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johnwickb1tsch · 8 months ago

Text

A Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 7 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and @tammykelly

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

ALL CHAPTERS

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

They take you outside. They take you outside.

“Which house is this, John?” You lay your head on his shoulder, and he kisses your hair.

“Mexico.” The fact that he feels comfortable telling you where you are speaks volumes about trust.

Either that, or he’s confident you won’t get away. Ever. And he’s absolutely right. He can outrun, outmuscle, outwit you at any point. Not to mention he’s got a clone with the same capabilities.

Part of it is this; the fact that you can’t run or hide without your boys finding you. The knowledge of being owned and tracked and possessed wholly.

The other part, the one you lie to yourself about - you have to, really, for the sake of self preservation - is that you’re completely in love with them. Smitten. Consumed. Captivated and bewitched by your captors. You don’t want to run away most days.

Especially not when you’re pressed between them and being pampered and kissed and played with - sweet, awful pleasure the only thing you can focus on. Absolutely drunk on the balance of rough and soft, light and dark.

Tex is good with his mouth - of course he is. That silver tongue can do more than talk you into a writhing, soaked mess. As much as he adores helping John edge you for hours and making you sob in frustration, he likes it a little better when you’re overstimulated, babbling and bargaining, only able to chant his name as he makes you cum endlessly.

John is… different. Slower. More patient. Builds you up and down, watches and listens, observes - tilt of his head, tiny smile, “pretty girl likes that a little too much, huh?”

He’s sickly romantic, the kind that only exists in Hallmark movies. Always thinking of you, grabbing flowers and little gifts while he’s away. Bringing home trinkets from Paris and Brazil and even bumfuck Ohio. Obsessed with kissing you, holding your hand, calling you beautiful and pulling you closer and ruining your little heart.

Even when he’s rough, fucking you into the couch cushions at an almost inhumanely pace and mottling your cervix and hips and ass with bruises - even then he is rubbing your back, brushing your hair off your shoulders and littering sweet soaked kisses on your skin, praising and sweet-nothinging and groaning that you’re his, his, his.

Tex presses himself into the other side of you, skin sparkling and scratchy from salt and sand, and hands you a beautiful iridescent pink seashell. “Get in the water.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” you tell him, grinning, brushing sand off his cheekbone.

He chuckles. “Nah, but Johnny is.”

They both pick you up and drag you into the clear ocean ripples while you laugh and scream, take you out past where you can touch so you have to cling to them.

Sometimes, though, you want to run. Taste freedom and independence again. You want to feel needed instead of always being so needy. You miss volunteering at the animal shelter, working in the little book shop.

Sure, the boys want you. Sometimes, too much. Sometimes, you have to use that lock on your little cozy nook room to shut them out because you’re so overwhelmed and overworked. But they don’t need you, can’t really gain anything from you; not like the sick, dirty cats or the elderly women who forgot their reading glasses and need help finding a particular selection.

After you’re done playing in the water like children, laughing and splashing and getting sun drunk, you find yourself wrapped in a beach towel and cat napping on the big couch by the bay window.

“Wanna wake her up?” Tex asks John, plopping down beside him and offering an open, frosty beer.

“Let her sleep,” John says, flipping the page of his book and taking the drink.

Tex grins. “Aw, I don’t think she’d be too disappointed after she realizes I’m sucking on her little clit.”

John shuts his book, puts it on the stand.

“What?” Tex groans like he’s about to get lectured. Just like you’ve become used to them, they’ve become used to each other. Sometimes it’s a recipe for disaster. The first day you were alert enough to wake up and eat and drink after the bullet, they got into a fight. And not a verbal one.

It was actually terrifying. You thought Tex was going to meet the pearly gates when John curb stomped his already beaten face, so you had jumped in front of him to stop the next smash of a foot and earned yourself torn stitches and bloody bandages as a reward for the sudden movement.

“We need to figure out what we’re doing, Tex.” John looks over at you, watches how the sunlight bastes your shoulders and glows on your pretty skin.

Tex is looking at the same thing. “I’m not leavin’ er, John. And she sure as hell ain’t leavin’ me.”

“She needs to make that decision.”

“My ass. You think she’ll be safe out there? Think just cuz you put a bullet into father and son that sister and mother won’t come knockin next?” Tex takes a long pull on his bottle and leans elbows on knees. “You can go if you want, but y/n is stayin’ with me.”

John gives him a dark look. “You know I won’t let you, Tex.”

Tex laughs cruelly, leans back and spreads his arms over the back of the couch. “Then you’re gonna have to fuckin’ kill me.”

“John? Tex?” Your tinny voice cuts through their tension, immediately gaining full attentions. You hold out your hand to them, eyes half lidded, smiling softly. “Come lay with me?”

They sandwich you between their big heated bodies, curing the goosebumps brought on by the conditioned air. It reminds you too much of the cold steel room where Bradford kept you on ice, so you start to cry. Again.

It’s become such a common occurrence, now: one or both of them cradling and shushing and rubbing your back as you sob on their chests or laps. You cry more often than not. Sometimes you’re able to hide it, but not right now when you’re sleepy and vulnerable and so close to them.

Tex kisses the tears off your face. “Hey, honeypie, it’s alright, c’mon, I gotcha.”

“We’re right here, y/n.” John brushes the hair off your shoulders and kisses your salty sunned skin. “We’ll protect you.”

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you again, m’kay?” Tex tilts your chin up and kisses your head.

You wonder how in the hell they’re still so empathetic to your plight - any other man would be annoyed, telling you to let it go, reminding you that you’ve already cried about it a zillion times before. But not Tex and John. Never your boys.

They say they’ll protect you, but if they’ve already failed to do so, doesn’t that mean they can drop the ball again? Doesn’t that mean anyone could just come and plummet you into an unbridled world of violence and torture? What if they leave? What if they decide they don’t want you anymore? You’re helpless here - can only rely solely on the two people you’re cuddled between and it’s making you spiral into an internal inferno of chaos and doubt.

You feel like you’re losing your fucking mind. You feel powerless.

You fall asleep in their arms, fresh tears drying on your puffy cheeks, holding onto Tex’s waist, legs wrapped around John’s calves.

They wake you up for dinner, and you’re in a shit mood again, all venom no honey, squirming out of the cuddle pile, glowering and losing your towel in the process.

Before you can grab it back, Tex snatches it, holds it away, grinning.

“Give it back,” you tell him, trying to take it but only succeeding in pressing your belly into his beard.

He nips your skin and blows a little raspberry, and you screech, pulling away before a puckish arm can coil around your waste.

You groan, cover yourself, shivering on the cool wood floor. “Fine. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Need some help?” Tex asks.

“I can manage.”

You can feel his eyes on your ass as you walk away.

Do you feel bad about being bitchy? A little bit. Although it never really deters Tex. As much as he complains about your attitude problems, he gets ten times more impish when you have them. You just wish you didn’t find him so incredibly damn hot while he’s handling you like he would an angry hamster.

While you’re showering, whatever John is cooking smells delightful. It wafts around you, mixes with the hot steam of the shower, makes your stomach clench in longing. Hangry, then, maybe.

Pressing on your ribs wrong while you’re lathering still gets you groaning in pain. It’s taking a long time for this shit to heal, and it makes you wonder how exactly John can just take one and keep going like it’s a normal Tuesday. Your first few days of consciousness were agony. Morphine, IV drips, rolling the wrong way and screaming, John’s hands always two seconds away from wrapping around Tex’s throat.

“Please stop fighting,” you had asked them, woken not by their bickering but John’s low, guttural growl.

Four hands immediately on you, soothing, cooing, feathering over your skin like it was made of glass. You sort of felt like the oblivious kid in the divorce. They were so mean with one another, but always so soft with you. It was when you asked them to get along like they had been before that they actually started to try.

Honestly, though, them actually getting along means your undoing every single time. There are no upper hands to be had against the two when they share one common goal, and usually you’re the one begging in the end.

Your tiny crumb of power, whether you like it or not, is contained in feminine wiles, and sometimes you use it just to spite them. Especially since they can’t be rough with you because you’re still healing from said nasty bullet.

You pick out a pair of cheeky lace and silk panties and grab some cotton shorts that make your ass look great to pair with them. To literally top it off, you slip on a shifty tank top that leaves little to the imagination.

You check yourself in the mirror, turn around a few times, smooth your hands down your tummy and legs, bite your lip to plump it up a little bit. Fuck the shorts. You slide them off and leave yourself in the panties and tank top.

Now, you’re ready.

You feel like the vulnerable bunny walking into a cage of chained Dobermans. All eyes on you. You press the issue, bend down in front of them to pick up something John dropped.

You think maybe this will be the night he actually fucks up and maybe burns a piece of chicken, and, oh, wouldn’t that scratch your ego just right.

You press into him, lean your weight against his solid mass because you know he can handle it, and put the towel back onto the counter. “John Wick leaving a rag on the floor?” You tsk. “Sloppy tonight, eh?”

He raises an eyebrow down at you.

You tuck a rogue hair behind his ear, pausing to tickle your finger over the sensitive shell, and then turn your attention onto Tex.

He’s all hooded eyes and bobbing Adam’s apple while you saunter up to him and fix the collar on his shirt. “Not you too,” you sigh, grinning his devil’s grin right back at him.

“Playing a dangerous game, rattlesnake,” he tells you, tugging softly on the bottom of your top.

You try to remain composed, take the seat beside him. “Sure, Tex.” A little eye roll.

“Someone wants to sit funny for a few days, huh?” He grabs the bottom of your chair and tugs you closer.

“Are you forgetting who took a literal bullet for your ass?” You ask him, pursing your lips and batting your eyelashes.

John chuckles.

“You’re about to take more than that for me—”

John surprises you both. It’s hard to get used to his constant stealth mode. He sets hot plates down in front of you, then takes his own place at the table. “Y/n, we need to talk.”

“Great, I love hearing that.”

He shoots you a stern look that reminds you he’s not Tex, and you back down, spiky fur softening.

“Things have settled down. No one is out for your blood anymore. You’re safe to settle down somewhere new with the bounty and start again.”

Tex’s head twists so hard you hear his neck crack. “You sonofabitch, what did I say, huh?”

John levels a glare back. “She needs to make her own decision.”

Tex slams an open palm on the table, makes you jump and yelp. “I’m gonna—”

“Stop!” They both turn attention to you. Tears well on your bottom lashes, shoulders shaking in anger. “Really? All this time spent and you’re just gonna let me go? And act so—” you resist the urge to scream, but end up with a softer version of it -“fucking aloof about it?!” You whip around to face Tex. “And you, you fucking big bully, you just make all my decisions for me, huh?! Treat me like I’m incapable of thinking for myself.” Your yell drops to a quiet quiver, salty liquid spilling down your cheeks. “Both of you never even stopped once to ask me what I wanted. You’re both too concerned with using me. Like I’m some fuck toy who doesn’t have any say in…. In anything. And now you wanna end it?” You look back at John. “Just like that?” You shove your plate away. “I’m not your fucking chew toy.”

You stand up and walk out the door, slamming it for good measure, stomping and sobbing, following the sound of dark ocean waves. It’s pitch black out here, the only light provided by a shy, foggy moon. Still, you walk. You walk until your feet get sore and tired and you have to sit down on the sand and ruin your cute underwear.

They don’t come after you, which you think would satisfy you, but, instead, it makes you even angrier. They don’t give a shit, and that’s apparent now. They don’t care and they never did. You selfishly hope there are more Bratva members out here with your name in their pocket just so you can prove a point.

You sink into warm sand and sob on the dark beach, cresting waves drowning out your pathetic cries.

Johnwickb1tsch:

It is late, by the time you return to the villa. You are listless and tired from crying. You see a single lamp on inside the house, but you don’t want to see them yet. A part of you yearns for them, even after your fight, like a missing limb, but the other half of you can’t stand the thought of facing them. They’ve been so sweet after your ordeal, and yet you know they’ll probably have cooked something diabolical up for you, for daring to show your true feelings about it all.

You are covered in sand. It really does get into everything. At the poolside you strip down, using the outdoor shower to rinse off. The pool is infinity style, affording a view of the beach beyond. Subtle lighting around the courtyard throws the various tropical plants in dramatic shadow. Kroton, monstera, palm trees, organ cacti and prickly pear, and a pink bougainvillea bush that is almost as big as the house. You love the garden here. You love this house, if you’re being honest.

You dive into the pool. It’s not very often you get to have it to yourself. Usually one or the other of the boys is shadowing you. Pulling at your swimsuit, stealing kisses and sending you to pieces in one way or another. You resent it, the effect they have on you, even as you’re not sure you can give it up.

Floating on your back, naked as a jaybird and looking up at the stars, you wonder what your life would even look like now, without them. Could you ever be content in the real world again, knowing who and what you left behind? Women would sell their souls to have just one of your assassins in their bed—and here you are, complaining that you have two.

If that’s not human nature in all its absurdity, you don’t know what is.

“Fuck,” you sigh. You want to scream it at the sky, but you don’t want to wake them, if they in fact are sleeping, and not sitting up in the shadows waiting to ambush you.

What do you want, actually? What would really make you happy?

It’s a question you’ve never been terribly good at answering for yourself, and that was before the shit got weird. You love animals. You’d enjoyed volunteering at the shelter. You imagine turning this beautiful compound into a fucking zoo of creatures who were discarded by people, if the boys gave you half the chance. That probably wouldn’t fly. And what if you all have to flee again? What would happen to the babies? It wouldn’t be responsible.

Then you think about what they might say, if you proposed conducting an actual relationship. Living in a place where you could come and go as you please, and not be kept in total isolation. Go to the fucking store without a hulking shadow of a bodyguard by your side. Get a cup of coffee, go to the library. They could come and go too. Dinner at seven. How was your day, honey? Well I popped a low-level state representative who wasn’t getting the picture from 600 yards, then I picked up my dry cleaning.

Ye gods. You have to keep reminding yourself that this is not normal.

“For a minute there I though we’d caught ourselves a mermaid.”

The silence could not last, of course.

You right yourself to tread water in the deep end, looking up at Tex standing at the poolside with his muscular arms crossed. His face is thrown half in shadow, his eyes glittering like obsidian orbs; why does he have to be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen? Next to John, of course—but they’re practically fucking twins, even if they won’t admit their physical similarity.

When Tex starts to pull off his t-shirt you pipe up, “Sure you want to do that? Mermaids are famous for drowning men.”

Tex pays you that wolfish baring of teeth, kindling a familiar fire in your belly. What is wrong with you, that you so love to fight with this dangerous man? He always wins. Every fucking time. And yet you keep coming back for more. Maybe you’re the crazy one. Doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results, and all that…

“Them’s big words, from a gal who can barely touch the bottom even in the shallow end…” he teases.

“Fuck you.” You splash at him, but he’s already shimmied out of his shorts and is jumping in with you. It’s a pleasure to watch him glide through the water, truth be told. Long of line, bare skin, sinewy muscle—it makes you mad all over again, how the sight of him moves you. He surfaces an arm’s length from you, spitting water playfully into the air while pushing his dark hair out of his face. When he reaches for you, you splash him in the face.

“Don’t touch me. I’m still mad at you.”

He makes a show of wiping water out of his eyes, even though he’s already soaking wet.

“Cuz I’m such a bully, huh? Always tellin’ you what to do?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mere, you little rattlesnake.”

It’s like arguing with a brick wall, and his grip on your arm won’t be dislodged. You already know this—but you kick out anyway. Your foot finds his ribs; the push of it makes your side ache. The “oomph” you get out of him in answer is almost worth it though, and for good measure you do your damndest to dunk him.

“Goddamn, woman,” he curses, spinning you in his arms so he can drag you to a part of the pool where at least he can stand.

“Let go of me.”

“Can you just listen for once?” There’s a surprising earnestness in this request that makes you still in his arms, all ears.

“Yeah?”

He gathers you to him, your back to his front, and the warmth of his bare skin against yours in the water with his arms around you is a distracting thing.

You wait, but he’s not forthcoming.

“I’m listening?” you prompt impatiently.

“I’m thinking.”

“Think faster.”

He laughs in the bend of your neck, though there is an edge to it. He grazes your cheek with his teeth, but he doesn’t bite down. This man has an oral fixation worse than a puppy dog. You’re never sure if he wants to kiss you, or eat you.

“I’m no good at this,” he finally admits.

Well that’s the understatement of the century.

“You know, the more you think about what you want to say, the more time you have to convince yourself of a lie?”

The sound he makes behind you is more growl than sigh. “Fine. I’m fucking crazy about you, alright? And the thought of being without you feels like feeding my heart through a woodchipper.”

Hearing this makes you go dead still in his arms. It was not the thing you expected to hear from this man, ever. Suddenly you feel hot all over; there’s a ringing in your ears, your heart is in your throat. You remember what Bradford said about Tex. Psychopathic narcissist. Which means, from a text-book standpoint, that he will say anything he has to, to manipulate the people around him to his liking.

But goddamn, if it didn’t sound like he meant it just now, when he said he cares about you.

Does he mean it? Can you trust a damn word that comes out of this man’s mouth?

Do you want him to mean it?

You don’t fucking know. And you’d better say something back fast, or you’re going to be in a world of fucking trouble.

“I am…quite fond of you as well, for some reason.”

This makes him snarl, pinching your side that didn’t take a bullet. “Ow! Ok, ok!”

“What was that? Last I checked, people don’t jump in front of a bullet for someone they’re just fond of.”

“Fine. In a split-second decision…the thought of the world without you in it seemed intolerable to me.”

This, however, does not appease him.

“You just can’t say it, can you?”

“Why should I? You’ll punish me either way. I lose no matter what, in this game.”

Tex flings his arm in a wide gesture, sending crystalline drops of water flying in an arc towards the house. “You call this losing?” he demands hotly, and now you sense you’ve succeeded in truly making him angry. “Holed up in a mansion in Mexico with two men who love you more than life itself? We were ready to die for you, when Bradford took you! Don’t that mean anything at all?”

You’re so mad that the last part of that statement hardly registers with you. “Holed up? I am your prisoner. John says he loves me but he’s ready to let me go. You say you love me but you won’t give me the freedom to live. Your dicks are very nice but I need something more than sitting around the house waiting for the two of you to pounce on me!”

“What do you need?” The question is so calm in comparison to you and Tex’s yelling that the both of you fall silent. John has joined you, standing like a tall shadow at the edge of the pool, the yellow lights at his back illuminating him like a fiery halo. In that moment for all the world he resembles something that just materialized from the fires of hell.

“Freedom,” you answer before you have time to think about it, or before Tex can stop you. “I don’t like being kept in a cage.”

John is still as a statue, only his hair stirring in the salty breeze coming off the sea.

“And the two of us?”

Tex’s grip around your waist tightens, vibrating with tension, as though he’s scared of what you’ll say. He doesn’t shut you up though, silent for what may be the first time in his life, waiting for your answer.

“We can work something out.”

In the depths of the shadows, you almost miss the slight curl of John’s lips at the corners. “Well, that’s nice to hear.” You can’t tell if he means it—or if he’s just amused by you.

You watch as he strips out of his clothes to join you in the pool, and you know…nothing has really been settled, and you only sort of feel better about your situation. Talk is easy. What they actually decide to do with you? Remains to be seen.

Yet when John cups your face in his big hands, kissing you so sweetly you start to tremble—in Tex’s arms, his hot mouth upon your neck, his long fingers gliding down your belly to dip between your legs—maybe it’s all a problem that can wait until tomorrow. Or next week.

Or next month.

You do kind of like it here, with them.

Sweetwolfcupcake:

There's a ringing in your ears as you blink. Looking at the phone screen. Apparently, you now have a new bank account, a new identity and a whole new life.

A life without them in it.

When John brought up the 'coversation' last month, you had an outburst.

But now, when he has made all the decisons on your behalf, made all the arrangements to ship you the fuck out of his life-- of their lives, you sit in silence.

The conversation began a few...minutes ago? You aren't entirely sure. Because you are busy trying to keep your breathing normal and not let your tears show.

If they can take decisions for you, discard you like nothing.

They do not deserve to know how easy it has been for them to shatter you.

"One of my friends will drop you to the airport. From there, contact this man, he'll lead you through the security."

John speaks as if he is dealing with any other person as he slides a paper with a name and number on it, even a picture. He sounds strange to you now.

Indifferent.

Stoic

Unreadable

And of course, Tex makes no appearance. You have not seen him the whole day. You should have seen the signs. But you naively thought he was running some errands.

What a dumb litttle woman you have been.

Stupid.

"Finally got bored of me?" You don't know if its your voice, or your eyes but something vulnerable and readable flashes in his eyes.

"I am doing what is right for you." He has the guts to look and sound sincere.

You fist your fingers and let out a slow, quivering breath, trying to keep your voice stable through this.

You realise that you are in love with them.

You are so in love with them that even breathing hurt, looking atnthe screen showing the promised 2.5 million made you feel like a protstitute.

So you really were their 'expensive' whore.

Tex's words ring in your head.

"And when did you decide what's right for me?"

Your voice does not come out as strong as you would have liked, but you want to pat your back for keeping it from cracking. For keeping the tears from filling your eyes, for keeping yourself from breaking down and for letting it show that your heart now is in pieces - tiny but sharp pieces - pieces that would go unnoticed - but make one bleed.

"Because I know that it is for the best." He asserts.

Your giggle is unexpected, but it somehow helps. "Oh, yeah?" you shake your head. "Now you decide what's best for me?"

"(Y/N)---"

"When can I go?"

Enough of this game.

You do not want to hear anything else, you do not even want to look at him, at them. If Tex isn't here yet.

Good.

You think spitefully. He should not show his fucking face!

Anger, restentment, betrayal, heartbreak and helplessness-- everything amlagamt into a dangerous fusion that oddly numbs you. But you know that this is the silence betfore the storm.

They do not even deserve to see your outburst. You will not give them the satisfaction of any reaction at all.

There is a charged silence from his end. And when you finally manage to glance up from the screen. You almost curse out loud.

You don't know what he is thinking. But it does not seem any good.

