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fairene · 7 months ago

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beneath the moonlight / ln4

vacay lando norris x maxf!littlesister

no use of y/n, as always.

prompt ⋯ ohhh hey ! wanted to stop by to say i love ur fic and wanted to request insatiable lando with max f’s sister like a forbidden summer fling with all their friends and no one’s supposed to know about their secret relationship ( especially max ) — @444mercss

a/n ⋯ this was much longer than i intended, but the words just kept flowing out of me. thank you to all those who beta read my post and helped with grammar!!! ( @jamminvroomvroom , @theonottsbxtch ) you all helped so much. and thank you to mercs for requesting this. i didn't know i'd enjoy it as much as i did, but it definitely was for 20k words. i'll probably take a week ( or maybe not ) off from writing just to give myself a cool down period, but still here to answer any asks. feel free to pop in. hope you all enjoy this, and remember, readers looks are up for interpretation, along with the outfits. colors of coloring are mention only briefly!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drinking, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, oral(m+f)!receiving, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, feral lando. best friends little sister, brothers best friend dynamic, mutual pining, 'games', horny thoughts. much, much more. but even, possession, jealousy. if i forgot any warnings, feel free to let me know.

wc ⋯ 20.1k (WHEWWW WEEE... edited by @jamminvroomvroom, @theonottsbxtch)

the summertime was one of your favorites. you and all of the rest of your girlfriend’s would spend each and every day together without question. but as time went on, they got their own lives. partners, engagements, jobs. not to say that you weren’t an accomplished young lady, but it was starting to show that you were hung up on a life that was starting to fade.

your brother on the other hand, was keen on keeping you in this life. in tip top shape on your toes, he’d always challenge you in a multitude of ways. or annoy you to no end. typically it was the latter.

but he had invited you this summer on vacation with his friends. you knew them all relatively well, texted here and there, but you never imagined to be trailing along on a villa getaway sponsored by the quadrant house, mainly the famous lando norris himself.

you would be shy to admit it, but you had a bit of a soft spot for lando. him and his cheeky smile. the moles that donned his face. his starlit eyes that radiated an emerald hue beneath the sunlight. it was intangible the way that you could pick apart the details about his nuanced beauty, but it was a secret for you to keep. a secret that no one, especially your brother, could ever find out about.

but that’s all that it was, wasn’t it?

a dream. a pathetic fantasy. you wouldn’t ever gain the courage to talk to him, make a move, despite how often him and max talk about going on dates with girls. talking about his love life, or the rather drab there of. he fucked around a lot, max knew that, and would consistently warn you to never get wrapped up in the same lifestyle as the british driver. you’d hold up your hands in defense, shrieking a ‘don’t worry about me,’ though you wish you gave him a reason to.

why did you feel undeserving of lando– because he was a formula one driver? attractive? charming? were you afraid that you were going to be friendzoned–? oh god, that would be the fucking worst, wouldn’t it? you could never imagine the hangouts being the same. so you’d bite your tongue until it bled, even when your body yearned for the heat of his own.

the villa that you would be staying at was on lake como in italy. it was a beautiful venue, a place that you’d been dreaming of visiting. max knew this, hence why he’d probably sniped you an invite. but it wasn’t like no one wanted you there. everyone did. that was the problem. you were so incredibly loved by all of max’s friends, that he kept them at arm’s length. no one would ever hurt his little sister. not while he was still breathing.

“wow,” you breathed, stepping out of the uber from the airport. the house before you was a stunning makeup of eccentric architecture that dated decades before your own birth. it was a grand building with tall, marble columns. thoroughly decorated landscaping, and even had running fountains in the front. you were so lost in your awe that you didn’t see the huge pair of mahogany doors swing open.

“max,” you turned your head towards your brother who was grabbing your bags from the trunk. you shifted to the source of the voice, finding the british driver standing barefoot with a beach flannel and short-inseam khaki shorts low around his waist. you gulped before looking anywhere else but him.

“lando!” max approached him, arm outstretched for a shake. lando met him half way down the marbled steps, taking his sunglasses off from the top of his head.

“how was the flight, mate? good?” max nodded for the both of you whilst you fiddled with the accessories around your hands. you didn’t ever know what to say to lando. you found yourself unbelievably speechless in his presence.

“not too bad, ‘specially if this is what you’ve got.” lando chuckled at your brother’s words, and then his eyes finally landed on you. you and your comfortable outfit from the plane ride over. you and your pulled back hair, respectfully messy, and the jewelry that adorned your fingers. his eyes caught over the bling, and how you anxiously picked away at the skin.

“never thought she’d grace our presence,” lando said jokingly, which had your head snapping upright. you flushed, sucking your bottom lip with your teeth.

max rolled his eyes, avoidant of the topic of you in general. “whatever, mate, she’s here now, in’she?” what? what was that supposed to mean? was your presence requested? you suddenly felt wanted above all things.

“she certainly is.” lando approached you with his tongue tucked behind his bottom lip, hasty in his steps. you stood up straighter with a light smile on your face, eyes twinkling away from his own. you couldn’t keep eye contact with him. “c’mon, love, i’ll take your bags.”

“are you sure? i can take–”

the bags were grabbed from your hands. you felt the palm of his own for just a moment— the warm flesh, humming low against his own. you felt like he spoke to you through your blood, but you let it go. lando norris wasn’t giving you special attention, that’s for sure.

you promised yourself that much. this whimsical, airy crush of yours needed to be vetted on the spot. he was your brother’s best friend, older than you, and certainly didn’t have time for a girl who wasn’t a celebrity.

right?

he took your bags through the exquisite villa. the interior was even more luxurious than you could ever imagine– floor to ceiling windows, candlelit ceiling lights, flora decorating each wall that you turned to. it smelled delectable, too, wafting germanium and coconut oil. the smile on your face couldn’t be ignored, as you shimmered brighter than the summer sun.

“you like it, then?” came lando’s voice. your head dropped, glancing at him from where he stood, waiting for you to join him on the steps. had he been watching your face?

“you’re joking.” you assured, hands clasped together. “it’s beautiful.”

lando smiled then, too, letting his lower lip snatch between his top teeth. he tried hard to conceal his happiness, but you felt like you could feel it amongst the air. you felt warm all of a sudden and cleared your throat, urging him forward up the spiraling staircase.

you walked in silence with him down the long corridors. you would pause before each door briefly, wondering if he was going to open it, but he didn’t. it wasn’t until you were reaching the ends of the hallway when he stopped, twisting the knob of the white wooden door. he stood aside, letting you in first.

the room you’d be staying in for the next few weeks was more than you could ever dream of. with its spacious interior, personal bathroom, and private balcony, you felt like the luckiest girl alive to be able to experience this. to live in this moment. to be here. in italy, of all places.

lando interrupted your dreaming haze by sliding the bags in. you turned to face him in your unruly, exhausted glory, and he stared at you. a hand of his found the back of his neck.

“so…dinner tonight at seven, pool day tomorrow, um…” he looked around, acting as if he could suddenly have the words appear into his head. “oh and, if you need anything, my room’s just next door.”

he said it with haste, as if he were shy about the fact, and was already stepping out the door.

“wait,” you said, stepping forward. lando hung back, gripping onto the door frame, swinging his head back into the room. “thank you.”

the words seemed to hit him harder than you thought that it would. he blushed a light red, dimming his tanned face, and cleared his throat before nodding. “of course.” he said with out hesitance, making it clear that he would do this for anyone. “‘m glad you’re here.”

and then he was gone.

you stared at the shut door in stunned silence. did you really hear him correctly?

you didn’t let your thoughts linger too long, but you couldn’t help but let it. the curly-haired brunette stayed in your mind whilst you settled in and unpacked. all ounce of his shy, gaunt nature.

by the evening you were more than settled and relaxed. you’d taken a small nap to rejuvenate your energy, and just in the nick of time for dinner. you got ready amply, sliding a comfortable dress over the surface of your body. the straps were thin and fell loose upon your collarbones. you’d pair an elegant pair of low rise heels on your feet, pointy-toed, that matched the color of your dress.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the dim yellow lighting illuminating the corners of your face that you so frequently forgot to appreciate. it was in the hours of the night that you could appreciate yourself, unopposed to the gawking looks of strangers.

there was a soft knock on your door at 6:57. you turned, dress swaying from your movements, and cracked it open.

lando stood there on the other side. him and his dark shirt and khaki pants. he wore a pair of leather black loafers that matched his shirt. he smelled good, too, a masculine tint of sauvage.

no words were spoken between the two of you. you simply stared at one another, lost in each other’s features. you resisted the urge to trace the moles on his face with a finger, whilst he fought himself to not reach out and run his hands along the fabric of your dress.

his eyes softened when you met his, cheeks filled with a simple kind of joy. the two of you were done ogling at one another, still foreign in each other’s presence.

“ready?” he asked. you nodded, grabbing a matching handbag from the countertop and slung it over your arm. you shut the door to your room behind you and walked a few paces behind lando. you weren’t close with him like that to walk side by side.

or so you thought.

he dragged his feet to slow his pace, coming parallel to your side. he held his breath for a moment, turning to look at the exposed skin from your dress. you caught his wandering eyes and looked up at him, wandering beneath his emerald depths.

“what?” you asked tenderly, voice hitching in your throat.

“nothing.” he turned his head to face back forward. “just haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all.”

that was an understatement. you haven’t seen lando in almost three years. max had done a stellar job of wanting to keep you separated from his friends, though you weren’t upset about it. you had your own life, and that was perfectly enough for you.

but you were a girl with a heart full of wanderlust, and often dreamed of what you could’ve had. there was a marksmith of delusion prodding the hidden parts of your brain, working tirelessly to pick apart the small interactions you’ve had with lando over the years.

when you turned 18, he brought you to an exclusive club and showered you with gifts, alcohol, and even more. it was a night you wouldn’t forget, feeling lucky enough to manage a dance with him on the dance floor. his hands hovered above your body, the warmth seeping through your skin, rattling your bones. he even got so close to your face that you could feel his breath. smell the alcohol that reeked from him.

you thought you were going to kiss.

and so did he.

but your brother separated the two of you, calling lando over for a group shot. you were left there, stranded on the dance floor, with the phantom touch of a man that you knew you could never have. it pained you to admit such a truth to yourself, but it didn’t loiter. you had a life to get back to, not indulge some silly, fanatical dream that kept you up late at night as a teenager. lando norris was the fantasy, never to become a reality.

though, every time in presence, you’d manage to falter. set those delusions free the second he’d act kindly to you; gentle, tender tenacity that you believed would be special to you. max’s little sister. that’s all you were, though, weren’t you?

“you’ve been well, haven’t you?” you asked him with a hum, holding your bag with both hands in front of you. the leather piece bucked against your abdomen. lando watched, peering to see if he could hold it for you.

“‘course. living my dream, aren’t i?” you’d made it to the end of the hallway. the top of the staircase.

“it’s not a dream.” you said with a softer intonation. he looked back towards you with a raised brow. “it’s reality now, i’d reckon.”

he smiled.

the two of you made it down the steps. you lingered in the grand foyer, beneath the candlelit chandelier. it was still light outside, but the sun was beginning to set. it had created a pink and blue hue over the water’s edge.

but you weren’t looking at the water’s edge.

you were looking at lando. your brother’s best friend. he had his hands in his pockets, facing the open living room, rocking back and forth on his heels. you cut your way to his line of sight staring upward at him. he looked down at you, wondering what you were searching for.

you had considered not doing what you were about to do. you really did!

but your hand was already outstretched, the tips of your fingers grazing over the grown facial hair on his chin. he didn’t jolt from the action and merely stared into your eyes, pupils blown wide from the warmth of your touch.

“i like it,” you commented before taking your hand away, finding yourself into much deep trouble if max had seen the two of you.

“yeah?” lando asked, suddenly much closer to you.

“makes you look older and manly.” you rolled your eyes.

“what? i wasn’t manly before?”

your hand rolled over your mouth to withhold a laugh. “i’ve seen you weep at the sight of fish.”

lando’s face lit up and his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek. “doesn’t make me any less of a man.” he crossed his arms.

“really?”

“just enthusiastic. don’t see a problem with having a bit of character.” you didn’t argue with him further when you saw your brother and other group friends join one another in the living room. they made their way closer to the two of you.

you took a step back from lando. he couldn’t take his eyes off the action, his face falling instinctively. it’s nothing. his expressions mean nothing. they’re not for you.

“c’mon, i’m starvin’.” max called, slapping lando on the back. sure enough, you were walking out the door behind your brother, everyone trailing in an orderly manner.

you heard lando call your name from in front of max. you hummed in response. “you’ll ride with me, yeah?” you blushed. how could you not? max turned his head over his shoulder, his voice saying nothing, but his eyes telling all. he knows how you felt about lando when you were younger.

he knows, he knows, he knows. but surely, surely you’ve gotten over that little crush of yours. and lando, too, hadn’t harbored any feelings towards you either? surely, surely he couldn’t. you were his little sister. and max knew how lando treated girls as of late.

it left a sour taste in his mouth, but he said nothing when you nodded, brushing past him.

lando opened the door for you. his mclaren was a two seater, comfortable, and roared to life when lando turned over the engine. you couldn’t help but laugh feeling the seat vibrate beneath your thighs. it was a feeling of exhilaration that you hadn’t felt in a long time, but a feeling that came perpetually with lando’s presence. being with him made you feel alive, more alive than the years you’d walked this earth.

your excitement had done things to him as well. his eyes were glued to how you reacted, enthralled by your visceral enthusiasm to being in such a tangible sports car. your fingertips grazed across the leather interior of the door handle.

“gonna jump out on me?”

you shifted in the leather seat, crossing your legs over one another. there was a heat building inside of you, deep in your core.

“not if you don’t give me a reason to.”

he chuckled at that. “i’ll try.”

you smiled to yourself, looking down at your fiddling hands. lando stepped on the gas and pulled out of the villa’s extraneously long driveway, leading the pack of friends behind him.

“you look fit.” came his voice, nervous, beneath his breath. your eyes caught his side profile, all rough edges of it. “beautiful, but your brother’d have me by the balls if he heard me say that.”

your breaths were heavy in your chest. “then don’t let him.”

lando’s head whipped to meet your eyes, hand white-knuckling the steering wheel. you weren’t even sure what you were implying with your words, but he hoped that he wasn’t misinterpreting them. god forbid he didn’t understand. you didn’t brush him off like you did as a child, didn’t stumble away bashfully. now, in your grown state, you faced him head on. you challenged him, just as he suspected you would.

“between us, then?”

you nodded, tongue coming to wet your bottom lip. you made a motion of a lock and key against them, throwing the key out the window. he watched, but was drawn back to the road. that was one of the fastest car rides you’ve ever been in with that roaring engine, feeling like you had stepped into the biggest unknown of your very existence.

the restaurant that lando had made reservations for was absolutely beautiful. you couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve been awed by the sites you’ve seen, but you couldn’t help yourself. you were simply one of the luckiest girls with even richer friends.

lando opened the car door for you, sprinting to the other side. you found yourself laughing at the action, finding his urgency cute.

you stepped out of the car and you immediately found your brother, his stance idle before he marched over to you.

“he say anything to you?”

you flushed. between us, then?

“no. what would he say?”

max didn’t elaborate and simply settled for a huff from his nose. lando had been handing off his car to the valet man when he met up with the two of you. your other friends were in tow, eight of you in total, and made it inside the restaurant with ease.

you didn’t even think about what the seating arrangement would be. not until lando pulled out a chair for you, beside him, and you had no other choice but to settle in. not like you were complaining though.

but max was going to. you could see the look on his face when he sat opposite to you, flashing you a pair of warning eyes. but you didn’t know what warranted them– you didn’t even say anything to lando, more or less.

you furrowed your brows at him, feeling far too old for these insolent glances, and picked up the menu. lando sat next to you, mirroring your actions. you placed the napkin on your lap, a polite etiquette you’ve always precluded dinners with.

“ah– look,” you leaned into lando’s space, the heat from his body, the cologne from his shirt, sifting through your nose. it was tempting. “for you.”

your finger pointed to the blackened cod that they had on the menu. lando met you half way, looming over your shoulder at what you were pointing at. as soon as he read it, he scoffed. “fuck off.” you couldn’t help but giggle, attempting to stifle the sound the best you could.

“don’t do that,” lando’s voice came firm, but soft against your ears. he was talking just loud enough for the two of you to be able to hear. you glanced quickly at max, who was lost in conversation with his buddies.

“what?”

“hide your laugh.” you guessed you didn’t realize how often you muffled yourself. your hand lowered to your lap. “you used to do it when you were a teenager, too.” he pointed. you thought for a moment, realizing that he was right. “never understood why. especially since it’s so pretty.”

you froze, staring up at him with weary eyes. he looked confused at your expression. your hand came to slap his bicep. “stop it.” but you were teasing him. he saw right through your tone.

“don’t let him, ‘s what you said, right?”

you swallowed. nodded your head.

his mouth dipped to your ear. his breath hot, just like your cheeks. “he won’t hear a thing then, will he?” lando’s nose brushed against your scalp, and you thought for a moment, dreamed, that he would plant a kiss upon your head. but his lips simply hovered, breaths warming your strands of hair.

but you turned your head to meet his eyes, shaking his contact off. he noticed. tensed. “but he can see, you imbecile.”

that had lando laughing. your face broke with a smile, unable to resist his intoxicating gestures. he simply shrugged, letting you win this one, and his arm came to sling over the back of your chair. his fingertips grazed the strands of your dress, dipping down to your bare shoulders. your posture straightened against the chair, legs crossing over one another beneath the table. he watched you shift, his teeth catching his bottom lip to retain his smile.

the waiter came to take your orders. you ordered your preferred choice and drink, lando following suit. when the table received their drinks, you lifted your glasses for a collective ‘cheers’.

when the main course was finished, you were handed the dessert menus. short a couple, you had to share with the man next to you. you nudged lando’s shoulder with your own and like a dog to a whistle, he was over your shoulder once more, his stubble barely pinching your skin. the thought burst through your head: what would it feel like on your neck? on your thighs, your cunt? you blushed again for what felt like an infinitesimal number, but turned your attention back to the menu.

you pointed at the option that you thought was best. lando hummed, his eyes tracing over the features of your face. you glanced at him. “what?” you asked.

he simply huffed a short laugh and nodded his head at your choice.

it arrived sooner than later and the two of you split the sweet dessert. your brother was still lost in his own conversations, leaving you to your ministrations with lando. whatever they may be, you’d want them all.

when you had your fill and so did he, you couldn’t help but look at him. he turned, and you laughed quietly between the two of you. he raised a brow.

“you’ve got–” you pointed to his lip, but you figured your words were fruitless. you licked at your thumb and raised it to his mouth, cleaning him. his eyes darkened, becoming hooded with the shadows of lust. you even dared to bring your thumb back to your mouth, popping the remnants across your lips with a ‘pop’. lando never thought his dick could be so hard.

“there,” you breathed. “all clean.”

there was a brief silence. one second. two. “you’ve always been trouble, haven’t you?”

your own eyes were hooded. “maybe.” you teased, cleaning your fingers with the napkin. “guess you have to find out?”

lando’s hand gripped tighter on the back of your chair.

“guess so.”

the drive back was tense. tense with your excitement. on the way out, lando and you lingered at the back of the pack. his hand was on your lower back, warm and electric, reminding you that you had stepped into the deep end with him.

you still couldn’t believe what had happened.

lando was speeding down the freeway, weaving his way in and out of cars, a dangerous task that you only felt comfortable with him performing. you’d lose your mind if anyone else was the driver, but he was the professional here, wasn’t he?

you were even so bold to roll the window down and stick your hand out, feeling the harsh slipstreams beneath your nailbeds. you relaxed in the seat, head lolling against the cushion, hair flying into the wind. lando turned his head to look at you, his elbow leaning on the interior beneath the windowsill, and almost swerved into oncoming traffic. you were a picturesque beauty, lounging freely in his passenger seat, legs crossed, free.

you were at peace for the time being, and it was the only way he’d wish to see you. but he could think of other things.

he pulled into the house with ease. it was well lit amongst the long, windy driveway, and he made sure to let you out first. you two were the last to arrive at the house this time, taking your sweet time. you were in no rush to race back to your room, and neither was he.

it was well past 10pm. when you reached the foyer, max was waiting for you.

“bright and early tomorrow?” he asked.

“bright and early.” you confirmed. he pulled you in for a swift hug, rustling the top of your head with that familial brother love that you adored him for.

he patted lando on the back briefly, before narrowing his eyes at him. you didn’t understand what was happening between the two of them, bro code, but lando seemed to understand well enough. max and his buddies traipsed up the steps, and you felt at ease when you heard their doors shut.

it was just you and lando, now, idling in the foyer.

you said nothing but began to walk, trailing forward through the grandeur villa. you were ample with your pace and heard him moving behind you. with a push of your hand, you opened the door to the grand balcony, leaving it ajar for lando to sneak out from.

he did.

there was a patio set there, waiting, and you let your handbag drop onto the coffee table. you sauntered over to the cobblestone walls, the balustrade meeting post to post for about thirty feet. you leaned against the stone. it was cold against your bare back.

lando seated himself in one of the chairs, his legs spreading wide. he watched you lean forward, then spin to face him. your back was illuminated by the halo of the moonlight, drenching you in a pale visage of beauty.

“you wanna know something?” you asked. lando perked up, humming with curiosity. he was too busy admiring your figure, having to pull himself back from such tumultuous thoughts. “i had a crush on you when i was a kid.”

that stifled a laugh from the british driver. “you did not.”

you shook your head. “sure did.” you didn’t know why you were telling him this all of a sudden, but it was weighing heavy on your mind. “max was pissed. knew i only came around when he told me you’d be there.”

the pieces began melding together in lando’s mind. he had been such an idiot boy that he couldn’t see what a prized beauty you were. there was a trace of second hand guilt. a pattern of ‘what-ifs’ trifling through his mind.

“‘was just a stupid girl. tried so hard for you to notice me.” your hands covered your face for a brief moment.

“you always wore skirts,” he recalled, looking at his hands in his lap. he looked up at you, smirk building. “that why?”

you were shameless when you nodded your head.

“so embarrassing, i know–”

“what about now?” he cut you off, clearly wanting to ask this question the moment it left your lips.

“what do you mean?” your mouth went dry, your hands clasping at the balustrade as if you were going to faint. your heart pounded in your chest.

“what do you feel for me now?”

you couldn’t meet his eye. you looked anywhere else but him, in fact, and opted to over your shoulder to admire the view of the ocean beneath the starlight. the ocean wouldn’t judge you. it would wash away your problems, in fact, and not stare you down.

there was a deep intake of breath that had your head settling from its dizzy state. you looked back to lando and he sat there, cocky, upright. but there was a genteel nature about him that didn’t have you as afraid as you thought you’d be.

he raised his arm, outstretching his hand for you.

you swallowed, pushing yourself off from the balustrade. you sauntered towards him, earnest in your steps, before letting your palm rest on his.

he pulled you close, fingers wrapping against your wrist. he was warm to the touch and he could feel your erratic heartbeat in your veins.

lando’s legs spread for you to settle between. you stood above him, looking down at his brunette curls, his stubble, his cheekbones. his own hands were experimental against the planes of your body, touching sweetly against your hips.

“you didn’t answer me.” he repeated.

you crossed your arms over your chest.

“some dreams just remain dreams.”

he waited a beat. you felt his chest rise and fall.

“do you want to dream forever?”

no. no. you didn’t. you wanted your fantasies to become reality. being with him. being loved by him has always been what you wanted.

you lowered yourself on his lap, straddling his waist. you felt his cock thrum beneath the guard of his pants. did he want you the same?

his forehead collided with yours. his nose brushing against your bridge. you shook your head, closing your eyes.

“wake me up,” you mewled quietly, voice deep within your throat. it was a desperate plea, one that you thought he may not understand until he caught the glint in your eye. the wanting. the years of pining from a distance. how he was so wrapped up in his boyhood that he couldn’t appreciate a woman at his side. “please.”

he didn’t wait any longer to meet your lips with his own.

you were cautious with your touches. your hands were on his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. but your kiss was deep by his own volition, gripping your chin with his forefinger and thumb, earning a groveling sound in your throat.

his other hand was stroking your back, pushing you against him until your breasts were firmly against his chest. you gasped at the firm contact, him using it as an excuse to slip his tongue into your mouth. he explored every corner with an expertise you didn’t know was possible. no place went untouched by his saliva, marking a cavern of his own, and perhaps awakening a fantasy that had been dormant for years.

he lied when he said he didn’t notice you.

he lied.

lando would always await your appearance when he went over to max’s house. he’d hear you skip down the steps in whatever mary-jane heel you wore for that day. max would groan when your head popped through the archway, waving at his friends, but your lashes fluttered when you settled on lando.

‘course he fucking noticed.

he thought of you a sweet girl, caring for her brother, with an exquisite taste in fashion. he’d remember the skirts you wore– black ones, pleated ones, plaid ones– they were all committed to the vaults of his memory. he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

and he still did. while you were perched atop of his lap, huffing in nervous breaths, your hands anxiously skirting across the plane of his dress shirt. you shook atop of him as your lips moved coincided with one another. two bodies, melding together beneath the moonlight.

your tongue swirled against his own, hips bucking against the bulge in his pants. your cunt tightened aimlessly, drenching his pants below. he could feel the patten of fabric become lathered in your slick, and it brought him back to earth.

“we can’t.” he breathed against your lips. his chest was beating up and down, unable to calm himself. though he attempted rejecting you, his hand tightened around the fabric of your dress.

your nose brushed against his as you chuckled. “a bit late, isn’t it?” your teeth bit at your swollen, bottom lip. you could see his eyes flash downward at your action, his own tongue wetting his own.

“your brother,” he began to shake his head, still clutching around the fabric of your dress.

“he doesn’t…” you began to say, kissing the sides of his stubble. you were even so bold to take his free hand, guide it to your inner thighs, and let his fingertips caress the wet fabric covering your cunt. it was swollen, desperate for his touch. you’d been desperate for his touch. desperate for as long as you could remember. “have to know.”

lando’s fingers curled upward to apply pressure right on your clit. he didn’t even have to search for it, and you shifted your hips, bucking them across his palm. “fuck, baby…” he groaned into your cheek, followed by a crass chuckle. “you always get this wet?”

your head buried itself into the junction between his neck and shoulder, whining with embarrassment. “jus’ for you…” the words came quietly, but they rang loud in lando’s ears. he could feel the vibrations from your throat, your aching cunt. you were laid atop of him, dripping down your thighs.

“yeah?” he breathed, finding his heart beating rapidly beneath the weight of your body. his fingers began a pattern of motions across your clothed clit—back and forth— and you mewled into his shirt. there was a patch of drool beneath your lips. “look at you, then, made a mess all over me…”

your lips sucked on the skin of his neck, biting at his chest. attempting to shift closer to him, if it was possible, had your cunt aligned over his clothed cock.

“‘n i’ve barely touched you.”

lando wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to. this was his best friend’s little sister. the amount of lines he’s crossed. the friendship he’s had for years suddenly feeling vulnerable, out the door. but he can’t say he hasn’t thought about a moment like this. fantasized about it once or twice.

“touch me,” you pleaded, tilting your head to look at him. your eyes were wide, glossy with your pleasure, whilst his darkened at your contact. “more, i need…” your hips grinded against his palm. “more.”

“fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath. fuck his self control. fuck whatever this was going to do to his friendship. you are real, pining for him in his lap, begging you for his touch. anything from him, really, you would take. this moment felt like it was going to flutter away any moment, and you’d be waking up from a sick, yearning dream.

the hand upon your back steadied you against his body, whilst the fingers of his other moved the fabric of your panties aside. here, with his sensitive fingers, he could feel the heat from your cunt. it washed over him like a wave, retracting, tightening when he flexed his middle finger. you were utterly drenched for him, the cool breeze of the night raising goosebumps along your skin.

you shivered above him, watching how his hand worked beneath your dress. his hand against your back curled around the base of your neck, angling your eyes back up to his own. “eyes on me.” you listened, melted at his soft, demanding tone, and nodded your head. you shimmied frantically across the plane of his hand, but he tsked. “be patient.”

you seemed to understand well enough. he would give you what you wanted, in time. you would be patient, holding back the whimpers deep within your throat. you were just about to implode on yourself when he finally inserted his middle finger into your folds, taunting you dangerously. you gasped, unable to keep yourself still as your back arched. your head fell back into his hand, lando’s thumb swirling around your bare neck.

the straps from your dress fell loose with the motion and you could feel the breeze harden your already taut nipples. his eyes clinged downward at the sight before him, head bending forward to kiss your exposed chest. one of your hands came to clench around his wrist, the other to his neck, holding him fiercely to your body.

your fingers were thrusted deep into the base of his neck, the fade of his hair. you tugged when his finger curled deliciously inside of you, his thumb– acting so expertly– applied gentile pressure to your clit, toiling with your impetuous lust. you felt exposed to him, putty in his hands, weightless against his body.

the british driver’s lips were relentless on your skin. your chest was claimed by his tongue, swirling around the top of your breasts, edging you further to a spectacular orgasm. he sucked tight against your skin, but your head raised to meet your lips to his ears.

“no marks,” you requested, but you heard him growl against your chest. his hands flexed– his wrist clutched with your palm, his hand on the back of your neck– the contact with your neck had you breathless, clenching around his singular finger, and he took blatant notice.

“a secret, yeah?” he confirmed, holding back his groveling tone. the words were bitter when they hit your ears. there was a layered amount of surplus emotions that guarded his heart, held him at arm's length, and he knew it would tear him apart. but now, he focused on you atop of him, and getting you to come.

“mhmm…” you had to clamp your mouth shut from bursting with a wanton moan. it was too much– the way that he swirled his thumb, how his finger was just the perfect length to bottom out inside of you. your hips moved relentlessly, despite his grip around your neck, and you pushed down on his wrist when it started to become too much for you.

but lando had other plans. he shook his head, let out a tsk between his lips, and let his ring finger slip into you with ease. you let out another moan, deeper than the rest, but he responded with a tug on your hair.

with his lips still against your breasts, his motions froze. “quiet.” you hummed a disapproving sound. “want me to stop?”

you shook your head. “no– no!”

you could feel his teeth against your breasts, a cocky smile no doubt with how flustered you became at the thought of him stopping.

“gotta be quiet, love–” and then his lips were back on you, sucking amply at your skin. his head lowered until he captured a nipple between his teeth, letting the ridges toy with your sensitive buds. your head lowered to the top of his as you breathed him in– his shampoo, his cologne– and it didn’t help with containing yourself.

his pace against your cunt quickened. dual fingers sliding in and out of you with ease, thumb riding aggressively on your clit. you could feel the coil inside of you wringing with heat.

lando’s lips found your other nipple, treating it with the same voraciousness that the other received. it was beginning to become too much for you. no man had ever had you this way– putty, liquid, melting– beneath his touch. you feared that you’d never be able to have an orgasm again.

you became antsy in his hands. your grip on his wrist was shaking, your thighs desperately clenching around his waist. he took it as a sign that you were close, and the words fell easily from his lips.

“gonna cum for me?” his chin rested on your chest, angling to look up at your sweating, flushed expression. your eyes fluttered shut as you nodded. his grip around your throat tightened against the columns. you’d never trusted a man so much to not hurt you.

“come on, sweet girl, ‘ve got you.” he promised to you, “bet you’re so pretty when you cum.”

you felt the skin of your lip break into a light gash beneath the weight of your teeth. you’d been so focused on keeping quiet, that you went ahead at your own expense. lando saw the way your eyes opened, and lurched to meet your lips with his own.

the iron upon his tongue didn’t frighten him. perhaps it turned him on in some manner. the lengths that you were willing to go to keep your sweet lips tightened. but as his own tongue swirled around the stinging cut of your lip, you moaned into him. he absorbed the sound, locking it into the expanse of his memories. you had such a sweet voice. he’d never hear something like it again.

“come on, baby,” he urged you once more, speaking into your mouth. his breath was hot, spinning a knot of thread with your own. you felt him laugh at your oncoming orgasm, taking joy from eliciting such pleasure from you. “let me see how pretty you are.”

it didn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach you. you went taut, shaking in his hands, eyes rolling into your head. you swore you saw stars, and that was just from his fingers alone. it had you wondering what his cock felt like.

your head fell limp against his shoulder, breathing heavily, clutching the fabric of his shirt. you didn’t want to let him go. his fingers laid idle inside of your tightened walls, not wanting to release the feeling either. not with his hand drenched, his pants soaked, and his forehead dripping with his own sweat. his cock had been painfully hard, a pool of his precum seeping through his pants, combining with your own. it was a beautiful, disastrous mess that he’d initiated between you two, but he felt no regret.

you sniffled against his shoulder, breezing with the cold air, and let your arms wrap around his neck. you hid your face against his body, attempting to bury your embarrassment within him. you had just come on the balcony atop lando’s lap. what fucking world were you living in? you’ve had feelings for him for what felt like a century, and now a dream that you didn’t even know was possible of coming true, came at the palm of his hand.

lando couldn’t believe it either. you were tucked against his body like a hand to a glove, a perfect fit, breathing heavily, shaking, against his palms. your cunt roared with a beating heat, swimming with the orgasm he had given you. proud wasn’t a word that could surmount to this feeling.

and he said nothing when he fixed the straps of your dress, gauging a more presentable you. he tucked your hair behind your ears, fingertips loitering on the expanse of your cheek. you smiled into him, coming to raise your head to meet his eyes.

his eyes fell to your blistering lip. the swollen buds that he sucked the blood out of. his forehead met yours, and neither of you said anything; just a soft breath and heartbeat between the two of you.

within seconds he took his hand from your cunt, washed his fingers against his tongue, and let it fall to your bare back. you were stunned at the motion, but drool pooled in your mouth. you gawked, openly, just how hot the action was alone.

lando stood with you in his arms. one hand on the back of your neck, the other cupping your thigh. your legs, whilst trembling, tightened around his waist for support as he took you through the quiet villa. the only lights were the candles that were still burning, but you didn’t see them, your head hiding in the crevice of his neck. he hummed quietly, a rhythm that had your eyes beginning to lull with sleep.

you heard him open a door quietly and shuffle around the mess on the floor. your room, no doubt. you’d left a pile of clothes as a welcome for yourself when you were picking out your attire for the evening. it didn’t help him, either, by being surrounded by your scent. your perfume, you, it swirled around him, taunting him. dared him to fuck his best friend’s little sister.

lando bent down to lay you into your bed. you fell against your will, hands still upright for him to fall in. but he just couldn’t let himself.

he did, however, let his fingers trail across your bare thighs, your knees, your calves, ankles, until he was met with your heels. his hand lingered on the back of your ankle, angling one of your feet upright to slip a shoe off. his fingers moved to the other, placing the expensive pair on the ground. you stretched your hands above your head, falling deep within the pillowy, feathery embrace.

you stared up at him. your hair messy, dress disheveled, eyes heavy with exhaustion. and he looked down at you, moving forward to let his fingers trail up your sternum, the perks of your breasts. the moment was so quiet. only your breaths and his own could be heard– and maybe the pounding of your heart.

he looked beautiful looming above you, hovering with a protective, apologetic look. apologetic? what did he have to apologize for? except for a mind-blowing orgasm, that is.

his hand froze against the place of your heart. palm flattening, he could feel just how fast your heart was racing. you grabbed his wrist, thumb sliding up and down against his veins. he swallowed.

