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hellowoolf · 2 days ago

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miss conway, with love

synopsis: when a strange and beautiful invitation arrives at satoru’s door, he supposes there cannot be harm in spending a weekend in new york. an extravagant party coalesced with a funeral, he has no idea what to make of the effervescent miss conway. but oh, it is plain enough to see that he needs you at least once.

pairing: 1930s!gojo satoru x heiress fem!reader

tags: fluff, a little angst, suguboo didn't defect because i say so, everyone speaks the same language because i say so, i take creative liberties please just roll with it, SMUT!!, unprotected piv, masturbation (gojo...and you? you'll see >:)), creampie, gojo needing you real bad, reader has family trauma but it won't get graphic!, not proofread :3

wc: 10.7k

a/n: this crawled right out of my hole and onto the page. i recommend listening to frank sinatra while you read it because that's what i listened to while writing hehe. i hope you like it!! i love you all so bad let's human centipede

18+! mdni <3

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

gojo does not need much time at all to determine he despises new york city.

his hotel is a beautiful, gleaming thing overlooking central park, and from the ornamental windows he supposes he may find some merit. he can only see from so many floors up how sharply dressed the crowds are, just how stunning the park is against its steel cradle. yes, embraced by his expansive and exorbitantly expensive room, limbs stretched and suits pressed in the closet, he thinks new york is lovely to look at.

but on the street, among the bustle of people and the stench of life he becomes, rather quickly, opposed. he finds himself expanding infinity a further few centimeters to carve a greater space between himself and the smoky air, the smell of concrete. the sidewalks pool with water, grotesque and murky, and the passersby glisten with sweat under their beaded dresses and derby hats. his face is a great deal less handsome when he wrinkles his nose, but he supposes it is a necessary concession.

of course, he hasn’t come to enjoy the city.

when his invitation first arrived, dressed in dark blue ribbon and sealed in pressed wax, it was such a jubilantly presented envelope that he imagined a clan member was announcing a wedding. and then, written in sweeping, almost coyly elegant strokes he found:

in celebration of the death of anwir conway

please join us at the new york city conway international

friday, march 22, 7pm

he had blinked at the paper and it blinked back. anwir conway? he knew that name, though anyone with money must have, he thought. conway international hotels spanned the globe now, the pinnacle of luxury in all major cities people cared to visit. the conway family was surely one of the most wealthy in the west. celebrating the death? he didn’t care much to investigate that.

but then almost all the powerful sorcerers he knew had received invitations, too. yuki and suguru and a few of his international contacts, all brandishing that cream cardstock. some denied immediately—yuki had no interest in the sort of ostentatious indulgence a conway party promised—and suguru has the girls to care for. and besides, the only person capable of arriving in america without any form of machinery was satoru.

and so, suitcase packed delicately with western style party-wear and fine leather shoes, satoru lifted a leg in tokyo and made contact in the center of new york.

each invitation was fit with a conway reservation for the weekend, and upon satoru’s arrival the lobby had been infested with near-royalty, in wealth and cursed power. there were as many non-sorcerers, he found, as there were jujutsu users, but the whole lot made up the global upper echelon.

nobody seemed all that preoccupied with the implication on the invitation: that the party thrower is elated by the death of anwir conway. satoru supposes now, lying in wait hours before the party, that he has paid it little mind, too. but his host hadn’t signed their name, either. who would so brazenly advertise their disdain for the new york city’s king of elite?

a part of him is almost amused by the unadulterated joy unfurling in the hallways; even beyond the tangible glitter of crystal chandeliers and precious gemmed decor, there was a potent air of delight, the scent of it curling a talon from under his closed door.

there is so much cursed energy in this hotel that satoru can hardly discern a thing. only that, if he can admit it, he is excited for tonight. the intrigue and the wealth and the subversion of the invitation all inspire a thrill within him. whoever he would encounter this evening, it would be someone worth meeting. a terrible villain, he is certain, but no doubt someone fun.

he stands at the threshold of the room’s closet now, glancing over his various suits and smoker jackets, some a sleek black and detailed with silk, others attached with white or ivory bowties and scarves. is this…a funeral? a party? both, maybe. gojo pads to the phone by the bed and twists the rotary to call the front desk. a man answers, voice rough with use but unendingly polite.

“good evening, conway international front desk. how may i help you?”

satoru grins with the stiff script of it all. “good evening, sir. i’m a guest of…well…i suppose i don’t know. i’m a guest this evening and i was wondering what the attire is for the party?”

there is shuffling on the other end, a hasty “just one moment, sir,” whispered across the line. there are at least three people speaking as his telephone friend holds the phone to what must be his chest. two men and a woman, he thinks. very little can be made out beyond one sentence, wry and full of humor, a feminine voice: let me speak to him.

satoru is transferred hands and then a delicate breathing comes through the receiver. the woman says nothing. is she…waiting for him?

“um…hello?”

“hello, sir,” you says. satoru can hear the smile in your tone, almost like you’re amused to be in this position. it’s clear enough that you don’t typically handle the phones.

“yes, ma’am, i was wondering whether you knew the attire code for tonight’s party?”

your laugh is light, almost teasing. “it’s nearly a quarter past 6, mr. gojo. aren’t you a little late?”

“am i?” he teases back.

you snicker again, and it’s a terribly attractive sound. “you know, i’ve been preparing for weeks. can’t you spare a full hour of your precious time to compose yourself?”

“you’ve spent weeks selecting an outfit?”

“among other things,” you say, voice trailing off at the end. your cadence is provocative. not quite sexual, more biting. satoru finds himself smiling broader the longer you speak with him. who is this woman?

“well would you be so kind as to offer me guidance?”

you hum quietly, pretending to consider it. “i suppose i might, if you asked me kindly.”

gojo laughs again, again. “right. oh powerful woman on the phone, might you please indicate a color in which i should dress this fine evening?”

“yes!” you cackle. “that’s exactly the sort of ego-stroking i’m in search of. well done, mr. gojo.” satoru, despite himself, beams, though you cannot see it. “tonight, more than anything, is a celebration. wear something you’d be horrified to see at a funeral. i don’t mind the colors, more the spirit of it.”

“i will work tirelessly to please you,” he returns.

you hum again, pleased. “i hope so. enjoy your night,” you say.

and satoru almost lets you hang up the phone before startling to awareness. “wait—wait,” he waits to hear you settle the receiver on your face again before continuing, “how do you know my name?”

you pause a moment before responding. “it is the job of the front desk to know our guests by name.”

“but you don’t work at the front desk, do you?” satoru probes.

something sweet and self satisfied pushes out of your nose and he hears it crackle on the line. you let the silence stretch one moment too long, he suspects just to make him wait. “because i invited you.”

the sound clicks, and you are gone. gojo lowers the phone slowly, wondering what sort of ravenous thing it was he just spoke to.

the city lights twinkle through his window as the sky darkens, and in the flickering gleam satoru selects a pressed tuxedo, which on its own would be altogether normal, but attaches about his waist a shiny, light blue cumberbund. the reference to his own eyes is so overt that he snorts as he asses himself in the mirror. would this satisfy you? he looks, he thinks, like the worst, most vain young man in the world. perfect.

descending down to the ballroom, gojo still thinks of you. the lilt of your voice, almost reticent, but not at all sheepish. would he know you by sight alone? this is—you made sure he knew—your party. who are you to awrin conway? satoru supposes you must be his daughter, in which case your more than manifested glee at his death is rendered even more fascinating. are you to inherit the empire of your father? do you relish this bequeathment of power, or do you resent the responsibility? how close would you let satoru get to your lips?

that last musing would concern him, but just then the elevator bell sings as the operator pries open the door, and he steps slowly into what would be better described as an auditorium. a dance floor beams the diamond starlight, enormous and full of people already, and along the waist of the high ceilings rounds a second floor, trimmed with silver railings, over which glamorous people of all ages drink champagne and watch the dancers below. a live band bellows from the front stage, alto saxophones and violas and the deep voice of the vocalist, sorcerers and non-sorcerer's alike making fools of themselves, dripping in all manner of fine fabric. it looks like all the most exquisite curtains in the world have gathered to dance here, twirling and draping themselves around the expanse of the room.

contrary to his norm, nobody seems particularly interested in satoru, white-haired and beautiful and teeming with cursed energy. in this room he fits in quite nicely, and the throng hums, full, but makes room for his entrance.

and despite it all, against his better judgment and against this howling opulence which demands his attention, satoru finds himself searching for you. he hardly has a plan in the case that he even finds you, but nonetheless his eyes flit and scrutinize the crowd for a face he’s never seen.

across the way there is a woman engaged in fierce dancing with two other men, twirled between their arms and agonizing the both of them, entirely pleased with the way they each reach for her when she turns towards the other. but her dress is black and simple; gojo imagines this woman did not realize your insurgent intentions until her arrival. not you.

another young lady crosses the dance floor, cutting into his line of vision. she has had multiple glasses of champagne already, clear in her gait, and she still grips two of the offending flutes. her friend guides her towards a table to deposit her, and they cackle at her inability to place her feet properly. not you.

satoru lifts his gaze again to the surrounding platform making up the second floor.

there you are.

he has no reason to know it so certainly, but you lean there, forearms crossed over one another on the railing as you assess your invitees below you. if your hands weren’t so relaxed, dangling like white flowers held by their stems, he might wonder whether you were controlling the entire crowd. you simply have that air about you, that free and open confidence, and it makes satoru want to be your puppet, too.

your dress is a deep blue velvet, homage to the night, draped just barely over your shoulders and down your back. satoru climbs the stairs towards you, eyes locked on the incline of your back, watching you even through the pillars as he passes them. nobody even seems aware of you there, aware that it’s you who has invited them, you who, satoru can only assume, owns everything around them now.

does he offer his condolences? no, that much has been made obvious. he wonders whether he should congratulate you. you choose not to turn to him as he leans against the railing, too, mimicking you. you wait, again, for him to speak first, for him to give.

“you didn’t give me enough time on the phone to thank you for the invitation.”

you turn now and smile in greeting, so dazzling, so familiar, but still you give nothing away. “i hoped you would come thank me in person.”

satoru bows his head a little in a show of gratitude that makes you giggle. “miss conway, i thank you kindly for your invitation this evening.”

your chin tips in response, “i’m simply delighted to have you.”

he resettles on the railing and gojo watches your face turn again. your eyes are wide open, so bright as they bite at the scene below and around you. “you look like you’ve never thrown a party before.” this is not entirely true, you stand far too self-assured for him to really mean it. but there’s a newness, too, in the way you glance about.

“i haven’t,” you admit, easily, like it’s cost you nothing.

“i’ll admit i’m surprised.”

“everyone is. but until now it was my father who liked to host,” you say. and your voice is casual, the way it has been thus far, but something wriggles awake beneath it. satoru pretends not to notice.

“so you were his daughter, then.”

you nod. “the one and only.”

he gestures to vivacity abound. “and is this how you mourn?”

you straighten to standing and tilt your head back a bit as you laugh, humorless but cut short. “i don’t suppose i’ll mourn at all.” you make a conspiratorial face. “come drink with me.”

satoru, with an absurd flair of showmanship that makes you laugh, takes your hand to guide you back down the stairs.

there are only brief and fleeting passes of recognition in people’s faces as you pass them on the ground floor. they are all uncertain, it seems, if you’re really his daughter, if you’re really their host. the few that are brave enough to approach you introduce themselves, every one of them. the question tugs at satoru’s sleeve: do you know any of the people here? though his wonderings don’t seem to matter much as he walks beside you. you shine like you’ve swallowed a comet, entirely awake and alive. there are moments when, at the right angle, satoru thinks he can see you have cursed energy, but it’s almost impossible to tell in this room.

the bar comes into view and he collects a flute of champagne for each of you. the chime of your glasses makes you disproportionately giddy and you take a long pull.

“so ask me what you’d like to ask me,” you say suddenly. satoru blinks.

“what is it i’d like to ask you?”

you drink again, lick your lips, and he tracks the pink of your tongue. you notice. “well,” you walk around the dance floor and he follows in step, “there are a few things i’d imagine most people here are wondering, and still none of them have chosen to talk to me.” you glance up at him, eyes narrowed. “so you must have something you really want to know.”

he wonders if you’re right. he thinks he can’t admit that what he wants to know most of all is what you’d taste like under your dress. “i’d like to know why you’re celebrating your fathers death so voraciously.”

you falter but only a moment, a minute second. “anything but that.”

gojo does his best to recover as quickly as you. “have you inherited everything?” he goads.

“what a gauche question!” you admonish, but you’re dripping with sarcasm. “yes, every last dollar is mine.”

“what are you going to do with it?”

you tap your pointer finger to your chin. “it’s more than i could ever make a meaningful dent in. i’d like to keep the hotels, i think. i think being a hotel owner is sort of chic,” you start.

“very chic,” satoru agrees, smiling like an idiot.

“but beyond that i’d like to travel, i suppose. go somewhere. go everywhere, even.” you pause again to watch the dancers; they’re even drunker now, even more pleased.

“where will you start?”

still enraptured by your guests, you say without thinking, “new york city.” and though he doesn’t have the tools to decipher it, gojo suspects it’s your most intimate confession of the evening.

satoru deposits your empty flutes on a table nearby. “come dance with me, new york city,” he says softly, lips tilted into your ear. you shudder and beam, taking his hand to the dance floor.

the pair of you work seamlessly into the body of the crowd, it breathes you in, and satoru takes your waist in his large hand. you squeeze his fingers between yours in the other, waltzing as you orbit each other. with each twist and spin your neck cranes a little further, your joy stretching out further as the melody of your laugh wraps around gojo’s skin. the music swells.

it’s here, too, tethered to you, that he knows for sure; you have cursed energy, something viscous and awake, something with a heartbeat. and it’s impossible not to feel close to you now in a spiritual sort of way, with his hands over your dress and yours smoothed over the lapel of his jacket.

“can i ask you another question?”

you tip your gaze back to his and nod, smile still spread delicately across your face.

“what is your cursed technique?”

for a moment your eyes widen, but like every passing vulnerability it is fleeting. and something else emerges too, a realization maybe, or the settling of something long kicked up.

and then—it happens so fast gojo has half a mind to shove you off of him, it’s startling and striking, and beautiful, too—you’re cackling.

a full and vibrant resonance beating from your throat, he can almost track it as it’s born in your stomach and claws out from between your lips. your dancing suffers as you shake with it, but the sudden and nearly disturbing sound of it pulls gojo under. he can only hardly keep himself from howling, too.

you keel over, still gripping his hand, and then right yourself with a shock of breath in. “come with me,” you tell him, breathless. all he can do is nod.

you buzz with adrenaline and champagne and something else, something bigger, as you pull him towards the elevator and the lift tugs you both up, up, up. the rising seems to further surge your frenetic excitement. satoru leans himself against wall.

“where are you taking me?” he tries to sound teasing at the provocation in his voice but really he would like if you did something untoward to him this evening. he wants to break rules with you, wants to see how an heiress sounds with her face in his pillow.

you shrug with a grin. “through my personal suite.”

he preens, it’s exactly what he had wanted to hear. “oh, sweetheart, aren’t you being presumptuous?” he teases. somewhere in his periphery he feels badly for the elevator operator, who stands solem in the corner, pretending not to listen, but mostly gojo is hot with your sunlight, basking.

you roll your eyes. “through my personal suite, mr. gojo. you’ll remain a virginal saint in the morning,” you promise as the elevator doors are opened and you step out.

you have no interest in showing him around, though satoru pays little mind to that. you trudge straight through the living room, the kitchen, all of it enormous and lavish, and along the way he collects the little things strewn about your floor. you keep a clean living space, and it’s altogether impersonal, but there are whispers of your living here dotted about and he all but lunges for them. a newspaper, smudged at the edges with your fingerprints: two different-colored socks, thrown together like you’d worn them both: a lacy bralette, clasps tight, like you’ve never undone it in a rush. you’re about to swing open the doors of your closet when you turn back to him, words in your mouth that you swallow again.

“put that down!” you screech, scandalized and still laughing, you’re always laughing. he knows what of his menagerie you want back, and he holds the garment above his head. you jump for it, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you propel yourself up and make to grab at it, but satoru continues to twist out of your hold, maniacal and giggling.

“you’ve inherited an empire! can’t you spare me one gift of good fortune?”

you pant a little from your attempts at retrieving it, your skin beginning to flush and satoru’s body practically pulls itself towards you. your chest heaves and he’s right there, sternum brushing yours with each breath in. you seem unbothered by the proximity, though he knows better. you each grin at the other, both pink and so uncomplicatedly drawn together. “my gift is forthcoming, mr. gojo.”

“call me satoru.”

“satoru,” you purr. god he wants to hear that again. he wants to hear that in the dead of night while the rest of the city sleeps, wants to hear it in his ear and against his chest, you are so captivating. he drops your bra, sufficiently tamed.

“yes?”

you have won, and it shows on your face. “follow me.”

the doors of what he was sure was a closet fly open with your greedy hands, and gojo finds himself at the base of a ladder. you start up it immediately, dignified even scrambling up the rungs in your evening dress.

“sweetheart, i really must know, where are you taking me?”

“to new york city!” you call down as he begins to climb.

“that cannot be your answer to everything!”

“yes it can!”

vaguely he hears a hatch open above him, feels the blanket of the night sky unspool down the ladder as he makes his way up. when at last his shoes meet steady ground, satoru has all the remaining air knocked from his lungs in a great, ceremonious push.

you’ve taken him to the roof of the hotel, a slab of concrete among the stars, and all around you the city shimmers. it is a strange and profound feeling, satoru thinks, to watch over a thing so tall. the park hides behind the shadow of the skyline but still boasts a deep emerald green, the larger streets twitch with the movement of people, hardly discernible from up so high, the streetlights glimmer faintly from hundreds of floors away. they look like stars, too; he is surrounded by stars, below and above him, and a sun ahead of him.

you run towards the wall circumscribed about the platform like those few feet closer to the sight and sounds of the city will make a difference in how it appears to you. he hears you breathe in, deep.