"You think---"

The ringing of the phone becomes your saviour. You think you actually felt the growl on your skin seconds ago. Why else would there be goosebumps on your skin. Why else would your heart be thumping?

When he picks the phone, he keeps his eyes on you, but you revert your gaze back on the phone screen. Oh, you now have a new phone as well. A parting gift from them. It feels more like a return gift.

'Hey party's over, you can go hom enow, and yes, thank you for being our little plaything. Here, a return gift. Happy Journey!'

You almost laugh at your own mental mimicry.

----

John's friend arrives within an hour. You have packed your bags mechanically, but you've meticulous about it. Nothing of you would remain with them, and no part of either of them shall go with you.

The shirt you've been wearing for so long that it now basiclaly smells like you?

It actually belongs to Tex, you remember, because he would always joke about you robbing his wardrobe every time he would see you in it, only to rob you out of your breath the next moment.

So, the shirt is left in the empty closet.

The two-in-one shampoo that saves time? It s John's, so it is left on the counter.

You shove down the sob itching to emerge and steele yourself. Tex is still nowhere to be found.

Bastard.

You load the bags at the back of the car. Only two bags. Funny how your life has been alterned permananently, you are to 'start afresh' and all you've got are two bags to begin with.

Oh, and a fat bank account.

The man and John speak in Sapnish, John does most of the talking for a change. You just want to get in the car and sit down.

But you stop, somehow. Soemthing tells you to turn around. Something in you is sure that Tex is here. You know it is most probbaly your silly heart, still whimpering like the stupid fucking thing it has been for so long. You want to finally listen to your mind. But as soon as you hold the handle to yank the door open, a painful tug at your heart makes you freeze.

Listen to your fucking brain for once!

See where your stupid heart has got you---

Fuck it!

You turn around, almost hoping to see Tex, so much the image of him standing a few feet away flashes before your eyes even before you turn around.

But there in no one behind.

The fiery hope fizzles into cold nothingness in you.

No one is standing there, hoping to see you, no one is there, rushign to stoip you, to stop John. To stop this.

There is no Tex.

You scoff lightly.

But you promise yourself that this is the last time you make a fool out of yourself by listening to your heart.

You should have seen this coming. But you were just a lonely, love-starved, pathetic little woman, weren't you?

Yanking the door open, you get inside the car. The man, John's friend, joins shortly after, taking the driver's seat.

He greets you in accecented English, and you reply politely, despite the effort that it takes to be civil with anybody at themoment. You feel John's eyes on you, but you refuse to look his way.

"Can we go now?"

You ask the man, barely keeping your voice from cracking. The man nods and starts the car, but only after approval from John. You bite your lips, keeping your tears at bay-- its not easy, but you have turned into an expert in bottling up emotions at this point of life.

John's ears are ringing, and his eyes are blurry as he watches the car taking a turn, completely disappearing from his sight. He blinks, relenting under the stubborness of his tears. One tiny drop finds an escape to his cheek. Silently, he turns around.

Tex is standing a few feet behind him. He has been there ever since you walked to the car with her bags.

He simply did not have it in him to face you. So whene you turned, he hid behind a wall.

John undertands Tex, and he knows that Tex would never forgive him for doing this.

But John likes to tell himself that is the better of the two when it comes to 'doing the right thing'. Angels do not belong with devils. They're cursed, doomed beings, destroying everything good that touches them, defiling that they touch.

You don't deserve that.

John tells himself for the nth time. Maybe, if he convinces himself, it would be easier to make Tex see his reason one day.

He watches as Tex silently walks back inside the villa, slamming the door shut behind him.

Tammykelly:

You would sit and stare at the walls of each airbnb for hours. Hours would turn into days, days - into weeks. You were losing count at that point, having learnt that a passing minute could turn into lingering eternity when every day was just a routine of waiting. So patiently waiting for the impossible, you weren’t sure you were breathing.

And you were hoping they’d come bursting right through each door, as it would crack open under sizzling fire and stand agape, akin to the gates of oblivion, forever sucking you into the whirlpool of tarnished hopes.

But they never came, always teasing you with a fog of a visit in your dreams, so flawlessly unattainable, even in the thicket valley of your own mind. You could practically feel their presence, looming somewhere behind you. And yet when you did turn your head, you’d always be greeted with only shadows, playing dirty tricks on you.

And what came to fill that befuddled void was an unstoppable force of burning tears and searing pain you carried in your chest every time you’d go on a new road trip across Europe.

Eucalyptus trees, turquoise sea, passing by the road, birds flying high, sometimes matching the speed of the car.

It wasn’t them leaving you feeling discarded that made you mad. It was the fact that it was the decision made for you. The taken away chance for you to fight for your own freedom and liberate yourself on your own terms.

Crowds of people laughing, dancing, cheering, a few couples kissing and hugging slipped by your sight.

And who would’ve thought that the freedom, once forced upon you, tasted like emptiness, and boredom turned out to be second to the suffocating loneliness. For now, instead of being caged in the glass house, you found yourself waking up every day to the ringing sound of the cage that was your own subconscious, slowly erasing parts of you.

The excitement of the first few days would always vaporise into the thin air, the towns, the mountains, the forests, the beaches - everything turning into a never ending lane in between the world you daydreamed about behind the world you were escaping. For freedom, with no one to share, became a burden just for you to carry.

This is probably what they wanted, you’d think every day, staring at yourself in the rear mirror of your rental car. For you to hate your own company and long for their so bad you wanted to curse your own existence.

They’d always play a game of push and pull with you, giving you everything that you wanted in a controlled amount - just enough for you to feel satisfied and less than enough that you keep coming back for more.

You drive the car down one of many hills of Italian Riviera, onto an empty secluded beach, then stepping into the nauseating midday sun accompanied by the loud crying of cicadas. The scorching sunlight and eucalyptus shade being the only things that kiss your skin, as you leave your sundress discarded in the backseat. Soft sand embraces your feet, slowly guiding you to the warm crystal clear blue water, letting you escape deeper and deeper in, until your bikini is fully wet and your chin touches the surface. Your eyes close, your breath in synch with your heartbeat fueled by the fleeting thoughts.

You exhale one last time, emptying your mind, and let the Mediterranean sea swallow you whole.

- a flashback -

You feel your head come above the surface, air filling your lungs, and then late noon sunlight graze your wet hair, as you walk out of the turquoise pool, emerging slowly, your eyes locked on the dark chocolate ones that devour each curve of your body, too distracted to notice you calculating your steps. You reach the pool bed and grab the towel, drying yourself, the sunlight shining over you in the most flattering way, making the man beside you hardly resist pulling you onto his lap. You feel his arms find their way around you in a firm embrace, and in a swift motion, the towel is discarded somewhere on the floor, droplets from your bikini are now falling down onto his skin.

“Hey”, you say softly, making yourself comfortable, at the price of his discomfort.

“You’re a fuckin’ goddess, you know that?” - Tex’s lips fall on your chest and trace a line up to your jawline.

“Never noticed, no”, you tease, your fingers on either side of his face, making him look up at you. A little naughty butterfly sets an array of flowers blooming in the bubble inside your heart, as you watch him study you with the eyes full of a promise to devour you right then and there, meticulously edging you on, before the other hawk comes for his piece of the prey.

Having nowhere to run means you’ve got nothing to lose.

You kiss him deeply, feeling his arms pull you flush against his chest, before you pull away right when the scales are about to tip not in your favor.

Your gaze penetrates his dark irises, igniting more fiery canons he throws your way in a form of his fingers digging deeper into your hips and waist.

Out of the two, Tex is more impulsive. And impulsivity means a behavioural pattern. And where’s a pattern, there’s a loophole. And where’s a loophole, there’s a way out.

Your ears catch his voice before your brain registers it.

“What?”, - Tex chuckles, making your resurfacing back to him speed up its pace.

“Nothing”, - you whisper, your fingers touching his cheekbones.

A small smirk turns into a wolfish grin, as he continues: “It’s never nothing with you. You told me once, we are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal. So tell me, what’re you hidin’, my rattlesnake?”

Him leisurely drawing absentminded circles on your hips makes your chest rise and fall a bit deeper, as if setting off in-built alarms. You lock your jaw and let go.

“Sometimes my mind still wonders back to that kidnapping day”, the circles stop, “as I remember watching you and John obliterate the enemies, I kept thinking how graceful you two looked, as if almost entranced in a dance, deadly one at that”, his jaw plays under your fingers, “as time passed, it made me wonder, what more can you do for me?”

You notice a flash of darkness sparkle through his gaze, as if a shadow of a thick lone storm cloud approaching, but never leaving, with lightning brewing deep within.

Tex growls: “Oh, you’re so spoiled,”your cheeks flush a deeper tone, “we’re ready to kill anyone for you, is it not enough?”

You can’t keep your eyes off his, so you reply: “Although I do appreciate the thought, it’s not”, his eyebrow twitches, “you know, it’s easy to break, to kill and to bring destruction to the doorstep of anyone who dares to encounter you. But you know what’s hard?”, you let a pause escape into the abyss, “sacrificing and living”.

His head tilts, “we’re both willing to sacrifice our lives for you”. You pull away.

“I know, you do, but that’s not what I mean”, you tell him, “getting killed in the name of love is easy. But giving up what you love is not”. The hairs at the back of your neck stand up, for your heartbeat quickens at the look, emanating from his narrowed eyes.

“What are you talking about?”, he asks lowly.

A shallow breath escapes your lips when you feel tears pool in your eyes, before you can speak again: “You keep dancing with the death because you were born to be its angels. You love hunting, because you were born to be hunting dogs”, you let yourself run your fingers through his raven locks, feeling your chest tighten, “but you know better than anyone that death always catches up to you, you can’t outrun it”, your eyes wash over his face, “hounds get shot down too”.

You feel a vibration of his laughter echo through you, as Tex’s voice softens: “Well, that’s one way to call us old”.

You smile bitterly, feeling a single tear roll down your cheek. “Oh, you don’t think your employers just gonna pat you on the back and thank you for your service, do you?” Tex’s fingers wipe your cheek gently, butterflies in your belly forming a growing gurgling sensation of an upcoming avalanche, “the difference between a dog and a man is that dogs can’t talk, they act on instinct”, he watches your eyes search his, “either way, both of you will always remain a liability. There’s no grace in dying and no dignity in fighting a losing game”.

Suddenly, you hear another deep voice quietly respond, sending shivers down your spine, as its owner steps into the light, away from the shadowy greenery.

“So, what are you saying?”, you hear another pool bed creek, as John sits down.

“Devils are forever bound to Hell”, you feel an instinctive urge to wiggle out of Tex’s grip and let your feet touch the ground, “so don’t fucking drag me into it. Make your choice”, you tell them, both men now looking up at you, their laser sharp pitch black eyes staring right through you, goosebumps arising on every inch of your body.

“You know it’s not that simple”, Tex says lowly, earning a glare from John, which he shrugs off. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is this your final answer, Tex?”

He doesn’t reply.

You don’t take your eyes off Tex, while you hear John’s voice pierce through you: “We’ll always choose you”, making you slightly step away.

“Doesn’t seem that way”, you reply in a tone that matches his and turn around, speed walking back to the mansion.

You immediately feel the AC blasting, while you pace your breathing, as you step inside and walk into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water with shaky hands. You glance into the window, watching the boys’ backs, as they lean closer to one another, whispering secrets not meant for your ears. Secrets that the tree shades will evaporate and never reveal.

You feel your hand clasp the glass harder, your vision focusing on the blurry reflection of you, tears making your silhouette on the window glass even fainter, as water slips past your lips and down your throat.

- the present -

As you look away from your reflection in the bar window, lazily skipping over LA street view, you put the glass down, the burning sensation in your mouth tingling pleasantly.

So much for fighting to be a puppet master when in the end it’s always been their game, for they were the ones who invented it. Haunting you. Taunting you. Tainting you. Akin to the glass in front of you, stained with your fingerprints and lipgloss.

Fuck, your breath fogs the glass.

You hear the bar doorbell ringing, letting the late night air in, and, after a few seconds, a bar stool a few sits over scraping, as the person sits down. You look up from the glass and into the mirror behind the illuminated shelves that hold liquor.

You suddenly feel like your stomach is flipping somersaults, as if air was knocked out of your lungs. For when you watch the stranger’s reflection, you can’t help but notice the singularity of similarities, wondering whether you’re seeing double.

How many Jesus-looking handsome devils are there?

You forget that it’s not polite to stare and he pretends not to pay attention to it. After a few seconds you inhale again, as if starved for oxygen, your heartbeat overpowering the loud music in your ears.

You fail to see a scrawny middle-aged guy sitting down next to you, missing his chatting up and lewd looks, as he’s checking you out. Finally, your eyes lock with your mirrored ones, your jawline hardens, as you try to move away from the noisy stranger. As you take a sip of your drink, he tries to snatch your hand, which makes you jolt and snap your hand back, throwing him a deadly glare. Instead of taking the hint, he grabs the back of your stool and spins your seat, so you’re facing him.

“Fuck off”, you hiss at him.

“You’re so rude”, - the guy moves closer and you - further from him, your skin crawling with unpleasant thoughts, “someone’s gotta teach you manners”, placing a hand on your bare lower thigh, above your knee. You exhale with a smirk on your lips, before grabbing his palm, curling your fingers and digging your nails into the centre of the thinnest part so hard that bloody creases appear, making him yelp. Fingers of your other hand wrap around the thumb of the hand you’re clawing in, and you’re not shy to painfully bend it in such a way that if you put more force to it, it’d break.

“Remind me again, what was it about the manners?”, you whisper, dangerously low, the guy’s cries drowning in the music. His other hand claws at your arm, as he calls you names. You yank his hand hard, as he does the same in his direction, which leaves deep scratch marks, then grasping his collar, your wide crazed eyes staring into his drunk red ones.

“Don’t try me”, you growl, “I will bite”.

“You crazy fucking bitch”, the guy grabs you with one hand, his glossy eyes filled with rage, his hot breath fanning over your face. As his other hand moves to slap you, you turn to the side briefly, noticing dark obsidian eyes staring right at you, when the stranger’s hand wraps around the guy’s wrist.

“Don’t be rude to the lady”, he says to the drunkard, as you let go of the guy. You lean back, watching the stranger’s eyes glow, akin to jet-black nothingness of the dark matter in space.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy asks the stranger, who turns his attention to you:

“Is he bothering you, angel?”

You nod, your gaze never leaving his, making you feel an almost familiar sense of security, as you fall deeper into the bottomless fiery pits of his eyes. Before the guy can say a word, the handsome stranger is forcibly throwing him onto the ground, then casually asking the bartender to call the security, ignoring the guy’s threats to call the cops. You watch the stranger squat in front of the drunk guy and tell him to stay quiet, which he doesn’t listen to, making the first one roll his eyes.

You hear a sound of his fist colliding with the guys head, knocking him out. The stranger’s black eyes find yours, pulling you into the intricate labyrinth that is his curious gaze.

“Happens all the time”, he explains, his presence close enough to make you feel the heat of his body, but respectfully away that you don’t feel like he’s intruding your personal space. All thoughts completely leave your mind, as you don’t think you have it in you to divert your gaze, especially when the security drags the drunkard out onto the street.

You feel blood flow to your cheeks when the man’s eyes study you with the same intensity you once knew, making your stomach turn and throat dry up, as you absentmindedly reach for your drink. You force yourself to look away, blinking the fog of memories clouding your consciousness, as if a waterfall washes away the imprints it once knew. You let the pretty devil read your body language, not paying attention to him sitting down next to you, as you look through the window, into the depths of the night, for a split second thinking, indeed, you’re seeing double.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost”, the man’s voice reaches you, once again the illuminating black hole of his irises not letting go of you, as if the sound and space around you are nonexistent anymore.

“Maybe I did”, you reply, pleasant tingles all over your body mixing with barely noticeable shivers, coating your flesh, your mind fully in control of your thoughts and actions, despite several cocktails.

You break the thick silence between you: “Do you, like, have a twin or something?”

“No, why’d you ask?”, - he responds, his gaze slowly increasing the heat of your body.

“Sorry, you just remind me of someone”, you apologise, hiding the truth behind the sip of your drink.

“Are you running away or looking for them?”, - the stranger asks.

“I dunno. Maybe a little bit of both”, your lashes flutter.

You feel him lean closer, the speed of your heartbeat rising.

“What’d you do if you saw a ghost?”, he whispers, your eyes lock on his again.

You bite your lip, thinking for a second, and tell him: “Well, it’d depend on where I see them. If I saw them in my apartment, I’d ask why the fuck they’re here rent free. If I saw them in a Church, I’d probably meet Jesus right then and there. If I saw them in an alley, I’d probably punch them so hard I’ll send them back to where they came from”.

Your eyes find his playful smile so enjoyable for some reason, when he teases: “You’ve got spirit”.

You mirror his expression: “No, just a whole lotta anger”.

You both let a pause vapour into the air and then he speaks again.

“So, which one is it?”, he asks, searching your eyes.

“Well, I’m here and they’re there. End of the story”, you let out before another beat passes by, as your mind and heart fail to create any excuse not to keep up with him.

He tilts his head, his short messy hair falling all over his forehead. “So, what brings you to the city of Angels? Business or pleasure?”

“Haven’t decided yet, maybe both”, you say, watching a wolf-like grin appear on his lips, a smirk you know all too well, which makes your heart sting just a tiny pinch.

“Looks like you need someone to do a whole lotta deciding for you”, - his eyes glimmer with a shade of darkness you can tell brings no good but a cheeky pretext for more.

“Excuse you, you don’t think you have anything you can offer me, do you?”, you match his smile with one of your own.

“Depends on what you’re looking for”, the man replies, watching you feign curiosity.

“Depends on what you have to offer”, you raise an eyebrow.

“So you do want something from me”.

“Huh, maybe the question is what don’t I want”.

You feel the heat of his body on yours even stronger when he moves closer.

“Maybe the question is what can you offer me?”, he asks, earning a glare from you. The counter meets with your arm, as you lean on it, your body now facing his.

“What are you looking for then? Business or pleasure?”, you throw one leg over the other.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, angel. It could be something you can’t give me”, he leans back, looking down at you through his lashes.

A pause washes over you two.

“What, cat’s got your tongue?”

“No, I’m thinking”, you tell him.

“Think faster”, he urges.

Deja vu much?

You exhale, smirking: “Fuck off. You’re a prick”.

“You can’t expect to receive something without giving something in return. So, that makes you…a…what?”, he waves his hand absentmindedly.

“A fucking saint”, your voice sounds as a matter of factly.

“Quite the opposite, actually”.

“Yeah, you ever see a saint doing charity work?”

“I’ll let you know when I see one”

He’s so devilishly handsome it’s annoying.

Your jawline moves but you don’t dwell on the feeling of rising heat under your skin.

“So, what is it that you want”, you ask flatly.

“Stick around and find out”.

“Nah, I’ll have to check my calendar first”, you pretend to think, “hmm, I don’t think so”.

You catch a tiny sparkle of interest grow bigger in the eyes opposite yours, though he doesn’t move a muscle, buying into your pretence when you both can feel the underlying truth on your fingertips.

“Can I buy you a drink”, his low voice vibrates through a thin layer of deceptive indifference. You note how his eyes are the opposite of the ones that embody icy coldness laced with a warm hue that you’re used to. His irises are so warm with a glint of a cold breeze, blowing through them.

“No, but you can pay for mine. I don’t drink much, especially with scruffy strangers”.

The man waves to a bartender who’d just come for his shift, you hear the voice of a man behind the counter: “Good evening, John”.

Oh, so help me God

“Put the lady’s drinks on my tab and get me a glass of Ardberg”, he turns to face you, “name’s John Constantine. You’re indebted to me now”.

“For a fucking drink?”

“Three, to be exact”

You laugh.

Guess you’re not escaping the devil tonight

“You’re such an asshole, John. So what is it that you do for a living”

“I hunt”

Fucking Hell

“And then I help the souls leave this realm”, he continues.

Even better

“Like, with a bullet or a prayer?”, you draw circles on the glass ring.

“A little bit of both”

“That pays well?”

Constantine smirks: “One does what one can”.

“You like it?”

“Not at all”

“Why’d you do it then?”, you ask quietly.

“To atone for my sins”, your eyes can’t help but notice an almost sad glimpse appear in his irises and then switch off back to a playful hint. He watches you look at him with wide eyes.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You nod, expectantly.

“I don’t do bullets these days”

“So, you’re like…Killer Preacher? Fiery Priest?”

“Haven’t thought of it like that. But yeah”, he replies, as your heartbeat almost makes you nauseous, the ephemeral sensation of being watched from a place you can’t see making your ears turn red, you almost don’t hear him finish his sentence, “I’m not a killer. On God”.

You force a giggle: “Sure”.

Constantine’s eyes loom over yours once more, taking in every micro expression of yours, when he suggests: “You’re sure you don’t want a drink?”

You look him right in the eyes when you take his drink from his hand and down the rest he hasn’t finished yet, then saying: “Yeah, thanks. It’s been nice knowing you, John Constantine”.

He quirks an eyebrow: “You drank my shit and you’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I’m done with killers”, your heels make contact with the floor and you begin to walk away.

“Be seeing you, angel”, Constantine throws your way, neither of you turning around, as you reply: “No, you won’t”.

You go outside and light a cigarette with a trembling hand, staring into the darkest part of the alleyway, fear slowly subsiding and blood pumping in your veins with a newfound purpose of hot radioactive anger.

There’s a Nietzche saying, “and if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you”. For you can sense that two pairs of eyes are locked in on yours, shining in the darkness.

John notices a venomous smile playing on your lips and a hint of glowing in your eyes, not from the street lamp but rather the thoughts brewing in your mind, as he’s gripping the wheel tighter, the pain causing him to feel more grounded. Tex feels like they’re both staring at the reflection of them, him and John hiding in the shadows, you - right there, embraced by the light, forever favoured by the bold fortune. For “he who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster”. For you turned out to be a true angel in the city that is the land of the devils.