“don’t know if we should do this again.” he spoke quietly.

your heart broke. you sat up straight in your bed, confusion written all across your features. you thought that this was something between the two of you. that he wanted you. and now what was happening? did you do something wrong?

“why?” you asked, feeling tears well in your eyes. you couldn’t help it. the girl inside of you had come to the forefront, her dreams of being with lando being squashed beneath the weight of his words.

he sighed deep, unable to meet your eyes. he was about to say something before you interrupted him.

“you don’t want me?”

his head snapped in your direction, almost breaking clean off his spine with just how fast he went. he shook his head, hand coming to cup your cheek, but you shook his affections away. your hand dropped from his wrist, wanting to feel nothing of his heart.

he spoke your name. twice. three times. you looked back toward him, tears hot in your eyes. “hey.” you focused on his voice. “you know that’s not true.”

your brows furrowed. “do i?”

his expression dropped.

he fell to his knees before the side of the bed. an action no man has ever done for you. you gaped visibly, watching as both his hands came to rest upon your knees. he leaned into you. stubble tickling your thighs.

your name was sweet on his tongue.

“what would your brother say–?”

“fuck what he thinks.” you leaned down.

lando’s head dropped between your thighs, taking a deep inhale of your skin. you shivered, letting your hand rest on the back of his neck.

“we need t’give it time.” he said upon raising his head. he looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes. the moonlight shimmered through your windows, casting a vague gracefulness of illumination across his tanned skin.

“how much?”

lando wasn’t sure. his silence was an answer enough. you sighed, letting your body fall against the bed once more. he lifted himself to sit beside you, placing both hands at your hips to cage you in.

“hey,” he said to gauge your attention back to him. “we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

you wanted to believe him. but you weren’t sure that you could. lando leaned down to kiss your sternum against the fabric of your dress.

“you still want me?” you asked, voice cracking with your emotions.

“i’ve wanted you,” he said against your stomach, “since the day you came down in that white skirt.”

you gasped, head tilting to look at him. that was one of the first times you met him– third, maybe– you remembered which one he was talking about. it was a skirt with little white bows, embellished with threads of ribbon and lace.

“the one with the bows?”

“that fuckin’ skirt…” he scoffed with a laugh. you were still floored, but managed to smile. you couldn’t believe his confession, finding it unbelievable. unbelievable that maybe, maybe you had a chance with him. the girl inside of you was squealing, but the woman didn’t quiver beneath him.

there was a momentary silence between the two of you. but you shifted, moving to stand. lando watched you from his perch on your bed, hair ruffled and eyes red from his own wrought of emotions. you didn’t expect this from him. this sensibility.

you began to strip with your back turned to him. he watched. silently.

you stripped of your panties and threw them over your shoulder. lando caught them, still gawking at you. “keep them.” you spoke. “you ruined them.”

that had him laughing. but he kept them, staring down at the lace material. you threw on a large shirt from your suitcase that reached your mid thigh. you finally spun around to meet his eye, but he didn’t dare move.

“what?” you asked, his staring becoming more intense.

he swallowed. shook his head.

“you better go.” you spoke for him as you approached your bed, narrowly dodging him when you threw yourself down. his eyes raked over you, speechless. “lando.” you reaffirmed, bringing him out of his haze. he let out a sigh and stood, hand coming to brace the back of his neck.

he lingered before opening your door, glancing at the dress on the ground. and then he was gone, shutting your door behind him, before falling to his own bed. you were lucky to find sleep that night, and it came easy with your exhaustion. but anxiety thrummed through your mind, bustling with a pint of rejection. it was so sweet from his tongue, but it hurt all the same.

lando laid in his bed before he showered. changed. laid in his bed with the thought of you. how did this happen? how could he forfeit a lifelong friendship? it was simple, really. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, and he couldn’t ever let you go. he’s always watched you from a distance. liking your posts, viewing your instagram stories. he was obsessed with you in more ways than one, but that was a secret for him and him alone.

yet, he couldn’t get max out of his mind. how he would react to him? to you? fuck, the thoughts were brewing a storm inside of his head. the damage had already been done, his heart already thrumming with the essence of you in its wake. you spread through the blood in his veins, latching onto his vitality like a parasite. though he welcomed the thought, the wonder of you overtaking his life.

that was a thought that he could fall asleep to. and he did, snoring with a good guzzle that had you tossing and turning.

the morning came and went. you were up early, as you promised max, but took time planning your wardrobe. you wore a bathing suit beneath your choice of clothing, but what was essential was the short, white, skirt that rode mid-rise on your waist.

the shirt you wore was thin, sheer, a light beige. it had straps that came down to tie a bow between your breasts, and cropped enough to leave heaven to the imagination. for one man in particular, that was your goal.

‘i don’t know if we should do this again.’

fuck that.

you skipped down the steps and were met with max awake bright and early. he had been cooking breakfast, a favorite of yours, and was just about finishing up before he glanced towards you.

“morning!” came his preppy voice. he was wearing a thin white shirt and swim trunks, ready to take on the day to swim.

“good morning.” you sat down at the lush kitchen island, max sliding a plate of food in front of you. you dug in immediately.

“woah,” max commented, sitting down beside you with a cup of tea. “relax. thought we were going swimming?”

you coughed. “we are.” you continued to finish your food with haste. “just hungry.”

you heard more steps come down the stairs. but you didn’t turn your head until max did, his eyes brightening as his close friend was approaching.

“mate,” max said, eyeing up lando. “you look like shit. did ‘ya sleep last night?”

lando hummed with his tired voice, already prepared to go swimming as well. he wore a black shirt with papaya swim trunks. you ogled at him before he looked at you, turning away quickly once he skirted his eyes towards your direction.

“slept great.”

you scoffed.

max and lando turned towards you. the fork in your hands dropped and your eyes widened. a blush creeped onto your cheeks.

“you snore,” you commented, still refusing to look at him. “you know that?”

max turned towards lando. “your rooms are next to each other?” the words were poignant, aimed as a remark to the british driver. he simply shrugged his shoulders in response, not finding any reason to engage.

you stood with your plate in hand, making headway for the sink. from behind, you could feel a pair of eyes heating the plane of your back. you weren’t stupid. and neither was he, knowing exactly what you had done this morning.

the skirt you wore was a reminiscence of his confession the previous night. it brought back the childlike memories of grade school. a time when life was simpler, and you were just a girl, and he was just a boy. but he knew you weren’t that girl anymore. a woman grown, you were elegant. he didn’t understand how you were related to max, a scruffy rascal, but he was happier for that.

when you turned on the water for the sink, lando approached you. max had been tending to his phone, scrolling through social media, so he hadn’t been paying attention. lando’s shoulder brushed against your own when you were scrubbing, desperate to say something.

“you–”

“max,” you interrupted lando, turning off the water and turning towards your brother. lando took a side step away from you, giving you space when max looked up from his phone. you received a side eye from the british driver, his lip curling with pettiness. he saw what you were doing now. was this your form of punishment?

max responded with a ‘hm?’ “you want me to cook tonight?” you offered, and max glanced at lando, who never stopped looking at you. you saw max’s expression tense.

“why not. could save us some money, won’t it?” he said, waiting for lando to add on. “right, lando?”

lando spun around, releasing his tight grip on the counter. he took a sharp breath in, nodding his head in agreement. you watched as a blush creeped onto his face. you bit on the inside of your cheek, but weren’t expecting lando to retaliate.

he spoke your name, which had your head lifting. “what happened to your lip?”

you froze. eyes widening. your own lip twitched with a remedy of a snarl, and he bit back, his nose curling with distaste.

max approached you two, observing your scabbed lip from the night before. “shit. he’s right. what happened?”

you reached back to clench the marble counter beneath your fingers. “uh–” lando held back his devious smile. “bit it in my sleep, ‘spose.”

max simply shrugged his shoulders, and headed for the backyard where the pool was. when the door shut, you let out a sigh. lando stepped in front of you, caging you in with his arms. his head dipped to your shoulder, his curls brushing against your cheek.

“get off me,” you commented with grit, biting your words. lando shook his head, not moving.

“don’t play this with me,” he said, lifting his head with a deep inhale. you raised a brow at him, having absolutely no idea what he meant.

“said we weren’t going to do this again, didn’t you?” you made him sit with his words. make him roll in the fucking mud. “we’re not. and if we were–” you shoved his chest with both your hands, which had him lurching backward. he didn’t go far. “i’d fucking win.”

he invaded your space again, leaning his lips towards yours. you felt his breath again, his scent creeping into your nose. it was like he never left.

“y’sure ‘bout that?” he said with a light tone, teasing you with the vibrato of his words. you swallowed a lump in your throat.

but you stood your ground. “positive.”

lando lingered for a second longer, leaning closer to your lips, and you thought he was going to kiss you out in the open kitchen. “whatever you say.” were the only words he said before he leapt away from you suddenly, leaving your exposed body cold.

he followed you out to the pool, never leaving enough space between you two. but you had other plans–sticking by max’s side would surely drive him insane.

so you sat beside your brother all day. in the pool chair next to him. tanning, reading a book, scrolling on your phone– it didn’t matter. it wasn’t long before the rest of your brother’s friends joined everyone by the pool.

most of them were in the pool by the afternoon. you had made your way to the kitchen, shedding of your skirt and top. left in your swimwear, you wanted a snack.

in the bowls of fruit you found, you pulled some mango, strawberries, and bananas. you cut them with a knife from the drawer, and put them in a bowl. there was more than enough fruit for everyone, but you took some of your favorites in the meantime.

the sun was hot that day, and you had forgotten your sunglasses. sunscreen on your head would cause greasy hair, and you didn’t want that. so you searched briefly in the kitchen for any sort of hat that someone left, and you found one.

it was a papaya hat. with mclaren’s logo, and a number 4 on it. you smirked, bringing the hat atop your head.

it fit nicely and you grabbed the bowl of fruit. you made your way back outside to the patio and your brother noticed you immediately. he called your name, and you sauntered over.

lando and his mates had been in the pool playing with a frisbee, but as soon as max had said your name, he was looking over his shoulder. he went speechless.

with his hat atop your head and your exposed body, he could help but drool at the sight of you. a droplet trailed down his chin, but he dunked the lower half of his mouth into the pool before anyone saw.

“for us?” max asked towards the bowl of fruit. you popped a slice of mango into your mouth, biting tenderly into the piece before nodding your head. lando swallowed tightly, practically shaking beneath the surface of the water.

you placed the bowl on the wooden table and stood back as you were met with the onslaught of a crowd of wet dudes. you backed up towards the stairs of the pool, ready to hop in yourself. you thought yourself a genius– having the entire pool to yourself while they ate. but before you stepped in, your elbow was caught in a warm palm.

lando faced you with his bare chest dripping with chlorine, hair ruffled and damp. droplets of water slithered down his cheeks, which you felt tempted to rub away with your thumb, but you retained from stretching out your hands.

he simply stared at you. and you stared at him.

then he flicked the end of the cap with his pointer finger and smirked, raising his brows with a teasing fashion. he had the nerve to glance at your chin, narrowing his eyes. you didn’t have time to react before his own thumb came to wipe away a droplet of mango juice from your chin.

the action was fast, unnoticed by anyone around you. you blushed instantly, freezing in place. lando popped his thumb into his mouth, tongue visibly swirling around the fingertip. he made a humming sound, approving of the taste.

“tastes sweet.” he muttered to you. he raised his eyes, hooded beneath the glare of the sunlight. “not my favorite, though.”

holy shit

you thought you were going to pass out.

with your eyes flared wide, you spun away from him, throwing the hat to the side, and dove straight into the pool.

you needed to cool off. desperately. and your time in the pool did. when you finally climbed out, max was lounging in the pool chair beneath an umbrella. you joined him in your seat, drying yourself off with your towel. lando was watching the entire time, sitting opposite to max.

when you finally laid down with the towel of your bare legs, max scoffed at his phone. clearly, he was trying to get your attention.

“what?” you said, the hat you had thrown off was now back in your lap.

“look,” max handed you his phone, and you immediately rolled your eyes. it was a picture on instagram of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. his new girlfriend that he cheated on you with. he was a fucking asshole, and max knew that from the very beginning.

“ugh,” you groaned, handing his phone back to him. max took it and was about to keep scrolling.

“what?” lando asked, curious now to see what the two of you were grumbling about. max handed him his phone, but he was still confused who he was looking at.

“her ex,” max commented with a rumble. lando’s eyes shot up at you, watching your expression shift. lando was now investigating thoroughly, scrolling through this guys posts. he still had some of you up, and it only angered him. it angered him to an unfair degree, feeling the pinnacle of jealousy, although entirely unwarranted.

“i brought him to a race once,” you pointed out, unable to look at either of them. instead, you settled on the water in the pool. “barcelona, last year.” your arms crossed over your chest.

lando raised a brow. “he was that leach for leclerc, wasn’t he?” you were surprised that he remembered, but nodded your head. it wasn’t a good memory. he had abandoned you the minute you arrived at the race in search of the ferrari driver, and had to manage yourself alone in the crowds. it was miserable, but at least you got to see a good show.

“yeah,” you commented with a huff. “fucking asshole.”

“asshole.” max mirrored you.

“why did it end, then?” lando was pushing the boundaries, but max didn’t seem to notice or mind.

though you did.

you didn’t want to relive the thought. the embarrassment. the entire fucking heartbreak that you pathetically went through.

“because i was stupid.” is all you said before you stood with your towel, making your way inside without another word.

max turned to face lando and smacked him on the shoulder. “the fuck did you ask for?” came his harsh words. lando was stunned, not intending to chase you away.

“shit, sorry i–” lando was quick to rise to his feet, though, not even glancing back at max before he chased after you. “i’ll fix it,” he promised before disappearing inside, and max simply shrugged, wondering just how lando could work his wonders. though he doubted he truly could.

lando called your name from deep inside the villa but you were already half way up the steps. you froze when you heard his voice, stifling back any sounds from your chest. he caught up to you, standing a step beneath you.

“i’m sorry–” he said, “i was just—”

“just what, lando?” you grumbled, truly not wanting to hear his words. “you wanna know just how embarrassed i was? huh? when i found he was fucking one of my best friends?”

lando stood there, shocked, coming to hold out his arms for you to fall into. but you didn’t. “i was such a fucking idiot. it was right in front of me but i didn’t believe it. how smart of me, right?!” your voice raised when lando cornered you at the top of the stairs, your back against the wall.

you couldn’t help but spew emotional nonsense. “oh woe is me, truly, you’d probably end up doing the same–”

lando caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand leaning against the wall. “what did you say?”

you gulped, not meaning for the words to slip off your tongue. shit. he looked pissed. pissed that you would think so lowly of him.

“i–” you gulped. “i didn’t mean–”

his hand tightened around your chin. “really? that what you think of me?” no, no, no! you didn’t. you didn’t. you shook your head in his hold, your eyes largening with your emotions.

“if you were my girl,” lando whispered to you, not breaking eye contact with you once. “you’d know it.”

but you dared to disagree.

“what am i then?” you challenged, your voice raising in the echoing halls. “what was i yesterday, a whore?”

he bared his teeth at you, displeased with what you called yourself. his hand from your chin latched onto the side columns of your throat and your mouth parted with a delectable pleasure.

“you needed me, yeah?” he was sure to comment. but you didn’t budge.

“get your hands off me.” you bit out.

“you didn’t seem to mind yesterday.”

“clearly you didn’t do a good job for a second run,” the words pinched his ego, though the hand against the wall came to slide around your waist.

“weren’t you begging for me? or did i make that up?” you seethed at his cocky tone.

“think you had too much to drink. i’d never beg.” it was a straight lie that came from your lips. he knew it. you knew it. but you pretended to keep your strength.

“‘touch me, please,’” he mocked in your tone.

“must’ve dreamed it. thinking ‘bout me, lan?” the nickname was new for him on your tongue and he bristled, along with the blood soaring to his cock.

“‘more, need–” you slapped your hand over his mouth.

“fuck you.” you hissed. his mouth curved to a smile before he let his grip on you go.

“we’ll see if you’re lucky tonight.”

you brushed past him with a scoff and he stood there idly, watching your hips sway side to side. he chuckled at your retreat and you flipped him off before entering your room and slamming the door. you were done with these fucking games, his toying words. he had no right to approach you after finding out about your ex.

you immediately turned on the shower in your room and stripped of your bathing attire. it was when you were searching aimlessly through your drawer of panties, you remembered that you were missing a pair.

a smirk grew on your face, and you couldn’t help but feel that you held the power.

a few hours had passed after your interaction with lando, and he couldn’t help but feel anxious. you were missing from the entirety of the activities around the pool, and he even dared knock on your door, but he resisted. though it tore him apart, thinking about your writhing anger.

but you, you had other plans. you’d showered off from the pool, taken care of your skin, and taken a nap before you were to get up and make dinner.

you had come up with the idea for dinner.

fish. as everyone enjoyed.

you smirked to yourself as you made your way down the steps. it was quiet, and you heard no churning of others about the halls. it was nice to revere yourself in the solitude of the late afternoon, hoping that you would have the entirety of the downstairs floor yourself.

you got to work with your scheme and pulled out the fish from the fridge. whatever you were making, you were sure it would be delicious.

and when the meal was just about done, you heard a strangulated sound of ample footsteps down the staircase. you were just about done setting the dinner table when max soared through the kitchen, aiming right for the pans and pots of ingredients you sniffed.

“woo!” he cheered, clearly delighted with your cooking. the other boys at his side were quick to mimic him, agreeing with his statement. your hands clamped over your heart, showing how happy you were that they were thrilled.

“well,” you urged. “go sit! i’ll bring it over.”

they didn’t hesitate. beginning to take spoonfuls of rice, vegetables, and the fried fish you whipped up, they were eager to get a headstart. your thoughts wondered where the british driver was, but your thoughts were answered when you heard the last pair of footsteps through the grand foyer.

you just finished placing the bowls of food in front of the eager boys. they weren’t polite in waiting for everyone to sit down, but you didn’t mind.

it was an afterthought for what his meal would be. of course you knew he despised fish. you listened to everything he said when you were younger, years ago, and never forgot.

you leaned against the kitchen aisle, facing him, and he immediately recoiled at the smell. his nose turned upright, curling upward with his lip, and you saw the sparkle of his canines.

lando approached you, the stove, and took a glance at what the helpings were. he turned his head over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look, which you returned with a small shrug and a smirk.

“witch.” he uttered, hands clamping around the edges of the countertops, unsure what he was going to fish through the cabinets for.

“don’t worry.” you said, lando turning to raise his brows. you slid him a bowl filled with greens, vegetables, and a little bit of rice. “plenty for you, don’t you think?”

you cocked your head toward the empty seat, but he instead took the one right next to you. the bowl in your hands was pungent with sprouts, and even you recoiled. you placed it down in front of him, letting your hand linger on his back. “i’m no dietician,” you said quietly. “but i tried to substitute as much as i could.”

“thank you,” he said through clenched teeth, fucker.

you were quaint with your serving, taking enough for your fill, and sat down swiftly. conversation grew between all of the men, your brother included, and you ate in silence. you had done more thinking about your situation with your ex, and recoiled with a sickening feeling in your stomach. lando watched from the corner of his eye, noticing how little you touched your fork with your lips and spun your spoon amongst the rice.

he knew he said tribulating words. taunted you. teased you. but he did not mean for it to stretch as far as it had. you were twiddling with the accessories on your wrists, barely saying a word the entire meal, and he felt that it was his fault. you’d only gone as far enough to tease him with a full fish basking over an open flame on the stove.

it wasn’t shameful when he was devouring the meal you had cooked. despite the repugnant smell of fish lingering in the air, your food was…divine. he wasn’t all that surprised, but it was a nice treat to end one of the first full days.

but the most courageous ideas filled his head. he kept looking at you, staring, out of the corner of his eye. you were entirely blue with your melancholy, and he resented the soured expression upon your beautiful face. he took it as his own responsibility to relieve you of your worries. your anxieties. insecurities. as it was his fault that they emerged.

it didn’t take long before beneath the table, lando’s hand wandered. he began with a soft graze of your knee which had you sitting up straight, white skirt you dressed in before remaking its appearance around your hips.

you turned your head to face him, eyes flaring with wonder of just what the fuck he was doing. but his expression stayed nonchalant, undeterred from his conversation with your brother. you decided that you should play the same game, sliding into the roll of uncaring of his soft touches.

though it was much easier said than done.

his fingers were daunting. restless. he took a break to sip his water with his opposite hand, divulging into deeper conversation as his hand trailed higher. it was then that he spread his palm wide over the span of your thigh, bare, pinching at the skin. you leaned over the table, leaning your head into your palms that were supported by your elbows upon the table.

you sighed, your other leg jumping up and down. you attempted to listen to whatever they were talking about– football, instagram, the races– but you couldn’t tune in for long. not when he tugged the fabric of your skirt to the side, and let his pinky dance across your folds. fuck.

attempting to muffle your struggle, you brought your glass to your lips, sipping in promptitude. you leaned back, tucking your chair as far as you could against the table. it finally caught lando’s attention, briefly, when he gave you a once over with a cheeky smile. max caught the action, raising a brow at you, but you simply swallowed down your drink and crossed your hands over your lap.

your lap, that so happened to house lando’s hand between your thighs. your cunt was clothed by your panties, but you could still feel the pressure of his finger lodging against your slit.

you wrapped your hand around his wrist, gripping tight with the desire for him to stop, but he would do no such thing. he went as far as using his ring finger to stroke the cotton of your underwear, grazing over your clit as if it were nothing. he circled around your tender bundle of nerves, refusing to leave it alone.

your second hand came to wrap around his wrist, higher up on his forearm, pleading indefinitely to halt his movements. your thighs clenched impossibly tight around his hand, suffocating him, but it didn’t stop him. it only had him steadfast in his pursuit– to get you to come at this dinner table.

with your force against his forearm, you were sure to leave bruises of your fingertips in your wake. but you didn’t care. through your tension, he could feel your pleasure. he knew that you would writhe, squirm, but you couldn’t. not here.

you found yourself trembling. your grip around his wrist softened, lip caught between your top set of teeth. you were lucky that the tablecloth was acting as a barrier between any wandering eyes–though, shamefully, that was the last thing on your mind.

but right now, you felt yourself coming to a clearing. a light at the end of the tunnel in the name of your orgasm. shit.

it took only one quick glance around the room to see that everyone was done with their meals. with empty plates, they were awaiting more. and more you shall give, best to get up rather than submit to lando’s toilsome teasing. you couldn’t give him this pleasure. not when he toyed with you, refused to admit to any truths that might belittle his feelings.

you finally shoved his hand away. it took all the might you had, and it even had his head shifting in your direction. you stood, and he immediately tugged the hem of your skirt down beneath the table cloth. if anyone noticed, they didn’t say a word.

“dessert, anyone?”

there was a small rally of cheers, and you smiled. it was the only thing that could get your mind off of lando’s hand between your legs. the flushed expression you wore didn’t wane until you were alone in the kitchen.

it was ice cream that was for dessert, and that would be enough. you put out some toppings for them to choose from, and returned with the platter. you set it toward the center of the table, and the pickings were gone instantly. everyone had their own serving, side bowl, ready to go.

but lando waited for you to settle back in before he grabbed a pint of vanilla. he nudged the ice cream scooper towards your direction, a silent indication that had him asking if he could serve yours. you simply nodded, even though your cunt burned with the phantom touch of his fingers. he did that to you in no way another man could. leave you wanting more. sex with your ex boyfriend had been a joke. you never came. ever. you only did when it was at your own hand, your own touch. but with lando…

lando on that balcony, dressed in the pale moonlight. you, his angel, glowing halo of energy illuminating your face, unraveled before him. he doesn’t think he’s ever met such a woman receptive to his touch. he’s fucked girls before, too many for max’s taste–hence his displeasure– but they weren’t like you. they didn’t squirm, whimper, in his hold. they’d moan like they were being televised, recorded, ready to be on a screen play.

you were natural. beautiful. incapable of being anyone but yourself. he admired you for such bravery, commending you silently through the cosmic planes. though you could not hear the words from him, you felt a warmth coming from his direction despite the cold treat being scooped into the dish in front of you.

he gave you more than enough and smiled. a real one, you caught. it was a break from the humidity, a breeze that was most welcomed upon your skin. fuck. you were supposed to be mad at him, weren’t you? weren't you supposed to plot your volatile revenge for him touching you?

you were.

when he settled beside you with his own serving, you were quick to shuffle a bit closer to him. the chair scooted across the floor, a vibration felt beneath his own, and he bristled. what were you up to? you appeared to be happier, a bit less caught up in your own head, and that he could be grateful for. you even engaged in a few conversations with max’s friends.

they were lovely chaps, truly, but they were his friends. not yours.

lando was just about to respond to a question that max had asked him, but he coughed on his ice cream, the feeling of your fingertips darting across his crotch taking a huge galavanting surprise out of him. he didn’t know that you had such austerity within you, but it was a welcome discovery.

but your skillfulness was not.

the outline of his cock beneath his shorts was obvious. you felt the light curve, the tip, the base all beneath your palm. it was an empowering sensation, hidden beneath the table cloth, and lando had to outstretch both of his hands to steady himself.

“y’alright, mate?” max asked when lando coughed. the british driver nodded beside you, leaning forward.

“yeah. fine. carry on?” max repeated his question for lando. before he was about to answer for a second time, your hand curled around the base of his cock, feeling full in your palm. your thumb brushed against his tip, smiling to yourself when you felt a light wet patch against your finger.

he sucked in a tight breath, but answered max with a strained voice. he clenched his jaw tight and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. you knew you were riling him, and it was paying off to see him flustered.

you continued your stroking motion discreetly beneath the table. the excitement of being caught was perhaps too thrilling, and the presence of your hand against his cock only excited you further. he was big. that was enough for you to be floored. your guesses as a edgy teenage girl were correct, and the woman inside of you purred at the idea of him inside of you.

little did you know, he thought the same. when his fingers were lodged inside your hot folds, your deathly tight grip clamping around him, he knew that he had to have you. he knew it years ago, too, but just how pretty you were atop of him…how receptive you were to his touch– it was a pillar of pleasure that continued to build and build, until it will ultimately fall.

until it will fall, and he is deep inside of you. with the outline of his cock embedded in your lower belly he would feel satisfied, with his cum dripping from your cunt, he could find a peace from this torturous lust that overtook every fucking part of his mind. he needed you. carnally. in whatever fashion labeled him as a barbarian, he would hunt you down if that is what you wanted.

and maybe you did.

you wanted him to chase you. to fight for you. to appease the teenage girl inside of you that yearned for his affections, his oblivious attentions. you felt that you deserved it for all the work you put in through your teendom. the boys you rejected. the time you gave up to attend his races.

was that such a bad thing to be wanted? to be wanted above all, by the man of your wonderlike dreams? but was he so dreamy, then, when he glanced at you with his needy, preening eyes when you held his cock so firm in your hand?

the answer was undoubtedly yes.

you felt the pulse of his cock against your hand. it was a delectable vibration that beat for you of all people. you felt more than divine prowess gripping his length, such a dirty, lewd, action beneath the table. and none of them knew what you had been doing. how you were affecting him. it was a secret wasn’t it?

the catalyst for your movements was about to be thwarted when he readjusted his hips in the chair, bucking fiercely against your touch, your hold on his dick.

conversations around you began to dull down to a minimum. the night was ending, and he felt himself rearing a release. but he couldn’t. not here. fuck. he gripped on your hand beneath the table, shivering, shaking, as he pleaded you with his eyes. they were wide drawn, glossed with a desperation that you needed permanently in your life. it was a face you wouldn’t forget. ever. how he yearned to cum in your hand, but it wasn’t the right time. when would be the right time?

“since you made dinner,” max began, letting out a grueling burp, “i say we lot ‘ought to tidy up, shall we?” the boys nodded and hummed amongst each other in agreement. they made quick pace clearing the table, and this was lando’s excuse to rip himself free of your devilish hand. though he wanted nothing more than to cum with your sleek fingertips, he had to be nonchalant about it all.

he cleared his throat when he stood, feigning a quietness that felt unusual, but no one said a word. you smiled to yourself, pulling your hand away back to your lap. it was damp from his precum, sordid with an urge to pop a finger or two into your mouth. and you did. pretending to clean yourself from any residue of icecream, you licked your fingers clean.

lando stared. unable to take his eyes off of you. he lingered with his hand around your bowl and plate, his breath hitching in his throat. devil woman, he thought.

when the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher and the fragile ones laid out to dry, you finally stood. you arched your back, stretching your limbs, but felt cold on your cunt. it was the air conditioning that cooled you, reminding you that he was the one to tease you first beneath the table.

your brother bid you goodnight with a kiss to your cheek, whilst the others thanked you sincerely for the meal. you were grateful to receive such gratitude, but it wasn’t from the man you wanted it the most.

tucking your chair into the table, you made your way into the grand kitchen. with its tiled walls, marbled kitchen island, lando stood at the epicenter. with a towel in his hand, drying the last few of the dishes, he watched you saunter in.

his tongue poked at the inner corner of his cheek with a clenched jaw. boy, did he have words for you. you and your actions. how you ruined him at the dinner table whilst talking to your brother of all people. it was like you wanted them to see–

when you joined him side by side, the pair of you said nothing for a moment. but the moment when lando scanned the room front to back, he dropped the towel and grabbed onto you.

he spun you around so your front pushed against the kitchen aisle, your back arching against the palm of his hand. his second went around the front of your throat, pulling your head up to his own.

“that what you wanted?” he growled into your ear, trembling with his edged orgasm teetering on the tailend of a massacre. “hmm? tell me, baby.”

you were at a loss of words, dizzied from the grip around your throat. you wished that he would leave bruises.

then he bent you over the counter, the cool surface eliciting a gasp from deep within you. his hand flexed over your back, scaling your spine.

“being a fucking tease…”

“you started it.” you retaliated with a childlike immaturity.

lando chuckled as his crotch came flush against your cunt. your wet, dampening cunt by the second. the hand that had been latched to your throat moved to your skirt, toying with the fabric. he scoffed, feeling the wetness of your panties. “bet you’re still wet anyways.”

you were.

your face flushed.

“dirty fucking girl.” he said quietly, a comment to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. you swayed your hips against his, desperate for a flickering sensation of friction.

“ah ah,” he tsked, landing a slap to your ass. the sound ricocheted through the echoing kitchen. “think you deserve it after tonight?”

you mewled in response, your cheek freezing against the countertop. the heat from your asscheek was enough to satisfy you for the moment, your thighs clenching together. he ogled, head twisting in a fashion that was revered with lust.

with a fist he made a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pulling your head back against his chest. “hmm?”

“no.”

“no?” he’d repeat. you nodded your head, submitting to him without question. he was peeved that you didn’t fight back, but would take your submission with earnestness. but you had other plans brewing inside your head. ones that you knew would drive him up the fucking wall.

but that would come later. for now, you let your head fall backward onto his shoulder, and looked up at him. “let me fix it…”

your whimpering had his eye twitching, lip curling, arms flexing. it was a gut reaction to how soft your voice had become, how eager he knew you were.

his hold on you loosened, and you took this as your opportunity to spin around and drop to your knees in front of him. you couldn’t help but gape at his thundering cock beneath his shorts, salivating at just the thought of him filling your mouth.

but he said nothing else, stunned in his place; how could he not be when you regarded him with ardor, quivering hands?

“please…” you said, your cheek coming to nuzzle against his thigh, one hand gripping the back of his calf. he couldn’t reject you like this. not when he wanted you so dearly.

a hand came to run through your hair atop your head. an nonverbal, encouraging pet. you hummed, making quick work of lowering his shorts, his briefs, and his cock sprung free with vitality. it was red hot, pulsating with blood, beating a bright scarlet for you. it glistened with his own slick for you.

