#plot drop: ch. 1

[hivemuthur]

hihihihi i literally love ur writing smmmm like i actually need it sb. any time you post ik it’s gonna be peak literature 🙂‍↕️

anyhowwww, i wanted to request an arcane fic with a university au viktor x reader where viktor and reader are like academic rivals or wtv and they’re always bickering but viktor rlly wants to be her friend and doesn’t want to be rivals. sooo he tries like anything he can and as reader eventually warms up to him another guy comes along (maybe jayce or smth idk? or it can just be a random) and becomes their friend like almost instantly and viktor is JEALOUSSSS and envious and just ufhfhhffhhfghhf i need that sb.

it can be nsfw or sfw i literally do not care i just need that plot paired with your writing and ik it’s gonna be an absolute masterpiece.

Hey, love! You know what I'm gonna say, right? Sorry for the long wait. This will have 3 chapters, like for real, not like the other one that now is looking more like 5. I'm gonna say a few things got changed here, because I forgot the essence of the request while writing, but the general message is: Viktor is bad at flirting.

Tightrope - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature (overall explicit), frenemies/academic rivals to lovers, modern university AU

Ch.2. | Ch.3.

word count: 5,9K

tag: #tightrope

summary: You and Viktor are tethering the line between friendship and rivalry, Jayce being one amongst the few common factors you both acknowledge (of course more is there but for the smart people you are, you tend to be very stupid about things). Oh, and you have to do a project together.

author's note: I have a very poor name vocabulary sorry. Here's another Joe, this time he's a dude :v thank you @rennethen for beta reading and bearing through my shit with such grace. One trick pony here we go!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

You squint as your eyes scan the list of projects for Heimerdinger’s class. And since the professor is just and fair, like a nice old man who has seen it all, you already know what to expect. But you check anyway.

He wouldn’t pair you—the almost top-of-the-class student, fighting desperately with your feet and elbows to stay there—with someone undeserving. This little annoying thing in the back of your head called hope still glows faintly, last embers about to die as you’ve read through almost all names known to you except for yours.

And as a bucket of cold water gets thrown over the ashen pieces of coal, you find it. And oh—

Of course. Next to it, your least favourite name. Of course, just… great. This is great. This is fine.

The last time you worked together, it ended with a lot of papercuts, pencils flying, and Jayce using notebooks and blackboards as shields—not to mention a tiny explosion because neither of you could agree on proportions.

So, like the responsible classmate you are, you make one final, desperate attempt to convince the nice little man to change your partner. For the sake of public safety and the well-being of everyone who steps foot on Academy grounds.

You are also nice and well-behaved, so even though the door to the classroom is open, you knock on the doorframe before disturbing the professor.

“Ah! I would lie if I said I wasn’t expecting you to show up. Please, come in!” he exclaims, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes in sheer existential pain. If he already knows what you want, you already know how this is going to go.

Still, you press forward, stepping inside and clasping your hands behind your back in what you hope is a diplomatic stance. “Professor, I was wondering if—by any chance, purely hypothetically—there’s a possibility to switch partners for the project?”

Heimerdinger folds his arms behind his back, looking up at you with the kind of patient amusement that makes you feel like a child asking for extra dessert before finishing dinner. “Ah, yes. I was almost certain you’d ask that,” he says, nodding sagely. “And before you say anything else, I do hope you won’t drop out of my class if I say no.”

You open your mouth, ready to assure him that you would never be so dramatic—except that’s exactly what you were about to say, just in different words.

Before you can recover, Heimerdinger raises a hand and continues. “This project is worth thirty percent of your final mark,” he states, his voice gentle but firm. “I am, of course, aware of the... tension between you and Viktor.” His moustache twitches slightly, betraying a hint of amusement. “However, I must ensure fairness in all assignments. There will be no one riding on someone else’s back in my class.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “Professor, with all due respect, we nearly set a classroom on fire last time—”

“The most beautiful diamonds,” he interjects, tilting his head with a knowing smile, “are shaped under pressure.”

You stare at him, jaw tight. He stares back, completely at ease.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

“I—” you gulp on air, searching for words. Finally, a breath of surrender escapes you and you deflate completely, saying only, “Thank you for your time.”

Seeing your sagged chest and fingers grasping the edge of your notebook tightly, Heimerdinger offers you a consolation. “I know I seem ancient to you, child. But trust me when I say, I do remember what it’s like to be young, and a little bit of friendly rivalry can be transformed into something truly groundbreaking. Think Newton and Hooke! Tesla and Edison! Bohr and Einstein! All of them were in quandaries that led to further discoveries!”

While Heimerdinger lists off pairs of rival geniuses, completely different names surface in your mind, unspoken but undeniable. Verlaine and Rimbaud. Love and Cobain. Sid and Nancy. Bonnie and Clyde. You are convinced those are the dynamics that loom over you and Viktor—just without all the feelings, of course.

And if only you were just competitors, like Bohr and Einstein, things would be so much simpler.

From the very first meeting, Viktor had been cold and reserved, his sharp tongue laced with enough venom to wither anyone foolish enough to challenge him. But if there was one thing you had to do to stay afloat in this sea of STEM sausages, it was dare. And challenge.

You still remember that moment vividly. How you almost stumbled when Jayce introduced you—because gods, he was gorgeous. An angular face that looked carved from marble, warm amber eyes framed by a fall of auburn hair. A boy so unfairly pretty that, had you met him a few years earlier, you would have fallen hard.

Your eyes swept him from head to toe before you slipped your hand into his, and for a single, traitorous moment, something fluttered in your chest. A rush of warmth, unexpected and unfamiliar.

Then you blurted out your name with an embarrassing stutter—

And the magic shattered the second Viktor opened his sweet mouth.

"Charmed," he drawled, but the dryness in his voice suggested the opposite. His gaze flicked over you in a quick, assessing glance before he tilted his head towards Jayce. "Is she another one of your projects, or does she actually know what she’s doing?"

The warmth in your chest evaporated instantly, replaced by a sharp spike of irritation.

Oh. Oh. So that’s how this was going to go.

With a weak smile, you thank Professor Heimerdinger, and your mind is so out of it that you almost curtsy—which you hastily disguise as an awkward bow. Nearly stumbling over your own feet, you literally fall out of the classroom, colliding with something big and solid.

“Careful there! Hi, oh—” A surprised voice reaches your ears, followed by a strong arm steadying you. “Hi there. Hi, um. You alright?”

Either he’s a halfwit or completely smitten with you, because his articulation leaves much to be desired. Not that you're one to judge, given your current coordination.

“Hi, sorry. Just a small… miscalculation.” You smile sheepishly and extend your hand out of habit, instinctively introducing yourself to your unexpected saviour. After all, that’s how you met Jayce.

“I’m Joe,” he says in one breath, your much smaller hand completely disappearing in his massive palm. “It’s nice to meet you.” He chuckles, a blush blooming across his cheeks—so unabashed, his eyes glinting—and oh.

Nice, you catch yourself thinking in the most obscene, ludicrous way as you zero in on his chest, the tight team T-shirt clinging to it.

“Eh, it’s nice to meet you too.” You grin, nodding, and blink stupidly, batting your eyelashes, not entirely sure what’s happening.

Before you get a chance to unglue the dumbfounded smile from your face and actually say something more, Jayce’s voice rings through the corridor, your name echoing off the walls.

“There you are! Oops! Making new friends? Don’t mind her, this is her love language.”

Jayce—the oblivious Jayce, a man so naïve it would never cross his mind what he is doing to someone you literally just met thirty seconds ago. Mortification is too weak a word to describe what you feel inside.

“Jayce!” You smack his chest and shake your head in disbelief. “Don’t mind him, he’s an ass.”

And as if poor Joe doesn’t have enough on his plate already, another voice bombards him, and you’re certain he’s beginning to regret ever catching you.

“Hello. Are you a new face in Heimerdinger’s class?” Viktor asks, wearing that redundant smirk, his voice stretching into a deliberate, chewy, gross thing that makes you scowl. Just outright cruel.

“Heh, no, I just happened to catch your friend,” Joe answers without missing a beat. “And… I was hoping I could get her number.”

And that just. Does it.

You nod faster than you think, already reaching for his phone, clumping your number in there with sticky, shaky fingers and a stupid blush creeping up your neck. You avoid Jayce’s and Viktor’s eyes, but oh boy, you can feel both pairs drilling into you almost viscerally. Viktor’s especially—those fucking yellow embers burning right through you from under furrowed brows.

You flash Joe one last smile and a very awkward, very hurried, “Call me,” not knowing what has gotten into you. Then you let Jayce sweep you away toward your usual route to the cafeteria, while Viktor strolls behind, full of graceful disdain.

“So, I saw the tables, and…” Jayce clears his throat, chattering into your ear. “I’ve seen the pairs! We can share a lab, I’m paired with Sky!”

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh and pat his shoulder—a touch saying more than a thousand words. Words that say how much you can’t wait for another round of throwing objects at Viktor, while Jayce scrambles to catch anything that might hurt Sky.

“Oh, are you not happy about the distribution of projects?” Viktor asks, a small smile playing at his lips.

“The project is fine. The distribution… I’m sure you understand.” You throw him an acidic smirk, your eyes empty of any emotion save for one slow blink. Neural Interface for Prosthetics is actually an incredibly good project—Heimerdinger got you there, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Well, maybe you could be just a little more grateful had he paired you with Jayce or Sky.

“Eh, you will forgive me, but I do not.” Viktor pauses and looks at you—challenging you. And you really hate it, because it works. “I do not wish to have the project jeopardized by something silly, as the topic itself aligns with my interests.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual, Viktor. Can we please eat? I am about to eat one of you if we don’t go to the cafeteria right now,” you sigh, exasperated, and your stomach growls to support your claim.

“You can eat me!” Jayce lands face down between your bickering, and you just laugh, completely disarmed.

Once you finally sit down, Viktor simply opens a book next to his tray, ignoring both you and Jayce completely—obviously sulking about something. Jayce, on the other hand, takes massive bites of his sandwich, staring at you intensely, as if willing you to spill the tea. When that doesn’t work, he speaks.

“So… who’s the new guy?” he elbows you playfully and you can barely understand him with his mouth full. But his eyes say it all—he is dying to know.

"Jayce, you’re so transparent I almost can’t see you. Where are you, Jayce? Where did you go?" You wave your hands around dramatically. He almost chokes. Viktor scoffs, unimpressed, barely glancing up from his book as he stirs sweetmilk into his coffee.

Once the immediate hazard of death by choking is under control, Jayce flashes one of those earnest grins—one that practically screams what a good person he is, full of pure intentions. "Oh, shut up. He seems nice, and I’m curious."

"He’s just a guy, nothing more," you hum, taking a sip of your coffee. And even though you have no idea if that little encounter will go anywhere, you can’t resist adding a pin. "Yet."

Viktor looks like he is holding back a scoff, so he just turns the page in his book with a violent sweep.

"Well… do you like him?" Jayce presses, oblivious to the tension at the table. He’s just such a gossip girl.

You let out an incredulous laugh. "Are you alright? Why are you so interested?"

Jayce shrugs. "I don’t know, I always thought you’d end up with someone of equal… interests?" Intelligence is what he really means. But that would be cruel. Just because a guy plays rugby doesn’t mean he’s brain damaged. Surely.

"Oh please, I hate STEM bros." You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms with an air of finality, as if that settles the matter. You do hate STEM bros. They are full of themselves, have no respect for women and look down on you.

Jayce raises an eyebrow, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. "Erm… you are a STEM bro."

Viktor finally looks up from his book, watching you with the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest as if mortally offended. "Jayce Talis! I am a lady! Not a bro!"

That is Viktor’s cue. “I don’t think that lack of testicles classifies you as a lady instantly,” he says in a deadpan voice.

And you don’t know what pushes your stupid mind to say it. Is it just muscle memory—your tongue snapping back whenever you talk to Viktor—or an actual intention to say something mean to him? You really don’t know. In one breath, you say, voice equally dead to his, “Of course not. If that were the case, you’d classify as a lady as well,” and watch the chaos unravel.

None of that happens, though. The underwhelming events carry on in painfully slow motion—Jayce’s eyes widening so much there’s a real threat they might never close again, while Viktor gulps his coffee with an agonisingly slow bob of his Adam’s apple. It’s only when he’s done that you realise he was fighting not to choke on it—because the next moment, he bursts into laughter, covering his face with his hand.

Jayce exhales the breath he was holding and laughs as well—you’re not sure if it’s at your joke or simply at the sight of Viktor laughing so openly, an event so rare it shouldn’t go uncherished. Despite yourself, you grin. Indeed, Viktor’s face—his eyes squeezed shut to the point of a tear slipping from beneath his long lashes, smile lines filling out his hollowed cheeks, his teeth bared in an uninhibited cackle—is a sight to behold.

The stupid thing in your chest stutters, as Viktor wheezes and lowers his hand to rest on yours. “Remind me to never cross you again. Merciless is an understatement,” he says, barely, with a really warm smile and you find yourself blushing again, for the second time in a mere hour. Because of two different boys.

And as any moment made of pure magic in the history of magical moments, this one doesn’t last either. It gets violently interrupted by a buzz of your phone on the table.

If you wanna take a stroll, I have a free period now :) We can meet by the fountain. Joe, in case you wonder who this is :)

And your blush deepens. You calculate options in your mind and soon decide on the what the hell one. “I’m gonna scram boys. See you in the lab after class?”

“Yes. Please bring the less… distracted version of yourself if you can,” Viktor states and all the warmth evaporates from him at once. Back to the usual version of himself—sharp wit, balancing on the verge of cutting.

As you mumble an absent, “I’ll do my best,” and wave them goodbye, Jayce returns to his sandwich and sighs knowingly.

“You know… wouldn’t kill you to be a little bit nicer,” Jayce says, leaning forward on his elbows. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge of curiosity beneath it, like he’s prodding at something fragile just to see if it will break.

“This is me being nice,” Viktor replies in a neutral tone, lifting his coffee to his lips. The steam curls around his face as he takes a slow sip, his expression unmoving. He is being nice. He is trying to be nice. It’s just sometimes completely impossible to be nice to you when you get like this. Distracted. He scoffs to himself. It’s a strange friendship you have there, but it’s a friendship nevertheless—or so he likes to think.

Jayce studies him, his gaze sharp despite the lazy way he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “No, that is just you being… well, you,” he says bluntly, tilting his head as if he’s considering whether to push further. “Being a dick is not a way to a lady’s heart.”

Viktor arches a brow, unimpressed. “Excuse me, but have we experienced the same scene? I was the one being offended and laughed it off like a gentleman, thank you.” He gestures vaguely with his cup, his fingers tightening just slightly around the ceramic.

Jayce narrows his eyes. “Then why are you so annoyed in the first place?”

“I am not annoyed,” Viktor states flatly, setting his coffee down with a little more force than necessary. He smooths his hands over his sweater as he rises from his seat, already turning away before Jayce can open his mouth again. “I am great. I am so great, in fact, that I will go and start working on that project. See you, Jayce.”

And then he just strides off, his cane tapping against the floor, leaving Jayce mid-sentence with his mouth open, eyes blinking slowly.

Of course, he is not annoyed. Maybe only slightly—and only because you’ve somehow managed to gain another distraction in your life right before you were about to start working on the biggest project of the year. And it’s just, well, fucking annoying.

***

When you glance at your watch, you yelp and press a hand to your forehead. “Fucking hell,” you mutter under your breath before breaking into a sprint toward the lab.

Viktor is going to kill you—especially since there’s no way to prove you were caught up in something important.

Because, well, you weren’t. It was Joe who took up all your time this afternoon. And he is… surprisingly nice. And smart.

You hadn’t expected that.

What started as a casual conversation somehow stretched into something far longer, the minutes slipping away unnoticed. He had opinions on films—actual opinions, not just generic statements about “liking action movies.” He had read some of the same books as you and even suggested a few you begrudgingly admitted sounded interesting. Sports came up, of course, but he spoke about them with a self-awareness that made it bearable. And when the conversation dipped into politics, he didn’t say anything that made you want to throw your coffee in his face. That alone was impressive.

It was… weirdly comfortable. Easy, even. Even when he lingered.

Joe’s gaze held onto you a second longer than necessary, like he was memorising the way you looked when you laughed. And when he hugged you goodbye, his arms stayed around you for just a breath too many. The slow way he untangled himself from you made it clear that if you hadn’t pulled away first, he wouldn’t have been the one to let go.

Shaking off the last remnants of Joe from your thoughts, you push through the heavy lab doors with a hurried stumble, your breath still uneven from the rush.

“Sorry, I’m late, guys—” The words die in your throat as you take in the empty room.

Only Viktor.

He stands at the workbench, sleeves pushed up, hands meticulously adjusting the placement of various tools and notes. At the sound of your voice, he pauses but doesn’t turn around immediately. The rhythmic ticking of the clock fills the silence, marking the seconds you take to process the situation.

No Jayce. No Sky. Just Viktor, and the sharp scent of metal and oil clinging to the air.

“Glad you could make it,” he remarks, finally turning his head just enough to glance at you. His voice is even, but something about it feels... off. You can’t tell if he’s irritated or merely stating a fact. Maybe both.

“Sorry,” you sigh, setting your things down with a thud. “I lost track of time.”

“With your new himbo.” It isn’t a question.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second. “Yes. And his name is Joe, Viktor, not a new himbo.”

Viktor hums—a short, unimpressed sound—and resumes his work, carefully aligning a set of blueprints. Somehow, his silence feels louder than an argument.

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, more to yourself than to him, or rather into the empty space between you and Viktor, which seems to be expanding with each passing second.

“And where are Jayce and Sky?”

“They managed to sketch out the roadmap for themselves in the time you spent with Joe and decided they needed the library for further planning,” Viktor replies flatly, still not looking at you. The way he deliberately keeps his gaze averted only emphasises how much has been accomplished in your presumably very long moment of indulgence. How nice.

“Alright, would you like me to crucify myself, or do you want the honours?” Impatience gets the better of you, and you fold your arms tightly across your chest.

At that, Viktor’s hands still over the workbench. His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction, though his gaze remains fixed on the floor, as if acknowledging you fully would be a waste of effort.

“I am merely stating a fact,” he says, his voice low, clipped. “This is more important than some affairs, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, really, Viktor?” You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “And here I thought thirty percent of my grade was worth sacrificing for some sloppy making out—but thank you so much for finally making me see the error of my ways.”

That makes him look.

And he is angry.

His head snaps up, eyes narrowing, gears visibly grinding in his mind as he weighs whether you’re just riling him up or—God forbid—whether you actually have made out with Joe.

His jaw tightens. “Just get to work already, will you?”

You say nothing, only flash him an acrid smile before reaching for your goggles on the workbench.

The two of you work in almost deafening silence, broken only by the occasional exchange of necessary questions and answers. You retrieve materials while Viktor arranges the workspace, and you scribble down the general plan on the blackboard, the tension in the air palpable.

Each time the chalk screeches against the surface, Viktor visibly winces, hissing under his breath and sinking his head between his shoulders in an exaggerated display of agony.

You roll your eyes but say nothing.

“Could you maybe try a little harder to make it less cacographic?” he mutters, irritation creeping into his voice.

The suddenness of it startles you just as you’re making another stroke, and the chalk lets out a bone-chilling whine against the board.

Viktor flinches violently, covering his ears. “For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, voice muffled behind his palms. “Let me do it.” He steps forward, reaching for the chalk without hesitation.

You anticipate the move, tucking your arm behind your back in defiance. A childish gesture, maybe, but if he’s going to be an ass about it, you’re not about to make it easy for him.

He doesn’t stop. He closes the distance between you in a few sharp steps, his expression taut with frustration. Before you can react, his fingers wrap around your wrist—tight, unrelenting. He pries your hand forward and gives a firm shake, forcing your fingers to unclench until the chalk drops neatly into his waiting palm.

A sharp twinge shoots up your arm. It’s not painful exactly, but it’s close enough to make you wince.

Snatching your hand back, you massage your wrist, eyes narrowing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

For a brief second, something flickers across Viktor’s face—regret, maybe. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, buried beneath the same rigid composure he always wears like armour. He doesn’t apologise. Doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he turns to the board and begins writing, his tone stripped of anything resembling warmth.

“I want to wrap this up before tomorrow,” he says flatly, chalk gliding across the surface with sharp, efficient strokes. “And you are being thoroughly incompetent. I told you to bring yourself not distracted.”

You let out a sharp scoff. “Okay, I am so sorry I was late. I’ll stay longer and finish up whatever we don’t get done in time. But you are outdoing yourself in being a complete twat today.”

You don’t wait for a response. Instead, you march over to the workbench, hands immediately finding the prototype components. If you focus on the task, maybe you won’t be tempted to launch something at Viktor’s insufferable head.

“Oh please, I do not trust anything you do without supervision,” Viktor says, scribbling quietly on the board, somehow making a point out of it.

“Viktor, are you serious right now? We literally have the same grades,” you huff, leaning over the table to pick up the components you need. You do your best to tune him out—his bickering is only distracting, and you need to rewire the prototype from the previous project.

Overall, the task is simple enough. The device is built around an EEG-based neural interface—a system that reads electrical activity in the brain and translates it into signals that can control a mechanical limb. In practical terms, the user wears a headband fitted with electrodes that detect neural impulses associated with movement. These signals then travel through a processing unit, which refines the input before transmitting it to the prosthetic itself.

That’s the easy part. The rest, well.

The prototype you’re working on today is a refinement of an earlier model. The previous iteration had suffered from signal lag and inconsistent responsiveness—issues you’re hoping to correct by integrating a new set of circuits and refining the algorithm for noise reduction.

You grab the headband from the pile of equipment, turning it over in your hands. It should work just fine if you tweak the wiring to accommodate the new design. Without thinking too much about it, you start securing the circuits, fingers working on autopilot as you weave the delicate wires through the correct channels.

Or at least, you think they’re correct—until Viktor’s voice cuts through your focus again.

“Are you even listening to me? What are you doing?” His tone is sharp, irritated—like he’s already asked this more than once.

Your expression tightens as he strides over to the bench, clearly unimpressed. “I just rewired it. Nothing too complex,” you mutter, adjusting a loose wire before reaching for the power switch.

Viktor doesn’t look convinced. He picks up the headband, turning it over in his hands with a scrutinising gaze. “Nothing too complex,” he repeats dryly. “Yes, because neural interfaces are famously simple. I’d rather be sure. Show me.”

You roll your eyes but oblige, reaching over and flipping the switch.

The reaction is instant.

A sharp jolt cracks through the air, followed by a strangled, almost undignified yelp as Viktor jerks back, dropping the headband as if it has burned him. His entire body stiffens, fingers twitching violently for a brief second before he stumbles, gripping the workbench for support, blinking rapidly.

Your mouth falls open. “Oh—shit—Viktor—”

He exhales sharply, pressing a hand to his chest, his face twisted in a grimace. “Wonderful,” he grits out. “So that’s what you rewired.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” you mumble, rushing to him, ignoring the sharpness of his tone. Your hands instinctively cup his face as you lean in. He blinks, startled, his mouth parting at the sudden concern—your brows furrowed, eyes searching his face for any sign of lingering pain, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he says flatly. “You’ve electrocuted me.” His hands move to seize your wrists, but you twist away before he can. Your palms return to his face, fingers framing him gently, and Viktor’s breath hitches.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper, voice genuine. You are truly sorry, the worry overriding all the anger you had for him mere seconds ago. And Viktor has no idea how to react to this. He stands there, breath unsteady, before muttering, “I’m fine.”

You blink, straightening, and Viktor is almost ready to exhale in relief—until your hands shift again, this time pressing against his chest and back, cradling his heart between your palms. You stand beside him, hands firm but careful, instinct guiding you more than knowledge. You don’t even know if this is what you’re supposed to do for someone who’s been electrocuted, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind.

His heart thunders beneath your touch. The silence is so heavy you can hear yourself gulp on the lump in your throat. You don’t hate him that much, and you hope he knows it.

Finally, Viktor speaks, his breath still rattling. “Well, would you look at that. So there is kindness in your touch after all.” He tries to sound wicked, but there is no venom in his voice.

“Viktor, you bastard. When have I not been kind to you?” you respond playfully, your hands still pressed against him.

“Ah, well. When you implied my alleged castration is the first that comes to mind. But rest assured, my testicles are good and well. I’d show you, but I’m afraid someone has already filled this position in your life,” he trails off, slipping back into his seemingly unbothered attitude.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. Still, your fingers linger, as if trying to determine whether his heartbeat is elevated from the shock or something else entirely. Or is it always like this? You don’t dare to ask.

Viktor tilts his head, watching you. “What about?”

“Any of it. You make me fucking gag,” you scoff, finally sliding your hands off him.

“Not yet—but I could.”

You barely have time to register the shift before he catches your hand, his thumb pressing against your palm. A slight twitch makes your fingers curl around his.

“You could what?”

“Make you gag.” The words slip out just as a smirk blooms on his face, faster than he can think to stop either. He can’t tell if he regrets them immediately.

The figurative pin drops. A high-pitched whine rings in your ears. Viktor’s gaze is drilled into you, thumb still pressing into your palm.

Your eyes widen, but you don’t miss a beat. “Well, would you look at that. So there is kindness in you after all,” you murmur.

“Ah, for you. Only kindness, nothing else,” Viktor hums, his voice a low purr as his thumb idly circles the centre of your palm. His grip is loose enough that you could pull away, yet you don’t. His eyes flicker with something unreadable—something that makes your breath catch before you force yourself to scoff.

“Yeah, right.”

His smirk deepens. “When have I not been kind to you?”

“Like… ever?” You raise a brow, tilting your head as if you’re genuinely considering it. “You mock me. You think I’m outright stupid and don’t deserve my spot in class. You constantly correct me and fight me over solutions. You hate working with me, scoff at me, and laugh me out in front of Jayce. And Sky.”

Viktor clicks his tongue, his fingers squeezing yours ever so slightly. “Such is my love language.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “Oh, forget it.” You finally try to pull your hand away, but Viktor doesn’t let go just yet, his grip tightening for half a second before he releases you—only for his cane to hook lightly around your wrist, stopping you mid-motion.

“Wait.” His voice is softer now, coaxing. When you glance at him, there’s something else in his gaze, something warmer, but it’s masked beneath that ever-present air of a prank. “I almost died, you shouldn’t leave me.”

You gape at him. “Viktor—”

“Alright, alright! I surrender.” He chuckles, but there’s something breathless in it. His fingers twitch against his cane. “Wait. Please.”

The sudden plea stills you. Your heart stumbles over itself before you swallow and straighten your posture, crossing your arms in an attempt to shake the feeling off.

Viktor exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before returning his gaze to you. “I do not mock you or laugh you out. I simply jest—I do that with Jayce all the time. You should have noticed by now.”

You purse your lips, unimpressed.

“I do not correct you,” he continues, his voice lilting, as if this is all some grand performance. “I offer you my point of view. And I do not fight you—I simply enjoy some intellectual sparring. Not many can provide one that satisfies me.”

Your fingers twitch, nerves sparking beneath your skin at the way he says satisfies, but you ignore it. Instead, you level him with a flat stare.

“You’re just gaslighting me at this point, Viktor. At least give me a head start before you snap my neck with this thing one day.” You tap the end of his cane with a pointed look.

Viktor grins—slow, wicked. His weight shifts, allowing the cane to rest a little heavier against your wrist, his fingers curling just slightly around the handle.

“Oh, come now. That would be far too merciful.”

Your stomach flips, and you hate that it does.

“Are you going to be good to me now?” Viktor asks, his voice so low you barely hear it, but the weight of it settles deep in your chest.

He takes a step closer, and your breath catches when you feel it—his exhale, warm against your skin, ghosting over your lips. His fingers brush against your wrist, the same one he had seized not long ago. A touch that lingers.

“You have almost killed me, after all.” You watch his lips twisted in a smile you’ve never seen before. And it scares you for some reason.

“Stop this,” you say, firmer than you expected, yanking your hand away. You clutch it to your chest like a wound, like something fragile he might pry apart if given the chance.

Viktor tilts his head, eyes sharp with curiosity. “Why?”

Your throat tightens. “You know goddamn well why.” You take a step back, shaking your head, something bitter curling in your gut. “I am not your project, you dick.”

Viktor’s expression shifts—his smirk falters, lips parting slightly as if caught off guard. “Hey, that is not what I meant—”

But you don’t let him finish. You pivot on your heel, retreating towards the door, your pulse hammering in your ears. You need distance. The lab suddenly feels too small, the air too thick, charged with something neither of you were prepared for.

Behind you, Viktor’s voice follows, just a step behind. “Wait—”

You don’t.

The door swings shut behind you, and Viktor is left standing in the empty lab, staring after where you had just been.

A long exhale leaves him, and he runs a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath,

“Well, damn. That backfired.”

He frowns to himself, rolling his jaw as if trying to make sense of what just happened—of what he just did.

And for the first time in a long while, Viktor realises he doesn’t have a formula for this.

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Only a vampire can love you forever | CH 4

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ꜱ��ᴠɪᴋᴀ x ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 6.7ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

CW : dark!sevika, age gap, private school, toxic, forbidden love, mentions of blood, hopeless lesbians, TEACHER X STUDENT, porn with plot, oral sex, reader is a virgin, innocent reader, theres like a 500 year age gap, courruption, masturbation

A/N : what the sigma

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

"Caitlyn! I'm sorry!" Sevika called, striding after her down the hallway.

Caitlyn didn’t stop. She didn’t even acknowledge her, just turned the corner sharply, her posture rigid with anger.

"Caitlyn!" Sevika tried again.

This time, Caitlyn halted so suddenly that Sevika nearly ran into her. Then, she spun around, eyes blazing.

"My family didn’t help you get a job at my school just so you could seduce my best friend," Caitlyn snapped, jabbing a finger into Sevika’s chest.

Sevika exhaled sharply. "Listen—it wasn’t planned. I just... I went too long without fresh blood, and she—she made me lose myself."

There was something raw in Sevika’s voice, something that made Caitlyn hesitate, her brows furrowing.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I understand," she admitted, "but that doesn’t explain you two sleeping together."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Sevika hesitated, avoiding her gaze.

Caitlyn sucked in another breath, pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly debating her next move.

"I'm not gonna tell my parents," she finally said, crossing her arms. "Because I know how she feels about you."

Sevika’s jaw tensed, but she stayed silent.

"But listen to me, Sevika." Caitlyn stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do not feed from her again. And don’t even think about turning her."

She jabbed Sevika’s chest once more for emphasis before pushing past her, making her way back to the lounge without another word.

Caitlyn stepped back into the lounge, quietly closing the door behind her.

You were sitting on the couch now, underwear back on, legs tucked under you, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The silence was heavier than it had been before, and you didn’t look up when she entered.

Caitlyn approached slowly, her heels barely making a sound on the polished floor. She sat beside you, careful not to startle you.

“Hey,” she said gently.

You didn’t respond at first, just kept your gaze fixed on a spot in the carpet.

“I’m not mad at you,” Caitlyn continued, her voice calm and careful. “But I think… I think it’s best if you stay away from Sevika.”

You finally looked up, eyes glassy.

“She’s not safe for you, Y/N. Not like this.”

You nodded quickly, almost too quickly. “Okay.”

But your voice was small. And your eyes—your eyes said something else entirely.

Caitlyn noticed. She always noticed. Her shoulders softened, and she gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“I just want you to be okay.”

“I know,” you whispered.

And though you said yes, and though you nodded like the good, obedient girl she knew you could be—your heart was somewhere else. Still aching for someone who’d already made you bleed.

And Caitlyn didn’t say it out loud, but deep down, she knew… You weren’t done with Sevika yet.

The ball was over. The masks were off, the polished smiles gone, and the eerie elegance of the Kiramman estate had faded into memory—at least for now.

You stood barefoot in Caitlyn’s room, the rich velvet of your borrowed cloak crumpled in the corner, replaced by a borrowed hoodie and your favorite pair of ripped jeans. Your neck still ached a little, but you’d brushed your hair over it to hide the puncture marks, even though Caitlyn already knew they were there.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Caitlyn asked, rifling through her closet for a jacket. She was already halfway out of her formal gown, in a tank top and plaid skirt, her hair tied back loosely.

“Yeah,” you said, sitting on the edge of her bed and tapping your knee anxiously. “I could use something… normal.”

Caitlyn glanced over her shoulder and offered a soft smile. “Well, normal is definitely not what I’d call a high school party. But it’s human. Loud. Probably sticky. Lots of bad decisions.”

You laughed softly. “Perfect.”

Caitlyn pulled out a cropped leather jacket and tossed it your way. “Here, that hoodie is killing the vibe.”

You caught it and slipped it on, admiring the way it hugged your frame in the mirror. “I look hot.”

“You always do,” Caitlyn said without hesitation, applying a touch of gloss in the mirror before leaning over to spritz perfume on both your wrists. “There. Now you smell expensive.”

You caught your reflection for a moment, the flicker of sadness still in your eyes, the memory of Sevika’s hands on your skin not quite faded.

Caitlyn noticed, of course. She didn’t say anything, but she brushed her pinky against yours.

“Tonight,” she said, “we drink cheap beer, complain about the music, and avoid any creepy upperclassmen trying to grind on us.”

You smiled, small but real. “Deal.”

As the two of you walked out the door and into the buzzing world of teen chaos, you told yourself this was good. This was better. Normal.

And maybe, for one night, that would be enough.

The house was massive—nothing compared to the Kiramman estate, sure, but still outrageously big for a high school party. It had marble floors, a winding staircase, a chandelier that probably cost more than your tuition, and speakers in every room thumping with bass-heavy music.

“This place is insane,” you muttered as you and Caitlyn stepped through the front doors, already surrounded by clusters of people in designer fits and knock-off confidence.

“Right?” Caitlyn smirked, taking in the scene like she’d walked into a familiar routine. “It’s one of those houses where the parents are ‘on a cruise’ and somehow forgot they had teenagers.”

You followed her past a group shotgunning energy drinks and vodka, down a hallway lit with purple LEDs. The smell of cologne, weed, and perfume clung to everything.

It was chaotic. It was human. And for a second, you could almost pretend you weren’t marked by something… other.

“Let’s grab drinks before people get weird,” Caitlyn said, already leading the way to the kitchen.

You nodded, trailing after her. The kitchen island was covered in half-empty bottles of every kind of liquor imaginable, red Solo cups stacked high, a bowl of questionable punch swirling at the center.

Caitlyn poured something clear into a cup and handed it to you. “Don’t ask what it is. Just drink it fast enough you won’t care.”

You took a sip and made a face. “Tastes like regret.”

“That’s the theme of the night.”

You both leaned against the counter, sipping in sync, watching the party start to spiral. Music grew louder, someone screamed “cannonball!” from upstairs, and two guys were already arguing over aux.

But then Caitlyn glanced at you—too long. Too careful.

“You haven’t said anything about what I told you,” she said suddenly, her tone shifting just enough to make your stomach flip.

You blinked. “About what?”

“About Sevika.”

You stiffened, eyes flicking down to your drink. “We already talked about that.”

“Yeah, and then you got that look in your eyes like you were gonna run right back to her.”

You set your cup down, your expression hardening. “I told you I’d stay away.”

“But you didn’t mean it,” Caitlyn said, arms crossed. “You looked heartbroken, not convinced.”

“I didn’t know I needed your approval to feel something!” you snapped, your voice rising just enough to make the music feel quieter.

Caitlyn opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say got swallowed in your frustration. You grabbed your cup and turned away.

“I’m getting a refill.”

And with that, you stormed off, weaving through the crowd, heart pounding harder than the bass.

You were in the middle of refilling your drink—carefully tipping a bottle of something pink and probably dangerous into your cup—when a voice behind you made your whole body tense.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Piggy.”

You froze.

Turning your head slowly, your eyes landed on Bella—same cruel smile, same designer top hugging her perfectly flat stomach, same girl who threw a paper ball at your head the first week of school and made the whole class laugh.

She hadn’t changed. But you had.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly, not even looking at her as you continued pouring.

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering how many favors you had to cash in to even get invited here,” she said with a tilt of her head. “Or wait—was it your new girlfriend who got you in?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know, Sevika?” Bella scoffed. “The teacher everyone’s suddenly whispering about? Kinda weird how you’re always around her. Like, are you trying to fail your way into her lap or what?”

You slammed the bottle down, the liquid inside sloshing dangerously. “Watch your mouth.”

Bella smirked, clearly getting the reaction she wanted. “Or what? You’ll cry into your little hoodie again? Newsflash, Y/N—just because one person pays attention to you doesn’t mean you matter.”

Your face burned.

“At least I don’t walk around like I own everyone,” you snapped. “How’s it feel knowing no one actually likes you, they’re just scared to be on your bad side?”

Bella’s expression twisted. “You really think Sevika likes you? Please. You’re just entertainment for her.”

You pushed her.

It wasn’t hard, just enough to make her stumble a step back. But it was enough.

The crowd shifted. Phones came out.

“Cat fight!” someone shouted, half-laughing.

Bella’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction—she wanted this. Wanted a scene.

She shoved you back, harder. Your drink splashed against your shirt.

And just like that, everything boiled up—Caitlyn’s warning, the blood, the lies, Sevika, all of it.

You weren’t the same girl who cried after class anymore.

You weren’t going to let her win this time.

Your chest heaved. Everything felt too loud—the music, the laughter, the pounding of your heart. You could feel the heat rising up your neck, your pulse thudding wildly beneath the still-healing bite.

Bella shoved you again. “Poor little freak,” she sneered. “Go cry to your mommy.”

You didn’t think.

You didn’t even blink.

Your hand shot out, grabbed the empty vodka bottle from the counter—cold, slick, heavier than it looked— and you swung.

A sickening crack echoed through the kitchen as glass connected with the side of Bella’s head.

She dropped instantly.

The bottle shattered in your hand, shards spilling to the floor with a soft, glittering clatter.

Blood started seeping from her scalp. She let out a choked sob, one hand pressed to her temple, the other groping blindly at the tile.