Just as you throw the cigarette out, your ears pick up the sound of the doorbell before you hear footsteps approaching you.

“Well, you sure took your sweet fucking time”, you tell Constantine, offering him a cigarette.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve been waiting for me”, he says before popping a piece of gum into his mouth, as you put the pack into your purse.

“No way in Hell, ew. It’s just taxis take for-fucking-ever here”

“Waiting for the ghost?” he sits down next to you on the bench.

“Yeah. I think I’m going ghost hunting tonight”.

“There’s more than one, I take it?”

You nod and continue: “And I also think I’m gonna take you up on that offer and let you humour me”.

His eyes glow with the same hue as yours: “You’ve figured what you can give me?”

You smirk: “Yeah. I got a debt to pay off, after all, third time‘s a charm, remember?”

“4, in your case”

“3 and a half”, your firm voice claims.

Constantine leans closer, grinning, his gaze devilishly capturing yours in a bargain your body could never deny.

“Thought you were done with killers”, he growls, his quiet voice making shivers roll down every inch of you.

“I guess not tonight, no”.

“Why a change of mind?”

“You look like you’ve been through Hell and back”, you let him get closer until your faces are just millimetres apart, not caring whether your other devils are watching or how they’re feeling anymore.

“Damn, I’ve been called worse but, wow, my God, angel”.

“I wonder what gives”, you tease, letting a Tex-like accent slip past.

“Mhhmm, what makes you say that?”, Constantine’s eyes urging you to lean back, as you recross your legs.

“Because I know what Hell feels like”.

“Well, I am most certain you did not wait for a sympathetic shoulder to cry on”, he purrs, placing his big warm hand on your knee.

“No, I did not”, you send a small smile his way, allowing his hand to travel up your bare thigh, “I don’t want ghosts following me anymore”.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about”, he says, his watchful eyes boring into yours, your heart flutters.

“Who are you to tell me what I do and don’t know”, the sound of your whisper hiss-like.

He smirks: “Okay, do pray tell”, his gaze never leaving your irises.

“I know what devils look like because maybe Hell is other people”.

You let distant sirens be the only sound filling the street.

‘So, you’re running away?”, Constantine breaks the spell, as you feel his skin on yours clearer than ever, ignoring the alarming temptation to stare into the darkness again and seek answers that’ll keep you up at night.

Instead, you tell him: “You keep calling me angel like it means something. I’m far from that. I’m no angel, and I think you’re no devil”.

“Are you sure, little dove? Appearances can be deceiving”.

“But the eyes never lie. And see, you can’t be really running away, when it wasn’t your decision to leave. So, I’ll take my chances”.

Abruptly, all of his warmth leaves your personal space, when he leans back and tilts his head: “You’ll have to pay if my head gets bitten off”

“Make sure to keep it on your fucking shoulders then”, you retort and pull him by the tie.

- 6 months later -

Constantine rolls over, though one of his arms still around you, both of you flushed with after sex glow, rocking messy hair. There’s a pack of unopened cigarettes on your nightstand, he reaches out over you and grabs a pack of gum, offering one to you first and throwing the next one into his mouth. You get up from the bed, Constantine’s eyes following your naked form. He rolls his eyes upon seeing you turn around and cutely blow him a kiss, before the bathroom door clicks shut and he starts to get dressed.

After a while, as the scent of coffee fills the apartment, he hears the sound of you walking across the room, the chair scrapping against the floor and cricking, as you sit down at the table with a towel wrapped around your hair, opening your UCLA mock exam book. He looks up at you from the two cups he’s just poured and sets one in front of you, his eyes glowing.

You glance up, thanking him.

“Last push?”, the corner of his mouth quirks up a little.

“Yeah”, - you set the cup back down, “God, I really did forget what it feels like to be this nervous a week before the exam”.

“You’ll do great, this is just an entrance exam for the undergraduate program, how hard can it be?” he teases, “plus you’ve already gone to college”.

“Yeah, you know I never graduated. Also shut up, genius, see if you can take it”, you mock him before burying your head in the book. Suddenly, you hear a phone buzzing on the table, looking over and seeing it’s Constantine’s, the screen lighting up with a call from “Angela”.

“Your girlfriend’s calling”, - you muse, sliding the phone to the man.

“She’s not my girlfriend”, he states, his eyes not leaving yours, as he ignores the buzz.

“You should take it”, you tilt your head up, as a shadow falls on your face, feeling Constantine’s hand somewhere behind you, “seems important”.

“She can wait”, you feel a whisper pass over right above your ear before he leans closer and his lips find yours, the scent of coffee and gum mixing on your tongues. You break the kiss after a while, lightly smacking his chest.

“I gotta study, John”, you pout, ignoring his wicked grin.

“I know, just giving you a little motivation”, Constantine downs his coffee and winks at you, before walking over to the sink to wash it.

“Ew”, you say, though your eyes follow his movements, as you bite your lip, smiling. As he turns around with a cheeky smirk on those gorgeous lips of his, you roll your eyes.

“Get me something to eat, will you?”, you ask.

“On it”, he laughs, “be right back”.

“Don’t be too long”, - you take a sip of the coffee, as he’s leaving the kitchen. Just as you start revising, you hear his voice calling you again.

“Hey”, you look up, “I’m proud of you, angel”, Constantine smiles at you.

“Get outta here, already”, you throw a cramped paper ball his way, your chest filling with butterflies, making you giggle, as you set your eyes back on the study paper.

You hear the doorbell ringing and Constantine telling you: “Don’t get up, I’ll get it”.

“Thanks, cutie”, you reply, dodging the said paper ball.

After a door click, strange silence greets the air, turning warm LA air icy cold.

“What the fuck”, you hear a voice that makes your blood freeze. “Who the fuck are you?” a deep voice repeats.

“I’m John. The owner of this house. And who the fuck are you?”, Constantine replies and you hurry to the door, your eyes taking in the scene of two men, standing almost chest to chest, about to come unleashed upon one another in a deadly dance of bulls.

Your eyes then lock on dark obsidian ones that spew fireballs.

“Y/n”, the man with long hair, holding a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers, exhales your name softly. Before he can utter another word, you are right up in his face, punching him in the nose, as hard as you can, making him stumble back with blood now dripping down his lips and chin.

“What the actual fuck?” the man exclaims, clearly he didn’t expect such a warm welcome.

Your eyes lock with Constantine’s.

“Nice one”, he high fives you, as you smile at him,“that’s one of the ghosts, I assume?”

“Number 2, actually”, you reply, calmly watching Tex look at you with confusion but his bloodied fingers wrapping around the bouquet, knuckles white, his eyes growing darker with each passing second.

Constantine’s eyes peel off yours and assess Tex.

“Can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, asshole”, he says and you almost feel a breeze pass you, as he launches forward.

A screen freeze frame:

Constantine’s fist raised, the other grabbing onto Tex, Tex’s hand with the bouquet about to collide with Constantine’s face.

The angle pans to you.

You look into the camera, amused, yet terrified.

Shit

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

You take the blood speckled flowers and put them in a purple glass vase by the window where the filtered sunlight can illuminate and nourish the pretty stained petals. The silky roses and lilies - what a combo - invite you to run your fingertips across them and smell the heavy sweetness of the cluster.

After you take your time with the flowers, you go to Tex, sit beside him and dab at his swelling face with a cool washcloth. John watches this display with a barely contained scowl, hip against the counter, cigarette pressed tightly between his lips, bag of frozen peas pressed into his own blooming bruise - you had insisted he blunt the freeze with a rag so his skin didn’t get damaged.

“I’m sorry,” Tex says, and it makes you pause. Takes you aback.

“What?” It’s really the only thing you can manage. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say he’s sorry and genuinely mean it. However, the enchantment is short lived when you realize that his repentance is probably a ploy to get you pliant and small for him again.

“I said I’m so-“

“I heard you, Tex, but come the fuck on. You actually think that shit is gonna work?”

Ah, there’s that punchable, handsome, toe curling half raise of his mouth. “It was worth a try.”

“You want another black eye?” You ask him.

“You know I’ll take anything you wanna give me, rattlesnake.”

“Die in a fire.” Despite harsh words, you’re still cleaning the caked blood off his face. You think that says way more about you than it ever could about him, but you’ve learned not to question yourself too much nowadays. If everyone else is resigned to being immoral, selfish douchebags, then why shouldn’t you be?

“I miss you.” This is his reply as he sports an almost infatuated expression on his face. He looks like a love sick puppy, and you kind of don’t mind it. Submissive suits him. Begging, strung up to the headboard, cock angry and purple, dribbling fat liquid pearls onto his belly, still having the audacity to be cheeky even while he's so desperate he’s humping air.

“You thinkin’ about me, huh, darlin?” He blows you a kiss and you scowl. Still, your face is hot, hands shaky, breath uneven. Curse this man for his ability to make your cunt throb traitorous in zero point five.

“Where’s John?” You deflect.

“I’m right here.”

You turn to Constantine. He’s got the full icy bag pressed to his face without a buffer again. Remedying his disobedience with a sigh, you snatch the veggies, slap the washrag back on, and then place them to his cheek gently. “You’re gonna get freezer burn.”

He holds you steady on tiptoes, broad hand pressed into your waist, leans down to kiss your top lip. “Who’s John?” He asks.

“A friend.”

Tex snorts. “You know, I’m startin to think ya like him better than me. Every time we have a homecoming, the first words outta your mouth are always ‘where’s John?’”.

His poor imitation of your voice, if you’re giving him credit, actually does make you giggle. “That’s cuz I do like him better than you, Tex.”

You can’t see the way he shoots Constantine a heavy stink eye. “Clearly. Now come’er, you missed a spot.”

Instead of glaring at him, you smile, grab a coke from the fridge and lean into the counter to sip on it. “It’s cute that you still think you’re the boss of me, Tex.”

His grin turns into a sneer. “What? You think just cuz you got a little bodyguard now, I can’t still slap that pretty buxom bottom all red and raw?” He flexes a bulky hand as testament to that, and you hate yourself for shrinking a little bit. Half out of fear, half because your insides give a violent boil of desire that you’re afraid both these men can feel despite distance.

Constantine, in true fashion, rolls his eyes. “Where did you find this guy? The bargain bin of Tractor Supply?”

“Close. A diner in Ohio.”

“Hey, I was the best lookin’ guy in that Diner, thank you.” Tex is back to his usual lazy grin, tipping an imaginary hat.

“You never change, do you?” You ask him, shaking your head.

“Momma didn’t raise a quitter,” he shrugs.

You can try to deny it all you want, but you did miss Tex. That dangling piece of your heart - held by only a tearing thread of muscle - reattached when you saw his beautiful face, leaving you warmer and sturdier and… fuck. Happier.

It’s not your fault. He should be outlawed for the combination k.o. of those handsome features, deep honey voice and annoying, endearing wit. His black hair has grown disheveled and wild, stubble thickening into a wiry mess that you want to tug at. Constantine is always clean shaven, and, god, you miss having constant rugburn between your thighs.

And those hands. Jesus, those big, beautiful, chunky hands, all bruised from beating Constantine into the ground. It wasn’t a fair fight. Although of similar height, Tex’s burly stature overpowered Constantine’s lithe frame. If it wasn’t for John knocking Tex back a couple feet with a burst of black flame, he’d look a lot worse right now. And it’s a good thing he did it sooner rather than later, because you were just about to attempt to pull Tex off of him.

However, that pulse of dark magic created a brand new set of problems. Because Tex now has a, to quote John Constantine, “worrying” symbol burned into his chest.

“The sixth seal of what?” You ask John as he digs through his messy desk of papers and odd collectibles. Occult bobbles and silver trinkets, brown stained parchment from careless papercuts, a few extra lighters. Finally, he rips a book from the bottom of a drawer.

“Saturn.” He flips through, reads faster than you can think, comes dead stop at a page with the identical marking on Tex’s chest. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You say, leaning over him and trying to read Latin. “What does oh mean, John? I’m worried here.”

“Pentacle of Saturn. Creates a magnet for demons and dark hearted creatures.”

“Meaning?”

“Howdy Doody is fucked.”

“I heard that!” Tex calls from the kitchen.

After a hushed discussion with John - well, it starts as a discussion. “So, take it off him.”

“I can’t. I need help.”

You fix him with a stubborn look, grab his t-shirt and drag him over. “So, get help.”

“What’s in it for me?”

You kiss him hard, lick your sharp tongue into his mouth and press him back into his office chair as he tugs your hips down into his lap.

You’re not nice about carding your fingers through his thick hair, and he gives the same treatment while he palms your thighs and ass. You tug his velvet mane back to reveal the long pillar of his pale throat and nibble at his pulse, making him groan and shift under you.

Your cheeks only burn a little bit while you smile down at him, hand still holding his head back. The other heel of your hand puts a little pressure on the thick bulge in his pants, and he bucks into you.

You chuckle. “Would you ever tell me no, John?”

His voice is sandpaper, thick with saliva, it induces a violent shiver from your head to your toes. “Only if you asked me to.”

You pat his flushed cheek, kiss his sensitive swollen bruise. It’s like this more often than not. Ever since that day in the alley where he pressed you into the cold damp concrete and fucked your eyes into the back of your head, you’ve been clinically diagnosed with ‘can’t keep your hands off eachother’ disease.

Whereas Tex and John would only give you what they thought you deserved - held you under a tight thumb and always made sure you were the one licking boots and begging for thread - Constantine can’t fucking resist you. He’s at your beck and call, completely enchanted despite being the magic user in the relationship.

Having a man like Constantine at your feet, by your side, it’s a heavy drug, and a damn miracle if you don’t end up fucking like feral beasts a few times a day.

A heavy, interrupting knock on the front door pulls you from his lips. You feel his baby hairs stand on end, skin prickle in goose flesh, watch his eyes curtain black. He’s a thrumming ball of dark energy, a black void meant for consumption. It’s his bodies malefic defense against black magic. It puts your heart in your ears.

“Fuck.” He picks you up, outer calm betrayed by a sickly nervous sweat beading on his skin, and sets your feet on the floor.

“Are we about to die, John?” You reach out to grip his forearm, and the look he gives you makes your blood cold.

“I need you to go out the back door.” He pops open his weapon cabinet and shoulders a big rifle out. “And I need you to get away from here. Fast.”

“John, I don’t-“

“Do it. Fuck.” He rethinks being demanding, grabs you with one hand and presses his forehead to yours. “Please, Angel, I need you safe.”

You’ve come a long way from that sniveling, scared girl kneeling in gravel with a 9 mm barrel pressed to your temple, but John is right: despite your fierce independence and growing sense of self worth, you have no tools to fight against whatever monsters are knocking at his door.

“What about Tex?”

He kisses your head. “Can he shoot a gun?”

“Yeah?”

John cocks the rifle. “Then he can hold his own.” Your attempt to follow Constantine’s request is very short lived. Turns out, demons are smarter than anyone gives them credit for. As soon as you make it over the threshold, you’re grabbed up. Four men, occult symbols written permanently into their flesh, heads shaved bare. They grip you by the throat and the wrists, but you still have your feet. You lash out, catch one in the groin, and as he stumbles back you have enough leverage to palm another’s nasal bone into his skull.

Then, you run. Gunshots echo behind you, and, of course you’re worried about your own skin, but what about Tex and John? What about them fighting off even more of these brutes? The desperate thought almost gets you to turn around.

Suddenly, your legs seize up, and you land face down on the pavement. It’s like you’ve been paralyzed, rolled over by tons of crushing weight. Your lungs tighten and breathing gets exponentially harder. You feel your bones creaking under the stress of an invisible steam roller. Gravity is a thousand times sharper down here.

A little kick to your thigh is child’s play compared to the boulder crushing your chest. “This is Constantine’s bitch?”

“Yeah, I know, underwhelming.”

You don’t exactly mind the insults - you’re being suffocated by a slow, unyielding force and that seems to be the more pressing issue.

“Kill her?” You didn’t hear the first part of the sentence because your eardrums were popping painfully.

“Yeah.”

And, actually, death would be preferable to suffering like this, feeling like you’ve been shoved into a 3 inch underwater steel drain pipe, like every breath you take is the last one your lungs can handle before they explode.

The weight lifts, air filters through your throat, your body spasms back to life. You can move again, breathe again; it’s painful and glorious. You turn around, and there is your dark angel. In the flesh. Hair nestled back behind his ears, collar tucked neatly on his shoulders despite the dark brown stains slashing through it.

You forget that you’re supposed to be mad at him, especially when he’s looming over a pile of bloody bodies - saving your life once again.

“John?” You breathe.

The stoic expression you fondly remember is contorted in agony. He holds his hand out for you, and you let him pull you to your feet.

It only takes you a stunned few moments to remember that he abandoned you after using you for months on end like a rag doll.

You rear back and slap him hard across the face.

You give yourself kudos - he does flinch a tiny bit. Then, he’s on you, cradling you to his chest, soothing hands rubbing over your head and back, big deep rumbles shaking his broad chest. You lash out with your hands, hitting and scratching, screaming at him to get the fuck off you and that you hate him and that you wish he were dead, but he is unfazed. A force to be reckoned with. Just like you remember him.

He cradles you calm, holds you like he’s never going to let you go again - you have no idea - and, in the same way that Tex repaired a piece of your broken heart, John’s embrace stitches the entire thing back together in some visceral, risky surgery that leaves you agonized and whole again.

Your tears stain his jacket.

#wicked johnson fic #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick #john wick x y/n #yandere john wick #tex johnson #tex johnson x you #tex johnson x reader #john constantine #constantine 2005 #constantine x reader #john constantine x reader #constantine x you #john constantine x you

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thedirtygridd · 2 years ago

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FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS - WITH CHARLES LECLERC, PIERRE GASLY….AND YOU. (part one)

WARNINGS - 18+, sexual content

Summary - This is based off a request I had. I have added a few parts though! You are dating Pierre Gasly, when you find out he continues to cheat on you…so you call your friend, Charles Leclerc around to your apartment to seek some comfort. And things take a dramatic turn…

The doorbell rang. You leaped over to open it, making sure nobody else was watching.

“Come in, Charles” you said as you opened the door for him

As he brushed through the door, a wave of aftershave hit you. He smelt so good. He wore a white shirt, with his top three buttons wiiiiide open. You were instantly aroused at the sight…and his beautiful scent.

You both sat down on the couch, next to the wide glass windows, offering a panoramic view of down below, from your penthouse apartment. Well, when you say “your” apartment, you mean your boyfriends apartment.

You were currently dating Pierre Gasly.

But it wasn’t as good as it may have sounded. And Charles knew this.

“So why did you call, what has happened this time?” He asked , sounding caring and concerned about you

“He’s at it again. He’s fucking at it again” you said, angrily.

You added “he’s out. He’s with another girl…no doubt getting absolutely pissed and fucking her after. He’s with a different girl every few weeks, Charles. The media know it, the other drivers know it. Even you know it. But I’m supposed to act like I don’t know. And somehow act all happy about this?”

“Ah- well….” Charles couldn’t finish fore you interrupted

“Does he talk about the other girls to you?” You asked

“Err yeah…sometimes. But I try not to listen, you know. Well, I think he’s a dickhead for it. You deserve a better guy” Charles responded

Your eyes caught Charles’ in a different way to normal. You both looked away awkwardly as you filled in the small awkward silence.

Charles then said “if I had a girl like you, I wouldn’t be sleeping around like Gasly is. Mate, he must be crazy”

Your eyes caught Charles’ once more. This time you stayed locked in on each other.

You both leant forwards and your lips touched.

You gently kissed Charles , amazed at how good he tasted, you felt his tongue slowly creep out of his mouth and into yours when you suddenly pulled away

“No. We can’t, Charles. He’ll be back in a minute and imagine what he would say” you spoke

Charles responded quickly and confidently while pulling you back to him. “To be honest…I couldn’t give a fuck”

He pulled you onto his lap and you kissed again. But this time, it was harder, it was more passionate. Your tongues sliding against each other. Spit dripping between each of your mouths.

You lifted your legs and straddled over Charles lap, both legs each side of him. You brushed your fingers over his jawline as your tongues locked in with each other

“Mhm….oh” Charles let out some deep groans as you kissed. His hands had made it to your ass, and had placed a firm grip on it.

Next, you ripped his shirt apart. The anticipation of seeing (and feeling) what was under that shirt got the best of you.

You heard his buttons fly across the room as you ripped it off him. He didn’t care tho. His hands only found their way into your pants , and his fingers began rubbing your already wet clit.

You pulled his shirt aside and instantly placed your hands on his hard, wide chest. Your fingers took in the feeling of this incredible man. You leant down , licked all down his neck, before arrived at his abs, where you taster and sucked on them for what seemed like only a few seconds.

Charles’ fingers left your pants and you heard him spit onto his fingers. The next minute, he has his hand back down in your pants, but now two of his fingers had entered you.

The feeling instantly made you grown. You licked on his neck as he gave you this immense pleasure. His fingers instantly finding your G-Spot as he carved his way inside you.

You salivated on his thick neck

He took his fingers out of you and sucked on them. He savoured the taste of you before kissing you passionately once again.

His hard cock had now slipped out his pants, and slipped inside you.

He held your ass and gently pushed you down on his cock as you rode on top of him

You felt his hard, throbbing cock penetrate you like no man had ever before. He pushed open your tight walls, almost like a battering ram would open an impenetrable door

He cock kept pushing into you. Deeper and deeper….the feeling stronger and stronger. Until he had positioned himself.

He then gripped your ass with his hands and levered you into a position where you could not only ride him, but he could also thrust into you at the same time

He went at a good pace. Not too fast…but not too slow.

He used all the inches he had for every stroke.

You instantly came.

You squirted on his cock and apologised for it at the same time, as you felt it splash out onto him

“Shit …. Errr I’m so-“

You couldn’t finish. He pressed his fingers on your lips and said

“Shhh baby. Don’t apologise, I fucking love it “

You continued to ride Leclerc. You had lost count of the orgasms

You used your hands to smother his hard abs and chest as you connected with each other. You were in heaven.