“go on, love,” he was breathless. “you can take it, can’t you?”

you nodded furiously, a whine leaving your lips. with your determined fingers, you wrapped them around his base, pumping your hand back and forth. it didn’t take much before he was leaking over your palm, and you let your lips swirl around his tip.

his head fell back in pleasure, fingers tightening his grip in your hair. with his empty hand, he gripped the island to support his weight from toppling upon you.

he was both sweet and salty, a sensation you’ve never tasted before. you continued your relentless pursuit on his tip until he was wrought with desperation, and let his hips buck forward until he was half way down your throat.

you groaned in protest, your eyes watering with tears, but took him like the good girl you were. he wanted you, and you wanted him. you could ask for nothing more.

“just like that, baby–” he stuttered out, voice cracking when you took him whole down your throat. you breathed through your nose. “fuck,” he cursed, your lips puckering, even stimulating him with the top ridges of your teeth. he let out a deep moan.

“perfect,” he commented, but you thought you misheard him for a moment. “you’re perfect.”

it persuaded you further–not like much was needed– and sped up your pace. faster and faster you went, guzzling him perfectly. with your other hand that gripped his calf, calm to knead at his balls. that was the moment he faltered, unable to withstand your feverish tongue. he had to bite back his own groans of pleasure.

“where?” he demanded of you. you paused, but didn’t take long for your answer. he was holding himself back as much he could, his hips bucking down the hot cavern of your throat, but you didn’t relent. my mouth, your actions screamed, and he didn’t think twice.

before you knew it your mouth was loaded with his cum, hot rods of delectable nectar from him. you were pleased, more than satisfied, that you made him cum in just a matter of minutes.

he pulled himself out of you, letting you breathe. you swallowed, not finding him distasteful, and even showed him your bare tongue. he was panting, attempting his best to catch his breath, but managed a coarse chuckle.

you gave his flaccid cock a singular kiss before you rose to your feet, bringing his shorts and briefs up with you. he adjusted himself before launching his lips on your own. the remnants of him were prominent on your tastebuds as he swirled his tongue into your mouth. you allowed his strength, making a sound from your throat.

“taste like me,” he commented against your lips. you beam.

“must’ve been good, then?” you knew it was. but you wanted to hear it from him.

he snickered. “guess so.”

you slapped his chest before breaking your kiss. you glanced up at him one more time before placing a kiss on his cheek, escaping his grasp. he held onto your hand, though, wondering just where you were going. not when he didn’t have you cumming on his tongue.

“it’s past my bedtime,” you remarked, raising your brows. his own scrunched. “what?”

“let me–”

you shushed him.

“on the house.”

you were gone before he could respond, skipping up the steps, ready to set your plan in motion. he didn’t know what was coming, not yet, but he surely would once you closed the door to your room, and stripped of your clothes.

you left him there pondering. he was entirely at a loss— you skirting away with ease, high tail with that lacey material– and vanished without another word. it had lando breathing heavily, hands running through his hair. shit, he thought, this was bad.

in the bathroom of your suite, you twisted the shower on. whilst waiting for it to heat up, you turned your attention towards the open shaft windows that you could prop open. your room is next to mine, lando’s words rang through your head. okay, you thought, game on, right?

you made sure the windows were open at a respectable distance, praying that his own would be too. he liked the cool breeze from the night, pray tell from his times of sleeping in max’s room in your childhood home.

glancing at yourself in the mirror once, you were betting on this to work. to truly grab his attention, whilst also awarding yourself a release you’d been craving since his fingertips caressed your knee.

into the shower you went, tilting your head back and letting the waterfall drench your scalp. it was relaxing, more than you anticipated, and your mind was able to wander to other things. like his hands. his toned, muscular arms. his neck, built intensely with strength that you’ve never seen before. in certain lights, especially beneath the italian sun, it bulged outward. you wondered what it’d feel like between your thighs. your fingers wandered along your soaked skin, breasts reacting to your touch, taut beneath your palms.

lando had just shut the door to his room, shaking off the sweat that dribbled down his forehead. and his windows were open— the curtains swaying back and forth— and he heard your call.

at first, the british driver thought that he was hallucinating. that he was hearing things from losing it. but there was no denying that it was your sweet siren serenading through the air, wafting against the mediterranean winds.

a moan had been pulled from you by your own hand. your head flat against the tiles of the shower wall, you twisted until your cheek was firm against the siding. one hand came to rest on the base of your throat, gripping for comfort, while the other trailed downward to your navel, priming at your folds.

you were swollen hot, but never to the same degree you were on his lap just the previous night.

it was enough, though, for you to rub against your clit the way you knew your body best. a delicious combination of whimpers and moans trembling through the air.

lando was brought to his fantasies, unbelieving that they were coming alive before him. he leaned against the windows from his room, hand clenching tight around the ledge, and listened to your whining calls, urging him, tempting him, to knock down your fucking door and fuck you like you wanted him.

a finger slid easily inside of you. with both stimulation to your clit and your sensitive nerves inside of you, it was heaven. the hot water combined with your punitive thoughts, tracing back to lando, aroused you to a degree unfathomable to any pleasure you’ve ever felt. besides his fingers, that is.

lando couldn’t resist. his own cock was blistering with heat, again, in just the span of ten minutes. you had just been on his knees for him. now, here you were, a siren within the night, taking him under your bewitching.

and spellcasted he was.

with his dick in his hands, he was dripping. your sounds became louder, prominent, for his open window. and he absorbed every droplet you gave him, a man dehydrated of the world’s most sweet nectar. he was greedy, selfish even, and knew then that he had to be yours. he didn’t give a fuck what max said, thought, cared about this moment. it would belong to him and him alone— your saccharine temper.

he could imagine you there, thinking about just how desperate he was. how you knew what you were doing to him. how he unfolded before your voice.

you were.

you thought of his face. how it contorted with pleasure while you sucked him off. you’d remember the sounds he made— whimpers of desperate, wicked nature— that had you curling your finger inside of you, even becoming so bold as to add a second. it should be criminal to think of your brother’s best friend this way, but that thought came and went just as the tides changed.

lando fisted his cock with the thought of you wrapped around him. hand draped across the ledge of the windowsill, he writhed and seethed from his own daring thoughts of you. your skirt, your pretty eyes, your wondrous nature. he was awed by you, but wanted to damn you to ruin with his touch. it pursued him further, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

surely he wouldn’t, not when he heard his name carry through the air. his name rolling off your tongue. his name in the form of a whimper.

“lando,” you breathed, loud enough to surpass the stream of the water. and your stomach coiled, reaching an orgasm before you could count to three.

lando had, too, spurring loads of his come into his empty hand. it wasn’t an elegant movement— rather messy and untamed— but that’s how it was when it came to you, wasn’t it? nothing was going to be easy about this relationship he conjured up in his head, but for you, though it’d be worthwhile.

you went to bed that night with a sleep full of your wildest, fanatical dreams that included lando. whereas he tossed and turned, unable to believe that the girl he knew in his childhood had him wrought with lust.

the morning that followed was a quiet one. you and the rest of the vacation group of boys were headed out to one of italy’s finest beaches, chartered there by a small boat. you had opted for one of your best bathing suits and cover up pieces, looking outright chic.

when you arrived at the beach, you stuck closely to max’s side. the entire ride, lando had been stealing glances from you, shifting awkwardly in his seat. you had your answer from your plan the previous night. he heard you.

good, you thought, crossing your legs over one another. serves him right.

you’d lay out your towel on the white sand. your brother joined you, laying down a few feet from you along with some of his buddies. lando kept his distance, knowing too fucking well that’d he’d pull some feral shit in front of you and your brother.

some of the others opted for surfing. with their boards ready from the rental shack, they were catching waves with ease. you watched from your upright position, lathering yourself in spf.

“what’dya think of chris?” your brother asked you. you turned your head, wondering what he was implying. chris was one of his good-natured, all classic, sweet boy friends. you’d known him for a good majority of your life, but never…really thought of him.

“he’s a good guy.”

lando was sitting up now. listening.

“well,” max shrugged, taking your nonchalant answer with grace. “asked me if it was okay to give him your number. think he fancies you.”

your expression dropped. chris fancied you? in what universe could he, when he couldn’t even manage a conversation with you. you weren’t even sure he could ever muster the courage to look you in the eye, for that matter.

“and…what did you say?”

max looked at you with his sunglasses on. you saw your reflection in them.

“think it’s fine. ‘e’s a good lad. nice. well-mannered.” he emphasized his last point. was that a jab at your previous boyfriends? “besides…i wanna see you happy.”

it was touching, truly, that your brother cared for you on such a protective level, but you didn’t need him meddling with your romantic life. not when the man who consumed your sexual thoughts sat a few bodies next to you.

your eyes drifted to find lando’s. he was already glaring, sending sharp daggers your direction. he heard it all, and was about to combust with jealousy. you could see it. you’d use it.

“maybe.” you brushed it off, but found chris in the waters. he was just coming out from the sea, and you thought this was your perfect opportunity.

you jumped to your feet, sunglasses on, and tore your cover up from your body. you didn’t look back to know what lando’s expression was— worshiping.

chris’ head popped up when he saw you approaching him. he shifted a bit, as if he were preening his feathers.

“catch any good ones?” you asked, your feet touching the water. chris cleared his throat.

“some,” he gestured to the large waves. “current is strong today.”

you edged further into the water until your knees were covered.

“you looked good out there, at least i think so.” you managed a smile, not entirely opposed to his company. your brother had been right. he is a nice lad. you should at least build a friendship with him, shouldn’t you?

“really?” he was shocked. “you were watching?”

you nodded with a hum, and continued further out into the blue waters. chris took this as an invitation and dropped his board high up on the sand and followed you in. he wasn’t as built as lando was, but you shouldn’t even be making the comparisons.

you stopped when the water was just beneath your breasts. water seeped in through your top, and you noticed that chris’ eyes caught on the fabric. typical.

“what do you do for work, then? are you a student?” you managed a brief conversation with him. chris met you at your side.

“business student in scotland,” he confirmed, but he wasn’t all cocky about it. you thought that he’d boast, but he didn’t. “yourself?”

you told him your plans. he was impressed that you’d accomplished so much at your age.

and your conversation with him went on, but not without the darkness of lando’s envy over your shoulder. you’d taken a few glances over chris’ shoulder to see his reddened expression, watching the pair of you share a few laughs.

he wanted this day to be fucking over. he wanted you in his bed. and he would have it one way or another— whatever it takes.

arriving back to the villa that evening, your brother and his friends wanted to go out clubbing. it was around 8pm and the sun was beginning to set, though you didn’t feel like a night out. the sun had gotten to you, and you were rather tired.

“you’re sure you don’t wanna go?” max asked you in the foyer, waiting for the rest of his band to go along.

“i’m sure. besides, i could use a night in.” your brother respected your choice and didn’t push you further. before he left with his friends, he did turn and leave you with one comment.

“lando’s here, too, in case you need anything.”

and then he was gone, tailending with chris flashing you a smile.

shit.

shit, shit, shit. you knew you were in for it now. there was no way that you��d escape lando for the evening, unsure how he caught notice that you’d be staying in for the night.

when the door shut and the house was empty, you raced up to your room. you’d worn a floor length slip dress when you’d gotten home, but wanted to change and lock yourself in for the rest of the night. but your situation changed drastically when you reached the first step, and saw lando leaning against the staircase from the top.

“just you and me, yeah?”

you gulped, taking a few steps back. he looked furious yet unbothered at the same time.

“what to do, what to do…” he began to saunter down the steps when you moved back. “in this big, empty house…?”

he trailed after you all the way until you were on the balcony. he slipped out from the sliding door, watching as you were frantically nervous in his presence. you had no idea what he was thinking, watching you all day flirt with chris.

your back was against the stone balustrade, hands spread wide to support yourself. your heart was racing, but you wouldn’t let him see that. wouldn’t show him the effect he had.

lando wore a black ln4 shirt from his collection, along with tan sweatpants. it was an understatement to say he didn’t look fucking good.

he donned a cocky smirk as he closed the distance between the two of you, leaning into your space. you felt his breath on your cheek.

“he’s a good lad, innhe?”

you met his eye— his blue, green eyes that were swarmed with a darkness you didn’t believe him capable of.

“he’s nice.” you said, referring to chris. because he was. he was respectful.

“‘he’s nice.’” lando mocked, scoffing. he turned his head to the side to look over your shoulder to the coastline that surrounded the villa.

“yes, he’s nice.” you bit back, brows furrowing. “more than i can say for you.”

lando’s expression froze, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightened as he processed your words, foot tapping against the stone.

“yeah? you don’t think i’m good to you?”

whatever this was…you loved it. you craved him. needed him. there was a zing of electricity that ran down your spine, electrifying your cunt. your thighs tightened together and you shrugged, playing him off the best that you could.

he tsked, tilting your chin to meet his eyes with his index finger. “we’ll see.”

and then his lips were on yours. ravaging. starving. he was a man that has been deprived of you for far too long— twenty four hours— without your touch. it was maddening the way he was obsessed with you. how you infested every corner of his mind. you, you, and more you.

you succumbed to his kiss with ease, your tongues battling between one another. he tasted of espresso, whereas you tasted of the apple liquor from the boat.

he won, ultimately, a hand coming to wrap around the back of your neck. your own latched to his shoulders, another going for his hair. you tugged on the strands, eliciting a groan from him that you wished to hear over and over, time and time again. you were sure that you would, not daring to ever let him go. you had him surrounded.

his tongue lathered over yours, dripping saliva down your chin. it was messy, intangibly so, but you’d have him no other way. you wanted him like this, uncontrolled, pining, for your affections. you had him in the place you wanted, and he had more in store for you.

he broke the kiss with a string of saliva connecting the pair of you. your eyes heavy with desire, his own mirroring the same. his kisses traveled to your jaw, your throat— but he sucked feverishly against the skin, surely to leave bruises. you gasped when you felt his teeth puncture through the top layer of your skin. “marks—”

you reminded him, but he didn’t care.

“fuck what they think.”

you melted where you stood. his hand came to wrap around your lower back, angling your hips to brush against his. he was already hard, you could feel it, but you were sure that you were dribbling too.

his relentless pursuit of your neck didn’t end there. when he met the fabric of your dress, he pulled the straps down with ease, your breasts falling free. he ogled at your mounds, saliva dripping from his chin. it was, perhaps, the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. not the waterfalls of france, not the cascades of lake como— but this, right here— lando norris drooling on your chest.

“what would you do with ‘nice’?” he mumbled into your skin, attacking one of your perked nipples with his tongue. you gasped, biting your lip to retain a moan.

“he could treat me well,” you seethed through clenched teeth, gripping the strands of his brunette curls. you felt him vibrate with a hum.

“you’d eat him alive.” he chuckled, switching to your other nipple that was blistering with heat. your entire body radiated like the sun, but did no good beneath the moonlight. “what would he do—” a nip of his teeth against your nipple, you jolted, hips bucking forward with an anxious pension for friction. “with all of this?”

you were at a loss for words, drowning in his sweetness.

“let it go to waste…” lando dropped to his knees with a hand still firm on your back, the other raising the hem of your dress. he tsked, cheek flattening out against your thighs. he separated them with the strength of his neck, looking up at you from the bundled fabric. “a shame.”

you agreed mercilessly, nodding your head with a whimper. it elicited a laugh from him.

with a singular finger he pulled down your panties. the cotton was thin, as if you knew this would happen. they slid down your legs and you kicked them away.

your hand was still threaded at the base of his neck, continuing to tug at his strands. it’s how you told him you needed him, but that wouldn’t be enough. not for lando.

“what do you want?” he asked, looking up at you from his seated position, face wedged between your legs. you gaped at him, breathless and flushed.

“your mouth—” you pant, but before you could finish he licked a long stripe down your folds. “god, fuck—”

“not god,” lando corrected. “just me, baby.”

“lando, lando…!” you whined, back arching for a better angle for him to reach. he responded, humming against your clit, sending throttling vibrations up your navel. he was so fucking good. how? how could a man treat you in such a way?

finding your writhing adorable, he finally let his tongue swipe past your entrance. the sensation was indescribable, but you knew that you needed more. and more he was willing to give, burying his face into your cunt.

your honeyed cunt that he was addicted to. he knew you’d taste like heaven, but this was all the more holy than he could fathom.

with his face buried inside of you, you were sure to see stars. here, beneath the moonlight of the italian villa, you were ethereal. he could steal glances up at you. your contorting face, toiling with passion. passion that he drank from the source, sucking you dry.

his nose applied pressure to your clit— the perfect combination— and you knew that you weren’t going to last long. not with his jean paul scent invaded your senses, his thick hands cupping you so perfectly. one hand kneaded at the flesh of your thigh, the other swirling circles on your lower back. it was perfect. he’s perfect.

“please, please,” you didn’t know what you were begging for.

lando hummed, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue. he curled inside of you, teetering you upon your edge, and you were just about to let loose when he pulled his head away, leaving you trembling.

he stood with ease, as if he wasn’t just devouring you, and you reached out for his hand. you were about to reach the peak of a mind blowing orgasm, but he denied you. with your hand wrapped around his, he knew how this would end. his lips came to your ear.

“you were right,” he huffed. you felt his retentive anger. “don’t know if i’m nice.”

he tugged you along through the house, hand upon your back steading your shaking stance. too impatient to help you up the steps, he swooped you into his arms bridal style. you gasped with a giggle, reflexive from his actions, and he burst open the door to his room with his shoulder.

he dropped you onto his bed, ripping off his shirt in the process you propped yourself up on your elbows, gaping clearly at his tanned, toned skin. he smirked down at you, coming to hover above, and stripped the dress clean from your body. before him, you were bare, naked, more exposed than you've ever been with your brother’s best friend.

you went to cover your chest, clamp your thighs shut, but lando refused. he trapped your wrists above your head, knee coming to separate your legs. you wiggled your hips hopelessly for friction, still wading heavy on your lost orgasm, but he didn’t let you graze his thigh.

“you’re being mean,” you whined, attempting to twist out of his hold. but you didn’t prevail.

lando’s lips met yours with a kiss of depravity. he pulled away, but you chased him, your head leveraging from the bed.

“am i?”

one hand left the hold on your wrists to touch your cunt. you were dripping down your thighs. he brought his fingers to his lips, wiping them clean.

“think you like it, love.”

you hissed when he took his hand from you, but relaxed when he kneaded one of your breasts. he was in utter reverence of your body, your beauty. you eclipsed all things that shined bright in his life, you becoming the epicenter.

his pants were off in the next second, thrown to the corner of his room. his briefs, too, and his cock danced freely from its entrapment. your mouth watered.

“this what you need?” his tip teased your entrance. your eyes rolled back into your head with a frenzied nod. “yeah? think you can take it?”

“yes, yes! i can, i can, please lando…” your hand latched around the back of his neck, the other to his shoulder.

it didn’t take him much convincing to surge forward, agonizingly slow, until he has inside of you. you choked on your breath, the air ripped right from you lungs with how he stretched you. it was alike no pleasure you’ve felt— his fingers, his tongue, all works of mastery— but you feared that nothing could compare to this. not when his hand around your breasts drop to your cunt, rubbing voracious circles against your clit.

he let you adjust, waiting until you shook your hips from side to side, and bottomed out. it was surreal how you ended up here. but you wouldn’t go back. not for a second. not when his dick inside of you ripped through you with such passion, such love, you were inclined to imagine.

lando’s own breaths were wild. erratic. he had to halt himself from slamming inside of you, your tightening, wet walls gleaning him of any morals he had come into this villa with.

“move,” you urged him, breaking him free of this torment. his eyes flared wide. “need you to move.”

need

such an all encompassing word that would drive him mad.

he listened to you without hesitation. his hips slapping in and out of you with a heavy, dangerous pace, he never wanted this moment to end. it would feel like this every time he fucked you— the first, starstruck time— and that would be enough for him to lay to rest in an early grave.

both of you were a mess of moans, sounds of skin on skin echoing through his bedroom. the moonlight casted a white haze upon the pair of you, your eyes shimmering in the reflection. he was lost in it, in you, how seraphic you’d become in just the few days he’d been around you. how undone he became. he was a lost cause the minute you made a jest to him at the dinner table.

his chest lowered to yours for a better, sweeter, angle and it had you screaming. your nails cut through his back, leaving reddened scratches against his tanned, freckled skin. he loved it. it had his pace quickening, and his hand working harder at your clit. you were close, he could feel it.

feeling the way you began to tighten around him, how you became barely lucid beneath him. “so good,” you mewled, finding no other words but to praise him.

“nothing compares,” he groaned, his head falling into the crook of your neck. “you’ll be mine then, yeah?”

your heart surged in your chest, but your breathing remained the same. you were too fucked out to truly resonate the meaning behind his words.

“yours, yours,” you repeated over and over until you were sent over the edge. you screamed his name, cutting through the air, cutting through him. he was left a sopping mess with his quivering hips, sloppy pace. you knew he was going to cum, too, when his teeth grinded together, and he let out a guttural moan. it churned your insides, swishing your heart through.

he came inside of you. you felt it, the heat from his cock. but he made no effort to move. you didn’t want him to.

the pair of you laid atop one another in his dark room. panting. catching your breaths. in unison your hearts would align. sweaty bodies melting against each other.

his head was buried deep into your neck, breathing you in. you soothed him, just as much as you riled him to no end.

“did you mean it?” you asked, voice hoarse.

lando hummed.

“about us.”

you felt his teeth break into a smile against your skin. he raised his head to look at you. “i did.” your breath caught in your throat. “don’t give a shit what max’ll say. we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

you nodded in agreement. your brother would simply have to deal with this. he’d get over it in time, you’re sure, and it would be the best for both of you. no longer would you yearn at a distance for a man you thought didn’t spare you a second glance. no longer would you dream of this moment materializing before you. it had become a reality, and there was nothing more that you could be grateful for.

he wanted you. lando wanted you. and you wanted him the same. it was one of the first times in your life that you felt safe. comforted in a newborn relationship.

it wasn’t long before lando pulled the covers of his sheets over the two of you, holding you tight as you shifted into the shape of his body. you were a perfect fit, a missing puzzle piece that he’s been searching years for.

and now you were here, sleeping soundly in his arms.

lando had found sleep, too, his soft snores carrying through the room. you and him paid no attention to the fact you were sharing a bed. if anyone walked in, then they walked in. you were at peace, and that was enough.

sooner rather than later, the party-goers for the evening arrived home. they attempted their best to be quiet at such an odd hour, and decided to retire. max and chris went out to the balcony, however, and decided for a small chat.

but before that could even commence, chris noticed a piece of black fabric loose on the patio. he stared at it from above, brows raised.

“mate,” he called max over. he met him at his side.

“this yours?” he pointed down at it, and his face went ghastly white. no fucking way.

“motherfucker.”

tags ; @landoslutmeout @basicallyric @mybluesoul1 @toriiez @customsbyjcg-blog @sofs16@strengthandstay@mybluesoul1@f1fantasys@cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

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papiliotao · 4 months ago

Text

INDEBTED — kinich x gn!reader

content: 11.6k words, cw: mentions of abuse and alcoholism, kinich backstory spoilers + natlan 5.0 archon quest spoilers, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, everyone is bad with emotions, death, near-death experiences

summary: kinich has never been one to trust easily, but fate has other plans. throughout the years, he slowly comes to terms with his love for you.

a/n: i'm so normal... so normal... SO NORMAL. this was an attempt at gaining an understanding of kinich's character, so it might not be perfect, but i tried my very best to ensure the characterization wasn't too questionable. i love him dearly.

ACT I.

As someone raised by the lonesome mountains of Natlan, you have long grown used to an atmosphere of tranquil quietude, a serene symphony composed purely of nature’s music. The gentle flow of zephyrs running through seas of viridescent grass coupled with the occasional sounds of birdcall have become the soundtrack of your life. For you, an ever-enduring hush has always been synonymous with normalcy, but you are perfectly content with the status quo.

So when the sound of a choked scream shatters the flawlessly-crystalline silence of a hazy morning into a thousand shards of dissonance, you feel yourself tense. In all your six years of life, you have never had the displeasure of hearing anything so horrific.

It’s funny. The noise is fleeting, ephemeral, but it holds infinitely more weight than anything else you’ve witnessed during your short time in this world. You’re sure that it will be a long time before anything else disturbs the peace in such a profound manner, and it is for that exact reason that you resolve to investigate.

Deep down, you know it’s a stupid idea. You’re only a kid, and if it turns out there’s some grave danger, it’s more or less over for you. Curiosity alone isn’t reason enough to risk your own safety but the thought of another person facing peril is.

With hurried steps, you rush through your house, lightly scurrying through the corridors to see if anyone else is awake yet. When you’re sure that everyone is still and not a creature stirs, you grab the simple pouch of medical supplies your family always insists you take with you and exit the house in a rush.

The moment you step outside, blinding threads of aureate light twist in elaborate patterns, weaving themselves across a divine tapestry dyed cornflower and tinged marigold.

It’s way too bright, and even more concerningly, it’s way too quiet.

You feel your shoulders tense, and a shiver runs down your spine. The rapid coalescence of chaos and pandemonium is unnerving, and the ambiance makes you uneasy. However, you know you have to press on.

With as much fervor as you can muster, you run around the perimeter of your house, scouring every nook and cranny for signs of life. It’s not a large place, yet you can’t seem to find anything. Whatever it was that made that noise seems to have vanished without a trace.

Just as you’re about to give up, something on the ground catches your attention. A footprint. It’s a light imprint, barely visible, etched with the utmost precision into the dusty earth below. The size of the footprint is unfamiliar, and based on the weight distribution, it seems that the person it belongs to tried to tread lightly.

But not lightly enough.

It’s clear that the track points directly towards the stack of crates and barrels sitting behind your home, so with caution in your step, you gradually inch towards the area. As you do, the sound of shuffling permeates your ears, confirming that there is indeed something lurking behind the stacked wooden storage units. You take a deep breath before daring to peek.

The sight you’re met with shocks you to your core.

A young boy around your age is huddled between the boxes, nestled securely within a small gap. His knees are tucked all the way up to his chest, his short arms wrapped around them. The boy doesn’t dare move an inch. He simply looks up at you with eyes of molten amber, their depths bedazzled with emerald starglitter. As he moves, strands of hair spun of midnight essence shift to frame his face.

A part of your young mind thinks that he looks unreal — ethereal, but your train of thought is quickly disrupted when you notice his scraped knees.

“Are you okay?” you ask, extending a hand towards the boy. Despite your attempt at being gentle, the boy flinches, flecks of opulent gold swirling within his irises, mistrust dispersing in their wake. “I won’t hurt you.”

Your gazes lock, and you hope he can sense the sincerity in your actions. Hesitantly, the boy takes your hand, his knees wobbling slightly as he stands. He’s unsteady, but you make sure he doesn’t fall. Carefully, you lead him over to the front porch of your house, slowly sitting him down on the wooden planks. Once you’re sure he’s fine, you let go of his hand and begin taking bandages and cleaning supplies out of your medicinal pouch.

As you turn towards him, preparing to patch him up, you see him tense slightly.

He’s still scared.

“It might sting a little.”

Your comment doesn’t alleviate his face of its downcast expression — in fact, it just makes things worse.

“But it won’t last for long,” you insist. “Plus, all the adults always tell me it’s for the best.”

The boy is still deeply suspicious of you. It’s strange. You’ve never met someone so on edge.

“Would it make you feel better if I let you do it yourself?” You offer the supplies to the boy, and he curtly nods, snatching the bandages and swabs before you have a chance to process what’s going on.

He examines them closely, sunbeam-speckled eyes roaming every inch of the objects, as if shedding monochromatic tones of dandelion across their surfaces to detect any obscure dangers. After what feels like an eternity, he finally starts cleaning his wounds, barely even wincing as he brushes over them. As he moves on to bandaging his knees, you watch intently. He does everything with such ease and efficiency that you wonder if he’s used to it all.

Yet the longer he continues to work on treating himself, the more you realize that the awkward angle is causing him to wince slightly. Perhaps his wounds run deeper than you think. Slowly, you draw your hand closer to his, tapping him with a finger to catch his attention.

“Can I do the rest of the bandages?” you inquire. It seems he feels more at ease now, and you want to take this opportunity to further gain his trust. Besides, the last thing you want is for him to make his injuries worse.

The boy pauses for a few seconds, tilting his head as he regards you with apprehension. Locks of navy and seafoam mingle in the caress of the breeze, transitory weightlessness engulfing the atmosphere for only a single moment. Stillness becomes nearly tangible as equanimity envelops you. The tension only builds up once more as the boy dips his head in a gentle nod, loosening his fingers around the gauze to allow you to take it instead.

Meticulously, you continue wrapping the boy’s knees in fibres of pristine white, concealing the nasty wounds marring his skin. Despite not trusting you earlier, he’s very compliant, and he remains both calm and unmoving as you aid him.

And when you finally finish, you hear him speak for the first time.

“Thank you,” he whispers quietly, traces of hoarseness lacing his voice. It doesn’t sound like he speaks often. “You’re very kind.”

Before you can respond, the boy gets up, trying his best to hobble a few steps before staggering again. He manages to catch himself on a tree, and as he does, you race over to him. Obviously he’s not in any condition to be walking around.

“Be careful,” you reprimand him. “You can’t leave just yet.”

The boy shakes his head frantically.

“I’m supposed to be home right now,” he states gently. Although he tries his best to keep his tone flat and neutral, you notice the way his gaze becomes downcast, sullen with ashen rain clouds that dull anything and everything luminous.

“Just stay for a few more minutes?”

Perhaps it’s the concern entangled in your tone or your wide-eyed look of pure desperation that convinces the boy to give in. With a cautious sort of reluctance, he allows you to drag him back over to your old spot.

“So how did you end up here, and more importantly, how did you end up so hurt?”

It’s already very apparent that the boy isn’t big on words, yet the fleeting silence that floods your surroundings in waves of unspoken wariness unsettles you.

“I ran too fast and fell down here,” the boy states simply.

No normal person would run so fast that they dive headfirst off a small ledge without noticing, and what kind of kid goes outside without someone else along to supervise them if they get hurt?

His answer doesn’t seem insincere, yet something feels off. Doubt begins to blossom in your conscience, taking root in the form of fragmented bits of reason. Thus, you decide to try your luck and press just a little further.

“Why were you running,” you question. “Were you chased by a monster?”

“I guess you could say so…”

For a while, you continue to try to interrogate him, but you’re unable to get much more information out of him. The strange boy keeps all his secrets under lock and key, all his truths hidden within labyrinths of perplexing misdirection and nonchalant responses. Despite the frustration you feel when he refuses to comply, you understand. You’ve already pushed him far enough, but when it comes time for him to go, you try to get one last piece of information out of him.

“I never quite caught your name,” you remark as the boy steadies himself. He’s still a little wobbly but far better than before.

“Kinich,” he replies. “What about you?”

“[Name],” you say as you hand him your remaining medical supplies for later use.

Gratefully, Kinich takes the pouch, a ghost of a smile gracing his face.

“[Name], huh?” he whispers. “I’ll remember it.”

ACT II.

Nothing in the world is free. Every cost must be carefully weighed and then remunerated sufficiently.

This has been Kinich’s philosophy for as long as he can remember. No matter how desperately the sands of time and winds of fate try to erode his beliefs, they’re never successful, for his ideals have been ingrained in him since the moment he could make sense of natural order.

Ever since that fateful day where the ever-fragile threads of destiny pulled the two of you together, Kinich has been trying to think of a way to repay you, but with all the responsibilities and burdens weighing on his young shoulders, he finds it nearly impossible. When he’s not preoccupied with tending to the crops, he’s out and about in areas where only the wilderness reigns, carefully setting lethal traps to ensnare his next meal. Survival is tough, and with the ever-present threat of starvation looming over him, waiting for any opportune moment to snatch him from the gentle embrace of life, he allocates a large majority of his energy to feeding his father and himself.

It’s not like his father is much help anyway. These days, he seems to be drinking away his sorrow more than ever, losing himself as tides of despair ebb and flow, pulling him away from lucidity and into the frozen grips of oceanic melancholia. He’s been worse than ever since the disappearance of Kinich’s mother, and the one who feels the effects most potently is Kinich himself.

But everything changes on Kinich’s seventh birthday.

It’s his special day, and for once, he hopes that his father will allow him some clemency. For the first time in a long time, Kinich gathers up the courage to ask his father a question.

He asks if there has been any news of his mother.

At first, his father remains eerily silent. An ominous sense of uncertainty settles in the surrounding air, evoking Kinich to shudder as frostbite gnaws at him in a thousandfold. Bloodshot eyes pierce through Kinich’s defences, exposing him for the person he truly is beneath it all: a scared child, anxiously awaiting an answer from a man he no longer trusts.

He waits.

And waits.

Until his father rushes forwards in a sudden juxtaposition of mood. The apathy that masked his inner turmoil just seconds before is now gone, replaced by a look of pure rage. That’s Kinich’s cue to run. He’s done this enough times to know.

So he takes off. His legs, although far shorter than his father’s, carry him far more swiftly. Reflexes and strength built up through countless similar instances take over, and everything becomes muscle memory for Kinich. On the other hand, his father does not fare quite as well. He stumbles, and at times, he even trips over the creeping roots of archaic trees. It’s as if the alcohol is weighing him down, but despite it all, he never loses sight of his son.

Kinich is an elusive breeze, weightless and elegant, never once losing his foothold as he springs from one place to another. His father is more akin to the ancient petra underfoot — uncouth, clumsy, yet destructive and powerful. Even as he staggers, his resolve remains steadfast and resolute. He will stop at nothing until he’s able to give his young son a piece of his mind.

And yet fate has a strange way of intervening at the least convenient moments, ensuring its heavenly ordainment is heeded. In the eyes of the universe, Kinich’s story is not ready to end — but his father’s is.

As Kinich rushes by the side of a cliff, this becomes apparent. The sound of heavy footfalls behind him disappears before he hears a thud. Gathering his courage, Kinich gazes behind him, only to be met with the sight of emptiness where his father should have been.

Then, he makes the fateful decision to peer below.