“Stop—stop, I didn’t even mean—” she whimpered, tears already mixing with the blood on her face.

You stood there, frozen.

Holding the jagged neck of the broken bottle, your hand trembling, little cuts already forming on your palm.

The party had gone dead silent.

All eyes were on you.

And then—

“Holy shit.”

Caitlyn pushed her way through the circle forming around you and came to a full stop, eyes wide, taking in the scene. Her gaze locked on the blood, the glass, your shaking hands.

“Y/N… what did you do?”

You didn’t answer. You just stared down at Bella, who was crying now—bloody and broken on the floor— and for the first time in your life…

You felt dangerous.

The ride home was dead quiet, except for the soft hum of Caitlyn’s luxury car and the distant thump of bass still echoing from the mansion behind you.

You sat in the passenger seat, stiff, hands still trembling in your lap. The blood on your fingers had started to dry, crusting against your skin and under your nails. You hadn't said a word since Caitlyn dragged you out the back door and into her car, barely managing to push through the panicking crowd.

Caitlyn kept glancing over, one hand white-knuckling the steering wheel.

"Y/N…" she started gently, voice tight, "I’ll talk to my parents. They’ll know what to do. We’ll keep it quiet. No police, no charges—Bella’s family won’t say a word if mine are involved."

You didn’t respond.

You just stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused, jaw locked tight.

Caitlyn swallowed. She hated when you went quiet like this—when you shut down.

"You didn’t mean to hurt her. You just snapped. It was the stress, the bite—whatever’s happening to you, we’ll figure it out. But you’re not a bad person, Y/N.”

Still, nothing.

You sat there, unmoving, staring into the dark road ahead like if you blinked, it would all come back. The crunch of glass. The blood. The sound Bella made when she fell.

Caitlyn looked over again, her voice softer now.

“Just… say something. Please.”

But you couldn’t.

Because deep down, you weren’t sure if she was wrong.

Caitlyn’s estate was cold and quiet when you arrived. The staff had gone home for the night, and her parents were away on one of their business trips—some hush-hush “diplomatic retreat” that you were never allowed to ask about.

You trailed silently behind her through the marble halls, still in the clothes from the party, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and something else you couldn’t name.

Caitlyn had offered the guest room without question. She didn’t try to talk anymore. Just handed you a pair of clean sleep shorts and a T-shirt, then gave you a tight hug at the doorway and whispered, “Lock the door if it makes you feel safer.”

You nodded. Said nothing.

Now you lay in the wide, soft bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was dim, moonlight filtering in through gauzy curtains. The sheets were cool against your skin, and the silence pressed in around you.

But your thoughts weren’t quiet.

They flickered constantly. Not to Bella, not to the blood, not even to Caitlyn.

To her.

To Sevika.

You hated it. The way her voice lingered in your head. The way her hand felt on your skin. The way your body responded before your mind could stop it.

You shifted under the covers, pressing your thighs together.

Images flooded your mind—the way she had hovered over you on the couch, how her mouth had felt against your neck, how close she always seemed, how hungry her eyes looked when she stared at you like you were something meant to be devoured.

Your breath hitched. You swallowed hard.

You knew it was wrong.

But that didn’t stop the warmth from blooming low in your stomach.

Didn’t stop your hand from sliding slowly beneath the waistband of Caitlyn’s borrowed sleep shorts.

Didn’t stop you from whispering her name like a secret—

“Sevika…”

Your fingers brushed lightly over your skin, hesitating for a moment—almost like you were waiting for someone to stop you. But no one would. No one could.

Not here. Not now.

You let out a shaky breath as your hand slipped further down, into the warmth between your thighs. The fabric of your borrowed sleep shorts offered just enough friction to make your pulse quicken.

You closed your eyes.

In your mind, it wasn’t your hand.

It was hers.

Rough, calloused, deliberate. Sevika never touched you like you were fragile. She looked at you like she wanted to ruin you—slowly, completely. And god, you wanted to let her.

Your hips shifted as your fingers moved in slow circles, barely teasing yourself, drawing out the tension that had been building since that night on the couch. Since her mouth had been on your neck, her breath in your ear, calling you her sweet girl.

The memory made your back arch slightly, your breath catching as you pressed a little harder, the heat building rapidly now.

You whispered her name again, softer this time, like it hurt to admit.

“Sevika…”

A tiny whimper escaped your lips as your fingers moved faster, hips rocking gently against your own touch. You could almost hear her voice—low and commanding in your ear.

“Good girl. Just like that.”

The way she’d looked at you, after feeding—eyes dark, lips red, still hungry. You imagined her pinning you to the bed, her hand wrapped around your throat, her mouth hot and wet between your thighs.

Your legs tensed, muscles coiling tight, your body aching for release. You bit your lip to keep from moaning too loud, your fingers moving faster, chasing the edge with desperation you couldn’t hide anymore.

And when it finally hit—

You gasped, sharp and breathless, back arching as pleasure rolled through you in waves.

It left you trembling. Empty.

But not satisfied.

Not really.

Because when you opened your eyes again, the room was still dark. Still quiet.

And Sevika was still nowhere near you.

The clinking of silverware on fine china was the only sound filling the grand dining room that morning.

Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, making the white tablecloth practically glow. You sat stiffly at the long table, a delicate porcelain plate in front of you, eggs untouched.

Across from you sat Cassandra Kiramman, perfectly composed in her silk robe, not a single brown-greyish hair out of place. Her husband, Tobias Kiramman, sat beside her in a crisp button-down, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he scrolled through something on a sleek tablet.

Caitlyn sat to your right. Quiet. Still in pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, sipping her tea like it was the only thing anchoring her to the room.

You didn’t belong here. Not in this house, not at this table, not after what happened last night.

But Cassandra spoke before you could spiral further.

“Y/N,” she began calmly, folding her hands in front of her. “Let’s talk about what happened.”

You shifted uncomfortably, your thighs sticking slightly to the leather dining chair. “I… I know what it looked like, but—”

“We’re not accusing you,” Tobias cut in, voice firm but not unkind. “We simply want to help. And to do that, we need the full truth.”

Your eyes flicked to Caitlyn, but she didn’t look at you.

“Y/N,” Cassandra continued, watching you closely, “we can ensure this doesn’t follow you. Bella’s family is—” she paused delicately, “cooperative, when necessary. But they’ll want answers. And so will the school.”

You licked your lips, your mouth suddenly dry.

“I don’t… I don’t know what happened,” you said truthfully. “One moment she was laughing in my face, and the next she was on the floor.”

Tobias raised an eyebrow slightly. “You don’t remember hitting her?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you added quickly. “I just… blacked out, I guess.”

A long pause followed. Cassandra tapped one manicured nail against the rim of her coffee cup.

“You’ve never had an episode like that before?” she asked, her tone unreadable.

“No,” you lied—well, half lied. You hadn’t blacked out. Not really. But it had felt like someone else had taken over. Something inside you cracked, and the next thing you knew, there was blood on your hands.

Caitlyn finally spoke, quietly. “She was overwhelmed. Bella’s been tormenting her since the start of the semester. The school knows that.”

Cassandra exchanged a glance with Tobias. Something silent passed between them.

Tobias finally nodded. “Alright. We’ll handle the necessary damage control. You’ll remain enrolled, but this stays off the official record. No police. No expulsion.”

Cassandra’s gaze lingered on you. “But we expect you to be honest with us, moving forward. No more surprises.”

You nodded slowly, but you felt their eyes on you like a weight.

You knew too much. And they had no idea.

Caitlyn’s bedroom door shut with a soft click, but the moment it did, she was pacing.

Back and forth.

One hand tangled in her hair, the other wrapped around her waist as if trying to hold herself together.

You sat on the edge of her bed, fingers twisted in the hem of your borrowed sleep shirt, watching her silently.

“This isn’t normal,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “You shouldn’t have blacked out. Bite side effects don’t work like that. Not unless…”

“Unless what?” you asked quietly.

Caitlyn froze, then turned to look at you. Her face was pale—more than usual—and her blue eyes were wide with panic barely restrained.

“Unless something’s wrong, Y/N.” She started pacing again. “God, what if the bite affected your brain chemistry? What if it triggered something dormant in your bloodline? What if you were compatible—what if my parents find out and think we’ve been hiding it—”

“Caitlyn.”

She didn’t hear you.

“They already think something’s off. My mom was watching you like a hawk at breakfast. And if they find out Sevika bit you—if they find out you know—then we are all so royally fucked.”

“Caitlyn.”

“What if the Kiramman Council finds out? What if they call a vote? What if—”

“Caitlyn!”

She stopped dead in her tracks, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You looked up at her, voice softer now. “I'm still me. Okay? A little... off, maybe. But I don’t feel like I’m turning into anything. I don’t want blood or power or to sprout wings or whatever it is you’re imagining.”

Caitlyn stared at you. “But something is happening, isn’t it?”

You looked down at the bite mark, hidden beneath your collar. It throbbed faintly, like it remembered what happened even when you tried to forget.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just know I’ve felt weird since she bit me. Like I’m on edge. Like everything’s too loud. Like I’m too aware of everything.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond. She just slowly sat down beside you, staring at the floor.

“If my parents find out Sevika fed on you, they won’t stop at just firing her,” she whispered. “They’ll tear her apart.”

You swallowed hard, unsure what that did to you—scared you… or something else entirely.

Caitlyn let out a long sigh and sank into the chair at her desk, spinning it slightly back and forth as she stared out the window. You sat quietly on the edge of her bed, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on your sleeve, your mind racing.

“We can’t go to a hospital. We can’t tell my parents. And I doubt Sevika’s gonna give us a straight answer,” Caitlyn muttered. “I feel like we’re backed into a corner here.”

You were quiet for a moment, then suddenly sat up straighter.

“What if we went to the public library?” you said.

Caitlyn turned to look at you, brow raised. “The library?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “The one downtown. It’s old—like, really old. There’s gotta be stuff there that doesn’t show up online. Books, records, weird mythology sections. Maybe something that talks about bite effects or… supernatural conditions that aren’t completely made up.”

Caitlyn looked thoughtful, the gears turning in her head. “My mom always said that place was a waste of taxpayer money. That means there’s definitely something useful in it.”

You laughed softly, and for a second, the tension eased between you.

“Alright,” she said, standing. “We’ll hit the library. Sunday hours are until six, and if we go soon, we’ll beat the evening crowd of old men and overachieving middle schoolers.”

You slid off the bed, already pulling your hoodie on. “Perfect. Let me grab my bag.”

Caitlyn was already slipping on her boots. “Let’s go figure out what’s happening to you.”

And as you both headed for the door, something in your chest stirred—anxious, scared, but just the slightest bit hopeful.

The town’s public library smelled like dust, old paper, and the faintest hint of lemon-scented cleaner. It was quiet inside—almost unnaturally so, the kind of silence that made every page turn sound like a thunderclap.

You and Caitlyn walked side-by-side past rows of bookshelves, your footsteps muffled against the worn carpet. It was colder inside than you expected.

Caitlyn looked around and leaned in slightly. “We should avoid the computers. If we search anything weird, the system might flag it. Let’s stick to the old-school stuff.”

You nodded, and the two of you split off, weaving through the aisles.

After a few minutes, you found a dusty, mostly-abandoned corner labeled Folklore, Mythology, and the Occult. Jackpot.

Caitlyn joined you, arms already full of oversized hardcovers. “These were literally buried behind a shelf of forgotten cookbooks.” She set them down on the nearest table with a dramatic thud.

You slid into a seat beside her, pulling a yellowed volume toward you. “Obscure European Folklore: Blood Magic and Binding,” you read aloud. “Sounds promising.”

Caitlyn opened another. “Transmutation, Transformation, and Myths of the Body.” She raised an eyebrow. “Light reading.”

For a while, the only sounds were the soft flipping of pages, the occasional scribble of notes, and the distant squeak of a cart being wheeled somewhere out of sight.

“Here,” Caitlyn said after a while, tapping a passage with her finger. “Listen to this: ‘Those who survive an incomplete vampire binding may exhibit altered temperaments, dissociation, heightened awareness, and loss of memory in states of emotional distress.’”

Your eyes flicked to her. “Loss of memory… like blacking out?”

She nodded grimly. “Exactly.”

You looked down at your hands, your heart sinking.

You had survived the bite. But what if it didn’t just leave a scar—what if it changed you?

Across from you, Caitlyn was flipping to another page. “Okay, this says something about recovery. ‘Strong emotional anchors can reverse early symptoms. Time, distance, and purification through willpower may restore the host to baseline.’”

You raised an eyebrow. “Translation: don’t have feelings, don’t see Sevika, and hope for the best?”

Caitlyn gave a half-smile. “Pretty much.”

You leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “This doesn’t feel like me anymore.”

She looked at you, quiet for a beat. “Then let’s figure out how to make you feel like you again.”

The sun had dipped lower by the time you and Caitlyn returned to the estate. The sky outside was awash in dusky gold and pink, casting long shadows through the arched windows. You felt heavier now—not just from what you’d read, but from the quiet realization that something real was happening to you.

Caitlyn unlocked the door, pushing it open with a sigh. “Let’s get you something to eat, and then maybe we can go through those notes again.”

You stepped inside behind her—

—and froze.

There, sitting calmly on the living room couch, was Sevika.

Your breath caught.

She was leaned back, ankle crossed over her knee, speaking in low tones with Cassandra and Tobias Kiramman, both seated across from her like this was some kind of scheduled business meeting.

Caitlyn stopped dead beside you. “What the hell is she doing here?” she hissed under her breath.

Sevika looked over the moment the door shut. Her eyes met yours—sharp, unreadable.

But something shifted in your chest.

Pain.

A sharp, piercing pain erupted behind your eyes, so sudden and blinding it knocked the breath out of you. You stumbled backward, clutching your temples.

“Y/N?” Caitlyn reached for you, alarmed.

You gasped, vision swimming.

The lights seemed too bright. Sevika’s voice sounded warped, echoing like it was underwater. You took another shaky step back, the pain splitting across your skull like someone was driving nails into your brain.

“Y/N!” Sevika stood suddenly, concern flickering across her face—

But everything went black before she could reach you.

Your legs gave out, and you collapsed to the floor.

The guest room had been converted into a makeshift infirmary by the time the vampire doctors arrived—two tall, pale figures in sleek black suits, their movements eerily precise, their presence unnervingly quiet. They didn’t ask questions. They simply got to work, examining you with instruments that looked more magical than medical, murmuring things in a language you didn’t recognize.

You were still unconscious.

In the hallway just outside the room, the real storm was brewing.

“She could’ve died!” Caitlyn shouted, her voice echoing off the marble walls. She stood between her parents and Sevika, visibly shaking, hands balled into fists at her sides. “Do you even get that? She’s a human, Sevika. What the hell did you do to her?”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Sevika growled, jaw clenched, her metal hand flexing at her side. “She begged me—”

“Don’t,” Caitlyn snapped, stepping forward. “Don’t even try to blame her for this. You’re the one with the fangs, the power, the responsibility. You knew better.”

Tobias Kiramman raised a hand between them, trying to play mediator. “Caitlyn—please. This isn’t helping.”

“No, what’s not helping is you both standing there like this is just another boardroom meeting!” she shouted, spinning to face her parents. “She’s in there—bleeding, shaking, fainting—and you're acting like this is normal! Why aren't you doing something?!”

Cassandra, ever composed, gave Caitlyn a measured look. “Because we’ve known this might happen for a while now.”

The hallway went quiet.

Caitlyn blinked. “What?” Her voice dropped, brittle with disbelief. “You knew?”

“We didn’t know it would be her,” Tobias said carefully. “But… yes. We’ve seen it before. Rare cases. When a vampire’s bite doesn’t follow the normal course. When it reacts with something in a human's blood. It’s been documented, though not publicly.”

“And you didn’t think to warn me?!” Caitlyn’s voice cracked with betrayal. “You’ve been letting me get closer and closer to her while knowing she might—what, change?”

“We were monitoring the situation,” Cassandra said calmly. “The moment symptoms began, we brought in the doctors. It’s under control.”

Caitlyn laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. “Right. Of course. You were just waiting to see if she’d turn into a science experiment first.”

Sevika remained quiet, her gaze locked on the closed door down the hall.

She wasn’t thinking about policies or protocols or damage control.

She was thinking about the way you looked before you fell—afraid, in pain, and worse… like you didn’t trust her anymore.

The first thing you felt when you woke up was the cold.

Not on your skin—inside your bones. A chill that didn’t belong, crawling beneath your ribs, whispering down your spine.

Your eyes blinked open slowly. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, and a soft hum came from some kind of device by the bed. You tried to sit up, but your head spun so hard you immediately collapsed back against the pillows.

Nausea. Pressure behind your eyes. And a faint, rhythmic pulsing deep in your chest that didn’t feel like your heartbeat.

Something was wrong.

Outside, you could hear muffled voices—Caitlyn, angry. Sevika, quiet. And then another voice—smooth, clinical. The vampire doctor.

“…She’s awake now,” the doctor said, stepping out into the hallway. His hands were folded behind his back, pale and composed. “But she’s not stable. And likely won’t be for some time.”

Caitlyn straightened immediately. “What the hell is happening to her?”

The doctor adjusted his cuffs, then looked between Tobias and Cassandra. “You were correct in suspecting a partial bond. The bite didn’t last long enough to turn her—but it lasted just long enough to change her.”

Caitlyn’s brows furrowed. “Change her how?”

“She’s phasing,” he said flatly. “Stuck between human and vampire. The body is confused. It’s not a clean conversion, nor a clean rejection. The bond created a link that never finished forming… and now, she’s paying the price.”

Caitlyn’s stomach sank. “What kind of price?”

“She’s experiencing the unstable side effects of a failed transition. Nausea. Headaches. Disorientation. Blackouts. Emotional instability. Heightened aggression.”

“She’s suffering,” Caitlyn whispered.

The doctor gave a small, slow nod. “Yes.”

“What about Sevika?” Tobias asked, arms crossed tightly.

“She is, unfortunately, receiving the benefits of the bond. A psychic tether was formed. She can hear the girl’s heartbeat when distressed. She can read thoughts—though the bonded subject’s mind is the strongest, loudest, and most accessible. And most critically, Sevika’s body now relies on her. She can’t go too long without being near the bonded subject, or she’ll begin to weaken from blood deprivation.”

“She’s feeding off her, and she didn’t even turn her?” Caitlyn spat.

The doctor turned calmly to Sevika. “In theory, if you had bitten her a few seconds longer, the change would have completed. But you pulled away. Just enough.”

Sevika’s jaw tensed, her eyes shadowed. “I didn’t want to turn her.”

“But now you’ve tethered yourself to her. Permanently.” The doctor’s voice dropped. “That bond will not fade on its own. Not unless one of you dies.”

The hallway went silent.

Inside the room, you stared at the ceiling, heart pounding—and you knew, without even hearing the words, that Sevika could feel it.

“I said no,” Caitlyn snapped, blocking the hallway.

“She’s mine, Caitlyn,” Sevika growled, her voice low and barely restrained.

“She’s not—” Caitlyn faltered, jaw clenched. “She’s sick. She needs space. She needs peace.”

Sevika’s eyes glinted in the low light, the usual sharpness dulled by something far more desperate. “I can feel her.” She placed a hand against her chest, just over her heart. “She’s hurting. And if I can feel it, that means it’s bad.”

Before Caitlyn could respond, Sevika brushed past her, the air between them electric with tension.

You heard the door creak open, but you didn’t turn your head. You already knew who it was.

The shift in the air. The static crawling over your skin. The way your heartbeat kicked up—not from fear, but something else.

Sevika stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind her. You were curled beneath the sheets, pale, barely holding it together, your fingers gripping the edge of the blanket like it might keep you anchored to reality.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice a rasp, like she hadn’t spoken in hours. Maybe she hadn’t.

You didn’t respond right away. Just watched her as she moved closer to the bed, her eyes never leaving yours.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“I know,” she murmured, sitting at the edge of the bed. “But I had to see you.”

You didn’t pull away when she reached out, her warm, calloused hand brushing your cheek. The touch made your breath hitch.

Your skin burned where her fingers touched it.

“Your heart’s racing,” she said, almost to herself.

“You can feel that now,” you whispered.

“I can feel everything,” Sevika breathed. “Every time you flinch. Every time you cry. Every time you think of me.”

Your throat tightened, and the silence between you grew heavier, soaked with the weight of things left unsaid.

Her thumb traced your bottom lip. Not forceful. Just enough.

“I didn’t mean to do this to you,” she said. “But I don’t think I can let you go either.”

Your eyes locked with hers. There was a hunger there—not just for blood. For you. For the way you looked at her, even now. For the way you hadn’t told her to leave.

She leaned in slowly, her forehead brushing yours, her breath warm against your lips.

“I dream about biting you again,” she confessed. “Not to feed. Just to feel you like that again. Yours. Mine.”

Your breath trembled.

Her hand slid to your waist, just resting there, like she was grounding herself.

“You’re warm,” she whispered.

“I feel cold,” you admitted.

Sevika pulled the covers down a bit and slid beside you, one arm curling around your middle.

You didn’t stop her.

You let her pull you into her chest, into that heat, into that soft place between wrong and inevitable. Her mouth hovered at your jaw, never quite kissing, but close enough that your whole body thrummed with anticipation.

It wasn’t sex. Not yet.

But your body knew. Hers did too.

This was the edge of something.

And neither of you were ready to step back.

The sun filtering through the stained-glass windows of Valemont Private Academy did nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. The polished floors gleamed beneath your shoes, and every click of your steps echoed a little too loudly through the halls.

Caitlyn walked beside you, shoulder close to yours, her brow furrowed with concern.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she murmured for the fifth time, clutching her books tighter. “You could’ve stayed home. My parents would’ve made the school excuse it.”

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice soft but steady. A lie, maybe—but a necessary one.

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine, Caitlyn.”

She didn’t believe you. But she didn’t press. Not here.

You approached your first class—English, of course—and just as Caitlyn reached for the door, you grabbed her wrist and stopped.

She looked back, eyes scanning your face.

“Do I look like I’m gonna pass out?” you asked.

She smiled weakly. “You look like you could kill someone with a pencil.”

“Cool. I’ll take it.”

The two of you stepped inside.

The classroom went dead silent.

Every head turned. Whispering stopped mid-sentence. It was like someone had pressed pause on a scene.

Eyes widened. A few mouths parted like they might say something. A boy in the back leaned in to whisper something to his friend but stopped when Caitlyn shot him a look sharp enough to draw blood.

You didn’t need vampire senses to hear what they were thinking.

That’s the girl who snapped. She hit Bella with a bottle. Did you hear she Like, lost it?

You moved to your seat like it didn’t faze you—like your skin wasn’t prickling under every stare, like your headache wasn’t slowly building again behind your eyes.

Caitlyn sat beside you, tense and silent, her jaw tight.

The teacher cleared his throat awkwardly at the front of the room, pretending to flip through papers. “Let’s… get started.”

But no one was really paying attention.

They were all still watching you.

You were no longer invisible. Not after Saturday night. Not after Sevika. Not after everything.

you weren’t sure if that scared you or excited you more.

The lunchroom was too loud. The kind of loud that made your head pulse and your stomach twist. You hadn’t eaten—again. Every time you tried, your nausea flared, and now you just sat at the edge of the table next to Caitlyn, pretending the lukewarm pasta on your tray didn’t exist.

Then you felt it.

That pull—low and warm in your chest. Your heart skipping a beat in a way that didn’t feel entirely yours.

You turned just in time to see Sevika at the far end of the hallway, framed in the glass of her classroom door.

She didn’t motion for you. She didn’t need to.

You were already on your feet.

The classroom was empty, dark except for the soft sunlight spilling in through the blinds. The air was cooler in here. Still.

You shut the door behind you.

Sevika didn’t say a word. She stood near her desk, arms tense at her sides, her breath visibly shallower than usual. When she turned to face you, you froze.

Her eyes were bright red. Not glowing faintly—burning.

“Sevika…” you whispered.

She moved without speaking, crossing the room in seconds, and before you could react, your back hit the wall with a soft thud.

Her hands caged you in, planted on either side of your shoulders, her body a breath away from yours. She leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing your cheek, her nose brushing the curve of your neck.

The moment her breath hit your skin, your knees nearly buckled.

You tilted your head without thinking.

“Please,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please, Sevika. Just do it.”

Her jaw clenched. You could feel the heat of her mouth hovering over your pulse. You wanted the bite. You ached for it.

Her fangs dropped. You could feel the sharp tips just barely graze your skin.

But then—she pulled away.

Just an inch. Then two. Then all the way.

Her hand brushed against your cheek as she wiped away a tear you didn’t even know had escaped.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said quietly, her voice thick, as if it physically hurt her to speak. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blinked, breathless, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You didn’t.”

Sevika gave you a look that said she didn’t believe you.

She stepped back, rubbing at her jaw, her fangs still visible but retreating.

“I can’t do this—not while you’re like this. It’s already too much. If I touch you again like that, I won’t stop.”

You stayed against the wall, heart hammering, your body still humming from the nearness. “Then don’t stop.”

Sevika turned away quickly, shaking her head like she was trying to break a spell. “Don’t say that.”

“But I mean it.”

She looked over her shoulder at you—haunted, hungry, tethered.

And then she whispered, “That’s what scares me.”

Comment to be added to the taglist!!

[squibsformers]

Feral Fears, Ch. 1

Human x Transformers fic

MTMTE/Lost Light, First Contact AU

Rating: M

Word Count: 1,004

Desc: After needing to stop off for more supplies, the Lost Light gets a strange, displeased, new passenger.

AN: Hi hi hello I hope you like this! This was the poll winner, maybe I'll do another chapter soon. If you like it let me know! I enjoy reading tags and comments on my things a lot. This one's short to kinda get me back into the swing of writing.

[Next]

“How in the pit have we gone through this much energon so quickly…?” Yellow servos tapped rapidly against the owner's desk, glaring at the report from Ultra Magnus. 

“If you bothered to pay attention, you would have heard me when I said the breach in the ship had us LOSE much of our stock, as well as how quick we went through our repair supplies... We can refuel and pick up more once we hit the next stop off, but we may be stationed at the outpost longer than you'd like.”

The prime sighed. “Longer as in a few vorns or-”

“Cycles. We have to wait for them to get us what we want if they don't have it.”

“Slag. Well… Damn. Okay, I guess we don't really have a choice- Set a course for the nearest outpost, tell the crew they're getting a… surprise few days of tourism to go run around and do whatever it is they please.”

“...That's not-” Ultra Magnus sighed. “That's bound to lead to trouble.”

“You wanna explain to everyone they're grounded to their rooms while we're parked and picking up supplies?”

Ultra Magnus sighed. “No…”

“That's what I thought. Plot a course! Let's get moving, the ship isn't gonna fuel itself!”

–---

Legs carried them desperately, ducking and weaving along unshipped cargo and barrels of fuel.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep quiet, keep running. Your lungs burned, feeling like hot embers were popping in your bronchial tubes, making them hiss and whine quietly as they flex, their feet thumping quietly, trying to run on the balls of their feet as they scurried through the shipping bay.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep running, keep pushing and going, it can't stop, if they stop they're FUCKED so utterly fucked-

“♠︎£°▪︎¤#%¡¡¿ ~×&%ꕥ˚꒦꒷꒷﹆¡¡”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-

They ducked down between two shipping containers that barely had enough space that they could squeeze between, cutting down the row and looking around.

Where to go. They had to hide, running wasn't going to work, they were so much bigger, so much stronger and faster and smarter- but they could be crafty. Ohoho and could be sneaky.

….I mean they couldn't see shit but. Well. That would just be an obstacle to work past.

The organic looked around, squinting while leaning back against a crate… and stumbled some, feeling the massive box's frame was warped. Frowning, it looked up, and noticed a small, dark spot waaay up at the lid.

….Hole. That had a hole.

Hopefully, a hole the human could wedge itself into.

To the right, they spotted some metal pallets…and started climbing, grunting and huffing with effort. The makeshift knapsack weighed them down some, but they kept moving, desperate for an escape, for freedom. The fleshy's hands slip at one point and they drop, letting out a pain-filled wheeze and hearing a nasty, wet crack.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it, don't do it. Barely even slowing down, the human heaves themself up, panting. Their free hand reaches over…and they whine as they clench the break, sliding the bone into…relative place. It looked…okay. Perfectly fine. Yes.

Absolutely. Couldn't even tell it had a staircase break.

….Time to climb again.

The human sighed and began scrabbling up, wincing and trying to ignore the obvious injury it had. They didn't have time to worry about that, and they needed to get to safety-

“^^□●₩◆°°°▪︎°%”

Fuck. Those fucking robots were close.

One pallet, two, three, four, six, eight-

When the organic reached the top of the pallets stack, they looked over to that crate, judged the little distance you could out…

And leapt across the gap, purposefully overshooting the edge so it wouldn't miss but stumbled and landed hard, cracking their already damaged arm, letting out a yelp of pain.

“!#$♤♤□♡°•°¡¡”

Time to hurry. That sounded very aggressive.

Feeling along the edge of the crate, they finally found the hole… and blindly smushed themselves inside, falling a small distance onto a pile of…something.

Cabling? It felt like cables, it had the outer layer of rubbery plastic��

Geez it was dark.

……Geez it was really dark.

They heard metallic footsteps storm closer, and the little organic being covered their mouth, taking slow breaths to try and stifle the sounds of being… well, alive.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours, the dark slowly pressing more and more in on you, stifling and terrifying but at the same time a sanctuary, a safety net. They listened as those pedes paced about, searching, scouring, seeking them out. They heard the strange “Vrr wrr chtcht chitter krr bzrtkr krrrzst” that was their strange natural language. Aggressive tones. Still mad. They heard…

….

They heard beeping. Something is getting closer, beeping is getting louder. Heard new footsteps, old ones fleeing once the shouting began. Heard the beep directly outside their cable sanctuary.

And then… felt movement. The crate jostled and shook, and you held your breath, waiting for the lid to be ripped off and you to be found….

But…that didn't happen. Instead…. the crate moved. And you were moving along with it, whether you wanted to or not.

There was chatter, again. Lots of chatter. Then there was an obnoxiously loud beep near one side of the crate, another more.. blippy-beep next to that spot…And the crate moved once more, rattling a bit, before there was a hiss, a soft thud and the sound of pedes leaving.

The little human stayed in that crate. Stayed in it for hours. 

And then there was a new noise. A louder noise. A deep, thrumming, hum, that evolved into a bone and brain rattling roar, of impossible machinery kicking in, engines revving, turbines whirling, and a feeling like, for a brief moment, their soul was pulled from their body.

When they felt relatively normal again, the human slowly peeked out from the hole in the crate, and squinted.

They had a feeling they were on another stupid ship.

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 7

Title: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary:��Nel flies home, Yuri flies back, Jungkook can't stop thinking about the other night. And you? Gods, don't even get me started.

Warnings: T, language, fluff (?), angst, reader is ~not~ okay for a chunk of this, bye bye Nel! it was nice to meet you, Yuri being the bestie she is, playful antagonism, JK thinking a lot, some photography technical words but nothing scary, reader is painting again, shocker.

Word Count: 4,463

Release Date: July 9, 2024. 2:00PM

A/N 1: Hi this was supposed to be released like a month and a half ago but then i went to europe and my brain was anywhere but near electronics. Anywhooo here she is, as always thanks for waiting and I'll try to be more consistent now that post vacation depression has kicked in.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Sometimes life works out incredibly conveniently for you, like when Nel’s flight leaves a half hour before Yuri’s gets in at the same airport. 

But then it sucks again as your week with Nel flies by so quickly it feels like you’ve had no time at all while also having so much because of all the new memories you’ve both made. 

Currently in a rideshare and airport bound, because you will be in no way okay to drive back, your grip on Nel’s hand is strangling as you take in every last second of time you can get with him. He keeps giving kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth; anywhere he can get access to really. 

He doesn't want this week to end just as much as you don’t. Fuck this fucking sucks so much.

The driver pulls up to the terminal drop off, and you both exit. Nel grabs his bag from the trunk, now filled with little mementos from your week as well as his clothes. A pressed flower from the greenhouse, museum postcards, a doodle you did for him while he was sketching, and more, all tucked away for safekeeping. All the only physical things he can hold onto until he sees you next. 

Walking into the airport, you make your way up to the check in desk, paperwork already in hand. Nel checks in and you request an escort pass, determined to spend every last moment together. 

There’s a lump forming in your throat that you’re trying to swallow. It’s thick, like a ball of unending peanut butter you can’t get down. And your chest feels like a black hole has opened inside of it, right where your heart is supposed to be. Every second that ticks away allowing another drop of the warmth you have with him to be sucked right out of your sternum.

Painful doesn’t even begin to describe this feeling. 

As beautiful as your week was, the reality of the present is setting in, and the closer you get to his gate, the closer you are to tears. You’re trying your best to blink them away, but you won’t be seeing him until winter break, and even then, that’ll only be for a day or two at most before you have to wait till summer to see him again. So it might as well be goodbye for those full 6 months.

It hurts. It hurts so bad to have to go through this over and over again, to have this separation from the one you love, even if it’s only temporary. Funny how temporary can sometimes feel like forever when you’re in the middle of it. 

Funny how the concept of temporary doesn’t make the gash in your heart open any less.

You don’t want him to go, but you know he has too. The faster he goes, the faster he can come back to you. 

You hate that he has to go in the first place. You just want him to stay. Please, just stay.

But he can’t. 

You reach his gate and before you know it, his flight’s being called to board and your tears refuse to stay inside any longer, the lump succeeding in its plot of victory. They spill down your cheeks in silent rivers, wet splotches on the neckline of your shirt forming as they flow. 

Maybe they’ll create a little lake in the hole he’s leaving you with. There’s certainly enough of them to fill it. Something to fill the void a little until you can see him again.

Nel takes one look before scooping you into a crushing hug, a desperate echo of the one from a week ago. His own tears now staining.

“I love you so much,” he says. You don’t see his eyes squeeze shut, nor do you see him memorizing your smell, as he kisses the top of your head. And his voice wobbles as he whispers, “It’s not forever, it’s just for now.” 

He says those words every time you two part, whether it was for a day or a year. Never goodbye or so long. Never see you later. 

They’ve always been a small comfort in otherwise shitty situations. 

“Just for now,” you get out through quiet sobs, gripping onto him even tighter as you shake. 

It takes you a couple deep breaths before you can say anything without breaking. “I love you too. Please be safe, message me when you land, and do well on your final exams.”

He smiles at that last bit, and your tears free themselves again. You’re going to miss seeing that smile in person.

Nel pulls you in once more, tighter. “It’s always harder when my good luck charm is halfway across the world, but I’ll manage.” Your sobs stutter with a broken laugh, and you’re pretty sure his sweater is going to have tear stains on it. “I promise I’ll message as soon as I can. And I’d wish you luck but you never need it. You always do well.”

The announcement for final boarding calls and both of you freeze in each other's arms. You don’t want him to go. He doesn’t want to go.

But he has too. 

You separate only enough to kiss. It’s messy and wet and gross, but you don’t care. It’s the last one you’ll have for a while and you never want it to end. 

But it does. 

Nel pulls away, and you reluctantly let him. He grabs his bag with one hand, the other holding onto both of yours as he backs away until he can no longer reach. Your arms drop to your sides with the traces of his warmth on your skin.

You watch as the boarding crew welcomes him on, and he takes one look back at you. 

You wave, mouthing ‘I love you.’

He mouths ‘I love you’ right back, and turns the corner.

You waited for Yuri at her terminal after dropping off Nel and taking five—okay ten—minutes to violently sob in the bathroom. 

She took one look at your half smile and puffy eyes and smothered you in a hug. Smelling like sunshine and ocean water, it was exactly what you needed. 

“It’s okay Sweets, you’ll see him again before you know it. This year will pass by so fast, just you see,” she tells you through your whimpers, the tears having returned the second her arms were around you.

They dry sometime on the way home. It was a thirty minute ride back to school, and they fell silently for a solid twenty before you even got in.

You hate goodbyes. 

But Yuri’s seen this three times now, and she always knew that a warm drink and junk food were in your immediate shared futures when she did. Screw healthy coping methods. It may be 9:30pm on a Sunday night, but that won’t stop you from downing a pint as you drown your sorrows in sweet, sweet cookies n cream. 

Yuri also knows you need a distraction, so she doesn’t hold back on telling you every detail of her vacation. 

The duke from a few weeks ago had been a dud. ‘Shit personality and even shittier sex’ according to Yuri. No consultation needed. 

But this new guy from the Ilcalos Islands sounds promising. He’s a Count of something she can’t remember but in her words, “big heart and even bigger dick.” 

That makes you giggle. And you’re happy for her. 

“Bitch, the second night he did this thing with his tongue and an ice cube and oh. my. god. I think I’m in love. That man could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d still say thank you afterwards,” she’s rambling at this point and you’re mentally apologizing to the driver for having to hear all of it. 

You, on the other hand, don’t mind at all; gladly welcome it actually. You want your mind anywhere other than the present right now. 

You don’t want to start crying all over again. By the morning you’ll be fine, you’ll have let out everything you needed too. But between then and now, it’s a matter of mentioning the wrong words or seeing an intriguingly designed building that could trigger those pesky tear ducts.

So you listen to Yuri go on and on about this guy, all his techniques and what she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since she last saw him. His number is already saved in her phone under a very inappropriate name, but you expect nothing less from her. 

You love her for it. For this. 

For knowing what you need to stay afloat right now and not allowing you to throw the anchor overboard with your leg chained to the end.

You really fucking hate goodbyes. 

You’re staring at him. 

Like, full on, no bars held, staring at him. 

And Jungkook’s pretending he doesn’t notice.

You’re sitting in your chair and he’s back in his beside you at greenhouse cafe. Your half done painting of pink flowers sits in front of you, his laptop screen’s filled with this week's newly assigned ‘Studio Portrait Techniques 1’ homework. 

His half finished coffee on his table. An empty pastry bag on yours.

His hands on his keyboard, yours gripping a brush.

And you’re staring at him. 

He’s hoping it’s because this is the first time you’ve seen him since Nel left. 