This is when the door slammed open. Pierre stumbled in, drunk as hell. You turned to look at the door as he stumbled into the living room. You noticed he had love bites all over his neck. His shirt was wide open and ripped , with lipstick marks all over it.

You stared at Pierre while you continued to take Charles’ cock.

“Go to bed Pierre. I know you’ve been fucking cheating on me. And you know what. I don’t fucking care anymore. “

“Mhm…” you groaned as Charles continued to plough his way inside you, this time he felt like he was getting harder with his thrusts. Almost as if he was showing Pierre how to fuck you good

“Charles what the fuck man?” Pierre shouted across the room

“What do you want Pierre?” Charles asked as he continued to fuck you.

“You clearly don’t want your girl do you?” He added. “So that’s why I’m fucking her. Maybe you could learn a thing or two ….”

Pierre stood and watched as Charles flipped you onto your back on the sofa. He rolled on top of you , gently spreading your legs, before pushing his way inside you again.

He went hard. He was sending Pierre a message. He groaned deeply in pleasure as he stretched out your tight walls. He bent your legs up as he managed to get deeper inside you.

You had lost count of your orgasms by now. They felt constant. Every thrust was unbelievable.

You placed your hands on Charles’ sweaty, muscular back as he pounded you. You tan your fingers down all the little indentations as his back muscles flexed and worked while he fucked your body.

You felt his body getting sweatier and sweatier as he did it.

Pierre continued to watch over you as Charles took you harder.

“Oh baby, I’m getting close” Charles groaned

“Charles don’t you fucking dare. You fucking crazy dick head !” Pierre shouted.

He was fuming as he screamed across the room. He stumbled towards you both, looking like he was about to hit Charles. But he was so drunk, he found it so hard to step in the right direction, and was tripping up all over the place.

“Where do you want it?” Charles asked over the noise of Pierre stumbling around, as he kissed you gently, while continuing to thrust into you

“In me” you responded.

You saw charles’ eyes light up.

He thrust faster and harder into you. You felt his cock hardening as he did so

“Mhm I’m gonna cum” Leclerc moaned. His tongue lipped his lips as he said it

You now felt like you had the hardest object in the world inside you. His dick hardened to an extreme level, before he released his thick, white, warm load inside you.

You felt it splash up against your tight walls. His warm milk filled you up completely.

By the time Charles had dumped his full load inside you, pierre was getting closer.

Charles slipped his cock slowly out of you , and took a step back to admire the sight of his cream pie.

His thick, white milk slowly leaked out of you and onto your thighs

By this point, Pierre had seen the cum of his best friend leaking out of you.

Charles approached Pierre on his way out. He didn’t take his shirt, he only put on his shorts again.

He tapped Pierre on the shoulder as he walked out. “Maybe you can help your girlfriend clean up after me, because I made a mess….”

Charles slowly left the apartment, blowing a kiss to you as he did.

You lay there giggling at the sight of Pierre looking so angry, still feeling Charles’ cum dripping out of you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna get that dickhead back for this….”

Pierre said while getting his phone out, almost as though he knew exactly who he was about to call…..

To be continued

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #pierre gasly #pierre gasly smut #carlos sainz #carlos sainz smut #lando norris #lando norris smut #george russell #formula one #charles leclerc imagine #pierre gasly imagine

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yanderenightmare · 2 years ago

Text

NSFW ABC's

Bakugou Katsuki x darling

TW: NSFW, yandere, bondage

part S, T & U

Secrets

impure thoughts/feeling/fantasies they have of you

He has many impure thoughts about you, but he’s all very shameless about expressing those. Ever the honest man, he’ll talk dirty like it’s nobody's business – whispering ever the salacious raunchiest desire right at your ear with a sharp smirk playing on his lips, so sharp you get snagged on it each and every time.

But, there are things he’ll keep to himself – certain stirrings in his stomach that confuse him. When your voice slips into that oh-so seductively sultry tone with your hand filtering through the spikes of hair atop his head, looking down at him with eyes full of love and this other something he’s not sure why makes him so quiet.

His heart goes absolutely feral with fluttering pounding then – even though he knows you’re just being silly – even though he knows you’re just out to pull his leg… He can’t help the chills of goosebumps that spread throughout him when you level him and say something along the lines of good boy~

You fluster him with that, and it’s all too clear with how he blushes bright red and adopts that sheepish look that’s so unlike him – and in the way his voice wavers when he tries and tells you to stop it with that shit.

Toys

do they have? which? when/how do they use them? on who?

One of the drawers in the bedroom is dedicated to Katsuki’s little collection.

Fluffy cuffs, silken ropes, chains, and tape – all meant to restrain you, as well as other complicated confinements such as spreader bars and armbinders and the like – along with other subjugating toys like leashes, collars, blindfolds, and gag balls – all heavy-duty hardcore means of bondage.

You couldn’t stop blushing the first time he introduced you to the kink – eyes wide and face heated – it actually robbed you of breath. Sure, you’d seen it in porn and felt sticky feelings of pleasure upon what you saw, but you’d never truly imagined it for yourself, at least not to the extent Katsuki was offering.

But he was asking so nicely – in such a sweet way you hadn't ever witnessed him do before – softly reassuring you that you could trust him and that he wouldn’t do anything without making sure you were comfortable with it first.

You couldn’t very well tell him no when you hadn’t even tried it first.

You don’t know what about it he enjoys so much – if it’s the fact that you’re completely pressed beneath his thumb or that you trust him enough to let yourself be – all you know for sure is that Katsuki has a smile on his face every time you have your body in a bind.

Sometimes you giggle and put the cuffs on him – and he’ll do a little muscle dance for you to keep you smiling, looking at you with that very deep red and playful look, watching you try and tease him with feather-light touches and chaste little pecks – waiting for him to snap, break free and punish you hard for being a little brat.

Underwear

on/off? normal/lingerie? naked? colors?

Of course, you make him groan when you wear those spicy intricacies of red lace and mesh – those fiery and flowery patterns of expense that leave little to the imagination and are better left off on the floor after he rips them off you.

But on the other hand – he thinks he finds you sexiest when you’re wearing comfy cotton boxers and no bra but hissignature black T-shirt with the skull print.

When you look like the very epitome of at home.

There’s just something about seeing you in comfy clothing – be it pajamas or his silly merch, or one of his shirts that just dwarfs you – it’s nice seeing you so natural around him. Clean of all makeup with a pair of fuzzy socks on your feet – looking goofy and cute as you shuffle over to him.

And there’s something very soothing about it, too, in how it feels so trivial and personal and right – reserved only for him, as though something you’re only comfortable with him seeing.

tip-jar: Kofi

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silverofthunder · 8 months ago

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— (show) how you love me —

Papa Emeritus I (Primo) x GN Reader || 🔞

!! mention of past abusive relationship(s) !!

summary: Bit by bit you had started to see and feel the beauty of loving someone and being loved in return.

content: 950 words, smut, romance, hurt/comfort (kind of), NSFW

I tried something different with this fic and I think this turned out really good. I absolutely loved writing this! And well, it seems like smut has corrupted my mind, haha. I don’t usually write much smut but I guess Ghost fandom has done its job and here I am. 🙈

You were tangled in bed, Primo's lips gracing against your neck, leaving soft kisses along your heated, sweaty skin as he slowly thrusted into you. Your hands were spread to the sides, fists grabbing the sheets as your mind and body took the pleasure Primo was offering.

Your eyes were fluttering shut as Primo hit the right spot within you and your back arched, the sweet tingle of release starting to build up as he hit it repeatedly, with a skill that you still were amazed by. More often your sex wasn't hurried – it could be and had been – and it was something you hadn’t used to with previous partners.

But you loved it with Primo – how you took the time exploring each other's bodies, every mound and valley, memorizing every detail and storing them like they were most precious things in your life. And they were, in a way.

You loved to come apart bit by bit, the slow pace making everything sweeter, though it also had that part where you felt like hanging on the line between not enough and just enough. Primo's hot breath ghosted over your skin as he spoke softly inbetween kisses, praising you and sharing how you made him feel.

His hand traveled down your body, finally giving attention to the place you most wanted it. Your breath hitched and you let out a pleased hum as he started working on your lower body while keeping the steady pace of his thrusts. His other hand cupped your cheek and he captured your lips in a kiss.

Your hands left the sheets, wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer and his attempted chuckle vibrated against your mouth. You knew you could be a little eager sometimes but Primo never thought it to be a bad thing – he loved when you showed how much you wanted him.

As you parted in need if air, your gazes met and you smiled at Primo, pleasure drunk with swollen lips. His eyes held so much emotion that your hazy mind couldn't even register all of those but you still felt it everywhere within you. Tears started itching your eyes as Primo finally sped up his pace a little.

Your nails dug into the skin of Primo's neck, gasps and moans escaping from your lips with every movement. You were getting close to release, the tingle within you growing, and you wanted to chase that. But you knew you didn't need to. Primo's lips pressed a light, breathy kiss right below your ear and the he spoke with a hoarse voice that made you shiver.

"Let go, mi amore."

And it was all you needed to come undone. The release shook you so sweetly – it felt like the most warm embrace that was meant for you and you only. Lines of vulnerability and safety got blurred, a few tears falling free as your mind got clouded by the extasy.

Primo finished soon after, burying his head into the crook of your neck, breathing hotly against your skin. You waited until you regained some ground again, breaths finally evening out. Primo moved to lay beside you and you settled your head on his chest straight away, ignoring the stickiness between your legs.

You focused on the sound of Primo's heartbeat, moved your hand onto his chest, running your fingers though the hairs covering it. Primo pressed a kiss of top of your head, wrapping his other hand around you and you sighed contently.

Silence filled the room and you drew some patterns onto Primo's chest with your fingers, a happy smile gracing your lips. The sex itself was beyond great but it was these moments afterwards that you valued more – when you could just lay there in a bliss-like stage, free your mind of everything and just be.

You had known the ugliness of falling in love with the wrong person, experienced something no one should ever have to go through. Yet Primo had showed you that falling in love could also be a beautiful thing, something that gave you energy instead of just taking and consuming it. Your soul wasn't drained anymore, the life was flowing within you like water of a fresh stream among the forest.

You weren't a play thing anymore – this time you didn't have to fear that you would get thrown out when the other would get bored or when you would be taken against your will. There was no more pain of any kind, only gentle and loving touches and soft spoken words.

You might be a little bend and broken on the inside but Primo had showed you that despite all the flaws you were worth loving. And bit by bit you had started to see and feel the beauty of loving someone and being loved in return. The demons of your past would always be there with you but with Primo by your side, you could fight against them and keep them as far as possible.

And while you might have not fully believed in the existence of soulmates, that was the closest thing to how you could describe the bond you shared with Primo. It had become a solid force that you knew wouldn't break easily. It wasn't perfect by any means, it got little cracks every now and then but you wouldn't have had it any other way.

For the first time in years you could say that you were truly happy, your world now full of colors instead of the dull gray shade it had been before. The chained bird within you had been finally able to break out from the cage, spread its wings and fly to the freedom.

#primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #jen writes fics

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sunnyrealist · 4 months ago

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Chapter 48: Be Vulnerable with Me

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Sebastian and Kate have decided to move in and officially begin their life together. He checked out of the inn where he had been staying for the final time and packed his belongings into a trunk. In this chapter, the two of them unpack, and Sebastian tells Kate all about his family as they view old portraits.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x 24-year-old Kate Mayflower (my OC), the assistant librarian at Hogwarts

Content warnings: In general, this is rated 18+, so minors should not read or interact with this story. This chapter doesn't have any smut, but there is a discussion about using an excessive amount of potions to sleep/escape trauma and recounting memories of lost loved ones.

Art credits: @hogwartslegacypics provided the screenshot in the background, and @giselsann-opencommissions perfectly depicted these mischievous little munchkins. Giselle is an absolute pleasure to work with and has provided all of the drawings for the story. I cannot recommend her enough if you're looking to commission some art!

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback if possible, especially if you like what you read! 🥰

Chapter 48: Be Vulnerable with Me

It’s well past lunch time, and Kate hurriedly puts together a lunch of roast turkey sandwiches with crunchy carrots and cucumbers on the side. At the table, Sebastian absolutely wolfs it all down, and she has to put together an additional serving for him.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go to Feldcroft, yes?” Kate asks. “We’ll visit the cemetery, and perhaps you can show me where you lived.”

A sensation of panic erupts inside of him. “I don’t think we should actually go into Feldcroft. I… I’m not sure that the villagers will be friendly to me. Surely, they all know what happened to my uncle.” He imagines apparating there, watching anxiously as Feldcroft’s inhabitants begin to whisper to each other warily, close their doors quickly, perhaps even summon a local Auror out of fear. His heart couldn’t take it. “We should just visit the cemetery. It’s far enough outside of town that we shouldn’t encounter others. I don’t want to… cause a commotion or involve you in a difficult situation.”

Kate studies him and accepts his suggestion. “I guess we’ll avoid the Floo network and apparate, then.”

The next few minutes pass in comfortable silence as they finish their meals.

“Let me take care of the clean-up,” Sebastian offers, standing and gathering the plates.

“Thanks, dear. In that case, I’ll just be outside with the laundry.”

When Kate eventually returns, she finds Sebastian on the loveseat, engrossed in one of the books she had nicked for him from the Hogwarts library. Flicking her wrist to magically turn on the gramophone, she and Sebastian both smile as soft music begins to play. She continues on her way to the bedroom to fold the clothes and put them all away.

“I’ll help you in a little while. I just want to finish this chapter,” he calls out.

Several minutes later, Sebastian enters the room and finds Kate a bit flustered. It was simple to put her laundry away, but she doesn’t know where to put any of his garments. Together, they conduct a magical extension charm to construct a closet, and Kate transfigures two wooden bowls into doors. He comes to a happy realization - this spell isn’t one that can be taken back, and she hadn’t had any second thoughts about creating the space for him.

Sebastian levitates his trunk into the bedroom, and little by little, everything gets placed in his brand-new closet. Some of his clothing has seen significant wear and tear, and Kate makes a mental note to try to mend some of the items when he is at work next week.

Though he had previously warned Kate that he didn’t have much, she is still surprised to see that it was not necessary for Sebastian to magically extend it. The bulk of its contents were clothing; the rest, now, are miscellaneous items like his broom, razor, toiletries, a case filled with various potions, several dragonhide-bound journals, a quill and ink pot, and some old photographs, which Kate requests to view later.

In the bathroom, Kate organizes the potions, adding them to her own store, organized by type. Some are new additions to her potions cabinet: his contraceptive potion, an invigoration draught, and a few antidotes for poisons and ailments. Kate is familiar with but has never seen such a large quantity of Wiggenweld potions, sleeping draughts, and Dreamless Sleep potions. She eyes them curiously as Sebastian enters the room.

He immediately stiffens upon noticing what is left in his potions case and tries to distract her. “What shall we do for dinner tonight?”

“I’ll decide later,” she answers quickly, then studies his face as she asks, “Sebastian… do you typically not sleep well?”

The chestnut-haired man hesitates, not wanting to admit the truth - that he uses the potions as a crutch to avoid being plagued by insomnia, nightmares, and the phantoms of his past. “Well…”

“We’ve been sleeping together for almost a full week now, and I’ve never noticed you having any difficulties, so why do you have all of these draughts?” His eyes dart around, avoiding her gaze. “Seb… I need to know these things. We’re going to live together now. Someday, we’ll be married.” She takes his hand. “Please tell me. It’s alright. You can be vulnerable with me.”

Sebastian sighs in resignation. “You’re right... I should be honest with you. It’s just… difficult to talk about.” He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I struggle to sleep. I have frequent nightmares and night terrors. When I’m alone with my thoughts and can’t fall asleep, I can’t help but relive the past - all of my mistakes, what I experienced in Azkaban, what I’ve had to do for the Kelpies… It’s so hard to manage it all. The draughts are my way of… well, avoiding further misery. I… In truth, I- I rely on them heavily.”

Nodding solemnly, she considers her words carefully. “Anyone in your place might struggle, love. You and I… together, we are going to get you some help from a Mind Healer. Using sleeping potions so often isn’t…” She trails off, unsure of how to say what she means without offending him.

“I know it isn’t healthy,” he admits quietly. “But other than sleeping with you lately, nothing else works. At least my sleep is undisturbed when I take them. I have to be able to function during the day…” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly distressed and starting to panic. His voice becomes shaky, his words spilling out quickly. “Look, K- Kate… I- I understand if you think it’s t- too much to deal with. You don’t have to stay with me - you don’t-”

“Seb, sweetheart - no.” Kate brings his hand to her chest, slipping it under her blouse and placing it over her heart. “Do you feel that - my heartbeat?”

He nods shakily as his fingers tremble. He closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and the warmth of her skin.

Kate gazes into his eyes, speaking calmly and seriously. “My heart beats… for you, Sebastian. I’m here to stay. It’s not too much for me, I promise. We will get help for you. I just need you to be open to the help.”

Sebastian’s shoulders slowly start to relax, but his hand remains over her heart. “I’ll try,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll t- try to be open to help. For you. For us. I don’t want to keep living like this. I… really do want to get better.”

She reaches up to caress his cheek.

There is a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Being with you… already makes me feel safer, more at peace than I’ve felt in the past decade.” He inhales and exhales slowly as a calming mechanism. “I- I’ll do whatever it takes to get better.”

“I believe you. Just remember, I’m not going anywhere. You can tell me anything.”

The two of them return to the bedroom and finally move the trunk, still containing various miscellaneous items, inside the closet.

“Now, can you show me those pictures?” Kate asks eagerly, grinning. She settles herself on the bed, sitting up and clutching a pillow against her abdomen.

“Sure,” he replies, opening the trunk once more to fish out the photographs. He holds them close to his chest, as though they are precious and fragile. Before revealing them to her, he explains, “When I got out of Azkaban, I accessed my parents’ old vault in Gringotts. There wasn’t much there - certainly no money or valuables. Just a few mementos that Solomon couldn’t sell. I found these portraits and some journals that had my parents’ research.” He lays the pictures on the bed upside down, and then goes back into the trunk to retrieve some of the books, also placing them on the bed.

“What exactly did they research?”

Sebastian smiles, exhaling through his nose as he sits down next to his girlfriend. “Just about everything. They were experts in their fields. My da taught Magical Theory at Hogwarts, and my mum taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. They both researched heavily - especially during summers. Before they died, my mum was studying…” He grabs one of the blue notebooks, opening it and flipping through the pages. “Well, her work is quite varied. Healing Muggle children from werewolf attacks, non-traditional teaching methods for nonverbal offensive and defensive spells, and… erm… the Unforgivable curses.” He pauses, clearing his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs.

“So… your mum was also interested in the Dark Arts,” Kate notes.

“It was her job,” Sebastian quickly responds. “She had to know all about them. She… She and my da… they didn’t look at Dark magic as completely bad… just as regular magic is not always completely good.”

Kate nods, feeling as though she’s put him on defense. She tries to make up for it. “I suppose that is true.”

“My da traveled often for his research. He actually… believe it or not, studied reincarnation at one point in India. In fact…” Sebastian’s eyes narrow. “I should read his journals again, now that we know about our past lives. Perhaps I could pick up his research where he left off…” He trails off, looking thoughtful and determined, before continuing on. “My mum and da teamed up at times, too. They focused a lot on defensive magical theory and trying to find an engaging way to teach it to students. They also spent a good deal of effort… researching love as a form of magic in its purest form.” He smiles. “You know… they were… honestly, madly in love.”

Sebastian reaches over to the photographs and flips the first one over. Kate grins, her eyes scanning over every little detail. It’s clearly a portrait of his parents on their wedding day. Sebastian is the spitting image of his mother, who appears to have lots of freckles and soft curls. Her wedding gown is fashionable for the era; she wears a veil and carries a simple bouquet of roses and baby’s breath. His father has dark hair with a mustache and beard, and he holds and gazes at his wife in complete adoration. They look so cheerful.

“I remember how they would read together at night, holding hands,” Sebastian murmurs. “They’d whisper sweet words to each other, and much to my dismay as a young lad, they would kiss often. They supported each other fervently, and they loved working together. Our house in Aranshire was filled with books, and the cellar was their official workspace. Anne and I were told that if they were in the cellar, they were not to be disturbed unless there was an emergency.”

Kate reaches out to touch Sebastian’s hand. “That’s so sweet. How did they meet?”

“At Hogwarts,” Sebastian answers with a grin. “They were academic rivals. My mum was in Ravenclaw, and my da was in Slytherin. They had classes together over the years, and they were always competing for top marks. Supposedly, it all changed when they were assigned to work on a yearlong project in Potions class their seventh year, and they realized how similar they actually were and became friends… and then, it turned into love. When they graduated, they got married straight away. Anne and I didn’t come along until quite some time later.”

“Do you think their Potions professor put them together as partners on purpose?” Kate giggles. “I feel like I would do something like that if I was a teacher… just to see what happens. The drama. But I can’t imagine Professor Sharp, for example, ever doing such a thing…”

Sebastian laughs at the thought. “No way would Sharp do that.”

“What was your mum’s name?” Kate asks.

“She was Selina Ware,” he replies. “She had a brother, but he died in his twenties in a work accident, so I never met him. The entire Ware family line - they all passed away before I was born. That’s why Anne and I were forced to live with Solomon, my da’s brother.” He looks into the distance, stony-faced.

“Hey. Let’s focus on the good.” Kate squeezes his hand. “Leave your uncle out of it. Don’t let the bastard weasel into your happy memories. I’ve heard enough about him to know I would have hated him.”

Sebastian laughs out loud, surprised by her reaction, and he leans over to kiss her cheek. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

The next picture is one of Anne and Sebastian as young children, likely around seven years old. Kate grins in delight as she sees their coordinated sailor-type outfits. Both of them look incredibly mischievous - Anne more so than her brother. She has a cheeky smile on her face and a slingshot in hand. Sebastian carries a book - no surprise there.