There, lying between thickets of dense foliage lies the body of the man he once lived with — a man full of life mere seconds ago, now motionless and despondent. It feels unreal. A shiver runs down Kinich’s spine as a creeping sense of despair begins to stab at his heart. He blinks rapidly, taking deep breaths in order to calm himself, before making his way down the cliff.

Emotions are strange, and Kinich has never been good with them. He had always believed that everything would begin to look up once his father was out of the picture, but now that his father is gone for good, Kinich can’t help but grieve. No matter how horrible he was, he was still Kinich’s only remaining parent. There were better times too — times where his father would bring home a box of sweets for him and a bouquet of flowers for his mother. It almost felt like they were a real family. In Kinich’s mind, these instances pale in comparison to all the torment his father had put him through, yet he can’t completely erase his pleasant memories either.

So as one last act of respect, Kinich decides to bring his father’s body home with him.

The journey home is long and arduous. As Kinich navigates the surrounding wildlands and his newfound freedom, swinging from treetop to treetop with his father’s grappling hook, he wordlessly says goodbye to the man who had caused him so much pain throughout the former years of his life.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich becomes an orphan. He tucks himself into bed, and while other children would have had their loving mothers to lull them off to sleep in an aria of oneiric delights, he has nothing but the harsh, transient gale that rocks the thin walls of his home.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich ends up completely alone.

ACT III.

Kinich has dealt with nightmares before, but the ones that plague him after the death of his father are particularly horrific. Every night, as watercolour fuchsia and muted lilac begin to bleed into periwinkle skies, Kinich finds himself mentally preparing for the duress that lays ahead — for each time he closes his eyes, he is whisked back to the past, forced to relive events he’d much rather forget.

Sometimes he actively resists sleep, fearing the mirages that may appear in his dreams. It is on one such night that he finally recalls his debt to you. As he lays awake, trying to ward off all-consuming thoughts of eternal solitude and grief, he remembers the one other person he’s interacted with in recent times, and an idea comes to mind. He’s going to start paying his price tonight.

Kinich is usually one to take caution, but right now, he would do anything to keep his mind from lingering on his harsh reality. As such, he climbs out of bed, making his way outside to gather some of the crops he’s grown in a rugged patch of land behind his house.

It feels good to be outside again. The fresh air is a welcome change compared to the stifling atmosphere within a house that holds far too many memories for Kinich’s liking. His recollections range from saccharine-sweet to fear-evoking, yet one thing that remains constant is the fact that Kinich can’t stop recalling a past that seems oh-so-distant.

As Kinich picks up a tool, plowing through the dirt to unearth some of the grainfruit he had planted earlier that year, his thoughts drift back to his mother. She used to wrap her delicate fingers around his when he was younger, carefully guiding him as he learned to cultivate and take care of the crops. Back then, Kinich had felt a special type of fragile warmth, but now, all that remains is the chill of the evening air.

Kinich wonders if he’ll ever feel that warmth again.

He finishes gathering a respectable amount of food in no time, having had years of practice in the past. The young boy tosses the grainfruit into a sack, preparing to set off on a journey with phantasmagoric darkness as his only companion and the luminous constellations overhead as his only guide.

The sights and sounds of an enigmatic midnight distract him from the thoughts that have been running through his head on a daily basis. Kinich is sure to watch his step, although he’s nearly certain he knows the area well enough to walk through it blindfolded by now.

Finally, after around ten minutes of wandering through veils of silken achromatic, he sees the silhouette of a building in the distance, a rough outline against a backdrop of night. To his surprise, he spots a lantern emitting a gilded glow as he approaches, its incandescent light breaking through layers of obsidian obscurity, flooding it with a golden radiance instead. As he draws closer, he begins to make out the faint shape of a figure in the distance.

Strange. What normal person would be out at this hour?

As the features of the mysterious person become more defined, Kinich realizes it’s you again. Subconsciously, a soft smile begins to grace his features at the thought of getting to speak to you once more. It’s the first time he’s been genuinely happy in a while.

When Kinich steps into the dim firelight of the lantern, his features illuminated by the ember-forged halo of light, you eagerly approach him and wave. Something about the fact that you still recognize makes his heart grow just a little softer.

“It’s you,” you remark, your face lighting up excitedly.

Kinich nods, awkwardly shuffling under the weight of your gaze. It’s been a long time since someone was so interested in him. He isn’t quite used to having people regard him with such attentiveness.

“What are you doing out at this time?” Curiosity flares in your eyes, dancing in asterisms of wonder that glimmer with the brilliance of the stars above. Normally Kinich doesn’t like it when others pry into his affairs, but he thinks the look of inquisitiveness is endearing on you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Kinich bluntly responds, “and I had a debt to repay.” He gestures at the sack of grainfruit beside him, silently weighing out the costs in his mind. It isn’t enough to pay you back for helping a stranger unconditionally, but Kinich thinks it’s a start. At the very least, it’s enough to reimburse the material costs of tending to his wounds, and he’ll deal with reciprocating your actual actions later.

“Debt?” Your face contorts into a puzzled frown. Kinich decides that he appreciates this expression far less when it adorns your visage. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“You treated my injuries the other day,” Kinich begins to explain, but you cut him off.

“And there’s really no need to repay me for that,” you interrupt. “Trust me. I wanted to help you.”

Somewhere in the depths of his heart, Kinich feels a flurry of opalescent butterflies spread their wings and take flight. Iridescent sparks of a newfound fuzzy feeling burst to life within his chest.

It’s… new. Everything is new with you.

“At least take the grainfruit,” he mutters, trying to remain nonchalant. As a young child, he still doesn’t quite understand what he’s feeling, but he’d rather not make his emotions apparent. “It’ll save me the trouble of having to drag it back home.”

You hesitate for a few seconds before agreeing, hauling the large bag inside with great difficulty before rushing back out to Kinich. By the time you return, he recalls that you shouldn’t be up at this hour either.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you awake right now?” Kinich asks you as you close the front door behind you.

Deep down, a part of him wants to know if there’s something troubling you so he can help you. It’s strange. It’s been a while since he last cared for someone this deeply, but he blames it all on his desire to reimburse you for your kindness, nothing more. Conveniently, he ignores the nascent emotions blooming within, repressing flourishes that take shape in frantic flickers of ruby and rose.

“It was a little too cold tonight,” you sigh, staring down at the ground. “I just couldn’t fall asleep comfortably.”

Kinich lets out a small hum of acknowledgement as the gears in his brain begin to turn, rotating in cycles of contemplation. Perhaps he’ll bring you an extra blanket next time he visits.

“Then why don’t we keep each other company for a while?” Kinich suggests. “It definitely beats being alone.” Kinich is not usually one to actively seek the company of other people, but you’re intriguing to him.

You nod, silently offering your hand to Kinich. It feels like the day you first met all over again, except under much better circumstances. This time, he laces your fingers without hesitation, allowing you to guide him through darkness fragmented only by rays of piercing starlight. He’s not quite sure where you’re leading him, but he knows he’s beginning to trust you a little.

Slowly, your destination becomes clear to Kinich. The two of you draw closer and closer to the cliffside — a spot where pure moonbeams grace the earth with their elegant touch. Kinich tenses slightly, haunting memories from a few weeks prior threatening to resurface above the murky waters of a wounded heart. However, he quells every spark of fear threatening to blaze alight.

He’s safe. Things aren’t the same as they were on that day, and the only other person around is you.

To Kinich’s relief, you settle down a safe distance from the cliff’s edge and pat the spot beside yourself, gesturing for Kinich to follow suit. He wordlessly obliges, simply relishing in the serenity that permeates the atmosphere, nearly tangible as he feels lingering traces of your body heat in the night air.

“Look up,” you whisper, laying a gentle hand on Kinich’s shoulder.

He does as he’s told, and the panoramic sight that greets him is enough to take his breath away. The skies above are the same as ever, yet this is the first time he has truly been able to appreciate their beauty. Kinich studies the constellations that burn with unrivalled luminosity, in awe of their brilliance. Diamond lights burn bright against a backdrop of deep sapphire, each shade of an abyssal ocean waltzing in a whimsical show of wonders.

Before today, he’d always been too busy caring for his mother, too preoccupied with his father’s hysteria, or too melancholy within his own solitude to enjoy anything with an unburdened heart.

But now everything has changed. He’s free, and he has you now. Yet again, he feels an involuntary smile tug at the corners of his lips, and before he has the chance to think about what all of this means, a shout breaks through the silence.

“A shooting star! Make a wish, Kinich!”

Kinich is more than familiar with wishing. He’s wished for plenty of things in his seven years of life. He’s wished for his father to stop gambling, he’s wished for his mother to come back, and he’s wished for his family to be happy together. Permanently. None of his wishes have ever come true.

But as he looks over at you, he notices hope and a childish innocence glittering in your eyes, manifesting in prismatic tones reflected from the skies above. A sense of warmth washes over him. Kinich sees a kind of purity in you that he wishes he could have clung onto for longer, so he makes a wish, if only to protect and humour you.

“I wish to be able to repay your kindness someday, even if it takes me a lifetime.”

ACT IV.

Throughout the years, Kinich’s debt to you only accumulates.

Word spreads like wildfire after the first few members of the tribe find out about Kinich’s living situation, and unsurprisingly, the news reaches your family as well. Strangers begin to graciously offer Kinich help, yet he always holds them at a distance. Nothing in the world is free, and he knows full well that there are people who conceal ulterior motives behind masks of charity.

There is, however, one exception.

You.

Deep down, Kinich knows that if the universe hadn’t entangled him within its delicate web of fate the day you first met, he would have never trusted you. It was only when he was left with no other options that he allowed you to aid him. He felt your sincerity that day, and although he’s still hesitant at the prospect of placing his wholehearted faith in anyone just yet, he lets you help him with his daily tasks. Kinich enjoys being around you, and a small part of him knows that he wants to be able to believe in you unconditionally.

You always show up early in the mornings, returning time and time again as the first traces of golden brilliance begin to graze the horizon. Kinich begins to find himself looking forward to the sunrise for the first time in his life.

In the past, Kinich would watch the last embers of twilight die out each day, violet enigma enveloped by vivid strokes of peach. He would always dread the day to come. Back then, nearly every waking hour of his life had been tedious and stressful, and thus he could only find respite in the land of the oneiric where dreams and absurdism erased the sorrow of real life.

But nowadays, each new dawn means spending more time with you.

You accompany him on various tasks. From farming to foraging to trading at the market, you’ve almost done it all.

Today’s task, however, requires slightly more precision.

As you set off towards a stretch of open plains with Kinich, you speak jovially, sharing stories from the past without a care in the world. Kinich himself doesn’t speak much. Instead, he listens, trying his best to piece together fragments of a childhood he never got to experience. Seeing your face light up with joy as you recall amusing escapades or confounding situations causes Kinich’s heart to swell slightly.

You only begin to quiet down when you draw near your destination. Kinich already made it abundantly clear that in order to get anything worthwhile from this trip, you need to proceed with the utmost caution.

Although you try your hardest to keep stealth in your step, you find that you’re not nearly as adept as Kinich, who has had years of experience traversing this territory. Occasionally, the sound of leaves crackling and twigs snapping will reach Kinich’s ear, and he’ll catch a glimpse of you stumbling. After a few minutes of painstaking silence interrupted only by the uneven rhythm of clumsy footfalls, Kinich decides to take your hand to steady you.

He tells himself he’s doing it to ensure you don’t scare away his next meal — that he doesn’t want you to mess up and feel guilty. However, behind his icy demeanour woven from years of hardship lies a small part of him that secretly enjoys the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his, the warmth of his palms mingling with yours.

Meticulously, Kinich leads you to a towering bush, its fragile emerald leaves dense enough to conceal an entire person. Its branches sprout out in piercing patterns of disorderly pandemonium, reflecting the true ruggedness of nature in its visage.

“Hide here, and don’t make a noise until I get back,” he whispers, his soft breath tickling the shell of your ear. Your proximity nearly causes shivers to run down Kinich’s spine, but years of practice have taught him to effortlessly conceal all his sentiments. “Watch closely.”

With those parting words, Kinich makes his way into the foliage, clutching a boar trap within his hand. He scans the ground for an optimal spot to place the contraption, finally settling on an area after around a minute of contemplation. As soon as he sets the device down, he leaves as quickly as he entered the area, gracefully making his way back to you without making so much as a noise.

Huddled behind the bush, the two of you watch in anticipation. Now that Kinich has left, wild boars have begun to make their ways out into the open, blissfully grazing, unaware of the peril that lies before them. An unsuspecting boar inches closer and closer to the trap, and Kinich’s breath hitches in anticipation, waiting for it to foolishly take the bait.

However, just as the boar begins to sniff the food laid within cold metallic jaws, you lean forward to get a better look. Kinich doesn’t react fast enough to stop you. Your movement is slight, yet it causes a large disturbance. The leaves of the bush you’re hidden behind rustle, and the boar looks up, its idyllic haze seemingly perturbed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, it turns tail and runs, conveniently kicking fallen debris into the mouth of the trap, snapping it closed with a sharp click. The other wildlife in the area take off as well. A rush of polychromatic wings create shadows overhead as birds fly away, leaving only tufts of delicate feathers behind. Their dissonant cries echo in an ominous ode of precaution, alerting any other living beings in the area that there is danger lurking nearby.

So much for hunting.

Kinich sighs. Looks like it’ll be another few days before he’ll be able to get his hands on some meat. He just lost out on a sizable sum of mora. Now he’ll have to spend more on keeping himself fed over the next few days, he won’t have anything of worth to sell for extra money — and all that goes without even considering the time and resources he just wasted.

“Kinich, I’m so so sorry,” you start, shrinking back a little as your gaze meets his — an unreadable galaxy of jade and peridot, accentuated by intricate borders of copper and gold.

His heart clenches when he realizes that the look you’re regarding him with is one of fear and uncertainty. He doesn’t want you to feel that way, so with an uncharacteristic haste, he reaches out to pat your shoulder.

“No need to apologize,” Kinich reassures you, his words and tone soothing like a marine zephyr on a scorching summer day. “You were just curious.”

Kinich knows he has every right to be angry, but overreacting and directing his rage towards another person is the last thing he’d want to do. He knows better than anyone else the damage of misplaced blame and unwarranted rage.

He knows that normally under such circumstances, it would be most appropriate to calmly ask the other party to pay a sufficient price, but since it’s you, Kinich thinks he can let you off the hook. Just this once.

Mentally, he notes never to take you hunting again.

ACT V.

The flow of time is paradoxical, morphing and bending as seasons change and circumstances shift. In Kinich’s case, the former years of his life seemed to drag on, each harrowing second stretching into eons and millenia, but recently, he has begun to resent the evanescent essence of his days.

It feels like just yesterday, he was that fearful seven-year-old, all alone in the world without a soul to offer him solace. Now he’s sixteen — a little older and a lot wiser. Although the hardships he’s faced have been far from delightful, Kinich has had you by his side throughout it all.

The situation is no different in the present. Another hard day of labour passes as usual, and after hours upon hours of exerting yourselves under the blazing radiance of the sun, Kinich is ready to walk you home with a bag of today’s spoils.

However, as the two of you prepare for the journey ahead, ashen clouds begin to roll in, overtaking the pristine azure that once painted the sky. The light overhead starts to die out, fading at an agonizing swift pace. Although Kinich has safely escorted you home during minor storms before, he has a feeling today will be different. Something about the petrichor that floods his senses feels like a premonition, a warning of disasters to come, and the atmosphere is electrifying.

“We’d better get going if we want to make it before it starts pouring,” you chuckle lightheartedly, seemingly unperturbed. You only begin to look concerned when Kinich doesn’t respond, his mind clouded with a daze of rumination. Upon seeing your features morph into an expression of concern, Kinich finally snaps out of his trance.

“You should stay the night instead.” The confused look you shoot his way causes a wave of awkwardness to wash over the ambience, yet Kinich continues to elaborate. “I have a bad feeling about the incoming storm. It feels different.”

“I wouldn’t want to burden you though,” you protest. “If we leave quickly, everything will probably be okay.”

Kinich shakes his head.

“You’re not a burden at all,” he whispers. “You’ve spent your precious time helping me. The least I could do is ensure your safety and offer my home as a refuge.”

Despite Kinich’s reassurances, you continue to refute his statements.

“But I really don’t think staying over is necessary. If you’re worried about walking back alone in a storm, you don’t need to accompany me. I’ll be okay. Promise.”

You turn away from Kinich, ready to set off. A rush of panic sends daggers of serrated trepidation to his soul. It’s unlike Kinich to lose his cool, and although he maintains a serene facade, the unsettling feeling that has been permeating his senses this entire time begins bubbling to the surface, each potential tragedy rushing through his mind in a frenzied series of what-ifs.

Without thinking, Kinich catches your wrist in his fingers, maintaining a loose grip.

“Don’t go,” he utters. He despises the vulnerability that laces his tone, but he’s more desperate than ever.

Kinich has already lost both his parents. The mere notion of losing you too is unbearable. If the storm really ends up being as intense as he predicts, he knows that muddy cliffsides, discombobulating spirals of sharp crystalline raindrops, and blinding flashes of lightning will all make for an incredibly disadvantageous situation. For a brief second, his mind flashes back to the way his father had passed, but he swiftly represses those thoughts, pushing them back into a seldom-visited corner of his mind.

When Kinich’s gaze meets yours, your expression softens. He can feel your resolve fading.

“Alright, fine,” you sigh. “You’re lucky my family has full confidence in your ability to protect me, otherwise they’d go ballistic if I didn’t come home.”

Just as you finally agree to Kinich’s proposition, the sensation of frosted drops of water prickles at his skin. The storm has begun. With haste, he pulls you indoors, quickly shutting the door to keep all the unwanted rain out.

The two of you wait it out, speaking leisurely as if nature isn’t erupting into chaos all around you. When you’re together, it feels like nothing else exists. Without a clear view of the sun in the sky, Kinich is unsure of how much time passes, but after a while, he notices that a haze of exhaustion begins to elicit yawns from you.

“Tired? You should get some sleep,” Kinich hums nonchalantly. The ambience feels tranquil, and despite the peril just outside the walls of his home, Kinich feels at ease.

You move to lie down on a dilapidated couch in the middle of the cramped living room, but Kinich immediately protests. He knows you’ll inevitably start to feel cold or uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing he wants you to experience as an honoured guest within his abode.

“Don’t sleep out here. You’ll freeze.”

Kinich takes your hand, and you allow him to pull you up. He leads you to another room — his room. For the most part, it’s barren, but Kinich watches as your eyes land on a small collection of items sitting atop an aged drawer beside his bed. Memorabilia from your various years together line the edges of dull wood — birthday gifts, trinkets that reminded you of him, and short notes of appreciation. He watches as a subtle grin etches itself into your features as embarrassment and admiration wash over him.

“You kept all this?” Slight surprise lines your tone as you pose your rhetorical question.

Kinich nods, unsure of how to elaborate. Even he’s not completely sure as to why he stores all the keepsakes you’ve ever presented him so meticulously. All he knows is that they’re important to him. You’re important to him.

“That’s sweet,” you mumble, leaning over to examine everything more closely. Your eyes linger on each object, memories flashing in their depths.

Kinich feels his heart flutter.

You spend a few minutes poring over the items and recollections of the past before finally retiring to bed. Kinich watches as you pull the covers over yourself, and he ensures you’re comfortable before turning to leave.

This time, however, it’s your turn to encircle your fingers around his arm, prompting him to stay.

“Where are you going?” you inquire, gazing up at Kinich curiously.

“Back to the living room,” he replies, gently twisting his wrist, loosening your grip.

“You said it was cold though.”

Kinich shrugs. “I don’t mind as long as you’re comfortable.”

“What if I think I’d be more comfortable with you by my side?”

Kinich tenses, and for a second, his brain malfunctions, barely processing the intent of your words. He comes to the realization that he’s not opposed to the idea. Besides, it was logical; it would help the two of you stay warm for the night.

“As long as you’re happy,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but into your eyes. Slowly, he begins to climb into bed beside you, cramming his limbs to one side in order to ensure you have enough personal space. Kinich feels unusually tense, and his heartbeat starts to spike in a melody of frantic sentiments as he begins to sense your body heat radiating from the other side of the bed.

Although Kinich tries to calm himself, it’s to no avail, especially when you shift over slightly, entangling your fingers with his. Your eyes flutter shut, and sleep pulls you under, lulling you into a whimsical land of nonsensical wonders. As frantic as the contact makes Kinich feel, he can’t bring himself to pry his hand from your grasp. The feeling of your fingers laced together is not an unpleasant sensation.

So with his hand in yours, Kinich falls asleep, and for the first night in his life, he experiences a truly restful slumber. His last thought before the tides of exhaustion drag him off to an ocean of reverie is how despite his unusual nerves, he wouldn’t mind doing this again.

And when Kinich comes to the next morning, he’s met with the most ethereal sight of his life. Early morning light blooms through the windows, tinting every corner of the room an aureate shade. The brilliance of the sun is utopia compared to the tumultuous conditions of last night, and as Kinich looks over at you, he notices the peace and content instilled within every dip and curve of your face.

You’re angelic, and the feeling of you by his side is just so right.

When Kinich comes to terms with the fact that he wants to wake up to the sight of your soft smile every single day, he finally realizes the true significance of the emotions he’s harboured towards you for years.

He’s in love.

ACT VI.

It isn’t often that you go to the market without Kinich by your side. The two of you are more or less a package deal, so when you show up alone, equipped with a small pouch of mora and without your most trusted companion, you immediately notice the whispers that follow.

“Do you think something happened to Kinich?”

“Maybe he got offered a commission that he deemed more worthy of his time.”

“Are you kidding me? Nothing is more important to Kinich than [name] — not even mora!”

The speculations range from reasonable to absolutely implausible, and in all honesty, you have no idea what Kinich is doing at the moment. All you can do is tune everything out and focus on your objective: finding a suitable friendship anniversary gift for Kinich.

Ever since Kinich became a saurian hunter and started taking commissions, you’ve been spending less and less time together. However, he’s always accompanied you to the market, helping you weigh each cost with the utmost precision. Although you’re rarely thrilled by the fact that he’s busier with his own affairs now, today is one of the few times where it works to your advantage. You want to surprise him with something special, and the absence of his presence will ensure that nothing is spoiled before the right time comes.

As you browse the goods sold by an elderly vendor, you feel a tug on the hem of your clothing. Upon looking down, you find yourself greeted by two familiar faces — Huni and Toba.

“Hey, little ones,” you say, grinning at the two children gazing at you with wide eyes. “Is something the matter?”

Huni nods furiously, Toba mimicking her actions just seconds later. You stifle a giggle. In a way, the two remind you of you and Kinich when you were younger — virtually conjoined.

“We were wondering if Kinich was okay,” Toba responds, nervously clasping his hands together.

“Ah,” you breathe out, finding yourself faced with expectant stares from all around. You can tell that prying eyes and ears have been trained on you, eager for any semblance of gossip. “Why does everyone seem to think something’s up with Kinich today?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Huni giggles, barely able to conceal her glee. “Everyone knows he follows you everywhere because the two of you are together.”

Toba nudges Huni lightly, his gaze becoming the slightest bit pointed as he reprimands her in a hushed tone. “Huni! You weren’t supposed to say that.”

You pause for a few seconds, thinking over the implications of Huni’s statement. Surely you misheard. Surely you’re just misinterpreting the girl’s words. Surely no one actually thinks you and Kinich are a couple, right?

“Excuse me, what?” you blurt out. No other words come to mind at the moment, as you’re too shocked to muster any coherent thought. “Kinich and I are what?”

“Together,” Huni states simply. “A couple. Totally head-over-heels for each other.”

A frown clouds your features as your muscles tense. You and Kinich are nothing more than friends, and although you’re extremely close — nearly abnormally so — you’ve never even discussed the possibility of being anything more. Why does everyone around you suddenly seem to think you’re in love?

Perhaps your confusion is evident because Huni continues to elaborate in excruciating detail.

“You should see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching — it’s like his eyes fill with the light of a thousand stars. Oh, he also always asks the shopkeepers if anything’s caught your eye recently whenever you’re distracted, and…”

You tune out Huni’s tangent about you and Kinich, the thoughts in your mind coming to a halt temporarily to protect yourself from the onslaught of confounding claims being made. It feels like complete blankness engulfs your mind as you remain frozen in place, each fleeting moment feeling more comparable to an eternity. The more you dwell on Huni’s assumption, the more you realize you don’t mind envisioning yourself with Kinich.

You’re only pulled out of your mental retreat when a familiar voice rings out through the discord of marketplace conversations.

“[Name],” Kinich greets you. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

To your relief, Toba drags Huni off as Kinich approaches, frantically trying to ensure that she doesn’t say anything more in front of the saurian hunter himself. You feel a sense of momentary relief, but now that Kinich is here, what are you going to do about his present?

“Yeah, I had some free time today and wanted to check out some of the new goods. It’s been about a week since I’ve come by.”

Unsurprisingly Kinich doesn’t look convinced. Doubt swirls in a faint starlight glimmer within irises of fern and honeyed sunbeams. He knows you like the back of his own hand.

“What’s really going on?” he asks, a hint of concern entangled in his tone. He watches you intently, awaiting your answer. His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly.

Busted. Although you would have much preferred keeping your gift to Kinich a surprise, you figure it’s still better to ensure he doesn’t worry that you’ve been roped into doing suspicious business. You know from experience that Kinich tends to take drastic measures when he thinks you’re in danger, and you’d rather not have him go to such lengths over nothing.

“You know how our friendship anniversary is coming up?” you explain.

A look of realization flashes across Kinich’s features. Before he can speak, a grating voice that you’ve been hearing more often in recent times interrupts.

“So my lowly servant and his pesky idiot of a companion had the same idea,” Ajaw cackles, appearing from behind Kinich. You try your best to stifle an exasperated groan. “Maybe you really are meant to be — after all, you share one collective brain cell!”

You glare at Ajaw, and Kinich sighs, nonchalantly raising an arm to send Ajaw off to solitary confinement.

“Sorry about that. Ajaw’s been acting up more than usual since the last time I put him in timeout,” Kinich says.

You chuckle before a realization suddenly hits you.

“Wait, Ajaw said you were here for the same reason as me,” you speak hesitantly. “Were you getting me a gift too?” The way Kinich averts his gaze as you ask your question nearly elicits more giggles from you.

“Looks like we caught each other at the worst time,” Kinich sighs.

You nod in agreement, and although you’re slightly disappointed you couldn’t have kept your secret mission inconspicuous, you find the corners of your lips turning up in a smile. There’s a strange sort of comfortable humour in the situation that you only experience around Kinich.

“Since we’re both here anyway, we might as well go shopping together,” you hum, taking Kinich’s hand and dragging him off. Maybe people will stop bothering you now that Kinich is by your side again.

You wander with Kinich, gaze flitting over various items on display. However, despite all your searching, nothing quite piques your interests. It’s not until rose and clematis scatter themselves across the sky in a brilliant display of mosaic-esque shards that something finally catches your eye.

On a small table tucked within an obscure corner of the marketplace sits two matching bracelets, delicate stars engraved into opulent charms hanging from each one. The woven threads of each accessory look intricately-crafted to the point where even the finer details appear flawless.

They’re beautiful, but more importantly, they remind you of that night more than a decade ago where Kinich had wished upon a star for the first time in years. They remind you of the night where Kinich found hope once more. That’s what seals the deal for you.

“Excuse me, Ms. Vendor. I’ll take the two bracelets.”

ACT VII.

No one takes death seriously until it comes knocking at their door.

Kinich comes to the realization as he trembles on the battlefield of the Night Warden Wars, his bones aching and his joints ready to give up on him. He’s exhausted, and all he wants to do is close his eyes and allow the frigid touch of death to kiss away the last remnants of warmth from his soul. However, relenting would mean admitting defeat.

Relenting would mean never seeing you again.

(And that’s the last thing he wants.)

Everyone lives as if their time is unlimited — as if tomorrow is guaranteed to come. Humans tend to assume the future is a never-ending tale, a novel with no finale, so they continuously delay, waiting and waiting and waiting because they believe they still have many years ahead of them to wrap up their affairs.

Kinich realizes all too late that he has been ensnared within the same folly. As he remains slumped on the ground, clutching at his bleeding chest, a sense of deep regret washes over him.

He never got to tell you that he loved you.

Even after all these years, Kinich has never been able to bring himself to utter those words — not even once — and now, he’ll pay the price for his hesitation. A small part of him has always been too cowardly to cross the line from friendship into the uncharted territory of something more.

Kinich hardly knows much pertaining to love, but from what little he’s seen in his former years of life, he knows it’s a double-edged sword — a smoldering flame of passion that burns with unparalleled brilliance. But when a roaring blaze grows too intense, it consumes all, leaving nothing but ashes and tears.

His parents had been in love at some point. Kinich recalls the times where his father would embrace his mother after handing her a breathtaking bouquet of flowers, his lips brushing across her bruised cheek with a rare sweetness. In those moments, Kinich’s father would whisper words of affirmation to his mother — promises and saccharine reassurances that would always remain unfulfilled.

Yet more often than not, their “love” consisted of domestic quarrels, the shattering of glassware against the walls of a derelict house or the slap of a hand across blemished skin. Love had destroyed them, and Kinich’s worst fear is the thought of your relationship falling apart.

So he’s maintained an ample distance throughout the years, keeping you at arm’s length to ensure nothing goes wrong. He’s always been by your side, close enough to share embers of his love yet not close enough to burn you, and now his caution is returning to haunt him.

Kinich is going to die before he has the chance to confess his true feelings.

As much as he wills himself to stay conscious, his eyelids begin to grow heavy, threatening to flutter shut for the last time. The sweet sensation of death threatens to lull Kinich into an eternal slumber, luring him in with a deceptively-tantalizing siren song, filled with promises of peace and an end to his suffering. A sense of fear grips Kinich as his life begins slipping away. He’s not ready to die. There’s so much he still wants to experience with you.

A million thoughts race through his mind before his imminent demise.

He thinks of Ajaw, who would be free to catalyze the implosion of the seven nations without Kinich around. As cruel as fate has been to him, Kinich doesn’t want the world to burn.

He thinks of his comrades — fallen warriors who had fought valiantly until they no longer had the strength to go on. They deserve to be revered and honoured, not lost to the sands of time.

And he thinks of you. His everything.

The weight of the star bracelet you had gifted him starts feeling a lot heavier. When you purchased it, you had told him it brought back recollections from one of the best days of your life, adding that you hoped you’d make many more precious memories in the future.

Kinich can’t let you down now.

A wish flickers to life within the depths of his soul, desperately manifesting in shades of emerald and rich forest green. Resplendent viridescent tourmaline glints by his chest where there had once been a gaping wound, fueling Kinich with revived vigor. Kinich feels rejuvenated, and with his newfound strength, he stands, preparing to face another onslaught of abyssal attacks.

This time he’s ready, and he’ll stop at nothing until he purges every last enemy.

Kinich is determined to fight — for Natlan, for his comrades, and most importantly, for you.

ACT VIII.

When a hero returns from war, they are typically met with the relieved faces of their loved ones and an outpouring of affection. However, Kinich finds that neither of these things welcome him upon his arrival home. Instead, he is greeted by the sight of an exasperated frown on your face and vitreous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“You’re so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! I can’t believe you almost got yourself killed!” You continue to ramble on, your words amalgamating in a panicked jumble of incoherence as Kinich wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a warm embrace. Ever since Kinich told you what happened during the Night Warden Wars, you’ve been distraught.

To his relief, he feels the tension within your body dissipate as the proximity between the two of you gradually dwindles. With your face finally hidden from view, you allow your teardrops to flow freely down your cheeks in bittersweet rivulets; Kinich can tell from the way his clothing seems to dampen. Absent-mindedly, Kinich traces circles on your back, calmly running through cycles upon cycles to ground you.

“Sorry,” is all Kinich can muster, his throat feeling parched under the scrutiny of your glare as you pull away to shoot him a nasty look. There’s so much more he wants to say to you, but he can’t find the strength to put any of it into words. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

You scoff, your tone nearly sardonic in nature, yet beneath it all, Kinich can sense how much you missed him —- how terrified you were that you would never see him again.

“Is that all you have to say?” you ask. “You nearly died, Kinich. I nearly lost you.”

The lines of your facial features, once creased in irritation, soften, giving way to vulnerability.

“I know,” he sighs, shivering as resignation chills him to the bone. He hates the fact that you’re right. Kinich reaches out to caress your cheek, gently wiping a tear in the process. “I’m still here though.”

“That doesn’t guarantee the same thing won’t happen in the future,” you choke out between hushed sobs. “What if next time you actually…”

Before you can go on, Kinich presses a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you. For a few seconds, he simply allows you to lose yourself within the comfort of his arms. He needs you to process the fact that he’s tangible, breathing, alive, before he says anything more. Kinich waits for your ragged gasps to even out before speaking.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, moving a hand to lace your fingers together.

You nod furiously, eyeing Kinich suspiciously through your sorrowful display of emotions.

“Then believe me when I say I’ll always return to you,” Kinich whispers softly.

Moments go by before you hesitantly respond.

“Fine.”

Kinich isn’t one to break promises. Ending a contract unceremoniously leads to mounting costs and debt, so he tends to avoid obliging to tasks he considers impossible. Perhaps that’s why you relent so easily. You know Kinich would never go back on his word — especially not if it has anything to do with you.

“I’m still expecting you to make it up to me though. I was unbelievably worried.”

“Sure thing,” Kinich replies, his voice breezy and nonchalant once more.

Just let me hold you for a little while longer first.

ACT IX.

Adrenaline courses through Kinich’s veins, fueling him with an urgent sort of determination. He races the wind, desperately trying to transcend nature itself. He’s always been quick, but right now, he’s not sure he’ll be quick enough.