But it’s probably to do with the fact that he hasn’t looked at you once today. Or the fact that he’s barely spoken at all when he usually can’t seem to shut up when it’s been more than 48 hours since he last saw you. 

Because it’s also the first time he’s seen you since he was with Adaline, imaging she wasn’t Adaline.

“You’re acting weird,” you say.

“No I’m not,” he responds a little too quickly, eyes still focused on his computer.

Yes he is. He really, totally is. 

“Yes you are, you won't look at me and you’ve barely said two words since I got here.” Well your knack for observancy is still intact.

Normally that's a good thing, but right now?

“Did I do something wrong?”

No. No you didn’t.

He did.

He let his emotions get the best of him in a moment of weakness. He let himself become so overwhelmed with feelings he isn’t allowed to have. He let them win for a single night.

And now if he isn’t paying the goddamned consequences. 

After that night with Adaline, Jungkook had woken up filled with regret. He’d crossed a line he didn’t even know he should have drawn in very dark, very permanent ink.

For letting himself, just for one moment, imagine what it would be like to be with…

And things are harder than ever to shove down now. He can’t look even look at you without thinking about it. About what he did. What he wanted. 

Wants.

Fuck, he’s in over his head.

Jungkook forces himself to look at you, putting his years of social training and emotional masking to good use. It sure as hell came in handy during times like this.

Because you can never know. 

He can’t lose you because he's unable to get his shit together. It’s not your fault he feels like this. 

So he lies. Both to you and to himself, hoping it might help him believe it.

“Nothing’s wrong Dali, just focused on my work is all. We got assigned a big project on Monday and I’m planning out all my shoots.”

You look hesitant, like you can see right through his bullshit excuse that was only a half excuse because this project is massive. 

“If you say so,” your tone implying you don’t believe him, but thankfully, you let it go and lean closer to him to see. He pretends his breathing doesn’t hitch, “What’s the project?”

“It’s my final assignment for a class, I have to do a series of five portraits. Each one with a different style, capturing a different emotion, and they all have to be of the same subject to show the true versatility of my work. It’s easy to make things look different when it’s different people being photographed,” he explains.

Therefore, this assignment, and all of its working parts, is huge. He’s glad it’s due in the middle of December because it’s going to take him almost a month of planning to get it all together; backdrops, concepts, costumes, previsualization, focal lengths, props, equipment, lighting setups, etc. And then when the planning is over: to shoot, narrow down and edit. 

But that’s the point of it. To have the students demonstrate they know how to effectively expand on the definition of a ‘portrait’ instead of having one concept in mind and sticking to it. 

‘To broaden your creative approaches to seemingly simple constructs,’ as his professor would say.

He loves the way this professor does assignments. How she layers them so that not only does he learn how to shoot multi-concept ideas for the same project type, allowing him to add to his creative portfolio, but they also force him to break out of the expected conclusions for an idea and think outside the box. 

“Oh wow, that is a lot,” you say. Because you understand long running projects. 50 hour paintings don’t just happen in a day. “Do you have any ideas yet?”

“Yeah! I have them all already, actually,” he turns his computer towards you and you see a point by point list of summarized ideas.

- Bright and bold - happy, bright smile, colourful gels - Black and white, soft light: gel or bounce? Silk diffuser  - profile with water falling on face - relieved - Focused on passion - candid, regular colour. Diffuser? Or silk flag? - Normal colour profile, stark lighting - serious, front facing body, profile facing left, no visible clothing, “regal” _|(_*-*)>_. Flag.  - Mysterious - black background, white smoke, barely visible model, lower half of face painted black, upper half white, striking purple eyes (contacts?). Flags. Gels? 

“I’m really excited for this project,” he says, “it’s just the prep that’s going to take a while. Getting it all mapped and planned out. It’s mostly concepts right now.”

You nod, understanding once again. Though very different mediums, visual arts and photography are similar in many ways. 

“Adaline going to be your model?”

It doesn’t surprise him you think that, but he has no intentions of ever using Adaline for assignments or homework. 

“Actually, I… uhh…” he trails off. Jungkook’s trying to get the words out, he is. But they’re surprisingly difficult for some reason, and getting caught in his throat. 

Which makes his earlier anxious state come back in full force. 

It shouldn't be this difficult. It won’t be the first, second or fifth time he’s asked you.

Get the words out Jeon. Put on your professional face, this is nothing new.

He fails, instead, his voice comes out barely above a whisper as he says, “I was going to ask you if you would.”

You somehow hear him. 

“Me?” you look dumbfounded. 

“Yes, you.” He’s always used you for homework assignments before, so he’s not sure why all of a sudden this is surprising. Maybe because it’s a final assignment versus a weekly one? The effort will be greater? 

“But you have Adaline? I assumed that she would take up the position of model when you guys started going out.”

Oh. That makes more sense. 

But that is one mistake he won’t be making again, because he did ask Adaline. 

Once.

It was recent, Nel was still here and he didn’t want to disturb you because of that. Plus Jungkook was just trying to get a jump on his upcoming assignments anyway, taking a page from your book.

So he asked Adaline. And she leapt at the opportunity, like he expected.

What he didn’t expect, was when she essentially directed, staged, lit and posed every. single. shot. so that she would look her best. 

All he did was click the capture image button when she said too. 

And after the shoot, before he could even think to look at the pictures, Adaline was already there, holding his camera, going through them and deleting any picture she deemed ‘ugly.’

He was left with less than 20 images from the shoot where he was ordered to take over 200. And she even made him switch out one of the three he narrowed down for one she liked better. 

So no, he would not be asking Adaline to model. 

Ever again.

“Nah. You’re a lot easier to work with because you don't care how the pictures turn out, and let me do my thing. Adaline cares a bit too much, and has to have approval on all of them before I submit.”

You snort. “Seriously? Is she that self absorbed?” a quirked brow places itself on your face to match the smirk now on your mouth.

That’s new.

Your tone towards Adaline has always been neutral, if not a bit sharp when he talks about her. 

But this one? It’s like you know her, and knew she was like that, but didn’t know it was this severe. 

Adaline is very popular...maybe you two met and it didn't go well?

It certainly sounds like you don’t like her, if those six words were anything to go by. Which, he guesses they shouldn’t, but he knows you well enough by now to know the difference.

And if he’s honest, that wouldn’t shock him in the slightest. You two are nothing alike, and thank god for that. 

He covers for Adaline, like any boyfriend would. Though it stings a little bit.

“She’s just careful about what images could be leaked to the press. Can’t really blame her for that.”

Your face changes minutely, as if a second of understanding passes through before you turn to go back to your painting, and mutter, “no, you can’t,” placing a splash of pink on a flower. 

He returns to his work as well, switching the portrait assignment out for a different one. He needs to get his mind off it for a while before circling back. 

And the fact that you didn’t answer him. 

Deciding on a Design and Visual Culture assignment due next week, he dives in head first, resuming his earlier state of focus and avoidance.

Jungkook’s editing a picture when you stretch. 

You often hunch over your work, so you try to stretch every 30 minutes or so. Your arms are in the air and he catches a peek at the nearly finished floral study. 

They’re some kind of vibrant pink dangling flowers, and you’ve captured the likeness of them quite well, to no surprise of his, so he goes to compliment it but you beat him to the punch.

“Shots blurry.”

Jungkook does a double take at his laptop screen. He’d spent the better part of 40 minutes editing the image and hadn’t noticed that.

Because it’s not. It’s perfectly crisp and clear.

When he looks back to you, you have a shit eating grin on your face. 

Ah, he knows that look. 

You love to tease him about little things like that, giving him mini heart attacks. ‘Pay back for that first day,’ you claim. 

Well…

Two can play this game, so he plays off your comment.

“Oh, you're right. Thanks,” and he switches to another image. 

Your grin falters but you recover quickly.

“No problem.”

See, while you know how to playfully harass him about his pictures, Jungkook knows how…particular you are about your colours. How they need to be labelled correctly instead of by their umbrella terms like ‘blue’ or ‘red.’ Because blue or red could mean any one of the dozens of ‘sub colours.’

‘It’s not blue, it’s cerulean,’ you’d remark. 

‘That’s not red, it’s burgundy,’ you’d correct him.

You’re always correcting him, and it makes his pants tighten a little bit every time. But that’s on the other side of the line he does not cross anymore. A nice, big, fat, permanent, protective line. 

Jungkook settles for a more subtle method of attack. Using this little fact and your ridiculously extensive knowledge of flowers against you. 

He never thought the defense and attack lessons his father put him through would come in handy like this. But he’s glad for them now. It was the only time he could ever outsmart you.

He gestures to your canvas. “Those pink flowers are pretty, what are they called?” 

“Their common name is Lady’s Eardrop. And they’re magenta.”

Hook, line, sinker. 

He doesn’t even have to try, you walk right into it every time.

“Lady’s eardrop? That’s a weird name…do they come in other colours besides pink?”

You don’t look up as you reply. 

“Magenta, and yeah. Some are plum and magenta, some are a buttery white and magenta, and then some have this like, almost dark tangerine hue, but they’re a different type, longer. Not the same as those,” you point with the end of your brush to the greenhouse, where the fully magenta lady’s eardrop sits in the window. 

“And are these pink ones your favourite?” he’s really trying his best to keep a straight face as yours contorts with an eye twitch at every use of the word.

“They’re. Magenta. And sure, but the plum ones are pretty too.”

“Noted, the pink lady's eardrop are your favourite among eardrops.”

You break, turning to him, voice raising in minor annoyance. Jungkook bites his cheeks to keep a smile at bay.

“They are magenta. Not pink. Pink entails a lighter hue, there’s more titanium white in pink. That,” you point again, “is very clearly, magenta.”

He has to. 

He can’t help it. 

You’re sexy when you're assertive, he thinks. Tip toeing on that nice, big line.

But also hilarious. 

“Same difference.”

He can see the fire in your eyes blaze.

“No, not ‘same difference,’ they’re magenta!”

He’s leaning in. “Pink,” eyeing your lips as you speak. 

You lean in too, enunciating every syllable to prove your point. “Ma-gen-ta.”

Your noses are mere inches from touching. 

“They’re pink, Van Gogh,” he backs off before he does something stupid that he’ll regret, “Don’t get so invested.”

You back off too, sass still very evident when you reply, “They’re fucking magenta, asshat. Two completely different colours and you’ll label them as such around me.”

You’ve always had a mouth on you. One you aren’t scared to use when necessary, especially around him. So he doesn’t push any farther, knowing he’s already gotten what he wanted and then some. 

But also because sitting has become slightly uncomfortable. There was a stiff breeze, he tells himself.

Thank god for baggy, oversized hoodies. 

Returning once again to his work, he puts an elbow on the table and places his hand on the left side of his face to hide the massive smile that’s trying its best to turn into a smothered laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lets his Princely guard down around you and so he forgets to force it down to an uncomfortable degree like he would at the palace. His laugh slipping out as a strangled noise and he quickly turns it into a cough, hoping you don't notice. 

But you do, because it’s you. Of course you do.

And the look on your face is priceless.

“You did that on purpose!”

“What?” he says way too high pitched. “Nooo, I would never, one hundred percent intentionally, say pink just to get back at you for pointing out the non-existent blur in my perfectly clear picture.”

He can see you trying to control your features, can see you failing and giving up by facing your canvas again, smiling to yourself.

“I was wondering how many times I could get you to say it. I think that was somewhere around ten? Gotta be a new record.”

You roll your eyes at him, but your quirked mouth remains. 

“You’re such a dick,” you quip.

“Yet, you like me anyways.”

You mumble something incoherent.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Awe, c’mon now. Fess up.”

A pause, before, “I said I just remembered I don’t know your favourite colour.”

No you most certainly did not, but he’ll let it slide.

“Black.”

“Ugh, boring.”

“What?”

“Boring,” you say again with absolutely no hesitation and proceed to grace his eyes with your own. “And technically not a colour. Black’s a shade.”

Jungkook offers up a non-smothered chuckle, saving his throat from further shenanigans.

“Whatever, Seurat, it’s still black. What about you? What’s Miss High and Mighty All Knowing of Colours’ favorite?”

“It’s still a shade,” you repeat.

“It’s still my favourite. Answer the question,” he presses. 

You give him an unimpressed stare. 

“Violet. Royal violet. The one your dad wears a lot,” your expression softens to one of wonder as you continue. Like you didn't just refer to the King of the nation you live in as ‘his dad’ so casually. “And when it’s not that, it’s this bright yellow. Like sunflowers or daffodils. Or the colour leaves turn in the fall when the light hits them from above just right.”

It’s Jungkook's turn to stare now. You look lost in your own head, envisioning the colours you describe, seeing them dancing in your eyes. And he can’t help himself, you glow when you speak about something you're passionate about.

“Why two?” 

“Why not?” you answer, still dreaming, colours swimming in oceans of thought. Your voice is almost whimsical. “Don’t you get bored of one colour for too long? It’s nice to switch things up every now and then.”

His reply brings you back down to earth, albeit slowly.

“Red.”

“Hmm?” you touch ground.

“If you won’t accept black, then red. The rich dark one, like blood.” He chose the first colour that came into mind, not really caring which one. 

He did like red. Red looked good in many ways. On cars, clothes, lips...

But he chose the first one that popped into mind because after hearing your favourite colours and the reasons why, he started to like them more than all the others too.

“Red’s a great choice, strong,” you say, allowing him the blanket term just this once.

“Thanks.”

There’s a moment of comfortable quiet between you before you break it.

“When do you need me for the shoot?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows find his hairline. 

That was a yes, right? You’re saying yes?

“Uhm…soon, I’ll let you know the specifics when I do.”

“Sounds good.”

He was going to leave it at that, but adds, “Thanks, Y/N.”

He hasn’t said your name since the assembly. 

Always nicknames when talking to you. Always. 

Never your name. 

Not once in two months. Almost three.

You—

An inhale.

You…like it.

The way it sounds coming from his lips.

Exhale.

Chapter Eight: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

A/N 2: She's shorter but chapter 8 is like 11k so far, so I hope that makes up for it!

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[friedbaekhyunandeggso]

found you - ch. 6 (part II)

pairing: gojo satoru x female oc (ara natsuna)

tropes: psycho! rival! athlete! yandere! gojo x introvert! smart! rbf! oc

warnings: 18+ only, stalking/possessive themes, profanity, coercion, pet names (kitten, baby), sexual themes, gruesome/violence, physical assault, there’s probably more but i can’t think of it all at the top of my head—just be warned & pls if there’s anything that makes u even slightly uncomfortable pls do not proceed truly

word count/plot: [16.5k!] ara catches gojo’s attention when news breaks that she is the top academically ranked student in their grade. he is ranked second. he tries to befriend her but she ignores him. despite her obvious disinterest, his obsession begins…

a/n: hiii sorry for the delay folks but part 2 is out now ;) happy reading

ch. 1 , ch. 2 [ part 1 | part 2 ] , ch. 3 , ch. 4 , ch. 5 [ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 ], chapter 6 [ part 1 I part 2 ]

The pain was blinding. Black spots lined his vision. Blood dripped down his brow as he attempted to open his eyes. His vision blurred as he tried to focus on his surroundings.

He grunted, trying to straighten his back only to realize he was tied to a chair. His wrists tied to the armrests and his ankles tied to the chair legs.

He could barely react, everything hurt. His head was pounding.

“Oh! You’re up.”

He glanced around and realized he was in Ara’s room. He couldn’t find the owner of the voice but he spotted a bloody pipe wrench on her desk. His pipe wrench that he kept in the garage.

Suddenly a tall, built boy entered his line of sight. He was dressed in all black, down to his black gloves. He was pale with the lightest hair he’d ever seen—it was nearly white. His eyes were quite the brilliant blue, it was unnatural how they seemed to glimmer like crystals in the dark.

He tilted his head, “Remember me?”

His head throbbed, causing him to groan. The side of his head hurt so bad it felt like the pointed edge of a metal cube was trying to embed itself into the left side of his skull.

He spit out blood as he replied through a gasp, “Fuck are you?”

The boy frowned, “Aw, I was hoping you remembered. Ara told me you once did but-“ he tapped his own temple, “-your heads probably all messed up right now so I can’t blame ya.”

He groaned as another painful throb passed through his head.

The boy appeared unbothered, merely gazing around the room with…longing, was it?

What’s wrong with this piece of shit? What’s he want with me?

The boy was staring at Ara’s bed when he yelled, “The FUCK DO YA WANT FROM ME?”

The boy laughed boisterously, tilting his head back as he did so, “So loud. Don’t you wanna know who I am first?”

He glared, only to wince when his head pounded once more. It hurt so bad. He felt warm blood trickling down his neck as he heaved.

“No?” The boy smiled, “Alright then, you can answer my questions first.”

The pain was making it hard for him to think. He dropped his head, trying to focus on evening out his breath so he could do something to get outta here but Christ he just wanted to close his eyes…

The boy grabbed his chin and forced his head back up, “Aht, aht. Chin up.”

“Fuck you.” he hissed.

“This is your daughter’s room, isn’t it? Have you even been in here since she left? Looks the same.”

“She’s missing.” he spat.

“Well she left you before that.”

“Excuse me?” he growled.

The boy picked up a picture frame on her nightstand. It was a picture of him holding Ara when she was a baby, her mother had taken the photo. “Did you leave everything as it was hoping she’d be back?”

He was feeling too much pain to respond. All he could do was watch the boy stare at the photo before gently setting it back down.

“I was the same,” A grin broke out across his lips, “til I crashed out.”

Why’s he acting like he knew my daughter?

He picked up Ara’s only stuffed toy, a small battered sheep that was once fluffy but had gone through the washing machine too many times.

“Do you even know where she went when she left?”

According to the cops, she’d lived with one of her high school friends. A boyfriend, at that. He’d been so disappointed that he hadn’t even bothered to ask who. His daughter had become a whore.

The boy tossed the sheep back onto the bed. He clenched his teeth, he hated that he was touching his daughters things.

His bright blue eyes snapped to his, “Do you?”

There was something so off about the look in the boy’s eyes he decided to answer, “She lived with some–some boy.” He spat out some blood that had trickled down his lips, “Stupid whore.”

Suddenly the boy was directly in front of him, his hand shoving back the top rail of the chair, making the chair tilt backward. The abrupt action wasn’t good for his head.

“She's not a whore.” If he’d thought there was something wrong with his look earlier, it was nothing compared to now. There was a feral glint to his eyes that was downright psychotic despite the cold sense of control in his words.

He let go of the chair, causing it to fall forward and make his head bob as the chair fell back in place. The rough action made his head pound in pain, he felt more hot blood spill down his cheek. He made a choked sound as black spots clouded his vision.

The boy stood behind him. His voice came from somewhere above his right ear as he outstretched an arm to point at Ara’s bed, “I took her virginity on that bed—right under your nose.”

Red hot anger pulsed through him but before he could speak his head was yanked back by a fistful of his hair, making him yell in pain.

He spoke into his temple, “She only put out for me, cuz she’s mine.”

He went on, “She was a good girl, and a good daughter.”

His head was suddenly shoved forward. His wound throbbed, he felt more blood gushing down his scalp. The pain was making him dizzy.

Through his hazy vision he spotted the boy circle around him, “And you hit her anyway..”

The boy tapped his bound hand, his index finger skimming his knuckles, “..with these hands..”

“..these legs.” Suddenly he viciously kicked one of the chair legs, sending the chair reeling. He was certain it was going to fall over but somehow it managed to stay upright. His head had swung around so harshly he was going to puke from pain.

“F-fuck!” he cried out.

The boy looked him up and down, “You’re making such a big mess.”

There was a trail of blood on the floor, in the places that his chair had been swung around.

“Let’s go somewhere else.” He grabbed the back rim of the chair and swiftly began to drag him out of the room.

He yelled, the tilted angle and rough movement of being dragged around only made the pounding in his head worse. He couldn’t keep his head still.

Finally the chair was pulled still, making him sigh in relief—until he was kicked down the stairs.

He screamed, the pain of bouncing down each step was brutal in its intensity. It felt like a bullet piercing through his skull with each jerk of his head.

He was certain he was going to die when the floor by the bottom steps was inches away from his face only to be yanked still.

He gasped, turning back to see a menacing grin on the boy’s face. He was holding the back rim of the chair with one hand, “Not yet, old man.”

He dragged the chair to the kitchen, only to spot the array of kitchen knives neatly spread out on the counter. The toolbox that he kept in the garage was there as well, including his drill.

Fear exploded in his gut.

The boy precariously tossed the bloody pipe wrench in the air before setting it down alongside the arranged tools and knives.

“She cared about you a lot, y’know.”

His fear almost made him forget who he was talking about. He watched the boy pace around, overlooking the laid out tools.

He picked up the mini cordless electric chainsaw.

His throat instantly went dry.

The boy wasn’t looking at him as he spoke, merely testing the weight of the saw in his hand, “She drove by here to check up on you.”

His blue eyes zoned in on him, “Even though you beat the shit out of her.”

Dread rushed through him, louder than the pain. If he was going to die, so be it. But he wasn’t going to let this shithead tell him what to do with his daughter. Yet the longer he looked at him, a sense of familiarity brewed within him…

“I only hit her when she deserved it.” he seethed.

For the first time he saw true anger spark in the boy’s eyes, “Oh yeah? What did she do the night she ran away from you then?”

“She lied—just like her fuckin’ mother. She lied about there being a fucking robber the night I got busted up so I had to show her what happens to liars—“

In the blink of an eye the boy was right in front of him, his hand squeezing the life out of his throat, “No. You had a breakdown because of your ugly fucking face and chose to lash out on her.”

“You knew she wouldn’t fight back..” He squeezed his neck harder, “cuz she never fights back with you.”

His eyelids twitched. He felt the air leave his body and began to thrash. Choked noises left him as he tried to swing his neck out of his grasp. Just before his vision went black, the boy let go.

The boy leaned towards him, placing his hand on the back rim of the chair, “Do you remember who the robber was?”

“There was a no fucking robbber.” he spat hoarsely, “It was you.”

A bright smile bloomed across his lips, “That’s right.”

He let go of the chair and took a step back. He turned the saw on and held it close to his face.

He screeched, jutting back and sending the chair flying backwards. He groaned as his head hit the floor. The pain thundered through his skull..

The sound of the saw turned off and all that filled the house was the sound of his bright boyish laughter.

Once he blinked away the spots in his eyes, he looked up to see the boy standing over him. The boy's face looked upside down from his view.

“I should’ve fucked your face up more.”

Suddenly his foot was on his face, pressing down so hard he had to scream. The pain was excruciating—

“AHHHH!!!”

He began to grind the heel of his foot until a disgusting ‘crunch’ resounded under his shoe.

“Oh?”

He raised his foot to see the man’s nose had combusted. Pieces of bone could be seen within the mush of blood.

He smiled, “There we go.”

He pulled the chair back upright. The man coughed out blood, his eyes struggling to regain focus through the pain.

“F-fuck you.” he gurgled out.

He patted his shoulder, “You would’ve died that night if she didn’t stop me.”

He sauntered in front of him, “You also would’ve died the night she came crying to my doorstep.”

A chuckle suddenly escaped him, “Why’s death always involved every time I wanna see you?”

He couldn’t answer, merely heaving from pain as blood spilled down his face. His mouth was full of blood.

The boy’s back was to him as he faced the kitchen counter. He watched his arms move as if picking things up and setting them down, “I helped her put on lotion every night cuz she was so worried about her skin scarring.”

He turned around with a drill in his hands, “But what about the ape who gave her those scars?”

He shook his head, “You were barely twenty minutes away but I couldn’t do shit cuz she would get mad at me.”

He shrugged, “Looks like she’s not around to stop me anymore.” He took a step towards him.

His eyes widened, “Wait! Wait-“ he sputtered through the mess on the face.

“Wait what.” he snapped as he stood before him.

He watched the old man cough out clumps of blood with disgust, “I didn’t want us to meet like this either.”

“I always thought I’d meet you sometime before I put a ring on her. I wanted to pretend to ask for your blessing and then rub in your face how happy I would make her.”

He used the tip of the drill to tilt his chin up, “I wanted to send you the wedding video, so you could watch her smile and laugh and cry happy tears—and feel like the fat fucking loser you are.”

Her Dad shook his head, making more blood pour from his nose, “P-please-h-hold on, you—“ he breathed haggardly, “you want to marry my daughter?”

He felt a low thrum in his chest as he swallowed. He answered flatly, “Yes.”

“S-she wants to?” Another chunk of nose slid down his face, “Marry you?”

He grinned bitterly, “I didn’t get the chance to ask.”

It was hard to tell with all the blood on his face, but he seemed to be confused, “I-I don’t get it. Where is she then? She didn’t send you?”

“No.” his voice was crisp, “I came here myself. The last time I saw her was at graduation, just like you.”

The old man appeared zoned out.

He went on, “You left after her speech. Why?”

“C-cuz I thought she was talkin’ about me…she was all don’t ever let anyone tell you what to do and I thought she was shittin’ on me.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, “You don’t know your daughter at all, do you?”

He tilted his head, “She never said a single bad word about you, not one. Not until the day you almost beat her to death and even that I had to force outta her.”

He pressed the drill to his throat, “That’s how much she cared.”

There was a moment of silence before tears began to shine in the old man’s eyes. He shook his head, sobbing.

It was a low, broken sound—his sobs. One that the old man never let anyone else hear. His shoulders sagged, the tip of the drill digging into his neck.

As the man sobbed, he couldn’t help but smile smugly. It was the first emotion he’d seen on the oldie that wasn’t anger.

“Let’s hope she still cares enough to show up to your funeral or else you died for nothing but my enjoyment.”

The drill turned on.

It was vile.

The body hung from the living room ceiling fan. The tightly knit rope made the 47 year old man’s neck deep purple from blood loss. His neck was also bent at an odd angle, one that shouldn’t be naturally possible unless your head snapped.

He was shirtless, his stomach and chest marked with various colored bruises and deep cuts. It was obvious the murderer used the neatly arranged house tools/utensils left on the counter to beat this guy—and all of them were caked in blood.

His limbs were cut off-both of his arms from elbow down, as well as his legs from knee down. The wounds were cut at a jagged angle and left a copious amount of dark purplish red blood on the floor. He could only pray that the murderer cut off his limbs after he was dead.

Upon a closer inspection, the man’s eyes were drilled in, leaving ground out, chunks of blood on his face where his eyes should’ve been. The man’s nose appeared crushed in, the white bone of his nose was visible through the crusted blood surrounding it.

There was a wound on the side of the man’s head that looked absolutely lethal. One side of his skull was caved in, completely ravaging his ear. The blood that had seeped from the wound seemed to cover the entire left side of his body. It might’ve been the final blow, if the old man was lucky.

The man’s back was a sight to see. Atop the rainbow of harsh, wide-spread bruises was letters. Letters that were burnt into his skin by a fireplace poker that was left carelessly within the puddle of blood on the ground. The words carved into his back stated—

Last words: I’m sorry Ara.

His mind couldn’t even formulate the right questions due to how struck he was by the sight before him. Grotesque would be too light of a word.

Vile. The person who did this had to be vile.

“Detective.” He glanced over to see his partner, Inanna, approach him. “They found remnants of his arms and legs in the fireplace.”

She stopped beside him, assessing him for a moment, “You okay?”

She’d told him the scene was gory but this gory? It didn’t feel right at all. Yes, a person could hate someone but this, this was hatred to an atrocious degree. If it was even hatred at all that fueled this…

He was certain this stench was going to stay with him for a while.

He ran a hand over his mouth. He needed to focus.

“Ara is his daughter right?”

“Yes, she’s been missing for about 9 months now.”

He remembered how widespread the search for her had been. It’d reached national news at a point due to a rich government related backer. They hadn’t let go of her case for months. And yet there was still no sign of her.

He’d been a detective for about 26 years now, not much scared him in life but this… this entire thing felt ominous. He’d barely dipped his toe into the case and yet the energy of this house, the murder felt off to an almost demonic degree.

He could smell the media and conspiracy theorists from a mile away.

Whoever was in this room, torturing this man had enjoyed it. It was clear from the way the homely tools turned weapons were laid out nearly upon the counter. It was as if he’d arranged them like that because he/they wanted to use them all—like a little experiment and he had.

There was no regard of keeping anything hidden either. The fireplace poker was left in plain sight, leading them straight to the victims limbs.

It wasn’t a first time killer either. Not from the way Mr.Natsuna’s home surveillance cameras were all jammed and the data from them all cleanly deleted and removed. There was no sign of forced entry.

It was odd—the combination of carelessness yet thoroughness. But out of all of this, one thing was clear.

This killer wasn’t scared.

Quite a bit of people showed up to his funeral, to Gojo’s surprise. It probably had to do with the media attention on the case versus actual care for the guy.

Most of the attendees were just work colleagues that the old man didn’t even have in his phone contacts. Yet they’d all told the media their account of him, none of them strayed far from ‘grumpy, kept to himself old man’ some even mentioned stories of him talking lovingly about his daughter which he couldn’t help but doubt.

Regardless, the media coverage was perfect especially if it reached the target audience.

He sat a good distance away on a bench in the cemetery, watching the preceding. It was a whole bunch of old people, paying respects and pretending to care. Media outlets sat outside the cemetery fence, snapping pictures and waiting for a chance to talk to the attendees.

The media was just dying for a crumb about the case, but little did they know none of those old head co-workers knew a single thing about Mr.Natsuna’s true nature.

He watched the funeral attendees disperse and head on and home, the media following soon after. It was laughable how enraptured the public was by the case. Everyone found it so mysterious.

His favorite theory on the internet was that Ara came back and killed her father. 

She most certainly should’ve.

The sky was beginning to darken, it’d been hours since the funeral ended. Many people had come and gone since then, leaving flowers at loved ones gravesites and yet no one stopped at Mr. Natsuna’s grave.

It was getting colder. A cloudy fog slowly wafting over the tombstones. The hum of harsh winds passing making leaves and trees rustle in the distance.

He knew he should leave but he didn’t want to. He had a few more ice cream bars in his coat pocket to keep him company.

As well as a thousand ghosts.

It should be eerie, he supposed, to reside in a graveyard for so long but he felt nothing. The silence felt comforting, even in the presence of so much death. He almost respected it.

A stronger gust of wind howled past him, making his hat fly off and hair ruffle up with the wind.

Just as he stood to retrieve his hat he spotted someone approaching Mr.Natsuna’s grave. It was a smaller figure, with a bouquet of white flowers in their hand. It was hard to tell who it was due to the black mesh fascinator hat they wore.

Everything was similar. The height, the gait, the lengthy hair. His pulse thrummed with hope.

He circled around her from a distance, trying to assess her completely as she bent down to place the flowers beside his tombstone.

Then suddenly she fell to her knees and began to cry. The sound of her cries was so similar to Ara’s he nearly froze in place.

As he silently approached from behind her, he noticed something was off. The woman was older, he could tell from the skin of her hands flat against the ground. The veins and slightly wrinkled skin was unlike Ara’s smooth hands.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

She quickly turned her head up, and the similarities nearly made him gape.

It was Ara’s mother. He’d seen pictures of her when she was younger but goddamn she was pretty as hell. Ara was nearly her carbon copy.

He’d told James to keep tabs on her for a while now. James would update him whenever she travelled to different countries, just for the sake of potentially finding Ara but it seemed James didn’t know she was back in America.

Last he heard, she was in Germany.

She blinked away her tears, “Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” she stood up while delicately dabbing at her face with a handkerchief, “anyone else was here.”

He shook his head, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re fine, dear.” She barely looked old enough to be calling him ‘dear’ unlike her husband. She looked 35 at most.

She glanced over at him and he couldn’t find it in himself to break his stare. Is this how Ara is gonna look like at 35? Am I ever gonna be able to see that?

It hit him like a truck when he realized how badly he wanted to see that. How badly he wanted to grow older with her. How badly he wanted to see her at every stage of life. How badly he wanted to change with her.

He didn’t want to be without her.

She blinked, her long lashes fluttering—Ara’s eyes had the same exact shape, “Did you know him?”

He belatedly realized she was referring to her husband. He briefly glanced at his tombstone, “No.” he lied, “I was actually visiting someone else.”

“Oh.”

He watched her stare at the old man’s grave more somberly than before.

“Who is he to you?” he asked, as if he didn’t know.

“My husband,” she responded before adding, “My first husband.”

“Oh.” James hadn’t updated him at all apparently.

“I got remarried a year ago, to a school friend but… I never got the chance to properly say goodbye to him.”

She spoke confidently despite the waver in her voice. The regret was evident in her eyes. Her eyes were just the slightest bit lighter than Ara’s.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, “Don’t be. I did this to myself.”

A small pained smile appeared on her lips, “It’s not a lie when they say you can’t run away from your problems, but that’s all I ever did.”

“Why?”

She glanced over at him, silently assessing him for a moment before responding with a touch of forlornness, “It felt like the safest option for me at the time.”

Her eyes dropped somewhere low, “But I neglected someone I shouldn’t have.”

There was something about the way she spoke that was inexplicably compelling. Something about her composure felt almost… tranquil, as if she’d already endured all the hardships of life.

“Who?”

“My daughter.”

“What’s her name?” he wanted to hear her say it.

“Ara.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

She nodded, “She would’ve been about your age now.”

He hesitated, “Did she.. also pass?”

She shook her head abruptly, “No, she’s missing.”

She suddenly turned to him, her gloved fingertips hovering over her lips, “Oh I shouldn’t be oversharing like this-“

“No, please. Don’t stop. I need a distraction,” he insisted, “Please.”

A slight laugh left her, “I hardly think talking about my family will be a happy distraction.”

“I’m not looking for happy, I just wanna hear something honest.”

She appeared stricken before her gaze softened, “I’m not sure what else I could tell you.”

“Tell me about your daughter.”

A little sad smile flickered across her lips, the expression reminded him so much of Ara it hurt.

“I wish I could.” she responded gently, “but I barely knew her myself, I was too absorbed in my own head to care about her the way I should’ve. I pushed her away when she needed me the most.”

She blinked away the tears collecting in her eyes, “Motherhood isn’t something that came naturally to me. I was married but I wasn’t ready to have her. We both weren’t.”

She glanced at the tombstone, voice soft, “I didn’t protect her.”

His jaw clenched. His voice came out flat, “Why?”

“Because I was weak.” she admitted, before shaking her head, “Even she was stronger than me. She knew I wasn’t okay, she begged me… to do what I needed to do. She was even ready to drop out of school and work to keep us afloat but I-I wasn’t ready. I was too scared, too heartbroken. I had to act on my own.”

“She was the smartest girl.” She pressed a gloved hand to her brows, “I don’t know how she was mine.”

He was zoned out.

She gracefully wiped away her tears, “Of course I realized this all too late. I just hope she’s free now.”

“Free?”

“Yes, free.”

He took in her side profile. Her puffy under-eyes, her fatigued gaze, the undeniable set of resilience to her jaw. It was the look of a mother who believed in her daughter, despite all odds.

He wondered if his mother ever believed in him this much. If she were alive, would she regret her actions too?

“If you could say something to her now…what would you say?”

A fresh stream of tears glistened in her eyes, “I would tell her so much. I would tell her everything I should’ve told her before. I would hold her-God,” she broke down in tears, “What I would do just to hold her.”

She sobbed, “I just want to hold her and never let go.”

Me too.

As she struggled to compose herself, she reached into her purse. He assumed she was going to get another handkerchief or such but instead she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

She handed it to him.

“That’s her.”

He stared at her missing poster. The poster that he’d posted everywhere in California, even personally handed out to countless people at a point.

She pointed at her picture.

“If you see her, report it immediately.” her voice sounded distant.

He stared at her picture, as if he didn’t pick it.

“Don’t forget it.” her tone firm.

“I won’t.”

I can’t.

She sets down the coffee cup, looking at the screen as she does so.

“Order 43!”

Suddenly she feels a hand clasp over hers, making her gasp.

She glances over to see a tall, white-haired male. He’s rather pale and has the sharpest jaw she’s ever seen. There’s a shadow of darkness under his eyes and hard set to his lips.

Despite his unearthly looks, it wasn’t that that made her gasp. It was how cold his hand was.

She immediately slides her hand off of the cup, unable to formulate any words.

He’s staring at her. His eyes the most riveting shade of blue, it almost feels as though he’s compelling her. There’s something brewing in his eyes, she can tell he wants something—almost ruthlessly so.

But then his gaze wavers, something akin to dismay flashes through his eyes. He glances away.

“Désolé.” he mutters in French but she hears the touch of an American accent in his tone.

He takes a hold of his coffee and turns around. She watches him stalk out the cafe, his trench coat fluttering in his wake.

Once he’s out of sight, she turns around and presses a hand to her chest. Her heart rate was spiraling out of control.

Her co-worker touches her shoulder, “Tu vas bien?”

She quickly faces her, “Vous avez vu ça?”

“Oui... c'était bizarre.”

She can’t shake the ominous feeling whispering along her skin, “C'était.”

(a/n: pls feel free to use DeepL or google translate to translate the french to english)

He throws the coffee cup into the trash–a little too viciously, it seems, since a nearby passerby flinches.

He glances down at his hand that touched the barista’s hand with a frown. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her. Their sparkless touch confirmed it.

But why did she have to look so much like her?

He raked a hand through his disheveled hair. Suddenly his mind blanks–

“Here.” She set a mug on his desk.

He glances up from his laptop before reaching towards her just as she’s about to walk away. He tugs her onto his lap.

“What’s this?”

Her familiar scent wafts over him as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “I made you a coffee.”

He keeps a hand on her waist while reaching over for the mug, “Really?” he asks, elated.

“Yeah, I made too much.” she mutters.

He takes a sip before his eyes widen, “It’s sweet.”

“I added more creamer in yours.”

The corner of his lips curl before he tugs her smaller frame tight against his chest. He nuzzles the crook of her neck, “You love me.”

She squirms as he peppers a trail of kisses down her neck to her shoulder. Her laughter makes his heart pound faster.

She cups his face in her hands, “Stop.” She was always too ticklish to take his kisses.

“You love me.” he repeated with a satisfied smile.