“Oh gods, you were adorable!” Kate coos. “Look - you were missing a tooth! And your hair was so curly…”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, my mum could never get my hair to behave. It was always out of control. Honestly, my hair’s always been like that. Now, I just keep it shorter, and it seems to be more manageable that way.”

Kate looks even closer at the photograph, examining the setting. “Where was this taken?”

“In front of our house in Aranshire,” Sebastian answers.

“Seb… If our children are even half as cute as you were, I’ll never be able to say no to them,” Kate murmurs. “And Anne - what a beauty! And how interesting - her hair doesn’t look curly at all…”

“She took after our da,” Sebastian explains. “My mum never had a problem putting her hair into braids or other styles. It was always my hair that was the issue.”

“Did they put you and Anne in matching outfits all the time?”

“No. They wanted us to have our own identities outside of being twins,” he says fondly. “We only matched when we were really young, when there was an occasion for it, like posing for a photograph.”

When they view the final portrait, Sebastian puts his arm around Kate. This is a family portrait, and Mr. and Mrs. Sallow appear to be more than a decade older than in their wedding photo. His mum wears her hair pulled back with a hat, and her outfit consists of a jacket, white blouse, and a matching skirt. Sebastian’s father wears a formal suit with many pieces. They stand behind the twins with their hands on their shoulders. Sebastian is wearing a collared shirt with a bow tie, suspenders, and breeches with tall stockings. He is grinning from ear to ear, showing all of his teeth. Anne is wearing a floral dress that flows just past her knees with a bow in her hair.

“How old were you here?” Kate queries, her focus fixed on all of the little details.

“Around ten years old. I remember this was taken shortly before they passed,” Sebastian recounts. “I remember that our parents were so excited for us to get our Hogwarts letters. It was practically all Anne and I ever wanted to discuss. They knew we were going to do so well in school.” His eyes soften. “Since they were professors, they were aware of the curriculum and had us read some of our textbooks in advance so that we could get as much out of our education as possible. I devoured those books - so did Anne. In fact, we sometimes fought over the textbooks. We also knew our way around Hogwarts because our parents would bring us there once in a while during summer.”

After some time, Kate murmurs, “What a tragedy that such brilliant minds could be snuffed out by a gas leak from a lamp.”

“Yes,” he replies softly. “A silent killer. I… I wish there was something I could have done, but it was too late when Anne and I found them. If… If I had been close by, I might have heard it go silent…” He stops talking for a while, attempting to put aside his typical, go-to negative and unproductive thoughts. Focus on the good. “I… I guess for me, it’s a reminder that nothing is promised. We have to treasure all of the time we are given with our loved ones. And, Merlin, we spent so many happy years together in Aranshire. I miss them so much. All of them.”

Kate pulls Sebastian close, kissing his hair.

A sense of warmth and contentment fills Sebastian’s soul as she continues to study the photographs in depth. It’s been a long time since he allowed himself to really reminisce about family - at least, the positive aspects of his childhood. Seeing Kate so engaged and wanting to learn as much as she can about his mum, da, and Anne, a newfound appreciation grows within him. He relishes the moment, nuzzling into her chest as they bask in the comfort of each other’s presence. There is a profound tranquility in their connection - a sense of being understood and accepted completely. He knows their road ahead may not be easy, but he is more sure than ever before that they can overcome anything as long as they stand together.

“Do you… think they would have liked me?” Kate wonders quietly. “Or might they have envisioned someone very different for you?”

Sebastian considers her question for a moment and shifts, sitting up. “They would have loved you, Kate. You embody so many of the qualities my family valued deeply - intelligence, loyalty, an open mind… And your ability to see the best in me is… well, something truly special. They would have recognized your kindness and the way you uplift me. So… yes, I genuinely believe they would have approved of you wholeheartedly.”

Kate doesn’t respond right away, feeling a bit emotional. “I wish I could have known them.”

“I know,” he replies. “I wish you could have known them, too. They would have adored your joyful spirit and your warmth. But maybe… Maybe, in a way, they know you now. Every time we share memories and make new ones, perhaps they are with us.”

A tear slips out of Kate’s eye, despite her attempt to blink it away. “That’s… the best way to think of them, Seb. I’m sure you are right.” She finally places the portraits on the bed beside her. “We should frame these. They should be displayed in our home.”

“You’re right,” he murmurs. “They should be cherished, not locked away in my trunk.”

Kate’s eyes light up with an idea. “Let me pick out frames next week.” She looks into the depths of his eyes. “I know I will never really meet them, but it’s important to me that your family has a place here, too.”

Sebastian’s eyes are locked on her, a mixture of awe and gratitude in his expression. “Thank you, Kate. I… can’t fully put it into words, but it means the world to me that you care so deeply about honoring my family’s memory.” He places a soft kiss on her forehead.

“And we can add our own portraits someday,” she adds. “Did you know that a photographer just opened a shop in Hogsmeade?”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” he replies, his interest piqued. “Did you… have something in mind?”

Kate blushes a little. “I mean… I guess I thought it might be nice for us to pose for a portrait together.” She looks a little pensive - dreamy, even. “I might like to keep a picture of you in a locket, if I may be so bold.”

Sebastian reaches out to tuck some hair behind her ear, his touch gentle and his smile genuine. “The thought of you keeping a photo of me in a locket… is incredibly endearing, my sun. I dare say I may like to keep a picture of you on me as well.”

“I’d like you to be near my heart always, so that I can feel your presence… especially when you’re on these dangerous missions,” she explains, lifting her hand to his cheek. “You have no idea how much I am going to worry about you.”

“Trust me, I know your worry is genuine,” he acknowledges plainly. “And I can’t promise you that I’ll be completely safe - not with the nature of my work. But I will always do my best to come back to you in one piece. Carrying your image with me will be a constant, heartening reminder of what I’m fighting for.”

“I just wish your work was not so dangerous. I wish… you had a choice.” She looks down for a moment, her eyelashes fluttering, before glancing back up at him again. “Sweetheart… we need to get you out of there.”

“I know, but it just isn’t that simple,” he replies, threading his fingers in hers. “The DMLE isn’t exactly keen on letting me walk away. I have a contract to honor, and they have leverage over me… because of my past.”

Kate nods solemnly. “But then… What can we do? How can we end this contract? There must be a way out that doesn’t involve you going back to Azkaban.”

“There are some possibilities,” he says quietly. “But none of them are pleasant. I don’t want to worry you any more than you already are. Just know… I’m exploring every avenue to earn my freedom.”

Staring at nothing in particular, she is silent for several moments. “I trust you, Bash. I know you’ll figure out a solution. The Kelpies must be brought to justice, and I am confident you’ll be the one to do it. You’re… cunning, resourceful, and determined - and I love you for it. You’ll succeed - I just know it.”

“I won’t lie to you, darling. It’s going to be a tough fight. But knowing of your unwavering support and faith in me gives me strength. I won’t give up. Our future together is too important.”

“Is there anything I could do?” she genuinely inquires.

Sebastian’s heart swells with gratitude at her offer, but his countenance turns serious as he considers her question. “It’s important to me that you stay safe, first and foremost. Really, the most helpful thing you could do, Kate, is simply be here for me, provide a safe haven where I can feel comfort and solace. That alone means more to me than you can fathom.”

“Right,” she responds, looking aside and biting her lip. “I can do that. I just wish I could do more. I would do anything to help you, Seb. Truly.”

Sebastian gently takes hold of her chin, turning her face towards him once more. He leans in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Darling, you do more for me than you realize. You give me strength and resolve and hope. And I know you would do anything for me… That’s why I have to protect you.”

Kate leans in and kisses him again, lingering. “I want to protect you, too. You’re everything to me, my moon. It just isn’t fair - I wish I could free-”

She suddenly sits up, hearing a loud tapping coming from the kitchen. “Oh - it must be an owl with a letter.”

Sebastian lets out a small sigh, carefully untangling himself from her embrace. “Stay here, love. I’ll go check it out.”

He makes his way to the kitchen, where, indeed, an owl is perched just outside the window, hooting. After opening the window, he unties the letter from its foot and watches it fly away. The envelope is addressed to Kate. When he flips it over, a flicker of recognition comes across his face as he notices the seal of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow x oc #post azkaban sebastian #hufflepuff x slytherin #aged up sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy oc #hl oc #hl sebastian #hogwarts legacy romance #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy original character

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rabbitcruiser · 21 days ago

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National Greasy Foods Day

Deliciously satisfying bites with a hint of indulgence, these comfort eats are a guilty pleasure that never fails to hit the spot.

”Greasy food might not be good for your body, but it does wonders for the soul. A healthy diet may prolong your life, but what would you have to live for? What is the point of living to a hundred if you have to subsist on bland food? One may as well die of boredom.” ~ Jessica Zafra

The world is full of a veritable cavalcade of delicious foods, and the vast majority of them are filled to the brim with fats and grease! While those who are on a crusade for better health often find themselves avoiding these amazing foods in favor of a thinner waistline, Greasy Food Day encourages us to take a day off from that diet and remember the good things in life.

Otherwise, as Ms. Zafra says, what else are we living for?

On this day, it’s time to celebrate living for Greasy Food!

History of Greasy Food Day

These types of food certainly get a lot of hate from health fanatics, those delicious meals that make everyone’s mouths and souls sing out loud with joy. Granted, this day definitely wasn’t started by a doctor or nutritionist who was on a health food kick.

Whether talking about the rich stretchy cheese that graces the tops of people’s favorite pizza dishes, or the flavorful and delicious sub sandwiches that are shiny with grease as they are unwrapped, greasy foods can truly be said to be one of the greatest things in life. (That is, at least, while they are being eaten. For some people, that doesn’t necessarily hold true afterward when their stomachs are all tied up in knots.)

Now it is true that greasy food should be consumed in moderation, but sometimes moderation is a thing for the other 364 days out of a full year.

Greasy Food Day encourages everyone on earth to indulge in their favorite things and remember what it was like to truly be able to enjoy anything without consequence.

What’s your favorite greasy food? Juicy hamburgers? Hot dogs bursting with flavor? Sausage Rolls? Maybe some Canadian will enjoy the overwhelmingly flavorful and greasy dish that is poutine?

Whatever the chosen poison, Greasy Food Day is the perfect excuse to dive in and enjoy it like there’s no tomorrow. Get ready to celebrate with Greasy Food!

How to Celebrate Greasy Food Day

Enjoy a Greasy Food Meal

Go out to that special dive restaurant and order your favorite greasy dishes, and don’t forget to bring some napkins! Sometimes nicknamed a “Greasy Spoon” these restaurants are all about cooking with the tastiest of fats. Almost everything is deep-fried in oil until deliciously crisp, and often dripping with grease.

Whether french fries, onion rings or a greasy slice of pizza, this day is all about enjoying the drip. So pop into that restaurant and order up all the things that would normally be on the list of “no-nos”.

Enjoy the Greasiest American Foods

This day is all about paying heed to greasy foods. But even among them, some are greasier than others. Try out these ideas for how to bag the absolutely greasiest foods that American Culture has to offer:

Philly Cheesesteak. Cooked properly, this sandwich will require not only a pile of napkins but also perhaps a bib in order to eat it without getting extremely messy. Beef steak, chopped and cooked over a grill is made even greasier with the addition of cheese and onions.

Buffalo Wings. Named after the city in New York in which they began, these chicken wings are dipped in batter and deep fried before being coated in a buttery hot sauce. Finish it off with a dip in some blue cheese or ranch dressing.

Cheese Curds. How to take cheese and make it fattier? Deep fry it! A Wisconsin favorite (perhaps due to its dairy production) these little balls of cheese are dipped in batter and then, of course, deep fried to perfection. For an Italian twist on this northern favorite, try fried Mozzarella sticks.

Watch One (or Both) of the Grease Films

In keeping with the theme of the day, while downing those greasy foods, why not take in the guilty pleasure of watching one of these Grease themed films?

Grease (1978). This American musical romantic comedy film starring John Travolta and Olivia Newton John is what drove the careers of these two to the top. Based on the 1971 stage musical of the same name, this story of two young high schoolers who fell in love has been a hit for generations.

Grease 2 (1982). Quite a bit less popular than the first (possibly due to the absence of Newton-John and Travolta), this followup film didn’t score well at the box office. It was okay for Michelle Pfeiffer, however, and her career moved forward because of this.

Make Some Greasy Food at Home

Is your favorite greasy food a family recipe? Alright then! It’s time to get the family together and celebrate Greasy Food Day with a rich dish that is steeped in tradition. And be sure to pass that on to the kids so they can continue the celebration once you’re gone. Rich greasy food is often a comfort food for many people, so don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t deserve a bit of comfort. In fact, get as comfortable as you like on Greasy Food Day!

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dyns33 · 2 years ago

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Unknown love

Another Lord Byron x Reader. I had two versions of this story, I don’t know yet if I’ll post the second one.

Lord Byron could have said no to his dear aunt.

He would often say no to his dear aunt when she asked him nonsense or boring things, mocking her only to be better forgiven with smiles and poems a few days later.

So when she told him about marriage, he laughed. He had scoffed.

But unfortunately, he also had to listen to her carefully when she explained to him that the family's finances were in a terrible state. They were spending way too much to keep up appearances and pay for the upkeep of the mansions, and soon they would be broke, up to their necks in debt, and unable to go on living as they wanted.

It was not suitable for a family like theirs.

Lord Byron did not care what other people thought, but he loved his daily life, he loved his comfort, his freedom, and even if his writings brought him a little money, the parties and other pleasures he offered himself made everything disappear even faster than it had happened.

A good arranged marriage was therefore the ideal solution.

He was very clear with his aunt. She might find a rich heiress, but in exchange he insisted that his loving future wife would not prevent him from continuing to follow his habits.

In short, he would offer his title and a mansion to the young girl, who could live on the estate, in another building, as a Lady, and he would stay in his house, as if he were absolutely unmarried.

His aunt thought that was a wonderful idea, since he could be extremely unpleasant when he wanted to.

After several months of searching, she found Y/N Y/L/N.

According to her, the girl was perfect. Pretty, discreet, well brought up and educated. If he ever wanted to talk to her, he wouldn't be bored. He wasn't sure she shared his love of partying and debauchery, but after a quick chat with her father and the young girl, she had seemed smart enough to say that her husband would be free to do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't force her to do things she didn't like.

Lord Byron signed the marriage contract, showed up at the church, read his vows and quickly kissed his new bride before returning to his business. The little time he spent with Y/N was not unpleasant, but he didn't really try to get to know her well.

It had no interest for her, really. A waste of time, and the risk of hearing a lot of criticism about the fact that he was neither a good husband nor a good man. Even if his new wife's opinion didn't matter, it was never pleasant to be insulted. His life therefore continued normally.

There were many times when he had to talk a bit with Y/N, at dinner parties they were invited to, or during important celebrations where she insisted on being by his side.

Again, Lord Byron had nothing against her. She really was as beautiful and intelligent as his aunt had said she was, and he sometimes found it sad that she ended up marrying him, but it was too late to have any regrets.

"I have a favor to ask of you, but I'm afraid you will mock me."

"If you want a new dress, jewelry, or another silly gift, that's fine with me."

"No, none of that." she said shyly, lowering her eyes. "I... I had the pleasure of reading some of your writings and I... I was tempted to write myself. I would like you to read me."

This made him laugh. It was stronger than him, he couldn't help laughing, which seemed to upset his dear wife, who avoided him for the rest of the evening.

He didn't think about it afterwards, too busy preparing his new poems and having fun.

Until a new author appeared in the newspapers, then publishing some works. An anonymous author, whose identity no one knew, except perhaps the publisher who refused to give any information. An author whose writings were prodigious.

Lord Byron fell in love with these writings, and very logically, he considered that he could only love the mind that had produced them, even if he knew nothing about this person.

For months on end, he not only began to write for his unknown love, but he talked about their works to everyone and he harassed the publisher, who always refused to give him a name, even when he offered him many money, kneeling down on front of him.

One evening when he was talking about this with his friends, his wife came back.

"I don't want to disturb you, but I was wondering if you would have some time to read this poem I wrote for you."

"It's adorable my dear, but no. Not because I don't have time, but I'm afraid that nothing can touch me since I discovered the writings of this mysterious author. I'm afraid to be terribly critical of you in an unfair way."

"But maybe you'll like it. Maybe... Maybe I write as well as this author."

This made him laugh again, and this time it made Y/N cry, who went back to her house.

Byron didn't think of it, like the last time.

Except that the day when the new writing of his love was to be published, there was nothing.

Everyone thought there might have been a problem. The author could have had an accident, a family problem. They might have needed more time to finish writing. They might have had no idea, or been unhappy with what they had done.

But the days passed and there was no news. The publisher made no announcement, saying it was awaiting word on whether it could give a release date. Then he announced sadly that there would be no date, because there would be no more publication.

This was terrible news, which plunged Lord Byron into deep torment and endless depression.

Nothing had any flavor or importance anymore. He couldn't write and the few parties he organized didn't amuse him at all.

The truth came out during one of them though, as the drunken publisher that he had invited stared at him, slumped on the couch, too miserable to move.

"You are pathetic."

"Thank you, I know. You are no better yourself. Could you at least tell me why my love no longer writes ? If it is a personal reason, a death, an illness, I could understand. I think I I need to understand, to mourn. I really loved them."

"You don't like her at all, otherwise she wouldn't have stopped writing !" growled the editor, emptying his glass. "She was wonderful, and you ruined everything. I'm sure her poem was perfect, but I didn't have the time to read it, she burned it ! She burned everything ! You can be proud of yourself. Men of your kind shouldn't marry such amazing women, they destroy them."

It may have been the alcohol that made the publisher say absurd things, but Lord Byron then had the terrible doubt that the author was Y/N, his dear wife, and he immediately visited her to find out for sure.

She didn't seem surprised to see him, when he never came. She was really very smart. She immediately guessed the reason for his presence.

"I know that you know, so talk then leave. Or don't talk and leave, please."

"I don't know what to tell you, to be honest. I didn't know... I'm an idiot. I apologize to you, I'm begging you to forgive me. Do you hate me ?"

"If I hate anyone, it's myself. It was obvious that you weren't interested in me and I was stupid to think that would change. I never dreamed of being published, you know ? I don't care what other people think. I wanted... I just wanted your opinion. It made me so happy to hear that you liked my writings. They were for you, only for you. But when you laughed, when you refused to even imagine that I could be a good writer... It hurt me, and I couldn't do that anymore. I decided to keep myself to myself, I will not write anymore."

"No !" he cried, falling in front of her. "I cannot live without your writings, knowing that it is my fault that the world is deprived of such wonders !"

"All good things come to an end. But you're a writer yourself, so you can go on."

"I don't have your talent, clearly not ! And why should good things come to an end ? It's absurd."

"To savour them, and have beautiful memories."

"No. No, I refuse."

"And yet, Lord Byron, so it is. I loved you, I was happy to be your bride, I thought we would understand each other. I was wrong and now it's over. Goodbye."

Despite his tears, pleas and lamentations, Y/N went to her bedroom, leaving him alone on the living room carpet, from where he refused to move for three days. Then, tired and hungry, he finally agreed to go back to his own house, where he stayed in bed, not writing, not reading, and giving no party.

Everyone was very worried. This was not normal, for even when he was desperate or ill, Lord Byron threw at least one party a week.

To learn that his love, his divine love, was his wife, who had loved him, who had written for him, and who had lost the flame because of him, had been a real shock for the poor man.

He didn't think he could be himself again, after such a revelation. Once again, nothing was important anymore, absolutely nothing and he let himself waste away for days.

Then, as he brought her his meal, his butler placed a manuscript on his bed.

"I don't feel like reading." muttered Lord Byron without moving.

"Forgive me. Your wife insisted, but I can..."

"Y/N ?! This is from Y/N ?!"

In an instant, Lord Byron was full of color, springing from his bed to pick up the manuscript and read it by the fireplace, careful not to burn the pages. In addition to the poem she had offered him to read, there were all of Y/N's writings, those she had published, and new ones, which she had never shown to anyone else.

Heart pounding, not caring about the night, the rain, his pyjamas, his bare feet, Lord Byron ran across the land that separated their two houses. Without thinking, he climbed the stairs, opened the door to his wife's bedroom, and sat down by the bed, taking her hands as she slept.

"You have to publish all of this."

"My god, George, what time is it ?" she asked turning her head in her pillow.

"Too soon, or too late, I don't know. What I do know is that I love you, I love your writing and you need to publish it."

"Right now, I have to sleep."

"You don't understand."

"I understand. I completely understand, I wrote all this." Y/N said looking him in the eyes. "Now, Lord Byron, go to sleep."

"I can't ! Not after this. I need more ! The world needs more !"

"Not now. Sleep. I know you can, for me."

Too exhausted to get up and go home, Lord Byron stared at his wife's bed for a long time, where he had never slept. Sighing, Y/N took his hand to help im up, laying him down next to her.

But he still couldn't sleep, watching her. This annoyed her a little, and when she asked him why he still wasn't sleeping, he replied that she really didn't understand.

"Maybe not. What is wonderful for you is normal for me. And vice versa, I guess. Or almost. I cried while reading your writings, but they never prevented me from sleeping. Close your eyes."

This time he obeyed. That night was the start of something new, the couple finally settled under the same roof after a year of marriage, sharing the same bed, and starting to write together.

#Lord Byron #lord byron x reader #lord byron imagine #mary shelley #tom sturridge #no idea how to tag this

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nobodybutapathetic · 2 years ago

Text

You and Draco in a relationship be like:

(This is totally accurate.)

(⚜️‘s:) What he will do to make you feel special:

⚜️ Will spend tons of galleons for your anniversary or even almost everyday.

⚜️ Tons of neck biting.

⚜️ Hair ruffling when he’s bored.

⚜️ Would lay on your lap and you’d lay on his too.

⚜️ Kisses on foreheads, nose, neck, chin and lips 24/7

⚜️ A so called Prince Charming to you

⚜️ Would introduce you to his family a few months later when you two started dating. ⚜️ Would plan what the future would be like when you’re his wife.