You could be in danger.

If Kinich had known that there had been a surge in abyssal activity within the territory of the People of the Springs, he would have never let you accompany Mualani and the Traveler on their excursion; he wouldn’t have sent Ajaw away on a special mission in the dead of night in an attempt to seek some peace and quiet either. However, Kinich only found out a mere hour ago, and now he’s scrambling to reach you without the aid of his flying companion.

Kinich knows very well that he could arrive just to find that nothing serious is going on, but the thought of not being by your side to protect you in the case that something actually does happen glazes his soul over into a thousand fractals of crystalline fear.

That’s why he runs with as much haste as he can muster, guided by gilded lights reflected in untamed waters, their glow casting a luminous sheen across the wavering ocean surface. As Kinich draws closer, he senses a feeling of foreboding in the air, charging his surroundings with the essence of an ominous premonition.

And then he hears it — an ear-shattering scream.

No matter how much Kinich’s legs scream for respite, he rushes on. With every step, his pace only accelerates. The sole thought on his mind is getting to you in time.

When he finally reaches the village, pandemonium is the first thing to make his acquaintance. Warriors from the tribe fiercely attempt to fend off the incoming assault on their homeland, parrying the attacks of each monstrous entity with precision developed throughout years of rigorous training. Kinich knows they’re skilled at fighting. He trusts them, so instead of delaying, he rushes to more secluded corners of the town, fending off any monsters lurking around the outskirts in the hopes that he’ll run into you on the way.

He swings his claymore as if it's instinct, warding off all peril as he desperately searches the din of discombobulating havoc for any sign of you. His first potential lead comes in the form of a cerulean blur, followed closely by a flash of gold — two of Kinich’s few friends. Before Kinich can call their names, they’re already out of earshot. However, as he turns away to continue his search, a small fairy-esque creature barrels into him, swaying slightly as a ferocious gale attempts to send her flying into disarray.

Kinich reacts quickly, his body working faster than his brain. With ease, he snatches the entity from the sky, effectively pulling her out of harm’s way.

“Hello, Paimon,” Kinich says, fighting to keep his tone neutral. With great difficulty, he suppresses all the anxiety, facing Paimon without betraying so much as a hint of emotion. Truthfully, he’s a wreck on the inside.

“Kinich!” Paimon exclaims, her high-pitched voice cutting through the cacophony of noise ringing out in the turbulent night. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for [name]. Have you seen them around?”

Kinich doesn’t realize he’s holding in his breath until he hears Paimon’s response. A small gasp slips past his lips.

“Um, last Paimon heard, they were heading to the east part of the village. There were some kids playing there earlier without supervision.”

Of course. Kinich should have known you were off helping others. You had always been willing to lend a hand to those in need, even when you first met Kinich. It was one of your many traits that charmed him all those years ago.

“Thank you, Paimon,” Kinich says, trying his best to keep a building sense of dread at bay. “You should catch up with the Traveler now.”

“See you soon, Kinich,” Paimon chirps before zipping away.

Now that he’s alone, Kinich finally allows the panic to set in. With even more fervour than before, he speeds off in your direction, grasping at various ledges with his grappling hook to move quicker. Kinich is all but weightless, akin to a delicate feather drifting through the breeze. However, it’s still not enough.

You’re cornered and alone when he finally spots you, backed to a wall as two beastly hounds eye you hungrily, sparks of violet electricity igniting in their irises. Just as Kinich figures that the kids have been brought to safety, one of the creatures lets out a guttural roar, a horrific sound unlike anything from this world. You cower in response. Time seems to slow as Kinich watches the abomination extend its claws, ready to rip into you without mercy.

Before he can spare another thought, Kinich’s body reacts. He flings himself through the air, landing precariously fast and skidding along the grass. As he starts slowing to a stop in front of you, he swings his claymore, countering the abyssal wolf’s attack.

Kinich shields you. No matter how perilous the situation becomes, he knows he will need to remain steadfast and resolute.

As the dust settles, you finally catch a glimpse of Kinich. He hears you call his name, feels your hand brush against his shoulder, and senses you shuffling next to him.

However, danger still lurks before you, so with one hand, Kinich lightly shoves you back, taking caution to ensure you won’t end up injured.

“Let me handle this,” he says, extending an arm to prevent you from taking another step forward. He changes his stance and faces the hounds head-on.

The monsters prepare to attack again, and Kinich takes it as a sign to charge forth, swinging his claymore with as much force as he can manage. Although the beasts are fearsome, Kinich lands blow after blow, gradually weakening them with each hit. The only thing on his mind right now is his desire to protect — to save you like you saved him all those years ago.

Kinich allows his instincts to take over, relying on the battle experience he’s accumulated to guide him through the abyssal skirmish. Suddenly he feels as though he’s back in the Night Warden Wars, fighting with all his heart to ensure he’d see you again. His resolve steels, and with one final strike of his weapon, he dispels all danger, banishing the hounds before him to the precarious realm from whence they came.

As soon as Kinich has ensured that the situation has settled, he turns back to inquire about your wellbeing. However, before a single word can slip past his lips, you run up to him and collapse in his arms, trembling like a leaf within a harrowing autumn squall.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. Kinich holds you tighter, his grip so secure that even death wouldn’t be able to pry you from his grasp. “I’ve got you.”

“I was so scared… that I’d never see you again,” you gasp between shaky breaths, your panic slowly beginning to dissipate.

Kinich feels a lump in his throat and a pang in his chest. He knows better than anyone how you must have felt, what you were thinking as you lived out what you thought were your last moments. He was in your exact situation once, and all he can recall is his final plea to Celestia — his wish to return home to the welcoming sight of your radiant visage at least once more.

“I couldn’t die before I told you that,” you hesitate, your words catching in your throat, “before I told you that I loved you.”

Kinich’s breath hitches. His body freezes, and his surroundings become all but null. Maybe you really are telepathically linked because that had been his exact thought as he felt his life ebbing away during the Night Warden Wars, ascending to a divine plane in chapters of fragile mortality.

“You love me?” Kinich breathes out. In the mayhem, all is momentarily forgotten as blissful euphoria overtakes his heart, sending zephyrs of rose-tinted elation through his mind. After an eternity of waiting, Kinich finally realizes his feelings are reciprocated. “I love you too.”

The look on your face softens as sensibility and coherency begin to overtake you once more, but before you can return Kinich’s affections, dissonant screams and crashes shatter your transient utopia.

Right. You’re still in the midst of chaos.

“Do you know where the Traveler and Mualani were headed?” Kinich questions you urgently, recoiling slightly as he ruins the moment. He hates the fact that he’ll have to push aside the implications of your confession for now, but at the moment, people’s lives are still in danger.

You nod vigorously.

“I’ll take you over to them and then head back to the village to assist in resolving the crisis. We can talk more tonight.”

ACT X.

The festivities of the People of the Springs stretch well past midnight that evening, celebrating the triumph of their heroes and the recovery of the esteemed warrior Atea. Lively melodies ring out in the refreshing night air, filling the evening with songs of invigorating joy and glorious victory. Even from atop a cliff overlooking everything, the warm atmosphere still engulfs you. Although you had stayed for the commencement of the party, you and Kinich eventually decided to retire to a slightly more secluded area to pick up your conversation from earlier.

“So,” you start, your nerves beginning to flare up in a culmination of resplendent flames, “where do we start?” Subconsciously, you begin to toy with your fingers, and you don’t notice until Kinich stops you, taking your hand in his.

“Well first things first, we know we love each other,” he states, looking into your eyes. Ardor dances within his gaze, making itself at home between brilliant murals of malachite and topaz. The way moonlight catches in his irises, illuminating his features with a certain softness, makes your heart melt.

Now that Kinich no longer has to hold back, his immense love for you becomes tremendously apparent. As he traces circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, you realize that even the silences are adorned with gentle reminders of his feelings for you.

“It seems so obvious now,” you laugh lightly. “I wonder why we didn’t end up confessing sooner.”

Kinich hums nonchalantly, averting his eyes for just a second before turning back to you.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was scared?” Kinich asks.

Amusement graces his features as you shake your head. Nowadays, Kinich is usually so calm — so composed — never allowing his demeanour to betray even the slightest hint of distress. From hunting saurians to extreme sports to tolerating Ajaw’s creative threats all the time, Kinich has endured everything with a brave face, but now you’re starting to realize that perhaps he isn’t quite as fearless as he appears.

“What were you scared of?” you inquire, tilting your head slightly to examine Kinich.

A pause ensues as Kinich mulls over his response, mentally preparing himself to pour out his heart. He’s not used to it, but he’s ready to start trying for you.

“Ruining the best thing life has ever given me,” he whispers. “You know you’re everything to me, right?”

You’re breathless as you stare at Kinich. The pure emotion behind his words is enough to widen your grin. Your heart feels like it’s ready to pulse out of your chest, speeding up in a grand accelerando and growing louder in a magnificent crescendo.

Everything is perfect.

Everything is as it should be when you’re with him.

This is your flawless elysium.

“May I?” You cup Kinich’s face with one hand, leaning towards him. Your gaze falls on his lips, and you hear him breath in softly.

Kinich nods, reciprocating your actions as he bridges the gap between you.

Time seems to slow as your lips meet in an incandescent flash of effulgent sparks. The night gleams in shades of starlight and utopia, illuminating the moment with a brilliance that encapsulates nothing less than pure love. Perhaps your souls have been intertwined since the beginning, or perhaps destiny pulled some strings to bring the two of you together, but you’re absolutely certain that from this moment on, you would only part in death.

As you pull away from Kinich, a strange smile adorns his features. Before you can question him, he speaks.

“I finally repaid you,” he says, “after all this time.”

You laugh. He’s still worrying about that?

“Thank you, love, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore,” you respond. A part of you finds it endearing that he’s still trying to make things even after your countless seasons together, yet you feel obligated to reassure him he never has to reimburse you again.

Kinich gazes at you inquisitively.

“There’s no debt between lovers, silly — only pure adoration and happiness.”

FIN. tysm for taking the time to read this fic <3

#r.archives *ೃ༄#kinich x reader #kinich x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin kinich

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paarksunghoon · 4 months ago

Note

hooking up with best friend Jay at a sleepover 🤤

i love jay with the friends to lovers trope so much

***

The thing is, Jay’s always had a thing for you.

Sure, you were both ugly ducklings at the age of ten compared to now, but Jay has always harbored romantics feelings for you. The shy, timid girl he knew from childhood is confident in herself. He remembers when you were scared of the dark and he remembers when you broke up with your first boyfriend because he didn’t treat you right.

Oftentimes, Jay pushes his feelings for you well below the surface until he’s questioning whether he really liked you or not. When you dated Lee Heeseung for three months before you two mutually decided to part ways and remain friendly, Jay thought his feelings for you vanished for good. He and Heeseung got along so well that Jay wondered if he only felt that way towards you because everyone assumed he would end up with you.

Jay didn’t mind hearing about Heeseung that much. You didn’t talk about him around him that often. When you told him how Heeseung had bought tickets to your favorite band, Jay didn’t have it in him to diminish your happiness.

You let it slip once, while you were intoxicated, that Heeseung was the best fuck of your life thus far. Long cock, dirty mouth, and a wicked tongue. Jay tuned it out but what made him frustrated is beginning to picture what you’d look like underneath him and what you might sound like when you cum.

Even now, with you sitting next to him, does Jay wonder what you look like naked.

You’ve got a blanket wrapped around you as you sit on his couch and watch the movie you two agreed on. He can’t pay attention to it because of how good you smell and because he noticed your lap moving when the sex scene comes on.

From the corner of his eye, Jay watches the blanket shift. He sees you lick your lips and stare a little too intently at the screen before you. His heart hammers in his chest and he feels his dick start to swell when he imagines you clenching around it.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he says in lustful disbelief. “You wish that was you, huh?”

Your head snaps to him. “What?”

“I said, you wish that was you, huh?”

“No,” you say hastily, avoiding his eye.

“No?” Jay mocks. “You were grinding just now.”

“Why are you watching me and not the movie?”

“Because you look hot humping the air like that.”

You look at him and he swears your jaw would hang open like a cartoon if it could. He watches your lap twitch involuntarily and cocks his head to the side when you don’t say anything.

“I bet you’re wet too.” Jay shifts his body closer to hours.

“I’m not.” He doesn’t believe you.

“Is that right?” Jay puts his hands over the portion of the blank that’s covering your thighs. You gasp when he gives you a squeeze and sit with your breath caught in your throat. “Mind if I check?”

He nearly moans when you slowly nod. Your panties are wet to the touch like he thought. His fingers glide up and down your covered slit so easily that he swears he can hear it over the movie if he pays enough attention.

“Not wet, huh?” You shake your head. “You’re not horny?”

“N-No.”

Jay pushes your panties aside and sticks his finger inside of you. The sudden intrusion feels like a taste of Heaven with his warmth. Jay expertly pumps inside of you at a slow pace that has you clutching onto his arm for support.

“Oh, so you’re telling me your pussy’s not wet even though my hand is covered in you? C’mon, Y/N. You’re so horny you’d let your best friend finger your pussy.”

Jay adds another finger and speeds up his movements. The movie is long forgotten and his knuckles nudge your clit with every push and pull. You bite your lip to prevent loud moans from escaping you but he draws them out of your throat. Your body chases his hand, hips circling the air to gain more pleasure from his digits.

He’s never like this with you; Jay is the epitome of controlled and respectful. He walks with his body between you and the road and he opens doors for you. Jay is friendly with your parents and stays sober when you drink. He’s patient and calm in every way. Except right now.

Jay’s palm against your pussy feels incredible. Your legs are spread wide open with one on his lap and the other nearly off of the couch. He curls his digits and pulls a reckless moan out of you that makes him smirk and out his lips just by your ear.

“I wanna watch you cum.” Your eyes roll back into your head and your mouth hangs open because of how turned on you arm. You squeeze onto Jay’s arm and he laughs when you start to clench around him. “Thaaaat’s right. Clench against my fingers. Let me feel how tight your pussy is. God, she’s so wet.”

You’re sure your juices are splashing everywhere at the pace he’s hammering his fingers in and out of you. Jay curls them inside you one last time when you feel the dam break. He keeps his brutal pace to help you ride out your high. He doesn’t care that your nails are digging into his muscular arms. In fact, he wants to see the prints you leave him.

Your jaw hangs open when he sticks his fingers in your mouth to taste you. Jay doesn’t shy away from your eyes and instead pushes the blanket off of you until his fingers rub your folds again.

“I’m gonna fuck that little pussy of yours after I eat you out,” he says, rapidly pushing his hand back and forth over you.

Your meek ‘yes please’ is all he needs to hear. Jay pulls his fingers from your body and takes his hard cock out from his sweatpants. He stands over you and tugs on himself when he watches you toy with your clit.

“Hope you’re prepared to stay up all night, baby. I’ve gotta fuck you properly.”

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jay smut #enhypen x reader #jay x reader #enha hard thoughts #enhypen hard thoughts #enha hard hours #enhypen hard hours #enha x reader #kpop x reader #kpop smut #hard thought*#my writing*#jay

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anas-aspiration · 1 month ago

Text

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

✽Loser!ellie x fem!cheerleader!reader✽

Summary: Your new routine has Ellie gripping onto the bleachers as she watches you during practice. She can’t help but be needy for you when you get home.

Warning: Mutual fingering, messy making out, scissoring

r u coming to practice today -1:57

Ellie🩷: yeah :) i have your snacks btw -1:57

Aw thx so much -1:57

we’ll be in the 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 gym -1:58

And I want you to come over after 😘💋 -1:58

Ellie🩷: ofc baby, cya in a bit -1:58

Cyaa -1:58

During your cheer practices ellie sits on the bleachers and balances between watching you, and drawing or doing homework. Down below, you led team warmups, bending to your toes and looking up to flash ellie a smile.

Practice went by fairly quick, your team was rehearsing your comp dances. It was about two minutes long with chaotic music but the best part, at least to ellie, was the choreo. A few particularly suggestive moves caught her eye and she could tell you were putting extra effort in because you knew she was watching. Her eyes traveled between your face to your ass when you did a swift turn with your hips and she had to take a deep breath when you went into a toe touch position and climbed down into a plank, arching your back and going into a summersault.

By the time the routine had ended, her hands had turned ghostly white from gripping the bleachers. Your team huddled up them wrapped up practice. You waved to ellie and signaled you’re going to the locker rooms.

“Did you like it?” You huffed out, throwing your backpack into Ellie’s car.

“Yeah, fucking loved it”

“thanks babe!” you smiled. “I think we’re definitely gonna qualify for state…”

The whole ride to your house you went on about the competition and how your team has totally benefited themselves since the start of the year but ellie could barely focus on the topic, the only thing she could think of is what she wanted to do to you when you got home.

Once you were at the house you threw your bags to the side and plopped on the bed. “Fuck it’s only six pm but I could honestly go to sleep right now.’’ you sighed

Ellie took her hand to your thigh and gently massaged it and laid a soft kiss on your forehead. “Do you want me to make you some dinner or anything?”

“Actually yeah I am kind of hungry..”

“Okay, what do you want to eat?”

You smirked, while bringing your hand to play with her hair “You.”

You searched her face for a sign of intrigue, and found an excited shimmer in her eyes.

“Fuck yeah” She whispered before locking your lips together.

You messily made out, lewd noises filling the entire room. Your skin felt like fire as her hands roamed your body, you roaming hers. She swiftly bit your lip to gain entrance of your mouth with her tongue. you let out a soft moan, eliciting a smile from her. She shoves her hand down your skirt to rub circles against your clit, knowing the sort of reaction she’d get out of you. She watched your expression completely relax then spark up as if you’d had an idea. You slowly moved your hands to unzip her jeans and shoved your hand inside as well. You both went at it like this, breathing heavily into each others mouths or necks leaving trails of soft slow kisses, with your fingers deep inside the other.

“Fuck el-ellie”

“I know baby..” she moaned

Your whines got louder and it was apparent to both of you that you were close.

“More” you whined

“What do you want baby?”

“Wanna..feel you”

You took your hands from inside her jeans and pushed her back onto your pillows. You stripped of your uniform, piece by piece, ellie’s hands following wherever your skin had been revealed. Soon her clothes joined yours on the floor and you entangled yourself with her. You sat between her thighs, both letting out a moan as your warmth met. You straddled into her, rhythms perfect as she also was bucking into you.

“Right there baby, shit” she groaned.

“m’ gonna cum” your breathed out

She threw her head back and nodded, as she was close too. You ground into her a few more times before your whole body was met with bliss. Your slick coated her pussy, throwing her over the edge and into and orgasm as well. You let your head fall onto her shoulder and you both stayed in that position for a minute.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that all day” you admitted.

Her eyes met yours “well you nearly made me go crazy in the process, the way you were dancing.”

A/N!! as a cheerleader I had fun doing this lol…might post the rest of my drafts

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut #ellie x you #ellie x fem reader

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sweetteainthesummerx · 7 months ago

Text

it's nice to have a friend !

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

nhl masterlist !

pairings: jack hughes x shy!reader, jack hughes x bsf!reader, nico hischier x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

warnings: mutual pining, fluff

summary: you gain a best friend and a lover, all in one !

song: it's nice to have a friend by taylor swift

word count: 3.3 k

notes: I love me a reformed bad boy! this is based on this request: here. I hope you like it!

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

school bell rings, walk me home, sidewalk chalk covered in snow, lost my gloves, you give me one

"are you okay, miss?" a voice asks from behind you, and you jump.

it's a boy. he's real pretty, features the perfect balance between masculine built and delicate feminine.

you're so sure that you're fifty shades of red right now, but he smiles kindly at you.

"sorry, it's just you look really cold." he points at your hands, and the fact that your teeth are chattering.

you realize that you're still silent.

you hate that you're so painfully shy. it's especially hard after you moved from your hometown for work, where the little amount of friends had to bid you goodbye with worry.

sure, you talk to your coworkers, but it's not the same.

"I-i'm okay." you try to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace.

jack, you find out his name is, was raised by his mother to never leave a lady in distress (you almost laugh at that). he offers you his gloves, still warm from his own hands. you thank him quietly, and he grins wide, "you're welcome, sweetheart."

the sidewalk is still covered in snow, but he walks you back to your apartment building, where the two of you find out something else you have in common: you're practically neighbours.

he lives only 4 or 5 doors down from you.

he drops you off, brushing your fingers with his own bigger ones as he tells you to come find him if you need anything at all.

as he watches you enter the safety and warmth of your own apartment, he frowns.

why would he do that? normally he wouldn't care about this kind of stuff, but you looked so cold and down.

so when you offered him that sweet, shy smile, he melts despite the cold jersey weather.

it's weird, because you're very pretty, but he doesn't have the itch to fuck you and leave you.

he wants to know why you're here, what you do, you're favourite colour.

his phone dings with the notification of some instagram model he met up with a week ago. he sighs, turning back from his own door to go meet her.

for some reason, he doesn't want to go.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

"wanna hang out?", yeah, sounds like fun, video games, you pass me a note

you bite your lip, and retract your hand once more. you want to knock, but you...

just do it! you tell yourself, and you knock quickly, wincing.

a boy who is decidedly not jack answers the door.

"uh, hi?" he's tall, with curly hair and a lanky body.

you freeze up a little.

fortunately, jack pops up from behind.

he calls your name, with excitement and surprise. it makes something warm bloom in your chest.

"I brought you guys cookies?" it comes out more like a question, "I brought you guys cookies, because you walked me home last week."

normally, luke would be teasing his older brother - and the fact he was cheesing like an idiot still - but he smells the cookies first.

to your surprise, the younger boy grabs you by the wrist to drag you into the apartment, thanking you for the baked goods.

he offers you a hug, introducing himself.

you're a bit unnerved, but he's so cute, like a little puppy that you hug him back, patting his shoulder while stifling a smile. he reminds you a bit of your own little brother.

jack pouts. no way luke got a hug before him. so he sidles up to you, tucking you under his arm.

"wanna hang out with us? we're playing video games."

you don't know much, but you do know you like how he's looking at you, all soft brown eyes and crooked smile.

so you tuck yourself into the couch.

you find out a lot about both of them: they're brothers who play for the same nhl team - impressive - they can finish a whole batch of cookies in 20 minutes, and they have lots of friends.

people start popping up into the apartment, nico, johnny and so many more large, kind boys who hug you in greeting.

you almost don't mind, especially when jack texts you from across the room.

he's watching you from the kitchen where you're speaking in choppy german to nico. he's worried, because the first time he met you, you were so shy and shaking in your boots.

you all good? I can walk you home if the boys are tiring you out

you look up, a small grin on your face as you shake your head at him.

you look so at home on his couch with his friends, that something blind and unfamiliar stirs in his stomach. he ignores an incoming text from the instagram model he met up with, in favour to watch nico explain german grammar to you.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

light pink sky up on the roof, sun sinks down, no curfew, twenty questions, we tell the truth

jack thinks you're an angel. he'd come back to the apartment after a really hard game, battered and bruised. you show up to his door like you have been for a while, sometimes when it's just the two of you, sometimes when many of the boys are there.

this time, you're holding a bag in your hands. he sighs as he opens the door, falling into your arms.

"oh-! jack, you're too heavy!" you exclaim, trying to hold his weight. he pouts, leading you to the couch. he pushes you down gently, and you let him.

he snuggles up to you, head cradled by your chest.

he waits for you to coo and fuss over him, because you're just so kind and he finds this unprecedented comfort in you.

you feel like home, despite only knowing him for a few months.

"you okay?" you ask, and he pushes his head into your hands. you smile, getting the message.

you finally scratch his head, and he practically purrs. he settles into you, full weight like a thick blanket as you push through his hair with your nails.

"there you go," you murmur, quiet and loving. he thinks you'd be a good mom someday, and his heart twists when he thinks of you with someone else, making a home.

"can you scratch my back?" he knows he's being whiny, but you brush your thumb over his cheek and nod.

you're about to slip your hand under his shirt, but he sits up, tugging it over his head and returning to you like he always seems to do these days.

he slides his arms under your back, rubbing his head to your stomach.

you flush red, something unfamiliar spiking through your blood. he's all thick, soft muscles, unlike the vanity ones you see on some guys. raw, simple strength to take the hits and deliver them in his sport.

he's so handsome.

you scratch your nails down his back and he shivers.

"cold?" you hum, but he shakes his head.

after a while, he lets you get up because your legs are numb.

"you're too heavy," you grin again, and he complains that you're calling him fat.

he's ridiculous, with his abs under soft skin and big biceps. he still hasn't put his shirt back on.

"so, what's in the bag?" he asks, and you brighten up.

you dump it out on to the couch: it's face masks, eye masks and skin care.

"I like to relax with this, so I thought maybe you would like it?" you ask shyly, "we don't have to-"

"no!" jack exclaims, throwing everything into the bag and standing, "I want to. see what the hype is about."

he's seen the cute couple pictures online with the girl doing the guy's skincare; something about you suggesting it makes his feel ten feet tall.

so that's how he ends up with you on his bathroom counter, himself between your legs as you rub shaving cream onto his face.

"you better not slice me up," he pokes your tummy, and you giggle.

"don't worry, jackpot," you use his nickname, "cant' have the fans mourning your pretty face."

you carefully shave off his stubble, eyes concentrated.

you're so close, and you smell you, and you're so careful with him he wants to kiss you and give you his heart.

you hold his hair back as he washes his face. the act is so intimate, and the whole scene is so domestic that it makes him homesick for something he's never had.

"okay, so I'll put the eye masks on you first, then the clay one."

it's actually pretty relaxing, he has to admit. the eye masks are cool, and the clay mask is a little tight, but he likes to see you smooth it onto your own face, matching his.

he takes his phone, and you slide under his arm, linking yours around his waist.

the both of you smile wide for the mirror selfie, and he makes it his lock screen.

after both of you wash the masks from you - admittedly smoother - skin, he orders a pizza, and you make your way up to the roof.

the light pollution is too bad and he knows that the stars won't be visible, but the pink-inked sky is pretty as your smile.

the two of you talk about everything and nothing: some trick he managed to pull during practice, your co-workers pending divorce, something funny his mom said.

he wishes he could stay here forever, with you.

you, with your soft hair and smile, his too-big hoodie over your shoulders as you lean on him.

he likes seeing you all sleepy and vulnerable, answering his questions quietly.

"do you want a boyfriend?" he asks as the sun goes to bed.

"of course I do," you murmur, "but I just want the right person, at the right time."

he smiles at that. he wants to be that person for you.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

you've been stressed out lately? yeah, me too, something gave you the nerve, to touch my hand

"oh, shit." you swear softly, and sophie, your co-worker turned best friend - don't let jack hear that - apologizes.

"sorry! sorry! don't move, bro!" she rubs where the curling iron touched the back of your neck.

"that's gonna leave a mark. I'm sorry, sweetie." she fusses, and you tell her it's okay.

luke and jack are having a party for new years at their place, so you and sophie take that chance to dress up for once.

your makeup is done, so is your hair. you have to admit, sophie's done a real good job.

"yeah, dude. we look hot."

you're wearing a pretty red dress, with thin straps and material that clung to your body.

you were unsure, but Sophie hyped you up enough for you to put it on, and you felt really confident.

except you were a little scared at how short it was.

"hey, girl!" luke exclaimed when you entered their apartment. "you look great. hey, soph!"

he handed you both a drink, scurrying off to greet someone else.

the two of you link hands, trying and laughing while bulldozing through the crowd to get to the living room.

some guy catches soph's eye, and you encourage her to go off and talk to him.

nico finds you, being pushed around by the throng of people, and tucks you under his arm like your a football.

you giggle a little as he manages to navigate the way. jack's sitting on one of the arm chairs, and his eyes brighten when he sees you.

"special delivery!" nico pats your head like he would to his little sister, and you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

the only thing between you is many half-drunk hockey players and drinks on the ground. nico is about to pick you up like a cat, but jack hops his way over, swatting his hands.

"I got it, precious cargo, after all." he slips one hand under your thighs, and another arm wrapped round your waist so you're pressed against his vertically.

you cling to his neck as he makes his way back to his seat, turning you in his arms to fit you onto his lap.

"you look..." he breathes into your ear, "you look gorgeous, baby."

"thanks, jack."

the night continues like normal, until between the sheer amount of people in the apartment and jack's chest pressed against you is making you over heat. as you laugh at one of johnny's jokes you sweep your hair over your shoulder to let your neck breathe.

you feel jack tense beneath you, and he lifts you to stand.

"I-i need a drink," his eyes are panicked and shaky. he bolts, and you stand to go after him. nico and Luke call after you, concerned.

you find him on the roof, leaning over the banister, shoulders shaking.

"jack, honey?" you ask, slipping a hand between his shoulder blades, "do you feel sick?"

the cool air makes goosebumps rise on your skin, even more so when he turns to you, teeth grit.

"no, m'fine. go back to the party."

"not until you tell me-"

"why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?" he blurts out, refusing to look at you.

"huh?" you ask.

"why didn't you tell me? I thought we told each other everything."

"what are you-"

"you don't need to pretend. I know-" he shudders, like it's painful for him to say this, "I know you're..."

"jack-" you start, but he grabs your hands, new determination in his eyes as he draws you close.

"you should know that I'm in love with you. so you have options, baby." his lip is quivering, and his eyes are rimmed with red.

"I-"

"I could treat you better than he could. and I wouldn't hide it, either. we would be so good together..." he's rubbing the length of your arms now, trying to warm you up.

"we already work so well together. we're best friends and you make me laugh so much. you make me feel safe and tethered."

he continues, "and...jeez, baby, you're fucking gorgeous. I just want to press you against a wall and..." he's talking low and heavy in your ear, and you lean closer to him.

"please, just consider me. I wouldn't just leave a hickey on your neck behind your ear and not celebrate new years with you."

"what?" you asked, surprised, "no, that's not a hickey. sophie burnt my neck while curling my hair."

jack colours a brilliant shade of fire work red.

he just got all in his head, seeing you dolled up and loose, that when he saw the mouth sized mark on the smooth nape of your neck, his only thought was: that should've been me.

"fuck."

you've got a teasing smile on your face now, "you loooove me!"

"I am a dumbass."

"a dumbass who loves me." you grin, cupping his neck, smoothing circles over the skin there.

"my offer still stands," he tells you, winding his arms around your waist.

"yes. I love you too, you idiot." the people throughout the apartment building are starting to chant.

3, 2, 1, happy new years!

"happy new years, baby." he says, and he presses his lips softly, and sweetly to yours.

he's so delicate, trying to make sure everything is perfect.

and it is, because he's with you, with the promise of more forever.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

church bells ring, carry me home, rice on the ground looks like snow

"yeah, mom. I know, I've been eating good. my girl's taking care of me."

you hear jack's voice from where you're measuring rice in the pantry. he definitely thinks that the pantry doors are thicker than they are.

you smile, because he takes such good care of you too: he washes your hair in the shower, he carries and stocks your groceries, he always makes sure you're fed and warm when you're too stressed.

and he takes care of you in other ways that makes you warm and all liquidy.

"I'm gonna make her my wife, mom. she's...she's the one. yes, I'll bring her to the lake house for the summer, but I'll have to ask first. okay. bye. love you too."

by that time you've made it out of the room, closer to him. when he says wife, you drop the whole bowl of rice you were holding.

"did you hear that?" jack's ears are pink, but he's got a cheesy smile on his face.

"yeah. you have a really loud voice, honey."

"call me that again." he asks, as you come to stand between his legs as he sits on the barstool of the kitchen counter.

"loud voice," you tease.

he laughs, and when the two of you quiet down, he rests his head on your shoulder.

"I mean it, y'know."

"we've been only dating for like a month," you protest weakly.

"and I can't wait to see you walk down the aisle to me."

"will you cry?"

"no," he lies, even though he's getting a little teary just thinking about it.

"hmm." you kiss him anyways, and Luke finds you there 10 minutes later, still wrapped up together with rice all over the floor.

"you guys are weirdos." he rolls his eyes, making a face as jack kisses your lips again.

"watch it, mister. you're talking to your future sister in law." you joke, and luke jumps, reaching for your hand.

"dude, were you fucking with me?" he whines, "I got all excited too."

jack hollers something insulting his intelligence as you laugh, watching the two boys.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

feels like home, stay in bed, the whole weekend, it's nice to have a friend

jack kisses your forehead as he hands you a plate of food. you bite his cheek as he shrieks.

you laugh, sitting up so he can see his shirt that's practically falling off of your frame.

you and jack had a slow morning, the sun streaming over your naked bodies as you simply enjoyed each other's presence. around noon, he finally got up to shower.

you refused to join him because "no, the two of us showering together would not save water, it would probably waste more."

so he showered, sad and alone, and made breakfast after you went to clean yourself off.

now, watching you eat toast and watch his past game highlights from last weekend, he knows.

he knows it's going to be you, no matter what.

he knows it's you he wants to grow old with, and have three kids - two boys, one girl, he has the names all planned out - and that picket fence shit.

he knows it's you who'll take care of him with your soft hands and heart at the end of the day, and you'll be the one he'll protect and provide for too.

he knows that he loves you like the back of his hand.

and he knows you're his best friend, the love of his life.

so he knows that he wants to make you his wife.

he leans over to his bedside drawer and pulls out a box.

he got it the weekend after the two of you got together, and he's shaking as you turn to him with wide eyes.

"I love you. you're...you're it for me, baby. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I promise to keep you safe and warm and always finish your plate when you're full," he knows you too well, because your left overs are already on his plate, "and I just want all of you. will you marry me?"