Her eyes narrow as she searched his face. She couldn’t deny it. Not after her confession last week. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. She loved him.

Everytime he thought about it he felt high. This beautiful girl in his arms loved him. After everything they’d been through together, it felt so right. It felt more than right. It felt perfect.

She sighed, “How do you manage to fit that into every conversation.”

“Becauseeee it’s true.”

“Did I ever say it wasn’t?”

He pouted, “No.”

“Then stop embarrassing me.”

“How’s it embarrassing?”

“Because…” she reddens, shifting on his lap, “It just is.”

He presses his forehead to hers, “Loving your boyfriend isn’t embarrassing.”

“I-I know but…”

“But what?”

She’s not meeting his eyes, merely staring down at her hands on his chest. A light flush on her cheeks.

“But nothing.” she mumbles.

His hand tightens around her nape, tilting her head up to face him, “I thought you were over being embarrassed about us.” he deadpans.

Her eyes widened, “I am! It’s–not that.”

“Then?”

“I just–I’ve never said that to anyone before and you keep bringing it up. It makes me-” her flush deepens as she hesitates, “It makes me shy! Okay?”

He grins before slipping his hands under her shoulders and picking her up so that she’s now facing him, with her thighs straddling him.

He places his hands on her hips, his fingers sneakily slipping under the hem of her shirt as he stares up at her.

He licks his lips as he looks her up and down, “I still make you shy?”

She looks like an affronted kitten and he can't help but grin wider.

Just as she attempts to shuffle off his lap he uses his hands on her hips to keep her in place. He leans forward, speaking against her neck, “I’ve never said it to anyone else either, you know.”

He feels her go still in his arms. She slowly backs away to stare down at him. Her dark eyes assess him silently and he can’t help but feel his heart thrum in his chest. There isn’t one emotion on her face.

Suddenly her hand fists the hair at the back of his head, yanking him back, “Good.” she hissed, “because if you did, it was a lie. You’ll never love anyone the way you love me.”

Her hands slide around his neck, “I own you.” Her nails dig into his skin.

Her teeth nip at his lower lip, “I’m gonna haunt you til the day you die.”

She kissed the corner of his lip, “I’m gonna ruin you.”

He squeezed her waist, “Ruin me.” he begged as he leaned forward, chasing her lips as she backed away. 

“I’m gonna rip your heart out.”

“Do it.” He captured her lips and kissed her so hard that his lips hurt.

“Ha~” a dry scoff escapes him. The memory was so hilarious he couldn’t even find it in himself to laugh. Especially not as he remembered how he’d had her in every single position he could on his desk after that.

She’d meant every word she said and all he could think about was the feel of her in his hands. How much he missed it. How every single time he touched her bare skin it felt like his hands were born to be there. How each touch between them made his body and soul gripe with such visceral need–he had no choice but to listen to his instincts.

And one touch from that barista hadn’t made him feel a thing.

He hears a feminine giggle from Suguru’s room as he passes. A fleeting sense of pride flows through him.

If high school had been his playground, university was definitely Suguru’s.

He quickly makes his way down the steps and passes the kitchen—only to freeze when he notices the candy bowl on the counter is full. Suguru must’ve refilled it.

He’s about to poke through to find something he likes only to find that it’s all things he likes. All of the candy was various kinds of his favorites.

He picks out two gold wrapped Ferrero Rocher chocolates. Just as he pops one in his mouth he hears Suguru.

“Yo! Satoru.”

He glances over to see him padding down the stairs. Suguru gives him a brief once-over.

“Where are you going?” Suguru asks.

“Out.”

He raises a thin dark brow, “Don’t tell me you're getting on that jet again, are you?”

He supposed there was no point in avoiding it, “I am.”

The disappointment on Suguru’s face is evident, “What? No, you can’t miss Suda’s birthday party.”

“It’s fine.” he replies while tossing the balled up wrapper in the trash. He doesn’t miss.

“I told you days ago to keep tonight free.”

He slides his car keys off the hook, “Yeah, sorry.”

“What is goin’ on with you?”

“She’s your girl, what difference does it make if I’m there or not?”

He stops at the door, awaiting Suguru’s answer only to be met with silence. He decides to look over his shoulder.

Suguru appears stricken until he frowns, “Fine.”

“Cool.” he swings open the door and leaves.

He removed the dog treats out of his pocket. The dog immediately noticed, it went still in its pursuit of rolling around in the grass. It shot up straight and glanced around before spotting him. The dog ran towards him.

“Lucky!” she yelled but the dog didn’t listen.

The dog stopped before him, planting its tiny paws on his shoes before circling around his feet. It’s tongue stuck out in excitement.

He lowered himself to one knee, feeding the dog treats out of his hand. He pet it with his free hand.

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced up to see the dog’s owner. His heart panged in recognition, even their voices sounded similar. If Ara had decided to go vanilla blonde that was exactly how she would’ve looked like.

He pulled down his hood, watching her expression carefully as he did so. Her eyes seemed to widen before she glanced away.

He tilted his head before rising to his feet. She was an inch taller than Ara but it’d been quite some time. She could’ve grown some height or maybe her platform sneakers were giving her a boost.

“No worries.” he responded calmly, “I like dogs. I keep treats on me just in case.”

That was a lie. He’d read her file and he knew she took daily walks in the park with her dog at this exact time.

She was so pretty it was making his heartache. Her yoga pants fit her legs rather nicely. Her thin jacket fit her waist snugly as well. Just looking at her made him feel less hollow.

She twirled her ponytail around her hand. A nervous gesture? He couldn’t be sure.

She was avoiding his gaze and it piqued his curiosity more than she knew. He tried not to get his hopes up anymore but could it really be…

“Ara.”

Her eyes darted to his, genuine confusion marking her countenance. ��Huh?”

It wasn’t her. Ara wasn’t that much of an actress to be able to hide a reaction to her name. This girl wasn’t afraid of him either. But just to be sure—

He grabbed her hand.

Not her.

He didn’t feel a thing. The pull wasn’t there. His Ara wasn’t there.

He placed the dog treats in her palm before letting go. He chuckled airily, “Sorry, don’t mind me.”

He gestured towards the extra dog treats in her hand, “You can have those. There isn’t a dog on the planet that doesn’t love em.”

“Who’s Ara?”

The question took him by surprise. He’d just been on the verge of turning away but his feet froze at the mention of her name.

Who is Ara? Would I even be able to recognize her if I saw her? Does she still think about me? Is she in college like me? Does she still like art? Is she majoring in art?

Everything he knew about Ara was old. He didn’t know anything about her now. He didn't know if she’d changed in any way. He didn’t know what new experiences she’d gone though—what new things she’d discovered. If she’d found another hobby to occupy her time like she always would or if she’d gotten to explore her style like she wanted to.

It bothered him. Everything about it bothered him.

He didn’t even know if she was alive. 

“Are you okay?” She reached out to gently touch his arm.

He instinctively avoided her touch a second before she could reach him.

“Sorry. I—“ she dropped her hand, “It’s none of my business.”

“You’re good,” he subtly shook his head, “I’m the one who’s more sensitive than a baby apparently.”

She laughed lightly.

He didn’t miss the concern in her eyes as she asked, “Are you okay though? You seem..” she trailed off.

He raised a brow, urging her to continue.

“Kinda down.” she finished.

He took a moment to assess her before responding, “Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. I really look that busted, huh?”

This time a real laugh escaped her, “No but I just—I know that.”

“Know what?”

She hesitates before replying, “I know what it’s like to be going through it.”

He’s quiet.

She goes on, “I’ve been there.. group therapy helped me.”

He laughs while tilting his head up towards the sky.

“I’m serious. It did!“

“Everyone would think I’m crazy.”

“That’s what I thought too but sometimes sharing your problems makes the load feel lighter, no matter how absurd it is. We people have more in common with one another than differences, y’know.”

A humorless smirk slowly spread across his lips. His hands slipped into his pockets before he faced her.

“You really are a psych major, huh?”

She froze. He saw the exact second the sympathy in her eyes transformed into fear, “How did you know that?”

“I guessed.” He lied.

She was still for a moment before a low laugh slipped out of her, “I just try to help people when I can.”

“That’s real nice of you.”

She blinked before squinting slightly in doubt. The expression reminded him so much of Ara-it felt like a shard of glass had pierced straight through his chest.

His knuckles lightly grazed her cheekbone, “I mean it.”

For a second he imagined her to be his Ara, “We need more people in the world like you.”

He withdrew his hand. It was then he noticed another male heading their way in the distance.

She glanced down, scratching the back of her neck, “Thank you.”

“Stay safe.” he muttered with a little smile before walking off.

Just as he turned away, the approaching male stopped beside her. According to her file, that guy was her current boyfriend. He worked at the cafe she regularly visited.

He overheard their conversation as he walked away.

“Who was that?” he asked. The fresh coat of jealousy in his tone made him grin faintly.

“Just—some guy,” she paused, “I think he needed help.”

“With what?”

“I’m not sure..”

She stepped out of the comedy club. The crowd from the show filled the streets before her. Everyone seemed to be discussing the comedian in high spirits.

“Prim, how are you getting home?”

“I can walk, remember? I literally live 5 minutes away from here.”

“Oh yeah!” Lucy let out a short laugh before freezing, “Wait but still. Aren’t you a little tipsy?”

“Nah nah. I’m all good.”

“You swear?”

Prim spotted Owen’s car pull up in front of them, “Yeah, I swear.”

Before Lucy could go on she playfully shoved her towards the car, “Don’t worry. I promise, now go. Owen’s right there—“

“—but wait—“

“Go, go, go.”

She hustled Lucy towards Owen’s car before waving them off. She raised the strap of her shoulder bag from the crook of her arm before walking down the sidewalk.

He walked in stride a couple feet behind her.

Her miniskirt was catching the eyes of all the wrong men and he happened to be one of them.

Her legs were distracting. Her long boots went well with her look. All he’d need to do is bend her over and the little piece of fabric would lift up to show his favorite place.

A subtle breeze passed and her lengthy hair rippled along the wind. The chatter of the crowd from the comedy show fading into the distance.

She momentarily bent down, shuffling around for something in her shoulder bag before lifting up a mini hand-held mirror. She was in the midst of reapplying her lip gloss until she spotted him.

He knew he’d been spotted the second her confident stride faltered. He was right in the mirror’s line of sight.

But she didn’t stop. She continued to walk at the same pace.

Smart girl.

He picked up the pace.

She must’ve felt it somehow because her pace quickened as well.

She glanced over her shoulder and a rush of exhilaration sprawled from his core.

She began to walk faster, with less subtlety.

He sped up right along with her. It didn’t take much time. She stood only three feet before him now.

She turned a corner and he turned a moment after her. This time she was blatantly glancing back as she walked. Looks like she’d given up being indiscreet.

She quickly shot out her hand and he instinctively gripped her wrist. He’d gripped her wrist hard enough to send her pepper spray clattering onto the ground.

Her eyes widened in fear and his chest surged with satisfaction.

But those aren’t her eyes.

Ara’s eyes weren’t ever that clear-ever that readable. Ara was always thinking ahead-always thinking one thing, yet doing another. 

This girl’s fear left her paralyzed—as malleable as paper.

Barely stronger than a feather.

Her wrist felt entirely too fragile when she flinched at the firm pressure his fingers applied.

“Why are you following me?” her voice cracked.

She was beautiful-that red lip was entirely too enticing. Ara never wore a red lip.

He released her wrist, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.

“You look like someone I’m looking for.”

“I do?” She was terrified, attempting to put on a brave face. It was so obvious he could almost feel her fear—her struggle.

He took a step towards her, her feet remained rooted in spot. Her pupils dilating in fear.

He saw her neck bob as she swallowed, her eyes never leaving his.

He nodded, “She’s missing.”

Her eyes briefly dropped to his chest before returning back to his.

When she spoke her voice had this quality to it that made him wonder if she was losing her voice, “Really..”

“She’s been missing for two years.”

He tilted his head as he watched her lower lip quiver.

“Is she even alive?” her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know.” he replied just as quietly.

Her gaze dropped to his chest once-more.

He leaned towards her, “I’ve been looking for her ever since.”

He lightly nudged her chin upward with his knuckles, “She was my sun.. my stars.”

Her eyes were glossy.

“What happens to the world when the sun disappears?” he murmured.

Her eyes were brimming with tears. He was viciously reminded of how Ara would look so incredibly beautiful when she cried—it was odd how such an emotion could captivate him but.. it only felt just to find her attractive during her highs as well as her lows.

“Answer me.” he urged softly.

Maybe the girl was scared because she knew she couldn’t outrun him. The heels of her sexy boots would never allow it—regardless it wasn’t like she had a chance.

Her only meager attempt at harming him failed.

Her jaw trembled under his touch, “I- I don’t know.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, “Oh come on, you gotta have a theory. We all took our basic science classes didn’t we?”

“It’s not possible-“

“But if it was.”

“The world would be completely dark, wouldn’t it? The planets wouldn’t have anything to orbit around and humans-plants-all life would eventually die off.”

she rushed out.

He was still, for what must’ve felt like a long while to her because her countenance fell. Her eyes darted between his, as if contemplating whether or not she’d said the wrong thing.

He cupped her elbow, grinning, “Relax, you're right.”

She moved her arm back but his grip only tightened, “What does this have to do with me?” her voice shook.

“Oh it has everything to do with you, sweetheart.” He swung her around, pressing her small back against his chest.

He nuzzled her cheekbone, “So impatient.”

He squeezed her arms, “Just bear with me..”

They were so similar in height, just holding her against himself like this brought back memories. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, sliding his arms around her waist. If he closed his eyes maybe he could pretend…

but she didn’t smell like her. She didn’t even come close. There was nothing about her scent that made his body rush with that irresistible magnetism that overwhelmed him whenever she was in his vicinity. It was maddening.

His tongue swiped her neck, making her jolt. She didn’t taste like her. Her skin didn’t taste like a dangerously potent elixir had been poured all over her skin just for him.

She struggled against him, “Wait-stop. Let go. Stop!”

He cupped her mouth with one hand, sighing, “Shhh, baby.”

He felt a tear touch his palm over her mouth and immediately glanced at it—before instinctively leaning close to lick it.

Her tears didn’t taste the same. Ara’s tears were less bitter, more salty. More addictive.

He squeezed her jaw, aggravated. He’d wanted to hold her for a moment, reminisce but all he seemed to do was note their differences.

But that was good, wasn't it? He still remembered. He remembered her scent, her feel, her taste.

It was impossible to forget but with this girl, the differences were blatantly clear. Each difference evoked a different emotion—igniting his already desperate longing.

He just wanted her image to stay in the forefront of his mind longer…

Each memory of her was a high in and of itself but he was running out. He was running out of memories to replay in his mind and that scared him. He couldn’t lose her. He’d already lost her physically but to lose her in his mind? He wasn’t ready to live without her.

Suddenly his mind flashed with another memory.

He was blinking away his dreariness when she yanked at his hand in hers. The next thing he knew they were running.

He ran out of the backyard with her leading the way.

“Why are we running?!”

“Just wait.” she yelled back.

She stopped abruptly, making him nearly crash into her until he spotted the folded silk sheet at their feet. There was a cake atop it—specifically a white chocolate raspberry truffle cheesecake.

His mother’s favorite.

Today was his mother’s birthday. He’d been thinking about it all day and yet he hadn’t said a word about it. He didn’t plan to either.

He slowly met Ara’s gaze, astonished, “H-how did you..”

She gently tugged his arm, “Come, let’s sit.”

She lowered him to sit atop the silk sheet. Just as she moved to sit beside him, he instantly yanked her onto his lap.

She smiled softly, shaking her head.

He stared at the candlelit cheesecake before them, still stunned.

“Who told you?”

“Do you think you’re the only one paying attention?”

Her small hand slid up his nape, her fingers raking through his hair, “You’ve been quiet all day.”

The candlelight seemed to reflect in her eyes as she went on, "Do you know how weird that is? When your quiet?"

He exhaled in humor-only to freeze when she gently kissed his cheek.

“Let’s celebrate her.” she murmured.

His eyes were stuck on her as she glanced towards the cake. He watched her pull the cake closer before her lips made a little ‘o’. It seemed one of the candles went out.

She quickly pulled out a lighter from her pocket and-it took a couple (several) tries-but she relit it. She faced him.

The hint of embarrassment in her eyes faded the second she searched his face, "Satoru."

Did she know? Did she know every year on her birthday he'd visit her grave and have a slice of this cake? Did she know his mother loved having picnics in this very backyard with him as a kid? Did she know his mother would always joke that he could only be tamed by a smart girl that never let him get his way?

I found her, Mom.

He pressed his forehead to hers, unable to respond.

Her hand cupped his jaw, her thumb stroking his cheek, “Satoru.” her voice cracked.

I wish you stuck around to meet her.

Her eyes watered right alongside his and he decided right in that moment he never loved anyone more.

His head dropped to her neck and she drew her slender arms around his shoulders, trying to hold him. He silently cried against her, squeezing her tight.

She kissed his head, her hand in his hair caressing his messy strands comfortingly. Her hand on his back gripping him tight.

“It’s okay.” she whispered as he shook. His tears unable to hide themselves, “I’m here.”

“I’m here.” she repeated, as if she knew how much that meant to him.

“I love you.” she whispered.

“I love you.” he muttered back, only to realize he’d spoken out loud. His arms tight around the Ara look-a-like, tears stinging his eyes.

He blinked away the tears when he realized the girl in his arms was shaking.

“Please, please let me go.” she begged.

He was still for one long moment, selfishly continuing to keep her close as he whispered in her ear, “Is that what you want?”

She nodded.

He eyed the side of her tear stained face, “Are you sure?”

“I- I am.”

He didn’t move, merely pressing his lips to her temple—inhaling her. He almost thought he could smell her scent if he held his breath long enough.

“Let me go.” her voice wavered.

He closed his eyes, memorizing the feeling of holding her one last time before letting go.

He watched her book it down the street, her heels echoing against the asphalt as she ran.

It would be easy to chase her. He wouldn’t even lose his breath trying.

He’d catch her and she would scream. Nothing close to that pretty little laugh that’d escape Ara’s lips when she’d run and get caught. She’d always tilt her head up to look at him after, her chest heaving and eyes alight with exhilaration.

No… it wouldn’t be like that.

There would only be fear, short-lived satisfaction and then silence. Endless, hollow silence.

He unlocked his phone, tapping open the photos app before letting his thumb hover over a photo album. An album dedicated to pictures of her. He used to go through this album daily.

He opened the album, swiping through. A cold billowing sensation curling in his gut with each picture he swiped through. Some pictures were blurry from trying to snap a picture of her true smile in time, she’d always manage to evade it—except for this once.

They were at an aquarium and after a lot of deliberation she finally decided on a favorite fish. 

Just as she pointed at one and faced him, he managed to capture her smile on camera in time. Her smile was so bright, wide and enrapturing when turned up at its full potential like this. And she didn’t have a damn clue.

He stared at the picture, it felt like he’d taken it yesterday but now here he was at 20, staring at a picture of a 17 year old girl.

How did time pass so fast… and still feel so dreadfully slow.

He exhaled derisively before swiping to the next picture. His heart stopped.

She was in a bikini set with side tie bottoms. He’d taken this picture of her off guard, when she’d just been relaxing in the pool with him. And he was damn sure glad he took it.

Her tits were spilling out the sides of the bikini top, the little cloth barely able to contain her full tits. Just the silhouette of her sexy little waist made him run his teeth over his bottom lip. Countless memories of him gripping that tiny fucking waist and thrusting into her clouded his mind.

Going from fucking her anywhere, anytime to not being able to touch her at all had been the harshest withdrawal.

He was hard–glaringly so. It pressed awkwardly against his belt, throbbing for attention.

The doorknob turned and he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

A woman emerged from the door, clad in barely any clothes. The lingerie set was inky black, yet see through in all the right places. The garter belt hanging from her hips accentuated her hips perfectly. She walked with the strut of a model.

The woman’s hair was long and wavy, just like Ara’s–even the way her smile spread across her face was reminiscent of her. If Ara was a couple inches taller, had smaller tits and fully tapped into her sensuousness, she would’ve looked just like this.

Which was solely why he paid for a night with her.

Ciara was her name. She was Slovenian and her prostitute name was Kitty. Ha.

Was it a coincidence or fate that kitties needed to entertain him?

He watched her slowly walk towards him, truly cat-like in her gait. Her heels not making a sound against the floor as she made her way to the pole in the center of the room.

He leaned back against the cushions, watching her.

She didn’t break eye-contact, merely twirling around the pole rather measuredly, as if to give him a full view of what he was working with.

His eyes dropped to her little ass peeking out her thin panties. He grit his teeth.

She let go of the pole and sauntered towards him. Her eyes dropped to the tent in his pants.

“You look like you need a little help.” she murmured sultrily, before lowering to her knees.

She placed her long nailed hands on his knees and slid them up his thighs. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against his bulge as she looked up at him.

She fluttered her eyelashes before leaning back to undo his belt and the zipper of his pants. He kept his arms spread atop the cushion’s backrest.

A short breath of relief escaped his clenched jaw the second his cock was free from the constraints of his zipper. The only constraint left was his boxers, which were struggling to keep his twisting cock inside.

He watched her eyes widen at the sight, “You’re so big, daddy.” A subtle whine to her voice.

She licked her lips as she whispered, “I can’t wait to fit all of you inside me.”

She jutted her chin aside, casually flipping her long locks over her shoulder before reaching for his cock.

He grabbed her throat a second before her fingers wrapped around him. She jolted in surprise.

His grip on her throat kept her in place as he bent low to press a kiss to her lips. The second their lips met she had no choice but to cave to him. His kiss was so invasive and consuming. Each subtle scrape of his teeth against her lips licked up the flames inside her body. His tongue intruding her mouth nearly felt as sensual as being fucked. There was an unfathomable sense of control in his actions that she’d never felt before—it was dizzying. His rigor was stronger than hunger, darker than mania. She felt compelled to submit to him.

Suddenly his hand on her throat pushed her back. She gasped as she landed harshly on her elbows. She could already feel the bruises forming.

She watched him stand with his belt in one hand. His eyes glacial in their coldness, dissonant to the unfeeling set of his lips.

“You’re not her.”

He stepped over her, leaving her heart racing and ego smaller than a speck of dust.

One year later

The chauffeur opened the car door and he stepped out. He smoothed down the front of his suit and glanced over when he felt a hand on his back.

His Uncle stood beside him, a small smile on his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes.

His uncle was a few inches shorter than him now. His ice blue eyes surrounded by wrinkles. His white hair was gelled back, minus for one strand hovering over his forehead.

He’d seen that face more than he would’ve preferred to during the past year. He’d observed his antics, motives and character to an in-depth degree and learned that his Uncle was more than just conniving. His Uncle was lethal in his business pursuits. Steadfast in business dealings and a genius at making money.

All skills that were easy to replicate, skills he could easily advance.

Which was why his Uncle didn’t like it much when he’d let Gojo take charge of the company for a week only for stocks to double, investments to quadruple and their worth to jump upwards by a couple billion. He also didn’t like it when their investors began to contact him regarding business dealings.

He was supposed to remain CEO for a month but his Uncle quickly did away with that after a week when he noticed his progress. He supposed he didn’t want his position to get unseated that quickly. He wasn’t dead yet.

His uncle patted his shoulder, “Go on, boy.”

Gojo grinned subtly before walking ahead. He entered the buzzing art gallery with an air of boredom.

A server passed by with a tray of drinks and he took one. He handed it over to his Uncle.

His Uncle took it before frowning, “You know I don’t like champagne.”

He shrugged before greeting one of their investors as she approached them. It didn’t take long for other familiar faces to pop up and greet them.

Small talk. Small talk and more small talk.

He was bored of it all. It was all too menial for him so the first chance he got, he slipped away. He was planning on heading out but then the art gallery owner caught him.

“Please, Mr. Gojo.” she touched his arm, the elderly woman had quite a flirtatious laugh, “Just take a look around before you leave, won’t you?”

He tilted his head, “Since you asked so nicely, Ms. Brahms.”

She smiled, showcasing her perfect teeth, “I really think there’s some pieces you might like.”

Another male approached her just as he turned away. He supposed checking out the art couldn’t hurt.

The theme was ‘emotions’ so the art displayed was supposed to brew up feelings within the viewer. Ms.Brahms insisted on clarifying that he should wallow in what the art makes him feel versus trying to interpret what emotions the artist is trying to convey.

He slowly walked around the less chatty area of the gallery. Perusing the fresh pieces, some with familiar names, some completely new.

None of the art was particularly notable, which was unsurprising. He hadn’t felt much as of late—well, for a while now.

He stared at an art piece that showed a red moon casting a red light over a black & white city. It was an interesting vibe, sure but not the kind to make him feel a sort of way.

He walked over to the next wall. His gaze gravitated towards a canvas with a human laying on a hospital bed, attached to several wires. The wires were all white but upon closer inspection you could see that they were all very lightly colored pastels.

Everything else in the picture was gray and white, shaded in areas to show depth. The unsettling part about the art piece was that there seemed to be one-sided windows into the patient's room. There were other onlookers peering into the patient’s room, pictured as black, blurry human-like figures.

Then there was the most odd part, the patient on the table’s eyes were wide open. Their mouth was covered due to some sort of contraption covering it.

It was intriguing how the eyes of the patient strapped to the bed were so expressive. The paranoia in their gaze was clear, but so was the effect of the drugs. It made the fear in the patient’s eyes almost hazy, dream-like. The entire piece was captivating.

The details-the subtlety, the onlookers, the helplessness. He was intrigued.

He looked at the canvas beside it. This one looked like it took place in a vault with walls of black mirror, there were stacks and stacks of treasure, towering atop each other. The stacks of treasure surrounding a willowy girl.

She was dressed in a modern style, floor-length dress and hair done in a neat updo. She looked classy, elegant in a way that felt similar to a swan.

She was dancing, despite being attached to a shiny silver string that was attached to each of her limbs from somewhere above.

She was barefoot—her feet up to her ankles were covered in this red liquid he could only identify as blood. It was everywhere on the floor of the vault. It even stained parts of her gossamer white dress. The only place blood seemed to seep from was her eyes—upon closer inspection he realized her eyes were sewn shut and yet there was a smile on her lips.

It was then he realized the willowy woman was dead-from her sunken cheeks, slightly hanging posture, to the subtle gray sheen in her skin. She must be dead-or at least close to it. She was only able to dance because the silver strings attached to her were making her dance. Someone from above, off-the-canvas was controlling her.

It was quite the compelling piece. He’d never seen anything like it.

He glanced below the two canvases he’d just seen to one more below it. It seemed to take place in a long hallway, the hallway becoming darker & darker the further it went on. There seemed to be a small rectangle of light to potentially signify an exit to this hallway.

But the walls of this hallway were covered with eye-balls. They were peering in, staring every which way. There were even eyes on the ceiling. The only area that didn’t have eyeballs was the shiny white tiled floor.

The eyeballs were bloodshot and the irises were a familiar shade of bright, electric blue.

An odd sensation bloomed in his gut.

He tilted his head, staring at the picture as if it could tell him more. The detail in the eyes was quite realistic, it looked as if they were growing from the walls.

It was obvious what this piece was trying to convey. In fact it perfectly encapsulated it.

The feeling of being watched.

He motioned one of the gallery worker’s over. She compliantly came forward.

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell me about this artist.”

She smiled, in a way that was almost coy-as if she was unsurprised these art pieces caught his attention.

She motioned towards the name-plate below the pieces, which he’d already taken note of. “This artist goes by the pseudonym, Anonymous. They went viral for their art piece titled ‘Love’ 3 years ago, I’m sure you’ve seen it.”

“I haven’t actually.”

“Oh! Well, everyone in the art world knows of it. It was the most expensive rookie art piece sold in a while-“

“How much?”

“40K.”

He merely nodded.

“They’ve been relevant in the art industry ever since.” She pointed at the canvas with the several blue eyes, “This is their most recent piece and it’s been getting quite popular. The artist actually didn’t even want to release it but their team convinced them to.”

“How do you know that?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose, “It’s mentioned on their website. They always write a little blurb about each art piece they drop on their blog.”

He watches her examine the art almost fondly, as if she’d stared at the pieces several times before.

“There’s just… so much detail and layers in each piece. The color play as well-of course, there’s so much black & white but the shading brings out a certain.. depth and the little bit of color that is used is almost emphasized due to the darkness of everything else.”

“I feel like the more you stare at it the more you find.” she paused, before facing him, “Doesn’t each piece feel like a glimpse into a nightmare?”

He was silent. He couldn’t help but find her words.. the best way to put it. Each piece was quite creepy–in a way that almost didn’t feel intentional. There was certainly a dreamlike quality in each work but the darker themes felt almost purposefully masked in or glamorized. As if there was a pretense of normalcy someone who merely glanced at the art wouldn’t notice but if you actually took a moment, it was blatantly clear.

She went on, pointing at the bottom right corner of each canvas, “If you notice the artist doesn’t have a signature either, instead they use a white hibiscus as their signature-“

“What?”

He must’ve spoken too sharply because she nearly jumped. She glanced up at him with a bit of confusion, “A hibiscus-the flower? That’s the artist's signature. If you look closely at each canvas you can find a hibiscus placed somewhere in their art. A lot of our visitors have fun trying to find it in each piece.”

Now that she mentioned it… he peered closely at each piece. He pointed out the white hibiscus flower in each canvas, it was rather subtle and small in the art but it was there.

“Wow.” the gallery worker-Charlotte, according to her badge-spoke with a slight laugh, “You found them quite fast.”

“What’s the artist's real name?”

“I don’t know.”

He sharply faced her and her eyes widened.

“N-no one knows,” she quickly added, “They go by a pseudonym, remember?”

“How can I get in contact with them then?”

“You would have to reach out to their agent. That’s what Ms.Brahms did-“

“Get me the agent’s contact. Now.”

She blinked, taking a step back, “Uh, sure. I’ll go speak with Ms.Brahms.”

He watched her walk off with a nagging impatience brewing in his gut. He faced the art with narrow eyes. There was… something here.

There had to be.

He felt it, like an itch needing to be scratched except it was more potent. Way more potent.

No. A quiet, cool voice whispered in his mind. Don’t get your hopes up. We’ve been disappointed so many times before…

He grit his teeth, hastily rubbing his chin before pulling his phone out from his pocket. He snapped a few pictures of the art before sending it to his private investigator.

James responded not even a millisecond later.

J: What’s this?

G: I need you to find the artist. Send me everything about them asap.

J: On it.

He took a puff of his cigarette in one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other.

He found the image he was looking for. The artist’s breakthrough piece.

The backdrop was black. At its center was a cake stand but instead of a cake at its center, it was a heart. An actual human heart.

It was incredibly realistic. Each part of it anatomically correct but… the heart was stuck with thin, shiny needles, at almost every single point. The silver of the needles the only color on the entire canvas. Everything else was black and white.

Once again, the art had this almost dream-like quality to it that made it hard to look away. 

It was a simple piece, and yet it felt heavy with symbolism. Especially because of the title, ‘Love’.

Maybe it was because the shiny glint the tiny needles gave off or how compactly the needles were pierced upon the organ but he swore he felt a twinge in his own heart.

It was the only romance related piece amongst the artist’s artwork. He supposed even they understood the woes of heartbreak.

And if the artist was who he thought it was…

The car door pulled open, Ijichi stood beside it, “We’ve arrived, sir.”

He stepped out of the car, tossing the cigarette on the ground without a glance.

Just as he was about to walk, he stopped. He turned around, his eyes dead set on Ijichi’s cautious expression.

“Do you remember Ara?”

He paused, “O-of course, sir.”

“Do you think about her?”

He watched Ijichi grow anxious under his stare.

He looked Ijichi up and down before reaching inside his coat for another cigarette, “It’s a simple question.”

“Sometimes.” Ijichi admitted.

He placed the cigarette between his lips just as a slight laugh escaped him.

He shook his head, “She was pretty, right?”

Ijichi watched him light the cigarette with unease, “Yeah..”

“Really pretty,” he muttered to himself before taking a puff. He faced Ijichi, “What if I told you she was here, in New York, right now?”

His eyebrows skyrocketed, “She is?”

“I don’t know, I’m just guessing but.. if she was, then what?”

“I would…” Ijichi seemed unsure of what to say, “I would be happy for you.”

“You would?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“Because you would be happy to see her.”

He raised a brow before a dry chuckle slipped out of him, “Should I be mean to her or nice to her?”

At the obvious confusion on Ijichi’s face, he added, “If I see her again.”

Ijichi’s brows furrowed.

He leaned against the car, “I have the right to be mean, y’know. She left me.”

“She went missing.” Ijichi corrected, as if that meant anything.

“I think of her now and I just want to hold her but… back then I woulda wanted to make her cry.”

He chuckled again, “I liked seeing her cry.”

Ijichi frowned, “You shouldn’t make women cry.”

He turned to Ijichi with a smile on his lips, “That’s right.”

A moment later he asked, “Have you ever been in love, Ijichi?”

He seemed to redden at the question. He scratched the back of his neck, “I-I’m not sure.”

“You haven’t.”

Ijichi blinks.

He goes on, “It’s not the kinda thing you get confused about. It’s a curse, makes you all kinds of twisted—for one reason only.”

“For what?”

“Love.”

He stared out of the tall glass walls, at the rain pouring against the windows. He raised his glass to his lips. It was this newfound apple cranberry iced tea he’d found a liking for.

He felt a piece of ice go down his throat as he stared at the view. The penthouse was completely soundproof, one would not be able to guess his building was in the heart of New York City. All of Central Park and Manhattan could be seen from his windows.

His phone buzzed. He set his glass down before slipping his phone out his pocket.

He raised his phone to his ear, “James.”

“Yes, Mr.Gojo. I gathered info on that artist. I’m sending it over now.”

He pressed his phone on speaker and tossed it on the coffee table. He sat back on the recliner, crossing his long legs over one another, “Tell me.”

“Her name is Sade West. She’s twenty one years old. 5 feet 5 inches in height. She was born in Orange County, California. Her father is unknown and her mother passed away 7 years ago. Her mother was a homeless, drug addict who surrendered her to foster care early on.”

James continued, “She grew up in foster care, switching from home to home all over Southern California. She was a good kid, didn’t get in trouble much except for a bit of tardiness in high school. She was an average student but did well on her SATs so she was able to get into the School of Visual Arts in NYC.”

“She had enough saved up from her part-time jobs to move to New York but mainly took loans to cover her school expenses. She graduated last spring.”

“During her time at the School of Arts she was discovered by Lynelle Ivo-“ his brows furrowed at the familiar name, “-a very experienced art curator, she basically took Sade under her wing.”

“Apparently sometime during her intern years with Ivo she requested that her art be released through a pseudonym-“

“Do we know why?”

“Unclear but Ivo agreed and the pseudonym decided was ‘Anonymous’.”

He tilted his head as James went on, “A year after releasing art as ‘Anonymous’ her piece titled ‘Love’ went viral on social media-specifically Tik Tok and X. The physical piece got sold for 44K.”

“Who bought it?”

“Johnny Depp.”

Gojo merely grinned, “Go on.”

“Shortly after she graduated Chroma Atelier, a high quality paint company, reached out to her. She has a 3 year sponsorship deal with them. She hired on a management team of two people after that, a publicist and a manager. She currently utilizes Reese Heim’s art studios as her workplace. They have a working agreement that whatever art she creates in his studio gets showcased at his galleries.”

He’d heard of Reese Heim’s before. He was pretty sure his assistant had bought one of his pieces for his office. It was worth a pretty penny.

“And you won’t even have to book a flight to see her.”

He sat up in his seat, snatching up his phone. He opened up her picture just as James said, “It looks just like her, that Ara you’re looking for.”

It did. It truly did. Not one feature was off. Her eyes were the same. Her nose was the same. Her lips were the same. Sade looked just like her.

“Why didn’t you start with that?”

“Sorry, I thought you knew.” James replied.

Gojo didn’t respond, his brows drawn as he swiped past the copy of her ID to look for more pictures of her. He swiped past her birth certificate, social security card, passport, high school transcripts, college diploma. He barely skimmed her resume. James had collected everything and more, from her vaccinations down to her aerial silk yoga class receipts. That’s what he liked about him, no information was ever too much information.

“Her hair looks different.” James added, sounding unnerved by his silence.

“She dyed it.”

“Is it her?” he asked.

The corner of his lip twitched as he stared at her ID photo, “Is this the only picture you got?”

“Yeah, that’s all I could find. She doesn’t have any pictures of herself on her social media or any professional pictures. Rather odd, really.”

“Not odd for someone on the run.”

“Do you really think it’s her?”

He paused, staring at her somewhat blurry passport picture-which was the colored version of her ID photo. She barely looked older, but her alluring eyes held this gaze that could only come from age, “This is all she’s ever wanted… to pursue art. Being an artist was her dream.”

His knuckles skimmed his chin, “Where is she?”

“Her apartments in Lower East Side, barely a few miles from you. She lives with three roo—“

“What’s her address.”

He stared up at her apartment building. It was a simple off-white brick building with black trim windows. There seemed to be a balcony on each floor, as well as a fire escape.

“Agh! What the fuck!”

He glanced over to see a girl near his age staring back at an older man who was fast-walking away. Her groceries were all over the wet side-walk.

He blinked and realized he recognized the girl. Her name was Priya, one of Sade’s roommates. She was a software developer at Google. According to James notes she’d met Ara through mutual friends in college.

She was still glaring at the older man when he approached.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“That asshole just ran into me.”

She shook her head in frustration before double-taking when she saw him. Her hazel eyes widened. He smiled faintly.

Her black hair was pasted to her face from the rain. He pulled up his hood before handing her his umbrella. 

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

He bent down and picked up her reusable bag from the ground before placing her fallen goods within.

He stood up and handed the packed bag to her, only to freeze when he saw she was already holding a bag and was clutching the umbrella-rather tightly-in the other.

“If you want I can carry your groceries wherever you need me to? I’m in no rush.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

He grinned slightly, “Yeah.”