“isn’t it amazing?” you ask him.

he approaches the wall with you. “it is—and it pains me to admit this—truly stunning.”

this makes you delighted. “i know,” you agree, halfway to a reverie satoru can only hope he’s a part of. you look up suddenly, remembering something. “it’s cloudy enough.”

gojo furrows his brows a little. “enough?”

“you wanted to see my technique.”

“i asked you what it was, miss conway, not to see it,” he laughs fondly.

you whisper a name, yours, and satoru nods, says it again. and then he says nothing, hoping you’ll speak to him more.

“yes, well, i want to show you,” you confess, smile smaller, realer, he could reach out and touch it.

gojo raises his hands and takes a step back: well, show me then. you give him a brief and almost secretive smile before tilting your head back again, eyes fluttering shut and opening your palms. your energy licks at your wrists and flares, hungry, big-bellied.

for the first few moments, nothing happens. and then, a bellowing crack of thunder, the clap spread through the clouds.

the rain comes down so torrentially, so immediately, so everywhere, that gojo fears the sky has opened before you can show him your technique. but when he glances your way, you are smiling so wide it must hurt your cheeks. you extend your arms out, scream and whoop, as the rain trails down your body and traces your shape.

satoru assesses his surroundings again. the entirety of the city, all some odd 500 square miles of skyscraper and horde, is pelted by the sudden and open-armed rain. the light and the buildings drink it in, too, even shinier when wet and seeming as jubilant to feel it as you are. his mouth drops open.

“are you…are you doing this?”

you turn to him, soaking wet. “yes!” looking at him a moment you add: “you aren’t wet.” you look almost hurt.

yes, satoru thinks looking down at his own arms, his infinity is on. he turns it off immediately. this suit will be irrecoverable, but then you beam again at the way his hair plasters to his head, vaguely gray with the sheer amount of water in it, and he doesn’t mind at all.

“this is wonderful,” he says earnestly, raising his voice slightly so you can hear him against the pounding.

you take his hands and pull him towards the center of the platform, place his hands at your waist again and revive your dance from earlier. there is no music beyond the beating of your rain, and the cold threatens to set in, but you spin satoru in your hands and he spins you in return, and it feels too much like an incandescently perfect moment to want for anything. the water splashes under your shoes as you prance about together.

“are you enjoying your party, miss conway?” he asks, face much closer to yours than it was a moment before. gojo hopes you’re blushing, he thinks you may be, but in the dark it’s harder to tell. still, you are a scorching heat between his palms.

“very much so,” you say.

he dips you once, then brings you close again. your steps slow, each of you loosening further, more ready to admit you only dance to hold each other.

“i have another question now.”

“i’m terrified,” you joke.

“why would you invite all these people you don’t know?”

you look unbothered as you sigh. “who else should i have invited?”

“friends, family,” you twirl between his arms, “lovers, maybe.”

you laugh, almost into his mouth you are so close. “i have none of those things.” but there’s no sadness in it, no regret, all freedom. “but i wanted to spend tonight with people who could dwarf this inheritance, who could do things like i can,” you explain. and then, with a wry grin, “so i wrote to the wealthiest, most powerful people i could find.”

gojo nods once, twice, mulling it over. you’re almost unmoving now, but his palm still skates slowly across your back, tugging as much as he is capable without insulting you. he takes the hand held out at your sides and places it over his shoulder, and you clasp your fingers behind his neck. with his other large palm he slides down your wet dress, reverent, impossibly slow.

“and which would you like to be, satoru?” you ask, so sincere it cuts him.

“i’ll be whoever you’d like me to be,” he breathes. your noses bump and it sends a thrill down his spine. he’s already hard and he can’t tell if he hopes you can feel it. you take another deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“i’ll have to think on it,” you whisper.

and satoru cannot wait another moment, he clips the centimeter of space to kiss you. your lips are so warm against his despite the cold of the night as it sticks to the rain. he kisses you slowly, there is no ask in it at first, and brings one hand up to cradle the back of your head. but then you whimper into his mouth a little and he all but consumes you there on the roof of what is now your hotel.

you are both hungry, pushing into each other and making demands with your hands. you tug the hair at the nape of his neck, the lapel of his jacket, smooth your fingers behind it to get closer to his skin. and he is no better, running his hands down your arms, gripping your ass as he pulls you towards his cock as it jumps for you. you moan again, wild, and he groans at the sound, at your soft feeling rutting against him each time he pulls.

with your lips parted satoru slips his tongue along yours to lick at you from the inside. you let him explore, feel behind your teeth, squirming at the feeling and canting your hips slightly into his. with each wet smack of your lips he is increasingly hot, increasingly hard, and you seem no better.

you pull away for a quick breath and satoru whispers a small fuck as you leave him.

you both still, though, eyes open for the first time since he began touching you.

it’s unlike anything he has ever seen.

the drops of rain hang, completely still in the air, little diamonds on strings. you turn your head looking just as stunned as he is. gojo brings his lips to your ear.

“am i that fantastic a kisser?”

you turn to him, take in his little grin, sheepish and still hungry and hair mussed. you bark another one of your laughs out, dizzy with the pleasure of satoru, of your constellation of water droplets as they hang suspended. and then, all at once, they fall with a blowing splash to the ground. you make no more as you look his way again.

“we should dry off,” you say, breathless. gojo nods and helps you down the ladder again. the silence between you now has no discomfort in it, only the residual, searing print of your hands on his body, your lips on his. you stand on your tiptoes to wrap a fluffy towel around his head, looking dazed in an elated sort of way. “we should get some sleep.”

“many things we should do, it seems,” satoru says.

your laugh is breathy, your eyes wide. “will you come see me tomorrow?” you ask. satoru opens his mouth to respond but before he can, you add, “i don’t need you to be any more than a friend.”

the towel hangs down his shoulder as he tilts his head. “i think i may need to be more than your friend.”

you let out a puff of air, relieved and insatiable again all at once, but you try to blow the heat from your body. “so come see me tomorrow.”

“yes, miss conway,” gojo whispers, closing in on you again. this time he kisses you only a moment, as softly as he can manage, just to see you make that wild face again.

there are no more words from each of you then, just his contented, silent leaving, and your beaming smile as you close the door.

gojo looks sufficiently undone as he tows himself back to his room. much like your living space he is frayed at the edges with relics of you, your grip in his hair, your lipstick on his chin. his cock is aching in his trousers still, jumping and desperate, and he wonders if the elevator operator can tell from the shifting gleam of the shiny fabric as he twitches underneath. if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t much mind either way.

as soon as the heavy door clicks behind him he sheds himself of everything, of his fine fabrics and bowtie and dignity, and they pool in the entryway as his head tips back against the door. he grips his shaft and tugs it once, twice, crazed beyond deliverance.

“fuckfuckfuck,” he mutters, a groan ripping from his throat as he strokes himself in earnest. he thinks of the bunching of your dress between his fingers, the give of your ass as he practically rut into you, god it was a shameful display, he thinks, and it only makes him harder.

precum pearls at his tip and he pulps himself further, the vague pain a baptism for the rest, imagines the lick of his own wetness is your tongue down the underside, along his veins. he wants to fuck you up against this door, cup your chin in his palm as he takes you from behind here, wants to hold you against a wall and grind his pelvic bone along your clit to feel you squeeze. he’s so close so quickly and it would bother him, normally, but not now, not with the myth of your body purring, an apparition, behind his closed eyelids, and the scent of your perfume still clinging to his neck.

his bedside lamps flickers in protest as he moans again, his own cursed energy spreading its legs as he fucks his palm faster, and then with a whine of your name his hips stutter and he’s gone. he cums more than he ever has alone, hot and damning and everywhere, dripping over his hand and navel. he says again, more conclusively this time, “fuck.”

satoru cleans himself before climbing into bed, bunching the duvet in the cradle of his limbs to shackle himself to sleep. he wants you now, too, wants to hold your spine to his chest without taking a thing. satoru has always been an urgently insatiable thing, has put the world on his tongue like a pill, but he is a moment from utter consumption by this wanting. he steps into the mouth of it as he closes his eyes.

the morning light filters through his windows tentatively from behind the filter of clouds. gojo blinks awake, bleary and nearly hungover with last night’s lechery, but with no small amount of effort begins dragging each long limb off the bed to get dressed.

come see me tomorrow, you had told him. oh, he’s hard just thinking of you again, something animal in his belly clawing its way out. with the glow of daybreak, too, another realization dawns upon him; satoru will not be satisfied with just fucking you, either.

this should alarm him. you are incalculable, potent with power, terrible and charismatic and ephemerally sad. there is something almost unseeable about you, something visible only when you spin and catch in the light. and even with your newfound familiarity with him, even after nearly allowing him to fuck you like an animal on your roof, you would not divulge gojo’s first question. what reason could you have to rejoice so resolutely in the death of your father?

you had told him last night that you have no one now. or, satoru things, no one besides him, though as soon as he allows that thought he knows urgently that he should teleport home. but then he considers the pucker of your body splayed lazily in bed, your skin dappled by the sunrise, and finishes buttoning his shirt.

when he opens his door, there is a man waiting for him, dressed in a three-piece suit and ticking faintly with a pocket watch dangling from a chain. he might look jolly if he had a more pleasant look on his face, a round man with ruddy cheeks, but he assesses gojo almost aggressively, takes stock of his posture and the slope of his nose.

“can i…help you?” gojo asks, hip leaning on the threshold.

“good day, sir,” the man seems to have swallowed whatever disaffection threatened from behind his teeth. “i have been instructed to escort you to miss conway’s suite.”

satoru’s face spreads slowly into a smirk. “i spoke with you on the phone yesterday, didn’t i?”

“yes, sir, we spoke for a moment.”

“before miss conway usurped the phone from you,” he lilts, tilting his head slightly.

“yes, sir.”

gojo exits the room fully but makes no move to follow this man anywhere else. “and now she has sent for me?” a rhetorical question, he is endlessly pleased. the man just barely restrains himself from sighing before turning sharply on one foot and setting off towards the elevator. and for all his deriding, satoru follows straight after him.

the elevator protests slightly under the mass of his companion and it endears gojo to him immediately. “and what should i call you?” he asks.

“ramon, sir.”

satoru nods. “well, ramon, you can call me satoru.”

ramon keeps his sharp gaze trained on the elevator doors like he knows precisely the moment they’ll be opened. “no, mr. gojo.” the operator hides his snicker in a cough and satoru pouts, hoping ramon will turn around and see it, but just then the silver doors and heaved up and they both pad out.

the sound of you approaches him slowly, tentatively, and then completely, a wild beast made docile with familiarity. a record crackles somewhere a few rooms away, more jazz—you must like it—and you hum along with the swing of the melody. the song of your morning washes over him and he nearly parts his lips to drink it.

you’ve laid yourself across your living room couch, back to him and ramon, hair tumbling down one armrest. a new newspaper has found its way between your fingers, ready to be smudged. it crinkles a little as you focus and ramon clears his throat.

“my dear, i have brought him,” he says. it is infinitely more kind than any order leveled at satoru in the past few moments, so much so that he might even think ramon was your father if he didn’t know better. you twist up and face them, all beaming smile and still in your nightgown.

“oh, po, thank you!” you say. it is satoru’s turn to snicker now.

“po?” he asks, mostly to ramon, mostly to needle him.

“my last name is poyard, sir,” he explains, losing again that affectionate look reserved for you.

“when i was a kid,” you interject, “my father insisted i call him mr. poyard, but i couldn’t really make out the yuh sound. so i called him mr. po.”

ramon says to you, in a voice softer than satoru would have thought possible, “mr. po is leaving now, my dear.”

you nod, waving him out. your nightgown is a barely pink silk, provocative as it pleats over your shoulders but you make no attempt to exaggerate the arc of your body, the swell of your tits. you have no need for such parading, you surely must know: satoru’s eyes catch on the shadow in your collarbone, the most mundane of you.

“good morning, miss conway,” he begins.

your legs rock slightly as they hang off your sofa, in no rush to meet him, slack with sleep. “good morning, satoru.”

“you asked me to come see you.”

“and you have! i am very pleased.”

“no,” satoru starts goodnaturedly, taking one step towards you, “you sent someone for me.”

“i didn’t care to leave it to chance.”

another step towards you. your only indication that you care at all to see him is the way your head slowly tips to keep your eyes locked on his. “you’ve divested me of my power. what of the few minutes you would spend wondering if i’d show? i so looked forward to that.”

“well by all means, if you have little interest in accompanying me today you may spare me the hesitation,” you stand to stroll towards your closet, sweeping right up to the heat of him before you say: “feel free to leave.”

you leave your closet door ajar as you begin changing. the rustle of your clothes makes his cock stir, but he leans himself on the wall nearby and says instead, “what exactly would i miss if i abandoned you now?”

you hum through the muted swishing of fabric. “i’m beginning my new york travels today.”

gojo considers this, considers again your face last night as you promised—yes, it sounded very much like a vow—to visit new york first. “sweetheart, i could take you anywhere right this moment: india, france, the spanish alps. and you would choose to travel a city you’ve lived in since birth?”

to this you have nothing to say, punctuating your silence only with the faint clink of a buckle before you step out before him. you are a completely radiant display, white dress pendulous down your body, cinched in with a belt at the waist.

“how is it?” you ask, shifting your weight from side to side. and you really mean it, this question, and the sincerity punches at satoru’s lungs.

“stunning, miss conway,” he murmurs. your cheeks are pink like your nightgown was, and as it licks down your neck he thinks for a moment about how captured he is by everything you do. he doesn’t linger on it, though, because with a delighted cackle you’re grabbing his hand and pulling him out.

new york through your eyes is revolutionarily different. the people on the street part for you, the puddles of dirt and smog reflect you from new angles, the smell of metropolis is dulled by your scent, sweet and ambery and almost natural; all of it looks romantic in your shadow as you drag him about the city. he knows it isn’t wise to be so willing to recontextualize for you, to so quickly reevaluate, but god help him he cannot help himself.

you point at street signs and tap against window displays like you’re seeing it all with new eyes, like you’ve never experienced anything so wonderful in your life, and somewhere in the back of his mind satoru suspects that dark and frightened thing you seem to harbor has something to do with it, but then you beam at him again and he forgets it.

you stop together at no less than three cafes and order nearly the entire glass case of pastries at each of them. with sugar still on your lips—satoru wants to kiss them—you stroll through central park, letting satoru dare to lay a hand on the small of your back. he tells you about his life in tokyo, about the school and suguru and his students, and you respond eagerly with questions about teaching jujutsu. you poke at his infinity with an amazed curiosity—though he’d prefer to keep it down with you—and giggle when he runs a tiny ball of blue energy up your arm.

the afternoon sun peaks above you and you find yourselves at some rooftop bar, cooling off with mint juleps you lap at; satoru wants to kiss you again and taste the bourbon. he takes his turn to ask you things, then, but even a little tipsy there are holes you skirt around. you refuse to tell him much about your father and why you are so overjoyed that he’s dead, you divulge nothing of your childhood, though you are so elegant at avoiding answering that satoru thinks he wouldn’t have noticed if he was any less desperate to know.

you run a finger along the rim of your glass as you tell him about now, though. the person you’ve become, your plans for the future: these things you give easily and satoru is all but desperate to reel them in.

“part of me wants to travel forever, to never stay in one place long enough to be remembered there,” you admit, head tilted, “but another part of me wants to dig my heels in somewhere. to know everyone.”

satoru clinks his glass against yours lightly. “you’ll be remembered no matter where you go.”

your face scrunches and you shake your head, but the corners of your lips pull up and satoru feels his chest sing. “you’re very suave, mr. gojo, i’ll give you that.”

he has grown to like that, too; you call him mr. gojo when you have something to admonish, which is almost always. his first name, satoru in that breathy lilt of yours, is reserved for when you’re pleased with him. pulling it from you is a victory he has grown drunk on; there is great triumph in seeing your mouth form the vowels, thinking to himself all the while:

he wants to kiss you, he wants to kiss you.

how many times has he thought that today? he wants it like he hasn’t had it yet, needing you with the same sort of appetite you seem to have for this city. still, he can’t help but feel it isn’t time yet somehow. the fact of your joy to explore a place you’ve spent more than twenty years living in rubs satoru raw somewhere in his lungs, he wants to let you have this day for yourself before he swallows you down again.

dusk cloaks the city and hues the sidewalks blue above the growing shadows of the skyscrapers. lights beam from apartment windows and office buildings in the throes of overtime, and you lace your fingers through his as you explore further. surely your feet ache and your waist is sore from twisting about in that sleek belt all afternoon, but if you feel any of it you show nothing on your face.

partially sated by a day of exploration, you stroll together much slower than earlier, looping your way back to the hotel. with each passing block satoru feels you softening in his hands, sticky and sweet like a peach. your sense of satisfaction rubs off on him, too, he thinks, the pair of you heavy with the sights of the day.

satoru hasn’t walked this much in years; he has never found much use for the sort of meandering you did today, not until it was you linking your arm in his and blushing lightly under his stare. he feels sort of like a teenager, like he’s never met another woman in his life, sensitive to the feeling of your fingertips along his forearm, to your breath on his neck.

the hotel’s silhouette approaches slowly as you walk in step together.

“satoru,” you breathe.

satoru hums in response and squeezes your waist a little, not trusting his sense of propriety when you murmur his name like that.

“thank you for today,” you offer quietly. you almost sound…sheepish, if he could even call it that. it is entirely unfamiliar on your face, your soft smile and eyes tracking the planes of the sidewalk.

“it was my pleasure.” he means it. a bellman opens the door for you and the cinnamon perfume of the hotel lobby wafts about you both. you do not let go of him as you walk to the elevator, lean your weight into his side as you settle behind the operator.

satoru is slightly alarmed to find he is nervous. he’s spent the last day and a half wanting you, needing you, kissing you on your rooftop and fucking his fist to the thought of you, but now, with the bump of your spine under his wandering fingertips he feels as inconfident as he’s ever felt. he leans down to your ear.