(💚’s) Nicknames:

💚 Love

💚 Darling

💚 Sweetheart

💚 Dear

💚 Sunshine

💚 Red

💚 Apple

💚 Mine

💚 Lovely

💚 Princess (🔞’s) What he’d do and what he thinks when in bed:

🔞 Would tease you with his tip

🔞 Mostly ass spanking or groping

🔞 Obsessed on how you moan out his name so loud

🔞 Would go faster than you expected

🔞 Pinning against the wall

🔞 Daddy, good girl, mommy, slut kink

🔞 Neck biting and leaving hickeys

🔞 Secretly loves it when you suck and palm his member

🔞 Loves how you taste

(🖤’s) What’d he do to cheer you up when you’re depressed or in a bad day:

🖤 Would say that he relates to most of the bad things you’ve been to

🖤 Offers tissues all the time

🖤 Would cry before you even started talking

🖤 “Who done this to you!?” “You’ll be fine later. I promise.” 🖤 Kisses you to help comfort you

🖤 Holds your hand to remind you he’s always there for you

🖤 Would remind you he’s the only one who will believe you on any situation especially when people don’t

🖤 Might be overprotective

🖤 Would wipe your tears and later dance with you to relieve your mind

(💛’s) What’d he do to make you happy:

💛 He would give surprise kisses on your neck and hugs

💛 Would smile at you almost every minute

💛 Winks at class

💛 Would buy presents everyday when class ends

💛 Calls you nicknames and tells “I love you” every time

💛 Convinces his parents to let you stay at the manor for you to hangout.

💛 Hanging out at your favorite places

💛 Snogging in the common room, cabinet and mostly his dorm

💛 Cuddling

(❤️‘s) What’d he react when he sees you with other guys:

❤️ Would pretend he’s happy whenever you’re around but would death glare the man who you were with when you leave

❤️ Would insult them and warn them

❤️ “See that hickey on her neck? Yeah, they’re my initials.”

❤️ Would grab your arm and whispers to your ear to leave

❤️ “Who was that man you were just with?”

❤️ His father will hear about them and would do his absolute best to keep them away from you

❤️ He would brag about how much you love him more than how much you love the man

❤️ Would talk through gritted teeth

(⚠️‘s) What’d he react when you two have your first sex:

⚠️ He would literally be surprised on how talented you are

⚠️ Would compliment every time

⚠️ He’d be blushing at first but, he can’t just get enough of you

⚠️ Tries to make it the best day you’ve ever had in your life

⚠️ Would allow safe words to make sure you’re okay on what you two are doing

⚠️ “Are you sure about this? You must verify it first, love.”

⚠️ Kisses you every time when you feel pain

⚠️ Would massage you when you feel extreme pain and pleasure

(💜’s) What’d he do when you feel scared:

💜 Would keep you in his arms for the rest of the day

💜 Secretly is scared too but tries to show you that he’s brave

💜 Would say comforting words in your ears and hums your favorite song

💜 Would try to change your thoughts to other thoughts and memories that are happy

💜 Hugs you tightly and turns the AC on to cover you both in the blanket, making you both warm

💜 “Hey remember that time when…”

💜 “Always remember that I’m here for you, alright?”

(This was like a whole entire essay but, I wouldn’t mind to make it longer if my teacher DID ask a whole essay for this subject.)

#You and Draco in a relationship #draco x y/n #Draco #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco #Essay like

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lightlycareless · 2 years ago

Text

First, it hurts— Chapter XXVI

Naoya Zen’in x Fem!Reader

While arranged marriages are not uncommon in the jujutsu community, it was strange to receive a proposal from none other than the Zen’in’s, nonetheless your clan accepted and before you knew it, you were married off to Naoya.

Your new purpose was clear: to serve and submit, to be seen and not heard. To forget any sense of individuality in favor of obeying your husband.

Will this marriage ever flourish into something else? Will it change…for better or for worse?

Chapter warnings: the overwhelming sensation of despair, slight mentions of abuse, allot of secrecy between relatives, confrontations 💀 and that seems to be all of it!

A/N: Hi!! It feels good to only have to post one part haha that's what I get for writing long chapters x.x anyways, still a pleasure to write them haha!

Without any further ado, happy reading! 🥰

Masterlist ➸ Chapter 27

Ao3 link.

Hinata was pleased to admit that her meeting with Gojo hadn’t been as uneventful as she initially anticipated.

Sure, the man was known to be powerful and all knowing, thanks to the countless resources placed to his disposal via the Gojo clan, as well as through his own merit..

Perfect in every sense of the word, and a powerful ally anyone would be honored to have, more to ask favors from .

And yet… she continuously feared that this encounter would’ve been nothing more than a bunch of diplomatic excuses to avoid the situation all together, because as much as he was highly regarded as the best sorcerer of this generation, he was still an irresponsible young man with a lot of things to learn.

“I can’t barge in and cancel your sister’s marriage without getting any of us in trouble, many would think it to be incredibly convenient that I’ve decided to step in now, eh?” she imagined Satoru complaining. “And that would also cause friction between the two families, and who wants to deal with that??”

However, all her worries (or the vast majority of them) would’ve turned obsolete in time once she realized that even if Gojo genuinely found himself with his hands tied when it came to actually pulling out from that wretched house, he was still all about advocating against the elders.

So, with what little he could afford to do, he gave Hinata all of the resources he thought adequate to aid her help—while keeping his name out of the equation—, but not without ending in a disquieting tone that only deepened her sour aftertaste.

“Why don’t you contact the Kamo clan? ” He’d considered as the two made their way towards the nearest train station. Satoru had previously attempted to offer Hinata a ride back home in a more private and comfortable setting, that being his car. But your sister, who was already risking too much by being with him, decided to fall into the tranquility of mundanity and take the public transport to avoid getting caught with him.

Also, if she was to successfully complete your rescue mission, she needed to keep her mind as clear as possible, and a change of scenario might just do the work.

“You already have a stronger connection to them thanks to the young heir, Noritoshi-kun” He continued on “He’s 9 already years old! Can you believe that?—or was it ten? Eh, who knows, I’m not that good with birthdays anyways”

Hinata gave her best to ignore his words and to continue walking onto her destination, or she fears she would’ve laughed right there and then.

It was so incredulous, so out of touch… but well matching with his nature.

Had he been there to see how her distant cousin was treated throughout her “relationship” with the Kamo clan leader, and subsequently discarded once she gave birth to the future heir, he would’ve never dared to say that in her face.

It was absolutely foul to see how the elders attempted to justify the Kamo clan’s actions, citing that this had been the arrangement from the beginning, and even if it wasn’t, surely nobody was expecting the mistress to stay at the estate while the wife was still alive! Even if the latter had no leverage on her defense after failing tremendously on the one responsibility she had as the lady of the house.

Infuriating, but not shocking. They have always been unruly when it came to treating their family, your parents being the earliest example Hinata could think of—in that, she could assess them to be fair.

What rattled her the most out of this situation, after her distant relative’s treatment, was the reaction of the legitimate wife.

Your sister could understand her animosity towards the idea of having her husband’s mistress lingering around the estate, but instead of considering this to be a cruel political game to pit both women against each other, a symptom of the patriarchal disease plaguing the jujutsu community, she decided to take this as a personal attack and shamelessly join the barbarous inquisition against your distant cousin—dumping her onto the street without offering her a way to fend herself, even after all that she seemingly sacrificed for the clan, as well as giving her a bad reputation that would follow her all the way back to the L/N estate, earning her another dosage of mistreatment, this time, from your family.

She was the reason why Noritoshi wasn’t permitted to see his mother ever again after she left, the reason why the young child felt pressured to accept a role he never wanted in hopes of reconnecting with her in the future, as well as treating him as nothing but a bastard , instead of recognizing the victim that he ultimately was—effectively robbing him from any semblance of a normal life and family.

It wasn’t the elders, nor the husband, responsible for the mother’s mistreatment—although they were willing bystanders—but the wife .

This soon turned out to be too much for the poor woman to handle on her own, and as expected, she eventually left the estate and cut ties with everyone, never to be seen again.

These were all things that you and your siblings were unable to comprehend or stop at the moment due to their young age, and the adults weren’t of much help either, simply delegating these successions as difficult family affairs whenever either dared to ask, their constant refusal eventually leading their curiosity to die out with time.

So no, she was not going to ask for their help—they were cut from a similar fabric as the Zen’in’s, although of a different color. Might as well ask them to hand you over directly!

Either way, this recollection of the past is something that remained well imprinted in your sister’s mind, a burning memory that only grew stronger and painful the more she knew of the society she was to serve, which soon turned into one of the many encouragements to do what was right.

Do what she should with the image she represented: ensure a safe environment for the people under her protection, so that none of these things would happen again.

… But now, it’s a thought that makes her feel stupid.

To begin, she’s supposed to be the golden child of her clan: The one carrying the invaluable inherited technique of the L/N, one that held great historical worth alongside power, but had unfortunately been absent from the world for many, many years.

No matter their approach, no child seemed to be born with this technique that essentially kept them on the map, and the fear of fading into the past became more of a reality by each passing day.

That is, until Hinata was born.

When her arrival was announced, she was quickly revered as the L/N’s savior, the one that ensured a bright future for as long as they played their cards right.

And yet, she wasn’t able to save you .

To be revered as salvation itself was nothing more than a formality, for she held no influence nor relevance when the elders decided to sell you to the Zen’in as soon as her engagement to the Gojo heir turned obsolete.

She wasn’t able to stop your father from agreeing and organizing that sham of a celebration from happening, nor Naoya from hurting you and mocking her.

And all of this… happening right under her nose.

She wants to stay angry at your father. She wants to stay angry at Naoya, at the elders, the whole world if she could!

But she can’t. Because it’s unproductive… as well as having another emotion taking its space in turn, that being, Satoru’s chilling allusion:

The possibility of you falling in love with Naoya.

Hinata might’ve made fun of your preferences back in the day, just to get a reaction out of you. It was all of a humorous nature, of course, for she knew very well that your standards couldn’t possibly be that mediocre. A comforting thought that stopped her from slapping the idea out of Satoru’s face—in fact, she wishes she’d done so before hopping on the train…

Because now she can’t remove the possibility of… what if…

What if you did?

What if you somehow… god forbid, ended up growing fond of Naoya throughout the time you’re there?

What if… during the time she’s secluded from you… you somehow come to the conclusion that staying with the Zen’in was for your benefit? However that might come to be?

Hinata sighs, and in this moment of heedlessness, her mind takes her back to the last time she saw you.

The sorrowful sight of the bruises on your body was perhaps the only thing she could remember from her encounter with you, asides from your equally frightening plea for help in the form of your homesick tears. Images that make her stomach drop, her blood run cold, and sleepless at night.

More so for the implication behind them.

Your bruises weren’t ones that she’d categorize as normal. Normal, as in relatable to an active sorcerer:

These weren’t bruises that came from a dangerous mission, or a friendly training session—No, none of these things matched your reality.

These injuries were made out of pure perversion, filling a narcissistic need to mark you as his property, break your autonomy, mock her presence, and insult your family.

As if to show that he had authority over you , and no matter what your sister did, you’ll stay right where he wants you.

What kind of husband purposely hurts their wife to inflate their ego?!

Naoya was—and Hinata was on her way to prove him wrong. After all, she already held a victory over him, and she’s damn sure she can do it again.

But God, this was turning out to be her hardest task yet…

Well, before she’s able to do as much as continue with her mission, she first wants to check how everything was faring back at home.

Ren had agreed to keep a close eye on their clan whilst she goes out and does what needs to be done, such as going up to meet Satoru—an event that was kept a secret from them to begin with, hidden underneath the excuse that she was simply going out to get some new clothes after her payroll came in.

It seemed to work, at least for now, for no one asked any more questions outside what store she was planning to visit before leaving her alone..

Neither could run the risk of revealing she’d gone to see Satoru, for it would only get their unwanted attention all over her business. They’d grow suspicious, start asking questions, and eventually… they’d get an air of what she’s been planning to do: get you out of that sick marriage with the Zen’in heir.

Because why else would your sister show her face to the Gojo heir, after the humiliation she’d put her family and his through after ending their engagement, if it wasn’t to ask for a favor?

Thinking of your family’s crystal-clear preference for those in power, it makes it almost impossible to not see why your marriage went through in the first place. Guess she was just surprised for how fast they were to fold for the next biggest fish in the pond, and how your father seemingly didn’t put up a fight.

Had their mother been alive, she would’ve nev—

Hinata shakes the thought of her mother out of her head before it sprouts any bigger.

She’d gone through great efforts to get her mind steady and clear to perform her duties as efficiently as possible, thus she had to be careful not to get distracted on unnecessary details. Especially those that were written in stone… intertwined with excruciating pain.

But if she had to put a label on what she’d thought her mother’s feelings would be… disappointment would only be the tip of the iceberg.

Well, there’s no use in voicing the words of a person who is no longer around to speak for herself, not when her memory just prompted another layer of frustration to Hinata’s already tangled mind.

For now, she must focus on what’s happening in her home, to know if her actions had remained under the radar from the disingenuous elders, and maybe… just maybe… news from you.

“I’m home” Is what Hinata says as soon as she crosses the wooden gates of her home. She forces a smile out of her lips upon observing a wave of servants rushing to greet her amicably, barraging her with all kinds of courtesies—from hanging her bag, getting her something to eat or drink, to even preparing her a bath. A suitable welcome for the heir of the L/N clan.

But one that would be shut down delicately, for as appetizing as getting a bath sounded like after a long day of urbanity, it’s something it’ll have to wait until she knows how Ren and Sumire have been—a statement that prompted the servants to disperse, more so after the presence of said older brother became apparent just behind them.

“Welcome back” Ren greets, now just a few feet away from his sister. Sumire tags along just a few seconds after.

“You’re back, Hinata-san!” Sumire sang as she ran towards her, bumping into her and bringing her into an embrace.

Your sister didn’t need to go beyond her gesture to understand that while coming from a place of concern for her personal well-being, was more of an outburst of anxiety at the prospect of new information regarding you—either way, she took no offense to her demonstration and returned said affection with a hug of her own.

“How was your… day out?” Ren cautions through a carefully selected wording he presumes would pass undetected through the ears of those that lingered around. Because even after his younger sister dismissed them, he has no doubt that those whose loyalty inclined more towards the elders took her request more as a recommendation.

“Good—quick. A nice change of scenery after all the work I’ve done” Quick to catch his scheme, Hinata plays along with a group of corny sentences that she believes will dissolve any suspicion. “I got some cute sweaters for this upcoming winter, but since I didn’t want to carry them back home, I asked for my items to be delivered here”

“I’m glad! You always seem to be taking the roughest missions, you deserve to relax once in a while” Ren continues on as he glances one more time towards the wall he senses a servant to be.

His keen perception has him attentive to a noise likened to roaming footsteps, undoubtedly representing the departure of those that stayed behind in hopes to catch something to inform the elders—a tactic that became somewhat common ever since you were taken out of the picture: whether to see how your siblings were faring with this undesirable predicament, or because they were already suspicious of something happening behind the scenes, he has yet to decide.

Anticipating how these ordeals often go down, Ren signals Hinata and Sumire to hold their thoughts for a bit longer, at least until the bystanders' footsteps disappear and are effectively out of earshot.

Once he assesses them to finally be out of their midst, Ren is finally able to go back to Hinata to speak what they’re truly interested in.

“How did it go?” He whispers, low, barely hearable by the alarmed ears of Sumire (who kept an eye out for any fellow staff member that might’ve stayed behind without Ren noticing), but loud enough for a focused Hinata whose determination never left her mind.

“…Not here” she advises back in the same tone as she gently shakes her head.

Sumire and Ren then glance at each other for a quick second before nodding and gesturing to Hinata to follow them into a room they had anticipatedly prepared for such an occasion—away from the servants, the elders, and all those in between.

A place that had been long abandoned, for there was never a necessary use behind it, aside from a few occasions here and there, subsequently redecorated as a guest room after the owner passed away—your mother’s private chambers.

Once safely inside the confines of their new rendezvous point, and after double checking they haven’t been followed, or lost anyone that might’ve thought themselves undetectable, Hinata promptly begins.

“It was… beneficial, much more than what I expected” she informs while heading towards the middle of the room where a small wooden table was to be found. Hinata reaches for a nearby brown pillow to sit on, patting it a few times before finally taking a seat, an action soon replicated by Sumire and Ren.

Once on the floor, she couldn't help but sigh, alleviating with it the burden of her fatigue which she’s kept at bay for the past few hours.

Hinata was no stranger to being outside her home, hometown even, for long hours, without rest and under stressful circumstances—all thanks to the career path that she selected.

However, the emotional burden she was carrying was bound to take a toll on her body one way or another, and considering that it had been far heavier than anything she had endured before, it was no surprise that everyday instances had now become far more difficult.

No amount of training would have given her the necessary tools to deal with her emotional turmoil, outside of laying on her futon and disconnecting from the world for a few minutes.

Now that she thought about it, when was the last time she was able to get 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep?

Between missions, meetings, and you… she hasn’t been able to do much more than getting quick naps here and there—perhaps 4 hours of sleep, if she somehow really tired herself out . Hinata can’t help but feel like a dog with that silly comparison… before whiplashing into a wistful thought.

Were you having better luck than her? Were you able to sleep at night? Rest?

…

Knowing the horrors that haunted that family, she dreadfully presumes not.

Hinata can’t wait for the moment you’re finally back home, with the people that love and care for you.

But until then, she’ll power through her difficulties—one way or another, like she’d always have.

“Is he going to help us?” Sumire’s optimistic question snaps her out of her spiraling thoughts and back to the present. Hinata blinks, readjusting her blank vision before focusing on Sumire’s face.

There was something swirling in her eyes that your sister couldn’t identify as anything else but hope as she intently looked back at her in awe.

Your best friend really had no intention of being in this meeting. And it’s not because she wasn’t welcomed—far from that. They knew just how important she was to you and vice versa, however, this was a fight that she would undeniably lose if she ever finds herself in the crossfires. Something that both Ren and Hinata wanted to avoid as much as possible, even if it meant keeping her in the dark.

Nonetheless, Sumire made it her life mission to be there with your siblings and offer support wherever she can, even with her great disadvantage. And for that, Hinata and Ren are greatly appreciative of.

So you could only imagine how distraught Hinata must’ve felt when she relayed her answer through the subtle shake of her head in denial, worsening once she caught a glimpse of Sumire’s hopeful eyes quickly switching into ones of desolation.

“ What? ” Ren is the first to speak up, a scowl on his face as he grits his teeth—your sister doesn’t know if it’s towards Satoru, or the addition of another obstacle in the race to get you back. Either way, he was not pleased. “Then how is that to our advantage, sister?”

“He’s not going to help, at least not personally… nor directly” Your sister explains “But he did give me suggestions to go through… And you guys wouldn’t believe the number of things he told me today”

“What did he say?” Ren raises an eyebrow.

Your brother was… one of the many people that weren’t that fond of Satoru, in fact, he could probably count with one hand just the amount of people that did like him.

However, as time passed, he had grown to be somewhat understanding of him due to his relationship with his family, as well as the upbringing he was unfortunate to have. Leading him to see Gojo as… well, an obnoxious younger brother, rather than his abhorrent brother-in-law . “What stupidity did he come up with today so he wouldn’t help us?”

That didn’t mean he couldn’t hold a bit of skepticism towards him, though.

If there’s something that Ren dislikes the most about the sorcery community, it’s the deafness people in power seem to have when approaching subjects that affect others. They always seem to be so…above others, simply because they were fortunate enough to grow into privileges others might never experience in their life, as if they didn’t have the power to change that!

And Satoru was no exception, until in recent years that is, when he finally decided to take his role in the world of jujutsu as something serious with endless opportunities to enact positive change.

But even then, he has yet to fully grasp the weight of his actions. It’s what led Ren to believe that Hinata’s suggestion of seeking help through Satoru might not be as beneficial as she thought in the first place.

Even if he knew that he cared for his sisters… he could never know what he might come up with—more often than not, taking this situation with the same level of maturity he always did, in other words, not earnestly: and if that had been the case, Ren might just have to give him a visit as well…

Thankfully, your sister is quick to come to the rescue by injecting leniency into the conversation, just before Ren is able storm out of the room and head towards the Gojo estate.

“…He’s guarding the current holder of the Ten Shadows Technique” she confesses “in other words, the next heir of the Zen’in clan”

Sumire blinks, unable to understand the meaning or depth of the just mentioned technique, and how that relates to you, remaining silent and somewhat serious as she darts glances between your sister and your brother in hopes of obtaining the semblance of an answer.

Sure, she’s heard of techniques before, mainly through you, but never in great detail.

First, these were topics that were ruled out as confidential for anyone outside the main branch—such as herself— only knowing of your ability, your siblings’, and a few mission debriefs here and there, due to her close relationship to them, but never more than that.

Secondly, because even if you were willing to share information the elders didn’t seem necessary for a staff member to know with her, you often avoided these topics in favor of doing something far more entertaining than work—jujutsu could be very tedious when it came down to it, and you didn’t wish to bore your best friend to death in the short time you were allowed to see her.

Ren, on the other hand, could not have understood the significance of her words and the shocking revelation that tied you to this statement any better. He’d been in the game long enough to understand how politics work in this realm, perhaps more than he would’ve liked to know, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s able to piece the pieces together as soon as Hinata confined her findings, evident by the way his mouth falls agape and his eyes widen, which only brings a far more confused reaction out of Sumire.

“That’s—Do you know what that means?” Ren urges, and Hinata nods. “That means that their marriage isn’t of any use anymore! It can be annulled!”

“Wait, wait! I don’t understand” Sumire frets, beginning to feel as if she were falling out of the loop… as if she hadn’t felt like that ever since your marriage was announced. “How is that going to help Y/N-chan get back home?”

“This is just assuming if the marriage was constructed under those pretenses…” Hinata resentfully whispers, a sentiment that your brother opts to ignore with the aim of clinging onto the small ray of hope that appeared in the dark horizon of your absence.