“My building’s actually right there.” she pointed at Sade’s building, “but I live on the fourth floor-“ I know “-and we don’t have an elevator so.. it’s a bit of a workout.”

“You trying to scare me away?”

She laughed, “I just want you to know what you're in for.”

She unlocked the apartment door and immediately dropped her bag by the door. She was panting.

“Oh my god.” she gestured for him to follow her inside and he did.

She closed the door behind him, “How are you not out of breath? I swear those four flights of steps get me everytime.”

He chuckled as he picked up the bag she’d set down and put it on her kitchen counter, alongside the one he’d been carrying.

“You're a model, aren’t you?” she asked him as she hung up her coat.

“I’m not actually.”

She walked around him, “You have the height for it.”

He grinned, “I know.”

She returned his grin and pointed at the stool beside the kitchen island.

“Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get you some water before you head out. Consider it my thanks.”

He perked up, “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” She opened the fridge, “Do you want juice? We got apple, cranberry, orange-“

He slipped into the seat, “Orange is perfect.”

“Great.”

He glanced around. It was a cute place, it was clear that girls lived here from the way everything was stocked and decorated. The line up of empty alcohol bottles atop the fridge reminded him of college.

“You mind if I use your bathroom?”

She barely glanced over her shoulder as she struggled to open the orange juice, “It’s at the end of the hall to your right.”

“Thanks.”

He stood up and walked down the hall. He turned on the light to the bathroom but didn’t step in when he closed the bathroom door shut. He glanced back at the end of the hall to make sure Priya wasn’t looking before looking at the four bedroom doors in the hallway. Lucky for him, the doors were labeled.

He approached the door with Sade’s name. The door was already open so it was easy to slip inside.

No one was there.

He glanced around the room. It was well decorated. Her desk was scattered with sketches and her silver Macbook was covered with stickers of Kuromi. She had an extra clothing rack since it seemed her closet didn’t have enough space.

He nearly stepped on her fluffy slippers before glancing at her nightstand. It seemed she was currently reading ‘The Five People you Meet in Heaven’ by Mitch Albom. He briefly remembered reading that book in middle school.

There were printed pictures on her wall. They all seemed to be taken from the same kind of digital camera. There were several pictures of her friends, cafes, restaurants, aesthetic New York City shots but none of her.

He’d never been in the room before but there was this odd sense of familiarity. He couldn’t tell how or why but he knew, he knew he was in the right place but he just needed to confirm it.

He needed to confirm it was her.

He slowly reached for her pillow and held it up to his face.

Ara.

He hadn’t even inhaled yet and his nostrils were filled with the scent of her, it was incapacitating in its intensity.

My Ara.

His heart thudded wildly in his chest.

Ara was here.

His eyes snapped open.

It’d been so long… since he’d felt this alive.

His gut tightened as he began to eye the room with a newfound vigor. This was the little room his kitten was living in without him? This was the little life she created for herself? Her new home?

Did you think I would never see this?

He grinned.

He dropped the pillow back on her bed, he was tempted to keep it but there would be no need. The owner of that scent was going to be in his arms by the end of the hour.

He walked out of the room with a wide grin on his lips. His mind racing.

She was here. She was here. She was here.

He wiped the smile off of his lips when he returned to the kitchen. Priya was still struggling with the orange juice.

He slid beside her, chuckling, “I got it.”

He opened the orange juice container in one try and she groaned.

“I swear I can do that myself.”

“Mhm.”

She gave him a look and he smiled. Her gaze immediately got stuck on his lips. He had one of those smiles that belonged in a romance movie.

“What’s your name?”

“Priya.”

“How long you been in the city?”

“Five years now. You?”

“A few months.”

“Still fresh then, hm? Are you in college?”

“Nah, I graduated two years ago.”

“How old are you?”

“21. I graduated early.”

“Oooo.” she teased.

The corner of his lip curled subtly, “What about you? You in school?”

“I graduated last May. I just got my first post-college job.”

“Where?”

“At Google.”

“Ooooo.” He mocked her earlier teasing.

She smiled. “Yeah, it’s nice as hell honestly. The benefits are-” she proceeded to do a chef’s kiss. 

His eyes glimmered with amusement, “Yeah? What are the benefits?”

“We get..”

He tuned her out, sipping at his orange juice as he sauntered about the kitchen. He looked around, discreetly scanning the place for anything of Ara’s when his eyes landed on a picture pinned to the fridge.

It was a picture of four girls-her three roommates and her. There she was, in a little fitted dress and a stunning wide smile on her lips.

“Ara.” he nearly gasped.

“What?” Priya stopped mid-spiel. He was too in his head to realize he’d spoken out loud.

He took off the picture from the fridge, running his thumb over her face. Her hair was still long, just a slightly lighter shade. She was wearing red lipstick and her eyes…they were glittering. She looked beautiful.

“My Ara.” he murmured. He hadn’t seen her in so long... 

Priya lightly touched his arm as she sidled next to him, drawing him out of his reverie.

“Ara?” she questioned before her eyes dropped to where he was looking. “That’s not Ara, that’s Sade.”

Right. Sade. Her new identity.

He feigned innocence, “Sade? You sure?”

“Yeah, we’ve been friends since college. We took that photo at a bar the night of graduation.”

“A bar?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t usually go out but that night we dragged her out.”

He grinned faintly, “That sounds like her.”

“She’s starting to come out more often though.”

“Is she.”

Priya nodded.

He spoke quietly, “There’s a girl I used to know.. that looks just like her. Her name was Ara but—she was my best friend. We lost contact after high school but I’ve been looking for her ever since.”

“Oh..” she sounded apologetic, “Where’d you go to high school?”

“In California.”

Her eyes widened. She must know Sade is also from California.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Gojo.” he answered before tilting his head, “Has she mentioned me?”

She pursed her lips in thought, “I don’t think so?”

He slipped his phone out, pulling up a selfie of him and Ara to show her. She gasped.

“Oh my god,” She leaned towards him to peer at the photo more closely, “She looks so young..”

He swiped again to another photo of them. Ara was hugging him in this one.

Her gaze softened, “Aww yall look so cute.”

He swiped to another picture of her. It was an off-guard picture of her attempting to play the piano back at the estate.

She frowned, “That… really does look like her.”

“I need to talk to her.”

Priya looked up at him, searching his face. She must’ve found something because suddenly her eyes poured with sympathy.

“Please.” he added, uncaring of how desperate he sounded.

The sympathy in her gaze turned conflicted, “I don’t think I can give you her number..”

“That’s fine, just give me anything. Anything that gets me to her.”

“You can leave your number for her? I’ll tell her you came by-“

“No.” he grasped Priya by the arms, “I need to see her now. Please—please tell me where she is.”

She swallowed.

He shook his head, “You don’t know how long I’ve been looking for her, please... I-I miss her.”

“What if it’s not her?”

The corner of his lip twitched, it was a valid question. He’d seen enough lookalikes to know pictures weren’t the end all but… her smell. Who could replicate her smell? Her ideal career path? Her favorite flower as her signature?

“It’s her.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall before looking back at him, concern etched in her expression, “She’s about to get out of work, if you go now maybe you’ll catch her.”

“Where?”

“Reese Heim’s Gallery, on the corner of Belford and 63rd.”

“Thank you.” He let go of her arms before stepping back, “Thank you.”

He turned around and then bolted out of the apartment.

It was a nice building. Its architecture was anything but basic, clearly designed by someone with an artistic eye. It looked quite futuristic with the dreary rainy weather reflected in its mirrored surfaces.

The lower floors of the building made up the gallery while the upper levels were the studios and offices. And in one of those studios was his Ara.

There were multiple entrances so getting in would be easy but finding her, that would be a task—as it always was—but she must be on her way out of the building right now, so he planned to utilize that.

Thunderstruck the skies, making him briefly glance up. A bolt of lightning appeared through the rain clouds before disappearing in an instant—and oddly enough, something felt changed.

His eyes zipped back to the gallery across the street and spotted one of the doors opening.

She stepped out.

She was wearing a sleek black trench coat with a tote bag over her shoulder. Her hair was in a neat braid, her pretty face on full display. She held an umbrella in one hand and had her phone raised to her ear in the other.

She looked distraught-whoever she was speaking was upsetting her. Priya. It must be Priya. She must be telling her I came by.

She suddenly froze in her steps as if struck.

He grinned.

He watched her slowly look around before growing frantic in her search. She whipped her neck around, scanning her surroundings, looking for no one else… but him.

Until she did.

Her eyes met his.

And recognition cut through him like a bullet.

Any doubt he had about Sade was ripped to shreds in milliseconds. It was her.

I found her.

It was explosive, the satisfaction he was feeling. He felt it in every point of his being. It was sharp and ambitious in its intensity. 

He’d always known this day would come.

Her face fell and he couldn’t help but grin wider. Her eyes were wide with such fear, it was exhilarating.

He always knew it would be like this, that she wouldn’t be able to hide her fear once she saw him. They’d shared too much. She knew too much.

She knew full well that if he ever found her again, it would never be the same.

He reached up to pull down his hood, wanting to make his presence just as clear as hers. Her expression was priceless.

So much fear.

It was unreasonable how even fear on her face made him feel so greedy, so eager to see all the faces she could make—just like he had before. Her good, her bad, her ugly—he wanted it all. He wanted to burn through their old memories with new ones.

And he would.

Suddenly cars zoomed between them, he didn’t realize the streetlight had turned green. It truly felt like time had stopped.

He watched her turn and bolt down the street. He laughed—it was hilarious really. It was already too late.

He followed her from his side of the street. It didn’t take much effort, just a bit of fast walking and she was still in his sight until her speed picked up.

Her adrenaline must’ve hit because she was running faster than he expected from her petite frame. Which bothered him because now she was running with no regard for herself, just trying to get away from him. He needed her to be careful—

He crossed the street in a blink of an eye, causing the oncoming car he passed by a millisecond to honk deliriously but Ara, Ara was being careless.

He was running now, half a minute away from catching up to her. He watched her run across the street when the streetlight was still green. A car was approaching, ready to make a turn at full speed as she ran.

“ARA!!” he yelled with all his chest.

His vision went white. The image of her body colliding with the car and dropping dead filling his mind, nearly making him cripple with shock.

He was not going to lose her like this, not after he just got her back.

But he wasn’t going to make it in time, he wasn’t close enough.

No.

He didn’t think, he ran so fast he didn’t see anything but her. He closed the distance between them in half a second—shoving her ahead with the force of his whole body.

The car touched him by a hairs breath as he made it to the other side of the street. He didn’t glance back as the car made a terrible screeching sound as it skidded in attempt to belatedly slow down–only to get rear-ended by the car behind him.

The surrounding people gasped but his eyes were fixed on her. Through the heavy rain he grabbed her waist, pulling her upright seconds before she catapulted face first into the asphalt from his shove.

But she shoved him, hard enough to make him let go.

“Ara.” he hissed as she tried to run away from him.

Only to end up half stumbling/half walking down the street. Her speed nothing to what it was before.

He followed her, readying himself for her fall since he knew it was coming. It seemed her adrenaline had left her, maybe he pushed her too hard.

But he had to, or else she would be dead right now. His heartbeat was still ringing in his ears at the idea.

She would rather die, than get caught by him—was that it? A cruel smile found its way upon his lips.

She tripped over her own feet, stumbling into an alley. The heavy downpour was only making her more disbalanced.

He instinctively reached a hand out to try steady her but she was scurrying up ahead, “Ara.”

She didn’t turn around, instead her hand went to the brick wall beside her as she coughed—coughed loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain.

Her legs wobbled and she collapsed to her knees. Her coughs racking her entire body. She’d overworked herself, hadn’t she?

He stopped a little behind her, watching her body shake from the weight of her coughs.

He lowered himself beside her, his eyes never leaving her as he grabbed her chin and shoved her against the wall.

Her eyes flickered upto his and everything he’d forced himself to numb came rushing back.

It was her.

Ara.

Right in front of him… after all this time.

He forgot how to breathe.

Four years later and she’d only gotten prettier. That picture hadn’t done her justice. The lighter shade of hair complimented her too well, somehow enhancing her skin and drawing attention to her alluring eyes. Her cheekbones had a glass like sheen that made her look unreal. And her lips…they were the same, as pouty and inviting as ever.

Her lashes had grown out and her face features had tightened up with time. There were hollows in her cheeks that weren’t there before, her smooth jaw more defined. There were freckles on her nose, whether they were drawn on or not he didn’t know but it didn’t matter. He liked it, all of it.

She was beautiful enough to defile right then and there.

Her eyes watered and he wondered if she’d read his mind.

His fingers tightened around her chin, “Found you.”

“No.” her voice came out choked. It was her voice. The voice he’d replayed so much in his mind and craved to hear in his dreams. Another cold shot of victory ran up his spine.

He felt her chin move in his hand but he kept her in place.

She tried to push herself up but failed. It seemed she was too weak too.

He watched the tears pour from her eyes, mixing in with the raindrops atop her skin. She must be realizing all her struggle was useless, all her struggle to get away from him then and all of her struggle now. There was nothing she could do. 

“No.” she rasped, weakly.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

He watched another tear slip out the corner of her eye, “You cryin’?” he asked softly, despite the cacophony of emotions roaring inside him, “You cryin’ cause you missed me?”

He should be angry, watching her cry should infuriate him. He felt hints of it—the deep betrayal that consumed him in the early months when she left but.. looking at her now, he just wanted to bask in her. He wanted to hold her, feel her, taste her.

And break her, all at the same time.

It was pathetic how weak he was when it came to her. Just watching her cry made him ache. Her wet tears got caught in her lashes, just like they would before, and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly with each cry. The turmoil in her glossy eyes—Fuck, why does she have to look so pretty when she cries?

It shouldn’t be this easy but hell he missed her so much.

He sighed, aggravated, “Still such a pretty fuckin’ crier, s’not fair.”

“Stop.” she cried, shaking her head as the rain continued to pour atop them. She pushed at his chest, “Stop.”

His skin tingled where she touched him. He caught her wrist before she could lift her hand away. He moved his hand on her chin to catch one of her tears with his thumb. He felt the warmth of her tear seep into his skin.

“I missed this.” he spoke quietly, “I missed this so much.”

Her chest shook from the sob she let out.

He leaned towards her, his forehead almost touching hers. Just being close to her was addictive, all he could smell was the rain but his hands on her—his hand on her wrist, on her chin. His skin thrummed with life at the contact. He hadn’t felt this way in so long.

She was so close to him now. Just millimeters away. Four years of deprivation about to come to a reprieve. The future never felt so ripe with possibilities.

It felt so right.

“I missed you.”

“No you don’t.” she cried, shaking her head wildly before trying to stand once more. “You don’t!”

“I do.”

Just as she stood, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against himself. Her head against his chest, his arms around her smaller frame. His skin warmed under their contact, the familiarity of it making his gut churn with a deeper need.

“No-!” she scrambled up but he grabbed her pretty little plait and dragged her back against him.

You're not getting away from me that soon, kitten.

He withdrew a handkerchief from the inside of his coat and cupped it over her mouth. It was doused with a liquid that would temporarily make her lose consciousness.

He watched her eyes widen as she stared up at him. Her small body thrashing in his arms. He fought to hide his smile, her little body must’ve gotten stronger cuz he felt more force in her actions than she was ever able to produce before, but it was like paper to a rock. Her eyes finally fluttered close, her body going limp.

He removed the handkerchief from her mouth. He turned it over and wiped the raindrops from her face.

He gazed down at her. She looked peaceful. It would probably be the only time she looked that way, for a while, at least.

He pressed his lips to her forehead for a moment, before whispering against her skin, “I found you.”

[youhavethesun]

saw a tiktok on pinterest (because I don’t have tiktok lol) about how annoyed someone was that Rory had given up all her hopes and dreams ‘because of one comment from a man’. and I know this was meant as a joke but honestly I wonder if this is how a lot of people view this plot line. I’ve seen so many people talking about Rory’s ‘downfall’ and how she was so unable to handle criticism/that she fell apart from a single comment etc.. and I just honestly can’t see how people continue to view it this way.

I think there are honestly a lot of factors that influenced Rory’s breakdown after Mitchum’s comment, but first of all I quickly want to say that (I know this is controversial but I genuinely do not care) I don’t think her leaving Yale was a bad thing!!! It was treated as this ultimate sin, (maybe this is for another post idk) but honestly I think Rory made the right decision. I don’t think the right decision was obviously her giving in to the lifestyle Emily wanted for her/joining the dar and so on, but actually taking a break from formal education I think could have been positive, all through season 4 we see how much of a toll college is taking on Rory, and I think taking a year out if she knew she was going back and using that year to rest and learn more about herself could have been really beneficial.

anyway sorry for the tangent, okay so the first thing is that a lot of people seem to view Rory’s conversation with Mitchum as a single interaction which caused her ‘downfall’, and everything was a domino effect from then on, instead of looking at it as the straw that broke the camels back. like I said, Rory was not in a good place at Yale even during s4, she had a terrible breakdown when she was slipping in her grades, and the impact of having to drop a single class was huge for her, she was desperately anxious about disappointing especially her grandfather’s expectations, but she was also at risk of at least somewhat disappointing all her immediate family. In season 2 (in my beloved car scene in teach me tonight) we can see hints of it too! Jess is just chatting casually when he says he didn’t expect her to dream about becoming an overseas correspondent, but this immediately rattles Rory, with direct dialogue being:

“well, it's not a little too rough for me. I hope it's not a little too rough for me, I've been talking about this forever. I mean, I don't even know what I would do if –-“

and this is in response to a comment from a friend.

the prospect of failing at her goal but also very importantly what Rory has ‘talked about forever’ is incredibly frightening. I think it’s so interesting that she doesn’t say ‘I’ve wanted this forever’, but rather implies that the expectations of those who have watched her grow up, who have heard her talk about this for so long, would be shattered because she has shared this with them. so much of Rory as a character is someone who is afraid to disappoint in every way possible, I think that is such a core element of her personality, and as the child prodigy who was (to some extent) raised to achieve what lorelai couldn’t, the pressure she is under not to disappoint is massive.

anyway, back to Mitchum. I think honestly to some degree it could have been anyone to criticise Rory’s capability and she would be considerably affected, seen not just when talking to Jess but even in season 1 after getting lower grades when she transferred to Chilton - Rory immediately questions whether she is even good enough to be at private school, whether she could just be disappointing those around her if she stays.

The fact that it’s Mitchum Huntzberger who says she ‘doesn’t have it’ in my opinion is kind of just the icing on the cake. Whether or not Rory had even taken the internship I think the pressure of it all would have led to a larger breakdown at some point or other, this was really just the final straw for what Rory could take at the time. Imagine one of the most successful people in the world in your chosen field telling you that everything you’ve worked for isn’t enough, that in three short words every expectation you’ve set for yourself (and more importantly every expectation everyone around you has held you accountable to) has been torn apart. Imagine believing you had let down everyone who had sacrificed something for you, who had put their faith in you, and tell me you could just bounce back from that.

Anyway the tiktok was not that serious but my thoughts just kind of spun out from there so if you read all of this I love you <3 and also I love you later season Rory you’re flawed and you’re lovely<33

[cort4se]

ch 3

part 1, part 2 warning: smut (18+) sesbian lex, overstim if you squint

You don’t know how she managed to tangle herself between your limbs but the two of you sat on the couch, watching a movie you picked out after having finished the pasta you brought over, leftovers tucked neatly away in the fridge.

The movie wasn’t one of your favourites but it was an easy watch, nothing too crazy, just something nice and silly to pass the time.

You groaned as you rolled your eyes “I can’t belive she just did that to her, it’s not her fault shes poor— and that joke was lame as fuck,” you grumbled.

One of the main antagonists had just humiliated the main character at a party she held. In a game within a small group the bully jokes about what it must feel like to only be able to buy a few pieces of clothing once per year. Asking if it’s some sort of hippie trend going on for reduced waste. 

The main character, (frustratingly) laughs it off saying she's not all that interested in clothing. 

You didn’t notice it, but Vi was not paying attention to the movie at all. Your lips were moving but she couldn't hear anything. She pursed her lips together as she wondered, has she always been this pretty?

Vi tried to focus on the movie that had you all worked up, but her eyes kept trailing back to your face. Back to the way you scrunched your nose in annoyance, the way your eyes were the most expressive feature on your face, how your lashes tickled below your eyebrow each time you rolled your eyes. 

You turned to look at her when you noticed she's been giving you half responses, you frowned “Do you not like the movie? We can put something else on..”

She tucked a stray piece of hair neatly behind your ear, “No, it’s okay we can do whatever you like,” giving you a small smile.

You halted at the unexpected touch, and the calm expression on her face steeled into one of sheer embarrassment.She yanked her hand away trying to hide the heat she knew was painfully rushing up to the tips of her ears. 

You awkwardly shifted as well trying to brush off the gesture.

As the movie went on you leaned into her a bit more, your warmth printing into her body. Her body was soft against yours, her arm rested comfortably around your shoulder. 

After getting bored with the same plot being overused with the same trope you've suddenly become more interested in each detail of her face. 

You knew she might have eventually caught you but you couldn't help yourself. So, when you thought she wasn’t paying attention, your eyes would wander a bit.  Around her big blue doe-like eyes, and to her stupidly long lashes.

Over the freckles that decorated the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. The bold of her eyebrows, and the scar that bridged through it. The ring that glinted in her nose. Her li—

You forced your eyes away, huffing in an attempt to ground yourself. She's my friend. You remind yourself. 

But she laughs and your eyes are on her face again. Drawn unconsciously to the vibrant colour of her lips. The bright whites of her teeth and the overwhelming warmth you feel just by being near her. 

You couldn’t wait around any longer. 

“Vi,” you called out to her. 

She turned her head to fully face you, responding with a soft, “Hm?”

And with the fear that clawed at every reasonable part of your brain, telling you, you were going to make a mistake; one you could never undo, your desire for something more drowned it out. In abandoning all reason you kissed vi. 

Her lips were soft against yours, you could feel the plushness of them, the scar on her lip that felt a bit rough but also her hesitation. The hesitation that confirmed you had just ruined everything. The hesitation that made you want to pull away, apologize and go home. 

But from the way she grabbed the nape of your neck and moved her face closer to yours, you had reason to believe she silenced her fear as well. 

Vi knelt between your legs, completely devouring you. Her tongue lapped along your folds, not letting a single drop go to waste. The fatigue from your orgasm was catching up to you but she didn’t care. 

You made such pretty noises and she wanted to do everything she could to keep hearing them. Your hole spasmed against her tongue, your lungs stuttered against your ribcage, trying to keep up with her pace. She was touching you everywhere, cupping at your breasts, kissing up your inner thigh, biting at your ankles, her warm touch felt like fire against your feverish skin.

Every noise she pulled out of you grew her confidence and would only encourage her to stimulate you differently like lightly biting at your inner thigh or gently flicking at your clit with her tongue. Each time she did, your muscles would tense up as your voice hitched in your throat as you tried to grapple between the overwhelming pleasure and the slight discomfort from the oversensitivity.

Her eyes shimmered with amusement whenever she looked up at you from between your legs.

Yes you were close friends but that’s all she ever thought you guys would be. It made no sense to continuously yearn after something you couldn’t have, but she was beyond ecstatic to be doing this with you. Her eagerness fueled by her desire to make up for all the times she declined your offer to grab something to eat, not knowing you wanted her the same way she wanted you.

A curse slipped past your lips as her tongue teasingly dipped into your hole forcing your attention onto her. 

“You taste so good,” she murmured.

Her firm hands sunk into your upper thighs keeping you in place, glossy eyes locked onto yours as she flattened her tongue, slowly licking up your folds dragging her tongue against your wetness. Her nose briefly meeting your clit. 

Your brows drew together as you watched her slow and deliberate movements. She was looking at you so intensely you almost came from her gaze alone. Your body was heating up more than you thought was humanly possible. 

She blew lightly on your cunt causing a small whimper to escape from your lips as your eyes fluttered shut. Impatience making you squirm from underneath her touch.

Vi loved how your chest heaved as it rose up and down, the way your nipples twitched against the cool air, how your hazy eyes hid behind your thick lashes as you looked down at her, how the marks she adorned stood out on your skin illuminated by the low lights in her room.

“You're so pretty,” she whispered.

Warmth bloomed in your face as you suddenly felt so exposed in front of her, and her saying that didn’t help at all. It felt like she was trying to make you feel embarrassed, your thighs pulled themselves together almost instinctively.

Vi dug the pads of her fingers into your thighs keeping them open. She pressed a soft kiss at your inner thigh, black hair tickling your thigh as she rested her head against your thigh. clouded eyes looking up to meet yours, “Is it too much for you?” 

Her thumb absentmindedly drew small circles on your other thigh, so innocently as if what she was asking was like asking what your favourite colour was. “We can stop if you want me to.” 

“Fuck..” you muttered. 

She sounded so sincere asking you that it made your mind rotate. especially given her lewd appearance. A mixture of your cum and her spit was all over the sides of her cheek, her chin and her mouth. 

You swallowed hard at the sight, before you quickly shook your head. “I don’t want you to stop Vi,” you whispered.

She moved her head from your thigh to kiss at your inner thigh before swirling her tongue against a spot she knew you were particularly sensitive. Her teeth latched onto the soft skin as she softly bit you. You let out a low hiss, as she looked up at you before giving you a small smile.

She placed a small kiss on your clit before effortlessly sliding her middle and ring finger into your soaking cunt with an audible squelch. 

“Mmngh, f-fuck” you moaned out, pressing your eyes shut.

She bit her lower lip as she watched how your cunt swallowed them whole. She pumped her fingers in and out, watching in awe as you squirmed from the oversensitivity.

“Mmghhh— ah!"

The wet sounds coming from your cunt and swollen lips only encouraged her to curl her fingers and work at your hole even more. Her thumb rubbed small circles on your swollen clit.

Countless moans tumbled past your lips as the sensations made it so hard for you to form a coherent sentence. 

Her lips parted slightly as she watched you, her own face growing redder and redder by the second. Vi wanted to put her hands all over you, she wanted you entirely, but she also didn't want to scare you away. 

You unconsciously rolled your hips against her palm, chasing after more you knew you could handle.

She lowered her face down in between your legs removing her thumb as she softly wrapped her lips around your swollen pearl. Still fucking you with her fingers, she began peppering soft kisses on your clit, before she teasingly flicked at it with her tongue.

You screamed out her name as tears began to prick at your eyes, your hands rushing to grip at her strands. Bridging oversensitivity and bliss, your eyes threatened to roll into the back of your skull as your thighs trembled with each motion of her tongue. 

An overwhelming warmth began to build in your stomach as your walls spasmed against Vi’s fingers. “Hnnn fuck I’m so close Im gonna— ah!” 

Back arching against the tangled sheets. Your fingers threaded through her hair as you pulled her impossibly closer into you.

You were growing dizzy with the overstimulation. She smiled into you from the way your cunt squeezed around her fingers. 

“Cum then.” She removed her mouth from your clit as she effortlessly slipped a third finger in and the heat in your stomach spilled over and onto her palm, your heart battered furiously in your ears ecstasy blocking out the volume of your own pleasure, the entirety of your body light on fire.

She brushed a loose lock of hair out of your face, bringing your gaze back onto herself as she pulled away and brought her fingers to her mouth. She swirled her tongue around them, licking them clean. 

Upon noticing the tears that streamed down your face, concern etched into each corner of her face, “Shit. I'm sorry, was it too much? Are you okay?” She brought up her hand to cup your cheek, softly swiping away the partly dried tear with the pad of her thumb. 

You weakly shook your head no, a feeble smile finding its way onto your lips, “You were amazing.”

Her face tilted downwards with a slight bashfulness, “Oh..” she said, letting out a nervous laugh, “I'm glad you liked it.”

You took in her visuals, trying to catch your breath, but it was so difficult when someone as gorgeous as Vi was watching you come down from your high. You were fully naked but her eyes darted across your bare skin like she was itching to undress you. 

You hooked a finger beneath her chin and brought her gaze up to your eyes, bringing your lips to hers. 

Your lips moved against each other, seamlessly falling into a comfortable rhythm. You took Vi’s lower lip between your teeth, pulling a soft moan from her in the process. Taking advantage of her parted lips, you slipped your tongue into her mouth, meeting hers. You let out a soft whine at the taste of yourself on her lips. 

Vi kisses from down your lips, to your jawline, nibbling and biting at the skin, kissing lower to the base of your neck. suckling and peppering kisses that will definitely leave marks.

Your hands moved from her hair, to her neck, sliding down her shoulders, tracing down her arms where they trailed down to rest on her hips. Playing with the waistband of her pants, she pulled away from your neck.

Her lips were swollen, eyes shiny with pupils blown out to the rim. You note her eyes widened when you slipped your hands past them, tracing soft circles with the tips of your fingers against the bare skin on her hips. 

You taunted her with a soft, “May I?”

The next morning Vi woke up feeling oddly good about herself. Feeling as though whatever she dreamt of last night must’ve been fairly important. She propped herself up on her elbows desperately trying to piece together what it was she dreamt of. 

To the sound of sheets ruffling you groggily stirred awake. Rubbing your eyes as you rested on your shoulder, covers dipping low enough to reveal your bare skin along with the harsh kisses she left at your skin. 

And the heat in her face painfully reminded her that last night was very much real.

cross posted on ao3 with the same userr <3

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 38: Reckoning

You form a connection with an unlikely companion while Joel searches for you. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-37 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and several steps beyond that. Fairly graphic torture. Attempted rape. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 17.6k

A/N: As with recent chaptesr, I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. Things are going to look really dicey this chapter but it does not happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character is in THIS CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

She was a girl. Just a girl. 

You couldn’t seem to move past just how young she looked, her face twisted into a hateful snarl. There was something gaunt about her features now that you didn’t remember there being before but then, your memory of that day was twisted. You’d been so focused on saving Joel - and suffering from losing blood yourself - that things were hazy. But you were almost certain she’d been more imposing then, a golf club in her grip as she stood over your husband’s broken body. 

“You’re with them?” She spat. “Fucking figures, should have known you’d be just as fucking bad as him…” 

You cocked your head at her a little, trying to puzzle her out before releasing your hold on your chain and tugging your pant leg up enough that she could see it wrapped around your ankle. It was already rubbing your flesh raw, blood starting to cling to the metal. 

“Does it look like I’m with them?” You asked, brows raised. You kept your injured hand cradled to your chest, the throbbing pain where your fingers used to be oddly muddled with the ghost of a feeling of the flesh and bone still there. You kept absently trying to flex them, expecting to feel the tension in the muscle when you moved. Your mind hadn’t quite processed that it wasn’t coming. 

The girl - just a girl - clenched her jaw, shaking her head and looking away from you. You dropped your pant leg and pressed yourself tight against the wall at your back, holding your damaged hand with your intact one. It didn’t make it hurt any less but it was still a comfort, to shield that vulnerability. 

“What are you doing here.” 

The girl said it more than asked it, still not looking at you. 

“Same as you, I imagine,” you said, your stomach churning at that, knowing what had probably just been done to this girl. Knowing what was waiting for you. She looked at you then, a darkness in her eyes that you knew well. You clenched your jaw and nodded slowly. “You OK?” 

She scoffed. 

“Don’t act like you care,” she snapped. “I’m sure you’d love exactly what they’re fucking doing to me, what they’ve been doing to me -“ 

“No,” you cut her off, tightening your hold on your wrist. “I don’t. I’ve been here before. I know what they do. I don’t wish that shit on anybody.” 

She looked at you again, skeptical now. 

“That how you met him?” She spat the word, like referring to Joel at all left a foul taste in her mouth.  

“Kind of,” you said. “He found me after I got out, saved me from bleeding to death in the snow.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s not,” you said, watching her, your chest tight. Joel had told you that his raider days were far behind him and you believed him but you couldn’t think of another reason why this girl would want to hate him in particular. “I owe him my life.” 

“So he’s alive then?” She asked, gathering her knees into her chest.

You considered lying for a moment but you didn’t see much point in it. Chances were, neither of you were making it out of this alive, anyway. 

“Yes,” you said. “He is.” 

She just looked at you for a moment and you wondered, for a second, if she heard you. But then, her eyes brimmed with tears and her lip quivered, her breath quickening. 

“Of course he is,” her voice shook before she slammed her fist back against the wall, hard enough that the sound made you jump. “Of fucking course he is! Do you know what I fucking did to get that far? What I fucking sacrificed!” 

She screamed and brought her fist down on the sagging mattress again and again until she was sobbing, the kind of choking almost strangled sobs that made you feel like you were going to suffocate when you were in them. It took her a moment to calm down enough to speak again. 

“That’s how these fucking assholes caught me,” she said, still taking deep, shaky breaths. “I was looking for some sign of him, of him or of your fucking people. I hoped I’d be able to find out that he died, that I fucking killed him, that I could actually fucking breathe again. Instead, these fuckers got me. Because I hadn’t lost enough to Joel fucking Miller.” 

She knew his name. That fact made your breath hitch. It hadn’t been something random or even something from a chance encounter, she knew him in some way. You just didn’t know how.

“Why,” it was your turn to say more than ask. If you were trapped here with this girl, you needed to know if she was going to turn on you. But, more than that, you needed to understand. 

You had survived a lot of terrible things since the outbreak but the days you thought you might have lost Joel were some of the worst of your life. You’d trade years of enduring everything Mitchum and his men had put you through if it meant you’d never have to see Joel like that again. You needed to understand what made this girl hate him that much and you needed to know if there was anyone else who would come for him that way. Not that there was much you could do about it here, chained to a wall and in Mitchum’s grasp, but you needed to know that he was safe. That he would continue on and take care of your daughters without this threat hanging over him. You needed that comfort. 

“Why do you want him dead.” 

“Why should I fucking tell you?” She didn’t seem to say anything without biting it out, like she was made up of rage. You didn’t much blame her. It didn’t take long surviving like this before every other emotion was impossible and, before too long, rage was gone, too. 

“Because I’m your best hope of getting out of here,” you said. “I’ve done it before, I can do it again. And I meant what I said, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Even you. But if it comes down to your life or my husband’s? I’ll kill you. Wouldn’t even lose sleep over it. So you need to tell me why you want him dead because I’d rather not kill you. We can get out of this together but I need to know that you’re not going to kill him when we do.” 

“Husband?” She looked at you and laughed once, darkly. “Fucking… You married a monster, you know. A fucking animal.” 

“Why.” 

“If he hasn’t told you about the shit he’s done…” 

“I know what he’s done,” you cut her off. 

“And you still married him?” She shook her head, a disgusted look on her face. “Then you’re a monster, too.” 

“I can be the monster who saves you or the monster who kills you,” you replied. “How much do you want this grudge to destroy your life?” 

“Grudge?” She asked, brows raised. “That’s what you think this is? Like he called me names on the playground? He killed my fucking dad!” 

 Your chest got tight. 

“People kill other people every day,” you said after a moment. “It could have been anyone, it…” 

“You know a lot of other guys who slaughter an entire hospital of people in cold blood?” She spat. “People who were just trying to save the fucking world?” 

Your face fell and she huffed. 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” 

You’d thought - or maybe hoped - that her rage was a result of something that happened on patrol. That the blame could be comfortably placed somewhere else, that it was something that Joel could maybe even regret having done. 

Instead, it was the one thing you knew he would never even apologize for, not in a million years. If it had kept Ellie safe, it wasn’t something he could make amends for. And you didn’t want him to. 

“You don’t understand…” 

“No, I understand perfectly,” she cut you off. “He murdered my father…”

“No,” you shook your head.

“…and ruined every shot the world had at a fucking cure!” 

“That’s not what happened,” you said, straining to keep calm but starting to fail. 

“It’s not?” She seethed. “Then tell me! Tell me what fucking happened, give me one goddamn reason why anyone would…”

“He saved our daughter!” You all but yelled it, eyes wide, begging her to understand. 

She sat back, laughing darkly once.

“No,” She shook her head. “No, he decided one life was worth more than every other life on the planet…” 

“So!” 

“SO?” She gaped at you. “That’s… that’s psychotic, that’s…” 

“Do you think your father would have done anything different if it was you?” You asked. “You think he’d have just let them kill you?” 

“If it meant saving the world?” She asked.

“If it meant anything at all,” you said. “Do you really think he would have let them kill you.” 

“He…” 

“You’ve done how much to avenge him?” You asked. “Think that means he wasn’t a piece of shit.” 

“He was amazing,” she snapped. “Whole hell of a lot better than that fucking…” 

“Do you really think your amazing father would have let them kill you,” you asked. “Be honest with yourself. Would he have let them kill you or would he have done the exact same thing as Joel.” 

“He wouldn’t have become a mass fucking murderer!” 

“Wouldn’t he?” You asked. “You’re not a parent, you don’t know what you’d do for your kids…” 

“I know there’s a fucking limit!” She cut you off. 

“No, there’s not!” You yelled. “I have two daughters, I’d do anything for them…” 

“Even that?” She asked, incredulous. 

“I’m only here right now because of them!” You said before forcing yourself to calm down. “I’ve been here before. I barely survived. Some days, I didn’t want to survive but I did and I escaped. But they took my daughters and they wanted me to trade myself for them and I did it without a second thought. They’re my children. I’d do anything for them. And your dad would have, too.” 

She just looked at you for a moment and it was like you could see her deflate. 

“When it’s your kid, there is no such thing as too far,” you said. “I’m sorry your dad died for that. I am. But I’m not sorry that my kid lived and I’d have killed anyone to make sure that happened, too. I ain’t sorry for that part, either.” 

“Then you’re as much of a monster as him.” 

You just shook your head a little, turning your attention to your injured hand. 

Curiosity got the better of you, even though you knew you should leave it alone. You carefully unwound the cloth they’d put around your wounds where your fingers once were. The burned flesh, at least, had stopped bleeding and was just weeping where blisters were forming. The skin was ragged and the bone was splintered and it was surreal, realizing that part of you had been cut away. 

“Jesus,” the girl said and you looked over to her. You’d been so lost in your own pain for a moment, you’d almost forgotten she was there. “That… shit.” 