"yes," you breathe, tackling him into the bed with a delighted whoop.

there's no other words to describe it, it's so nice to have you.

it's so nice to have you forever, now.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

1K notes · View notes

chuulyssa · 15 days ago

Text

୨・──── ALL I WANT IS LOVE THAT LASTS, IS ALL I WANT TOO MUCH TO ASK ? ────・୧

pairing ⸺ satoru gojo x reader

teaser ⸺ trying to mend your broken bond with gojo satoru becomes difficult at the entrance of a rival, and you are torn between love that aches and love that heals. will satoru be able to win you back in time — or will the scars of yesterday refuse to tie you to a love that was never meant to be?

SECOND IN ARRANGED. [GOJO SATORU X READER]

READ PART I HERE

content ⸺ fluff, mostly f!reader, heavy angst, misunderstandings, mutual pining, slowburn, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, love triangle, shitty choices, implied abuse, jealousy, implied torture, implied slavery, mentions of grape, death, massacre, murder, royal!au, magic!au, historic!au

count ⸺ 22k + 2k

author’s note ⸺ so this marks the end of the series with gojo! watch out for ones with other characters <3 this came out way later than i had expected it to, oof. sorry to keep all of you waiting! for some reason tumblr is not letting me post the whole thing, so if you want to read what happens after 22k words, i’m leaving the ao3 and wattpad links as well.

🎧 ao3 wattpad

Three years had passed since that incident. You were now twenty years old, working a respectable job at Jujutsu High as a teacher. It was nice to utilize the knowledge you had gained back at the School of Royalty. Jujutsu High, as a school, was similar to the one you used to attend as a child, except the children here were far more humble.

You preferred this over anything else though. You wouldn’t want to spend the rest of your time around spoiled kids who had never heard the word ‘no’ in their lives.

It wasn’t necessarily the kids of the nobility that you despised, but rather the ideologies they carried with them. You still cringed remembering Kamo Alina babble about traditions “back at her kingdom”. Perhaps you had hatred against all noble clans, except your own, the Gojo clan, of course. The rest seemed too hollow and self-absorbed, and their kids seemed either too coddled or too burdened.

You were in charge of the first years at the school. You had few students, but they were all the best ones you could ask for: Maki Zenin, Toge Inumaki and Panda.

Maki was from the Zenin clan, whom you knew to be cunning and sly. She was very different from what the papers said about her lineage though — Maki had a knack for being good at fighting and war skills, whereas her clan was famous for running with their tails in between their legs from their opponents. You had caught the little girl staring at you more than once during your training sessions with Utahime. It was nice to have her watch; perhaps it was best that way for her to learn the things you did as well.

Toge was from the Inumaki clan, and used to speak in only food ingredients to not accidentally curse those around him. And finally, Panda was the ‘son’ of Principal Yaga, and a cursed corpse.

Here, you were glad you weren’t in charge of shaping heirs of stupid clans in a factory. Rather, you were to train and enhance those who were willing to learn. And in this humble, quiet school, you had found something even the nobility, who looked down upon the place as often as they could, could never offer to you: peace.

Things back at home… weren’t the best. Satoru was almost always away for ‘missions’ with Suguru, and it had been a long time since the two of you had even seen each other, let alone talk. You couldn’t recall the last time you both even sat together in the same room alone. He never told you where he was going, and you never asked — what was the point after all? He wouldn’t say even if you screamed at the top of your voice.

His mother had quite a few times tried to fix the situation between you two, but it never worked. Satoru had developed a strained relationship with his mother as well. After all, she had a hand in keeping the secret of your engagement from him, so how could he trust her again? Every time she tried to help, the gap between the entire family seemed to widen even more. It didn’t help that his father had stopped talking completely to his mother as well. There were rumours around the clan that the leaders were sleeping in separate rooms after that incident with the Kamo clan. You would have felt bad for her, if you didn’t feel worse for yourself.

Shoko had decided to pursue her medical education in a different kingdom. There was a void from where she had left, and although you were happy for her that she was able to live her dreams, the emptiness you felt whenever you reread your old letters made you feel sorry for yourself.

Utahime had been the only one to stay back with you. When you told her about your plans to teach at Jujutsu High, she immediately dropped her own things and joined the same school. You would often feel guilty for leading her to a different path than she had originally intended, but she would constantly reassure you that she would never have it any other way. At the school, the two of you would fool around with each other a lot, but the hollow space left by the old memories of the others would always nag at your brain the second you were by yourself.

Dinnertime at the table became a quiet affair. Oftentimes, while playing with the food on your plate, you missed the old banters between Satoru and his father. It almost felt like a distant memory from a whole other timeline, as if those little moments never happened at all. You usually ate your dinner alone in your room now, since it wasn’t worth coming all the way to the dining room anymore. Satoru’s father ate out every day, and his mother used to be the only one to eat at the table. If it weren’t for her, you wondered if you would be eating at all.

This night seemed like any other night when you had decided to eat at the table. Yet you couldn’t look up at your mother’s face and into her eyes. She looked paler than ever as if she was sick. Her eyes seemed hollow and dark, and if it weren’t for the tight grip she had on her chopsticks, you would have wondered if she had any strength in her left at all. After finishing your food quietly, you set your chopsticks down, and were about to stand up to bow and leave, when she stopped you.

“Stay,” she said this one word softly, and it took everything in you not to collapse in her arms at the sound of her weak voice. She didn’t look at you directly, but rather somewhere on the table, and she looked as if she was lost in thought, though you knew she had become this way ever since that night.

You sat back down, and stared at her as her grip on her chopsticks tightened ever so slightly. She opened a quivering lip to speak. “My son... my Satoru... He’s never been this upset… at me.”

You swallowed. He had never been this upset at you either. He had never been upset at all. You used to wonder if Satoru Gojo even had the word ‘upset’ in his dictionary. And now that was all you could see.

“I just hope…” she trembled slightly, “... that you can find it in your hearts to… to forgive me.” She looked up, and you looked away, for you knew the sight in front of you wouldn’t let you breathe another moment. You knew she was holding back tears. You were too.

“There is nothing to forgive,” you croaked out, hoping what you were saying was making sense. “I just wonder if this is worth going about if he isn’t happy with it.”

“It’s not, you’re right,” she murmured, looking back down to her plate. “I was a princess. I was told I could never be wrong. Yet here I am, hoping I am not, even though every cell of my body tells me I am.” Then she looked right into your eyes, and something in your heart broke again at her state. “Would you want to marry someone who was not him?”

You stopped. No. No, of course not. No, you would never, ever even dream of marrying someone that wasn’t him. But what could you do now? What could be done? If he did not want it, then how could you? How could you do something like this to him against his will? So slowly, you nodded. “Perhaps I could think about it. But not now.”

“I understand. Goodnight to you.”

“Goodnight, mother.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

“Good morning, Miss!”

“Good morning, Miss.”

“Salmon.”

“Yes, yes, good morning to all of you. Hurry up now, the first class starts in 15 minutes,” you said swiftly, waving at the kids. You turned to Utahime, who was staring at the parents dropping their kids off to catch some hot single dad she, or rather you, could have a chance with. “What class do you have first, Miss Transfiguration?”

“The annoying third-years,” she grumbled. “How about you, Miss Charms?”

“My first years. I’m charmed.”

“Sure, you are.”

You watched the carriage Maki had stepped out of. It was rather modest for someone of Zenin lineage. But what really caught Utahime’s attention wasn’t the car — it was the man who stepped out to escort Maki.

He was tall, with dyed blond hair that shimmered under the morning light, and striking brown eyes. Utahime froze.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Wow. Is that… him?” she whispered, gripping your arm.

“Him?” you asked.

“The guy! From years ago!” she hissed as if that explained everything.

You raised an eyebrow, watching as the man exchanged a brief word with Maki before returning to his carriage. “Iori, you’re not making any sense.”

Utahime pulled out her wand and immediately began tapping it on her temple at a rapid pace. “Don’t you remember when those exchange students introduced themselves? In the hall? That cactus transfiguration kid? This is him. Look.”

A floating picture hovered in your hands. It was slightly blurry, moving up and down serenely, but you could make out the younger version of the man fixing his carriage in front of the school gates clearly. You blinked at the picture, then at Utahime.

“You… remember him enough to produce this complicated magic?” you asked, though you didn’t know whether to be amused or alarmed.

Utahime shrugged unapologetically. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief. “‘hime, you’re a stalker.”

She grinned, utterly unbothered. “A resourceful stalker, I’d say. Anyway, don’t you think he’s—”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, already seeing where this was going.

“—handsome?” she finished, her grin widening mischievously.

You groaned, covering your face. “Utahime, he’s Maki’s guardian. You make it sound like I’m ready to adopt her or something. That’s weird.”

She waved off your protest, nudging you playfully. “Come on, he’s single. Uh, probably. And if he’s not, well, that’s just unfortunate for him.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” you muttered.

“Because,” she said with mock seriousness, “you’ve been single for far too long, and this is an opportunity. So…” She leaned closer. “Why don’t you try flirting with him?”

You stared at her like she’d grown another head. “Preposterous. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” she teased, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You glanced at the man who was now pulling away in the carriage looking like a war hero, and then back at Utahime. “Because I don’t feel like dying today. You know, the Zenin clan and all of that?”

She laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you both headed back inside. “Suit yourself, but just know — I’m rooting for you!”

“Utahime,” you sighed, “you’re impossible.”

But her laughter was infectious, and you couldn’t help it.

You smiled.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The staffroom was unusually quiet, save for the faint scratch of your quill against parchment as you graded the first-years’ essays. Utahime, however, was anything but quiet. She had perched herself on the edge of your desk, her hands gripping the back of your chair as she swung it gently back and forth.

“Flirt with him,” she said.

“No,” you replied flatly, not looking up from the parchment.

“Come on, just a little?” she coaxed, leaning over your shoulder and nearly smudging the ink you’d just scrawled across a particularly poor attempt at a levitation charm essay.

You leaned back slightly, giving her a deadpan look. “Utahime, I am trying to work.”

“And I am trying to help you!” she shot back, as if her nagging about your love life was an act of selfless charity.

You sighed, putting down the quill and crossing your arms. “For the last time, I am not flirting with Maki’s guardian. That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird. It’s romantic,” she argued, dragging out the last word like it was a persuasive spell. “You’re single. He’s single—”

“We don’t know that he’s single,” you interjected, but Utahime waved you off.

“Semantics,” she said. “The point is, he’s clearly into you. Did you not see the way he looked at you yesterday?”

“The reason he even looked at me was because you shoved me in front of him like a sacrificial lamb,” you retorted.

“Details,” she said breezily, now swiveling your chair side to side. “But seriously, what’s the harm in a little bit of flirting? He’s charming, dashing, hot, and you’re… uh, you…?”

“Wow, thanks,” you said dryly, though you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

She grinned. “See? You’re already warming up to the idea,” she leaned in close to your face.

The door swung open. There he was, the same man both of you had just been talking about. He took one look inside the room and raised an eyebrow. Your eyes widened, because of course, without any context it looked like you and Utahime were just about to kiss. You shrieked and pushed her away and she laughed at you, though she stopped when she saw the man judging her silently. Maki face-palmed behind the man.

“Excuse me if I am interrupting something intimate,” he looked at you. “We had an appointment regarding Maki’s performance, yes?”

“Ho ho ho! Yes you did!” Utahime giggled and left the room, and it seemed like she had taken all the comfort out of it too, leaving you, him and Maki standing in it, staring at each other awkwardly. Maki coughed loudly and excused herself, and you made a mental note to reduce some points on her essay.

You cleared your throat as he took a seat across from you. His presence seemed to shrink the staffroom. He leaned back in the chair as if he owned the room. You focused on the stack of papers in front of you, determined to act professional. In your mind, you could hear Utahime’s voice still echoing: Flirt with him!

He folded his hands on the desk and his gaze flickered briefly to the papers in your hands before locking onto your face.

“I have to ask,” he began casually. “Are you and that colleague of yours… together?”

You froze mid-flip of Maki’s report card, staring at him as if he’d just asked you to duel. “What?”

He leaned back slightly with a faint smirk. “You and that woman. The way you two were before. It crossed my mind that you might be…” He trailed off.

“I’m not— she’s— what? No!” you sputtered, feeling your cheeks burn.

“Ah,” he said softly, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. “Thank heavens. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if you were.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

His smirk softened into something more playful. “Well, I’d have had to rethink all my plans, for starters.”

“Plans?” you echoed, your voice coming out higher-pitched than you had intended it to be.

“Mhm,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Plans like how to win your favour, of course. You can imagine how devastating it would’ve been to learn I stood no chance from the start.”

You could feel your brain short-circuiting. Was he flirting? Or was this just his sense of humor?

“I— uh— Maki!” you stammered, blurting out her name like it was a life saver. It technically was. “We’re supposed to be talking about Maki’s progress!”

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Her progress is paramount. But forgive me — I’m a man of focus, and right now, my focus seems to have shifted.”

“Let’s have it shift back to Maki then,” you insisted.

He chuckled softly, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you ever so slightly. “As you wish. But if I may, just one more thing.”

You hesitated warily. “…What now?”

“You have the most fascinating reactions,” he said. “I could watch you get flustered all day.”

Your hands gripped the papers tightly, and you let out an exasperated sigh. “Mr Zenin, do you ever stop talking?”

His grin widened. “Not when I’m talking to someone this delightful. And it’s Naoya, to you, darling.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

For the school’s 107th anniversary, you and the other teachers had decided to plan a surprise event for the students, guardians and even the principal. But as you stared at the chairs lying askew everywhere, and the food stall looking like it had undergone a raid, you sighed. Who would have to clean everything up in the end? The teachers, of course.

You bent down to pick a random flask up from the ground, and you looked up to see Naoya standing at the entrance of the schoolgates. You watched as he shooed away the carriage with Maki and their driver in it, and walked towards you.

You got up quickly and panicked, eyes darting everywhere to see if he really was walking to you or not. Naoya stopped in front of you, and suddenly the flask in your hands seemed too heavy. You dropped it, but he caught the tin, lips curving into a smile at your surprise.

“Astonishing reflexes, hm?” You nodded at his words and he laughed. “That was quite the show, I believe. You handle large crowds really well.”

You half-laughed at the compliment, looking down at your shaking hands. Why were you so nervous?

“Yeah, well, the crowd has departed now, and this is the tough bit.”

“I can help,” he smiled at you, and you blinked in surprise.

“Ah, you don’t have to. Besides, we can’t make guardians work for us.”

“I insist.” He pulled the sleeves of his shirt up and put his hands on his hips. “Where are the inconveniences that have you so troubled? I shall fight them.”

You snickered a bit. His dramatic actions reminded you of someone.

A certain someone.

Maybe that’s why you liked his company.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you saw him staring at the upturned tables with dread. “Has there been a call of war here?”

“Close enough. The seller had mochis on his bill of fare.”

“That sums it up. But you can’t possibly expect me to dirty my hands with this. A nobleman shouldn’t be doing manual labor,” he shook his head and sighed.

You raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re the one who insisted on staying to help.”

Naoya grinned. “Well, I can’t leave my favorite teacher to fend for herself. Besides…” He picked up two chairs effortlessly with one hand, and turned around to see if you were still watching. “It’s a chance to show off.”

Maybe it won’t be as boring with him around after all.

You had found yourself in this lonely teahouse far more than you could admit for someone of your status. It usually buzzed with the chatter of lonely workers, gossiping seamstresses and little children. But it was better, far better than what was going on at home anyway. You stared at your chawan, and put your fingers around it to drink. But the vessel was hot, and you hissed as you withdrew your hand back, the tea inside seemingly hissing back menacingly.

“Careful, darling,” a voice said from behind you and you jumped. “I said, careful,” he taunted, rubbing the top of your head affectionately. You looked up to meet Naoya’s eyes, your own widening when you saw him.

“Naoya!”

“Fancy meeting you here. I didn’t think I’d find you in such a quaint little spot.”

“Me neither. Isn’t this place,” you waved around at the dull walls of the room, “below your usual standards, Mr Zenin?”

He crossed your table to pull out a chair in front of you and sat down. “I could say the same about you. Or perhaps,” he brushed his fingers on your lips to wipe the wetness of tea from earlier, “we were led here by fate.”

You choked on air at his action. “Fate? We’re just at a teahouse. It’s not exactly a meeting of the stars.”

Naoya grinned at your fluster, and leaned forward playfully. “Ah, but you see, fate works in mysterious ways. And right now, it’s working to bring me closer to the most captivating woman in the room.”

“Ha, ha,” you mumbled, staring into your vessel to avoid meeting his eyes. “You talk too much.”

He laughed softly. The server arrived with a platter of sweets, and bowed, “For the lovely couple.”

You spat the tea you had just sipped out. “We— we’re not—”

“Thank you, miss,” Naoya interrupted you swiftly, and nodded at the server, who immediately straightened up to take his leave.

You stared at him, aghast. “Naoya, we’re not—”

“Not yet, at least. But I’m not opposed to the idea. How about we take the first step?” He leaned in closer and planted a teasing kiss on your cheek.

Your jaw dropped — from embarrassment or at his audacity, you did not know. “What—?”

“There. Now we’re official.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

You clutched your bag tightly. Great, another rainy day. And you had refused the umbrella your maid had offered to you as well. Sighing, you looked at the sky. The downpour didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon. If only a miracle happened that would escort you back home safely.

“Stranded, are we?” Naoya’s voice broke through the rain. You turned to see him standing with a pristine black umbrella, grinning at you as if he was not surprised at all to meet you here.

“Yeah. You stayed back? Where’s Maki?”

“Oh, I left her to go home in the carriage,” he shifted the handle of his umbrella to one shoulder. “Need me?”

“I’ll manage,” you replied, not wanting to disturb him. Though part of you wondered whether he would be here if you hadn’t been stuck here as well.

“Let’s not ruin such a lovely sight with such a disaster. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“I’ll be fine, really. You don’t have to—”

“I insist. Or would you prefer I let you catch a cold? Then you’d have no choice but to rely on me to nurse you back to health.”

You groaned. “You’re impossible.” Realizing you had no way home without his help, you stood under his umbrella. He grinned at you, tilting the umbrella more towards you to shield you from the harsh rain.

“You’re getting wet,” you pointed out.

“It’s a small price to pay.” He glanced at you with a sly smile. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.”

“I’m not,” you scoff slightly.

“Good. I’d hate for you to think I’m fragile.”

The walk ahead was comfortable, although you didn’t think that was the case for Naoya. By the time you had reached the entrance of the clan, you could see Naoya’s sleeves were drenched. But he didn’t seem to mind at all. His eyes followed something ahead that you coulldn’t see through the fog that covered the atmosphere.

“Naoya? What are you looking at?” You asked, and he huffed in irritation — more so at the thing he had seen than at you.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and you involuntarily sucked your stomach in at it. He led you to the figure.

White hair… Lovely blue eyes…

Your fiance who refused to be yours.

Gojo Satoru.

He was leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed in front of him, staring at you two through his sunglasses as if he would rather be looking at anything else than at the fingers curling around your waist.

Naoya, much to your horror, approached Satoru with you still in his arms. “Greetings,” he said pleasantly. “We’ve met before, yes?”

“Yes,” Satoru replied coolly. Then he addressed you, though his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. “Who’s he?”

You started. Fuck. What was he to you? An acquaintance? The guardian of one of your students? An associate—?

“Her boyfriend,” Naoya stepped in before you could respond, and you watched Satoru’s eyes lose what little warmth they had earlier. He turned to you as if expecting you to deny the claim.

“What? I mean, I guess…? Maybe? But I’m not sure—”

Satoru arched an eyebrow, and let out a single syllable that made your heart break into pieces all over again. “Oh.” He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t understand at all. His lips were twitched, but he wasn’t happy. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he wasn’t confused. You felt like he was toying with your brain on purpose with all the failed hints his face gave.

Naoya grinned smugly. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave her in your care now, brother.” He was clearly enjoying himself.

Your eyes widened.

Look… I’ve never thought of you that way before, okay? You’re… you’re pretty, but you’re like a sister to me. That’s how I’ve always seen you.

Satoru’s eyes darkened, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, taking a step back. “Great. Fantastic,” he mocked you. “I’m so glad you’re being taken care of, my little sister.”

A few more minutes passed, though they were so awkward you did not have the courage to relive them. Naoya had left with a smirk and a wave, and Satoru had followed you inside the estate when all you wanted to do was get away from him.

“You’re… back, haha,” you mumbled, and he nodded. The rain patted against the windowsill softly, and each drop felt like it rained in your heart.

“Is he really your boyfriend?” He blurted out.

“Huh?” You were caught off guard. “Oh, um… I don’t know? He took me out for coffee once. Does that count?”

“No, absolutely not,” Satoru scoffed.

You paused. And then you let out a laugh. He stared at you and let out a bark of laughter as well.

“Him? Your boyfriend,” he wiped the tears off from his eyes. “The audacity!”

“Typical of him, I suppose,” you chortled.

“What did he even ask you for the coffee thing?”

“He said he wanted to talk about Maki’s essays,” you snickered, and he cackled.

“Essays?”

“Yeah!”

“You know, you should probably go on a real date sometime. Just so you can tell the difference between a parent-teacher conference and, y’know, an actual date,” he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah? And who’s going to take me out on this ‘real date’? You?” You teased.

Satoru froze. He opened his mouth as if to respond, then quickly closed it, his gaze flickering away from you.

You felt the awkwardness returning from earlier. Forcing out a laugh, you waved your hand dismissively. “I’m kidding! Obviously. Haha. Anyway, I should, uh, go now. Busy day tomorrow and all that. So, um, goodnight!”

You practically bolted from the room, leaving Satoru standing there, staring at where you had just been. His hand twitched as if he wanted to stop you, but he stayed silent, his jaw tightening as he watched you retreat.

You locked your door, hoping you weren’t being wishful as always when you heard the faint murmur of his voice.

“Maybe I would.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The next morning, you stepped out of your house, adjusting your bag of supplies on your shoulder. Rejecting your driver who had offered you a ride in the luxurious carriage, you walked on, greeting the little children of the various families of your clan. Crossing the gate of the main estate, you found Satoru leaning casually against a nearby carriage, waiting for something — or rather, someone.

“Morning,” he said, grinning like he had been there for hours. His sunglasses reflected the surprise in your eyes under the morning light.

“Uh… good morning?” You blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged at you. “Thought you might need a ride.”

“Don’t you have work?” You asked sceptically. He had had missions and trips to be on all this time, so why was he here now?

He shrugged again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Not yet. Free morning.”

“Oh,” you frowned at his excuse. “Well, I usually just walk to work. Sorry.”

“Ah, well, no problem then,” he straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. “I’ll walk with you.”

“What? No, it’s alright—”

Satoru waved the driver of the carriage off and waltzed over to you. “Too late. I’m committed now.”

You sighed in defeat, letting him walk with you. Silence loomed over you, the kind that made you hyper aware of every crunch the leaves under your feet made, every chirp the birds on nearby trees let out, and even every breath you didn’t know you kept holding.

“It’s a nice morning, huh?” He finally broke the tense silence, though the strain in his voice made it even more awkward.

“Yeah it is,” you glanced and nodded at him briefly.

Another long stretch of silence. When did you two become this way? Nevermind, you remembered the day it all had started a bit too clearly for your liking. But this seemed too delicate, too much. How was your walk with the arrogant Naoya Zenin more comfortable than one with the person you had spent nearly all your life with?

“So,” he started again, clearing his throat, “you walk this route every day?”

“It’s not that far,” you nodded.

“It’s been a while since I walked anywhere,” he chuckled softly to himself.

You risked a small smile in the midst of the unpleasant stillness. “Yeah, I remember. You always complained if the carriage wasn’t ready, or if you were sent to meet other clans on foot.”

“I was spoiled,” he grinned proudly. “Still am, probably.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly. But it was fleeting, and the silence returned to keep reminding you of how much everything has changed. By the time you reached the gates of Jujutsu High, the sun was higher in the sky. Satoru stopped a few stops short of the massive gateway.

“Well, here you are,” he turned to look at you with softened eyes.

You nodded and adjusted your bag. “Thanks for walking with me.”

“Anytime,” he smiled. Faint as it was, it still didn’t reach his eyes.

In the faculty lounge at Jujutsu High, you sat with Utahime after she had barked at the other teachers to let her have some “alone time” with you. It seemed as if although she was trying her best to get you and Naoya together, she was hardly denying the rumours between you and her.

She suddenly perked up mid-cursing at an answer paper of one of the third-years. “Oh, right! Did you hear? There’s a new recruit for a teaching position. Principal Yaga told me yesterday.”

“Oh, cool,” you snapped out of your own thoughts about the weird tension Naoya had landed you in. “Who’s interviewing them?”

“You, duh.” You groaned audibly and she laughed.

“Hopefully it’s not another Ijichi,” you grumbled, wincing as you remembered the interview you had with him a few months ago.

“Be nice,” she said, though she snickered at the memory. “He was just nervous!”

“Nervous?” You huffed loudly. “Utahime, the man tripped over his own feet before he even sat down. And I wasn’t even intimidating!”

“You? Not intimidating?” She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, definitely. Tell that to the first-years.”

“I’m a delight,” you shrugged, batting your eyelashes innocently. “Ijichi, on the other hand… couldn’t even make eye contact during the interview. I had to repeat my question three times before he answered.”

“Maybe this one will be better,” she got excited, and you knew what she was thinking of before it even came out of her mouth. “Who knows? They might even impress you—”

“No,” you snapped, and she giggled.

You were in enough of what your teenage self would have called “boy troubles” already to have a third one enter your life. First Satoru, then Naoya, and now Satoru again. You sighed. Shouldn’t you be flattered that a guy like Naoya shows interest in you? He’s rich, a noble (although the Gojo clan wouldn’t care about status either way), handsome and romantic. What more could you want? But on the other hand, Satoru is… well… him? You hardly think anyone would be able to compete with the Satoru you knew.

Utahime set down her papers and held your hand, as if determined to show you how a real man should hold you. “Alright, what’s wrong?” She asked gently. “You’ve been off for days. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

You hesitated. “Satoru,” you muttered.

“Of course,” she sighed. She inhaled loudly before— “That insufferable, pompous cretin! A walking disgrace to his lineage! I’ve met noble horses with more grace and tact! A royal pain, in every possible way. That walking definition of idiocy needs to be knocked off his pedestal, preferably into a pile of mud.”

You blinked rapidly. You’d be lying if you understood a single word that she just said.

“What does that even mean?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she waved a hand dismissively, fuming with rage. “The point is, he’s an idiot. The biggest idiot. And if he’s making you feel like this, then I’m going to—”

“Okay, okay!” You smiled faintly at her ambitious attempt to choke thin air with her hands as if grabbing his throat. “But it’s not just him.”

“There’s more? It’s alright, I can fight—”

“Not for fighting!” You added quickly, alarmed. “It’s Naoya.”

“What did he do?” She stopped her antics.

“I just feel like I’m stuck between those two,” you palmed your face. You were utterly distraught. “Satoru keeps walking me to work, like he’s trying to fix things, but then Naoya, he’s been kind, attentive, and all of the good stuff you keep babbling about. I don’t know what to do if it ever came down to choosing between them.”

She leaned forward seriously, and forced your chin upwards to meet her eyes like your second mother. “Listen. Ask yourself two questions. First: Who sees you for you? Not the ‘I’m-strong-enough-to-not-need-anyone-else’ image you’ve been trying to put up, not the teacher you’ve become, but just… you. The good and the bad.”

“And the second?” You frowned thoughtfully.

“Who makes you feel safe?” She said simply. “Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Who can you trust with your heart, knowing they’ll look after it like the finest treasure?”

Like the finest treasure? The answer was simple.

But not the one you wanted.

Not who you craved.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Utahime gave you a small smile. “Just don’t settle for less than you deserve, okay?”

You nodded gratefully. “You’re way better at this than you seem like, you know.”

“I’m a delight,” she echoed your words from earlier, giggling.

──── ୨ৎ ────

It had been almost a month since the walks with Satoru had begun. You had hoped as time went by you would’ve gotten more used to the tension it carried, but each day seemed to offer a new, worse one. The quietness lingered heavily between you, just like it had been all this while.

“So,” he started, glancing at you, “am I annoying you?”

“What?” You cross-questioned, startled at the insecurity in his voice. “No, why would you think that?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, trying his best to be nonchalant, but you knew him too well to know it was an act. “It’s been over a month of me tagging along, and you haven’t said much. I thought maybe you’d prefer walking with someone else. Like Naoya,” he mumbled the last part.

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re not annoying—”

“I just hoped,” he cut you off, “you’d think this was better than with him. That’s all.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just hummed, looking away at a nearby tree and counting the number of leaves on it.

“Yeah,” Satoru chuckled quietly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thought so.”

You couldn’t reply to that.

“Here we are,” he murmured, opening the schoolgates for you just to find something to do. But when he followed behind you inside, you raised an eyebrow.

“You’re coming all the way in? Don’t worry, Naoya won’t step inside the school.”

“Good to know,” he adjusted his sunglasses, “but I’m not worried about Naoya.”

“Then?”

He closed the gates and turned to face you, beaming despite his earlier demeanour. “I’m a candidate for the teaching post.”

“What?!”

“What? You didn’t know?” He tilted his head, acting innocent. “Thought I’d apply for the position. Figured it was about time I contributed my immense knowledge to the next generation.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You? A teacher?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment even though it’s meaningless that way,” he pouted at you. He then pushed past you to the hallway. “You’re the one interviewing me, hopefully? Race you!”

“What the— Satoru, come back!” But he was already running to whatever empty classroom he could find. Talk about professionalism.

You marched off to Principal Yaga’s office and burst in, resulting in him nearly stabbing his own finger with a sewing needle. “Sir! I can’t do this.

“It’s 8 in the morning,” he sighed wearily. “And what is it that you can’t do?

“I cannot interview that man.”

“Why not?”

You gestured wildly at the hall, from where audible noises of furniture being dragged around could be heard. “Because it’s Gojo Satoru.”

“I see.” Yaga leaned back in his chair, staring at the hall with a transfixed look. “Well, if it’s such a problem, I’ll just have Utahime handle it.”

Uh oh.

“No, no. She’ll kill him. Literally.” And you didn’t feel like cleaning up a crime scene today.

“With killer questions?” He remarked thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “Then it��s settled. She’ll—”

“No, sir! I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“Yes I do,” you gritted your teeth.

You had finally found the man after looking through twenty three whole classrooms spinning rapidly on a chair. You coughed loudly and he jumped, though he sighed in relief when he saw that it was just you.

“Thought I’d get fired if the Principal saw me this way,” he said as you sat on the chair in front of him. “And I haven’t even been hired yet. Imagine that!”

“You know I could reject you as a candidate as well, right?” You rolled your eyes.

“What? No, you wouldn’t!” He shouted indignantly. “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten your last mochi.”

“What? You ate my last mochi?”

Satoru gulped, and you groaned.

You clutched your clipboard, already regretting your decision. “Alright, Mr. Gojo. Let’s begin.”

He grinned. “Of course, Mrs. Gojo. Don’t let me distract you.”

“Let’s start with the basics,” you tried to sound as professional as you could. “What experience do you have working with students?”

“Well, I’ve been mentoring the younger sorcerers unofficially,” he leaned back in his chair with a lazy smile. “Does being charming count?”

“No.”

“Really?” He tilted his head. “Because I think it’s working on you.”

You paused. “This isn’t a date,” you glared at him. “It’s an interview.”

“So you do know what a date is,” his grin widened in size. “Guess Naoya didn’t ruin you completely.”

“Why do you want this position?” You gritted your teeth.

“Figured I’d spend more time with you.”

“How do you handle indiscipline in the classroom?” You deadpanned.

“Depends,” he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Are we talking about kids or you?”

Fucking—

“Do you even want this job?”

“I do,” he said simply.

You slammed your clipboard on the table in annoyance and stood up. “You’re following me, aren’t you?” You pointed an accusing finger at his face.

He looked at you incredulously. “What? No. Why would I—” He stopped, and his tone softened. “I’m here because I’m sick of the nobility and their entitlement.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.” He stood up as well, crossing his arms and speaking more earnestly than you had ever heard from him. “Kids from those circles? You can’t change them — they’re too far gone. But here? The students come from humble families. They still have a shot at thinking for themselves, at doing things for the right reasons. I want to make sure they don’t grow up like us.”

You were stunned into silence, but before you could respond, a voice came from the doorway.

“Congratulations, Satoru Gojo. You’re hired,” said Principal Yaga, sparing one glance into the room and then leaving again.

Satoru’s expression changed again, and he was beaming like he hadn’t just bared his soul out to you a few moments ago. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, huh?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “…Great.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

“This,” you gestured to a nearby door, “is the main classroom. It’s where first-years have their lessons. It’s equipped with barriers for live combat simulations, so the—”

“You know, you’ve got a really soothing voice,” Satoru cut in. “Ever think of switching to narration?”

“Shut up,” you shot him a glare. “Are you just here to waste my time?”

“Can’t I appreciate you a little?” He pouted, but when your look refused to soften, his shoulder sank and head drooped, and he trailed behind you like a small puppy.

So cute.

No, fuck, what the fuck are you thinking?

You walked on ahead, and the whispers from all those years ago that had remained in your thoughts seemed to bloom louder again.

You don’t even belong in this house!

We’re not kids forever, you know.

The two people I trust the most in this world!

Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Are you oka—?”

“Why are you here, Satoru?”

His smirk faltered. “I told you. I want to help shape the next generation—”

“And you’re telling me it has nothing to do with me?”

His gaze softened. “Would it be so bad if it did?”

You bit your lip, trying to shut out all the voices echoing in your head. “After what you said to me all those years ago? Because if you think that can be fixed then—”

“Stop.”

You did.

“I don’t know how old you think I was then, but it’s not like you were any older than me at that time. I want you to understand that,” he spun you around to face him, “I want to change. I want to show you how much I regret raising my voice at you that way.”

“Is that all you regret?” You asked.

