomed large over your head.
"It's not going to eat itself if you keep staring at it," Sukuna sighed, crossing his four arms and giving you a stern look.
Taking a tiny bite, your eyes momentarily lit up. It tasted even better than it smelled. Before you knew it, you had devoured the entire skewer, and Sukuna was already handing you another one. Perhaps you were hungrier than you had thought, but his pleased expression did not escape you—he cared, and that alone filled you with immense happiness.
"Do you not wish to stay here?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"It's not about what I want," you shook your head. "What if something happens to both of you because of me?"
"You needn't worry about us, Y/N-san; we are more than capable of dealing with Lord Yamamoto," Uraume smiled at you. Their gentle reassurance only seemed to amplify your guilt.
"We can't be sure of that—"
“Are you not aware of what they call me?”
You sighed, a sense of apprehension filling your chest. "I am..."
“Then if you know my reputation, you should understand that even if Lord Yamamoto and his entire arsenal, along with your village, were to descend upon us right now, they would not stand a chance.”
Sukuna seemed adamant about helping, but that only served to heighten your uneasiness. It wasn't that you doubted his capabilities; but you also understood that your actions would have dire consequences. A runaway bride of Lord Yamamoto wasn't a matter that would be overlooked so easily. Surely, the four men who had escorted you had reported back to their lord that you had escaped. Even if Sukuna could easily deal with them, he would be branded a criminal—forever having to be on the run. He had endured enough hardships in his life, and it felt like you were only adding to his strife. You didn't deserve this kindness from him; his life was fine before you came along.
"This will be your home. You will be safe as long as you stay by my side. So stay here, Y/N.” An unexpected possessiveness laced Sukuna's voice.
You looked up at Sukuna in surprise; you had never heard him call your name before. His eyes silently pleaded with you to stay—shattering your resolve.
"Tell me you need my help, flower," Sukuna urged, looking into your eyes with an intensity that made your breath hitch.
A lingering silence filled the air, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the rhythm of your heartbeat.
"Help me, Ryo…" you finally said.
---
You hadn't felt so full in a long time. Sukuna had ensured you ate your share of food before retiring to bed. Following behind him, you were led to your sleeping accommodations, and to your surprise, he took you into his chamber, which overlooked a small private garden and hot spring.
The temple was modest in size, containing only two bedrooms. It didn’t feel right to intrude on Uraume's private quarters, especially since it was Sukuna's decision to keep you, but he also couldn’t deny he had other intentions.
Before crawling into bed, you turned to meet Sukuna's gaze.
“Ryo… I don’t know how I could ever repay you. If there's anything I can do for you, you must tell me," you said earnestly.
“Hmm,” he paused, feigning contemplation.
You looked at him eagerly, trying to anticipate what he could ask for.
"Anything?" he drawled, rubbing his chin.
You nodded.
“Alright," he smirked, "swear yourself to me.”
Your eyes widened. You weren’t exactly sure what that entailed, but you trusted him implicitly. He most likely needed an extra hand with taking care of the temple and doing some extra work around here.
“A-are you sure that’s all you want? That hardly seems adequate, I am troubling you after all.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeves.
"You undermine yourself, flower."
“Oh, well, I do have many skills I could offer, and I promise to be useful around here. I’m quite knowledgeable about plants, herbs, and flowers. I may not be as good a cook as Uraume, but—”
"Staying by my side is enough," he interjected.
There was a sincerity in his voice that was new to you, making your heart do flips inside your chest.
"Ryo..." you spoke quietly, clasping your hands tightly. "I might misunderstand if you're so kind to me."
Oh, what a delight you were. Sukuna felt an intense urge to smother you.
“Well, what if I wanted more than just your domestic skills?” he asked lowly, taking a lock of your hair into his hands.
Your heart raced, and suddenly the room felt hot as you understood his implications.
“Is that… what you truly desire?"
"And if it is?"
There was a brief pause.
Just this morning, you were still in utter despair, wholly expecting to be wedded to a monster. But now, in this moment, it was not Lord Yamamoto before you, but rather the man of your dreams—the only man you had wished to marry. He had long claimed your mind and heart; what more was your body?
"Then take me," your voice was barely above a whisper.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened, but why did he feel so disappointed by your response? It almost rolled off your tongue too easily.
"You would just give yourself to any man, so long as they ask?"
"N-no, you misunderstand!"