You looked back at your hand and flexed your remaining fingers, staring at where the two should be. 

“If you wanted to try to kill me, now would be the time,” you said. “I’m still down a lot of blood, you’d win this round.” 

“I don’t want to kill you,” she snapped. 

You took a last look at your injury before wrapping it back up slowly, carefully. 

“If I’m a monster then…” 

“Don’t give me a reason to kill you and I won’t,” she said.

You looked up at her, bandage half around your wound. 

“Same to you.” 

You went back to wrapping your injured hand, wincing at the pressure put on the cuts. You could feel the girl’s eyes on you as you worked and you cradled your hand to your chest again when you were done, something about holding it to yourself feeling more secure. 

“I think we should work together,” the girl said eventually. You looked at her, brows raised. “We’re both stuck here. We both want the same thing. I know what you’re capable of and you apparently know these assholes. You said you got out of here before?” 

You nodded slowly. 

“I did.” 

“Then you know where to start,” she said. “I’ve been here for… I don’t know how long. A few weeks, I think. If you help me, I’ll help you.” 

You considered her for a moment. 

“What’s your name?” 

She considered you back, like she was trying to puzzle you out. 

“Abby,” she said eventually. “Yours?” 

“Bambi,”  you said. She raised her eyebrows. “That’s what everyone calls me, anyway.” 

“Stupid fucking name,” she said. 

You snorted. 

“I don’t really disagree with you,” you said. “Abby, if I help you, I need to know you’re not going to try to kill my husband the second we’re out of here.” 

“Are you serious?” She gaped at you before laughing darkly. “Jesus…” 

“I’d rather us both die in here than get out and lose him,” you said. “That’s the deal. You leave us alone, we leave you alone.” 

“Yeah, because he’d just let me live…” 

“We haven’t exactly hunted you down before now, have we?” You said. “That’s the offer on the table. We help each other and we go our separate ways.” 

She looked at you, her jaw clenched tight. 

“Do you think your dad would want you stuck here, in a place like this, so you could kill someone in his name?” You asked. “Because I wouldn’t want that for my kids. I wouldn’t want them to kill anyone for me at all.” 

She ground her teeth, watching you closely.

“Fine,” she said eventually. “We make it out of here, I won’t go looking for him. And if I ever do run into him… He’ll leave alive.” 

“Thank you,” you said, relaxing back into the wall. 

“What do we do now?” She asked. “You’re the expert.” 

“Watch each other’s backs,” you sighed. “I’m in no shape to get us anywhere and I don’t think you’re doing so hot right now, either. When was the last time you got a full night’s rest?” 

She scoffed. 

“Like these fuckers leave me alone long enough for that.” 

“They will now,” you said. 

“Right,” she said. “Because you’re magically going to make them back off.” 

“Nothing magic about it,” you said. “I just know what I’m worth to their boss. They won’t go through me to get to you, he’d kill them if they did. You can take a breath.” 

She looked skeptical but she also looked exhausted. After a moment, she lay down on the mattress, her back against the wall and her arms crossed tight over her chest. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said before closing her eyes. 

“Yeah,” you said. “You too.” 

***

Joel rode with one hand resting over your fingers in his pocket. 

They were a comfort to him, his heart beating more steadily when he could feel the parts of you there. 

He tried not to think about why he found them so comforting. The truth of it nagged at the back of his mind but he tried to leave it tucked away. He wasn’t equipped to face that. Not now. 

But the truth of it was, if he couldn’t get you back, he needed to have some part of you he could put in the ground. He wouldn’t be able to bury an empty box so he had somewhere to lie when what was left of the world became unbearable and had a place to go when his time came, too. He had something he could honor and be close to if he lost you now. 

“Joel,” Tommy said. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been riding. “We need to rest the horses, we can’t keep pushin’ ‘em like this…” 

“They can rest when we find her.” 

“Joel,” he said again, and he actually turned to face his brother, his hand still on your fingers in his pocket. He could feel the metal ring of your wedding band beneath his palm. 

I promise to protect you. Promise to never let anything hurt you.

“The horses won’t be in any shape to get her out of there if we push ‘em too far right now. We need to rest them, for her sake. We need to rest ourselves, too. Can’t fight if we’re exhausted, it’ll just get us all killed. Please, Joel.” 

Joel clenched his jaw. Tommy was right. He knew he was. But it didn’t feel right. He didn’t want to sleep or eat or let another hour pass without knowing you were alive. 

“Let’s get to the stream,” Joel said, nodding toward where he knew there would be some water coming up. “Then we can take a break.” 

It didn’t take long, the three of them making it to the water almost too quickly for Joel’s liking. But he stopped all the same, dismounting his horse and giving him a chance to drink. Ellie and Tommy did the same, Ellie pacing for a moment before stopping, staring at the water. 

“Be back in a minute,” she said. “Need to use the restroom.” 

“Don’t go far,” Joel cautioned. She didn’t respond, just stalking into the brush. 

Joel stared at the water, too, shifting his weight from foot to foot, adjusting his back as his body settled into a different position than it had been in on the back of a horse. 

“Joel,” Tommy said, coming up alongside him. He kept his eyes on the water. “Look man, I can’t pretend to know what it is you’re goin’ through right now. Don’t know that I’d be doing any better in your shoes but… Jesus, man. Ellie’s a kid…” 

“Old enough to patrol.” 

“Patrol,” he repeated. “Not do the shit we used to do. There’s a difference.” 

“She wants to know how to protect what she loves,” he said. “You know as well as me the kind of world we live in…” 

“Don’t mean she needs to be doin’ that,” Tommy cut him off. “You really want her to live with that shit in her head the rest of her life? Knowin’ what she’s capable of doing to a person?”

Joel didn’t respond. He just crossed his arms a little tighter. 

“She wouldn’t want that for her,” Tommy said after a minute. “Bambi loves that girl. She wouldn’t want her torturin’ someone in her name.” 

“Well she’s not here to put a stop to it, is she?” Joel asked, finally looking his brother in the eye. Tommy didn’t say anything. “Ellie’s an adult. I’m not gonna pretend like she’s not grown enough to make her own choices. If she wants to make a man pay for takin’ someone she loves? I’m not about to stop her.” 

Tommy just squared his jaw, watching Joel intently for a moment. 

“So we’re clear, I’m not just out here for you,” he said. “I’m out here for Bambi, too. She’s my family and I’m going to do what she would want me to do, including saving that kid from herself.” 

Joel rounded on his brother fast and firm, forcing him back into a tree. 

“You really mean to tell me what my wife wants?” He was seething, in Tommy’s face. “I left her and our girls in the place you told me was safe and now she’s gone, I might never get her back and you’re gonna tell me how to handle it? That it?”

“You really gonna blame me for this?” He asked quietly. “You gonna tell me I’m in the wrong?” 

“Dad?” 

Ellie’s voice appeared behind him and Joel stepped back from Tommy who cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Everything OK?” She asked, looking between the two men. 

“Fine,” Tommy said. “We’re just… worried.” 

“No shit,” Ellie said. “Me too.” 

“We’ll give the horses an hour,” Joel said, looking between the two of them. “Then we’re back on the road.” 

It wasn’t a relaxing break. Ellie patched up the knife wound on his shoulder. Once that was done, Joel just tried to not pace, feeling the burn of Tommy’s gaze on his skin. But it was like he was on fire, his muscle and his marrow burning with the need to move, to do something besides just fucking stand here at the water’s edge and watch it go past, as though everything was normal and life shouldn’t have come to a grinding halt because you were gone. 

It was just shy of an hour when Joel couldn’t take it anymore. 

“C’mon,” he said, mounting up again. “Let’s go.” 

They rode for a few hours more in brutal, damning quiet when Tommy finally spoke again. 

“Should talk about a plan,” he said. 

“Plan is to get my goddamn wife,” Joel spat. “What else do I need.” 

“We’re gonna be outnumbered, for one,” Tommy said, his voice almost eerily calm. “For another… it sounded like Mitchum ain’t gonna be there…” 

Joel was quiet for a moment, waiting for him to finish the thought. He didn’t. 

“Sounds like you’re arguin’ about the fact that there’s one less person standing between me and my wife,” Joel looked at his brother, his jaw clenched tight. His hand went to cover his pocket again, feeling where your fingers were against his leg.  

I promise to protect you.

“I’m not,” Tommy said. His tone reminded Joel of the way you spoke to the feral horses you’d brought to Jackson. Like Tommy knew he was an unbroken, wild thing, something that was dangerous and could lash out at any second. “But… He knows where to find her now and it doesn’t sound like he’s going to stop coming for her. We need to get her back but we need to make sure she’s safe and to do that, we need to kill him, too. We have to wait for him to come back otherwise we’re just buying time, that’s all. We have to end it.” 

Joel looked straight ahead, grinding his teeth. 

“He’s right,” Ellie said quietly. “We need to kill the guy at the top, too, or it won’t stop.” 

He was almost embarrassed to admit, even just to himself, that he hadn’t put much thought into that. He’d been singularly focused: Get to you, save you, destroy whoever he could reach who’d hurt you. 

But if he wanted to do what he’d vowed to do, he couldn’t let it be that simple. He would have to make sure he cut the snake off at the head. There was no other way. 

“So what do you propose we do?” He asked gruffly, even though he knew they were right. 

“Find ‘em,” Tommy said. “Take someone from the perimeter, if we can. Pull information from ‘em. If we can know when he’s coming back… if it’ll be soon, we can wait him out. If it’ll be long, we get Bambi and get a message back to Jackson, bring people out to take care of him when he does come back.” 

Joel nodded slowly, considering. 

The only faults he could find in the plan was that it could mean you were with these monsters longer than it took to reach you or that he wasn’t the one to take Mitchum apart. He needed to get to you as fast as he could, make sure you were still breathing and still you as fast as he could. And once he had you back, he wasn’t leaving your side. He’d have to trust someone else to handle your captor and that made his skin crawl. Mitchum needed to pay. He needed it to be long and harsh and cruel and he needed to know that, when he died, he knew why. 

But holding you was more important than any of that. 

“Alright,” he said. “We get there, we find someone, we take the information. We can decide from there.” 

Tommy nodded but was quiet for a moment. 

“It’s the right move, Joel,” he said gently. “You’re doin’ everything you can for her and we’re going to get her back. She’s…” 

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” he snapped, his chest getting tight, so tight it was getting hard to breathe. “Don’t tell me she’s going to be alright not… not when I left her there, not when I should’ve…” 

“She’s strong,” Tommy cut him off, looking quickly at Ellie who’s head was hung low. “She’s the strongest person I know. She’ll make it.” 

The three of them made it to the edge of what they thought was Mitchum’s territory as night started to fall, finding a place to hole up and collect information. 

“You two stay put,” Tommy said, once it was dark. He went down to the basics, leaving his pack and horse behind. “I’ll find where to go. Don’t do anythin’ stupid.” 

Joel clenched his jaw but gave him a nod, watching what little he could see of his brother in the dark. 

“Get some sleep,” he said to Ellie after sitting in silence for too long. 

“I’m not tired,” she said, her voice harsh but quiet. 

“Try,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.” 

She sighed but he heard the rustle of her getting her sleeping bag from her pack all the same and watched the outline of her as she settled in nearby on the ground. Joel kept his hands on his rifle, tracing his fingers over the familiar edges of it. The weapon was a comfort, the corporeal reminder that he was not powerless, that he could do damage and take what he needed. He had what was necessary to save you, he just had to do it. 

“Joel?” Ellie said softly. 

“Hm.” 

“Are you OK?” 

His hands stilled on the gun and he looked over to her. He couldn’t make out her face in the dark but he could feel her eyes on him. 

“Shoulder don’t hurt,” he said. “M’fine.” 

“Yeah, but…” she paused. “What about the other stuff.” 

Joel sighed, not really sure how to answer that question. How did he tell Ellie that he felt like he was on the edge of a knife? There were only two options for him: bringing you home or not going home at all. He knew that now, there would be no coming back from this without you. He didn’t want to come back from this without you. 

“You can talk to me, you know,” she said. “I’m not a little kid anymore. I know you still see me like a kid but…” 

“I know you’re not a kid,” he said. “But there are some things… some things just ain’t yours to carry.” 

She was quiet for a moment, long enough that Joel thought the conversation might be over. But it wasn’t. 

“How do you do it?” She asked. 

“Do what.” 

“Hurt people.” She sounded so small it reminded Joel of when they were coming to Jackson, when she was scared and uncertain and had already survived so much more than she should have. 

He sighed. 

“Just do.” 

“How do you not lose yourself to it?” She asked. “When I saw him there, when… when I knew what he did and knew he was still breathing, I got so angry. Like all I wanted in the whole fucking world was to hurt him that way, too. I wanted to make him pay for it, pay for everything and I would have hunted him to the ends of the fucking Earth to do it but when I actually… when you gave me the knife, when I was able to… It didn’t feel better but I couldn’t stop it. I knew it wasn’t helping her and it wasn’t changing anything but someone needed to make him pay and I wanted it to be me but all it did was make me sick but I couldn’t stop it. How do you stop it?” 

He adjusted his grip on the gun, fingers pressing too hard into the stock, his chest tight. 

“Lot of practice,” he said eventually. “Started… it started out just for information. And… well, truth of it is, I wasn’t able to feel much when I started doin’ it. After I lost Sarah, I just didn’t feel much of anything at all. I just wanted to keep Tommy alive. Did a lot of shit I regret in the name of keeping me n’him alive. But that made it easier. And doing it when… when there’s trouble, when it’s you or her… I don’t feel much then, either. Can’t feel bad about doin’ anything to a man like that when he’s between me and… There’s nothing in me to feel bad. Only hard part is not killin’ someone who deserves it too fast. But the information’s important. Easy to remember to get it when I need to. It’s just… it’s practice, same as anything else. Practice you don’t need to have, baby girl.” 

Ellie sighed. 

“I get what you mean,” she said eventually. “I lost control with Cody before but… I don’t know. It’s like there’s part of me that’s missing right now and I don’t know what to do if I don’t get it back.” 

Joel’s heart clenched at that. 

“I’m sorry, baby girl.” 

“I know,” she said quietly. “We… we’ll take care of each other, right Dad? No matter what?” 

Joel was silent, trying to figure out how to speak without his voice catching.

“We will,” he said after a moment. He wasn’t sure if he was lying to her. 

Ellie was asleep when Tommy made it back to their small camp, sitting heavily beside his brother. 

“Found their perimeter,” he said quietly. “We ain’t too far, half a mile maybe? Got an idea of how they patrol, there are spots we can grab one. Looks like a decent set up, we’ll have to be smart about how we do this, Joel. If we ain’t, it could get her killed as much as it would you or me.” 

Joel knew Tommy was saying that to try to keep him from charging in, hot headed and foolish, but that didn’t make it feel any better to sit here and wait. 

“Think we get a few hours rest,” Tommy said. “Grab one of their men just before sunrise.” 

“Alright,” Joel said, settling in to wait, trying to ignore the pull in his chest at the thought of you so close but so out of reach. “You sleep, I’ll keep watch.” 

“Joel…” 

“I’m not sleeping without her,” he cut him off. “I’ll be fine. Sleep.” 

Tommy was silent for a moment. 

“She wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself, either,” he said quietly. Before Joel could argue, Tommy got up and got his sleeping bag from his pack, settling in on the other side of Ellie as Joel looked toward Mitchum’s base, watching the place where you were in the dark. 

***

Abby was right. They weren’t letting her rest. 

You weren’t entirely sure how long you were watching over her as she slept when you heard the front door open. You knew it was still dark, it couldn’t have been that long. You’d been trying to do something to keep yourself calm in the time that you’d been sitting there, watching over the girl who had nearly murdered your husband. 

Your entire body was tense and on high alert. You didn’t think you could hope for much else while you were here. Even before you’d never really been able to turn off the constant thrum of fear that pulsed through you. It wasn’t paranoia, it was self preservation. You had to be prepared for someone to come and hurt you at any moment. Your heart beat faster because of it, breaths came faster. You were sure you’d lost more blood because of it when they took your fingers. But you knew you couldn’t stay this tense for long and be useful. You needed to calm down enough that you could function and eventually rest. You needed to recover the blood you lost before you could do anything at all. 

But the tactics you used before to keep yourself sane couldn’t happen now. You couldn’t pretend to play guitar anymore. You’d never tried to play with just three fingers on one hand and thinking about losing that hurt, more than even losing the fingers did. You weren’t in any condition to train, either. 

Instead, you just stared at the wall over Abby’s shoulder, her back pressed to it. You tried to think about how to get out, what you had to leverage. If there was a time where you and Abby might be unchained at once, maybe together you could overpower them. 

Maybe Joel would come for you. 

Not that you thought he wouldn’t try, you knew he would. But you’d changed hands, groups had gone separate ways. Tracking you would be basically impossible. You couldn’t count on him to find you under these circumstances. You could only count on yourself and your need to get back home to him. 

Still, you thought you’d have more time of staring at the wall before anyone would come for you or for Abby. You were wrong. 

You tightened your grip on your chain and looked around for other options for weapons but Mitchum and his men had been thorough, the room stripped bear of everything but the bare necessities. You grabbed the bucket from the end of your bed - one that, thankfully, you hadn’t needed to use yet - before turning to the sleeping girl on the other bed. 

“Abby,” you hissed quietly, stretching your unchained leg out and jostling her mattress. She jerked and scrambled, already panicky and gasping for breath. So different from the girl who’d held Joel’s life in her hands. Her darting eyes found you and she seemed to remember then, relaxing a little. “Someone’s in the house.” 

“Fuck,” she swore, looking around for something to fight with but coming up as empty as you had. 

“How far can your chain reach?” You asked as quietly as you could, eyes darting toward the door. 

“Um,” she moved almost to the middle of the room, her chained leg stretched far to the side. “This far.” 

“OK,” you nodded, not sure you believed it. But yours went about as far, and you were able to place yourself in front of her. “Just.. stay behind me.” 

“You really think this will work?” She asked. You looked back over your shoulder at her. Her teeth were gritted and fierce but her eyes were wide and afraid. 

“They won’t touch me,” you said. “If you stay behind me, you’ll be OK. Just stay behind me.” 

The door opened and a man you didn’t recognize stalked in. Mitchum had either expanded or replaced a lot of his henchmen in the years you’d been gone. The man looked you up and down for a moment, his eyes calculating and hungry, before looking behind you. 

“Come here, girl,” he said, ignoring you completely. 

“Fuck off,” Abby snarled, but she stayed behind you. 

He squared his jaw, his nostrils flared. 

“Do as I say,” he snapped. “Or I’ll make it hurt.” 

She laughed once, darkly. 

“Like you wouldn’t anyway.” 

“Fine,” he said, going to move around you. “I’ll drag you, then.” 

You did’t let him pass. Instead, you lashed out with your unbound leg, kicking hard and landing a blow on his inner thigh - not quite where you were hoping to hit but it was enough. He hissed in pain and stumbled, looking vicious. 

“Fucking…” he rounded on you, moving toward you, but you raised your still-booted foot, ready to kick again. 

“Try it,” you said. “See what happens. Think your boss would just let you get away with fucking up his favorite toy before he got back? Take a guess what happened to the fuckers who took my fingers.” 

He hesitated then, looking between you and Abby. 

“Not getting her without going through me,” you said. “And he’ll kill you if you go through me.” 

His lip curled. 

“Bullshit.” 

You shrugged. 

“Risk it if you want,” you said. “Or ask the men who brought me in. Personally I think it’d be fun to watch you become clicker food…” 

You pressed back closer to Abby, feeling her at your back, ready to move as best you could if you needed to. 

The man, however, didn’t move. He just let out a short, enraged scream and turned his back to you for a second, stomping toward the door before turning back. 

“Mitchum is back soon,” he said, your body tensing at his name, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. “He’ll take care of you himself.” 

He stormed off, slamming the door behind him. 

You relaxed then, your heart still in your throat as you moved back to your side of the small room. You didn’t want to be any closer to Abby than you had to be. 

She, it seemed, had the same thought, moving to her mattress and pressing her back against the wall, taking slow but shaky breaths as she did. 

“You alright?” You asked, pulling your injured hand back into yourself again. It felt so much better there for some reason. Not any less painful but at least less exposed. 

“Fine,” she said, a little breathless. You nodded, closing your eyes for a second and counting your breaths, trying to force them to slow. “Why did you do that?” 

You looked at her for a moment as she watched you, her eyes narrowed but in curious examination, not anger.

“I meant what I said,” you replied. “We’re stronger together. And… I might have every reason to hate you but no one deserves what they do. Not even you. I’m not about to just let them do it. I don’t have much power here but I have some and goddammit I’m not going to waste it.” 

She nodded a little and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. 

“Thank you,” she said eventually. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m not sure how much more I can take and… Thank you.” 

You just nodded, fingers absently seeking where your wedding band had rested just days earlier, a motion you’d done almost daily since Joel had put it on your hand. Instead, you found broken flesh. You took your fingers back. 

“You should try and sleep,” she said after a few minutes. “I won’t be able to for a while, not after… I’ll keep watch. Wake you up if anything happens.” 

You nodded slowly before stretching out on mattress, trying to calm yourself enough to actually rest. 

You did manage it, for a few hours. You drifted in and out more than properly slept, but it was something. When you finally woke, you traded with Abby, her lying down to rest while you kept watch. 

There wasn’t much to watch for, though. Your threat, it seemed, had been taken seriously. No one came for Abby and you knew no one was going to come for you, not while Mitchum was away. You weren’t sure what was going to happen once he did come back. You just hoped you’d have some kind of opening when they moved you to wherever they tried to take you for him to try and use, that you’d be staying close enough that you could easily come back for Abby and that the two of you could make a break for it together. 

Once you were both awake again, you tried to learn what you could as quietly as possible. Abby gave you an idea of the layout of the place you were in, where the horses were kept, when people tended to congregate. She’d been here long enough to have a decent enough lay of the land, enough of one that you thought it could be helpful when trying to find your way out. 

She was, as you learned, a resourceful young woman. She’d made one escape attempt already but she was caught quickly. She learned from it, though, telling you where she thought was better to avoid after watching certain areas after her attempted break out. 

If it weren’t for your shared history, you’d probably like her. You could even sympathize with her, to a point. If someone had taken the only person you had left in the world, you probably wouldn’t care much about the reason they did it either. You’d just want them to pay. But all that pain had been what landed her where she was. 

After leaving Joel to bleed and die in the lodge that day, she’d been content with it for a while. Satisfied that she’d ended the man who had ended her father, she felt like she could move on and she tried to, for a while. She spent time with the group of people who had helped her hunt Joel down, started looking for someplace to call home. 

Then, doubt took hold. She couldn’t be sure he was gone. She’d left him with you, after all, someone who seemed as determined to save him as she had been to destroy him. How could she know, with deep and comforting certainty, that he was truly gone? How could she just live her life if there was a chance he was out there, living his? 

So she set off toward Jackson. Her friends had tried to talk her out of it but she was unrelenting. She needed to see evidence of his demise before she could rest and - on the off chance he survived - she needed to finish the job. Two had come with her for a while, trying to talk her out of it the whole way, but, eventually, they gave up and she was alone. 

She didn’t know what her plan was, really. It wasn’t like she had resources to take on an entire town but she figured he’d leave eventually. She’d found him almost on his own before, she could do it again. 

She was closing in on where she thought Jackson was when one of Mitchum’s men - patrolling the areas around the town, looking for a foothold - found her. She fought hard and took several of them down before they took control of her, chaining her and dragging her back to Mitchum’s camp more than a month earlier. 

You had the fleeting thought that you should, in some way, find this satisfying. That her lust for pain had brought her here, victim to a monster of another kind entirely, knowing that if she’d just left well enough alone, she would be with her friends. 

But you couldn’t. You knew the kind of pain Mitchum wrought, how he and his men took a person apart from the inside out, separating them from their humanity with surgical precision until they were just a shell of who the were before. No one deserved that, not even her, especially not when you thought of her as somewhat like a girl you’d been once, one filled with so much hurt and anger you thought you might burn the world with it. 

It was an uneasy alliance, one that you were forced to trust. She watched over you as you slept and the two of you were only disturbed by an angry delivery of jerky and water. 

You wished you had some idea of when Mitchum would be back. Being left alone was almost disturbing and the feeling of looming agony was heavy and only grew heavier as time passed. You knew he would come back eventually, returning from whatever dark business he had and he’d come straight for you when he did. He always did when he came back unless he was too injured to do what he wanted with you. Any frustration that had built up in his time outside he seemingly loved to work out with your body, relieving it with your fear and pain. You could only imagine what he would do to you now, when you’d been a source of frustration and denial for him for so long and when he was apparently willing to trade so much for your return. The only solace you could find in that was the fact that he likely wouldn’t kill you too quickly. That would give you more time to get out and get back to Jackson, assuming he didn’t accidentally break you past the point of survival. 

You were pretty sure it was the afternoon the next day when someone came into your room again. You and Abby moved to the middle of it, you in front as you stared down the man, watching for an opportunity. You were stronger now, still not recovered from losing your fingers - no where near it - but you felt like you had a fighting chance now. You weren’t about to miss your shot at escape if it arose. But he just smirked, collecting the buckets from the feet of the beds. 

“Don’t get too excited,” he said. “Just cleaning up for the boss. Doesn’t want to deal with your stink.” 

Your heart sped up and you fought to keep it from showing on your face. If they were doing this now, he had to be close. He might already be here and time was running out. 

In truth, regardless of how careful Mitchum was to keep from killing you, you weren’t sure you could survive any of it again. His hands on you now would be poison, the feeling of him inside you now ruinous. There was some part of you that had started to believe that this was behind you. That no one would ever touch you without your permission again, that you had the skills and the tools to fight whoever came for you and you were safe. You could finally relax. 

That sense of safety had healed parts of you that you weren’t sure you’d ever get back if you lost them again and the man who would take them was all but knocking on your door. 

“Fuck,” Abby’s voice was quiet and panicked at your back. 

“He doesn’t like an audience,” you said softly, watching the door. “They’re going to take you away. See if you can make a run for it…” 

Before she had a chance to respond, the door opened again, the man returning the buckets. This time, they were far from the ends of the bed, tucked into the corner near the door where you couldn’t reach. You swallowed and tried to force yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t do this if you were panicked, you had to focus. 

“Alright,” he said, standing and looking the two of you over before nodding to Abby. “You’re coming with me.” 

“Fuck you,” she spat and you felt her tense behind you. 

“That’s the idea,” he sneered. “And you I’ve got permission to fuck up, so best if you listen.” 

“Still have to go through me, you fuck,” you snapped. “Don’t think you can just do what you want with me.” 

“No,” said a chillingly familiar voice from the other side of the door. Mitchum came in slowly, smirking and confident, his boots falling heavy on the plywood floor. “But I can. You’re my toy, little doll, in case you forgot. And just because you went and got yourself all feral out there doesn’t mean you can just run roughshod over my men like you have been.” 

You resisted the urge to scramble as far back from him as you could reach. You knew it wouldn’t help, he’d get to you anyway and then he’d have evidence of your fear when he did. You fought to breathe and hold yourself steady, even as your heart raced and your stomach churned. 

Mitchum prowled forward, a limp in his right leg you didn’t remember him having before. You tried to think back to a few nights before, when Cody had handed you over, and picture his gait then but you were so afraid and so lightheaded you could hardly recall anything specific. You stared up at him as he squatted in front of you and you tried not to flinch back. Everything about him being close like this felt wrong, the threat of his presence, the stink of horses and chewing tobacco and sweat, the uncomfortable heat of his body. Everything in you screamed to run, you had to force yourself to not try to take off so fast that it would pull your chained leg out of its socket and he reached out, his hands chapped and harsh, snatching your chin into his rough grasp. 

“You’ve always been a pretty thing,” he said, forcing your face to the angles he wanted as he examined you. “Glad to see you’ve still got that fire in your eyes. I’d have to fuckin’ kill Cody if he took that before I had my chance. Thought about it for your fingers - you’re no fun if you go too easy, can’t have you too damaged. Should never have sent him after you, should have known better… Was he who helped you the first time? Always thought he was goin’ soft for you. Not too soft, apparently, but…” 

You jerked your chin away from him and he let you go, a satisfied smirk on his face when you did. 

“Levi,” he said, glancing back to the man who’d come in with you. “Take the other one where ever you want, back bedroom should be open for you. But you’d better not damage her permanently, she’s a fun one, too.” 

“C’mon,” he went to take Abby but he wasn’t paying attention to you, leaving himself exposed  as he tried to move past you. You took advantage of it, lashing out with your still booted foot and slamming the heel into the crotch of his jeans. He cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at his genitals before he fell to his side, damn near writhing and he moaned in pain. 

You looked at Mitchum. 

“Your lackeys are fuckin’ weak,” you said through clenched teeth. 

He barked a laugh, the stench of rot on his breath as he did, before he turned to look at the man who was struggling back to his knees. 

“Now how am I supposed to believe you can wrangle a woman if you can’t even handle ‘em when I’m around?” He asked before whistling, high and shrill. A moment later, two more men came in, armed and large. He nodded to the girl. “Take her, do what you want as long as it’s nothing permanent. Take this idiot with you.” 

They moved with more caution, unchaining Abby carefully before hauling her away. She met your gaze for a moment, her eyes sharp but afraid. They closed the door behind them. 

“Before you get any bright ideas,” he said. “Got more men waiting not far away. I’m the only reason you’re still alive. Want to stay that way? You do what I say.” 

“You think I want to live if I’m stuck here with you?” You asked, eyes darting over him as best you could, seeing what weapons he might have that you could reach. “Rather die than be stuck with you for…” 

“Anyone else?” He cut you off. “I’d believe ‘em. But you… you were always different. Something special. You just don’t have it in you to die, not like that. You’ll just keep on going until I make you die. And that, pretty thing, is hard to find.” 

He didn’t give you a chance to respond, instead clamping his large hand around your throat and squeezing. Your eyes went wide and your fingers scrabbled at him, trying to claw him off of you but failing miserably as he dragged you by your neck to the mattress, throwing you roughly onto it. He moved you so roughly that your skull smacked into the wall, making your head spin and knocking you off balance. 

You tried to reorient yourself, vision doubled for a moment, as Mitchum unlocked the chain at your ankle, removing the metal from your bloody leg before pulling off your remaining boot and reaching up and opening your pants. You scrambled to stop him there, too, shoving at his hands while trying to kick away from him but he grabbed the ankle that had been bloodied by the chain and yanked you toward him, the shock of it jerking you to a halt. 

“This would hurt less if you’d just cooperate,” he snapped before ripping your jeans down over your hips and to your knees. You ignored him, feet scrabbling for purchase on the mattress. It didn’t seem to make much difference and soon, all you had on from the waist down was your underwear. 

“Now let’s see,” he said, panting a little as he moved up your body. “You still got my mark on you, little doll? Or did you find a way to get rid of it?” 

Before you could do anything to stop him, he tugged your shirt - Joel’s shirt - up and the side of your underwear down, exposing the brand he’d pressed into you the night he’d lied to you about Savvy’s death. 

“There she is,” he said, almost reverently, his fingers tracing the letter on your skin and you wanted, desperately, to climb outside of yourself in that moment. Or, at the very least, claw away every scrap of flesh that he’d touched to purge him from your body. “Almost surprised you left me here so long. Maybe you missed me, too…” 

“Fuck you,” you hissed through clenched teeth. 

Mitchum looked up your body, a sickening smile on his face. 

“You may not know this,” he said before gripping your thighs and forcing them wide apart. He wedged his large body between your legs before letting them go. You could feel the thick of his penis through his jeans and it made your stomach roll. “But you need someone like me. You’re too headstrong, too wild on your own. Without someone to keep you under control, you’ll destroy yourself. You’re much better off with someone like me. Just give me what I want and you get a pretty good life, just like one of those horses you love so much. Just let me break you and this gets so much easier for you.” 

His hand went around your throat again, fingers tightening to choke you until your vision grew spotty, your legs instinctively kicking as you clawed at his arm, trying to pull him away so you could breathe. You could see, just barely in your field of vision, his other hand going for his belt and you knew, if you passed out, you’d wake up with him inside you, forcing everything you’d fought for since you’d escaped him the first time out of you when he did. 

You couldn’t do that. Not again. 

The fear and the realization were so sharp that you had a split second of clarity. Instead of your hands instinctively pulling at the thing that was nearly killing you, you gave up on that, instead throwing them forward, your thumbs quickly finding their place in Mitchum’s eyes, pressing as hard as you could as your consciousness faded. 

It didn’t take long for him to jerk back from you, releasing the hold he had on your throat and giving you the chance to take a breath. You almost choked on it, the rush of oxygen a shock to your system and you felt his weight leave your hips. You took advantage of that, too, kicking blindly, bare feet connecting with the round of his stomach and the thick of his neck. 

“Fucking cunt!” He roared and dove for you but you were able to dodge him, his hands missing your body, head coming to land near your shoulder. You had just enough leverage with your body weight to throw him into the wall with a sharp thud and you scrambled away, going for the door. But then you remembered the guards that were waiting on the other side of it. 

You gave a whistle like the one he had, high and shrill, standing just to the side of the door as you waited to ambush the men who came when they thought he called. 

It only took a moment, the first one rushing in, a puzzled look on his face as he watched Mitchum try to catch his breath and get off the mattress. You jumped on the guard’s back, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and pulling back on him. He choked and sputtered against you, slamming you back against the wall but you tucked your head into his neck so you wouldn’t get hit there again. Instead, you sank your teeth into the tender flesh there, not like a lover but like an animal, ripping and tearing in search of his jugular. He shrieked and fumbled for his knife, grabbing it off his belt and slashing blindly back toward you. 

The man didn’t need much precision, though, the blade sinking into the thick of your arm just as your teeth closed around the flesh of his neck. You ripped your head away, a gush of blood in your mouth as you pulled his skin from his body, spitting the part of him you took onto the ground. The knife was still lodged in your arm and you released your hold on his shoulders to pull it free, adjusting your grip on it as quickly as you could to stab it into his bleeding neck. He dropped to his knees and you released your hold on him, rushing into the hall covered in blood, the knife in your grip. You wiped your mouth on the back of your sleeve and were about to make for the room where you thought they’d taken Abby when another figure darkened the mouth of the hall - the other guard. 

“What the…” he began. You didn’t give him a chance to finish. You launched yourself at him, his hands flying up on instinct to protect himself and he did a good enough job of it, catching your shoulders and keeping you not quite at arm’s reach. But you didn’t need to be any closer than that, sinking the knife into his throat, too. 

You heard a commotion in the back bedroom then, heavy thuds and a scream as the door flew open, Abby leaning against the frame and panting for breath, blood dripping from a gash at her cheek. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said, a broken piece of wood tight in her grasp. 

You just nodded once, making for the door, acutely aware that you didn’t have shoes or pants - so like the first time you’d fled for your life all those years ago on the ranch as the world came crashing down around you. 

The two of you peered out of the window at the front of the house, the guards who had been posted just outside gone. 

“Think those assholes were the ones who came in as back up,” you said, eyes darting back toward the bedrooms. You knew you hadn’t killed everyone but you couldn’t risk going back to finish the job, not now. People would notice the missing guards too fast and then you’d be outnumbered. “Which way?” 

“East,” she said. “The shortest route to the woods. We can lose them there.” 

It was dusk, not the best time to be on the run but at least soon you’d have darkness on your side. 

“Right,” you said, looking over at her for a moment. “See you on the other side.” 

She looked at you, too, like she wasn’t quite sure what to make of you. 

“Yeah,” she said, giving you a firm nod. 

You led the way, knife still firmly in your grip as you moved onto the porch, crouching low and sweeping the area. There were men in the distance, running toward something you couldn’t see with rifles drawn. 

“Go,” you whispered, staying bent over but letting your legs extend, ignoring the pain of sharp weeds and broken concrete below your bare feet as you ran, looking frantically for anyone who might try to stop you. 

You froze on instinct when there was a sharp whistle that cracked through the air, three short blasts like some kind of signal. You grabbed Abby and ducked between two houses, just in time to see a cluster of men with rifles tight in their grips running past. 

“Ever seen them do shit like that?” You asked quietly. 

“No,” she said. “They used whistles before for signals but never three…” 

“Well, let’s hope whatever the fuck made them raise the alarm stays busy with these assholes,” you said, peeking around the corner. No one else was coming. “Let’s go.” 

You darted from house to house, seeking cover in shadows where you could and you were starting to think that, maybe, you’d managed it. That you were going to get out of here and find a way back to Jackson when Abby shrieked behind you. 

A guard had grabbed her, his arm around her neck as he yanked her back. She flailed and thrashed, trying to dislodge him but he withstood her, pressing a handgun against her temple. 

“I’ll do it!” He snapped and your hands went up as Abby’s eyes met yours, wide and wet and afraid. “I’ll shoot her and you’re next if you don’t just calm down and come with me…” 

“Please,” Abby said, but she wasn’t begging him. Her eyes were locked on yours, pleading. “Don’t let him take me again, just let them kill me, please…” 

You held her gaze, tears burning as you did. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice wet as you started to lower yourself toward the ground. You looked toward the guard. “Just going to set the knife down…” 

“Go slow,” he said, the gun still to Abby’s temple. 

You just nodded, watching him closely, waiting for her to do something that would draw his attention. You didn’t need to wait long. 

“No!” She screamed, the sound thick with tears. His eyes went to her but that was all you needed. You shot forward and thrust the knife into his calf, the blade embedding in his muscle before you twisted it. He screamed and instinctively dropped the weapon, his hands flying toward you and his leg, his hold on Abby gone. She stumbled forward and you snatched the gun from the ground, shooting him in the head at such close range it covered you in his blood. 

“Thanks,” she said shakily. “I… thank you.” 

“Told you,” you said, rolling the dead man over so you could get the rifle from his back. “We’re in this together.” 

You handed her the smaller gun and kept the rifle for yourself and the two of you pressed on. You were able to dodge other trouble as you heard the commotion from the edge of the neighborhood get closer. There was the crack of gunshots and the boom of explosions and you just hoped whatever was coming for you wasn’t worse than you’d already been stuck with. Mitchum had pissed off a lot of people in his time. If he was gaining territory now, there was no telling who might have come to put a stop to it. And that was assuming a hoard of infected hadn’t picked up on this place, something you could only survive by outrunning. 