He paused a bit, then fixed his sunglasses to cover his eyes completely. “No. I regret saying that—”

“Hey there!” chirped in a voice you almost didn’t recognize from how much you were focussing on Satoru’s words. Satoru’s face hardened when he saw the person waving at you from behind. You turned to look at him.

“Naoya?”

“Yes, missed me? I dropped Maki with the driver earlier than usual for you,” Naoya strode up to you, and hooked his arm with yours, snatching you away from Satoru’s grip. “Let’s walk you home, darling.”

“You know, Naoya, for someone who talks a lot about class, you’re pretty shameless when it comes to interrupting private conversations,” Satoru spat venomously, making the latter turn around to face him sneering.

“Private? Oh, forgive me,” Naoya snickered. “I didn’t realize you were finally learning how to talk to a woman. But could you get a different one? This one’s taken.”

“Oh, shut up. Isn’t it past your bedtime, Zenin? Shouldn’t you be off practicing your bowing skills or groveling to your clan?”

“Groveling?” Naoya smirked, clearly unbothered. “Not my style, Gojo. That’s more your speed, isn’t it? Or did you think running off to teach would make people forget how much of a disappointment you are?”

“Uh, okay,” you tried to interrupt. “I don’t think—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Satoru cut you off, leaning forward with mock curiosity. “Must be hard living in a world where your only personality trait is kissing your elders’ feet.”

“Says the man who threw away everything his clan worked for,” Naoya mocked back. “Couldn’t handle the pressure of actually being useful?”

“Useful?” Satoru laughed maniacally, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “Is that what you call wagging your tail for every decision the Zenin fossils make?”

“Enough! Please. You two are acting like kids—” You stepped in between them and raised your hands.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, Gojo,” Naoya chided. “Trying to fix what you broke, crawling back like the desperate little rat you are.”

“Desperate, huh? And what are you? You’re just a carbon copy of every other one of your morons. Must be boring living without a spine.”

“Better a spine than whatever it is you call yourself. A disgrace to the Gojo clan. No wonder they’ve been so quiet about you. They’re probably embarrassed.”

“Okay, enough! I don’t have time for this,” you shouted.

Naoya immediately shut up. “Are we overwhelming you, darling? I can always walk you home. Gojo here,” his expression soured again, “can find his own way back.”

Satoru’s jaw tightened. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you just let her choose?”

“Of course.”

Both of them turned to you simultaneously, and you made a mental note to never interrupt their conversations ever again. Before things could escalate further, however, a sharp voice cut in.

“What in the name of all things holy, proper, appropriate, virtuous, demure, and absolutely not Utahime Iori is going on here?”

“Wow, did you just compare yourself to a holy being?” Satoru snickered, and earned a slap on the back of his head by her.

“I said ‘absolutely not’, you white-haired freak.”

“Utahime!” You sighed in relief, running to hug her around the waist, and she patted your head pitifully.

“There, there. You were stuck in this pissing contest between manchildren, weren’t you? You poor, poor soul.”

“Woman,” Naoya curled his lip, “don’t you have better things to do than stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“Like you’re doing right now?” Utahime replied coolly. “We’re leaving,” she yanked you away from them with her.

“Wait—” Naoya protested.

“Hey—” Satoru stepped forward.

“No. Bye,” Utahime turned around with her nose high in the air, and you gave a meek wave to both of them. They did cancel their plans to walk you home, but god did you feel grateful to be dragged away from their fights about winning you like an object.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Life had taken a strange, twisting turn ever since Satoru had re-entered your world. The once awkward silences during his walks with you were replaced by lively conversations now. He was speaking to you more now. He would sometimes do or say things that reminded you of how he was, but it wasn’t quite the same. He still hadn’t joined you for dinner again, despite the seat you subconsciously left empty every night at the table.

Meanwhile, Naoya was relentless in his pursuit — walking you to school, picking you up, showing up at your door with every excuse in the book, Impress to Repress: A Noble’s Guide to Obtain the Perfect Wife. Funnily enough, you didn’t suppose it would be too far-fetched to think he had that book somewhere in his room with the way he would speak with you.

“I thought you might need help carrying your books,” he’d say, flashing you that perfect smile as though you couldn’t see past the charm. Or: “A lady shouldn’t walk alone in the evening.” And his favorite: “I dropped Maki off early for you.”

It wasn’t entirely unwelcome, though. Naoya was charming and thoughtful in a way that had its appeal, but it also left you feeling like you were being swooped away too far, like he was a strong tide made to sweep you off your feet. But when the tide receded, you found yourself glancing over your shoulder, wondering if Satoru had noticed.

Just who should you love?

Naoya was kind — kinder than you’d expected him to be. He knew how to make you laugh, smile, blush all the same. But his ego often left you bristling. He would decide for you even though you wanted to do it yourself, and part of you wondered if he was just like the Kamo servants and nobles you had seen earlier.

And then there was Satoru. He’d shattered your heart three years ago with careless words. The memory still burned like a fresh wound, but there were moments now when you saw something different in him. Something softer. Something that almost made you believe he could fix what he’d broken. But it was too toxic to linger on.

You reached the teacher’s lounge and found it empty except for Utahime, who was leaning against a desk, flipping through a stack of papers. She glanced up as you entered.

“Finally decided to get a break?”

“Yeah. Did you bully all the other teachers out again?”

“Thank me for that,” she poked her tongue out as you sat down laughing.

“Actually, I came here to ask you something,” you hesitated.

“Hm?”

“Why—” you huffed. “Why did you step in that day? You know, with both of them. You were supposed to let me… choose.”

Utahime set her pen down with a soft sigh. “Because you weren’t ready.”

“What do you mean?” You frowned. “I could’ve—”

“Could you, though?” She wondered loudly. “I’ve known you long enough to recognize when you’re drowning in your own head. You’re still holding onto pieces of your past with Satoru while Naoya’s practically dragging you into his future. And you? You’re just standing there, caught in the middle, hoping someone else will make the choice for you.”

You spluttered at how accurately she described your situation. “But you said—”

“I said ‘take your time’, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you sighed. “But what if it’s too late?”

“If it is, then a choice will be made for you,” her eyes darkened. “You know what clans are like. The Kamo clan even set up a proposal for Satoru, and he was just seventeen at the time.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but what could you say? If it wasn’t for your mother that day, Satoru would’ve been married off at the mere age of seventeen. The Kamo clan’s elder daughter had been married off at a young age as well, from what you had heard from their maids. Who’s to say that won’t be the case for you as well? How long could your mother shelter you after all?

Utahime softened slightly. “I stepped in that day because you needed time. But don’t think for a second that I’m going to keep doing it. This is your life. Your future. And you’re the only one who gets to decide who’s in it. So stop running in circles.”

“But I’m scared,” you croaked out.

“Scared?”

“What if I make the wrong choice?” You said quietly, looking down at your own hands.

Utahime leaned back with a small smile. “Then you deal with it, just like everyone else. But at least it’ll be your choice, not theirs.”

You nodded slightly.

“Oh, and one more thing — next time, don’t let two grown men fight over you in public. It’s embarrassing.”

You sat there, chewing on your own nail and wondering if you should laugh, cry, or start packing your bags to run away from both Satoru and Naoya entirely.

──── ୨ৎ ────

On Utahime’s advice, you had prepared two separate diaries to recount heart-fluttering scenarios you had with each man to help you ‘decide’ between them. As much as you found the whole idea ridiculous, you figured trying it won’t hurt. You had asked both Naoya and Satoru to buy you a diary each just to see how differing the outcomes would be.

Now, you picked a diary that looked posh and had a sophisticated-looking leather twine to strap it shut. The cover looked menacing, and the pages were eerily white. You did not have to second-guess to know who bought this one.

“Naoya,” you muttered, scribbling his name along the first page. You then turned to the next page, and began writing.

1. Cafe dates... he always ordered my drink without asking. Polite, attentive, charming... but also predictable.

2. Parent-teacher meeting dates? Oh god, does that even count? It’s just like what Satoru said.

You paused. Were you supposed to add Satoru’s name while writing in Naoya’s diary? Scoffing, you continued.

He made sure my notes were perfect, held doors open, smiled at every passing teacher like he was running for class president.

3. Dinner at the estate — ugh. The way he spoke to mother, like he was auditioning to be the next clan leader. Why is he so flawless?

You groaned aloud.

“Is he just too perfect or am I just being unfair?”

Annoyed, and also running out of romantic scenarios to write for Naoya’s diary, you picked up Satoru’s diary. It was like the old one you had maintained when you were thirteen. You giggled a little remembering how much you had to plan and strategize on the diary’s hidden location to keep it away from him. You couldn’t be caught dead with him knowing what was in it.

The first thing he had said when you had asked for a new diary was, “Why, is my charm too much for you that you have to pen it down so you don’t overflow?” And god, was he right.

You ran your fingers on the spine of the diary. It was your favourite colour — you wondered how he still remembered that. Did he have his own secret diary you had to find soon? You opened it and began writing.

“Where do I even start with you, you pumpkin?” You giggled at the words you had just scribbled.

1. The staff room date. Well, if you can even call it a date. You barged in uninvited, stole half my lunch, and started criticizing my handwriting like you were some literary genius. Just like you used to. What did you call it when we were kids? A calligraphy competition on every page, huh?

You remembered the scenario all too well.

The staffroom was peaceful for once, the only sounds coming from the ticking clock and the low murmur of the other teachers quietly going about their breaks. You were tucked into the corner by the windows, your lunch spread in front of you, savoring the rare moment.

And of course, it was then that the door flung open with an obnoxious swing.

Satoru Gojo.

You didn’t even have to look up.

“Well, well, look who’s having lunch all alone! No invite for me? Rude.” he smirked, sliding into the chair opposite you like he belonged there. Without waiting for your response, he reached over and casually snatched a piece of your lunch.

You sighed. “I didn’t invite you because I didn’t want you here.”

“Fair enough. Lucky for you, I’m here to grace you with my presence anyway.” He gobbled up your lunch. “Hmm, not bad. You didn’t cook this yourself, did you?”

You snatched your box away from him. “Can you not? This is my lunch.”

Satoru leaned back with a huff. “Whatever.” He noticed your open notebook. “What’s this? Lesson plans? Don’t tell me you’ve been taking this teaching thing seriously.”

“Don’t touch that!”

But he did. And he held it out of reach, flipping through the pages. “Relax, I’m just taking a look. Whoa. Your handwriting hasn’t changed a bit.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, it looks like you’re trying to win an award for best handwriting or something.”

You flushed. “I just like making it neat!”

“Neat? Are you kidding? I remember trying to copy your style once when we were kids, and mom thought I was possessed.”

You snorted. “Maybe you were just bad at writing.”

“Oh, absolutely. I gave up halfway and just stuck to my chicken scratch.”

2. The sparring match. I hated you for pairing up with me for what? “Showing the kids how it’s done”? What does that even mean? And what kind of lunatic goes easy for three rounds and then wipes the floor with you in the fourth? But afterward, you stayed to help me fix my form. You didn’t have to... but you did.

In the grounds, you stood with your wand in your hand, and across from you stood Satoru, smirking confidently, his wand poised like an extension of his arm.

“Showing off, huh?”

“Shut up, you’re the one who needed my help in ‘teaching these kiddos’,” you shot back. “And besides, I don’t need you to show off in front of them."

“Who said I’m showing off?” He grinned. “Just here to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself.”

He flicked his wand, sending light spells your way. You blocked them as best as you could, but he was always one step ahead.

“You’re not even trying!” You shouted.

“Of course not, I’m just giving you a chance.”

But then, without warning, he shifted his stance and cast a powerful spell that knocked your wand from your hand.

“What the—?”

“Language.”

“—hell”

“Just showing you how it’s done,” he shrugged, and you gritted your teeth.

He stepped closer, handing you your wand. Reluctantly, you took your wand.

“Since when did you become better than me at this?” You asked him.

“Since you forgot your old self among your new troubles,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

3. The stargazing. God, Satoru, you’re insufferable. Who even points out constellations while lying on the grass and makes up fake names for them just to make someone laugh?

You laid on the grass, watching the night sky stretch endlessly above you. Satoru was beside you, dramatically pointing at every star he could set his eyes on.

“You see that one? That’s the Satoru constellation. Handsome, charming, and clearly the best in the sky.”

“I don’t think that’s a real constellation,” you giggled.

“It is if I say it is,” he pulled a face.

“Alright, alright,” you shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are. Lying next to me, staring at my constellation.”

You stayed quiet, watching as his expression softened. He turned to you, lifting his head with the palm of his hand and looking right into your eyes with his bright blue ones.

“You know,” he whispered. “Stars are kind of overrated.”

You turned to look at him. “Why’s that?”

He spared half a glance at the sky before leaning in to nuzzle into your neck, but he stopped short, barely a few inches away from your skin. “Because I’ve been staring at something brighter all night.”

Your breath hitched, but before you could respond, he turned back to the sky, his usual grin breaking the moment. “I’m just a chill guy, just thinking, you know.”

“About what?” You asked curiously.

“How someone as brilliant as you still gets stars in her eyes every time she looks up.”

“Wow, that’s surprisingly poetic of you.”

“Right?” He gushed over himself. “Don’t get used to it though. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“There it is,” you smiled.

“But seriously,” he laid his head down on the grass right next to your chest. “I don’t mind the stars. I just think the view’s better when you’re in it.”

You turned away, pretending to admire the flowers, but the heat in your cheeks might have given you away.

Why did you look at me like that, like I was the only star that mattered?

──── ୨ৎ ────

Maki leaned against your desk, watching you intently. “So... what's going on with you and Naoya?”

You widened your eyes. She had insisted on staying back to help you rearrange the chairs after class, yet here she was now, asking you questions about your personal life.

“Why does that matter?” You asked, sounding more defensive than you had intended to be.

“He’s from my clan,” she said, as if that was enough of a reason for you to talk about the weird love triangle you had landed yourself in. She sat on your desk, swinging her legs up and down.

“Look, I... I don’t really know. I mean, it’s definitely more than what I expected, but I’m not sure where it’s going.”

Maki raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line as if she was considering something. She seemed rather skeptical.

“Alright, just don’t martyr yourself for him.”

Your stomach twisted at her words. Did she even realize what she was saying? You looked up at her, trying to read her expression, but it was hard to tell what she was really thinking.

“What does that even mean?” You asked incredulously.

Maki sighed, pushing herself off from the desk. She walked a few steps towards you. “He’s not worth it,” she said, and then she left the classroom just like that.

What the hell?

You’d known all this while the Zenin clan was among the more orthodox and conservative ones, and you considered yourself lucky to be part of the Gojo clan, one of the more lenient ones. But seeing a young girl, a student you had been teaching for a while nonetheless, voice out a cryptic message, or rather a plea for help from misogynistic fucks, perhaps, made you second-guess the whole idea all over again.

Just what has this girl been through?

Later that day, you spotted Maki and Naoya leaving together, and felt the pit in your stomach deepen.

Something was not right.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Your ears had perked up when you had been told by your mother that there was another meeting of the clans of the nobility, but that wasn’t what had you interested. It was the fact that all the clans would be present, and that included the Ieri, Iori and Geto clans. As much as you were sure your friends would hate to attend this stupid meeting, Satoru’s suggestion of sneaking out made you far more excited than you should be.

So here you were, writing letters to Shoko and Suguru to attend the meeting at all costs after barking Utahime’s ear off to do so as well. You crumpled your parchment up and threw it in a corner for the fifth time.

What were you even supposed to write to friends you’ve grown apart from?

You huffed and began scribbling on fresh parchment once more.

Dear Shoko,

I can already picture you rolling your eyes at this letter. “What is she up to now after not keeping contact for ages?” you’re probably thinking. Well, for once, it’s not mischief, or boy troubles, or even weird investigations cough cough.

It’s been so long since we last saw each other, and I’ve missed you more than words can say. Remember when we used to sneak out of classes just to sit under the old tree and complain about literally everyone? Things have changed so much since then — we’ve changed so much. But I think a part of me still hopes that when I see you, it’ll feel like no time has passed at all.

There’s a clan meeting coming up (ugh, I know), and I heard your clan will be attending. Please tell me you’re coming. I’ll even tolerate your sarcasm if it means we can catch up properly. Bring your flask, too — I have a feeling we’ll need it. Oak tree, Iori Estate, don’t forget.

I can’t wait to see you again. Write back if you have the time, or just show up and surprise me. Either way, I’ll be waiting.

With love and exasperation, Your favourite patient

Good enough, you thought, but Shoko probably won’t even read all of that. Eh well it didn’t matter anyway.

Dear Suguru,

How have you been? Really been? I’ve missed having someone to talk to who actually listens. I’m sure your clan keeps you busy, but I hope you’ve found a moment or two to breathe.

There’s a clan meeting coming up, and I heard the Geto Clan will be attending. Just the thought of seeing you again after all these years makes me... well, nervous, if I’m honest. Not because of anything bad, but because there’s so much I want to say, so much I’ve wanted to ask you.

Do you remember the last time we all sat together, back when things were simpler? I miss that. I miss us. Maybe this meeting will give us a chance to find that again — at least a little.

I hope you’ll be there. No pressure, of course, but if you come, we’ll be waiting under the oak tree out back in the Iori estate. We’d really like to see you.

Take care of yourself, Suguru. And don’t overthink this letter as much as I overthought writing it.

Yours, Your favourite troublemaker

──── ୨ৎ ────

You sat across from Satoru in the carriage to the meeting in silence. His eyes were fixed on the passing scenery outside, but you could tell from the way his fingers fidgeted against his knee that his mind was elsewhere — most likely at the fact that both his mother and father were in another carriage together.

Over the years, their relationship had grown even more strained than it had become on that unfortunate day. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like for either of them to be forced to act like a healthy couple for the sake of a few hours in front of thousands of other people.

“Satoru?” You called softly, and he snapped out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

You patted his knee. “They’ll be fine.”

He huffed a short laugh, turning his head just enough to glance at you. “You’re too optimistic. What if they explode at each other in the middle of the meeting? Or worse, drag the entire Gojo name through the mud?”

“Then you can just blame me,” you shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. “Say I tripped and caused a distraction, or spilled tea on someone important, or whatever it is that nobles dislike.”

“Oh? And they would believe that? Miss perfect student?” He cracked a small smile.

“I’m not a student anymore,” you stuck your tongue out at him, and he laughed.

“Yeah, but I don’t think that would really improve things.”

“It might. Chaos is a great way to bond people. Just look at us!”

He turned fully to face you now in amusement. “That’s your big plan? Turn the meeting into a comedy night?”

“If it gets you to stop worrying for five seconds, then yes,” you smiled.

He leaned back in his seat, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe. But ridiculous is what you need right now.”

He held your gaze for a moment, the storm in his eyes quieting just a little. “Thanks… for, you know, trying.”

“Trying?” You gasped as if offended. “I excel at this. Just wait — by the end of this night, you’ll owe me for single-handedly saving the Gojo name.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

You tiptoed through the dimly lit corridor, Satoru trailing behind you with his usual cocky grin. He wasn’t exactly stealthy, but he was trying his best, even if his ‘best’ meant occasionally tripping over his own feet and knocking random armours on the way.

“This is dumb,” he whispered to you. “We should just portal her out.”

“No! Tha’ll make it too obvious,” you whisper-shouted. “We’re supposed to be discreet.”

“You’re whispering like a toddler playing hide-and-seek,” he snorted and you shushed him. “That’s the opposite of discreet.”

“Shut up. Now where’s the oak tree?”

“Out?”

“Obviously, genius, but where’s ‘out’?”

“Uhhhh,” he dragged out his response before pointing to a very clear exit. “There? You didn’t see that yet?”

You chose not to dignify that jab with a response, pushing open the door to where Shoko and Suguru were supposed to wait for you as per your letters.

“Fuck, it’s dark in here,” your voice echoed for some reason.

“Careful, princess. Wouldn’t want you to be caught swearing like you’re not from a noble clan,” Satoru snickered, and you wanted to whack him on the head like Utahime had done the other day.

“About time,” a bored voice said, making the two of you jump and turn in horror, staring at the darkness to make out the figures that were inching closer and closer to you. “We thought you chickened out from what you said in the letter.”

“Sh-Shoko?”

“Duh.”

“Shoko!” You ran up to her as she came into the light of the estate, hugging her like your life depended on it. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” she patted your shoulder. “Did you two get lost, or were you off making out in a broom closet or something?”

“What?” You deadpanned. “I haven’t seen you in years, and this is how you greet me?”

Suguru grinned from beside her. “I mean, she’s not entirely wrong,” he gave a light punch on the chest to Satoru. “You’re a little flushed.”

“See?” Satoru smirked. “I told you we should’ve taken the broom closet route. Much more efficient.”

You groaned. “Leave that! Utahime’s stuck in some ridiculous ceremony, and we need a plan to get her out.”

“How bad could it be?” Shoko said. “Light some incense, wave your hands, maybe sacrifice a virgin or two, chant a bit, and she’s done, right?”

“You’ve clearly never been to an Iori ritual,” Suguru replied. “They’re like a cult, but boring.”

“Oh, they’re worse than boring,” said Satoru. “They make you kneel for hours, bowing and chanting. And if you screw up, they start over. It’s like boot camp for spiritualists.”

“Exactly,” you said, sighing. “So, we need a distraction. Something big enough to pull her out but small enough not to get us executed by her clan.”

“I say we fake an emergency,” suggested Suguru. “Like, ‘Oh no, a curse is loose!’ Then she’s got to leave.”

“Too obvious,” Shoko lit a cigarette. “They’ll know it’s fake when Satoru doesn’t stop the ‘curse’ immediately.”

“How about an eating contest?” proposed Satoru, immediately earning an actual punch from Shoko.

“What if we convince them that Utahime has to perform an exorcism somewhere else?” asked Suguru. “Like, say, the riverside.”

You snapped your fingers at his brilliance. “Yes! Perfect! We’ll say her ‘spiritual energy’ is needed for a very urgent ritual. Shoko, you’ll pretend to be an elder. Suguru, you’re the messenger. Satoru, just— stand there and look important.”

“Excuse me? I am always important.”

“Anyway—” Shoko interrupted, taking a long drag. “I bought props just because.” She pulled out her bag and unzipped it. Out came tumbling fake moustaches, eyebrows, caps, cloaks and god knows what.

“What the—” you were stunned. “Why did you get this stuff?”

“Told you, just because,” she shrugged. “It’s a stupid clan union meeting. Thought we’d need some entertainment.”

“Shoko, you’re a genius.”

The four of you tried to find the ritual hall amongst the many rooms of the estate. After bullying a random security guard and having him lead you to the hall, Satoru dramatically banged the door open. The elders of the Iori clan all turned to look at the four of you, and Utahime, who was kneeling in the center surrounded by them, glanced up and immediately put her head back down with curses disguised as a cough.

The air was thick with incense and your eyes were burning. Shoko scratched her fake beard, and stepped forward to speak in a loud, rumbling voice. “Elders of the Iori clan!” She lifted her hands up and flailed her arms around wildly to address them. “There has been a disturbance under your watch,” she thundered, “in the northern woods, of which none can speak.”

“A disturbance?” A grandma squeaked. “What kind, Master Yoo?”

You had no idea who Master Yoo was, but if this plan was working, you didn’t care either.

“It shall remain classified,” Suguru stepped forward slowly with a hunchback and a stick. “None can speak of it without endangering everyone else.”

“It is the kind,” you bowed to them, “that only the heir of a true princess born to a clan as unique as yours, in the shadow of an oak as old as yours and for a purpose as grave as this may resolve.”

“Us?” An old man exclaimed. “So you have chosen us?”

“Your heir, to be exact,” Suguru clarified.

“Ah, well, then, we shall send the boy—”

“The girl, please,” you deadpanned.

The elders blinked. “Why the girl?”

“Her energy is unique and, uh, mesmerizing,” Shoko boomed, making them fall to their knees. She dramatically walked to the squeaking grandma and grabbed her by both collars of her kimono. “Your heiress has been chosen by the spirits of the longgone.”

“Chosen, you say?” She squeaked in response. “Why wasn’t this revealed earlier?”

Satoru sighed dramatically while you lifted Utahime up. “Do you always question the will of the spirits? No wonder they never bless this place.”

The elders were flustered. They waved Utahime away. She rose stiffly and, still muttering long strings of curses, followed you all out.

Minutes later, the five of you were lounging by the riverside, the cool night breeze rustling the trees. A bottle of sake was being passed between you, the props of earlier long discarded.

“A divine mission? Really?” Utahime was exasperated. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

You laughed, and Shoko said, “Well, it worked, that’s all that matters.”

“You’re welcome by the way,” Satoru grinned. My ‘important face’ is the only thing that made the whole act believable.”

“That’s because you’re aging,” you sighed. “Aging enough to be one of those elders by now.”

“Owie, that hurt.”

“Your face is important for comedy, not authority, Satoru,” said Suguru. Then, he raised his drink. “To divine missions, friendships, and chaos wherever we go.”

“Cheers!”

The moon was still high, and you wondered how long it would take for your clans to realize that all of you were missing from the main event. The air was filled with the faint sounds of laughter and clinking bottles as your friends enjoyed themselves nearby. Satoru, however, had wandered off to the water’s edge. He crouched, plucking smooth stones from the shore and skipping them across the surface with surprising precision.

You hesitated for a moment, then walked over, unable to resist teasing him.

“What’s this?” You asked playfully. “The Gojo Satoru, retreating from the crowd to have a quiet moment with his thoughts? I thought you thrived on attention.”

Satoru did not look back at you. “Oh, I do,” he half-chuckled. “But I also thrive on balance. Can’t be too perfect all the time — it makes people insecure.”

You snorted. “How generous of you to consider the feelings of the peasants.”

He glanced back at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “See? You get it.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re just here to keep the river from feeling too plain without your dazzling presence.”

He laughed, straightening up and brushing his hands on his pants. “Alright, you caught me. I was giving them all a break from my charm. But what’s your excuse? Couldn’t handle the drinking game?”

“More like I couldn’t handle Suguru trying to explain his ‘philosophical approach’ to sake. What did he say again? ‘Is the sake good because you’re dreaming, or are you dreaming because you’re drinking good sake?’ My brain was melting.”

“Fair point. His monologues can be,” he grinned, “intense.”

You stood beside him now, staring out at the water. He tossed another stone, this one skipping three times before sinking. “Is this what you do when no one’s watching? Brood by the river and play with rocks?”

“First of all, it’s called skipping stones, not playing with rocks. Second, brooding? Me? That’s your job.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one standing there like the protagonist of a tragic romance novel, sighing at the stars. Very dramatic.”

You nudged his arm, rolling your eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

There was a comfortable silence over both of you. The night felt quieter now, the laughter from the group fading into the background. You shifted, suddenly aware of how close you were standing.

“...You okay?” You asked softly.

He turned to you, his usual grin faltering just slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. Just feels like there’s something on your mind.”

He held your gaze for a moment, then looked back at the water. “Maybe. But nothing a little stone-skipping and your terrible jokes can’t fix.”

“Terrible?” You grinned. “I’ll have you know I’m the funniest person you love.”

“You’re the only person I love.”

Your smile faded a bit as you looked into his eyes, and he did the same. Suddenly, everything you did was making you feel embarrassed — your breathing, blinking, shaking hands… until he grasped your fingers and put them on his chest.

“Do you feel that?”

Yes.

I feel the love.

You nodded, and he smiled a little. He tipped your chin up to meet your gaze. “How about we ditch the ditching of our super important clan meeting?”

“There’s nothing I wanna do more,” you breathed.

You and Satoru were sneaking back toward the main hall, your laughter still echoing softly as you wiped imaginary dust off his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you slipped on that rock,” you poked your tongue out at him. “All that talk about being graceful—”

“It was one rock, and it was slippery,” he cut you off. “Besides, I saved it. You’re the one who almost fell in the river trying not to laugh.”

“Saved it? You looked like a baby seal trying to ice skate.”

His mock-offended gasp earned another burst of laughter from you. But as you approached the entrance to the meeting hall, your mirth faded. Standing just outside the large carved doors was Satoru’s mother, speaking to a few people. But then she turned around, and her piercing eyes narrowed as they landed on the two of you.

“You two,” she said sharply, and you winced in unison. “How fortunate you both decided to rejoin us.”

“Fortunate?” Satoru was unfazed. “Or just impeccable timing, Mother? You know I always aim to impress.”

“Your absence was noted.” She ignored him completely and turned to look at you. The subtle scrutiny in her eyes made you feel like you’d been caught sneaking sweets from the pantry.

“We just needed some air after all the formalities,” you added hastily.

“Then I trust you’ve had enough of it.”

Without waiting for a reply, Satoru’s mother coolly turned and swept back into the hall. Satoru let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, that was fun.”

Shaking your head, you followed him into the hall. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses immediately engulfed you. The room was grand, the walls lined with banners representing the noble clans in attendance. You recognized faces from the Kamo and Iori clans, along with a handful of others. The two of you slid into unoccupied chairs near the back, just out of your parents’ immediate line of sight.

“Let me guess,” Satoru whispered to you. “Five minutes in here, and you’ll be begging to sneak out again.”

“Ten minutes. I’m trying to behave.”

“You? Behave? That’s new.”

True to his prediction, boredom set in quickly though. The speeches droned on about alliances and tradition, and Satoru began fidgeting. At one point, he caught your eye and mouthed, ‘Let’s go.’

Before you could answer, he grabbed your hand and led you toward the balcony doors. He tugged you through the crowd, weaving around clan leaders and dignitaries with the ease of someone who knew exactly how untouchable they were. You barely managed to stifle a laugh at the old nosy lady he had pushed as he pushed them open and pulled you into the cool night air.

“Satoru — people are watching!”

“Good. They can admire how stunning you look while I steal you away.”

You stood against the railing, the city lights below shimmering like scattered stars, though none of them could light you up like the man in front of you did. Satoru leaned beside you, his elbow brushing against yours.

“Do you ever wonder why they even bother with these meetings? It’s just a bunch of old people pretending they’re still important.”

“Careful,” you smiled. “Those ‘old people’ include your parents.”

“Apologies. Allow me to rephrase: a bunch of old people... and my extraordinarily distinguished parents.”

You laughed softly. “It’s not like you and me here are any better. What is to guarantee that I won’t be bored here?

“Bored? Here, with me? I’m hurt. My company is way more exciting than whatever that was,” he gestured wildly towards the hall. He leaned against the railing, his silver hair catching the moonlight like it was showing itself off. “And besides, you’re the one who kept looking at me like you wanted to escape. Don’t deny it.”

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. “Oh, I was looking at you? Pretty sure it was the other way around, Gojo.”

His grin widened, his eyes narrowing in mock challenge. “Caught me. Can you blame me, though? You’re kind of hard not to stare at.”

The way he said it — too casual, too confident — made your heart skip a beat. Just like it always would when he was around. Just like always.

“Do you ever get tired of flirting?”

Without missing a beat, he replied, “Do you ever get tired of pretending you don’t like it?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out. He tilted his head, watching you with an expression that was both smug and softer than usual. “Speechless? That’s a first. I’ll take it — and your blushing face — as a win. See, you like my balcony adventures!”

You sputtered, trying to deny it, but he only laughed, the sound low and warm in the quiet night.

“Maybe I just like the view.”

“Flirting back now?” said Satoru, and you furrowed your brows at him. “I knew you’d cave eventually.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Too late now,” he grabbed your hand for a second time that night. “I think I like this better,” he leaned in.

The space between you felt smaller. His voice was quieter as he added, “I meant what I said near the riverside. I always will.”

A hand wrapped around your waist, and you couldn’t care less about the number of people that could walk in on you at this exact moment. You inched closer to him, too shy to ask for what you wanted. But he did so as well, granting you the permission you needed.

You closed your eyes, parting your lips.

A sister.

No, that was a lie.

He loved you.

Your lips brushed against each other’s for half a second before—

“Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You both jumped slightly, and Satoru pulled back, his expression immediately darkening. You turned to see Naoya strolling toward you with his usual smug smile.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” he bowed in front of you, kissing the back of your hand like he owned it. “Care to join me for a dance?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Satoru stepped forward, his hand still lightly brushing your other one. “Actually, we were in the middle of something—”

“I’m sure it can wait. After all, a Zenin doesn’t ask twice.”

You glanced between them, and with a resigned sigh, you forced a polite smile and stepped toward Naoya, your heart sinking as you felt Satoru’s hand fall away.

“...I’ll be back,” you said to Satoru.

His only response was a tight nod. As Naoya led you back inside, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder. Satoru stood there on the balcony, his hands in his pockets, watching as you disappeared into the crowd.

Naoya led you onto the dance floor with confident strides. “You’re light on your feet. A perfect match for me, wouldn’t you agree?”

You bit back a retort, focusing instead on the music and not the way his hand lingered just a little too long on your waist. You still weren’t sure whether the tingling on your hand was because of Naoya’s little kiss or due to Satoru’s touches earlier. And you didn’t get a chance to ponder on it either.

Naoya twirled you out dramatically, and when he pulled you back in, his lips brushed your knuckles in a gesture too showy to be sincere.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Satoru leaning against a pillar stiffly. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. His jaw was tightened as he watched Naoya spin you across the floor.

“Unbelievable,” you read his lips.

But if he had a problem, he’d say something, you thought. Or was he too much of a coward to do so?

Naoya dipped you — dramatically, of course — and you couldn’t miss the way Satoru’s expression darkened, his knuckles whitening as his hands clenched into fists. Finally, he pushed off the pillar, striding toward the two of you.

“Mind if I take over?” He said smoothly. “The lady looks like she’s had enough of your theatrics.”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t hear her complaining.”

“You didn’t ask,” you said flatly.

Naoya’s smirk faltered just enough to give you a flicker of satisfaction before Satoru stepped between you. “Thanks for warming her up for me, man.”