“are you taking me to your personal suite again, miss conway?” he whispers. your breath catches but you grin all the same.

“would you like me to, satoru?”

he doesn’t miss a moment: “yes,” and it comes out breathy and desperate but it only seems to fray your nerves further. he runs his thumb just above the curve of your ass, relishing in the way your lashes flutter shut.

eyes still closed, you say to the operator, “just take me to mine, please, james.”

the operator doesn’t turn back, only nodding politely and bringing you up. satoru wants to capture the thrill of the rise as you scale floors upon floors, in the heat of it brushes your hair from your back to place one, slow kiss on your neck.

for the purposes of your company you make no noise but gojo hardly needs it: the taste of your skin—he has missed it since last night—enough to leave him twitchy and half hard. the doors open and you both stumble out. there’s something endearing, he thinks, about the way you cling to your propriety even now, mistress to half of new york city and a dozen luxury hotels across the globe.

but as soon as he hears the creak of the doors closing again satoru is on you, big hands threaded through your hair and groaning into your lips. fucking finally.

you fare no better, fingers gripping tight on the collar of his shirt as you practically mewl into his mouth. he groans in return, even more candid tonight about how terribly he wants you. you seem to remember the cadence of him because you part your lips quickly to let his tongue in now, he wants to bite down around the way you moan when he nibbles on your lip, kneads your tit in his right hand.

“fuck sweetheart i’ve needed you all day,” he whispers.

“yeah?”

he tears his lips from yours to kiss down your jaw and neck, leaving marks hot and wet along your skin, looking for places along your jugular that make your thighs squeeze. your fingers card through his hair and tug at the roots, and he sinks his teeth in right under your ear; you wilt, a sweet whimpering thing in his hands.

god, his hands. he moves them everywhere, they are ferocious and have an endless appetite for the plush of your body. with one hand he runs his fingers soft and teasing along your pert nipple over your thin dress, circling and then dancing along the tight bud, while the other pulls you close by your waist, the dough of your ass, the meat of your thigh as he hikes it around his waist. he walks you carefully into a wall so he can grind his aching cock against your pussy properly and you keen for him.

“satoru,” you plead, holding your leg to his waist on your own now as you rut your hips in response.

“oh, sweet thing, i have more questions for you,” he breathes into your neck, weak with the friction of your lace panties against the front of his slacks. you whine and he smiles on your skin so you can feel it.

with his left hand he grips to your hair and tugs your head back, straightening fully to watch you as you strain in his hold. you look so fucking pretty like this, so candidly needing him in that way that flushes your cheeks. practically into your mouth he asks you: “did you touch yourself last night?”

you squeeze your eyes shut and grind on him again, your wetness seeping through now and he can feel it but still he doesn’t let you off, not even when you whisper a desperate satoru from somewhere in the back of your throat.

“answer me.”

you nod, not quite ashamed, more disappointed to give it up so easily. but when you open your eyes surely you see how crazed satoru has become, feral and inhuman as he appraises you, his heiress humping the tent in his pants. “show me,” he insists, no small amount of anguish in it.

you slowly disengage one hand from his hair and move it between your bodies, drag it slowly down your dress and then under the hem as it hikes against your thighs. satoru watches it all with rapt attention, breathing loud and chest heaving but still he hardly blinks. you hesitate as your fingers trace along the waistband of your white panties, exposed to him with your dress bunched further up, so he encourages you, “that’s it, baby, just like that.”

your head tips back and makes a soft thunk against the wall, relinquishing yourself fully to him. your fingers, deft and familiar with yourself, slip slowly under the lace, chest arrested in place when you make contact with your swollen clit.

“god, baby, i can hear you, you’re so fucking wet,” he pants. you only nod wordlessly as you rub tight circles over your little button, thighs clenching around his waist. the squelch and slip is filthy and it takes just about every ounce of strength he has not to simply pull the fabric to the side and fuck you like this alongside your fingers.

“satoru,” you plead again, and he rolls his hips against you again in reward.

“that’s it—shit—i can feel you fucking twitching through my pants.”

your whines come easy and grow hoarse as you rub yourself faster, shoes falling off as your toes curl inside them, begging him again please, please, and gojo doesn’t know what for but it is almost impossible not to give it to you. it seems almost like you don’t even notice as you bring your two fingers lower and enter yourself slowly, he can see it all draped in the tight fabric of your panties, and simply to keep from setting the entire hotel ablaze satoru uses one hand to jerk his cock from over his slacks.

“fuck—did you think about me? did you touch your pretty pussy last night thinking about your satoru?”

“y–yes, fuck, yes,” you cry, and he bucks his hips so hard your standing leg jumps slightly from the floor.

“i—fuck—i had to fuck my fist the second i left you,” his forehead bumps the wall next to your head, “i—shit—i couldn’t stop thinking of fucking this sweet cunt,” he whines.

he can tell from the twitches of your eyebrows, from the canting of your hips, that you’re bringing yourself closer and closer to the edge and satoru is about on the brink of insanity, so he untangles from you to rid himself of his clothing.

you collect your dress in one beautiful mess of white fabric before ruching it up and over your head, left only in those white panties. you look fucking edible there against the wall, a vision and almost too unreal to touch, satoru almost cums just seeing it, but instead he’s back on you, entirely naked and bare cock jumping in the cold air as he hooks two fingers under your last garment to drag it down your legs.

with one palm under each thigh he grunts into your cheek, “jump for me.” you hop into his grip and he holds you stable against the wall, your entrance dripping and hot right above him. precum beads at his tip, his cock is practically crimson and so angry looking, but the feeling of your nails digging into his shoulders keeps him grounded.

he teases his wet tip along your slit to gather your slick there, groaning, “i swear to god, baby, next time i’ll use my mouth, i’ll open you properly, i swear it, but f–fuck i need you now.”

you nod quickly, watching, mesmerized, by the weight of his cock as he teases your hole before finally, finally, pushing the tip in.

“fuck, oh fuck,” gojo grunts. your pussy clamps like a vice around him as he fucks into you slowly, sinking into your wet heat, he hopes he drowns.

“sweetheart, don’t squeeze me like that,” he pleads.

you laugh breathlessly. “i can’t help it.” somehow that makes him harder and he slips another wet inch in. “fuck, fuck, oh fuck satoru that’s so good.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

gojo cannot help himself, grinning stupid and feral as he ruts down to the hilt. you all but scream out, neck extended, but neither of you seem to care. even unmoving satoru can hear the soft sound of your slick around his aching cock. he kisses you again, slowly, giving you a moment to become accustomed to him. after only a moment, though, you’re grinding your clit into him and begging something like please move, and who is he to deny you?

your bodies are so close as he fucks you, there is hardly an inch of either of you that isn’t pressed up against the other. your tits squish against his chest as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your lips, your jaw, the line down your neck where he can taste your heartbeat. his thrusts are deep and calculated, not so fast as to bump you painfully against the wall but hard enough that you can feel him hit that spongy spot in the back that makes you squeal.

“that’s it baby, fuck, fucking take it,” he heaves. the wet crack of his skin on yours echoes softly through the room, your cries humming alongside them, a symphony of your pleasure and his and god he wishes someone were recording this.

“harder, satoru,” you whisper, your hole fluttering around his veins, and he snickers something disbelieving.

“so fucking greedy, huh?” and he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips. with one hand he fits his palm behind your head on the wall before starting to pound into you in earnest, his hip bones clapping against the backs and insides of your thighs, surely red and raw with his effort but you arch back with the feeling, moaning out like you hope the entire hotel hears, and the tight grip of your pussy is so good he can’t think straight.

with each rut you roll your hips up to his in time, arms and legs wrapped around him tight to leverage your weight as your rub yourself on the neatly trimmed white hair at his base. your slick is dripping everywhere, down your legs and his, but with each stuttering grind your hole thumps and squeezes, and satoru fucking loves the smell of your want for him as it paints his lower body.

in between the harsh smack of his thrusts he whispers praise into your skin.

“so pretty for me.”

“this pussy is fucking perfect.”

“fuck, sweetheart, squeeze me like that again.”

you bite down on the lean muscle of his shoulder and gojo’s hips stammer with the jolt of pain.

“close?” you nod, tongue peeking out as you bounce between him and the wall. “fuck i wanna feel you cum around me, baby, fucking cum for me,” he begs.

your ankles lock up behind him as you seize, your heartbeat loud and pounding everywhere, down your neck and in your pussy and through your veins. you gush down his cock and satoru moans wildly.

“fuckfuckfuck i’m g’na cum,” he warns, thrusts more erratic as he chases it and fucks you through your high.

“inside me,” you whisper, hardly any voice left, apparently hoping to kill him stone dead.

just the breath of your pleading makes him lose it, thrusting hard once more, twice more, before ropes of hot release come pouring out and he growls out something unintelligible. you whine one more time, high-pitched and needy, and it pulls further wisps of his seed.

still plugged with his cock but boneless, now, satoru holds you steady in his arms and slowly, slowly, brings you to your bed. only once he’s sitting on the edge of it does he pull you off of him, the both of you groaning in sensitivity, and splays you gently onto your pillow.

sitting up like this satoru can see all of you in your sticky glory. your skin shines a little with your sweat and his, fuck his cum drips out of you leisurely and it makes something possessive and animal rumble and howl in his chest.

with the backs of his fingers he runs his knuckles up your calf and back down again, and he watches the goosebumps rise and fall behind them. seeing that you’re settled comfortably he follows after you, one arm thrown over your waist and chest presses up against your forehead.

he tilts your head up and you look at him with a small smirk, eyes bleary. “good?” he asks.

you smile bigger, toothy. “great.”

satoru beams back and lets you rest again on his damp skin, petting your hair delicately.

“ask me again,” you say suddenly, quietly, like it’s imperative he take this opportunity as you present it to him.

“ask you what?”

“the question i won’t answer.”

his hand stops moving. “you don’t have to answer me.”

“i know,” you assure him. and there’s no trepidation in your voice, no darkness, just the sweet gravel of the way you had screamed for him and the lingering sense that you want to tell him the truth.

satoru repeats his question. “why are you celebrating your father’s death?”

you trace a nail in little shapes over his chest. “because i hated him,” you supply.

“why did you hate him?”

you breathe deeply, only once, and satoru worries your candor has been siphoned from you again, but you only tilt your head enough to look at him with one eye. you explain sleepily, “when my technique manifested i was six. nobody else in my family had ever had one before.”

gojo nods. “it’s much less common in the west.”

“my dad wasn’t willing to send me abroad to learn how to use it. my mom had died in childbirth with me and there wasn’t anyone to dispute that call. and i was upset with him, i mean, god, i hated him. i wanted to learn.”

satoru resumes the soft movement of his fingers in your hair: go on, he wants to say, but he lets you speak without interrupting.

“i only wanted to throw water at him or something. i didn’t know what i was even doing. and then…it—it was like a blade.” you run your pinky finger slowly across the side of your neck. “i cut him right here.”

satoru tries his best to show you on his face that he cannot judge you, that he wouldn’t, that you didn’t know any better.

“i knew even then that he would never forgive me. when he recovered he banned me from leaving the hotel, for all intents and purposes. he hired po to watch over me and i’ve been here ever since. it’s sort of felt like i’ve been stuck in time.”

there is something tragic and fascinating in the way you explain it, like the rage is too old to stay, but regardless it leadens something cold in satoru’s stomach.

“he said i was dangerous. that i’d hurt people.” that part seems to hurt you, still. the insinuation that you have evil in you somehow the only piece of memory still strong enough to bite at you, and it makes his heart twist. his fury flares briefly, simmering under his skin, but then you hook your leg over his and he is docile.

satoru has a terrible, soft, awful, love-sick idea to suggest to you, this enigmatic woman he met a day ago.

“why don’t you come back to tokyo with me?”

you lift your head fully, eyes wide and owlish like always. “what?”

his heart hammers but he does not cower. “why don’t you come back with me? i could…” his voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it, “train you, if you wanted.” and then, to soften his sincerity, he adds with a smirk, “it is what i do for a living.”

your mouth opens and closes again, some serpent in your throat you can’t seem to swallow. “i don’t know what to say,” you admit. and then, a confession of your own: “i want to learn,” you whisper.

satoru smiles at you, mild and unexpectant. “if you hate it i can take you right back here.”

you laugh through your nose and bury your face in his chest again. when you think it is loud, almost, a fitting of cogs satoru thinks he can hear as clearly as the clanging of pots and pans a few rooms away. and he spends a long moment like that, holding you in the near-silence, scored by the metal chime of your deliberation. and then, into his ribs you say, “okay,”

he perches his chin on your head, thankful for the way you push your nose to his sternum so you cannot see the triumphant grin on his face, surely entirely idiotic but beaming nonetheless.

he would never hear the end of this—of collecting a beautiful young woman from his weekend away—from suguru, but oh satoru feels the warm puff of your breath as it evens in your sleepiness and he knows he could not have left you here without some enormous show of self restraint.

it had to be you, he thinks. it had to be you.

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

taglist: @missingnozw @trophywife111 @cheesecakeislazy @adictiss @kyungjunnies @hbhbhbhbhby @megapteraurelia @not-aya @heiranni @starlight5cat @jiupark @vraiao

#hello woolf #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #miss conway with love #satoru smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader smut

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karimationkat · 2 days ago

Text

SPOILERS FOR "Beta - Animation vs. Minecraft Short Ep 0"

Random opinion, observations and interpretations of tco and tdl

The first random thing I like is how tdl immediately starts with violence. Just kicking the block without observing or trying to study it while tco observes the surrounding first.

After a little session of destruction, tdl shows a happy body language while for tco is just dusting himself off.

In comparisons to tdl who kicked away the block, tco is immediately trying to learn the new things.

It's so cute how tco is just showing his little creation to his only friend. Tdl definitely shows a bit of curiosity or at least is ready to slow down a second for tco before going back to violence.

Tco seems protective of his creation, perhaps he is proud/has an attachment to it. Meanwhile tdl seems disappointed- like he is groaning with his head thrown back- that tco doesn't let him destroy it.

However tco gives in and lets his friend destroy his creation. Because it makes tdl happy. It's like a kid who wants to knock over the block tower another kid built.

The was tdl is laughing here. He found his perfect playground.

Just violence, violence and more violence. The way tdl is touching the lava. It's interesting. Maybe because it's just as destructive as he is?

Same with tco. He built a house. A simple cute and cozy house. Does he perchance crave a simple and calm life?

Tco is quick to act with violence/his power when there is perceptible threat. Considering that the Animator used to torment him for three years, maybe he is very sensitive to unexpected things.

The obvious contrast in how tdl vs tco interact with minecraft. Tco is just enjoying his freedom. Even peaceful and relaxed.

Tdl bringing the swords of the zombie pigman. Like trophies of his victory. Or maybe like a cat trying to show affection by bringing dead birds. Or perhaps it was a competition to tdl. He has destroyed so much while tco didn't have any proof.

And tdl is done. He lost interest already. While he seems to be excited/happy by all the destruction he did, that's all what tdl cared about.

Tco on the other hand does need a moment to say goodbye to Minecraft. Even takes a block with him as a keepsake. Tco has the capability of growing attached to thing compared to tdl.

Personal opinion/interpretation:

This entire short just shows how tco is ready to learn, explore new things and capable to grow attached to things. He can form bonds with things and people. On the contrary tdl has no attachment to anything and one- the only thing that he cares about is satisfying his destructive urges- even disregarding his only friend/partners feelings and insisting on destroying something tco was proud and happy about. Tdl definitely likes tco and wants him around but despite that actually barely has an emotional attachment to him. Tco was his partner in crime, to have fun with, someone to show his destruction to. But not his own person with interests and thoughts. The irony being that tdl was the one made FOR tco, not the other way around.

My general opinion/idea is that due to how tco was treated by alan for the 3 years as an ad blocker- his feelings neglected/dismissed- even though he was free now, he is very complacent with tdl, he still expects his feelings and opinions to be ignored. Which is why he enables tdl so much. Maybe because it was "his choice" to reach out to tdl/not finish him, he believes that he was to deal with it because it's freedom that lead him here. He doesn't know about boundaries and how to set them, this may be why he just kidnapped tsc to fight the mercenaries with him.

In short: Oh the toxic doomed queer platonic yaouri that you are chodark.

#alan becker #ava the chosen one #ava the dark lord #animation vs minecraft #ava ships #sorta?#avm tco #avm tdl #animator vs animation #ava headcanons #I didnt proof read this #my bad if there are any mistakes

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formulafanfics13 · 2 days ago

Text

The Secret Girlfriend - Chapter 10

Masterlist

Disclaimer:

This fanfic will contain mature themes and topics (smut, abuse, power imbalance, drug use, alcohol dependency, control, and eating disorders). There will not be warnings throughout, so if you proceed with this fic, please bear this in mind!

Coconut Mall was blaring through the penthouse like it was a national anthem. The garish Mario Kart music looped over and over as Lando and Max leaned into the couch, controllers in hand, eyes locked on the flat-screen TV. Max's character, Luigi in a metallic green sports coupe, had just power-slid around a corner, nearly overtaking Lando's Peach in her bubblegum-pink motorcycle.

"You're such a little bitch for always picking Peach," Max muttered, leaning with the controller like it might physically make him faster.

"She's elite," Lando shot back. "Stop being jealous, she's faster than you."

They were both howling with laughter as Luigi slammed into a mall kiosk and a bouncing shopping cart sent him flying sideways. "That wasn't even my fault!" Max yelled, smacking Lando's arm. "The fucking cart came out of nowhere."

"Maybe try driving like someone who's got a licence next time," Lando teased, still focused, trying not to burst out laughing.

Then footsteps.