“We still have to give it a shot” Ren responds before turning to Sumire and offering her the explanation she so desperately desired. “Marriages in the jujutsu community are often done under the objective of creating strong children: regardless of the curse, as long as the kid has high amounts of energy and is talented , the marriage is considered successful.

However, the rules change when the 3 main families are involved. There is a thing called inherited techniques in most families, something like a heirloom that’s passed through generations—these are most powerful when it comes from them though”

“Just like my technique” Hinata adds and Sumire hums.

“Because of their power, these are often taken as the definers of the next head of the clan, so it’s unsurprising these are highly sought after” Ren continues on “But here’s the catch: they only appear once every few years, and there’s never two users at the same time. Some people might try to change this, just as my family intended with Hinata and Satoru, but there has never been a record of a successful attempt. So, taking this into consideration, as well as the existence of user of the Zen’in’s technique…”

“That means… there’s no reason for Y/N to be married anymore!” Sumire’s beams, her face lightening up once she sees what they did “That’s—That’s wonderful, Hinata-san! Can’t you see? We can finally save Y/N-chan!”

But your sister remains contrastingly motionless, somber. Almost as if she hadn’t heard any of the words they said… or more likely, knew more to the story than they did.

“What’s wrong?” Ren murmured; throat strained and face furrowed as the prospect of something… terrible begins to settle in the back of his mind. He swallows when her silence eventually confirms his assumptions. “There is something else… isn’t it?”

“…Satoru implied the clan already knew of their existence… specifically Naobito, their leader. He allegedly attempted to buy the user out of their family but the transaction never went through” She says, and the implication behind her words has Ren silently dwelling in incredulity “But if we consider what you just said, and the fact that Y/N is yet to return home… All I can think of is that this marriage was struck for other conditions, and thus, this information is… irrelevant”

At the climax of his anger, all that Ren can do is scoff.

He should’ve known .

He should’ve known this would happen the very moment everything began to go their way.

It was just too easy, wasn't it? Too simple for a solution to suddenly appear before them when all hope seemed to vanish.

No, because fate never worked that way. Because things were never that effortless when it came to doing the right thing, of course.

The Zen’in truly did an exceptional job covering their asses—if only they applied such resolution in treating you well.

“Then what?” Ren cursed; frustration apparent in the tight clench of his hands against his palm and the crescent moons forming beneath them. “ What now? ”

“That’s where Satoru helped me” Hinata reveals “With the ongoing crisis, sorcerers have been required to essentially make a record of every movement they make—all I have to do is check Naoya’s records at the Kyoto school to get an idea of his whereabouts before the wedding, assuming what that everything my father said was somewhat true”

It’s a solution, one that Hinata sets down in attempts of easing his brother’s and Sumire’s rising concern… coincidentally, the one that would also take the longest to complete. Achieving the exact opposite of what she wanted.

But even when boiling in anger, Ren is capable enough to keep his cool and analyze her words and the following actions to take.

“That’s dangerous” Ren is quick to note after a second of consideration. “You’re going dangerously close to their territory, and if they somehow get word that you’re investigating Naoya…”

“I know, I know” she groans, pressing her fingers against her forehead in an attempt to ease the headache slowly starting to form in her head. “I’ve already considered everything, the dangers, the expenses… everything”

“I wish I could help” Sumire laments “…I’m just here… unable to do anything for Y/N-chan except clean her room… ”

“You’ve done enough for us, Sumire” Hinata comforts, giving her a smile “I’m sure she’ll appreciate you keeping her things in order”

“… I just want her to be back” she adds “I want to help”

“We know” Ren sighs, patting Sumire’s back as to ease her nerves before looking back to Hinata. “Then… that’s what you’re going to do?”

“Yeah. I plan to get a basic idea of where he's been, if he’s been near our properties, or if someone saw him do anything suspicious… I also asked Satoru about it and he said he hasn’t heard anything—whatever they did, whoever they hired, if that was the case, they did a good job keeping everything away from the sun”

“Guess it’s a necessary skill to sustain themselves for as long as they have” Ren concludes “A clan doesn’t get to live that long without committing atrocities here and there. It’s was only natural that they’d learn how to keep it a secret from the rest of the world”

Just as your family had done. Perhaps to a lesser extent than the Zen’in, but the L/N clan had also earned its fair share of crimes throughout their existence, and had long since learned how to sleep at night after betraying their own relatives.

Unfortunately, a skill that would probably never go out of fashion: As long as there is corruption in the hearts of humanity, abuse will prevail. And that’s something that will end with her .

“Well, that’s what I managed to get on my part” Hinata concludes, moving onto the next subject “What about… you? How are things in the estate? With your… girlfriend?”

“Oh, I don’t want you to worry about that right now, but if you must know… we’re ok” Ren says, crossing his arms and resting them on the table “we managed to postpone a lot of things without having to lose our deposit, so there’s that”

Ren considers himself lucky to have such a supporting partner, especially when the prospect of losing great amounts of money just to postpone their wedding and honeymoon still lingered over their heads.

However, his girlfriend understood all too well the situation and agreed to wait a little longer until things were better with his future in-laws—besides, what kind of wedding would it be if you weren’t even there?

After that, Ren promised himself to make it up to her after everything was dealt with, starting by retiring from the jujutsu world and taking on all of the household responsibilities so she could completely focus on her career.

It’s only necessary if he wants to raise a family with her.

But until then, he shall continue to play his part on the urgent mission at hand.

“As for the estate… I fear I was not as efficient as you. Everyone has been rather… silent, evasive even, right?” He looks over at Sumire, and she nods “Yet, there have been moments where I believed to have seen some kind of… vacillation coming from certain members of the staff, and elders for that matter, whenever I was around. Take that however you want”

“I’d too be nervous if I had something to hide” Hinata accuses, rolling her eyes “…and if I was as intimidating as you are”

“You are intimidating” Ren corrects, reflecting on the actual reason as to why they’ve been so cautious around him ever since this whole charade started..

Far from his own merit, it had been Hinata’s all along.

Your sister has been haunting the L/N estate like some kind of yurei from the very moment she’d returned to the estate after visiting the Zen’in.

A spirit that radiated vengeance with each step she took, no one was free of the her antagonizing glances, to the point that even the staff that was closest to her, those who were more likely to carry guilt-free consciences, began to set a healthy amount of distance to avoid being in the receiving end of her ire, and subsequently, him.

Because what one sibling did, the other often replicated.

It was never in Hinata’s intentions to blame the innocent members of her clan, unfortunately, she no longer found herself in a position where she could trust anybody outside of those present in the room. Not even Eiichi, your father, was part of that leniency.

And with good reason—with all things accounted, he was perhaps the guiltiest of them all. The one that allowed everything to happen in the first place, the one that signed the wedding certificate as a witness and pushed you into the wretched claws of that disgusting family, giving a congratulatory cheer while at it.

His actions are what incited her the most to obtain the determination she needed to save you, the one she used as fuel to search every inch, nook and cranny around the estate for anything that could serve her purpose from those that failed you: the smallest slip-up when doing their chores, a stammer while in a casual conversation, a drop of sweat sliding down their temples as they sat for tea, or the lightest twitch from their fingers as they killed time with a senseless game, regardless of its reasoning, anything that might indicate the slightest semblance of a guilty conscience, and exploit it against them.

But just as it was stated, a clan as old as your family doesn’t get to survive for that long without having gone through immeasurable amounts of shady businesses in order to ensure its existence in the future, and subsequently, had long stopped caring for the morality behind it the more they performed so.

Your siblings just wished some of them had grown overconfident enough to become sloppy in their actions—but it seems that not even that was to be on their advantage.

“Not intimidating enough to get them talking” Hinata scoffs, and Sumire scrunches her face out of anguish.

“I… wish to say that in time you’ll find what you need but… I fear that Y/N-chan might not have that much time” Sumire whimpered and Hinata pressed her eyebrows. Neither wanted to admit it, but she was right. There was only so much time before things began to worsen to the point she would no longer be able to save you.

The wrong pregnancy is quick to flash across her mind’s eye, before shaking it off and going back to comforting your frightened friend.

“There’s no use in fretting, Sumire” Hinata eases, giving her a smile that would not only help her cool down, but her as well. “They might not offer much, but I already got a lead somewhere else. Besides, as long as we keep trying, we’re getting closer to bringing her back”

“I guess so…” Sumire responded dejectedly with a sigh. “Will you… go to Kyoto then?”

“I have no other option—it’s the long route, sure, but I still have faith that it’ll give me what I need”

“Then I’ll support it” Ren adds. “I’m not too keen with you getting so close to the lion’s den, but at the same time, I don’t think you’ll find much without getting near them”

“I know… and as much as I would’ve preferred to get my information somewhere else, I don’t really have that many leads to follow”

“Does it worry you that they might have some undercover agent to inform them about anyone snooping in on their records?” Sumire frets, and a wave of uneasiness she thought quenched returns to wash over Hinata.

She had already considered all possible outcomes while making her way back to the estate after Satoru suggested such an idea: from witnesses unwilling to speak, to whistleblowers informing of her actions towards those she is digging dirt on, these were all things that could happen if fate decided to play that way.

However, even with the prospect of facing the devious nature of various individuals working against her, she was comforted by her belief in the genuineness and fairness of the jujutsu system when it came to neutrality amongst sorcerers.

All the information regarding to a sorcerers activities, such as license number, active missions, completed missions, and if they’re active or not, was available for public record; in other words, she would be available to essentially waltz into the school, request Naoya’s information, and get what she needs out of it without any repercussions.

This was already in the works, even way before Geto catapulted this ongoing crisis.

It was a solution to promote transparency between members of the community, and a way to dissolve unethical practices between fellow members and civilians to wash the blood that plagued their history, all while in agreement to their service to the community.

That he had been the final push to enact this change was another story.

Thus, Hinata didn’t concern herself too much when it came to the Zen’in having someone under cover to alert them of a possible onlooker—they couldn’t just go and tell people they were investigated on, because that could incite some form of retribution and that would go against the same ethics of neutrality and safety the jujutsu community was slowly trying to adopt, or at least to court.

In other words, there was nothing to worry about.

“I have thought about it” Hinata affirms. “But if anything, I’m more concerned about not finding anything to help Y/N… but that’s a risk I’m willing to take”

“The Zen’in might have an idea that you’re trying to do something anyways” Ren ponders, justifying his sister’s somewhat… reckless idea, at least in his point of view, and she agrees with a nod. “So it’s pointless to waste energy on something that’s probably already happening”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I sure hope they know I’m keeping a close eye on them, maybe that way they’ll know not to mess up with me and my family! They better be sleeping with an eye open…” Hinata threatens and Ren can’t help but smile at her somber resolve.

“I’m pretty sure some of the people here already do so” Ren snickers and Hinata rolls her eyes once more before chuckling. “That’s why I know you’ll be fine when you’re out there in Kyoto doing what you have to do”

“Thank you” Hinata smiles, and the cold wave of uneasiness is soon washed away by a warm wave of support from his brother. One she always knew she could get from him… regardless of the situation. “Then… if there’s nothing more to add… I think that’s all we have to say”

“Let me take you to your room, you need to rest” Ren suggests as he stands up, followed by helping Sumire stand up by offering his hand for her to take. Your sister initially wanted to reproach his suggestion, but before she’s able to do much as opening her mouth, he interjects. “I can see it in your tired eyes you haven’t been getting any sleep, have you?”

“Can you blame me? All I think of is my sister, even when I close my eyes, all I see is Y/N and those…. Disgusting bruises on her body”

Ren goes eerily silent, but his mind is nothing but a turmoil on the inside.

He’s been holding back the urge to storm his way out of the estate and onto the Zen’in’s and beat the shit out of Naoya just by the clench of his fists and the gritting of his teeth.

Your brother was equally disgusted, if not more so than your sister, upon knowing of her findings at the Zen’in estate that one day she was deceitfully invited to their premises.

It had taken all of him to stand on the sidelines and let Hinata do what she needed to do in order to ensure your safe return—but if that weren’t a problem, you can bet that Ren would’ve destroyed the whole Zen’in estate long ago.

But he couldn’t. And not because he didn’t want to, or lacked the physical force to do so. If anything, he had enough strength to spare (and with countless missions to attest to that) but he couldn’t just do what he impulsively wanted—any miscalculation could eventually lead you to be further secluded from their life, as well as spoil Hinata’s progress, and they were already having a tough time as it is…

His patience and tolerance was being undeniably tested, but for now, he’ll keep quiet, silently supporting his sister from afar, playing the role of obedient, responsible sorcerer by completing the load of dangerous missions HQ seems to be dumping on him day after day, almost as if they knew your siblings were trying to do something under the table, while keeping a close eye on the inside to ensure the secrecy and accomplishment of this difficult yet essential rescue mission.

“I know this may not be of much consolation but…” Sumire’s soft voice cuts through the tense silence, forcing Hinata’s and Ren’s eyes to land on her as she slides the shoji door open, stepping aside to invite your siblings to go first.

Ren shakes his head, suggesting she go ahead first, to which she complies without putting up much of a fight.

“I like to think that Y/N-chan is well. After all, bad news are often the first ones to circulate and if something… bad … had already happened to her, we would’ve known by now”

Hinata is appreciative of the fact that even with all the shit you and your family were suddenly dumped with when the Zen’in became intertwined in their lives, there was still someone they knew you could trust in, someone that kept a positive outlook in this somber testament.

And she smiles.

“It’s… very comforting, actually” Hinata says as the group begins to make their way towards the living quarters, her room in mind. “Even with all the things that have been happening to her… I always try to reassure myself by keeping hope, thinking that this could definitely be infinitely worse… although I sometimes believe that we’re already past that point”

“Try not to think about that, Hinata” Ren responds, gently palming her back “try to get some rest, catch on those shows you paused, or visit the stables—it’s been a while since someone visited the horses, I’m sure they would appreciate a familiar face around. You’ve already done what you could today, take it easy”

“I know… I know” Hinata sighs, a pout eventually pursing her lips as she crosses her arms before looking up to him “However, there’s one this one last thing that I need to check with Sumire before I can do all that” your sisters then turns over to your best friend, and the young woman, caught by surprise by her sudden exposure to the spotlight, can’t do much by stare back at her as her mind tries to find out the small detail she might’ve forgotten to bring up during their previous conversation “My correspondence ”

“ Oh, yes!” Sumire gasps, thoughts taking her back to her private quarters and onto the small box she specifically set aside to keep Hinata’s letters away and secure from the prying eyes of the rest of the staff members who have yet to prove their trustworthiness, until she returns.

Just to show that she didn’t forget about this, she was just… too enthralled on getting news on Y/N’s rescue, that she didn’t deem it necessary to bring it up right then and there… or maybe it did slip up her mind. Stress can often do that.

“I just want you to know I didn’t forget them, I was just… waiting for the right moment!” Sumire blurted as she began to head towards her bedroom, an explanation which Hinata dismissed as nothing to worry that much while mouthing a quiet it’s ok “Wait for me in your room, I’ll bring them to you!”

And with the swift work of her feet, Sumire moved on to scurry onto the general direction of the staff’s quarters, the sound of her footsteps beginning to subside into thin air as Hinata and Ren continued walking towards the former’s room.

It was a silent trip up to the arrival of the familiar bedroom door, one which remained decorated with the sunflower stickers across the frame she placed on long ago when she was nothing more than a child, keeping them simply for nostalgia’s sake.

Without a second to waste, Hinata gently takes hold of the door and slides it open, the sight of a tidy and organized room welcoming her back.

Everything seemed to be in place, completely different to how she left it before she left—one might even think she never left at all. Which was a gross understatement, for as of recent events, she’s only been able to stay at her house for short instances, simply returning to check on her family and any important announcements from work.

Taking this into consideration, any returning resident would’ve found relief in not having to worry about cleaning their room, being able to simply go ahead and change into more comfortable clothes before jumping into bed and call it a day.

However, the diligent work of her staff was not to give her the peace and tranquility Ren hoped she would achieve, more so when her serious face began to contort into one of uneasy eyes and furrowed brow once in the solace of each other's company: giving him the impression that there was something else she had yet to discuss with anyone else outside the inner voice in her head, and so, he’s prompted to talk.

“There’s something else bothering you, isn’t it?” Ren guesses, and Hinata, understanding she’s been read like an open book, relents with a sigh.

“Yes… it’s… perhaps the thing that disturbed me the most” she confides, pinching the spot just between her eyebrows to alleviate the pain she feels to be the beginning of a migraine from worsening, serving as an example of how disquieting this tormenting thought was.

“I’m all ears” he says as he gestures to her inside the room, closing the door behind him once both inside.

“You… you’re probably going to think it’s something stupid, after all, it came from Satoru but… I don’t know, it rubbed me the wrong way anyways” she goes on as she takes another seat on his futon, this time, completing laying her body back onto it and focusing on nothing more than the wooden ceiling.

“Well then, it’s very rare for you to not be able to brush off something the idiot Satoru said” Ren raises an eyebrow while mentally prepares himself to lose some brain cells at whatever additional stupidity he concocted that day as he joins his sister’s side—completely oblivious of the shock he’s about to receive. “What did he say?”

“…What if the reason I can’t bring Y/N back home is…. Because… she doesn’t want to?” she whispers, as if the words were heavy, impossible for her to pronounce, or more like she didn’t want to voice them out loud, because by doing so it meant she had to relieve her disbelief yet again.

“I don’t follow” Or more like he doesn't want to follow, because why would he want to think of the worst possible scenario becoming a reality when it comes to saving their sister? And such skepticism is what immediately leads him to frown and snap his gaze down onto his sister.

He’s hoping to find any kind of indication that might signal this as a joke of bad taste, but all that he can find is nothing more than a shade of fright Hinata never allows anyone to see but the closest to her.

“…Because she wants to stay with Naoya?” Hinata is pushed by Ren’s intense stare to continue, but before she’s able to add anything more, Ren speaks.

“I hope you’re joking” the oldest of the L/N sibling’s spats, but Hinata’s silent rebuttal, as well as the flicker of her gaze back to the ceiling, proved him otherwise. “I seriously hope he didn’t just fucking imply that”

“He did. I’m telling you it’s something stupid, usual silliness from him, but… even if I think of it that way, I just can’t help but to wonder… what if?” Hinata frets “What if Y/N and Naoya somehow get to know each other better and she… she decides she doesn’t want to be here anymore? I’m already damn sure my visit was just a ruse to cover his ass, but what if… what if the next time I see her it’s not a ruse anymore? What if she means it?”

“When did you start doubting our sister, Hinata?” Ren asks, and Hinata is suddenly invaded by the sensation that her words have been a… Well, a gross misconception. And a grosser stupidity for implying such a thing for seemingly no reason.

“I… never have… I just… well, he made… a point that I hoped wouldn’t come true, that’s all. Because if it did… I don’t know what I’ll do” she shuddered.

But her worries didn’t come from doubting you, no. Far from it. She knew you too well to ever think of this becoming a reality.

They came from her own uncertainty.

She’d always been the one to come to the rescue of everyone that needed it, the one that everyone knew they could rely on if there’s something to be done.

There had never been a moment where Hinata couldn’t overcome an obstacle in the past. She always knew what to do, what to say, and that led her to be the figure of guidance and protection that others always expected her to be.

But on the occasion that she finds herself needing help, and struggling to find so… It led her to doubt her ability to comply with the expectations of everyone around her, as well as her own abilities.

Hinata always exhorted assistance with an unparalleled talent, regardless of the level of graveness, or if she even knew the person or not.

So… why can’t she do the same with her own sister?

Perhaps her mind granted far more credibility to this thought than what it actually needed in an excuse to ease some of her tensions, because if that was the case, then Hinata could easily say there was nothing else to—

“That won’t happen” Ren reassures her upon sensing the mental gymnastics happening inside her mind.

But Hinata, far from feeling reassured by his words and too deep into her own despair, can’t help but inwardly dispute on how he could know so confidently.

And as if he was able to read minds, although it was more of being attentive to the right cues, he continues “Because there is no way she’d ever care for someone as wretched as Naoya—she either lost her mind, or Naoya did. And I’m leaning towards none”

Hinata remains quiet, analyzing his words for a few seconds before releasing a sigh.

“…If you put it that way… I guess you’re right, Ren” Hinata eventually relented, her moment to now look up at him.

His gaze remained fixed on her, as if to show how attentively he was listening to all that she had to say, however, even with the stern look on his eyes, seemingly offended by Satoru’s suggestion, Hinata was still able to uncover an underlying emotion behind them: something… likened to pain and irritation.

Pain, for the mere thought of you being away from them through your own volition was enough to induce him into disgust—because he knew, deep inside him, that could never come to reality, at least consensually. It entailed another layer of inscrutability he doesn’t dare to explore for his sanity’s sake.

And on that note, we pass onto irritation .

Far from being irritated at Hinata for bringing up the sentence that silently tormented her, these feelings were directed towards Satoru. He was used to his frequent occasional stupidity, but this was just on a whole ‘nother level, leading him to admit that perhaps his life could’ve done better without knowing this.

Yet, this was to remain a secret between his conscience and himself, not wanting his sister to feel any more responsible than she already did.

“Don’t worry about anything anymore—you’ve done enough, if you keep stressing about it you’ll just waste your energy” Ren says, attempting to move onto a different, less sour topic of conversation, because who wants to think of their younger sister staying in the horror house of their common enemy? While consoling her hard work. Oh, how he wishes he could take all of her responsibilities so as to make her workload easier to manage… “I can read your correspondence if you’d like, and give you the rundown after you’ve gotten some rest. I can also let the servants know not to disturb you and to prepare your meal later”

“Ah, you don’t have to do that Ren” she shakes her head, shifting to her side to take a better look at him, using her arms as support for her head. “I thank you for your attention, but… well, I’d like to indulge in these small things I missed while away, get the whole home experience, you know? Besides, I already know what’s awaiting me on those letters, probably a thousand more missions so I don’t really mind getting them myself” she groans.