Without waiting for a response, Satoru took your hand and placed his other hand on your waist, effortlessly guiding you into the next step.

“Jealous much?” You teased him.

“Jealous? Nah. Just couldn’t stand watching him butcher a perfectly good waltz.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. At first, the dance felt awkward. His hand was just a little too tight on your waist, and your steps were slightly out of sync.

“For someone so full of himself, you’re surprisingly bad at this,” you said.

“Excuse me?” He replied, mock-offended. “I’m amazing at this. You’re just distracted by how good I look.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

But as the music slowed, and the crowd dispersed, his teasing grin softened. His hand on your waist relaxed as his thumb brushed against the fabric of your dress.

“You didn’t answer me earlier.”

That caught you off guard. You looked up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded into the background.

“You didn't ask.”

The corners of his mouth lifted, not in his usual cocky smirk, but in something gentler, more genuine.

“Well, then, I will. Do you still… you know?”

“You know what?”

“Love me like you did?”

Your feet stopped.

Did you?

Or more than that, should you?

“Is it bad if I do?”

“No, not bad at all,” he smiled.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“Why did you? That day. Why?” You asked him softly the one question you had been dying to ask for three whole years.

“I… Fuck. Naoya, him, I couldn’t—” his hands dropped from your waist, and you flinched a little, moving a few feet back, realizing that your question might have messed your moment up. “Angel—”

“Attention, please,” Naoya clinked a glass loudly. “I have an announcement I’d like to make here.”

The hum of conversation in the room died down as all eyes turned toward him. You and Satoru both turned to look at him.

“This is a moment I’ve been looking forward to all of tonight. All my life, I have wanted nothing more than to serve the woman of my dreams, and tonight, I wish to solidify not only the bonds between our families but also the bond I share with this remarkable woman.”

He turned to you, his smile widening as he reached into his pocket. He strutted towards you. Your blood ran cold as he pulled out a velvet box, dropping to one knee in one fluid motion. Naoya opened the box, revealing a glittering ring) “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Ms Gojo?”

The room erupted into soft gasps and murmurs of approval, particularly from the Zenin elders. You stood frozen, every pair of eyes in the room drilling into you. All of them, all their stares and expectations felt suffocating.

Your eyes looked at Satoru’s and he seemed like he wanted you to say no. You looked at the elders and they all wanted you to say yes. You looked at your mother, and her eyes were glossy, yet you would take that more than anything else at this moment. Because they didn’t have your answer ready for you in them. They wanted to let you choose.

“I… I don’t—” you were barely audible. Could everyone just look away from you?

The words stuck in your throat. The weight of Naoya’s proposal, the stares—

“I don’t know.”

The collective murmurs grew louder and confused. For a split second, Naoya’s expression flickered. He looked irritated with your answer. But just as quickly, he smoothed it over, standing and pulling you into a light embrace.

He laughed softly and brushed his lips against your cheek. “She’s overwhelmed. It’s a lot to take in, I understand. These things can’t be rushed, can they?” He turned to the crowd, his tone light and reassuring. “She’s just shy, that’s all. I’ll give her all the time she needs.”

Polite applause broke out, and the pressure in the room became unbearable. Naoya’s hand settled on the small of your back, guiding you toward a quieter corner, and you wanted to wrench it away from your body.

But you couldn’t. Your eyes darted to Satoru. He hadn’t moved. His icy gaze was locked on Naoya, his jaw tense, his entire body screaming for you. And yet, beneath the frustration in his expression, there was something else — something raw and unspoken.

Something you recall seeing in your own eyes.

Three years ago.

You finally cornered Satoru in the training courtyard after quite a while of him dodging your presence for the rest of the night. He was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, staring at a fountain in the middle of the gardens.

“Satoru.” You stepped closer to him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

He didn’t even glance at you, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s a lie and you know it. You’ve been avoiding me like I’m some kind of plague.”

Satoru finally turned to you, and said with a bitter laugh, “What do you want me to say? That everything’s fine? That I’m thrilled about everything that’s happening?”

“You could at least tell me the truth! I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t understand? Fine. Do you know how hard it is for me to see you with him?” His voice cracked slightly, the anger giving way to something new. “To know he gets to touch you? To see you smile at him like that?”

You froze, the weight of his words hitting you like a tidal wave. “Satoru…”

But he didn’t let you finish. He took a step back from you. “You didn’t even reject him. You stood there, and you let him—”

He stopped himself, his voice breaking off. He looked away, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I didn’t know what to do! Everyone was watching, and I—”

“You should’ve said no!” He shouted. The silence that followed was deafening. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to rein in his emotions. Then, he whispered quietly, as if about to cry any second. “You should’ve said no.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The Gojo estate was eerily quiet as you made your way to Satoru’s mother’s quarters. Your heart pounded in your chest. You knocked softly, and her calm voice invited you inside.

Satoru’s mother was seated by a low table, a cup of tea in hand. She looked up, her eyes softening as she took in your disheveled state. “Darling, what’s the matter?”

You sat across from her, your hands trembling as you tried to form the words. You choked a sob. “Did I make a mistake?”

“Mistake?”

“By not saying no to Naoya right away?”

Her expression didn’t waver, but she leaned forward, placing a comforting hand over yours. “You were caught off guard,” she said gently. “Anyone would’ve been overwhelmed in that situation."

Tears welled in your eyes again, and you shook your head. “But now I’ve hurt Satoru. He… he’s so angry with me. I don’t even know how to fix this.”

She sighed softly, her grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Listen to me, dear. Voicing your uncertainty was not a mistake. It’s far better to be honest about your feelings than to make a choice you might regret.”

You wiped at your tears. Her words were comforting, but they were not enough to ease the ache in your chest.

“But what if I choose wrong? What if I lose everything?”

She stood then, moving to sit beside you. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you, and you took this moment to let it all out. You cried on her shoulder, staining her dress, but she didn’t care. She merely held you and let you cry and scream all you wanted.

“If you choose to marry into the Zenin clan, I won’t stop you. But make sure it’s truly what you want. Not what they want, not what Naoya wants. What you want.” You clung to her, your tears soaking into her sleeve. “As for Satoru…” she smiled faintly. “He’s stubborn, but he’ll come around. He just needs to be reminded that he’s not losing you.”

The school courtyard was quiet that morning. The winter night had forced most of the kids to stay indoors, and the chilly effect of the weather had perhaps drowned out their usual noise. You were lost in thought, replaying the events of the previous evening, when Maki appeared in front of you.

Her stance was confident as always, but her eyes betrayed her. They were rimmed with red, and her face was pale with exhaustion.

“We need to talk.”

“What?”

“I said we need to talk.”

You shrugged and nodded, signalling her to begin speaking.

She took a deep breath in. “Don’t do it. Don’t marry into the Zenin family.” The words came out in a desperate rush.

“Maki, I—”

“You don’t understand. They’ll destroy you. They’ll take everything good about you and crush it until there’s nothing left.”

Her hands were clenched into fists, trembling at her sides. You reached out to touch her arm, but she pulled away.

“I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. The way they treat women, like we’re nothing but tools. They’ll smile to your face and stab you in the back the moment you’re no longer useful.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, her back to you.

You called her gently. “Maki…”

She turned to face you, tears spilling down her cheeks despite her obvious effort to hold them back. “You’re stronger than me, I know that. But they’ll find a way to break you too. Please… don’t let them.”

The raw emotion in her voice shattered something inside you. You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, holding her tightly as she cried into your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Maki,” you whispered to her. “For everything they’ve done to you."

She clung to you for a moment before pulling back, wiping at her tears furiously. “Just promise me you’ll think about it. Don’t let them win.”

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak. As you watched her walk away, shoulders hunched against the weight of her past, you couldn’t help but wonder what horrors this brave girl had endured — and what kind of future awaited her if she stayed under the Zenin family’s thumb.

──── ୨ৎ ────

“What the hell are they doing here?” you whisper-screamed to your mother. Your voice was trembling despite your attempt to sound composed.

The last time the Kamo clan had graced the Gojo estate with their presence, it ended disastrously. More than that, he was here — the face of your nightmares, the man who had haunted your memories for over a decade.

You clenched your hands in your lap, nails biting into your palms as you stared down at the tatami mat, praying for this to be over. But no prayer could save you now. Not when you were practically being forced to bow in front of Kamo Daijiro, the man who had shattered your childhood before it had even begun.

Kamo Daijiro grinned wickedly as he took his seat, his wife Lady Akane and his daughter trailing behind like his shadows. His voice was oily and smug as he broke the silence.

“Ah, the Gojo family. Always full of surprises, aren’t we?” He said mockingly. “First, a marriage proposal with my daughter, Alina, rejected outright by your mother. What a waste of time, huh?”

The room seemed to blur around you. His words faded, replaced by the echoes of the past: the cold stone walls of the basement, the suffocating darkness, the metallic clink of chains binding your wrists.

“Stay quiet,” his voice whispered in your memory. You could feel his hand gripping your arm, dragging you down those steps into hell. Your chest tightened. You blinked rapidly, trying to ground yourself, but his next words yanked you back into the present.

“And now, of course, the Zenin proposal with you.” His gaze landed on you sharply his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. “Two rejected proposals. Not every family is lucky enough to fail so spectacularly, hmm?”

Your heart pounded painfully, the edges of your vision going white. The scars on your fingertips throbbed — perhaps from the rough stones you had used to carve evidences of your torture on the walls of the Kamo estate.

“Sell her,” his voice echoed in your mind. “She’ll fetch a good price.”

The memory hit you like a punch to the gut. You were three years old, crying for your mother, and he was laughing. Laughing as strangers examined you like a product, bartering for your life.

Why did you remember the worst moments of your life?

Satoru’s — no, your mother’s voice broke through the haze. “Speak something sensible or leave, Kamo.” Her words were firm, but you could hear the strain in her voice. She was trying to protect you, but she seemed to realize that even she couldn’t erase the ghosts of the past from your mind.

Kamo Daijiro tilted his head, feigning politeness as he bowed slightly. “Ah, but you should be made aware of what you’ve caused, Lady Gojo. Two lives ruined because of a stupid fantasy between your kids.”

“Enough, Daijiro,” said Satoru’s father.

You blinked, startled by the unexpected intervention. Satoru’s father rarely spoke, let alone in defense of his family. Wasn’t he the one hellbent on getting Satoru married just a few years ago? Perhaps his time in isolation in his room made him realize his mistake.

“Let me remind you that the Gojo family does not bend to the whims of the Kamo Clan. We never have and never will. So whatever you think, we do not care. Yet you cannot stand here under our roof and speak that way about us, Kamo. Leave.”

Daijiro’s smirk faltered,. The confidence in his posture waned for a fraction of a second. But that moment was enough for you to breathe again. Your mother’s hand slipped over yours under the table, grounding you back to reality, your present away from the horrors of your past.

As Daijiro stood to leave, he glanced at you one last time. His eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction.

“You’ll never escape me, little one.”

Beat.

Did he know?

The Kamo family took their leave, but one pair of eyes lingered. Kamo Alina.

She hadn’t said a word throughout her father’s tirade, but now her gaze bore into you, there was something haunted in her expression, something that wasn’t there three years ago when she had tried to charm Satoru out from under your nose.

You didn’t trust it one bit.

You found yourself alone in the garden after the fiasco from earlier. The crisp air nipped at your skin, but it wasn’t enough to shake the phantom memories of The Kamos’ voices echoing in your mind.

A soft rustle behind you made you turn. Alina stood there, her posture hesitant. That was new — gone was the confident, smug girl who used to mock you mercilessly as a child.

“You don’t have the Gojo surname.”

It wasn’t a question. Her tone was quiet, almost confused.

You stiffened, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. “Why does it matter?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she stepped closer, her hands wringing nervously. “It’s just... strange. You’ve lived with them for so long, haven’t you? And you were even engaged to… you know. Shouldn’t you have their name by now?”

The words cut deeper than you expected. You knew why you didn’t have their name. Why Lady Gojo had never officially adopted you despite raising you like her own. Because your past was a stain that no amount of time could wash away, and your future a fate you wanted to live.

But you didn’t say that. Not to Alina. Not to anyone.

Instead, you crossed your arms, forcing a smirk. “Why do you care? Planning to make fun of me again, like when we were kids?”

Her expression faltered, and for the first time, you saw something genuine in her eyes. Regret. “I…” she paused. “I’m not here to make fun of you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her tone. It wasn’t what you expected, and that unsettled you more than anything else.

“I just... I don’t understand. Why aren’t you proud to be a Gojo? To have a family like that?”

Because I’m not one of them.

Not yet, anyway, a voice in your head hoped.

But you didn’t say that either. Instead, you looked away, your voice colder than you intended. “You wouldn’t understand.”

She flinched like you had just yelled at her, and her hands dropped to her sides.

Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she might understand, more than you gave her credit for. Because for all her faults, she wasn’t Kamo Daijiro. Or Kamo Akane. Or those auctioners. She wasn’t the one who had abandoned you, sold you off, abused you like you were a piece of meat.

And then it hit you. The thought that had been nagging at the back of your mind ever since you saw her face.

Kamo Akane’s daughter. That was who Alina was. Which made her...

Your half-sister.

The realization made your stomach drop. Your eyes widened at nothing in particular, and your fingers began shaking.

Sister?

All this time, you never gave a thought about it. But it was so obvious, so clear.

Your blood.

The Kamo blood.

You gulped. No, never. Never the Kamo blood. You didn’t want to be associated with the Kamo clan, not in any way.

“I guess you won’t tell me, will you?” Her voice broke the silence, and you glanced back at her. There was no malice in her expression, no smugness, just confusion.

“No. I won’t,” you responded firmly.

She nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Maybe I deserve that.”

She turned to leave, and for a moment, you almost stopped her.

Almost.

The Gojo estate was unusually quiet that week since the chaos of the Kamo family’s visit was finally behind you. Yet, you couldn’t sleep at all at night. So you did what you always do. You wandered the halls aimlessly, walking from door to door in search of sleep.

You paused outside the study, hearing low voices.

“...I know I failed you, Satoru.”

Your breath caught. That was Satoru’s father.

“I was so focused on the family, on tradition,” his father continued with regret. “I thought I was protecting you, ensuring our legacy would thrive. But all I did was push you toward a life you didn’t want. A life you didn’t deserve.”

Satoru’s response was softer than usual. “You didn’t just push me — you forced my hand. That engagement with Alina... I didn’t even have a say.”

There was a heavy silence.

“I know,” his father finally admitted. “And when your mother stood there and defied me... I hated myself for it. Because deep down, I knew she was right.”

You inched closer to the door. You know you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this intimate conversation between a father and a son, but you knew you would have stayed awake for a couple more hours if you didn’t hear this completely.

His father sighed with a sound that was weary and old. “I wanted to say this to you for a long time. I’m proud of you, Satoru. Not because of what you are, but because of who you are. Strong, stubborn, and a lot like your mother.”

There was a soft chuckle from Satoru, tinged with disbelief. “Like mother? That’s a first.”

His father continued. “I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. But I want you to know, I’ll never stand in your way again. Whatever you choose for yourself, for your future... I’ll support it.”

You could hear the emotion in Satoru’s voice, even as he tried to hide it. “That’s all I ever wanted, Dad.”

Another pause, this one heavy with unspoken words.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out,” his father admitted.

There was the faint sound of movement, and you imagined Satoru standing. “Thanks, old man.”

You pushed open the door to Satoru’s room a few minutes later. You didn’t expect him to be present there, obviously. He might still be with his father, and you didn’t wish to eavesdrop on their conversation anymore.

Satoru’s room was empty, eerily quiet. His desk was tidy, his bed neatly made. Everything was in its place, except him. You sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

For days, the memory of his half-finished confession had haunted you. The way he’d almost spoken, almost revealed just why he had told you those harsh words all those years ago. Almost. Before Naoya cut him off, of course. Why did he do that? Why did he say that? Why had he pushed you away? You clenched your fists, planning to stay there and wait all night if you had to, just to get the answers of those questions that had haunted you all this time.

The sound of the door creaking open jolted you from your thoughts. Relief flooded you, only to freeze when you realized it wasn’t Satoru standing there.

“Who are you?” You immediately asked.

It was a young woman. She was dressed as if she was a servant of the Gojo clan, but you didn’t recognize her.

“I–It’s me, Princess!”

“Tomoko?” you asked, frowning at the maid’s pale, trembling figure. “From the Kamo clan?” Your eyes widened in realization. “What are you doing here?”

“I... I need to tell you something, Princess,” she stammered. Her eyes darted nervously around the room. Her fingers fidgeted with each other. She couldn’t even look you in the eye. What was she hiding? Why was she here anyway? Something was wrong — terribly wrong.

“What is it?” you asked cautiously, standing up.

Tomoko wrung her hands, tears brimming in her eyes. “I... I poisoned Gojo-sama,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Your father, your highness.”

“What?” The word burst from you like a gunshot. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tomoko flinched, but she continued, her voice shaking. “I didn’t want to do it. I swear on your greatness, Princess! But I was ordered to — by my clan… The Kamo clan.”

The Kamo clan?

Of course, it’s them.

It’s always them.

Your knees felt weak, and you stumbled, grabbing the bedpost for support. “What poison? How long — how long does he have?”

“It’s a rare poison,” Tomoko said, her voice cracking. “They got it from somewhere and had me— had me seal it in his wine. There is no cure. He has days left. A week, at most, Princess.”

The room spun, and anger surged through you. “You poisoned him, and you’re only telling me now?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Tomoko wailed, falling to her knees. “They threatened my family. And— and me too! If I didn’t do it, they said they’d kill us. I— I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Your voice rose, trembling with fury. “Oh, you’re sorry? And what the fuck do you expect me to say?” She gasped at your choice of words. “You expect me to forgive you for poisoning someone? For poisoning my fucking father?”

“I didn’t know what else to do!” she sobbed, her hands clutching at her chest. “Please, I can’t live with this guilt.”

You stared at her, your hands shaking, your mind racing. Satoru’s father, the man who had finally begun to reconcile with his son, finally, finally begun to relive and make up for all the wasted time, was dying.

And the Kamo clan was behind it.

They had already torn your life apart when you were a child. And now they were doing it again.

Why couldn’t they just leave you alone?

“Get out,” you said, your voice low trembling with barely contained rage.

Tomoko looked up at you, startled. “But—”

“Get out,” you repeated, louder this time. “And don’t ever show your face here again.”

“Please, I—”

“Leave!” you screamed, your voice breaking. “You will only get killed here — by my soldiers or by my hands!”

Tomoko scrambled to her feet, stumbling toward the door. She hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted to say something else, but the fury in your eyes made her think better of it. She fled the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

For a moment, you just stood there, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Then, slowly, you sank onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet. Not until you figured out what to do.

Because another piece of your newfound life was tearing, and no amount of rage or despair could change that.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Ever since that night, you had been hoping, praying even, that whatever Tomoko had said that day was false. That your father was perfectly healthy, and he’d live a long life. But Satoru noticed how his father would stumble on his steps at times. Your mother noticed her husband’s loss of appetite. And overtime, as this worsened, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Your father was dying.

And that was going to break you.

You hadn’t spoken a word about it to anyone. You should, you knew that. But how? Mother was always too busy fussing over him. Satoru had been avoiding you since that night with Naoya. How were you supposed to say a word?

The hallway outside Satoru’s parents’ room was dimly lit. They had begun sharing rooms again, and you wanted to be happy for them. But this would only go on for about five days longer, you thought ominously. You stood awkwardly near the door, waiting for your mother to emerge. Inside, you could hear her fussing over her husband tenderly.

“Stay in bed, please. The tea is still warm — I’ll bring it to you.” “I’m fine, love,” he replied weakly. “You’re the one who needs rest.”

There was a muffled sound of her setting something on a table, and then footsteps. she opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. She startled slightly at the sight of you, but her face quickly softened when she realized it was you.

“Are you waiting for Satoru? He’s not back yet,” she said, smoothing her sleeves. “No, I—” Your throat felt tight, and you took a moment to gather your courage. “Mother, I need to tell you something.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly in concern, and she gestured for you to follow her into the small sitting room across the hall. She sat gracefully, folding her hands in her lap. You tumbled into your seat, taking a deep breath.

“It’s about Father,” you begin hesitantly.

“What about him?”

“I… I know what happened to him,” you said cryptically. She raised an eyebrow at you, gesturing for you to continue. “One of the Kamo maids, Tomoko… She stayed back after the leaders had left and disguised herself as one of ours. And she told me. That she had poiso—”

“Enough,” she held up a hand to stop you, and you flinched. For a moment, her expression didn’t change. Then she closed her eyes and let out a long, quiet sigh. “I know,” she said softly.

The admission took you aback. “You... you know?”

She nodded, her fingers tightening briefly around the fabric of her kimono. “He told me as soon as he realized. In the past two days, we’ve consulted every healer, every remedy. There’s nothing… nothing that can be done now.” Her voice trembled just slightly, and she pressed her lips together to steady herself.

“Mother,” you whisper.

She waved a hand dismissively, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I should apologize to you for allowing the Kamo clan to enter our lives. I couldn’t protect my family as I should have. I’m a terrible mother.”

You shook your head vehemently. “You’re the best. The best mother and the best leader. And everything else you are.”

“Thank you, darling.” You could see the strain in the smile she gave you, and she looked older in the candlelight.

“But what do we do now?”

Lady Gojo exhaled, leaning back slightly. “Now, my only concern is making his last days as peaceful as possible. If Satoru were to find out...” Her voice broke for a moment, and she looked away as if to compose herself. “It would destroy him,” she continued. “He’s been through too much already. I won’t let this pain touch him — not yet.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat at her last words. “What can I do?”

She smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. “Just be there for him. When the time comes, he’ll need you more than ever.”

You were pacing outside the garden. Every step crunched against the gravel path. Your thoughts were swirling with your mother’s confession, and her desire to keep it a secret from Satoru. But the last time you had kept something a secret from him, it had resulted in the loss of three years from your life. You couldn’t let that happen again.

But could you disobey your mother? So you had been doing the best thing you could possibly do in that situation — avoiding Satoru all day. But apparently, that wasn’t enough.

“Hey,” his voice startled you as he appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “What’s going on with you?”

You whirled around, clutching your chest. “W-What do you mean?”

He squinted at you, crossing his arms. “This!” He said, as if that explained everything. “You’ve been acting weird. Stuttering, avoiding eye contact, mumbling when you talk to me. That’s not like you at all.”

You forced out a laugh, waving your hand dismissively. “Oh, come on. You’re imagining things.”

Satoru took a step closer. “Don’t lie to me.”

You panicked and shouted. “I’m not lying!”

He narrowed his eyes in frustration. “You can’t even say that without stuttering.” Then he sighed. “Alright, tell me. What’s going on?”

“If you think of me as your sister were all the moments we spent together false or am I overthinking?” You blurted out.

Satoru froze, caught off guard. For a moment, the only sound between the two of you was the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze.

“What?”

“Three years ago,” you pressed, your voice trembling slightly. “At the Kamo meeting. You called me your sister after they had brought up—”

“I know what I said,” he cut you off, his jaw tightening. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Then… why?” you whispered, stepping closer. “Why would you say that? Why would you—”

“Naoya,” he spat venomously.

You blinked, utterly confused. “Naoya?”

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That bastard. He...” Satoru trailed off, his expression darkening.

“What about Naoya?”

Satoru hesitated, as if weighing whether or not to tell you. Finally, he exhaled sharply. “He said... things. About you. About what he’d… do to you if we, you know, got closer to each other. And I couldn’t let that happen. He was older, definitely experienced and all of that. I didn’t feel like the strongest anymore when I saw him say that.”

Your breath caught, and a cold chill ran down your spine. “Satoru. When did this happen? What did he say to you?”

“Don’t make me say it,” he snapped, but his anger seemed to be directed more towards Naoya than at you. “It happened right around the time you got detention, I still remember. He had told me he didn’t like how we were with each other. And how I was nothing, pathetic. How I could never protect you from… from him. And he had struck a deal with me that day — that he would stop it all if I was able to convince everyone that we couldn’t... that we didn’t...”

“That we didn’t what?” you whispered.

Satoru met your gaze with guilt. “That we didn’t belong together. That you were like a sister to me.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. But he continued.

“And then that day I had found out we were engaged. I was so happy, but also devastated. If that guy didn’t like us then, how would he like it if we got married? So I tried to stop it. Tried to break your heart. Like a coward. Like a fool.”

“Stop it!” You staggered back. “You’re not a coward!”

“Yes I am,” he shook his head. “You don’t understand. I got scared. He was older than me. He knew more. What if he whipped out some charm I didn’t recognize and killed you or something? I’d never be able to forgive myself. Not that I can now either.”

“Satoru—”

“I didn’t deserve the tears you spent on me that time. I didn’t deserve to see you break down. All those times your eyes would brim, my heart would claw at me to stop itself.”

“You don’t mean—” Your eyes widened, and he merely nodded, not looking at you at all.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said quietly, his shoulders slumping. “But it doesn’t matter now. None of it matters now.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

Satoru’s father’s funeral was held on a chilly afternoon. The air was thick with unspoken grief. The Gojo estate, usually buzzing with life, was eerily quiet. Even the wind seemed reluctant to disturb the solemn atmosphere. The bare branches of trees trembled like fragile fingers.

A sea of black-clad mourners gathered, their heads bowed in respect, but it all felt hollow to you. Each condolence, every whispered prayer, was a reminder of the man who was no longer here, and you couldn’t shake the gnawing guilt in your chest.

You stood off to the side, your hands clasped tightly in front of you, staring at the pristine white casket adorned with lilies. The sight blurred as tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, unwilling to cry in front of so many people. Your grief felt undeserved, selfish even, given the weight of your secret.

You had known about the poison. You knew about the slow and inevitable death of Satoru’s father. You knew, yet you had done nothing, just let it all happen. Could you have stopped it? Could you have saved him? The questions circled in your mind like vultures.

Satoru stood at the front, his back straight. His face seemed like it had been carved from stone. The usual spark in his eyes was gone. It was replaced by a cold emptiness that made your stomach churn. He hadn’t cried, not even once, as far as you knew. You wished he would. You wished that he would let himself grieve, scream, do anything to release the agony he must be feeling. But he was silent, like a statue among the living, and it broke your heart.

The ceremony dragged on. Each passing moment felt heavier than the last. When it finally ended, the crowd began to disperse, murmuring their condolences to Satoru’s mother, who stood like a ghost beside her son. You watched her, too, feeling a pang of sadness at how frail she seemed.

You wanted to approach Satoru, to say something, anything. But your feet felt rooted to the ground. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t sound as numb as you were feeling? The guilt in your chest tightened its grip, and you turned away, unable to face him.

Back at the estate, the house felt colder than ever. Dinner was a silent affair, just as it had been a few months ago. Because just as the lively chatter had begun to replace the clinking of utensils and the occasional sniffle, it had been snatched away from you.

Satoru’s mother tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy, asking if anyone needed seconds or more tea, but her voice was brittle, and no one answered her with more than a shake of their head. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat, pushing the food around on your plate as you stole glances at Satoru.

He sat across from you, staring blankly at his untouched meal. The shadows under his eyes were darker than ever, and his usually flawless posture was slightly slouched. It was as if the weight of his father’s death had physically pressed down on him. You wanted to reach out, to say something, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you watched in silence as he eventually stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and left the room without a word.

You couldn’t sleep that night. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made every creak of the floorboards and every whisper of the wind feel deafening. You found yourself wandering the halls, your feet carrying you to the room that had once belonged to Satoru’s father. It was untouched, as if he might walk back in at any moment. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, and it made your chest ache.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the emptiness, tears streaming down your face. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The days following the funeral were no easier. The once lively Gojo household felt like a mausoleum. Meals were eaten in near silence, and the air was heavy with unspoken grief. You found yourself avoiding Satoru more and more, not because you didn’t want to comfort him, but because you didn’t know how.

One evening, you found yourself in the library, hoping to distract yourself with a book. But the words on the page blurred together, and you couldn’t focus. The guilt was a constant, gnawing presence, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it. The image of Satoru’s father lying in his coffin haunted you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if you had acted sooner.

“What are you doing in here?”

You jumped, the book slipping from your hands as you turned to see Satoru standing in the doorway. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his expression was unreadable. You quickly wiped at your eyes, hoping he hadn’t noticed the tears.

“I just needed some quiet,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He walked into the room, his footsteps soft against the carpet. He picked up the book you had dropped, glancing at the cover before handing it back to you. “Mother’s calling you,” he said, his tone carefully neutral.

“For?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Dinner,” he said bluntly. “You haven’t been eating at all.”

You nodded, and he stood up and left without saying another word.

Dinner that night was a solemn affair. The dining room was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional clinking of chopsticks against plates. Satoru’s face was blank, his appetite long gone. His mother sat at the head of the table. Her posture was perfectly composed. You sat beside her, feeling like an interloper in this world of quiet mourning. A seat was left empty, for whom, you didn’t have to guess.

The ache in your chest was unbearable, but guilt magnified it tenfold. You had been the one to discover the truth, the one who knew about the poison before anyone else. And yet, you had done nothing.

A soft knock on the door broke the oppressive quiet. One of the maids entered, bowing deeply as she held out a folded piece of paper. “Lady Gojo—” she glanced at her, unsure of how to approach her in her desensitized state — “we found this while cleaning the late master’s study. It’s addressed to you, Princess,” she bowed to you.

The maid extended the letter to you, and you accepted it hesitantly. Your heart immediately sank at the sight of your name scrawled in bold, deliberate handwriting. Satoru’s mother nodded at the maid to dismiss her, then at you.

“Read it,” she said softly. “Whatever he’s written, it’s meant for you to hear.”

You unfolded the paper carefully, your hands shaking as you smoothed it out. The opening lines confirmed your suspicion.

“To my dearest child,

If you are reading this, then it means I am no longer among the living. There are matters I could not speak of while alive, and so I leave them here, trusting you to read with an open heart.”

Your voice wavered as you read aloud. Satoru and his mother both watched you intently.

“In my absence, I leave behind all that I have built, not as burdens, but as tools for you to continue shaping our legacy.

To my wife, the pillar of my strength, I entrust our estate and all its affairs. She has always been my compass, and I know she will guide our family with the same wisdom and grace she has always shown. To my son, Satoru, I leave my knowledge, my pride, and my unwavering belief in your potential. He is destined for greatness, and though I may not be there to see it, I know he will honor the Gojo name with dignity and strength. So I shall also leave our ancestral blade, a symbol of our family’s strength and honor, along with the records of our techniques and histories.”

To you, my dear daughter, I bequeath the east wing of the estate, yours to claim as a sanctuary and a symbol of your place among us. Furthermore, I leave a yearly stipend from the family’s accounts, ensuring you will always have the means to build a life of stability and comfort.”

But then your voice caught, the words ahead freezing in your throat.

The second paragraph shifted abruptly, no longer a formal testament but a recounting of events that made your blood run cold.

“The past few years I had spent alone were ones spent to find the roots of your journey home, here. I know the pain you carry, and the secrets you keep. I know how you came into this world. Kamo Akane, your mother—”

You stopped reading it aloud, and instead your eyes began darting back and forth the lines as you read it in your head.

Kamo Akane, your mother, made the impossible choice to keep you despite everything she endured. She bore you with strength, but her circumstances were cruel. Kamo Daijiro never accepted you, and he made sure she couldn’t either. When you were only three years old, they both agreed to sell you to the traders of Mizuho.

Your breath hitched. The paper in your hands crinkled as your grip tightened. You couldn’t read further. The memories you had buried deep threatened to overwhelm you. The cold basement. The chains. The voices. The pain.

“What is it?” Satoru asked with concern. “Why did you stop?”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s a lie,” he said flatly.

You tried to fold the letter, to hide it away, but your trembling hands betrayed you. Satoru reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he snatched the paper. “If you won’t read it, I will.”

“No!” you protested, but it was too late. His eyes scanned the words quickly, his expression darkening with each passing second. He reached the part about the traders, and his jaw clenched. His hands shook, but he didn’t stop until he reached the final lines.

I knew about the poison. I knew what the Kamo clan had done to me. But this is not a burden you should carry. You have suffered enough, and I do not want you to feel guilt for something beyond your control.

And Satoru.

Satoru’s eyes flicked to you briefly before continuing.

I know you’re reading this as well. You won’t listen even if I told you this letter is meant for her alone. Satoru, please do not fight.

But the word “fight” was blotched with ink. A tear had smudged the letters. Satoru’s hand hovered over the page, and you realized with a sinking heart that the tear was his own.

He folded the letter carefully, setting it down on the table. His movements were unnaturally calm, but you knew better. The storm was brewing.

“Satoru,” you said hesitantly. “Please don’t—”

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Mother.” His voice was tight, barely restrained. “May I have your permission?”

“Satoru!”

Satoru’s mother regarded him for a long moment. Her gaze flicked to you, then back to her son. Finally, she nodded. “Do what you must. But remember, no harm is to come to the Gojo clan’s reputation.”

He bowed deeply, his fists clenched at his sides. “Thank you.”

“What?” You stood, panic rising. “You can’t just let him go! This isn’t—”

Satoru’s mother silenced you with a look. “He deserves his revenge.”

You stared at her, incredulous. “Revenge won’t bring him back! It won’t fix anything!”

Satoru didn’t wait to hear more. He left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall. You called after him, your voice breaking, but he didn’t look back. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you and his mother alone in suffocating silence.

“How can you…?” you began, your voice trembling with anger and disbelief. “How can you let him do this?”

Her expression softened, but her resolve remained. “Because I know my son. And I know he won’t find peace until he has faced this head-on.”

You sank back into your chair, your hands clutching at your chest as though to hold your breaking heart together. The letter lay between you and Lady Gojo, as if to remind you of everything you had both lost and everything that was yet to come.

──── ୨ৎ ────