Delicate, sharp, purposeful. Like a goddamn Prada campaign making its way down their winding marble stairs.

Lando immediately paused the game mid-corner, thumb hovering mid-air, head snapping toward the stairs before she'd even reached the bottom step.

Max didn't even have to look to know. He felt the shift. The way Lando's body froze in attention, like a man responding to a gravitational pull.

And then she appeared.

White skirt. Tiny. Illegal in at least five countries. It barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. A halter top that clung to her skin like second nature, hugging every curve and doing nothing to hide the subtle, perfect outline of her nipple piercings beneath the thin fabric. Her legs went on for miles, bare and golden, and in one hand she held her white heels like a promise, the other slung with a grey leather jacket. She was tanned, glowing, and half her lipgloss had already smudged against her bottom lip.

Max cleared his throat, instantly averting his eyes out of pure self-preservation.

Lando, however, let out an actual groan, low and appreciative and almost pained. "Jesus fucking Christ, babe."

Lily smirked. "What?"

"You know what," Lando mumbled, already abandoning the controller, placing it gently on the coffee table like it no longer mattered.

She padded over, barefoot, casually seductive without trying. She didn't walk like she was showing off. She never did. But it didn't matter, every room bent around her anyway.

Max pretended to study the paused game screen, not saying a word, but he clocked the way Lando dropped to his knees in front of her like it was muscle memory.

She perched on the edge of the sofa's arm, legs crossed slightly, and handed him her heels.

Without speaking, he slipped one foot into the heel, careful as anything, his fingertips brushing her ankle like it was sacred. He laced the delicate white strap up her leg, slow and reverent, finishing with a double knot just below her knee. Then he did the second.

Lily watched him, calm and fond, letting him do it without protest. She knew the ritual. He always did this before she went out. Like a knight helping his queen into armour.

Once both heels were tied and secure, Lando ran one hand up the back of her calf, higher, up the inside of her thigh, until his thumb was ghosting along the hem of that tiny white skirt.

He leaned in, placing one soft kiss against the skin there, just high enough to make Max shift awkwardly in his seat and pretend he didn't see it.

Lando stood then, rising smoothly, and reached forward to tuck a strand of Lily's hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheekbone. He tilted her chin and kissed her softly on the lips, slow and grounding. She kissed him back just as gently, like she knew he needed it.

"You look perfect," Lando murmured.

Lily smiled at him, her lashes fluttering. "You say that even when I wear your hoodies and bunny socks."

"Yeah," Lando whispered, "but right now you're actively ruining my life."

She chuckled under her breath, brushing imaginary lint from her skirt. "You want to drop me at the harbour?"

Lando shook his head. "I mean, I do want to... but I'm guessing you've got a ride?"

She nodded. "Kenny's picking me up on her way past."

"Tell her I said thanks for saving me from blue balls."

Max burst out laughing.

Lily rolled her eyes but smiled. "You're disgusting."

"I try," Lando grinned, then tilted his head. "Do you want me to pick you up later?"

She shook her head. "I'll be fine."

"Still just text me if you change your mind, alright?"

Lily nodded. "I know."

And then he did the thing he always did: gently, quietly, he gave her the rules. "No driving the yacht if you smoke anything, not even a joint."

Lily nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir."

"No driving home if you're drunk or high."

"Got it."

"And no jumping off the boat unless someone sober's watching."

Lily held up three fingers. "Scout's honour."

Lando squinted at her. "You were never a Scout."

"Okay, Vogue honour."

Max grinned like a child watching divorced parents flirt. "That sounds more accurate."

Lily rolled her eyes, kissed Lando one more time, and gave Max a subtle head nod. "Night, Verstappen. Try not to break the TV."

"Night, James," Max said back, giving her a two-finger salute. "Try not to start an international incident."

Lily smirked, slung her leather jacket over her shoulder like a runway moment, and headed for the door. The soft click of her heels against the tile echoed long after she left.

Lando stood at the window a moment, watching the car pull up, the sleek black Mercedes that Kendall always used when she was in the South of France. Lily stepped in without looking back, casual and elegant, her ponytail swinging.

He finally turned back to Max, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "She's a bit of a distraction."

Max was staring at him, deadpan. "You married her in your soul and you haven't even told your race engineer."

Lando laughed, flopping back on the couch. "I know. I'm an idiot."

Max leaned over, snagging a slice of leftover pizza. "Nah. You're the luckiest bastard alive."

The door clicked shut behind her. Silence fell like a warm weight over the penthouse, broken only by the muted clink of glass as Lando set down the water Lily had left half-full on the kitchen counter. Her perfume lingered in the air, a soft scent of citrus and something warmer, muskier—like intimacy bottled.

He wandered back into the living room, the echo of her heels still bouncing around in his chest and collapsed sideways onto the couch beside Max with a dramatic exhale.

"Alright," Lando muttered, sprawled across the cushions, one foot still dangling off the floor. "Now that she's gone..."

Max didn't answer. He was staring straight ahead, hands clasped over his mouth, as if he'd just witnessed something world-shattering. Which, technically, he had.

Lando glanced sideways at him, one brow raised. "You good?"

Max slowly dropped his hands and turned toward him. "You're dating Lily fucking James."

Lando grinned, smug and satisfied. "You just figured that out?"

"I just saw her walk out of here in a skirt the size of a napkin," Max deadpanned. "And I've known you for years. And you never said a word. You little cryptic bitch."

Lando laughed, properly this time, all teeth and cackle. "Oh my god, cryptic bitch? Is that what you're calling me now?"

Max shook his head, rubbing his jaw like he still didn't quite believe it. "I had my suspicions, bro. I'm not gonna lie. After Fashion Week, the way Anna Wintour touched your knee like you were her intern or something, I knew something was off. I kept trying to figure it out, why the hell you were even there. Why Vogue gave you front row. Why Anna smiled at you. I thought maybe you were dating, like, Kendall or something. Not her."

Lando smirked and shrugged like he'd just gotten lucky at a blackjack table.

"So I made up the gift thing," Max admitted. "I just wanted confirmation."

"Classic Verstappen," Lando said, nudging him with his foot. "Pulling up to catch me in the act."

"You weren't even being secretive about it," Max muttered. "I saw your Home Screen. And her in your shirt. I just... I didn't expect it to be so real."

Lando nodded, quiet for a second. Then, "It is."

Max leaned back into the couch cushions, letting that sit for a moment. "She's good for you."

Lando's expression softened. "She really is."

They sat there for a few seconds, the sound of city traffic distant outside the window, the kind of Monaco summer lull that made everything feel suspended in time. Max fiddled with a bottle cap he found on the coffee table, then shifted a little, his tone dropping into something deeper.

"Can I ask you something?"

Lando looked at him. "Yeah?"

"I know I asked before," Max said, "but now that she's not here... just be straight with me. Like, how do you actually feel about her job?"

Lando blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Max went on, "she works with Victoria's Secret. Walks shows in literal fucking lingerie. There are photos of her on every corner of the internet with her tits practically out. Everyone knows she's got nipple piercings. Some of those outfits... I mean, bro."

Lando didn't say anything. Just waited, because he knew that wasn't the full question.

Max scratched the back of his neck, eyes on the floor. "How do you deal with it? The fact that everyone sees her that way? That every guy, and not just fans, I mean us, the grid—every one of us has, like, jerked off to her Instagram at some point?"

Lando huffed a laugh.

Max grimaced. "I'm serious. I've done it. I've shown you pictures of her before. I've sent you screenshots. I have her post notifications on, bro. I used to talk about her all the time. I'd see a new shoot and literally tell you I came to it."

Lando was grinning now. Not sarcastically. Not even awkwardly. Just grinning.

"And you're okay with that?" Max asked, confused.

"Yeah," Lando said. Simple. No hesitation.

"But, like- how?"

Lando sat up a bit, grabbing a nearby cushion and half-hugging it. "Because I get it."

Max raised a brow.

"Because she's hot," Lando continued. "She's sexy. She knows how to move, how to pose, how to fucking exist in a way that makes people lose their minds. I'd probably be jerking off to her too if I didn't get to do it with her."

Max blinked, scandalised.

"And you know what's even better?" Lando added. "She owns it. She's not doing it for validation. She's not spiralling. She's in control. And I know that after every photoshoot, after every show, after every 'omg her tits' tweet, she's coming back to me. I know every inch of her. Not the Instagram version. The real one. The one who vapes cherry ice while editing Vogue covers in her underwear. The one who cries at MasterChef finals. The one who wraps her arms around me in the middle of the night and mumbles about how lucky she feels."

Max sat quiet. Processing.

"And it's not like I don't notice the comments," Lando added. "Of course I do. The zoom-ins. The pixel analyses. The threads of 'whose lap is this'. Pierre's horny ass DMing her Stories like he's slick. Oscar and Carlos with her notifications on. I know."

"And you don't care?"

Lando shook his head. "Nah. Because they only get the fantasy."

Max looked over at him, understanding slowly dawning.

"I get her," Lando finished.

The room went still again, just the low hum of the AC and the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Max let out a soft laugh. "Fuck, bro. You're, like... emotionally evolved."

"Don't tell anyone," Lando smirked.

Max rolled his eyes. "I still remember when you used to eat Doritos off the floor in karting garages."

"Character development," Lando quipped.

A beat passed. Max tossed the bottle cap into a bowl like a basketball shot. Missed.

Then he looked back at Lando. "Does she know?"

"Know what?"

"That you talk about her like this. That you're this gone."

Lando gave the softest smile, the kind that curled at the edges like a secret. "She knows."

Max grinned too. "You're so fucked."

"Tell me something I don't know."

They both laughed.

The Monaco night sat thick outside the windows, the sea humming in the distance, and Lando and Max were two beers in on the oversized cloud-grey sofa, barefoot, sprawled out, Mario Kart menu music still looping softly in the background, controllers abandoned on the table. Lily was gone. Just the boys now. No filters. No PR training. No fans. Just two drivers who'd bled side by side through every inch of this sport since they were kids. And now? Now they were unravelling the biggest secret on the grid.

Max leaned back, arms stretched over the back of the couch, a smirk playing at his lips. "So," he drawled, voice low and smug, "How the fuck did you pull Lily fucking James?"

Lando laughed, fully, like the kind of laugh that shook his chest and had him leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I didn't pull her. I... met her. She was just- just this fucking girl, man. This girl in a coffee shop with no seat and I offered her mine, and we sat together, and we talked, and suddenly it was two hours later."

Max raised a brow. "And?"

"And I saw her again," Lando shrugged, like it was that simple. "Then again. And again. And she kept showing up, and eventually she just... didn't leave. And I didn't want her to."

Max blinked. "And then you asked her out?"

Lando scratched the back of his neck. "Kinda. I think I asked her to be mine after we'd fucked for like, the fourth time. We were on a walk, nothing cheesy or romantic."

Max shook his head in disbelief, smiling to himself. "Fucking hell. So how many of her shows have you actually been to?"

Lando smirked. "In person? Too many to count. Watched at least fifteen livestreamed. But like, I'm always backstage. Anna makes space for me. Has someone hold her vape and everything." He looked proud. "Got to watch her change once mid-show. She was yelling about a broken strap while some poor assistant had their head between her thighs trying to fix it. I was just standing there, and she didn't even flinch."

Max looked half-shocked, half-impressed. "Anna as in Anna Wintour?"

Lando nodded. "Yeah. She's the only other person allowed to boss Lily around besides me."

Max whistled, then dropped his voice. "Okay but like... how do you actually feel about it? The shows. The lingerie. The nipple piercings being public knowledge. Everyone knowing what she looks like naked except that they don't know."

Lando paused. Thought for a long moment. Then spoke softly. "I love it."

Max's eyes widened.

"I love watching her walk out there like she owns the fucking world," Lando continued. "And I know she's wearing next to nothing, I know everyone's staring, jerking off to it, fantasising. And you know what? I like that. Because at the end of it, she's coming home to me. She peels that lace off for me. She lets me touch her in the places they'll never know exist. She lets me ruin her."

Max gave a low chuckle. "So you don't get jealous?"

"Why would I? She's mine, Max. Like, fully. The stuff people say? Pierre sending me her thirst traps, Charles joking about dreams he had of her? You think I care? You think I don't go home and tell her? She laughs. Sometimes she makes them worse just to wind me up. But she's only ever been for me."

Max shook his head. "Alright then. Respect." There was a beat of silence before Max asked, quieter now, "What about her... lifestyle?"

Lando looked up. "You mean the coke?"

"Yeah. That, the nights out, the shit the media says."

Lando took a deep breath. "I won't lie, sometimes it worries me. Like, when she hasn't slept in two days because she's bouncing between castings and fittings and photoshoots, and I know she's only vertical because someone handed her a bump of something backstage... it fucks with me. I want her to rest. I want her to slow down. But she's wired different. She's driven, and when you're at the top like she is? You survive by any means necessary."

Max didn't respond, just let him keep going.

"And she never hides it from me. If she's gonna do something, she tells me. No secrets. I've picked her up high before. I've held her hair back. I've kissed powder off her gums. But it's not all the time. It's not out of control. And I'd rather know she's safe than pretend it's not happening."

Max gave him a long, evaluating look. "That's actually... mature."

Lando snorted. "I know. Who'd have thought."

Another pause. Max looked at him again, cocked his head. "So what's she like? Y'know... in bed."

Lando blinked. Then grinned. "You really want to know?"

Max nodded. "Obviously."

Lando chuckled darkly, voice dipping lower. "She's... fuck, she's perfect. She's soft and loud and obedient. She wants praise, craves it. She asks to be told she's good. She waits to come until I say. She falls apart for me like it's the only thing she's ever been meant to do."

Max's jaw dropped slightly. Lando continued. "She's so submissive, Max. Like, not performative. Like her whole body submits. She's not into being hurt, but she's into being used. Like, she'll wait kneeling in the bedroom just because she knows it gets me hard. She begs so sweetly. She's so fucking soft under me. It's insane."

Max was stunned.

"And the polaroids? We've got albums. Literally. Of everything. Threesomes with Jude, nights on the yacht, her backstage changing with my hand in her panties. It's not for anyone else. It's just for us. To remember how fucking real it all is."

"Fucking hell, man," Max muttered, genuinely overwhelmed. "You've built an entire life with her and nobody knows."

Lando nodded. "That's the best part."

There was a silence between them again. A kind of awe. Max finished the rest of his beer slowly.

"You're gonna marry her, aren't you?"

Lando didn't even flinch. "Already got the ring."

Max looked at him, mouth open.

"Not now," Lando said. "Not yet. But I've got it. Hidden in my sock drawer under the left side. I'll ask when she's ready. Or maybe when I am. But I already know it's her."

Max leaned back, sighing. "Alright. You win. You're living the best double life I've ever seen."

Lando smirked. "You're just jealous she likes me better than you."

"Shut up."

The sky over Monaco had shifted to a violet-tinted dusk, and the balcony was bathed in warm, golden light, the city glowing beneath them like a jewelry box cracked open. Max was slouched into the cushions, legs kicked out and bare feet propped on the coffee table, and Lando had pulled his knees up to his chest on the opposite end of the outdoor sofa. Two best friends, beers empty, sun sinking, the weight of the most sacred secret on the grid sitting between them like a sleeping animal.

Max let out a breath. "So..." He glanced over at Lando, eyes narrowed. "Are you ever gonna go public with her?"

Lando didn't answer straight away. He tilted his head back against the cushion and stared out at the sea. His brows furrowed, soft and tired. "Someday," he finally said. "But I don't know when."

Max studied him. "Why not now?"

Lando's mouth quirked, but there was no humour in it. "Because the second we do, it stops being ours. And it starts being everyone else's."

Max nodded. "Yeah... fair. But does she mind?"

"No," Lando said immediately. "She told me the decision's mine. She said she'll announce it if I want her to, or keep it secret forever if that's what I need. She's never pushed. Never even hinted."

"But do you mind?" Max pressed, voice gentle.

Lando looked down at the label on his beer bottle, rolling it slowly between his palms. "I don't think I mind the secrecy," he said. "But sometimes..." Lando's voice dropped. "Sometimes, yeah. I wish it was public."

Max raised a brow.

Lando stared out again, eyes tracing the sea. "I wish I could be front row at her shows. Not tucked backstage. Not ghosting in with Anna. There, in the crowd, clapping like a maniac. So when she walks back down the runway and the lights are still bright and the adrenaline's still running in her veins, I could stand up and pull her into a hug and everyone could see, that's my girl."

Max was silent, listening.

"I wish I could park in parc fermé, climb out of the car and know she's waiting just behind the barrier. I'd unclip my helmet and there she'd be, in my hoodie, no makeup, waving like she owns the place, and I could just walk over and kiss her."

He looked down, thumb scraping at the beer label now.

"I want people to see that. Not for PR. Not for stories. But because she deserves to be seen. Because she's been supporting me in secret for two years and sometimes I think she deserves to be on the fucking Jumbotron like all the other WAGs. Headphones on. Watching the data screen. Standing next to Stella with her vape tucked behind her ear."

Max smiled, eyes crinkling. "She's never been to a race, right?"

Lando shook his head. "Never. Doesn't really understand F1. She says it makes her head hurt. She's been backstage at every couture fashion week on the planet, but ask her what parc fermé is and she just blinks at you."

"Do you guys talk about it?" Max asked.

"Yeah. A few times. She's told me outright she'll cancel anything, fittings, shoots, meetings, the second I ask her to come to a race. She said she'll get on the jet in pyjamas and fly anywhere I need her. But she also said she won't go unless I want her to."

"And... do you?" Max asked quietly.

Lando took a deep breath. "I think I do. I think I'm ready."

He set the beer down gently on the table and rubbed his face with both hands.

"I was going to ask her to come to Silverstone."

Max blinked. "You serious?"

"Yeah. But I don't know," Lando admitted. "I keep going back and forth. I was going to wait until the day before I fly to the UK to ask her. In case I change my mind. Or in case she's got something big that week and I don't want her to cancel for me."