“Do you know where the stables are?” You asked, gun still tight in your grip. 

“No,” she said. “But I’m not exactly a great rider, if we don’t have time to saddle a horse…” 

You almost laughed at that, the absurdity that a horse could possibly hinder you. 

“Don’t worry,” you said. “All I need is a horse. I can take care of shit after that.” 

She looked at you for a second before she took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Right,” she said. “Still…” 

“Let’s split up,” you said, grip tightening on the rifle as you said it. 

“No,” she said quickly. “Fuck that, we split up…” 

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” you said. “And out run whatever’s making all that noise. Our best shot is on a horse. You go right, I go left, we meet up in the tree line on the other side. If you find the stable, just grab a horse, don’t worry about any tack, I just need a horse. Got it?” 

“Yeah,” she said. “Fuck I hope you’re not crazy.” 

“I’m not,” you said. Taking a deep breath. “Be careful.” 

She looked at you again. 

“You too.” 

You went your separate ways, smoke on the horizon now as you searched as best you could for some sign of horses but found nothing. You were nearly stopped once by one of Mitchum’s men but you shot him before he could flag anyone down, the sound of the gunfire blending with the sound of the chaos that grew closer. 

You made it to the tree line, a wide open span of grass between the house at the back of the subdivision and the start of the forest. You looked around quickly before you ran, darting from the shelter of the house and moving as quickly as you could for where you said you’d meet Abby, hoping that she found a damn horse. 

But you barely made it that far when it happened. A thick, meaty hand closing over your shoulder, ripping you around to face Mitchum’s ruddy skin as he seethed, a murderous look in his eye. 

You raised the rifle and tried to shoot even though he was far too close and he knocked the gun away as you pulled the trigger, the bullet going wide and barely catching the side of the leg he limped with. 

Still, he hissed in pain before he lifted his leg, planting his foot in your chest and kicking you, hard, forcing you to stumble back, your bare feet catching on a tree root and sending you to the ground. 

“You fucking bitch,” he stalked over as you scrambled up onto your hands, pulling yourself backwards from him, breathlessly looking around for something - anything - that could help you. “You think you can just do whatever you want, that it?” 

His foot collided with your shoulder this time, forcing you onto your back and he all but fell beside you, taking your face sharply in his hand. 

“Could have just cooperated,” he said, panting, keeping his face a good distance from you now so it was just out of reach and your fingers had nothing to scratch at. “Could have made life easy for yourself. You think I’m the worst thing out here, huh? Think there aren’t other men who would have let you fuckin’ die a long time ago?” 

“Fuck you,” you hissed as his fingers dug into your cheeks. 

“You want me to treat you the way those other men would?” He asked, releasing your face just to punch it. The blow made your head spin and your vision go spotty. “Fine, I can do that, I can stop bein’ gentle with you. Because you better believe I was being gentle before. Won’t be gentle now, not for you.” 

He grabbed your knees and wrenched your legs apart, going between them before you could snap them shut and you more heard his belt buckle than saw it. 

“You want to die on my cock?” He asked. “Who am I to fuckin’ stop you…” 

Time slowed, only for a moment. In that long, torturous second, you remembered everything from your time in captivity that your mind had tried to protect you from. The haze of pain the last time Mitchum had you, the way he forced your body to bend to his will in such a way that it didn’t feel like yours anymore, the burn of his brand on your flesh, the strange mix of fear and hope that maybe this time he would kill you. 

But you remembered everything that had moved in to replace all that agony, too. The way you’d slowly, gently come to love Joel more than you knew it was possible to love somone. The way Ellie was the opposite, bursting her way into your life and leaving you not other choice but to love her with everything you had. The way you’d grown to love everyone in Jackson, all these people who had come to rely on you, too. The way Savvy had joined you there, finding a place in a world you thought had died years before her birth. 

You couldn’t let him unmake all of that inside you. You had too much to lose, too much that made you who you were now, you didn’t have room for it all alongside the pain he was trying to force on you. You couldn’t let him take it all away. Not now.

Time righted itself again, just as his hand came to rest over the gusset of your underwear and you roared, the sound more ripping itself from you as you shot forward, slamming your forehead into Mitchum’s nose and feeling the satisfying collapse of it below your skull. He shocked back from you and you wrapped your hands around his neck, shoving yourself onto your knees and screaming as you did. He was larger than you and you had to work to knock him off balance but you were determined and he collapsed back, your hands still tight to his throat as you sat on his chest, knees on either side of his ribcage. 

He kept his wits about him as you tried to choke him, though, his fist catching you sharply on the chin and knocking your hands free for a moment. He took advantage of it and grabbed your left hand, bringing the place where Cody had cut your fingers away to his mouth and biting down, making you shriek in pain. You ripped your hand back from his mouth and punched him across the face with the other as he tried to wrench you from your place on top of him, leveraging your body with his own. 

Eventually, he managed it, his large hand shoving against your ribs as his torso twisted at just the right point when you moved to punch him again, sending you sprawling onto the forest floor. 

He was on you again in a second, the heavy weight of him on top of you as you tried to free yourself. 

“Told you, you little bitch,” he panted. You could feel his erection through his pants. “You’re mine and if I say you’re gonna die on my cock? You’re gonna die on my fucking cock.” 

You screamed, trying to wrench your hands free but it was no use, the panic in you rising. This, something inside you said, was the end. There would be no return, there would be no survival and there would be nothing left of you to save. 

And then something pulled his body from yours. You didn’t stop to see what, rolling onto your knees and scrambling to your feet, running into the trees before something else could destroy you.

***

“Bambi!” Joel screamed, frantic, but you didn’t seem to hear him, running headlong into the trees. 

“I got him,” Tommy panted, a boot on the man he’d pulled off of you’s chest and a gun pointed at his head. “Get her!”

“Don’t kill him,” Joel said sharply to his brother. “He’s mine.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply, just taking off after you as fast as his bad leg would let him move. He was so close to you now, so close to feeling you alive in his arms, so close to keeping you where no one would ever hurt you again. 

But Joel’s body was heavy. He’d been awake for far too long and had put it through far too much, especially for someone his age. But he didn’t have another choice. He couldn’t rest, not when he knew what was happening to you.

He’d stayed awake all night, going with Tommy to grab someone toward the start of their morning patrol. It would be hours before anyone knew they were gone. 

The man they took was young, not much older than Ellie. Joel should have felt bad about that, he thought, especially when he knew that he’d done much the same thing when he was far older than this boy, after he was raised in a time where he knew better how men should behave. But that didn’t matter. He was nothing more than an obstacle in his path to you. One made of flesh and bone and pain but an obstacle none the less. It did not take long to break him and he told Joel what he needed to know: that you were in the camp, kept in a guarded house toward the middle of it, and that Mitchum was on his way back that day. They expected him there before nightfall. Joel killed the man quickly and hid the body, then three of them moved to hide out the rest of the day, not able to get close enough to the camp to watch Mitchum come in. They’d just have to hope the guard was right and that nothing held up his return. 

It was early afternoon when Ellie noticed something coming up behind their hiding spot. She damn near jumped to her feet, rifle in hand and aimed into the forest. 

“Who’s there?” She snapped. “Not afraid to fucking shoot if you don’t answer.” 

“Take it easy, Williams,” Gene said, emerging from the brush with his horse following behind him. “Been lookin’ for you three.” 

“Normally, Miller, I’d be up your ass for being this easy to track but, this time, it was lucky,” Warren said, coming up behind Gene. “Should mean the others can keep up, too.” 

“The fuck are you doin’ out here?” Tommy asked, moving to embrace the men. 

“Made it back from looking for the kids to learn they’d made it back and you three headed out,” Gene said. “Soon as we could trust the horses to make the ride, we came too.” 

“If you’re here to try to talk us out of this…” Joel began, tightening his grip on his rifle, but Warren cut him off. 

“We’re getting her back,” he said, a sense of finality in his tone. “We can’t let aggression like this stand. It shows weakness, that we’ll just let any asshole come to our city and take our people. And besides all that… she is our people. Not going to just them have her. We’re here to help you, Joel. And there’s more coming behind us.” 

He was right. By the time it was getting closer and closer to dark, damn near everyone from Jackson who had a patrol rotation had amassed where Joel, Tommy and Ellie had holed up to wait. The last to join were Maria, Julie and Savvy, Gatling perched on your daughter’s lap as she sat astride Perseus. 

“What are you doing here?” Ellie asked, looking at her, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be back in Jackson, it’s not safe…” 

“I’ve spent more time out here than you,” she said defensively, looking at Ellie like she was daring her to argue. “And she’s my mother, she’s out here because of me. I’m not about to sit at home on my ass while everyone else fights for her.”

Warren focused on coordinating everyone else, planning a full blown incursion of Mitchum’s encampment. Joel didn’t care. As long as he was able to get you back safely, the rest of it didn’t matter. Warren, thankfully, seemed to understand. He left Joel, Tommy, Savvy and Ellie out of the planning. The rest was on him. The four of them were finding you. 

As everyone got into position to launch the attack, Joel rode up alongside Warren. He adjusted the grip on his reins, looking for something to do with the nervous energy thrumming through him. He was close to you, so close he could almost feel the warmth of you next to him. 

“Thank you,” Joel said, more glancing at Warren than really looking at him. “Know we ain’t always gotten along…” 

“You think that really matters at a time like this?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. “We take care of our own. You and her? You’re both part of this place now, like it or not. That means we ride for you.” 

Joel nodded. 

“You focus on finding your wife,” Warren continued. “We’ll make sure none of ‘em ever come back for her or for anyone else.” 

“Mitchum, the leader, is mine,” Joel said, meeting his eyes this time. “After everything he’s done, he’s mine and I mean to make him pay for it.” 

Warren looked at him second, the smallest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less. Good luck, Miller.” 

Joel sighed and looked toward the camp.

“You too.” 

The whole of the encampment was drawn to where the people of Jackson had begun their attack, giving Joel, Tommy, Ellie and Savvy plenty of space to search. They still had to be careful, ready to kill anyone who challenged them, but they didn’t need to. It was hard, letting the handful of men who ran past them go knowing that they may have been men who had hurt you but Joel swallowed that small hurt. The only comfort was knowing that they’d meet death soon, anyway. He just hoped it’d painful when they did.

Joel found the building he thought was yours, a house at the center of the encampment like the man they’d taken before had said. It was empty of everything besides signs of a fight, dead guards and bloody chains evident. Joel found your boots and jeans in a bedroom and his hands shook as he picked them up, blood around the ankle of one leg of the pants. His chest got tight as he folded the jeans, picked up the boots and put them in his pack before he left to look for you again. 

He had to keep reassuring himself that you were here, that he’d find you soon, anything to keep the panic from taking over. He had repeated that comfort so many times that, when he saw you, he thought, for a second, that he’d imagined you. That his mind had broken under the exhaustion and the fear and had started showing him the only thing that keep him going. But you were in nothing but a shirt - one of his shirts - with blood on your bare legs and a rifle in your hand and he knew you were real. He wouldn’t picture you like this, hurting and afraid and, for a second, there was relief. He’d done it, he found you. 

You took off before he had the chance to call your name and he grabbed Tommy, Savvy and Ellie to go after you when they were stopped by a group of men who were heading for the fighting at the edge of the encampment. 

Joel had very little patience for them. They were just more obstacles, more things that needed to be destroyed so he could reach you. They made quick work of them, not even bothering to move their bodies from the street before following the small path between houses that you had. 

When he didn’t see you at first, he was terrified that he was too late. That you’d run into trouble and he’d find you limp and lifeless on the ground and all of this would have been for nothing, that he’d have to find a way to stay here with you because there would be no going back otherwise. 

But he heard you then, your scream harsh and angry and afraid and he ran for the sound. Your cries shifted for a moment, to one of shock and pain, and then you went quiet. He tried to push himself faster, harder, and then he found you. The sight made him sick, you fighting below a man trying to hurt you. It was a sight so like those he’d seen with other women before but now, he would do the right thing. This time, he would save you. 

He roared and ripped the man from your body, tearing him back and throwing him to the ground and you scrambled away, not even looking back over your shoulder as you did. He had no choice but to follow you.

While Joel’s body was beaten down, yours was, too. He could see it as he drew closer, the bandage around your hand, the blood at your arm, the slight limp on the leg with the bloodied ankle. You were running like your life depended on it but he still caught you quickly, his hand closing around the wrist of your intact hand and pulling you back against him. 

It was like he came back into his body when he did, the feeling of you in his arms the thing that tied him to the Earth, to his humanity. The pain in his shoulder from the knife he’d taken there hit him then, the soreness of his leg, too. None of it compared to the relief that was there when he touched you. You were alive. The rest of it didn’t matter.

“No!” You shrieked, colliding with his body, planting your injured hand against his chest to try and shove him back. “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” 

“Bambi!” He said, panting for breath, clutching you tightly to his chest, his hand finding your cheek and forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were wide and wild, just like they had been the first time he’d seen you. They darted, frantic, over his face and there was a kind of desperation there he had never seen before, one that sent a chill up his spine. “It’s me, it’s me, I’ve got you, it’s OK baby. You’re safe, I’ve got you, you’re OK.” 

“Joel?” You said it like you didn’t believe he was there, those wild eyes softening at the edges. 

“It’s me,” he said again. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s OK.” 

“Joel,” your voice cracked and you pulled your wrist from his hold to put your arms around his neck, clinging to him. “You’re here, the girls, we have to find the girls, he…” 

“They’re safe,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tighter than he should but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, baby, m’so sorry…” 

Your legs gave out and he held you tight, lowering you both gently to the ground as you cried against him with choking, wracking sobs that shook your whole body. He just held you, rocking you gently as he did, his nose pressed into your hair as his lips kissed the crown of your head again and again. 

“Is she OK?” Savvy’s voice sounded so small.

Joel looked to find the girls standing beside him, watching with concerned looks on their faces. 

He wasn’t sure how to answer them. 

“We’ll get her back to town,” he said, still holding and rocking you. “It’ll be alright…”  

“Joel,” Tommy called. “What are we doin’? We gotta move.” 

He pulled himself back from you just enough to look at you, putting a finger gently below your chin and tilting your face to his. Your eyes were glassy. 

“That man,” he said softly. “The one who was on top of you. That Mitchum?” 

Your chin trembled but you nodded. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, leaving his lips there until he felt you take a deep but shaky breath. He pulled back enough to see you again. 

“I’m gonna go take care of him,” he said. “Our girls are here, they’re gonna stay with you, OK?” 

“They’re…” you frowned and looked around until you saw them, your eyes going a little wide when you did. It was like you couldn’t fully process anything that wasn’t right in front of you. Your eyes darted back to him. “What are they doing here? They should be back in Jackson, they should…” 

“They’re OK,” he said gently. “They wanted to come get you back and they did. You stay with them. I’ll take care of him and then we can all go back to Jackson together…” 

“Jackson…” You frowned for a moment, like you were trying to think of something and then your eyes went wide again. “Jackson, they want to take Jackson, they’re coming for the city, that’s what Cody was trading me for, he…” 

“S’OK,” Joel said, running a soothing hand over your hair. “Already killed Cody. We’re killing the rest of them here today, whole town is out here. We’re ending it. They won’t be a threat, not anymore. It’s OK, baby. You did it. You saved the girls, you survived. You can rest now.” 

He looked up to Savvy and Ellie, giving them a small nod toward the ground. They knelt next to you, one on either side, looking at each other for a moment before reaching to gingerly touch you. You flinched at first and then relaxed and Joel kissed your temple. 

“Gatling,” Savvy said, the dog suddenly at attention at her side. She snapped and touched your shoulder. “Guard.” 

The dog turned and stood sentinel, watching with ears pricked. Joel stood, leaving you with your daughters and your dog before prowling to the man who had tried to take everything from him. 

As he drew close, there was an explosion, closer than Joel was happy about hearing, and Tommy looked at him.

“Don’t think we got the kind of time you want,” he said, tightening the grip on his gun. “Better make it count.” 

Joel gave him a nod, squaring his jaw before looking down to the man on his side. Tommy had bound his hands and his eyes were somewhere between rage and fear. Something told Joel he hadn’t been challenged, not this directly, in quite some time. 

He reached down and took a fistful of his shirt, lifting his shoulders roughly from the dirt and dragging him back to a tree. He propped him up there, kneeling beside him and he saw a flash of defiance for a moment, like he was going to move to stop Joel. 

Joel wasn’t having that. He punched him, hard and sharp, across the face, sending his head whipping around. He glanced back, finding Tommy over his shoulder as he leveled his gun at Mitchum. Joel turned his attention back to his quarry. 

“I don’t know who you are or what you want,” the man said through clenched teeth, looking between Joel and Tommy. “But I’m sure we can make a deal…” 

“Time for deals is long past,” Joel said, pulling his knife from his belt. He turned the blade over in the fading light between them, giving Mitchum a chance to actually see the size of it.

“What do you want?” He said, his eyes darting from the knife back to Joel’s face. “Name it, it’s yours. Territory? Fine. Support of my men? You have it. Resources? Take it.”

“You think it’s that simple?” Joel asked. “What I want, you can’t give me.”

“Try me,” Mitchum said, teeth clenched.

“What I want,” Joel said, voice flat and calm. “Is to take back everything you took from my wife.” 

He took his knife and plunged it into Mitchum’s leg then, sinking the entire length of it into his thigh until he hit bone. The man screamed, writhing and thrashing below him. Joel held the knife in place, each jerking motion making the cut wider, harsher. It wasn’t long before he stilled, panting for breath. Joel kept his hand on the knife. 

“You took her from her daughter,” Joel said, twisting the blade as he did. He kept his voice quiet, hopefully quiet enough that neither Ellie nor Savvy could hear. Mitchum’s feet scrambled uselessly against the dirt. “You branded her.” He pulled the knife free. “Told her you’d raped and murdered her child.” He thrust the weapon into his arm now, wanting to save his stomach until he knew he was ready for him to bleed out. “Held her captive for years.” He twisted it, cutting a new path through his flesh as he screamed and panted for breath. “Sent your men to hunt her down and take her away from me and our girls.” 

He pulled the knife free of his arm, the man limp and panting on the ground and Joel had this sickening feeling settle in his stomach. He could never hurt Mitchum enough to fix it. No amount of agony he brought upon him would bring back the parts of you he broke. No amount of torment would bring Joel comfort when it was done. He would always hold you and look at you and see the ways he failed you, from decades before when he should have done better and saved women like you to days ago when he should have been there to keep you and the girls safe. You would forever be the reminder of the many ways he should have been better and  forever be the bearer of the scars because he wasn’t. 

“And you did all of that,” Joel said, taking the knife and cutting through the denim of Mitchum’s jeans, revealing the thin cotton of boxer shorts below. “So you could, what? Rape her?” 

Mitchum shook his head, straining to get away from Joel but he had nowhere to go. Joel still took his shoulder and shoved him roughly back against the tree, anyway. 

“You think she was some thing you could just take?” He asked, trailing the tip of the knife over the round of his stomach, the breadth his chest, pressing the point into his chin to force him to look Joel in the eye. “Thought if you branded her like livestock you’d own her? That it?” 

“I… I tried,” he managed through clenched teeth, panting for breath. 

“Tried what?” Joel asked when he didn’t continue. 

“Tried to get her to come with me,” he said. “Tried to buy her horses. Could… could have used her but she decided to fight…” 

“So you thought you’d treat her like an animal?” Joel asked, head cocked to the side. “See, that don’t sit right with me. Not one bit.” 

Joel took the knife from his chin and went to the boxers, carefully cutting the elastic over the fly. He quickly glanced toward you and made sure the girls weren’t looking too closely before he used the blade to fold the fabric back, exposing his penis and balls to the air. 

“Anything you and your people want,” he squirmed below Joel. “Anything, name it, anything at all…” 

“Right now?” Joel said, looking at his face. “I want this.” 

Joel lined the tip of the blade up with the base of Mitchum’s penis so the width of the knife ran down his length and pressed through it, slow and firm. Mitchum’s legs kicked uselessly as he shrieked, his body straining for an escape but Joel didn’t give him one. He just pushed the knife further and further into his flesh until the handle of it was all that was visible, the blade bloodied by his genitals. 

Joel left it there and was silent until Mitchum had screamed himself to silence. 

“We’re somethin’ alike, you and me,” Joel said, watching him. “Both know what we want, know how to take it. But difference is, I only take it when it’s owed and I only take it from some who deserves to lose it. You should have left her alone. Should’ve left her alone then, really should’ve left her alone now. You decided to take more than what’s yours and now you have to pay for it.” 

“Fuck you,” he managed through gritted teeth, his face wet with tears and spit. 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“See, you have a lot to learn,” he said. There was another blast, one that sounded close, molotov cocktails flying between opposing sides in a war the man bleeding had begun. “And I don’t got much time to teach you.” Joel pulled the knife from his body and he screamed in pain, trying to double over but Joel didn’t allow him to. “So I’m just gonna take it from you in blood and in pain because when you die? Want you to know why. Want you to understand that you could have lived. If you’d just kept to yourself, not taken what wasn’t yours to take, not taken her, you could have lived. You chose otherwise.” 

He put the knife into his leg, just over his knee and pushed, dislodging his kneecap as he screamed. Joel nodded, learning the different tenor of his cries. He liked hearing the change in it, the way his pain shifted and pulled from him. He moved to his shoulder, driving the knife down through it and in toward his lung, listening to the change of his pain. 

Mitchum’s blood was sticky and hot and gunfire was getting louder and Joel was lost in taking him apart. He grew tired of the distance the knife afforded, deciding that he wanted to feel the collapse of your tormentor’s body with his own skin. He left the blade embedded in his arm before taking his thumb and pressing it into the wound at his shoulder, the sticky heat of his blood driving him forward as he felt the give of his body beneath his force. Once he was satisfied with that, he curled his hand into a fist and pummeled his face to the point of disfiguration. Mitchum’s nose was broken, his jaw dislodged, eye socket collapsed, a mass of bone and viscera that was clinging to life, something Joel didn’t understand but was grateful for all the same. He couldn’t keep hurting a corpse. He only had as long as Mitchum’s will to live hung out and he wanted that to be a very, very long time. Even if it didn’t heal you or him, even if it brought him no satisfaction, he wanted it. In this world, the only justice to be found was in pain and in blood and he intended to give you justice in the only way he knew how. 

Tommy, he knew, was trying to pull him back from the edge, but he tuned him out. He understood why his brother was worried, why he’d pulled him back before, why he’d stepped in with Ellie the way he did. He knew, on a certain level, that the path he was done was not who he’d made himself to be in Jackson. But, with Mitchum in his grasp, he didn’t care. All that mattered was destroying the man who had tried to destroy you. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d cut and beaten and hurt Mitchum when he heard you, your voice quiet and shaky over his shoulder. 

“Joel.” 

He stopped what he was doing, leaving the blade embedded in Mitchum’s side and adjusting his body to block the carnage from your view before turning to see you there. In that moment, you were a contradiction. He’d never seen you look so vulnerable or so strong, your injured hand cradled to your chest but a defiant look on your face. He’d never seen you so small or so tall, so desperate or so determined. Gatling was at your side, glued to your leg as she stared at Mitchum, her ears pressed back on her head and her eyes narrowed. He got to his feet, wiping his bloodied hands on his shirt before stepping closer and taking your cheek gently in his hand. 

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, searching your tear streaked face, your eyes so wide and afraid and unyielding. 

“I want to finish this,” you said, your voice thick. “I want to finish him and I want to go home. Please, take me home.” 

He looked at you for a moment, your gaze pleading and stubborn, before pressing his lips tenderly to your forehead. 

“Whatever you want,” he said softly, dropping his forehead to yours. “I’ll give you anything you want.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep, shaky breath before taking his hand in your uninjured one, lacing your fingers together. He touched your wedding ring in his pocket, still attached to part of you, as you led him over to Mitchum, Gatling still at your side. 

The man was slumped against the tree, covered in blood, the sound of his breaths rattling and wet and Joel knew he didn’t have long left. 

You stood over him, looking down at him with your hand tight in Joel’s, something cold and almost analytical passing over your features as you did. 

“I wouldn’t have wanted to do it like this before,” you said eventually to the dying man at your feet. “I never liked killing before. I never wanted to kill anybody before you, never. Even… even people who hurt me or tried to take what you took, I never wanted to kill them. When I did kill, I never much liked doing it. But I want to kill you. You made me want to kill, you made me like this. I was good, once. And you took that. So I’m going to kill you and I’m going to like it and you should know that it’s because of what you made me.” 

Joel gave your hand a squeeze, ready to hand you whatever weapon you asked for and you held tightly to him. 

But you didn’t need it. You gave his hand a squeeze before you released it. 

“Gatling,” you said, snapping your fingers and pointing to Mitchum. “Kill.” 

The dog obeyed instantly, getting down low and growling, her ears pressed back to her head before she shot forward, a bullet from a gun, and locked her jaws around his throat, ripping and tearing, Mitchum screaming for only a moment before going quiet, the only sound left on the air the guttural snarl of your dog ripping him apart. 

Joel was certain the man had been dead for a few minutes by the time you called her off, Gatling immediately dropping the shredded flesh when you gave the release command. 

You collapsed against Joel then, burying your face in his shoulder and sobbing into him as he held you. 

“You’re OK,” he said quietly, running a bloodstained hand soothingly over you. “I’ve got you. Never gonna have to do that again, you’re OK.” 

He held you close for a moment, until your breaths became less shaky and he thought you might be able to stand on your own. Joel pulled back from you then, brushing your hair back from your face. Your eyes were glassy again.

“Let’s get you dressed,” he said gently. “Then we can get the fuck out of here.” 

You just nodded and watched as Joel got your jeans and boots from his pack. He helped you into them, guiding your body through the necessary movements. You trembled under his touch and all he wanted to do was get you home so he could hold you close and tight and never let anyone lay a hand on you ever again. 

When you were dressed, Joel got to his feet and you fell against him. His arm slipped around your waist and he held you close, Ellie and Savvy moving to be alongside Tommy. Ellie had her arm around Savvy’s shoulders, holding her back from the devastation that had once been Mitchum. 

“Should see where everyone else is,” Tommy said, watching Joel carefully. “Don’t like how quiet it’s gotten.” 

Joel nodded slowly, having forgotten for a while that there was anything else to worry about outside of getting you back. 

Tommy led the way, Ellie and Savvy staying close to him, you still against Joel’s side as he followed his brother, on alert for anything that was a threat to you. 

He didn’t need to wait long. There was a rustle in the brush and Joel turned and raised his gun, only to see a young woman emerge, a rifle tight in her grip. For the second time that day, Joel thought he might have been imagining things. Because the girl in front of him looked just like the one who had nearly killed him months earlier. 

“You,” Tommy snarled, raising his gun, too, and Joel realized that he wasn’t imagining things. She was here, too. “What the fuck are you doing here?

“Don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said, lowering her weapon, nodding to you. “And I’m here for the same reason your friend is.” 

Joel turned to shield you but you stopped him and he looked down to you, frowning slightly. He lowered his gun then and saw out of the corner of his eye as Tommy did, too. 

“It’s alright,” you said, staying pressed tightly to his side, watching her. “You made it.” 

“So did you,” she said, looking you up and down, her gaze staying on your face. “You OK?” 

“I think so,” you nodded, still clinging to Joel. 

She didn’t look like she believed you but she pressed on anyway, turning her cold gaze to Joel. 

“I don’t want to be here talking to any of you for any longer than I have to be,” she said. “So I’ll let your wife explain the rest of it. Just know that after what she did for me, I won’t ever look for you again. And if, for some reason, we run into each other? I won’t hurt you. I’d appreciate if you did the same.” 

“You really expect us to just let you…” Ellie began but Joel cut her off. 

“S’OK baby girl,” he said, still watching the woman who had nearly killed him. She still seemed so young. She had a look in her eyes that reminded him of you, wounded but determined. He remembered what little he could of her after she turned on him that day, how she’d seemed so angry and in so much pain for someone so young. He’d told Mitchum that he only took what was owed and only from people who deserved it. Even after everything, he wasn’t sure this girl deserved it. “No use in killing people who don’t need to be.” 

“Thank you,” she said, looking at you. “And I really hope this is the last time I ever see fucking any of you but… thank you, for what you did for me. I won’t forget it.” 

She watched your group, her gun still held low, not turning her back to any of you until she was swallowed by the brush. 

“You really want to just let her go?” Tommy asked, looking to Joel. 

“That’s bullshit!” Ellie said, looking quickly the direction the girl had gone in. “She’s a fucking threat, she…” 

“She’s not,” you cut her off, tightening your hold on Joel. Ellie deflated a little but you pressed on. “You can’t let revenge swallow you up, honey. You just can’t.”

“Good lesson,” Warren said from behind Joel. He instinctively turned, keeping you away from the newcomer even though Joel knew the man well. He looked you over briefly before turning his attention back to Joel. “See you found her. It’s done, we wiped them out. A few injuries on our side but nothing major. We’re going to see what’s here and post up a few guards, make sure anyone else who comes around and thinks they can try us knows better, but all the trouble we’ve run into on patrol lately should be done for now.” 

“Good,” Tommy said. “Bout time something went our way around here.” 

“Expect you’ll be heading back?” Warren asked. Joel just gave him a nod. “Good. Let the folks at home know we’re all OK when you get there. Safe travels.” 

“You, too,” Joel said, tugging you closer.

He held you close as Tommy led the way back to where they’d left the horses, taking stock of you as you went. Your breaths were shaky but even, your footing unsteady but driven. Joel couldn’t be sure what was done to you here. He could only hope that you would find peace in Jackson and the life you shared with him and that, in time, you’d recover from it. 

The encampment was decimated, bodies of Mitchum’s men on the ground, Jackson folks already going from house to house taking stock, piling the dead together to burn. You stared at the carnage, a half dead look in your eyes as you did. Joel just held you, feeling everything again for the first time since he’d found you gone, until the five of you reached the horses. 

“Don’t have one for you,” Joel said gently. “But Ellie can ride with me or her and Savvy can ride together if…” 

“I want to ride with you,” you cut him off, looking at him with those wide eyes of yours. “Please, Joel. Take me home.” 

And so, he did. 

A/N: And Mitchum meets his end. I hope it was worth the wait for you all!

We are very, very close to the end of this fic, just two more chapters to wrap everything up. But Bambi is back with Joel, they have their girls and Jackson is saved. It's all going to get better from here :)

Thank you all so so much for going on this journey with me. It's been wonderful to share Joel and Bambi's story with you and it wouldn't be the same without you.

Love you!

Next Chapter

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[sailtomarina]

Charlie and the Chomping Cabbages

Watching Charlie Weasley had never been so rewarding. He’d done you the favour of pulling off his shirt in the midday heat, sweat perfectly outlining every single one of his ridiculously toned muscles. Shoulders and chest broad enough to wrestle young dragons and abs you could bounce a roll of Galleons off of. The leather breeches he wore clung to his arse as he squatted down to inspect the garden.

“And you think a dragon did this?” He pointed at the long gouges in the earth marring the once perfect line of Chinese Chomping Cabbages. A fair few still remained, but more still had been ripped from their cradles and strewn across the plot.

“I don’t think; I know.” You raised a challenging brow. No matter how fit you thought him, you knew he was dead wrong in this matter. “I saw it happen.”

This time he fully stood up, both hands propped on his hips in a decidedly aggravated manner. “Why didn’t you just say so from the start?”

“I did,” you stressed, already near your boiling point from the sheer thickheadnesses of the Dragonologist. “And I quote, ‘That can’t be right. I need to see the scene first hand’.” 

He scowled at your impression. Perhaps dropping your voice to a comical low and waving your arms about wasn’t quite the best way to convince him. What he didn’t know was that you’d never have teased anyone you didn’t like in such a way. Your usual tendency was all straight backs and stiff collars.

“Well, I stand by what I said then. I see no reason why a dragon would attack your cabbages like this unprovoked.”

You pounced. “Aha! So you admit that, if provoked, a dragon very well might have dragged their stabby claws right through?” Only, instead of jumping in place like you meant to, your ankle rolled upon landing. “Ahh!”

Your arms flailed as you fought to stay upright, and Charlie threw his arms forward in an attempt to catch you. All of his mass amounted to nothing with your legendary clumsiness, and you both hit the dirt in an unceremonial thud that knocked the breath right out of you.

The loss of air could also be attributed to his body on top of yours.

“Ow.” He started to shift, then froze before he could fully lift his weight. “Don’t look to your left.”

You looked to your left.

A gigantic cabbage bared its teeth an arm’s length away from your face. How you’d tended your garden without noticing what could be an award-winning Brassica you’d have to consider later.

“Ch-Charlie? How is not looking at it going to help?” you whispered. Who were you kidding? It’s not like speaking quietly was going to save either one of you.

“Merlin, he’s huge,” the wizard muttered. You stifled an inappropriate joke. Difficult, given the way your smaller body fit against his.

You knew you only had precious seconds before the produce launched itself at you. Your magic wasn’t quite fast enough to cast anything particularly useful before those teeth ripped out your throat. You needed something hard, and fast.

Hard and expendable, so obviously not that.

“On the count of three, shove off,” you instructed Charlie, keeping a close eye on the twitching leaves. You felt him nod, the bristle of his cheek rubbing against your own.

Inner green leaves started to arch inward. “1.”

The outer layer flared open like a lizard’s crest. “2.”

Clenched teeth loosened. “3!”

Palms flat to the earth, Charlie pushed himself away in a surge of power, and you brought your far hand around in front of you.

The weapon: a stray carrot that had rolled against where you lay.

The attack: jamming said carrot straight into the jaws about to devour you.

An average-sized Chinese Chomping Cabbage can be slowed down by a larger-than-average root vegetable. This, however, was the largest specimen you’d ever seen, and your carrot was on the smaller end of the spectrum.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

Its sacrifice gave you just enough time to roll away and for Charlie to sweep you up and into his arms. The cantankerous comestible hesitated just long enough to snap straight through the carrot before rotating to follow.

By this point, Charlie had whipped out his wand, while his other arm held you close against him where he could keep you safe. Unfortunately, this meant that you couldn’t quite reach your own wand jammed below your armpit. With a series of slashes, Charlie attacked.

“Diffindo!”

The slicing spell would have sheared straight through a regular cabbage. This one? Only the top couple of layers peeled away, further enraging their attacker.

“Charlie! This isn’t your average dinner cabbage! You have to use something stronger!” You fought his hold so you could grab your own wand.

“I’m trying! It’s not like I’ve ever done this before!”

Your wand came loose from its holster just as the behemoth rolled towards you, teeth clacking the whole while. The two of you stood with arms extended, sending spell after spell at the monster that never seemed to shrink or slow.

You could stand your ground and be forever known as the first recorded humans on the Romanian Reserve to die by Chomping Cabbage, or you could run and henceforth be labelled as the tamer and researcher who fled an overgrown vegetable.

Decisions, decisions.

One that was made for you with the loud roar that filled the air, then a gush of wind that nearly knocked the two of you right back to the ground. A flash of red filled your vision.

“Norberta!” Charlie cried. 

The Norwegian Ridgeback couldn’t quite flatten the cabbage with one swat of her powerful talons, but she could follow it with a slash of her tail and a stream of fire. An overwhelming stench of burnt vegetation filled your nostrils.

“Ugh. So long cabbage rolls and salad,” Charlie said in disgust. He gently turned you to look up at him. “You alright?”

Sweaty and covered with dirt as you both were, sex should have been the last thing on your mind. You’d just escaped death. A deadly dragon continued to stomp through the remaining rows of cabbages. Your crops were a lost cause. But Charlie looked down at you and only you, the deep blue of his eyes drinking you in while he continued to cradle you close.

“I told you Noberta had it out for my cabbages.”

His jaw dropped at your words, and you laughed aloud. As if you’d let his hunkiness deter you from proving yourself right. Charlie threw his head back and laughed along with you, the fullness of it invading your chest and giving you the courage you’d lacked until this point.

Up went your hands into his wild auburn locks, threading fingers through the curls and tugging his lips down to yours. He jerked in surprise at the touch, then deepened the kiss with a tilt of his head and a swipe to the seam of your lips.

And that was the story of how you snagged Charlie Weasley, one you told time and time again over countless flagons of beer and fresh-from-the-oven cabbage rolls (minus the teeth).

WC 1203

Cross-posted to Facebook, Tumblr, & AO3.

Hump Day drabble written for the Weasleys, Witches, & Writers Facebook group.

Prompt: “I’ve never done this before.”

Okay, so I blasted past the 1k word limit. See what 2 weeks away from home does to me? (and coffee too late in the day)

I have an intense craving now for cabbage rolls, the likes of which my childhood friend’s mother used to serve up to us on a regular basis. I haven’t tasted that nostalgia in what feels like years.

Chinese Chomping Cabbage users unite! Who needs spells when you have carnivorous vegetables?

I almost forgot to note my infrequent use of 2nd person. I recently started playing with this following a pov workshop in one of my writing discords. Let me know what you think!

[mmogurl]

In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 2: Forbidden Fruit

18+ | 3.1k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Smut, Dragons, Political Intrigue, Plotting, Murder, lots of old timey concepts that don't make a lot of sense today, but are still kind of hot/fun.

The rest of Daemon's night once Ryna leaves. He also spends some time thinking back on the past. Continuing the story from Daemon's POV.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 Also on AO3

Daemon drained the last remnants of his chalice, savoring every drop of the wine as it passed his lips. Then, he leaned against the edge of the parapet, allowing the refreshing caress of the night air to sooth his thoughts and quell his lingering passions.

He could still taste her on his lips.

His sweet little niece.

He chuckled softly at the idea that he’d gone from barely being able to speak to her, to the young princess practically begging him to take her maidenhead.

And he would…

But first, if he was to go up against Viserys, he’d have to tread carefully.