“Hinata-san!” A voice calling from the other side of the door interrupts their conversation, followed by a set of gentle knocks. Neither of the siblings need to inquire any further to rightfully assume it’s Sumire.

“Talking about the devil…” Ren chuckles as he sits down, now glancing at the door. “Come in!”

The door is swiftly open, and an exasperated Sumire steps into the picture—seems like the poor girl can never catch a break.

“I got them, here they are…” She breathes, making her way towards your sister, who also sat down to appropriately receive her correspondence through a small wooden box. “All of your letters—up to today! I didn’t open any of them, I just arranged them by sender”

“Thank you, Sumire” Hinata smiles as she takes the bundle from her hands and lifts the cover, her smile dropping once realizing the incalculable number of letters inside it—she doesn’t believe she’s been out of her home for that long, but the items before her dare to prove otherwise.

Well, such trivialities are bound to happen during an ongoing crisis… considering that she was also the heiress of a somewhat important clan, with a talent that many described as primordial for the smooth development and safety of the jujutsu community.

With that in mind, Hinata mitigates her shocked through as she begins to go through each and every envelope, setting aside those she thought important, urgent, and finally, those that were nothing more than junk—the vast majority coming from some newsletter she wasn’t aware she subscribed to, presumably when she finally got the courage to shop online.

She doesn’t even have that much time to spend on your rescue, what made them think she had time to go through the season’s specials?

Outside of that, everything else was just as she anticipated: nothing more than a bunch of newly assigned missions and announcements from jujutsu HQ regarding the current situation.

However, one of them holds a heavier weight than the others judging by the confidential label on the envelope, and it’s only when she reads it’s contents that her stomach drops: she’s to be an examiner on the upcoming grade 1 exam that’s to be hosted in the Tokyo school.

If her recently added missions weren’t a bid enough of a delay to her much needed trip to Kyoto, this would certainly be. It truly could not have come at a worse time.

Hinata holds back her newfound frustration as she continues through the rest of her correspondence, which is somewhat pacified, that is, upon noticing she was approaching the final letters.

She doesn't know where this thought came from, considering it had been proven useless time and time again to even consider this futile circumstance, but whether for her own reassurance, or simple curiosity, there’s something inside her that tells her to take a chance: even if there’s a slight, almost non-existent possibility of this coming out as positive, it does not hurt to ask the question that kept her hopeful throughout this moment.

“…Has there been… anything… from my sister?” Hinata cautiously pondered before looking back at Sumire’s mournful eyes.

Her gaze flickered from the letters on your sister’s hands, to her gaze, before squeezing a quick glance towards Ren —who replicated the same expectant worry on his dark eyes— before ending on your sister’s letters again.

Her reaction gave the understanding that she was hoping a letter of your writing would magically appear before them… as to avoid the shame of admitting to what Hinata already figured out just by the look on her face.

So, to not keep toying with their feelings, Sumire eventually relegates herself to voice out the dreaded answer.

“No” She reveals as she lowers her head. Her voice is quiet, but regretful, almost as if she felt responsible for your seeming lack of communication, hating that she was to be the one to deliver the terrible news. “…Nothing from her part yet”

“Are you sure?” Hinata is quick to counter. Her mind isn’t too keen on letting this idea go that easily… not when she knew you weren’t one to give up so easily… and there were yet scenarios to go through.

Her family had proven countless times before to have a hidden agenda: they could’ve easily interjected any signs of communication between the two families just to ensure the perpetuation of this marriage.

Fortunately, Sumire was already two steps ahead and had prepared herself accordingly to avoid this situation, such as being the first person the mailman was to see when delivering packages to the estate.

Unfortunately… your absence wasn’t to be the work of your family’s or your husband’s clan. All evidence pointing to the simple fact that you… just haven't been writing to your family.

“Yes… I’m sure” Sumire reaffirms and your sibling’s heart stings with pain and disappointment.

“I see… thank you” is all that Hinata says before placing her letters away on a nearby table, deciding to go through the details of her temporary role as examiner on another occasion. “That’s all from me… I guess”

“Sleep for now” Ren says as he now makes his way to the door.

Sumire, regretfully understanding that her presence was no longer necessary bows before the two and makes her way out the room, retreating onto her next responsibilities just in time before the staff notices her lengthy absence. “…I’m sure Y/N has done whatever she can to let you know she’s ok. Besides, there’s been a rising number of cases regarding mail theft, remember? Even our nearest post office reported a incident, so that might be it”

“Wish letters from HQ would get lost…” Hinata scowls “Why does my sister’s mail need to get lost or stolen?”

“Let’s just assume they have a better private service—while Y/N doesn’t… as well as having an entire family against her”

“I know I shouldn't feel this way, but…” your sister grumbles, looking away from your brother. “I just…”

“Do you feel she hasn’t attempted to contact you at all?”

“…Maybe. I don’t know—I know Sumire is trying hard to keep up with the staff here too, and Y/N’s situation isn’t any better, but… I just can’t shake this frustration inside me, that no matter what we do, there’s always someone out there outsmarting us”

“There might be, there’s always a possibility. But I assure you that she and I have been doing our best to keep our movements concealed, so you have nothing to worry about that” he says, gently placing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to his chest whilst resting his chin on her head “And I’m sure Y/N has done whatever she can to let you know she’s fine. Don’t worry about it, little sister. Rest for now, you’ve done all that you could”

“…Thank you” she smiles, turning to his direction and wrapping her arms around him for an embrace. She keeps there, allowing herself to be comforted by the warmth and care she feels as nothing but necessary to keep surviving; remembering that the last time they hugged was during your wedding, just before you left for your honeymoon.

Thus, a long time coming, yet bittersweet, gesture.

She eventually pulls away from him. Ren gently patted her head and bid her a good rest, as well as a reminder of his availability if she needed anything, before making his way out of her room.

Hinata sees him off, only receding back inside after he disappears around the corner.

Once alone, she promptly changes out of her clothes— your sweater— neatly folding them and placing them onto the nearby table before reaching into her closet for a more comfortable attire to rest in, finally throwing herself over the futon after doing so.

Hinata doesn’t even bother to go under the covers to go to sleep. She’s too tired, too beaten up to do anything else than indulge in the few moments of silence she’s been provided with after a long day out in the city.

And silence was to be an understatement, for her mind was all but quiet in these moments. You were running through her mind every second of the day—whenever she was eating, working, resting, or doing absolutely nothing , her mind always brought her back to you, wondering… if you were ok, if you were safe .

If you were even able to enjoy anything anymore at the lion’s den. Making her realize that even with all the built up stress she was carrying, it was nothing compared to your position.

But like all things in life, your presence in her mind's eye eventually tires her out, and in the middle of reaching out for a quick distraction via the book she had abandoned in favor of her work, she falls asleep.

Hinata gets roughly around… 2 hours of sleep before she’s woken up by the uncomfortable pain of her sore throat and the void of the stomach aching to get something to eat…

As well as the thundering sound of her heart beating against her chest, followed by a thin layer of sweat coating her skin.

The first two occurrences didn’t bother her much for the following reasons: instead of taking up on one of the many invitations from the servants to get a refreshment of a snack, she went straight to bed. Thus, it was only a matter of hours before her body began to cry for sustenance.

It’s the latter that she can’t wrap her head around.

Was it a nightmare? Maybe. Hinata has never been one to sleepwalk, or remember what she dreamt of soon after waking up, so she couldn’t even fathom what it was that had her so distressed.

However, judging by the amount of pressure that she’d subjected her body to these past few days, she doesn't need to go any further to assume it had been your situation that had her in shackles.

Hinata sighs.

She tries not to think much of it, keep her head cool—but as it was stated before, your visage had seemed to haunt her ever since you were stripped away from your home, tormented as she remembers that by each passing day, your suffering only worsens.

«At least I didn’t wake up with a headache» Hinata consoles as she begins to take deep breaths, exercises to calm down her tense heart.

Once she feels herself to be in a better condition, she glances over to the window to get an idea of the time.

It’s already dark at this early hour, as expected of the season. As well as unreasonably cold, reminded by the shiver traversing her spine after a gust of wind makes its way through the window.

Hinata silently regrets and berates herself for not lying underneath the covers from the very beginning as she proceeds to sit herself up—it had been highly responsible of her to do such a thing, no matter how desperate she was to lay down and sleep, she shouldn’t risk getting sick, because that would only her work, although she could use it as an excuse to avoid being an examiner….

No, that’s not right. So, determined to stop this foolishness before it worsens any better, she decides to take care of body’s needs.

Her body, having remained in the same position for far too long, ached to be given that refreshing stretch before moving onto her new goal—with her admitting that she was also looking forward to it.

But before she’s able to do as much as push herself up from the futon, a sharp sensation strikes her lower back, prompting a hiss from her while anchoring her on the post.

A reminder that even if she “slept” she didn’t necessarily rest .

Just to show, yet again, that peace wasn’t something that she’s going to achieve whilst in her home… or everywhere else for that matter.

This doesn’t sway her to stay back in bed though, and instead, Hinata simply waits for the pain to dissipate before finally getting up from her bed and making way towards the window and shutting it.

Once that’s done, she heads over to her closet and reaches out for another hoodie to prevent more shivers from disturbing her, just as they did as she received another gust of wind whilst closing the window.

But even with this extra layer, she finds herself seeking more warmth, thus, she makes a mental note of bringing an additional blanket after returning from getting something to drink and a snack.

Nostalgia suddenly hits her as the topic of blankets is brought up—it might be silly, annoying even, but not for those with a broken heart.

It’s not her fault, she couldn’t help it: blankets have essentially become a symbol of your persona and that’s all she could think of right now.

For as long as she could remember, you always had the tendency of running cold at night: your hands and feet freezing even underneath the covers—even alongside layers and layers of clothing—which you might’ve mischievously used as weapons against her and your brother in the limited occasions you had to share a bed with them…

Such was your animosity towards winter, that you’d rather be weighed down in place over your own futon than to suffer the slightest of shivers throughout the night.

Some even judged the way you often wrapped yourself with a blanket, dressed up with hoodies over hoodies, and basically hung around the estate like that for the rest of the day—instead of just wearing something warmer.

Well, you didn’t care, if others were willing to suffer throughout the winter just so they wouldn’t be labeled as silly , then so be it. As long as you had your thousands of blankets and garments to accompany you, you’d be happy.

Hinata chuckles at the silliness of the memory, before her face suddenly drops.

There is no way for her to understand the kind of care that goes on inside the Zen’in estate, but she hopes that Naoya is at least decent enough to keep you warm and prepared for the upcoming winter, the one that’s yet to be the coldest one yet according to some forecasts.

That’s the bare minimum he could do as your husband : keep his wife well attended throughout her stay there… or was that too much for the heir of the prestigious Zen’in clan?

And unexpectedly, it's at this moment when she realizes this is going to be the first holiday they’re not going to spend without you…

Even when you were quarantined away at school in Tokyo, she still found a way to keep contact with you and your family…

But this time… she’s not so sure she can achieve so.

There are many things to consider, so many things invading her mind at the same time, that she doesn’t even know where to start: she needs to act fast, she needs to take the right steps to ensure that you’ll be back before Christmas is here, she needs to protect her family is the Zen’in truly did something as abhorrent as his father implied…

But she doesn’t know how.

She’s so unsure, so… indecisive.

Hinata feels like she’s drowning in her own thoughts, without being able to turn to someone for help and pull her away from the waves that seem to be pushing her deeper and deeper into the void of her worries.

How was she expected to do anything when she feels like she doesn’t know what’s going on? As if she were nothing more than a child?

And with that realization, her mind finds clarity.

If Hinata felt like a child, then the only way to get out of this predicament is to approach it with a similar mentality.

And what would a child usually do in the situations where they feel lost?

Reach out for their parents.

Thus, your sister decides to do what has always helped her when she needed guidance: visit her father.

Once Hinata changes into something far warmer, she exits through the bedroom door and makes way deeper through the living quarters and onto her parent’s bedroom—now Eiichi’s room.

For as long as she could remember, Eiichi had always been an attentive and caring father when it comes to supporting his children; however, this type of bond seemed to be a bit stronger with her, since they could relate more to one another as leader and heiress of the clan respectively.

He’s always been her go-to person when she faces uncertainty in her life, and he always tries to be there for her, whether for personal or professional matters, it holds no relevance to him, as long as he’s able to help.

But then, when your mother, Minako, passed away… something inside him changed and he began to distance himself from everyone.

Perhaps there was a chance of reconciliation: in fact, many would’ve thought that your situation was to bring your family closer…

Unfortunately, this only served to further rupture whatever relationship was left, more so when it was known that he’d been somewhat of a willing player in this scheme—to make matters worse, he always doted on you the most… which only made his betrayal ever more heart wrenching.

But even after all that happened, all the pain her family had been inflicted with, Eiichi is still their father, and she still loved him.

So as Hinata stands before his door, she mentally prepares herself to push their differences aside for a moment, and just… be there for one another.

“Who is it?” She hears Eiichi call from the other side upon hearing the soft knock on his door.

“It’s me” Hinata responds, and she hears a soft gasp coming from inside of the room as well as a shuffle she was quick to identify as someone scurrying to pick himself up. Footsteps make way towards her direction before the door finally slides wide open, revealing the sight of a somewhat distraught father, but relatively healthy.

“Hinata!” Eiichi gasps, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stares at the heartwarming sight of his eldest daughter back home “You’re… you’re back! I’m so glad to see you!”

“I am” she says, and judging by his reaction, she can only assume that either the servants didn’t bother to inform him of his return, or he had, and forgot about it because he’d been drinking.

She would have informed him so personally… but too enthralled in having an urgent conversation with her brother and your best friend, and yet to deal with the inner turmoil she had towards her father… lead her to decide against it.

Whatever the reason, Hinata still hopes that he hasn't been indulging in alcohol anymore.

For his sake, she really hopes that wasn’t the case…

However, one quick sniff as well as a scan throughout what little floor she could see through the gap in his door, is all that it takes for her to realize that he’s been sober at least for today.

God knows what he’s been doing to keep his demons at bay, but she can at least rest knowing it wasn’t through alcohol.

“Are you… cold?” Eiichi asks, his tremulous voice snapping her back to reality as well as filling the awkward void of silence that had begun to grow between the two.

There's the slightest hesitation on his part on approaching your sister and hugging her, but after catching the brief glance she made into her bedroom, he’s given the understanding that he’s still not in her good graces, and decides against it.

Completely unaware that perhaps… this would’ve been just what they needed to finally make amends.

“Have you eaten already? If not, I can make something—”

“A bit, but I’m fine for now” she responds. Her hunger, thirst and cold had magically disappeared once she decided she needed to see her dad first. Or more like she couldn’t focus on anything else until she completes this small detour and receives some peace of mind. “I just… wanted to see you first”

“…O—oh… I see” he blinks before stepping aside and gesturing with his head “…Want to come in?”

“Yeah, thank you” Hinata nods and walks into the room. She didn’t intend to judge him anymore than she already did moments prior, but due to a past experience, her eyes, yet again, darted to take another quick scan of her surroundings.

The first thing to notice is the absence of bottles of alcohol—she was first able to assume so due to her past approach, nonetheless, she soon remembered that their father had sneakily brought in bottles to his room and attempted to hide them whenever one of them visited him, so it was only natural that her mind urged her to double check.

Fortunately, she was proven wrong. And she was glad that she was wrong. However, when it isn’t one thing to worry her, it’s another, and Hinata finds that in the lack of overall organization in his room.

One would think that this room had been essentially abandoned by the staff members, but that’s nothing more than a fallacy for she knows that they would never dare to not do their job when it comes to tending the master of the clan.

Instead, she assumed that this had been nothing more than his own doing.

His futon was undone, covers roughly tossed over the mattress while the pillow laid feet away from its usual position. From there, all kinds of garments were to be found scattered all over the room: from pants, yukatas, socks…. on the floor, on the nearby table, on the bed, and ironically, just outside the closet… it had been a surprise they hadn't found their way to the ceiling yet.

However none of these things worried her as much as the following did.

Secluded from the previously detailed cluster, and just beside his bed, alongside a few books, rests a small vinyl record player, with countless vinyl albums, CD’s to accompany it… and a photo album.

Items that after a quick second of glancing over them, she eventually recognized as items previously sorted as missing… memoirs from her beloved mother.

And it doesn’t take any longer from there for Hinata to deduce what has kept him occupied ever since he abandoned drinking: He’s drowning his demons, not with alcohol, but rather, with the nostalgia and pain of when things were right.

In any other occasion, this sight would’ve also brought her the emotions she imagines her father to be experiencing, as well as the urge to take a break and sit down to look back on the things she missed from when her mother was still alive.

But there’s something about observing these items in his room that… confuses her, disturbs her… if not angers her.

It almost seems that their father was… running away from his reality, from facing the repercussions of his actions, in favor of plunging into the safeness the memory of his wife provided… and they’ve been deprived of it for selfish reasons.

Hinata then feels he is undeserving of even being near these things, for after all that he’d committed against them, robbing them of their mother’s items to keep for himself, and subsequently betraying you, he’d only be defiling what they represented….

And the necessity of his counseling begins to slowly drift away as an old wound reopens.

Upon noticing the heavy shift on the air, alongside his daughter’s glued gaze on his wife’s property, Eiichi could assume Hinata was wondering why these items were there in the first place.

He’s never been one to fret about the inquiries about his children… at least not to this level, but the passion that seems to be etched on her face is enough to grow nervous, anxiously prompting him to offer an explanation.

“I was just… taking care of them, removing the dirt that has begun to settle on them” he says, fidgeting with his hands as his eyes remain fixed on said items. “and… remembering your mother. But don’t worry about that, let’s just focus on—”

“Is that all that you’ve been doing?” she says immediately after, head snapping into his direction. The suddenness of her action provoked a flinch from him, as well as the settlement of remorse on the back of his mind. “Have you been doing anything else, at all? ”

If there was any semblance of her wanting to have a normal conversation with him, one that would help her calm down the agitation in her mind and possibly bring them closer once and for all, the incredulity in her voice informs it was long gone.

“I… I’m working…” he stammers on, tensely gathering enough courage to finally confront his daughter’s heavy gaze “I know I don’t have many responsibilities after you started to step up for the role… but there are still some things I have to personally oversee and, well, I’m doing my best with everything that happened”

“Is it?” she scowls “And is there any chance of these things being related to Y/N, hm?” and it’s now that Eiichi feels himself to have been effectively cornered.

His silence, however, far from maintaining a veil of uncertainty, is to be nothing more than confirmation to her assumptions, leading another wave of disbelief to hit her, followed by the mentally scolding of herself for being stupid enough to trust one of the people that essentially sold you to the highest bidder.

“No” he eventually responds, low, almost like a whimper, enough to demonstrate his shame. Perhaps in attempts to gain her empathy, but to an angered Hinata, this is nothing more than a pathetic struggle of victimization “I… I presume you… have?”

“You know I can’t tell you that. In fact, I can’t tell you anything , because you’ve deemed yourself untrustworthy—to think I actually came to you for guidance…” she sneers.

At the additional rupture of the damaged trust Eiichi feels his heart squeeze in pain, a need to patch things between the two arises to the occasion.

“I… I never meant to hurt you, Ren, or your sister!” He cries “You know… you know family is the most important thing to me, above anything else! And I’m always willing to help with whatever I can! But this… this is out of my hands, and you know that. You know I would’ve never done this if there wasn’t any other option!”

“And yet, here we are, with you locked in your room with all of mom’s things, which you’ve deprived us for a long time now, sinking deeper and deeper into this pathetic state, as if you’d been the one wronged, while my sister is out there suffering the most horrible things I don’t even want to think of!” she refutes “All while cowering behind the elders, under the fact that you can’t say anything because whatever accord you made with the Zen’in will be broken instantaneously! As if that were more important than your own goddamn family!”

“That’s not—don’t say that, Hinata!” Eiichi yelps, a guilty conscience prohibiting him from denying or affirming her statement, because deep inside his troubled mind, he knew very well she was telling nothing but the truth.

“Then what?” she dared, “Do you want me to say that everything is fine, that everything was just as you expected it to be—whatever that might be— if not better! And to not worry about it?”

“No, of course not but—”

“I know Ren is far more understanding when it comes to approaching you, and I can even… somewhat forgive what you’d kept away from us regarding mom—but that stops with Y/N.” Hinata breathes, tears now forming in the corner of her eyes. “I…. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re… you’re able to do this, as if nothing ever happened! You’re able to lay in bed while I can’t even close my eyes without seeing her!! Do you even know what I saw that time I went to the estate?! What were Naoya's intentions for that visit all along? The empty promises he made of keeping communication between the two families?! It’s been weeks since I last saw Y/N and I have yet to know anything about her! And I can’t seem to get help from HQ either, because I’m dumped with more and more work each day!”

“I—I didn’t know—I don’t know what to do, Hinata! I want to save her myself but I—”

“You can't” Hinata murmurs hotly. “Because that’s too much , isn’t that right, father ?

…

Eiichi remains quiet, unable to speak as the shame he carries simply for his insignificant presence steals all of his breath away.

“I’m…. I’m sorry ” is all that he can whimper past his trembling lips and the knot in his throat. There are hot tears pooling in his eyes, the vision of his angered daughter becoming blurrier by the second, something that he couldn’t be any more appreciative of for he couldn’t stand the disgrace he’d become to their family, and Minako’s absence.

“No” she shakes her head “I’m not the one you should be sorry to”

“I—I know… once she’s back, once I see Y/N again, I’ll… I’ll get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness. I've done so much wrong to her as her own father , but never more, I—I promise that I’ll make things right—!”

“No, father” Hinata reiterates, and Eiichi blinks, dumbfounded by her unforeseen response.

He expects to be reprimanded for not being active enough in your search, a big coward that doesn’t have the guts to stand up to the elders and do what’s right.

But all of this is nothing compared to what follows next.

If his heart was slowly rupturing with the pain of your absence, her words effectively crushed it.

“It’s mother you should apologize to”

And with that, she leaves.

#naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x your #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #series: first it hurts—

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