"Mate..." Max looked almost amused now. "She'd fly to you if you broke a nail."

Lando laughed, because yeah, she would. She'd fly to him with a first aid kit in one hand and a middle finger for the media in the other.

"But it's Silverstone," Lando said, quieter now. "It's home. It's where I grew up watching this sport. Where I first dreamed of being here. Where I first saw myself in the fucking papaya. And maybe it's the place I want her to see me. Really see me. In my world. The way I've been in hers."

Max was quiet for a long moment, then gave a small nod. "Then ask her."

Lando smiled. "I will."

Another silence fell between them. Comfortable. Heavy with everything that had been said and everything that didn't need to be.

"So," Max said eventually, "What's the plan now?"

Lando shrugged, standing. "We order pizza. Play FIFA. Maybe leak a fake rumour about me and some minor actress just to keep the timeline distracted."

Max grinned. "That's fucked."

Lando winked. "It's effective."

Max stood too, following him back into the apartment. "One last thing," he added.

Lando glanced over.

"If she comes to Silverstone, and she's standing in the McLaren garage, wearing your race number on her chest with a headset on and that smug little smirk on her face..."

"Yeah?"

Max grinned. "The whole grid's gonna lose their fucking minds."

Lando smirked. "Good."

The pizza boxes were empty. FIFA was paused on the home screen. The beer bottles stood sweating on the balcony railing as the last of the daylight faded from the Monaco sky, painting everything in the kind of dreamy blue haze that made it easy to forget the world outside. Lando was sprawled out again, his hoodie pulled over his head now, curls escaping at his neck, bare feet propped up on the table next to Max's. Max had one elbow hooked over the back of the outdoor sofa, body turned slightly toward his best friend like he was just casually navigating the single most unhinged conversation he'd ever had.

"Are you going to her next show?" Max asked, like it was a normal question. Like Lily James wasn't doing every major couture runway in Europe with her nipple piercings glittering under god's lighting while most of the men on the Formula 1 grid shamelessly drooled over her.

Lando glanced at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. "No," he said with a sigh. "I can't."

Max raised a brow.

"She's doing seven shows next week," Lando added. "In four countries. In six days."

Max blinked. "What the fuck?"

Lando laughed under his breath, dragging a hand through his curls.

"She leaves Tuesday," he said. "Flying to Milan first. Dolce & Gabbana on Tuesday and Wednesday."

"Solid start," Max muttered.

"Then she flies to Paris Wednesday night, straight after the Milan show ends, for Chanel. One show only. Then onto London, that same night."

Max blinked again. "Wait-"

Lando nodded, already smirking. "Yup. Private jet, middle of the night. She's got fittings and press on Thursday and Friday, then another flight Friday morning, back to Milan for Valentino."

"That's four countries already," Max said slowly.

"Not done," Lando said, like he was listing Lily's laundry, not fashion week hell. "After Valentino, she's heading straight across the city to walk Versace."

"Two shows in one day?"

Lando nodded.

"Is she Jesus?" Max asked.

"Honestly, I think she's just cocaine with legs at this point."

Max choked on his own laugh.

"Anyway," Lando continued, totally deadpan, "after Versace she's flying to Stockholm for Fashion Weekend there."

"That's Friday night, right?"

"Yep. Then Saturday night, she flies back to London for Alexander McQueen on Sunday."

Max stared at him, utterly stunned. "That's..."

"Six days. Seven runway events. Two full days of media and fittings. Four countries. Seven flights. Three outfit changes a day. Barely any sleep. A metric fuck-ton of pressure. And yeah, probably running off nothing but adrenaline and coke."

Max was still silent, mouth open. The TV flickered from the idle screen to black. Monaco buzzed faintly below. Somewhere in the penthouse, a clock ticked.

"She's insane," Max muttered finally.

"Fully unhinged," Lando agreed. "But she's never missed a cue. She knows what she's doing. And she thrives in chaos."

"Still..." Max narrowed his eyes. "You're okay with her doing all that alone?"

Lando tilted his head. "She's not alone."

Max raised an eyebrow. "You're not going, are you?"

Lando shook his head. "Can't. We've got Austria."

"Oh shit, yeah."

"But she's not alone," Lando repeated. "Kendall and Bella are doing the Dolce show with her. Barbara's meeting her in Paris. When she lands in London Wednesday night, Jude's joining her."

"Jude?" Max repeated, like he was confirming if Lando had just named another ex-boyfriend of Lily's.

Lando smirked. "Yeah. He's staying with her until she gets back to Monaco."

"Like, the whole time?"

"Pretty much. From Thursday night. He'll be with her for London, Milan, Stockholm, the whole thing."

Max blinked. "And you're... cool with that?"

"He's her best friend. He knows the deal. And she trusts him. I trust him too."

Max let that settle, watching Lando's face carefully.

"I asked him to," Lando said. "I didn't want her doing it all alone. Not with the pressure she's under."

"Damn," Max muttered. "That's love."

Lando smiled quietly. "He's gonna get her on the last flight out of London Sunday night. They'll land in Nice just after me."

"You planned that?"

"Of course," Lando said, voice warm. "I moved my flight. So we'd land at the same time."

Max looked at him, eyes narrowed. "You moved your flight?"

Lando shrugged, playing casual, but the little grin at the corners of his mouth betrayed everything.

"I want to be there when she gets back," he said. "Not after. Not an hour later. There."

"God," Max muttered. "You're so down bad."

"Fully submerged," Lando agreed, raising his bottle.

Max clinked his against it. "You're gonna marry her."

Lando didn't deny it. He just smiled.

It was nearly 1AM, and Max Verstappen still hadn't recovered from the last four hours of revelations.

He was standing in the middle of Lando's gaming room like a man who had just discovered god, or worse, love. One hand loosely holding a half-empty glass of whiskey, the other pressed into the back of his neck, eyes still flicking around like the polaroid-covered walls might start breathing. The triple-monitor sim rig behind him glowed faintly, idle. Lando had pulled the plug on their planned FIFA marathon an hour ago after catching Max still muttering "She muted Chanel, bro. Chanel." under his breath like a religious chant.

Lando was slouched in his massive gaming chair, legs kicked out, head resting back. Shirt half untucked. He was grinning lazily, because he knew this expression. Max had the same look Jude had the first time Lily walked into the penthouse in thigh-high boots and no bra. The look of a man permanently rearranged.

"I'm still trying to compute," Max muttered for the third time.

Lando laughed under his breath. "You've had four hours."

"Yeah, and four glasses of whiskey. I need another four."

Then they both heard it.

Click. Click. Click.

Soft and uneven, like someone had taken elegance and shaken it gently. The sound of heels across marble. Slower than usual. A little too rhythmic. A little too dangerous.

Lando's eyes snapped open.

Max turned toward the door. "Was that..."

Before he could finish, they both heard the voice. A sleepy, raspy lilt, so sweet it could rot teeth. "I'm never drinking that much champagne again."

Lando was already up. They met her at the top of the staircase.

And there she was. Lily fucking James.

Half-lidded eyes glowing under the hallway light, hair twisted into a lazy bun with strands falling around her face like art, her heels definitely too high for how slowly she was walking, and yet, not a single part of her looked dishevelled. She looked like the cover of a hungover Vogue special: Monaco's Angel At Midnight.

She spotted them both and beamed. "Hi," she said, like she wasn't a walking fever dream.

Lando moved first, wordless and soft, pulling a hoodie off the back of the nearby sofa. One of his, oversized and papaya orange with faded lettering. He tugged it gently over her head, guiding her arms through the sleeves like she was fragile. She giggled as it slipped past her lashes.

"Too hot," she whined softly.

Lando didn't reply. He crouched slightly in front of her, reaching beneath the hoodie, and with a few expert motions, unfastened the halter tie of her slinky silk top underneath.

Max's eyebrows shot up.

Lando looked at him. "Eyes somewhere else, mate."

Max lifted his hands in surrender, smirking.

Lily, tipsy and gleaming, just smiled. "It's okay. He's seen worse."

"Not the point," Lando muttered, folding the now-removed halter into his hand and slipping it into his pocket.

He stood again, adjusted the hoodie so it fell just right, long enough to cover her hips, then crouched again. This time, he slowly tugged her skirt down, inch by inch, revealing long legs and lace-trimmed underwear, though only briefly before he grabbed the fluffy throw blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped her up like a present.

"There," he said softly. "Perfect."

She blinked up at him, leaning into his side now, all quiet warmth. "You're so good to me."

Max watched them like he was witnessing an alien species.

Lando eased her down onto the sofa, pulling her legs up across his lap and adjusting the blanket to fully cover her thighs. She curled in like muscle memory, cheek against his shoulder.

Max finally cleared his throat. "Did you have a good night?"

Lily blinked, turned toward him slowly, eyes glassy but sharp. She made direct eye contact with Lando first. And then she gasped. Audibly. Mouth dropping open, eyes going wide.

Lando's brows lifted instantly. "What?"

She clutched his hoodie like she'd just remembered the meaning of life. "Oh my god."

"What?"

She looked between them. Max now looked half-amused, half-concerned.

Lily turned back to Max, narrowing her eyes.

"You can't tell anyone," she said, finger pointing at him dramatically.

Max blinked. "Okay?"

"No, like seriously." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "This is sacred."

Max glanced at Lando like he'd just been recruited into a cult.

Lando exhaled. "Lils, what did you find out?"

She turned to him, slow, predatory. Her smirk was wicked.

"Kendall's fucking Jude."

Silence. Max blinked. Lando didn't move.

Lily burst out laughing. "I'm serious!" she whispered, kicking her legs a little. "She told me in the bathroom. Swore me to secrecy. Said it's 'just casual' and 'nobody knows' and 'if the girls find out, she's dead.'"

Max's mouth opened. Closed. Then he choked out, "Kendall Jenner?"

Lily nodded like a giddy demon. "And our Jude. My Jude. Backpack Jude."

Lando groaned. "Jesus Christ."

"She said good in bed like I didn't already know. And that he calls her babe." Lily giggled again. "And now I can't unsee it."

Max blinked like he was trying to erase the visual from his mind. "I- that's- wow."

Lily turned to him, all devious delight. "You're sworn to silence, Max."

"I won't tell anyone," he promised, eyes still wide.

Lily hummed. "That's what Gavi said before telling Lila within 30 seconds."

Lando laughed.

"Don't be like Gavi," Lily added solemnly, wagging her finger.

Max placed a hand on his heart. "Never."

Lily melted back into the sofa with a sigh, fully blanketed again, her legs still resting in Lando's lap, her lips pouty, her eyes dreamy.

"I love our friends," she mumbled. "They're so unhinged."

"They're a hazard," Lando corrected.

"They're mine," she murmured, and fell quiet again.

Max leaned back in the armchair, still reeling. Lando watched her closely, running his hand slowly over her shin, checking for any signs of chill, discomfort, too much alcohol. But she was fine. Tipsy, warm, glowing. Still his.

"I need more champagne gossip in my life," Max muttered.

Lando just shook his head. Because this? This was normal. This was home.

His hoodie. Her legs in his lap. Max mildly traumatised. Kendall fucking Jude. The unfiltered madness of their world.

And somehow, it all made sense.

#f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 smut #lando norris #lando x reader #ln4 #mclaren #lando smut

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just-some-cat · 3 days ago

Text

Theory time!

deltarune chapter 3+4 spoilers

What/who is Ralsei? So far there's a few possible options:

1. Ralsei is an item like the rest of darkners (which one?)

2. Ralsei is a dead lightner like Gerson (who?)

3. Ralsei is an alive lightner

4. Ralsei is simply something the lore hasn't explained yet

There's a poll after the explanations, I'd love to know what you think!

---

1. Ralsei is an item:

If we assume Ralsei works by normal darkner's rules, with just possibly more power than the other Darkners so that he can be in any world without turning to stone, the question is which item?

We could assume it needs to be an item that has to stay consistently present in every location a dark world has been opened up in: easiest answer to this would be something that either Kris or Susie are always carrying around as those two are the only certain reoccurrences between the worlds, with Kris being a bit more likely on the count that Ralsei probably has some ties to their brother. There isn't much that we know for sure that Kris or Susie are always carrying around other than their clothing, Kris's cellphone, or most interestingly Kris's *knife*.

If Ralsei were Kris's knife it would feel... ill-fitting, but in a way that I could see Toby Fox pulling for the dark irony of it. Ralsei does have sharp horns at least, even if the rest of him is all soft and cuddly.

We don't actually have to assume Ralsei is something Kris/Susie are carrying though, because there is another reoccurring character in Rouxls Kaard that appears in multiple worlds (but not all), a card that... well, we don't actually know if Kris would take him with them in their pocket. Maybe. Maybe not. So him appearing in the dark world in Kris's house doesn't have an explanation yet. (Lancer meanwhile, was picked up by Kris to their pocket so his appearances are already explained). Outside of that, it seems like Ralsei lives in the school closet even when Kris and Susie aren't there. I think I remember a scene where Susie took Tenna to the school and met Ralsei there without Kris present - but I could be wrong. So maybe we can instead assume that darkners, or some specific darkners like Ralsei, can move outside of their own dark worlds without being physically carried there as objects. That'll lead us to believe Ralsei is simply an object in the school closet as that's where he lives, and that could be pretty much anything. A popular theory of course is that he's a drawing of Asriel or something else either depicting Asriel or owned by him. Or even a drawing of Kris's monstersona.

2. Ralsei is a dead lightner:

Gerson appears in chapter 4 as "not really a darkner", but also someone who cannot appear in the light world due to being dead. A dead lightner. Ralsei has told us that he can't come to the light world due to being a darkner - but we could assume that while "can't come to light world" was true, "because he is a darkner" was not.

Believing this theory you would have to assume that either Ralsei is lying or genuinely unaware of his true origins.

You would also need to look critically at his statement about "souls of dead loved ones will only appear in very specific dark worlds"; the statement seems to apply to Gerson, but it would not apply to Ralsei for whichever reason, as he has been seen in every dark world so far. This again alludes to him having special powers (because of his prince-hood?) or to him giving you incorrect information.

In any case, if we believe this theory, *who* would Ralsei be?

A dark answer could be that he *is* indeed Asriel, who had died while in college, without his family knowing about it. There are some difficulties to this theory however because Kris as his sibling has already shown to think they look very different from each other (Ralsei and Asriel) as well as how he would appear in town if he had died somewhere else.

An answer I would be more willing to believe is that he was an ancestor of the Dreemurr family. Perhaps someone buried under the school. With that, there would be a lot of reasons for him to resemble Asriel and have ties to him, while also being a different enough person that Asriel's sibling would know they're not the same at all. Perhaps he is a boy in their family who died young, and like Toriel, was devoted to the religion of "Deltarune", therefore knowing all about it.

I'm personally more willing to believe that in this case, Ralsei would have forgotten his past life as a lightner rather than lying about it. He does keep information from Kris and Susie - but he's never outright lied about something, rather just not said some things when he could have.

3. Ralsei is an alive lightner

Meaning Ralsei would be keeping his lightner-hood a secret.

This theory to me is the least likely because as I mentioned, I don't really believe Ralsei would outright lie to Kris/Susie especially to this extend, and if he were alive instead of a dead lightner, "not knowing about it" wouldn't really be possible. But that is based on my personal opinion of Ralsei's personality, so this should be explored anyway.

Being an alive lightner would solve some of the things that seem mysterious about Ralsei, such as him being extremely alike to a real a lightner (Asriel and the Dreemurrs in general) unlike the others darkners who's designs take inspiration from the objects they are in the light world. It would also let Ralsei move to any dark world without trouble - he wouldn't need special powers, he wouldn't need to be carried, he wouldn't turn to stone. The only thing he would need to do... is just be sneaky enough about it. Follow Kris/Susie in the light world to where the dark worlds are. Very un-Ralsei like behaviours tbh, as far as we know him.

Who could he be in this case? Again "Asriel" jumps up as a possibility and again, it's challenged by Kris's perception of Ralsei as different from Asriel. It could be... a secret brother that we were never told of and never saw? Who knows. Trying to ask the question of "who" makes this theory all the more unlikely to me as it would need to be a lightner who kept himself totally hidden from the others. Well, I guess the knight is another example of that...

4. Ralsei is something not yet explained

Half of the story in, there's still so much we don't know yet, that maybe whatever Ralsei is just hasn't been explained or showed to us yet.

One possibility could be a darkner that has no light-world item counterpart. But the possibilities are endless.

In which case... better luck next chapter?

---

Poll time!

I appreciate reblogs to get better results ^^

#ralsei #deltarune #asriel dreemurr #deltarune theory #deltarune chapter 4 #deltarune chapter 3 #the knife and the ancestor are my pet theories and I haven't seen them anywhere else yet #even though i don't think the knife is likely at all #it's still a fun idea

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 4 hours ago

Note

I'm sitting here looking at my glasses and thinking... what if our beloved cursed boy becomes glasses? that greatly impair vision?

who did he piss off? I have no idea. Maybe some wizard optician. Makes magic glasses.

hmm... someone in the background mentioned an AI vacuum cleaner... and we have some leftover Stan-Vac products. It's not like a dissatisfied customer could be a wizard, right? :)

this guy is forever cursed to be a cursed animal/object due to the fandom's peculiar imagination.

I hope you had a nice day!)

Stan refuses a pair of glasses, because he is NOT! a nerd, and the price this whacko is asking is way to high, then gets cursed to be his own pair when he mockingly says he's got a perfectly good pair of peepers.

Stanglasses make anyone who wear them see with his shitty prescription. Ford picks him up because they're the only pair the shop has in a style he likes after he busts his last pair, figures he'll just get the glass switched out, problem solved.