Sukuna remained silent, the look in his eyes demanding you to elaborate.
"If that were true, I wouldn’t have ran away from Lord Yamamoto. You're not just any man to me, Ryo. I—" love you. The heat crept up to your ears.
Your timid confession sent a chilling thrill through his body, awakening a primal hunger within him, he could no longer resist.
“Do you truly wish to be mine?” he asked, tucking your hair behind your ear. You felt dizzy under his touch and gaze.
"Yes..."
"Look at me and say it." He hissed.
"I'm yours, Ryo. I want to be yours." You met his eyes and gently took his hand, placing it over your heart, hoping he could feel how violently it was beating against your chest.
“You didn’t need to ask me to swear myself to you; I would have gladly followed you anywhere. I've felt that way ever since we were children.”
Sukuna was rarely caught off guard. The first time he recalled was when you approached him as a child, and the second was this very moment. You had just confessed your feelings for him and expressed a desire to stay with him of your own volition. Nobody else had ever been able to elicit these feelings from him, and the dominion you unknowingly held over him was both terrifying and thrilling.
"Then I will take you, flower—your heart, body, and soul."
Without sparing another moment, he wrapped his hand behind your head and crushed his lips against yours in a searing kiss. The world around you fell silent.
For once, it felt as if the universe had smiled upon his wretched life.
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Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the pictures used for the banner.
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Taglist: @paradisestarfishh @ssetsuka
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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 3 days ago
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01/01-04/2025 Daily OFMD Recaps
TLDR; Happy Belated Birthday Ruibo!; David Jankins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Con O'Neill; Samson Kayo; Vico Ortiz; Madeleine Sami; Articles; Fan Spotlight: Never Left Podcast; Truly Docked 2026; Love Notes; Hey Lovelies! I am very behind because I'm back to being sick with whatever is causing this stomach pain! SInce I wanted to be caught up on the recaps for the anniversary of the cancellation (JUST IN CASE)... I may leave some stuff out and catch up on them later.
= Happy Birthday Ruibo (1/1)! =
So many (belated) birthday wishes to our beloved Pirate Queen! We love you dear, thank you for all your kindness and positivity over the past year~
Source: Ruibo's Instagram = David Jenkins =
"2025 might just be a great year too 🥰💜🦄"
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Source: David's Instagram
Our friends over at Never Left Podcast pointed out that David did a similar picture back in 2024 before the first cancellation announcement...
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Source: Never Left Podcast Twitter
And our dear @adoptourcrew pointed out the lyrics on the instagram post were also appropriate...
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Source: Adopt Our Crew's bsky
= Rhys Darby =
Rhys and family are still out in Aotearoa!
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Source: Rosie's IG
= Taika Waititi =
Taika had a great time during the holidays back in Aotearoa and made a Hangi for Christmas!
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Source: Taika's Instagram Stories and Posts / Rita's Instagram Stories / Not Late Late Instagram / lfizzlphillips on Instagram
= Con O'Neill =
More images of Con from Rogue Heroes Season 2!
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Source: The Artist Partnership Instagram
= Samson Kayo =
Compilation of Sampson's year 2024!
instagram
Source: Samson's Instagram
= Madeleine Sami =
More wrapped pictures from Deadloch S2 Cast!
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Source: Life With Emerson and Oliver Instagram
= Vico Ortiz =
CW: Adult Themes - More previews of Today in Gay! Wanna support them? Join the Today in Gay Substack!
instagram
Source: Vico's Instagram
== Articles ==
As always! @adoptourcrew keeping us up to date on articles mentioning the show!
Source: Adopt Our Crew Bsky
Source: Adopt Our Crew Bsky
Source: Adopt Our Crew Bsky
== Fan Spotlight ==
= Never Left Podcast =
New episode of Never Left is available now! This time it's Part 2 of Art! Check it out on their linktr.ee!
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Source: Never Left Podcast Instagram
= Truly Docked 2026 =
There's a new Truly Docked planned for JANUARY 24, 2026 in St. Augustine, FL! This is an in person Pirate event! To get tickets or learn more visit Truly Docked OFMD
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Source: Truly Docked's Instagram
== Love Notes ==
In the essence of time-- I am sending just a few love notes on this recap from other folks so I can try to finish the next one in time for the 9th! Love you crew!
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Source: Stay Close To Yourself Instagram
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