Humor says he can't, and gets way too invested in trying to get this one pair of glasses to unscrew so he can put in new lenses. He refuses to change his style because Gravity Falls lack of options. Shenanigans happen, Stan freaking out at how deranged Ford is getting with his 'solutions' until Ford realizes the glasses are cursed, happily uncurses them, then gets hit with Stan scrambling away from him because 'wtf Ford who uses a drill on glasses. do you know how terrifying that was?'

Angst says he can, and Stan gets horrible glasses eye surgery, then lives on Fords face while internally hyperventilating at his new 'eyes'. Maybe whoever wears Stan he can subtly manipulate the longer the person wears them. Ford wakes up in places he wasn't before, in the middle of writing about anomalies suddenly starts help over and over, or just aaaaaaaahhh. Very strange. Worse when he starts writing Stan's name.

Comes to the point where Ford realizes he can't control his body anymore, and it just stops and starts hyperventilating, touching things and trying to talk, before grumbling, slamming open his journal, and writing 'help I'm stuck in the glassess its-"

And then Fords back in control, slamming the journal closed and snatching his glasses of his face. Does a bunch of tests (squinting), figures out they're cursed, cautiously uncures them, and then bam! There's Stan.

His eyes are a different color. They're a different color because Ford switched his eyes out.

Onto the vacuum :)

Stan sells a shoddy vacuum to a wizard, gets cursed for his troubles and shoved back into his car, and can only be uncursed if someone gets it to work as intended. Ford gets Stan's car, cleans it out, looks at all his junk, and shoves it in a closet.

Stan is not staying in a closet.

Its sucks and feels awful, but he can move without being plugged in. Rams the door until Ford lets him out, just to watch this terrible vacuum flop over. Nothing else is in there, maybe really fast gnome?

Vacuum is still on the floor, and Ford shrugs. Might as well, he hasn't cleaned in a while, and then when Stan finally shows up Ford can berate him about his terrible products with accuracy.

Stan is a terrible vacuum, makes weird noises, only picks up half the dirt, got a rug stuck in him, scratched up Fords floor. Back to the closet he goes, angrily.

Then back out. Ford has to know how Stan made a vacuum so awful and fix it so he can shove it in Stan's face. Stan gets the horrifying feeling of being repaired as a vacuum, and at least? He can't feel it? Fords grumbling and smack talking him, but whatever, he's gonna get out of his hair the moment he has legs.

Ford somehow makes this vacuum worse.

He doesn't know how he did it, Stan has even less of an idea, but Ford plugged him in and Stan went out of control, ramming into things with a suction power of a tornado.

Does this several times, before finally caving and calling Fiddleford about it, getting instructions over the phone and finally making a normal, working vacuum.

Plugs it in, very nicely vacuums the floor and then is vacuuming Stan's back as he finally pops back into existence. Ford stares, Stan groans, the vacuum kinda feels good on his back?

Then they yell about it, as they do.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #angst #stan the curse man

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sepia-stained-sunset · 3 days ago

Text

“I am in the prime of my life”

“Uh huh”

“I am”, Suga insists, trying to clear his throat and wipe his running nose as discreetly as possible. He doesn’t succeed in the least.

“ Uh huh ”, Daichi replies, only half-listening, busy digging through the medicine cabinet in their bathroom, “hey, where’s the thermometer?”

“Next to the cotton balls”, Suga answers reflexively, muttering a curse under his breath as Daichi buries his head in the cabinet, a grin spreading across his face.

It seems that never knowing where the things in his own home are located comes in handy sometimes. He’s clearly conditioned Suga into shouting out directions for him whenever he asks for the kitchen scissors or the vinegar bottle or, in a particularly embarrassing instance, the glasses that had been perched on his face.

“Open up”, he orders as he approaches Suga’s bed, pressing the power button on the thermometer. Being roommates for so many months probably means that Daichi’s been trained into enabling Suga too, an equal exchange.

“Well”, Suga begins, sitting up against the headboard, “it all started when I was ten and- blegh ”

Case in point, Daichi had known that the second he gave him an opening, Suga would leap at the chance to be annoying for the sake of it, letting him stick the thermometer in his mouth without struggle.

Suga goes almost cross-eyed glaring up at him as he waits for the beep.

“You are a very bad man”, he informs Daichi, “a cruel, cruel, bad man”

“No fever”, Daichi confirms, tuning out the complaints with practiced ease, “it could still be the flu though. We’ll only know if you start throwing up or something”

He pauses. If he could help it, Suga wouldn’t be throwing up at all, but since it’s looking pretty much inevitable, he should probably minimize the damage to their shared living space. Suga probably wouldn’t be able to make a run for it in time. Just the littlest bit of movement seems to have sapped him of his strength, his eyelids drooping like he’s going to fall asleep where he’s sitting up.

“I can’t believe the kids betrayed me like this”, Suga says, clearing his throat again, “eight year olds are so cruel”

“I thought I was the cruel one?”

A sick Sugawara Koushi is not really funny, but he is a little bit entertaining. Daichi’s had years to get to know him, every shade. Everything from the way his hands shake when he’s nervous to the way he gets so pouty and clingy when he’s taken down by a bug.

In sickness and in health , he thinks to himself, and that’s not really funny either, this big, giant, idiotic, unrequited crush he’s harbouring on his best friend who he eats breakfast with every morning, but it’s hard not to feel a burst of affection when Suga is blinking up at him sleepily, clearly staying awake through willpower alone. Even though he’s a total wreck right now, even though Daichi is definitely going to catch whatever bug he’d brought back from the school, he still makes Daichi’s heart beat double time just by looking his way.

“You’re cruel, they’re cruel, the whole universe is cruel”, Suga declares, slipping under the covers again. The lights have been dimmed, but he should probably just switch them off if they’re hurting his head, “I hate kids”

“You don’t mean that. You love your kids”, he chides. It had been just another arrow through his heart, the way Suga loved his classroom and the way they adored him back tenfold. He’s heard Suga recount how some of the kids refused to be picked up from school at the end of the day, bawling that they’d rather stay back and continue doing crafts and reading time with their favourite teacher, more times than he can count. Of all the people to love from afar, he’d gone and picked the warmest person he’s ever known, and then moved in with him to boot.

“I’d love them more if I didn’t fall sick every time they did”, Suga grumbles. His voice is hoarser than it was last night. It’s clearly getting worse.

“Count yourself lucky that you didn’t bring back head lice or something”, Daichi weighs his options, “do you want a waste paper basket or for me to stay?”

Suga cracks his eyes open, glaring, “Daichi. You can’t skip work for me”

“I can get someone to cover for me, and I have some sick days I haven’t used yet”

“Sick days you’ll probably have to use once you catch whatever this is”, Suga points out sensibly, “you know you shouldn’t skip work. There's probably tons of murders that need solving”

“I mean, I hope not”, Daichi says, dithering. It’s stupid, but he knows how much Suga hates being left alone when he’s sick. It would suck for him to be in pain and have to deal with it himself.

“What?” Suga groans as he remains rooted to his spot by his bedside, “I’ll be fine. I’m probably just going to sleep through the day”

Daichi moves the waste basket from where it’s stowed under Suga’s study desk, placing it next to where he’s laying in bed. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. Suga’s obviously been sick before and he hasn’t died yet. Still, the thought of him throwing up with no one to rub his back or get him water is kind of sad. And Daichi wants to do it. Maybe that’s what it comes down to. The domesticity of it, that he wants Suga to feel better. That he wants to be the reason Suga feels better.

“Oh my god”, Suga sighs, clearly unimpressed by the way he’s hovering, “come here”

Daichi obeys. Suga leans to the side and for a second, Daichi worries that he’s about to have sick splattered across his feet, but all he does is pull open his bedside drawer and yank out a sticker sheet.

“Here”

Suga slaps a gold star on his arm haphazardly, “If you go to work and don’t spend all your time at the station worrying about me, you can keep this. If you don’t, then I take it back”

Daichi can’t conceal his laughter, adjusting the sticker so it won't fall off immediately, “You’re so-”

“Incredible? Amazing?” Suga interjects, eyes fluttering shut again, “Sleepy? Why yes, I am, thank you for noticing. Please turn the lights off when you leave”

So that’s his dismissal then. But if Suga’s sure he can handle this, then Daichi can trust him enough to go to work with a clear head. He fiddles with the sticker on his arm, smiling down at it.

He isn’t going to dwell on whether or not Suga is feeling better, but he is going to think of how adorable he is, the way time with him feels toffee-sweet, and he thinks that’s an acceptable workaround to Suga’s parameters.

He has to rush to make it to the station on time, but it’s fine. He’s determined enough to deal with most anything today. After all, he has a sticker to earn.

#sometimes you just have to write sickfics of your blorbos on random Friday nights #daisuga #daisuga fic #sawamura daichi #sugawara koushi #haikyuu ficlet

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sleepysloth99 · 3 days ago

Note

Hi!! Could you do Persona 5 Royal headcanons with the thieves finding out reader has a palace? Thank you!

For sure! But I cannot say much for Kasumi since I never finished the game. I'll do my best, though!

Akira:

He... was shocked. How couldn't he be? His partner had a desire so distorted that they have an entire palace dedicated to them. He would be more cautious, telling the team to be careful of doing any damage to the palace in fear of it internally damaging you in some way. Some part of him can't even believe what he is seeing until he saw your shadow. All he could do is stay calm and rational for the team for everyone's sake, including his pride. But be it known, he will do everything to steal your heart and prevent a mental shutdown even if it's the last thing he does. He'll keep you in the dark for now, but he will confront you later on.

Ryuji:

The first thing he does when he comes back to the real world is confront you. Be it over text or in-person, he is feeling so many emotions. He's terrified that you harbor such darkness, he's angry that you never told him anything, and he's just so... so sad that you have this predicament. He is the one who will act the most irrational and would have to be monitored by the team. Regardless, he will still love you, at least he thinks so.

Morgana:

He was as surprised as he was absolutely determined to steal your heart. He'll be keeping an eye on you in-person for any changes in mood or behavior and report it back to the group. If you yourself are a phantom thief, meetings will be organized without your knowledge and the Phantom Thieves will conduct a web of lies to keep you in the dark. He is strategic, cunning, and genuinely worried for your well-being.

Ann:

She was initially confused, why would you have a palace of all people? You're far too great of a person! Unless... it was all a front? Now, now she's scared. She wants to cry, but similar to Akira, she puts on her bravest face and explores the palace to steal your heart. She wants to see the good in you, she wants to give you the benefit of the doubt, she wants to make you confess, and she will do everything in her power to make sure you atone and/or confess while still keeping you safe. You are still her best friend/lover, but don't take her love for weakness or you'll pay it. After all, the beautiful rose has thorns.

Yusuke:

He stood there, mouth agape at the sight of your distortions. He could paint a portrait of your hopes, your dreams, your beauty as a person, but this... he couldn't even begin to sketch just what the hell was going on in your mind behind that sweet face of yours. He has been wronged before when he was Madarame's pupil, and he wears his heart beneath layers upon layers of armor. He has no one. He lost his mother, his father is out of the picture, his father figure saw him as a commodity, and now you.... he prays to whatever god exists--if there even if one--to spare him yet another cruel joke to be played upon him once more.

Makoto:

She has seen it before with her sister, and she can't possibly bare to see it again. Makoto, the "Fists of Justice," one of the cooler, calm, level-headed members of the Phantom Thieves, would ironically be one of the most biased and irrational people in this situation. Even when she sees your shadow, or Heaven's forbid cognitive clones of her or anyone else, she will still stand there and try so hard to reason with the team or defend you. In the real world, she would try to get you to open up, insinuating that if you ever need anything, you could talk to her or anyone else in the group. Surely, you must be innocent. You just have to be! If not... well, justice will prevail. Especially if it's the Phantom Thieves.

Futaba:

She's on edge, slurping away instant noodles in the real world or eating Sakura's curry while eyeing you from afar and typing away to the other members. In the palace, she will analyze every little thing to connect it back to you, she will study every shadow, and she will do everything to help you while still maintaining the code of the team. Since she had a palace before, she is one of the more empathetic members of the team in regard to you. Despite her sympathy, since she can't truly grasp your cognition, just your circumstances, she will still fight for justice even if it means putting you in jail if necessary.

Haru:

After everything with her father, she believes that anyone is capable of being evil.... including you. As much as it pains her to think it, she knows in her heart that you're only human. Humans are greedy, lustful, sadistic, cruel, and depraved creatures. You are just as capable of being awful as she and everyone else she knows is. She is far too passive to address this to you in-person, but she might send a text asking if everything has been okay. Similar to Morgana and Futaba, she will start to pay closer attention to you in-person. Expect her to show up with vegetables as an excuse to monitor see you Kasumi:

She... doesn't feel like she really has any room to judge. Who doesn't have a few skeletons in their closet? But... if you're out there, harming people, she absolutely has to do something to stop you. It just isn't right! If you helped her find her true self... she returns the favor and help you do the same or face yourself! She's with you till the very end, even if you aren't. Akechi:

Also, not the type to have a high horse considering his secrets... similar to Akira but unlike Ryuji, he will address the situation to you in-person in a calm manner. Out of everyone in the group, he is most likely to hear you out before pursuing the palace. If you give him any aggression or difficulty, he will have one more reason to explore the palace. If you're on his team, he will still talk to you, but he'll avoid saying anything to aggravate you so he could execute his plan. No matter what his father says... he won't cause a mental shutdown for you... at least, he hopes so.

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dangermousie · 9 hours ago

Text

youtube

Ok time for a drama rec. It’s from 2020 so right before stricter rules came down and is a great example of idol, woman centric historical that is not super complex but really scratches the itch because it’s less hobbled by many rules.

Set entirely in Khitan (which already makes it more interesting to me because that’s not a setting used often), this has more in common with the two Dugu dramas or even Female Prime Minister in terms of period girl power dramas because they are all set in the world of the court. The recent restrictions appear to have confined female centric narratives to the world of trade and to me that is usually much less interesting. This has women but also actual politics and battles and blood!

Anyway, what is it about? Tang Yan is one of three daughters of a powerful Khitan noble. She is free spirited and spunky in “only in cdrama heroine” way (but that calms down a lot - she remains strong but she is very soon not immature - the drama allows her growth, in part because in less sanitized world, it’s dangerous to be spunky and naive.)

She falls in love with Khitan-dwelling Han noble Han Derang (Shawn Dou, providing some of the delightful eye candy in this drama) but is forced to marry the ruler. Because it’s a somewhat older drama (it kills me a little to say that! It came out in 2020!), there is years of that marriage and sometimes it’s good and often it’s bad. Eventually, as in history, he croaks and she becomes the ruler in her own right.

So why is this good?

1. It’s beautifully filmed and the setting is not common for cdramas. I love the cinematography, the steppes, the clothes, the hair.

2. It’s strongly female centric without short changing its male characters. The narrative revolves around the three sisters and the men are very much supporting but they are allowed to be complex and live not just as plot devices for their women - the emperor(s) are fascinating, the girls’ men same. It helps that they actually all look adult!!!!

3. The complexity it gives to the other two sisters. It would be very easy to make them passserby or even villains in FL’s story but they are not. One of them is ambitious and shallow and so is her husband but their love for each other is very very true and it’s surprising to watch - in many a narrative he’d trick her into marriage due to her clan and she’d blindly love a dude who couldn’t care less. But here you get her devotion! He’s a bad seed and not that bright but his love for her is true! And the oldest sister has a great arc and in a different drama would be the protagonist. Both her marriage to a blunt, smart warlord who cherishes her and her widowhood fling with a younger, class inappropriate man are handled so well (and once again, the latter breaks expectations - he is not using her for power or at least that’s not all. He loves her truly.) And their struggles for power are interesting as hell. Of course, FL is the forgiving holy mother blah blah but it feels less cloying in this type of narrative.

4. If you don’t feel for Xiao Chuo and Han Derang, you have no heart. Refusing to step aside even for his “bro,” but forced to anyway, the drama actually sold me on why they’d have a flame for each other through compelled marriages to other people. And because it’s an idol historical (but also because that happened in RL!) they finally get their happy ending so you don’t need to feel too bad.

5. In this world, characters play for keeps. None of that sanitized safety. One of my favorite characters gets castrated oh the whim of the mad ruler and there is fallout from that…

Anyway, is it a masterpiece? No, but to me it’s a hell of a lot better than all the modern girl power in period setting narratives. She does not need a powerful man to help her set up a shop. She’s got an army!

#Youtube #cdrama #legend of Xiao Chuo #the legend of Xiao Chuo

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sorbetjellyisathing · 1 day ago

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been thinking of a demon slayer X gravity falls au… by that I mean like…

what if Muzan Kibutsuji (the demon king) made a deal with bill cipher in order to conquer the sun?

(Sorry for the bad image quality!)

In one last attempt at surviving the Hashira’s attacks, Muzan curses Bill’s name and makes a deal with him! the deal is something along the lines of: “Demon king, buddy, ol’ pal, I’ll give you your stupid spider lily or whatever and you give me a flesh stick of yours to control… also help me cross to earth!” And that happens.

More under the cut!

[Fun fact: Demon slayer takes place around 1912-1926, I’m pretty sure! At least… thats what everyone thinks]

Although, pretend this deal happens at least five decades before the events of Demon Slayer take place. (Which means, haha, it NEVER happened!)

After muzan makes a deal with bill, he’s presumed dead by the demon slayer corporation and the corporation disbands because muzan disappears!

its only years later that in the 70-80’s, demons have made their way to gravity falls due to it being sustainable for them to survive and live there without much speculation and suspicion from the public. Muzan still stays in japan, but can go anywhere due to the infinity castle :>

side note: upper moons & lower moons are disbanded as well because muzan’s powerful!

although, theres one issue with staying in gravity falls: once you go in, YOU CANT GET OUT. For some… magical reasons i guess

and unfortunately, this has happened to the demon king.

OKAY. ONTO THE FUN PART EVERYONE WANTS TO HEAR: THE PINES!!!!!

Everything goes as normal, except, when ford goes to gravity falls…

he still studies the supernatural like in canon but… demons. Demons EVERYWHERE! And because muzan made a deal with bill, he demanded that bill find a way out. So bill does so.

bill appears in fords dream, yknow… like in canon. But instead of asking for a portal, he asks ford to make a blood extraction machine in order to get demon blood for muzan… or errr… yeah im not sure why… pls help (bill also asks to burn down any wisteria trees/j)

so ford decides to do it all in the name of advancing his research in this specific area of study!

he calls up fiddleford…

Yeah uhhh. That happens.

fiddleford doesnt question it he just… goes with it? Eh. Whatever in the name of science!

also during fords period of research, he meets a guy mamed akito (MY DEMON SLAYER OC :D) who was a swordsmith and used to make nichirin blades

(Ford doesn’t listen)

shortly after leaving, fiddleford and ford are told by akito to beware of demons as theyre pretty manipulative.. theres probably a few cults in the outskirts of gravity falls and also use wisteria to ward off demons

(bill tells ford its bad for him… as in bill)

anyways, fast forward a bit. they finish the blood extractor!

altho, right after testing, they both watch as the demon they extracted blood from tries to kill fiddleford… yeah. That didn’t go too well. Fiddleford gets traumatized and runs away.

so, after those events, ford confronts bill about the whole ordeal and bill reveals what was really going on… DUNDUNDUNNNNNNN

Ford goes crazy, cant sleep because he’s traumatized, and then finds stan to hide his journals because he found out that… HEY! DEMOMS ARE GONNA COME TO HIS HOUSE AND BILL!!!!

they fight iver it in the basement, ford accidentally brands stan with the symbol like last time, AND THEN FORD GETS STRAPPED DOWN BY EXTRACTOR THINGY???? WUH OH!!!!

stan tries and fails to turn it off, but the blood is injected into ford’s veins… and then ford quickly escapes after a short while and tries to eat stan… which stanley stops him from doing so!

so. Now stan’s left with a vampire-demon brother. Great. With his brother half conscious, he seals him in the basement (and occasionally checks on him), then turns the shack into the mystery shack.

also stan finds out that ford can talk with him with paper, a bit of words, but slurred mostly. Ford feels like a toddler… :( [this happens after stan gets ford somewhat back into his senses]

Uhhhh… yeah. then the rest pretty much consists of stan trying to find a cure for ford through trial and error (he does meet lady tamayo and yushiro!)

everything else is pretty close to canon, except i sprinkle in some of my own personal cult plot stuff that i tend to add to my demon slayer aus? ill make a second post explaining what happens during summer, cuz this post is way too long already 😭🙏 ANYWAYS LET ME KNOW WHAT YALL THINK COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

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luneengene2 · 11 hours ago

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SHE SUFFERS MORE

• Warnings : character is in the same timeline as Harry Potter (Seventh year), mention of murder, angst (breakup, slander) self harm, Riki is quite toxic and Redflag here, Inappropriate and quite rude words, Bullying, mentioning the assault, blood, Grammar errors, typos... Let me know if I missed any alerts

• words : 7,5+

Betrayal. An act that can make anyone who is betrayed will definitely find it difficult to forgive what has happened to them. And that was experienced by Nishimura Riki. Descendant of one of Japan's most powerful wizards.

And all of this was done by the people closest to his parents, people he trusted so much. Because their dirty play was discovered directly by his parents, Riki saw with his own eyes his parents being killed by a death curse.

And the ones who killed his parents were his future in-laws. Yes, your parents. Your parents committed a large-scale betrayal to Mr. and Mrs. Nishimura. When their evil deeds were discovered, your parents killed Riki's parents to protect themselves from the magical authorities of two countries at once.

But, of course it is easy to reveal. Because the key witness to the incident is still alive, Riki. Riki was only sixteen years old at that time, so of course he would have been very shocked when he saw his parents killed, killed along with their future in-laws. Your parents failed to kill Riki, because Riki wasn't stupid. Even in such a critical situation, he managed to send a Patronus to the Auror Office to save the chaos.

Speaking of in-laws, your parents are indeed Riki's future in-laws. You and Riki have been best friends since childhood, you grew up together, and in your teenage years, that love has grown. Mr. and Mrs. Nishimura chose you as their son's future wife, because to them, among the daughters of their other colleagues, you were far more suitable for Riki.

But who would have thought, even though you were so loved by Mr. and Mrs. Nishimura, your parents actually repaid their kindness by betraying them because they wanted higher power.

Your parents' crimes certainly have a huge impact on your life line. Riki, you and him who were once inseparable, are now like oil and water. It will be difficult to unite. Riki hates you. So much. Every time he sees your face, it's like he sees your parents who cruelly killed his parents. He ended your relationship unilaterally, he even forgot that you and he had ever been in such a serious relationship.

After that incident, he did meet you, cut off all ties with you, and withdrew from you. He walks away from you, not wanting to deal with you anymore. He may hate you, but that doesn't mean he wants to hurt you. He's staying away from you because he doesn't want to hurt you. Because, according to him, if you and he 'deal' with each other again, he is afraid that he will do something that could hurt you even further.

But you didn't give up. Even though Riki hated you so much and didn't want to see you hanging around him, you still tried to reach him. Even if it's just to hear "I forgive you". You even routinely wish him a happy birthday, give him gifts. Even though you know it's useless, because Riki will end up throwing them away.

///

You hold the paper tightly in your hand, two names for your graduation project group have come out. In Potions class, Professor Snape paired you with Riki. You didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse. You are happy, you have the opportunity to be close to him, even hoping to rekindle the relationship that he broke off. But on the other hand you are afraid, very afraid. He still has a great grudge. It will only end with your heart being stabbed because of what he might say about you.

However, you must remain strong. You must graduate with perfect grades, to repair your damaged name. Even though your parents are serious criminals, at least you can prove that you are still great without their support. So, whether you like it or not, you have to follow the flow that the professors have determined for your grade needs.

"Ahaha, that girl? Oh my Riki, what a terrible fate you have," You looked up and looked to the front right, Draco Malfoy was giving Riki a mocking look after he found out who his partner was in the potions project. Riki, who was in front of him, immediately grabbed the paper that was in that blonde weasel's hand. "Too bad you have to be paired with the daughter of the criminal who killed your own parents. That damn Snape, he's really too much," You crumpled your robes with what Draco Malfoy said, making everyone (especially the Slytherins), look at you with mocking looks too.

"Be careful Riki, I can accompany you while you work on the project, I'm afraid you'll be hit by a death curse," Theodore Nott chuckled as he patted Riki's shoulder which made Riki immediately push that man quite roughly. "No need, I'm not a coward who can be easily defeated, besides who would want to be paired with that girl? I'll ask Snape to replace her," You closed your eyes, you had expected this. Surely Riki would ask for a change of partner for this potion project, he really didn't want to be near you as if you were really poison.

"Riki, I want to be with you. I don't want to be with Blaise, he's stupid! Just replace that girl with me!" You heard a girl's spoiled (more annoying) whining voice, she happened to be next to Riki, the girl flirtatiously hung on Riki's arm like a monkey. It would be a lie if you said you weren't jealous, you were jealous. Very much so.

You know that girl well enough, Joanna Cryz, a pureblood girl from a Rich family. The girl had been close to Riki like glue for almost half a year. And Riki didn't seem to mind or be bothered at all. He seemed to 'enjoy' the girl's presence by his side. As if that girl is your perfect replacement. Rumors are circulating that the girl is Riki's lover, even though Riki doesn't admit it. Riki did not try to deny or confirm the truth of the rumor, making everyone even more convinced that Joanna was indeed his new girl.

Seeing Riki treat Joanna 'almost the same' as what he did to you before, makes you feel jealous and hurt. But you have no rights over him anymore. Feeling jealous and hurt is useless, because basically Riki is no longer yours.

"I think that's a good idea. I'll try to convince Snape to replace that bitch with you," Riki said then put a green grape in his mouth and smiled faintly at Joanna, and that certainly made the Cryz girl act excessively. She hugged Riki tightly and even kissed him many times on the cheek. And Riki let it happen.

You could only look at it with a blank stare and a sore heart. It further proves that Riki did indeed easily forget you. He will never need you or even come back to you. His pain will never heal. You are now just an object that reminds him of his parents' tragic death, because you have the blood of the person who killed his parents.

///

You stopped in your tracks when three girls in the same uniform as you blocked your way to the toilet. One is beautiful, the other two are weird. Joanna, Pansy Parkinson, and Millicent Bulstrode. Joanna is a typical damn girl who can only bully weak people without friends with her idiot minions. But when she's alone, she's just trash who even uses her own wand sometimes stupidly.

"Get out of my way, you're blocking my way!" You said in a cold tone, trying to be nice. You didn't want to cause a scene, because it would definitely end up with you being the one getting criticized, even though you didn't start it.

"Miss, relax. We just want to have fun. There's nothing wrong with wanting to have fun with your friends, right?" Joanna chuckled, flashing her annoying fake smile.

"You are not my friends,” you said coldly, your gaze piercing into theirs as well, trying to intimidate them. Joanna immediately patted her head, acting as if she had just remembered something. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Me and the others can't possibly be friends with the murderer's daughter, afraid of dying stupidly," Pansy and Millicent burst out laughing after Joanna said that. To them, it was funny to bring down your self-esteem.

You tightened your grip on your sling bag, your jaw tightened when they said murderer's daughter. Your parents may be criminals, but that doesn't mean you'll follow in their bad footsteps. They said it as if you were the criminal.

"Listen, I just want to say something. You're not going to be on the same project as my Riki. Riki is trying to replace you with me. So, don't expect that you can try to get him back. Besides, I'm afraid you still hold a grudge because he put your trash parents in prison. I'm afraid, so afraid that my Riki will be killed by you," you clenched your fists, the inappropriate words seemed to damage your sense of hearing. Stabbing, painful, annoying.

"Yeah, it's fine if the murderer's daughter is replaced by a monkey," you said spontaneously, still with the same expression. The three girls in front of you glared when you said that. Especially Joanna, her face immediately turned bright red, ready to explode. The word 'Monkey' is definitely intended for her.

"What do you mean? You're calling me a monkey?!" You kept your expression even though the pupils of the girl who yelled at you were already wide. A sign that she was really going to explode right now.

"Isn't that a fact? You hang around Riki like a monkey every day. Monkeys like to hang around everywhere, and that suits your attitude," You said flatly, and right then, a hand flew to your hair. Joanna pulled your hair as hard as she could, she didn't accept being compared to an animal.

Joanna didn't even think you would say that to her. She forgot, after all, you were raised in a fairly arrogant pureblood upper class environment before your parents' scandal. Joanna forgot that she was facing a girl whose family was (once) almost on par with other upper-class purebloods, such as the Blacks and Malfoys even though it had collapsed before being helped by the Nishimura family. A rather arrogant upbringing that sticks and still has a 'resistance' side.

You pushed Joanna away easily, the girl fell to the floor. Your push was strong enough that Pansy and Millicent almost fell because Joanna hit them.

Joanna growled angrily, she immediately stood up even though her buttocks were quite sore, it felt a bit sprained.

"You really need to be taught a lesson so that you don't forget that your status is now lowly!" Joanna suddenly messed up her hair, making you frown in surprise. She pulled her green tie loose, yanking a few buttons so that part of her white shirt was missing a button. She even tore the bottom of her shirt, as if it was broken.

Pansy and Millicent did pretty much the same thing Joanna did. You still don't get why these three little bitches look like they've been robbed.

PLAK!

You stared in shock as the three girls suddenly slapped their own cheeks repeatedly. They did it for real, because their cheeks were red. The next second, Joanna took out a small cutter and she scratched her own lips with it, making it bleed a little.

"WHAT THE FUCK?! What are you doing, bitch?!" You exclaimed in panic, your brain immediately spinning perfectly that they were planning something crazy. Joanna didn't reply to you, instead she crazily slicing her left arm, bleeding quite a lot.

You glared in horror, but somehow Joanna could still smile, the girl seemed to have a mental disorder. "Pansy, call Riki here. You know what we're doing, right?" Without asking any more, Pansy grinned and went to find and call Riki to their place. Joanna knows, you are weak with what you see. You are not used to it.

Joanna took the opportunity, she pulled your right arm forcefully, and put it around her neck. And Millicent held your right arm tightly as well, preventing you from letting go. "You really went too far comparing me to an animal, I will make you really like a damn animal in Riki's eyes, Riki will really label you like your parents. Murderer!" You tried to remove your hands from Joanna's neck, but you couldn't because for some reason your body was weak. Plus, Millicent has super strong strength to hold your arm. Because you were also the one who kept moving, it also put a bit of pressure on Joanna's neck, as if the girl was actually being strangled.

You don't know what will happen next, you will get into bigger trouble. You already know, these three damn girls will ruin your reputation even more, especially in Riki's eyes.

BRUG!

Your body was pushed as hard as possible by someone until it hit the wall near you, as a result your hand was also released from Joanna's neck. You winced in pain as your body was thrown suddenly. Strongly too.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, YOU LITTLE WHORE!" A man's voice echoed through the hallway. You turned to find Riki holding Joanna as tightly as he could as if he was afraid of losing her. And it was quite painful.

Joanna, with her fake tears, immediately sobbed, she held Riki's shirt collar tightly. "Riki, she tried to harm me or even kill me and my friends," Riki turned to look at Joanna who was in his arms, he could see that the girl was very messy and chaotic. Looks scared too.

"Look. She even cut my hand, Riki," Joanna showed the arm she had cut herself and said it was because of you. Riki held the wound on Joanna's arm, seeing something like that, it was like bringing back his trauma. He hated wounds. Really hated them.

Riki looked at you who slowly stood up, he looked down and found a small cutter near your feet. Riki, who was overcome with emotion, immediately approached you, grabbed your shirt collar and pushed you until you hit the wall again, making you wince in pain.

"You really want to be like those ungrateful parents of yours by hurting Joanna and her friends, huh?!" You shook your head, your body shaking violently. At a time like this, Riki could hurt you with one quick thrust. And this was the first time, he might hurt you physically. All this time, he has been avoiding you not only because of trauma, anger, but also because he doesn't want to hurt you physically.

"No, Riki! This is a misunderstanding! I'm being slandered!" You cried, unlike Joanna, your tears were real tears. You were really scared and hurt. Your parents' problems even made you slandered quite sadistically.

"Slander you say? You're clearly attacking us just because of that damn jealous side of yours towards Joanna!" Millicent suddenly said that, girl was no less cunning than Joanna and Pansy. Riki turned to Millicent, the girl also looked very messy. And that further fueled Riki's anger. Not because he cared about Millicent, but because it reminded him of his late parents.

"It turns out to be true, the jerk nature of parents will be passed on to their children, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And you are an example, your hands are really disgusting, Y/N!” You swallowed, your cheeks starting to get wet with tears. You felt like disappearing from this world, because nothing would be on your side anymore.

"Riki, please. It's not like what they said, they're the ones who are—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Riki snapped at you, his hand moving to squeeze your wrist. Making you immediately yelp in shock and pain. "Stop defending your dirty self, it's useless. And it just proves that you're trash!" You tried to push Riki away, but you couldn't. He was that strong, plus his anger was boiling over. You were overwhelmed.

"I will make you know what your true position is!"

///

Because of that damn case, you ended up in a pretty heavy detention by Snape. He made you clean all the boys and girls toilets at night. Snape is also quite upset with you because the headmaster took away almost half of your house points because of your actions (which weren't really your actions) of harming your housemates. As a result, he gave you a heavy detention.

Not only that, you also get cursed at, insulted, and insulted almost every day. Your roommates almost every day make sharp comments and say bad things to you. Until you have trouble sleeping. Your parents' names are sure to be dragged into it, associating that you will grow up to be like them. Traitors, ungrateful, and capable of taking lives.

Your ears are burning hearing it every day, but you can't do anything. Even the professors can't stop the severe bullying you experience. It's hard to control that many students. Slytherin even considers you a disgrace for appearing.

CLANG!

You were shocked when suddenly the aluminum bucket filled with water that you were using fell beside you. You looked up and found Riki smiling mockingly at you. You were cleaning the boys' bathroom, Riki could be out at this hour because he was a HeadBoy.

"Sorry, I didn't do that on purpose," Riki chuckled and walked towards the sink, to wash his hands. You just clenched your fists and walked towards the other sink to fill up. Riki turned to look at you who was refilling the water in the bucket. "By the way, you are very suitable for this kind of lowly job. I'm guessing that when you graduate from Hogwarts you'll end up cleaning up for the ministry or some other agency, because no prestigious society will accept the daughter of a murderer. Moreover, you also have a history of problems at school, wanting to harm your friends," His tone was very friendly, but his words were filled with a sharp sarcasm.

"I never did what you said, Riki," you said with your blank stare fixed on him. Riki chuckled, he wiped his hands with a small towel. "Are you still defending yourself? Even though you are clearly guilty?" Riki raised his eyebrows, he walked towards you. "Absolutely no shame,"

"I'm innocent, they just plan to ruin my increasingly damaged name. Joanna, Millicent, Pansy, they hurt themselves and act like I'm the cause, Riki," Your voice was shaking, when you were faced with Riki like this, you always felt like crying loudly or screaming, saying as loudly as possible that you were not a bad person like your parents.

"They were sane girls, there was no way sane girls would want to harm themselves," Riki said that it further showed that he was indeed blinded by revenge and anger. He even forgot that the three girls were the kind of girls who could bully anyone they wanted.

"You've known me for more than ten years, but it turns out you don't really know me, Riki. You were blinded by those three bitches," You're fed up, and there's no harm in showing 'resistance', no one wants to be constantly put down like trash. Everyone doesn't know or even forgets that you are also suffering no less. You are far from your parents who are in prison in Azkaban, you can't see them. Your parents' actions also dragged you into a huge abyss of suffering, being branded as a child murderer and being inappropriately slandered.

"You know, I'm fed up too, Riki. Very fed up. I'm suffering too, very much. Far from my parents, dragged into problems I didn't do, slandered. Oppressed like trash, I received curses and insults. I'm suffering too, Riki. I don't want my life to be like this," you cried again in front of him, the tightness in your chest causing a sensation of deep pain.

Riki smiled bitterly, he turned his face away for a moment and poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his throat seemed to feel a little tight. "You suffering? What about me who can't see my parents forever, Y/N? My parents were killed before my very eyes by people I considered as my parents too. If you say you're suffering too, I'm suffering MUCH more, Y/N. Your suffering is a social sanction, but mine? My parents did nothing wrong, but I suffer," Riki tried his best not to cry, he held it in so he wouldn't look weak. This conversation was very sensitive and very painful for him, the image of his parents' death was clearly playing in his mind. He was only sixteen and had to face a huge betrayal in his life. And the son of that betrayer was now saying that she was suffering too.

Riki was completely blinded by revenge and anger, he didn't try to understand that the suffering he was experiencing was equal to what you were experiencing.

"You have to suffer even more than me, Y/N. You don't even deserve to be happy, because the suffering I've experienced has been my entire life," Riki said with a trembling voice, as did his lips. His voice was a bit choked as well to prevent the tears that were about to explode.

Riki walked towards the toilet exit, but he stopped in his tracks. Saying something that was no less hurtful than before. "But you will never be happy, even after leaving Hogwarts. Ah, maybe if you didn't become a criminal, being a prostitute in a brothel would suit you too, the trash would be your home,"

CLANG!

Riki stopped again when he was about to walk out. An aluminum bucket full of water hit his back and neck area, it hurt quite a bit and it also made him wet.

He turned to you with his fists clenched tightly. You had him on the verge of anger. When he turned around, he saw you giving him a glare even though your eyes were still watering. Your breath is coming in quick gasps, your jaw is clenched and your knuckles are turning white.

Riki approached you very quickly, he wanted to grab you roughly but you immediately punched him in the face until he almost fell and his nose immediately bled.

"I WON'T BE THAT BAD, RIKI! NEVER THAT BAD! I'M NOT A LOWLY WOMAN WHO WANTS TO BE A PROSTITUTE! YOU'RE TOO MUCH!" You cried hysterically and were very angry, Riki was too much. He said you were as if you were that low. Everyone has a limit to their patience, and you have passed that limit. You have the right to be angry, to defend your self-respect, because after all, you were not involved in the crimes your parents committed.

Riki couldn't believe what he had just experienced, he held his nose which was bleeding from your rather strong punch. Honestly, his head was a bit dizzy.

He looked up at you who were already wet with tears, your eyes were wide, but a hint of pain was still clearly visible. However, Riki is still Riki, who is still blinded by anger. "I shouldn't have just kept quiet, letting you remain in peace without my scolding because that made you even more impudent!" Riki smiled widely, he wiped the blood dripping from his nose. "Because I shouldn't have avoided you, I should have made your days hell from the start!"

"I never did anything wrong! Why should I have to bear the sins I didn't commit?! Don't you have a brain? Your brain is the same as that damn Joanna's monkey brain, Riki?!" You half-consciously insulted Riki quite sharply, and it also triggered his anger. With a force that you did not expect, Riki pushed your body until you hit the toilet floor quite hard.

"Criminals and their descendants should be in jail so they know what it's like to suffer. And you should be in jail so you know your damn position.Hogwarts is still kind enough to forgive a damn bitch like you! If I were headmaster, I would break your damn arm!" Riki kicked the bucket that you had thrown earlier until it hit your body quite hard, making you scream a little because of the pain and shock.

Riki walked out of the toilet, leaving you still lying face down helplessly on the wet bathroom floor. You cried hysterically again, hitting the toilet floor. Your pain, patience, and suffering are indeed at the end of their rope. You don't even seem to have the right to defend your good name just because your parents are criminals.

///

Riki walked quickly to the toilet after he finished the meeting with the prefects of each house. He held back urinating during the meeting because he was afraid he would lose focus if he went to the toilet even for a moment.

Once he reached the toilet, he walked into the open stall without paying attention to his surroundings. He let out a sigh of relief as he let out what he had been holding in for a moment.

However, while he was buttoning his pants, thick red water suddenly flowed into the toilet cubicle he was occupying, making Riki frown suspiciously.

Riki immediately came out of the toilet cubicle and his eyes immediately widened when he saw a puddle of water flowing from the left cubicle. His breath hitched and he felt uneasy, he didn't want to see what he shouldn't have seen.

Slowly and tensely, Riki approached the room. An uneasy feeling increasingly took over his brain and body. Riki pushed open the door to the room, his breathing quickening as he saw the feet.

Until finally...

Riki stepped back with his life about to be taken away when he had fully opened the door to the room. A girl in a Slytherin tie was sitting under the toilet with her eyes closed... Her head was bleeding so much that her white shirt was almost covered in red. Not only her head, the girl's mouth was also bleeding, her legs, lips, and face had several blue bruises.

That girl is you.

"Y/N!" Riki screamed hysterically and walked over to you, his breath almost stopping. He lifted your head slowly and took it into his arms. "Y/N Y/N! Y/N Open your eyes! Wake up, Y/N!" Riki patted your cheek hoping you would regain consciousness. Riki also saw that your face was very pale and you were cold, plus it was almost midnight.

Something bad happened to you. That was the first thing he thought. With panic dominating, Riki carefully lifted your body and immediately took you to Madam Pompfrey to be examined.

As he walked towards Madam Pompfrey, his heart was beating erratically. He was panicked and scared. Moreover, your body was already very cold. Like a corpse. Riki didn't even care that his shirt and robe were stained with blood from your mouth and head.

///

Riki put you on the Hospital Wing bed and shouted for Madam Pomfrey who was not around the treatment room. Not long after, Snape suddenly entered the Hospital Wing. When he wanted to go to his office, he accidentally saw Riki carrying you towards the Hospital Wings.

"Oh, for the sake of the great Merlin!" Madam Pompfrey covered her mouth in shock when she saw your terrible condition. Snape was no less shocked than Madam Pompfrey when he saw your true condition.

Madam Pompfrey immediately rushed to get some equipment and potions to give you first aid first. Riki was still in a state of crazy shock, he didn't expect to see you in such a dire condition at almost midnight. His heart felt... Pain. He didn't deny that it hurt him to see you like this.

"Mr. Nishimura, what happened to Miss Y/L/N?" Snape asked, looking at his still shocked student. Oh my, he didn't even understand Riki's condition, just asking casually. "I don't know, Professor. I found her like this when I finished urinating," Snape was even more shocked when he heard what Riki said, you were in the men's toilet in the middle of the night.

"The punishment ends at 7.30pm," Riki looked at Snape with a horrified look after he said that, meaning you were probably in the toilet in that condition for more than two hours. Riki plopped down into a sitting position next to your bed as Madam Pompfrey tried to give you first aid. His trembling hands reached for your icy fingers, and he started to cry as he held your fingers tightly. "Y-Y/N, for Merlin's sake you have to be okay. You can't be like this," Riki somehow felt a great sense of regret. You are helpless, he can't protect you just because of the anger and suffering he is experiencing. Until you end up in a miserable stage and could possibly die.

He didn't expect to find you in such a terrible condition, he never imagined that he would see you suffering such serious injuries.

The shadow of his parents' death replayed in his mind. Not because he was hurt by you, but it brought back his severe trauma due to your condition on the verge of death. If he doesn't find you by morning, you're probably dead. Madam Pompfrey hasn't even confirmed that you'll be okay.

"Her right leg... Snape, the bone in her right leg is slightly fractured," Riki looked up at Madam Pompfrey, he was even more shocked to hear that one of your leg bones was cracked. "Madam please, please do your best! Please fix everything that is broken in Y/N's body," Snape glanced at his student. For the first time he saw clearly the only son of the Nishimura family begging as if helpless for a girl he (he said) hated. Snape knew that since that incident, Riki had never even wanted to look at your face, let alone communicate. But tonight, he begged Madam Pompfrey to repair the 'damage' that was done to you.

But Snape realized, you had been a part of Riki's life for more than ten years. Riki is indeed 'prestigious', but forgetting the girl he once loved like a gem will never be easy. He couldn't really hate, he was just angry because his parents were taken away. You are like a 'mediator' for his wounds, because if he keeps looking at you, it's the same as looking at the face of the person who killed his parents.

///

With a heavy heart, Riki was forced to return to Slytherin due to Snape and Madam Pompfrey's stern orders. They must focus on caring for you without the distraction of his ranting. Madam Pompfrey assured him that you would be fine, she would try to fix you, as would Snape. They will immediately take you to the Hospital Wings if there is a chance that you will not recover until the next day.

After saying the password, Riki walked unsteadily, his body as if left behind in the Hospital Wings. His mind was still haunted by thoughts of you. He didn't even care that his uniform smelled of blood, was wet and dirty.

"I was so satisfied seeing that damn bitch unconscious after we kicked her head in," Riki stopped in his tracks right behind the wall connecting the Slytherin hallway to the common room. His body had not yet fully emerged into the common room.

"She won't say this, I'm sure of it. Because she might have a concussion, amnesia, or even die," Riki recognized that voice. Joanna. The girl apparently wasn't sleeping at this late hour. Instead, she was chatting with her idiot minions, Pansy and Millicent.

"My point of satisfaction was when she vomited blood because we stepped on her stomach."

"There was a 'crack' sound when I stepped on her foot, probably a crack or break,"

"I'm also satisfied punching her ugly face, gosh she's getting uglier. That's what he has to do for punching my Riki,"

The jaw tightened and the clenched hands immediately occurred reflexively by Riki's body. His ears couldn't possibly hear wrong. Riki knew, the girl they were referring to was definitely you. And Riki could conclude, your condition earlier was because of their actions.

"I was really successful in getting that girl further away from Riki. Riki was already under my control, mine. He even believed when we slandered her and wanted to harm us a few days ago. My strength was strong enough to keep her hand on my neck," Hearing that, Riki's eyes widened even more, his jaw tightened and the blood in his body boiled. He fell into a disgusting abyss that made him blind and dark-eyed.

He was so blinded by anger that he forgot that he knew you even before Joanna came to him. He forgot, you were the girl who accompanied him for more than ten years, not Joanna. He should know your nature and character, but he trusts someone else.

His guilt was also rising to the surface, he should have protected you from all the evil that was present. But, he indirectly gives access to people who hate you to destroy you.

Riki appeared 'casually' in the common room, as if he had just arrived without knowing what they were talking about. However, his facial expression did not change. It wasn't just those three damn bitches who were there, there were some Malfoy circles, gosh they really weren't sleeping, instead they were gossiping like they were the mafia.

They were all surprised not because Riki suddenly appeared, but because Riki's appearance was quite messy, especially since there were blood stains on his white shirt.

"Oh Merlin, Riki!" Joanna immediately approached Riki and put on a very worried expression. She held Riki's cheeks, chest and shoulders as if checking if Riki was okay. "Hey, are you okay? What happened? Why are you bleeding, Riki?!" She asked in panic and worry, but Riki didn't answer her. Joanna and her damn friends didn't even notice Riki putting on a murderous expression even though it looked flat.

"Pansy, get me some water!" Not long after, Pansy returned with a glass of cold water and handed it to Joanna, and Joanna handed it to Riki. "Riki, have a drink first. You look a mess," Riki was still looking at Joanna with the same gaze, his hands were clenching tighter, and his jaw was tightening even TIGHTER.

Yeah, he was a mess. Not because he got into a fight, but because he saw the girl he still loved so much found in such a terrible condition. Riki imagined how hurt you were when you were ganged up on and treated like trash by the three girls in front of him, especially Joanna.

"Riki, don't just keep quiet! Who did this to you?!I'm worried," Joanna rubbed the part of Riki's arm that had biceps, she grabbed the man's jaw gently. Trying to make Riki talk.

"You shouldn't be like this, surely—"

"Yes, I shouldn't be like this," Riki interrupted Joanna. He took the glass of water in the girl's hand, holding it tightly. "Because it should be, my head is cracked or even broken!"

PRANGG!!

Everyone in the common room was in shock when Riki suddenly threw the glass in his hand, hitting one of the Slytherin displays which also broke.

"Riki—"

"Tell me, Cryz! What did you do to my girl? What did you do to my Y/N?!" Joanna and her circle held their breath when Riki suddenly asked that with an irregular breath, as if he was ready to devour anyone. They had already jumped to conclusions. Riki knew everything about what you were going through.

"Riki what are you saying? Why are you asking about Y/N—"

"Don't pretend you don't know! I know everything, I already know what happened to my girl, even when you were crying like a bitch because of your own doing!" Riki interrupted Joanna again, who was now starting to evade her words.

"You killed my girl, Joanna. You wanted to take her life!" Riki's voice was shaking violently, he was holding back the tears that wanted to come out, but he had to look sharp to corner this truly damn opponent.

"You made me become like a murderer to my own girl, you made me destroy her even more because of your fucking dick cunning mouth!" Joanna panicked, as did the others. They were intimidated by Riki's aura. Even Draco Malfoy was unable to show his dominant side. Riki's aura is too strong, he can easily corner people with just his gaze and mouth.

"You hurt my girl! You hurt my life, Joanna!" Riki was about to attack Joanna, which made Joanna jump in shock, but several men, especially Draco, immediately held Riki's body before he could hurt Joanna. Joanna cursed in her heart, she really didn't expect Riki to find out so easily, even though your condition was already very critical.

"This is one of my ways to defend you, Riki! You have to understand that!!" Riki threw off the men's grip and moved his body closer to the girl, but he was still held for a few seconds later. An early precaution before he actually beats Joanna up, because it seems like he doesn't care that Joanna is a girl.

"Defend me? From what?!"

"That girl has hurt you a lot, a few days ago she almost broke your nose, sayin—"

"SHE SHOULD HAVE BROKEN MY HEAD! OR EVEN STABBED MY THROAT IF NECESSARY!" Riki cut Joanna off, he shouted even angrier because she used the excuse that his nose was injured because you punched him.

"Mr. Nishimura!" Professor Snape suddenly came, he knew Riki would explode if he met Joanna and found out everything. Secretly, while you were being handled by Madam Pompfrey, Snape read your mind legilimens to find out what really happened to you a few hours ago. Joanna's circle grew tense as Professor Snape came to the Common Room tonight.

"Go to your room, calm yourself down. I already know everything, I have read Miss Y/L/N's mind," Snape said coldly and it successfully made Joanna's circle feel like their eyeballs were about to pop out of their sockets. Snape's words indirectly said that he knew about their bastard actions towards you.

///

While the other students were having breakfast, Riki just stayed silent beside your bed. You still hadn't woken up. But, Riki was a little relieved when you were able to recover without having to be taken to ST Mungo for intensive care.

Riki looked at your bandaged leg, you had a fractured bone, and luckily it wasn't serious. Riki blamed himself again for what happened to you, he regretted so much for ignoring you like trash. Treating you like a criminal, when you don't deserve to suffer this.

Riki realized one thing, in his difficult and sad times, he still had 'friends' and a girl who 'loved him,' aka Joanna who could defend him at any time. He was not alone, everyone condoled with him, giving him full support. As for you? Because of your parents' actions, you have to bear social sanctions that you do not deserve. You are alone, no one supports you, no one hugs you, you only receive deadly insults from the people around you, including him.

Riki clearly remembered how his harsh words always destroyed you to the point that you were considered trash by many people.

"It turns out to be true, the jerk nature of parents will be passed on to their children, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And you are an example, your hands are really disgusting, Y/N!”

"By the way, you are very suitable for this kind of lowly job. I'm guessing that when you graduate from Hogwarts you'll end up cleaning up for the ministry or some other agency, because no prestigious society will accept the daughter of a murderer. Moreover, you also have a history of problems at school, wanting to harm your friends,"

"If you say you're suffering too, I'm suffering MUCH more, Y/N. Your suffering is a social sanction, but mine? My parents did nothing wrong, but I suffer,"

"But you will never be happy, even after leaving Hogwarts. Ah, maybe if you didn't become a criminal, being a prostitute in a brothel would suit you too, the trash would be your home,"

And he also remembers how you tried to keep defending yourself, even your hysterical screams at that time rang in his head.

"You've known me for more than ten years, but it turns out you don't really know me, Riki. You were blinded by those three bitches,"

"I WON'T BE THAT BAD, RIKI! NEVER THAT BAD! I'M NOT A LOWLY WOMAN WHO WANTS TO BE A PROSTITUTE! YOU'RE TOO MUCH!"

"I never did anything wrong! Why should I have to bear the sins I didn't commit?! Don't you have a brain? Your brain is the same as that damn Joanna's monkey brain, Riki?!"

Riki closed his eyes as he remembered how you always tried to defend yourself, all by yourself. At times when people kept giving you punishments that your parents should have gotten. He really cursed himself for acting this depravedly towards you.

His head hurt quite a bit when he imagined how Joanna and her friends had ganged up on you until you were helpless and almost dead. You couldn't fight back, you must have been so scared at that time. Riki couldn't imagine if he hadn't found you that night.

"I should have protected you, I shouldn't have been such a jerk and childish, I should have held you tight. But instead I let you go to a pack of damn animals who tried to take your life," Tears fell from the Slytherin's eyes again, he wishes he could turn back time and he wouldn't let you fall into the clutches of bastards.

"I should have just kept quiet when you hit me, punched me and yelled at me, that's how it should have been. You should have stepped on me, torn my mouth open. I should have kept quiet that night, I shouldn't have pushed you," Riki buried his head on your mattress, one of his hands reaching for yours and holding it tightly. "You were right, I really didn't know you until I was blinded by my anger,"

If only... Time could repeat itself, then he could keep you safe in his arms.

///

(Oh uh, if my brain is clear and I have time, maybe I'll make a part 2... Thanksss)

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