He would need to be the perfect, repentant uncle. His brother would have to see Ryna’s affections had curbed his rashness and impulsivity… at least in his eyes. The task at hand was indeed a daunting one, for Daemon would have to win over the King’s favor, which was no small feat.

With an exasperated sigh, he turned and began the journey back inside the castle, his mind consumed with ideas on how to gain his brother’s trust once more. The party was still in full swing when Daemon returned to the Great Hall, but he could tell immediately that tonight might not be the best time for conversation.

His elder brother sat alone in his chair, drinking deep of his wine. He was the King of Westeros, but he looked like nothing more than a drunk wallowing in his cups. Daemon felt an ache in his chest at the sight of what his proud brother had become. Had the Hightower bitch and her ilk brought the King so low in Daemon’s absence these past years?

He knew a simple word from him would have the King’s attention, but as he watched his brother raise the chalice to his lips and pour a generous measure of wine down his throat, he knew no real progress would be made this evening.

Perhaps in the morning with Viserys’ head clear of the effects of the drink, Daemon would be able to speak with him.

Just a moment…

A smile tugged at his lips as he realized that it would be much easier to handle his brother in the morning when his head was likely to be thrumming from the effects of the Arbor red.

Yes, that is precisely what I need.

Daemon glanced around, hoping to lay his eyes upon his little niece, but there was no trace of her among the masses. She’d likely already retired to her chambers for the night, a thought he realized was disappointing. He stepped up to one of the long tables and began preparing a plate of food, his appetite finally getting the better of him.

Once satisfied with his selection of meats, he walked over to the dais and sat down at the edge of the empty table, close to Viserys who sat aside it. Daemon refilled his cup from a carafe that was still nearly full and nodded politely to his brother.

“Finally tired of prowling the countryside for whores, brother?” Viserys bellowed with inebriated enthusiasm.

Perfect.

Daemon laughed gruffly as he chewed the cold meat he’d bitten off. “Not as of late. It grows tiresome having to entertain every desperate widow and wanton maid who seeks a night with the infamous ‘Rogue Prince.’” He took a long swig of his wine before continuing. “It seems that the reputation I’ve built for myself follows me, whether I desire it or not.”

Viserys let out a belly laugh that echoed through the Great Hall. “Don’t dont that you relish in such rumors. You’ve always loved the attention.” The King gave his own thigh a hearty pat, the wine had clearly taken its hold on him. “I admit, I have always enjoyed the tales of your exploits, brother. Especially the one about the two septas!”

“Ah yes, the beautiful and devout septas. I’m sure the Seven above must have heard every single prayer uttered within my chamber that night.” He’d almost forgotten about that particular night, but it wouldn’t help him in the slightest with his current conquest.

“But enough of that, we’re here to celebrate the birth of your grandson.” And my inevitable claim to your daughter. “How goes the realm in my absence, Brother?”

Viserys chuckled, raising his chalice up to his brother, but not before emptying its contents with a quick swig. “Ah, it’s the same as it always is. The great houses squabble amongst themselves like children… And my daughter continues to drive me to an early grave. I confess, I’m not sure what to do with her.”

“Which of my nieces is troubling you?” Daemon asked with the raise of his brow and smirked.

“Both of them,” Viserys groaned with frustration. “I hear nothing but contemptuous rumors about Rhaenyra and Ryna won’t even consider a suitor, always with some excuse about how all lords available are unworthy of her.”

Daemon had to hold back a scoff. She is not wrong.

Instead he hummed in agreement, playing the role of the dutiful brother flawlessly. “It is indeed a pity, dear brother. She has reached the age to marry and has had ample opportunity to choose a husband. As King, her union should be at your prompting, should it not?”

Viserys let out a sound that was something between a snort and a sigh, letting his annoyance show through. “Yes ‘should’ and ‘would’ are two different things, particularly when it comes to my daughter,” he said shaking his head. “Ryna is just as headstrong as her elder sister, even though she is more agreeable on the whole.”

Daemon nodded along as he finished his meal and set the plate aside, knowing only too well of Ryna’s fiery side. The way she had demanded he give up the throne on the battlements had been a stark reminder that she was no longer an entirely docile child. That boldness would prove useful to him though, especially with the plans he had in mind.

She’ll be a willful little wife. One I look forward to taming.

Viserys refilled his chalice and drowned in another helping of wine, his tone growing more somber as he continued. “Ryna is a good girl, but her head is in the clouds when it comes to marriage. I fear that she has an idealistic dream of the perfect match, a husband who will love her and shower her with affection.” He took another long drink. “Such men do not exist, at least not in the ranks of the eligible lords of the realm. But a certain kind of affection can often grow once wed.”

Daemon let a pointed laugh die against his closed lips. No man would cherish sweet little Ryna as much as I, brother. He tried to ignore the pang of jealousy when Viserys mentioned some faceless cunt of a lord touching the princess in any way.

“That does not surprise me. I’m sure my niece will have high hopes for any potential match,” Daemon said with a feigned indifference. “All young girls wish for such a perfect husband, but the princess must consider her duties to the realm.”

Viserys gave Daemon a queer look of surprise, as if he were not expecting his brother to be so reasonable on the subject. “You truly think so? Have all the women you have known desired such a union?” he snickered at the implication. “Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly become a romantic, after all of these years.”

Daemon leaned back in his chair nonchalantly. “Perhaps I have grown tired of bedding whores and have a desire to settle down in my old age…” He reached over for his chalice and took a slow, pensive sip, watching Viserys’ face change as he was clearly caught off guard by such a statement. “I had tried, but the Gods did not see fit to let my last lady-wife persist through childbirth.”

The King nodded mournfully, “Laena… I am sorry brother.” Viserys dragged his chair over to his brother slightly and gave Daemon’s leg a gentle, understanding pat.

“Yes, Laena…” he mused, not wishing to think on the past. “I did care for her. I tried, truly,” he said with a twinge of regret in his tone. “But I simply did not share a love for her like the great love you shared with Aemma. I never shall I suppose, but I still wish I could…” He trailed off, lost in his own thoughts for a moment before looking back to Viserys.

“Aemma was my favored wife, it’s true. I believe it is why I dote on Rhaenyra and Ryna so much. I still miss her terribly, but you cannot simply force a love like that, not with a lady you do not feel it for.” Viserys sighed knowingly before continuing, emotion obvious in his expression. “I was fortunate enough to find my love. Perhaps, even you will find yours one day, Daemon.”

Daemon struggled hard to suppress a smile at that last statement. Oh, I’ve found her already, dear brother. I’ll see that little princess of yours as my wife if it’s the last thing I do. Though that was not a conversation he wished to have tonight.

He feigned a sympathetic smile as he refilled his chalice with dark red wine from the carafe. “Perhaps… Only time will tell.”

The talk between brothers continued, consisting mostly of harmless banter. Daemon did his best to maintain the friendly demeanor, letting his brother babble on and on drunkenly as the hour grew late. With each passing hour, he could see Viserys’ body grow heavier with sleep and inebriation. Though the King continued to fight it, his eyelids grew heavier until he finally relented to the alcohol’s pull. With that he slowly sank back into the chair, his head slowly rolling sideways.

Daemon sniggered as the Hightower bitch shuffled up to the high table, attempting to correct the drunken image he was portraying to his subjects. She snapped for the guards to help her escort the King out of the Great Hall and back to his chambers. Daemon nodded towards Alicent keeping the bare minimum of civility before turning his attention back to the celebration.

There were still a decent amount of guests lingering, laughing amongst themselves or drunkenly stumbling towards the exit. He stood and stretched like a cat, then made to leave the Hall.

He walked with a brisk pace back towards his rooms, trying to quell the anticipation he felt building in his chest. Ryna would be in her chambers now, likely having changed into some comfortable night shift. Daemon had a fondness for sleeping gowns; they were always made of a thin, light material that left nothing to the imagination.

Daemon shook his head trying to dismiss his growing excitement at the thought of all those pretty pale curves, begging to be claimed.

No, no. I must be patient.

He reached the door to his chamber and made quick work of the few latches that secured it. Once inside, he kicked the door shut and began to disrobe, pulling off his leather vest and then his doublet. He changed into a linen tunic, not bothering to fasten the ties, but simply letting the material hang loose. Daemon then laid down on the bed, folding his arms behind his head while he tried to relax into the soft mattress.

“You never once glanced my way.”

Ryna’s words rang in his head, his brow furrowing as he recalled the frenzied distress of her voice and the pain present in her eyes. He had done a good job of hiding his feelings it seemed, at least in recent years. When his little Ryna had still been a child, things had been simpler. Daemon never had to hide his care for the girl, for she reminded him of himself. A second child, always wanting for love and attention and always deprived of it. It was never a hassle to spoil her with gifts and trips whenever he had time to.

It wasn’t until he came back to King’s Landing after his victory in the Stepstones that he first started to notice his youngest niece in a different light. And there was something about his newfound attraction to her that both delighted and disgusted him.

She stood out from the crowd gathered in the Great Hall to witness his return and her blond and silver curls flowing down past her shoulders drew Daemon’s attention almost immediately. He did not even recognize her at first with those pouty, deep pink lips leading straight into a full bosom.

After Viserys accepted him back, he had waited for the right opportunity to approach her, but Rhaenyra had insisted on throwing herself at him every moment she was able. Which of course resulted in uncomfortable glances from both her father and goodmother as she tried to inject herself into a conversation where she did not belong.

But as Rhaenyra and Alicent walked off together and Viserys made conversation with his Hand, Daemon finally found the right moment to speak to her. He approached the young woman who had replaced his niece as she sat alone on a stone bench, nibbling away at a sweet cake. He felt like a stranger to someone once so dear to him and he regretted those four years he’d spent away from King’s Landing most in that moment.

Ryna acted as though not a day had passed and surprised him when she jumped up from her seat and embraced him as though she were still a child. There hadn’t been much in his life that he’d felt wicked for, but the arousal he felt shoot to his groin in that moment was one of them. He knew then he could not stain the memory of someone so pure with such debauched thoughts.

Daemon backed away, not even giving her the gift he had tucked away in his pocket, and he had stayed away from her since. It might have been cruel, for she had tried to approach him so many times after, but he thought it best that he keep his distance. She did not deserve a wolf such as him barking at her heels. He would deny himself this one indulgence.

As he stood beneath the heart tree thinking of what must never come to pass, Rhaenyra approached him once more. She was practically lusting after him, all but saying it out loud how much she desired him. It was then that he realized how similar they were. They were both vicious and willing to do almost anything to get what they wanted. Almost anything.

It dawned on him that perhaps he deserved Rhaenyra. That they deserved each other. And that it would be a means to return to the throne he’d been robbed of. And in that instant, he’d make a foolish mistake. He’d tell himself that what he felt for his first niece was good enough. It wasn’t about love after all, it was about gaining advantage. About producing heirs. She had the same Valyrian blood running through her veins, and she was just as dark as he. Not good and innocent as his precious little sweetling was.

And just as many have been wont to do when aggrieved, he had taken the bait. As she bat her lashes at him, flirting while proudly displaying the necklace he had once given her while she spoke of not wanting to be married off. She might as well have been begging him to marry her instead, but Viserys would never go for it and he knew it well. So he’d stolen her away from the castle at night, brought her out to see the sights, and ultimately ended up in the basement of a brothel with her.

Daemon hadn’t even been sure what his intentions were that night. Perhaps he wished to sully her maidenhood in an attempt to force Viserys’ hand into either self-sabotage or the desired marriage. Or perhaps he just wished to forget, to claim another girl instead of the one he wanted, but dare not touch. Even then, he could not go through with it. He could not even lose himself in Rhaenyra for that golden head of hair reminded him too much of his sweetling.

He had been foolish. He never should have reacted so poorly, but the truth of it was that he had no idea how to handle what he’d felt. Daemon should have simply used restraint in dealing with Ryna, but he’d never been good at resisting temptation. He wasn’t certain he had what it took to control his base desires in the face of such carnal enticements.

Perhaps in the end it had been best that he had run away from it all. He’d learned much about temperance from his marriage to Laena, even if his thoughts had always remained preoccupied with another. And in all those years he spent away, Ryna had grown into a true Valyrian woman, rivaling the beauty of all who came before her.

Earlier that very night, he’d become a few cups deep after hearing the chatter of several lords that had been vying for his sweetling’s hand. The sickening rumors that the King would be forcing her to wed brought him out to the battlements to sulk. But, when he saw her parade out in front of him, dressed in a beautiful blue gown with her hair glimmering in the moonlight, he decided he could no longer hold back. He must approach her, revisit the feeling that had kept him away for so long and see if it still made him feel like a disgusting cad.

He was more than overjoyed when it did not.

It might have been that enough time had passed and he no longer recalled her so vividly as the child she once was, or perhaps it was the thought of losing her forever to another man that finally allowed him to be free of his shame.

Then there was the very way Ryna had responded to him so eagerly. He supposed that alone was enough to chase away the doubts he’d been harboring. She was his and had always been his. His niece had been meant for him and him alone.

Daemon sighed heavily, thinking of the way her lips had felt against his. How flawless her porcelain skin was and how soft her thighs felt beneath his fingers. He could feel his cock growing rigid as he began to drift off, the wine finally doing him in. Read Chapter 3

[writing-for-life]

Sandman Predictions

So we’ve been speculating wildly what the remainder of The Sandman might look like on here and in our community (join us!) for a while.

And I thought it would be fun to put my predictions to paper (so to speak) so I can be embarrassed about them later and laugh at how wrong they were 🙈

Taking all the casting announcements and BTS in consideration I’ve collected like a magpie (check out my #sandman S2 tag), I will have a stab at it…

Only 12 Episodes or Aiming for Renewal?

Both is possible, but I am more and more leaning we’ll get the whole thing in twelve episodes in two batches of five each with two wraparound episodes (one will be AGoY/THCoL in the middle, one the last three issues of The Wake).

We know the episode names for six episodes that are directed by Jamie Childs. That doesn’t mean they were in order, or that there won’t be other directors involved. It wouldn’t surprise me if they at least went for female writers/directors for AGoY/THCoL, and if that’ll be the episode that separates (or rather connects) SoM and Brief Lives. So here comes my totally unhinged prediction for 12 episodes, including the titles we know (mind you, they might also be working titles). The chapters from the comics are to be seen as fluid and not absolute, because there are a lot of scenes that are not linear in chronological terms and will probably be shuffled around a bit:

Batch One

“More Devils Than Vast Hell Can Hold” (that title is a direct quote from AMND): A Midsummer Night’s Dream, SoM Prologue & Tales in the Sand flashback

“Season of Mists”: SoM ch. 1-3, ch. 4 is getting dropped

“The Ruler of Hell”: SoM ch. 5 through Epilogue

TBA: AGoY & THCoL “Brief Lives”: Brief Lives ch. 1-3. Maybe the first parts of Thermidor (could also be ep. 5).

“Brief Lives”: Brief Lives ch. 1-5 “The Song of Orpheus”: Brief Lives ch. 4-6 and The Song of Orpheus segueing into

“The Song of Orpheus”: Brief Lives ch. 6. Bast is an excellent cut to SoO. “Family Blood”: Brief Lives ch. 7-9. Parts of Thermidor will also be in there.

Batch Two

“Family Blood”: Brief Lives ch. 7-9 TBA: TKO ch. 1-4

TBA: TKO ch. 1-4 TBA: TKO ch. 5-7

TBA: TKO ch. 5-8 TBA: TKO ch. 8-10

TBA: TKO ch. 11-13

TBA: The Wake (all of it apart from…)

TBA: Sunday Mourning/Exiles/The Tempest

Edit 19/09:

[strikeouts in text done on same day]

So I’ve read The High Cost of Living again over the past few days because it didn’t want to leave me alone, and I’ve now convinced myself we’ll get it as a side-plot to Brief Lives in episodes 4-6, and that we’ll get tiny bits of AGoY, (mostly to set up Wanda/Ruby for Brief Lives and Hazel/Foxglove for THCoL) as a side plot to SoM in episodes 1-3. Spoilers ahead, so skip if that’s not your thing:

Both Sexton and Orpheus have a death wish. I don’t want to drag this out too much because the post is long enough as it is, but suffice it to say, Sexton rethinks after spending a day with Didi/Death, while Orpheus is granted his wish. And this is what ultimately sets Morpheus on his own path. The meaning of “So live” would be beautifully contrasted that way because it has different meaning to different people, depending on their own experience. Add to that Death spending a “brief life” for one day herself, and I can somewhat see the vision.

Failing this, THCoL could also be a special in episode 13 that hasn’t been announced yet (I’d rather have Overture though if I’m honest).

In more detail:

A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Tempest will be bookends, one before SoM, one after The Wake (they don’t necessarily have to be full episodes, they could be half each and make up roughly an hour combined. It really depends on overall runtime).

We’ll kick off batch one with Season of Mists (maybe the prologue and will also be in episode 1–there are several points in AMND that would make good cuts into SoM), and Tales in the Sand won’t be a full episode but incorporated as flashbacks (maybe around the family dinner). After we conclude SoM, we’ll get one episode of AGoY will be a side-plot to SoM, as per above (if it happens at all), and leads into THCoL as a side-plot to Brief Lives as per my edit above, because there’s a through-line in there for Fox and Hazel, plus we can set up Wanda/Ruby for Brief Lives.

Bonus 1:

Johanna will be somehow involved in SoM (she’s the Hellblazer after all), and we’ll get her to hook up with Murphy. No need for a longwinded introduction of Thessaly. Or, failing that, we just cut out the love interest completely, Morpheus does his moping session because Nada rebuffs him again, but Jo will still take Thessaly’s place as the crone.

We’ll move into roughly three episodes of Song of Orpheus/Thermidor and Brief Lives from there. Wanda will die in Brief Lives like Ruby, not in AGoY.

We finish the first batch with Morpheus alone on his chair after you-know-what 😩

Second batch: TKO and The Wake. Little bits of World’s End will be woven in where it fits, maybe already in the first batch as well. Same goes for little bits of standalone issues from Fables and Reflections.

Jo will take Thessaly’s place and protect Lyta because she’d just believe it’s the right thing to do (she also sympathises because she lost Astra). Whether she also holds a deeper grudge depends on if they set them up as having an affair or not.

My guess is four episodes TKO and one for the Wake. Sunday Mourning and Exiles will be done in one episode. The movie concept art that Jill Thompson did ages ago showed Daniel in the distance on the beach with the other three, and I think that’s a good tie-in point to lead into Exiles. Even the Tempest might fit in there if they make the last episode more feature-length. And you’ve got your two Shakespeare bookends.

Bonus 2:

Hob will be reinstalled to his narrative purpose because at least half the fandom will drop him like a hot potato and ship Morpheus x Cluracan instead. Because:

If you think 12 episodes are tight: Yes, if you want to see every detail and issue of the comics. But not everything you see in a graphic novel translates well to screen, plus you don’t perceive time the same way. What takes ages to read can be something like 30 seconds in a film. Add to this that the movie that never happened was conceptualised as a trilogy if I’m not mistaken, so probably 6-8 hours planned runtime in total. So they always had a definite idea how to streamline it, and they were planning for it before. 12 episodes with 45 to 60min each give us more to play with than a movie-trilogy (plus we can already take the time off that we spent on S1). I think it’s doable, but of course it means tightening arcs and dropping stuff.

However, I’ll be honest with you: With all that’s been going on, and having seen that they filmed right through until the end, I’d rather have them wrap up now. Because I honestly can’t see a S3 happening after all that’s already been cancelled and put on hold because of you-know-what (I’m thinking of Disney shelving The Graveyard Book and Amazon putting GO on hold and sitting on the Audible despite it being finished).

But also: These decisions have likely been made long before these considerations even became an issue: Renewal was on a knife’s edge, and choices were made back then we can only guess at. Scripts aren’t written over night, neither are sets changed around wildly on a whim (plus actors aren’t just tied to one project and can’t just willy-nilly change their schedules). And some sets for TKO were already confirmed and booked in May. So they were always going to do what we’ve seen in BTS shots. It’s not a sudden development.

In any case: If they aimed for more seasons than two, I think this prediction could still hold in general, we’ll just get it more fleshed out. In that case, I’d say 10 episodes of SoM and Brief Lives (5 each), and A Midsummer Night’s Dream and THCoL as standalones with the rest as side-plots woven in (that includes AGoY). Then S3 comprising TKO and The Wake with more space for standalone episodes and World’s End. Maybe even Overture as a special. I very much doubt they would go for more than three seasons in total though.

So these are my predictions, now I’d love to hear yours…

[starberry-cupcake]

Hello, I haven't had time to read as much as I would want but I'm here with an update regardless, because if I don't keep these constant, I'm gonna forget things and this, so far, seems like a book in which I don't wanna forget things.

previously, in harrowbean the ninth:

this happened

currently, after "parodos" and ch. 1:

so I'm making up a timeline in my head with the information at hand

which is never straightforward

that'd be too easy, here in tlt we like to be kept on our toes

we like to be punched in the gut when we least expect it

so get ready for bad math

this would probably make our good friend palmolive atreides weep

I'm sorry palomilve's force ghost, I'm doing my best

SO

the first entry was the night of the emperor being terminated

the "parodos" bit (we'll get to that) is 14 months before the emperor is snuffed out

ch. 1 is nine months before the emperor kicks the bucket

I believe act 1 is going to be happening around that time, since ch. 2 seems to be following without another indication

because of what happens in "parodos" aka flashback, aka prologue 2: elecric bogaloo, we can attempt to estimate when the events of gideon happened

harrowbean tells ortus in the flashback that he's gonna train with aiglamene for 12 weeks

let's assume that's kind of the amount of time gideon trained, plus the time it took harrow to plot how to girlsplain, gatekeep and gaslight gideon into it

the only one girlbossing here is camilla, I don't make the rules

so, if gideon and harrow were ready to leave the ninth somewhere around 2-3 months after the flashback, it'd be circa 11 months before the events in the prologue

and ch. 1 starts 9 months before the events in the prologue

so gideon might have happened somewhere around 11-10 months before the prologue

I can't tell how long they were in canaan house (it felt like 12 years and 5 minutes at the same time) but I think about a month is mostly right, given that once bodies start dropping, things are all happening together

all of this is relative, since time in space is ????

but I need to do this for my own peace of mind

if you give me time measurements I'm gonna measure, ok?

I need to organize things

I know I will end up making a graphic at some point I just know it

this is what I get for calling palmolive a turbonerd

ANYWAY, MOVING ON

or, moving back, since we're in prologue 2: electric bogaloo aka flashback time

here we have ortus (the one we knew, not the one we will get to know, according to the characters list) telling harrow he doesn't wanna go to the field trip

this is ortus

if you're wondering why I don't nickname ortus, I'll repeat myself but "orto" means "ass" where I'm from, so that's enough to remember him by

harrow is like "I know you're underqualified but we're understaffed, so it is what it is"

the important part is that harrowbean says she sees the barbie in the freezer walking about

like a ghost or whatnot

she refers to her as "the body" and I assume that's barbie in the ice cube because someone reblogged my recap where I mentioned her and tagged

ever since then I've been wondering why she was referred to as The Body and now I'm gonna assume this is it

so harrow tells ortus he needs to hide the fact that she's mentally unstable

[non funny side note: masking is unbearable and it's awful we live in a social and cultural environment where we feel pressured to do it, especially when you're an adult having to fulfill expectations of supposedly "age-specific" activities and responsibilities, it's exhausting and I cried about that in therapy a mere week ago so, hitting hard, this bit

don't let people make you feel "less than" because the way in which you navigate the world and your experiences is different from what's expected in some theoretical socially constructed category

and fuck everyone who, in order to put people down in arguments online, ever make fun of those who aren't mentally, economically or socially as independent as what the category of an adult is supposed to be to them

argue with concepts, argue with opinions and facts, don't tear people down in the name of "moral upper hand" by telling people they're losers for needing help

side note done]

so, harrow entered the whole canaan thing not only carrying the weight of her house, her family and her entire people

she also came into it believing she's not mentally sound and seeing The Body walking around unnoticed by other people

whether or not her visions are mentally unsettled or something that actually happens because she opened the tomb, just the whole situation of her birth is enough to make anyone collapse, so we got you, harrowbean

we're here for you

and all that without mentioning what it'd be like seeing your girlfriend cavalier impale herself in front of you

I'm taking liberties with the 'girlfriend' bit but idk

so, next we know, 5 months have passed from that and harrowcita is struggling in her new environment of the clown emperor's ship

she is made to carry gideon's sword and she can't

she can't seem to know what to do or to communicate with said knowledge and she's throwing up a lot

WHICH IS GREAT!!!!!

I mean, it's not great that she's suffering

but it's GREAT because if she can't communicate with gideon's slurped soul, maybe it means gideon's soul has not been slurped AT ALL

more fuel for my wishful thinking of gideon's soul returning to her and getting regenerated and saved and being alive

I also like very much this situation in which harrow sees the sword as personified and they hate each other without gideon

it's like prim's cat in the hunger games with katniss

but with an inanimate object

I'm really liking that dynamic

is like they both miss her and can't relate to each other

ALSO barbie body ice cube is still there

just chillin' and being silently supportive, I think

not sure what her deal is but what if she's not the bad one here? because this emperor kind of sucks tbh

not in a 'he's evil' way but in a 'idk if he know what he's doing' way

I don't know about this guy tbh

so we're leaving off with harrow being mentally and physically struggling, ghost barbie roamin' the rooms, voices of people organizing stock and gideon in my head like this, walking in limbo to get back to us

also, another day without camilla

I thought I wasn't gonna have much to say and this is so long, I'm so sorry...

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Only a vampire can love you forever | CH 7

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ | 5.5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

CW : Dark!sevika, age gap, private school, toxic, forbidden love, mentions of blood, hopeless lesbians, TEACHER X STUDENT, porn with plot, oral sex, reader is a virgin, innocent reader, theres like a 500 year age gap, courruption, masturbation, cheating, odd love triangle?, READER IS STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUNCH OF ATRACTIVE VAMPIRES

A/N : 😼

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

The dream clawed at you again.

Same hallway. Same flickering lights. Only this time, it wasn’t Jinx reaching for you.

It was Bella.

Her face pale. Eyes bloodshot. Mouth slightly open as if she’d been trying to scream. Blood soaked her collar and spilled down her chest in thick, black-red waves. You backed away, breath caught in your throat, trying to wake up—trying to move—

Her hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

You screamed.

BANG BANG BANG.

Your eyes flew open. Your skin was clammy, heart hammering. Sunlight poured through the cracks in your curtains, too bright, too sudden. You sat up quickly as the knocking came again, loud and urgent.

“Miss Y/N?”

Another knock. Firm. Authoritative.

You groaned, stumbling to your feet, your oversized sleep shirt clinging to your back. You shuffled to the door, rubbing your eyes with one hand as you yanked it open with the other.

“What—?!”

You winced the second it left your mouth, too harsh, too loud. Your throat still raw from the scream that had dragged you out of sleep.

And standing there—

Two police officers.

Behind them, your Dorm RA, nervously fiddling with the lanyard clipped to her belt.

The taller of the two officers looked down at a small notepad, then to you.

“Miss Y/N?”

You blinked, suddenly wide awake. “...Yes?”

The officer looked to his partner. Something silent passed between them.

And that’s when your stomach dropped.

The disciplinary office buzzed faintly with fluorescent lighting. The hum was constant, just enough to crawl under your skin.

You sat perfectly still in the stiff-backed chair, hands clasped in your lap. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat, but you kept your face calm.

This wasn't new. Being pulled into rooms like this never meant consequences for you.

Not with the Kirraman name behind you. Not when everyone assumed you were harmless.

But still— this time felt different.

One of the officers—tall, broad-shouldered, buzzed hair—slid a small paper coffee cup across the table toward you. No lid. It steamed faintly.

You didn’t move to take it.

“Miss Y/N,” the second officer said, older and softer-spoken, “you’re not in trouble. We’re just asking questions.”

You stared at the coffee, then flicked your eyes up to him.

“Why am I here?” you asked, voice quieter than intended.

They exchanged a glance.

Then the taller one cleared his throat, sitting up straighter.

“We wanted to ask about an incident that took place… a few weeks ago,” he said carefully. “An off-campus party. A student, Bella Drey, was reportedly struck in the head with a bottle.”

Your stomach dropped.

You said nothing.

“You were there, correct?” he continued.

You hesitated. “Yes. But— I didn’t see anything.”

“Were you near Bella that night?” the older one asked gently.

Your heart rate spiked. Just slightly.

The bond reacted—echoing that panic back into your chest.

“I was—yeah, we… ran into each other.”

“Did you witness the altercation?”

You looked down. “No. I walked away before anything happened.”

Silence.

You could feel their eyes on you.

The younger one leaned in slightly. “Did Bella ever express concern? That someone might come after her later? Did she mention anyone by name?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Another beat.

And then—carefully:

“Miss Y/N… is there any reason you think someone might’ve wanted to hurt Bella?”

You blinked.

For a second, just one heartbeat, you nearly said it.

Nearly said Jinx.

The blue hair. The smirk. The eyes. That dream.

But you didn’t.

You just stared at the coffee again.

And said, “No. I don’t know anything.”

But your pulse wouldn’t slow. And you could feel it—that gnawing fear building in your chest.

Because if they were digging into that night… Then something must have happened now.

Something worse.

You were still staring at the coffee when the older officer cleared his throat again. This time, his tone shifted—gentler, but heavier.

“Miss Y/N…”

You looked up, and the expression on his face made your stomach twist.

“I’m afraid Bella Drey was found early this morning… deceased.”

Your breath caught.

Deceased.

That word hit different than dead. Dead was violent. Sudden. A punch. Deceased was soft. Distant. Final.

You blinked rapidly, already shaking your head. “Wait—what? No, she was just—”

The younger officer reached into the folder and slid something across the table.

A photograph.

You didn’t want to look. But your eyes flicked down anyway.

It was blurry. Grainy. Taken quickly at the scene, maybe before the medics had arrived.

But it was unmistakable.

Bella, slumped in an alley. Head tilted at an unnatural angle. Blood on her collar. Her skin was pale—too pale.

You grimaced and immediately looked away, stomach rolling.

The cup of coffee was still steaming between you.

“We understand this is upsetting,” the officer said, voice neutral now. “But we’re trying to determine if there’s any connection between the assault at the party… and what happened to her last night.”

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

The image still burned behind your eyelids.

“So,” the younger one asked, watching you closely now, “can you tell us where you were last night?”

Your pulse jumped again.

You’d had another nightmare. You’d woken up sweating. And then the knock came.

You weren’t anywhere. You were in your dorm.

Alone. Unprotected. Vulnerable.

“I was in my room,” you said quietly. “All night.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

You swallowed, throat dry. “I… I don’t know.”

They didn’t write anything down.

But their silence said everything.

The questioning had quieted, but your pulse hadn’t.

You sat stiff in the chair, your knees together, your hands resting on your thighs, knuckles white.

Across the table, the older officer reached into his jacket and pulled out a business-style card, sliding it toward you. The younger one did the same.

“I’m Officer Marcus,” the taller one said evenly. “And this is Detective Greyson.”

Greyson gave you a nod, though her eyes didn’t quite soften.

“If you see anything concerning,” Marcus continued, “hear anything strange… give us a call.”

You reached out and took the cards with shaky fingers, your eyes flicking once more to the folder still on the desk. The photo of Bella. Her body. Her blood.

But before you could respond—

The door burst open.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Caitlyn.

She strode into the room like she owned it—which, in many ways, she might as well have. Her Kirraman family crest shimmered faintly against the dark navy blazer she wore like armor. Her heels echoed with every step, sharp and unwavering.

Behind her, the disciplinary office attendant hurried in, flustered and clearly out of breath.

“I’m sorry, she—she was too fast—”

“She’s a student,” Caitlyn snapped, voice cold as steel, “not a suspect. And this?” She gestured to the two men at the table. “This is an unlawful interrogation without academy representation or legal counsel.”

Marcus and Greyson remained seated, unfazed.

Greyson raised an eyebrow. “No interrogation, Miss Kirraman. Just questions. She’s not in trouble.”

“You have no authority to question her without her guardian’s knowledge or our legal team present,” Caitlyn said, voice lowering, more dangerous. “You think the Kirramans won’t sue you into the ground over this? Even if we lose, you’ll spend the next decade buried in court fees.”

There was a long, tense pause.

Marcus sighed and leaned back, folding his arms. “She’s free to go. We’re done for now.”

Caitlyn looked at you, offering her hand immediately.

You didn’t hesitate. You stood, slipped the cards into your pocket, and took it.

She gave the two men a final look. “Next time, you call me. Not her.”

They didn’t reply.

But you knew they would.

Because whether they wanted to admit it or not, Caitlyn wasn’t bluffing. A lawsuit from the Kirramans—even a hollow one—would cost them everything.

She pulled you out into the hall, her grip firm but not painful. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, her entire demeanor cracked just a little.

She looked at you, eyes softer now. “Are you okay?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it.

You weren’t sure what to say.

But Caitlyn already knew.

“Come on,” she whispered. “You’re not going back to your dorm alone.”

The moment you stepped out into the hallway, your legs felt like jelly.

Caitlyn hadn’t let go of your hand yet. She was still walking fast, guiding you through the academy corridors with the force of a storm barely contained behind her composed expression.

You could tell she was angry. No, furious.

But beneath it— was worry.

“Caitlyn,” you said softly.

She didn’t stop, but her eyes flicked to you.

“I need to see Sevika.”

She slowed.

Just a little.

You stopped walking. “Please.”

Caitlyn turned fully to face you, her jaw tense. “You’re safe now. We can go back to the house. You don’t need—”

“I need her,” you said, a little firmer this time.

And it wasn’t about defiance. Or choosing sides. It was about feeling like the room wouldn’t spin if both anchors in your life weren’t fraying at once.

Caitlyn stared at you, and for a moment you thought she might argue. That she’d tell you no, that she’d remind you who’s been by your side first.

But instead, she looked down.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

Her voice was tight.

She hated it.

You could feel that through the bond—how much it twisted her stomach. How much her pride was burning. But her grip on your wrist gentled again.

“Let’s go find her,” she said quietly.

And together, you turned down the west wing of the building— toward the old staff offices. Where Sevika always disappeared when she wanted the world quiet.

You didn’t say it out loud, but you both knew—

Whatever Sevika was about to hear… it wouldn’t just shake her.

It might change everything.

Sevika sat in her office, lights low, blinds drawn.

Her chair creaked softly beneath her as she leaned back, flipping through a worn paperback with one hand, a pen tapping idly against her thigh with the other.

She wasn’t reading.

Not really.

Not with that pressure building behind her eyes. That prickling static under her skin that hadn’t let up since sunrise.

Something was coming.

Something sharp. Heavy. Yours.

She closed the book.

Sat up straighter.

The bond—your bond—was tight. Throbbing. Not in pain, exactly… but in weight. Like a scream held just behind your teeth. Like you were trying to hold everything in so no one else could feel it.

But Sevika could.

Even with her walls up.

Even when she tried not to.

She stood and walked to the door of her office, opening it before the knock came.

And there you were.

Eyes wide. Shoulders tight. Jaw clenched like you were trying not to cry.

Beside you—Caitlyn. Standing close. Protective. Her blue eyes cutting through Sevika the second their gazes met.

Sevika looked between you both once.

And said nothing.

Just stepped aside, opening the door wider.

You walked in first.

And Sevika could feel it before you even said a word—

Sevika closed the office door behind you, the soft click of the lock sealing the world out. The lighting in her office was dim, only a desk lamp casting a pool of gold across the papers and half-read books littered across the surface.

You stood in the center of the room, your arms crossed tight over your chest.

Caitlyn hovered behind you, silent now. She hadn’t said a word since Sevika opened the door—her body language stiff, her jaw set.

Sevika watched you closely, not saying anything. Not yet.

But she could feel it.

Whatever you were carrying—whatever was eating at you—was coiled tight in your chest like it might explode.

“I was pulled into the disciplinary office this morning,” you said finally, voice low.

Sevika didn’t move.

“They were waiting outside my dorm. Woke me up from a dream… another one. About Bella.”

Sevika’s brow twitched. “The girl from the party?”

You nodded, your throat dry. “They showed me a picture of her body.”

That made Sevika shift.

Just slightly. Enough for her hand to curl against the edge of the desk.

Your voice cracked. “She’s dead. They said she was found in an alley off campus early this morning. They think it might be connected to the party.”

Neither woman interrupted you.

You went on, breath trembling. “They asked if I knew where I was last night. Asked if I’d heard anything. If Bella had enemies. I told them no, but—” You swallowed hard. “I think it was Jinx.”

Sevika’s eyes flicked up sharply.

“Wait,” Caitlyn said behind you, stepping forward. “You didn’t tell them that, right?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Of course not.”

“But you felt it,” Sevika said, voice low, a little rough. “Didn’t you?”

You nodded.

“I didn’t see it, but… I knew. I felt the blood. I felt the fear. I think I felt her die.”

Sevika cursed under her breath and leaned against her desk, one hand scrubbing down her face.

Caitlyn stepped beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t push her away.

“They gave me cards,” you said softly, pulling them out of your pocket. “Officer Marcus and Detective Greyson. They think I’m a witness. Maybe worse.”

Sevika didn’t take the cards. She just looked at you—eyes dark, intense, conflicted.

“Whatever this is,” you whispered, “it’s not just about me anymore.”

Sevika’s voice was almost a growl. “No. It’s not.”

And Caitlyn added, colder now, “Which means Jinx just broke the rules in the worst way possible.”

The halls of the academy were eerily quiet.

You’d just barely managed to slip away before Caitlyn and Sevika disappeared behind one of the heavy, sealed doors that only certain students were allowed through—vampire business, as Caitlyn called it. An emergency meeting. One you definitely weren’t invited to.

So now you were alone.

And it felt… wrong.

Every creak of the floor under your shoes made you flinch. Every draft of cold air down the corridor raised goosebumps on your arms. You kept looking over your shoulder, gripping your phone in one hand with your finger hovering over Caitlyn’s contact—even though you knew she wouldn’t answer. Not in there.

“I just need to find somewhere to wait,” you whispered to yourself, rounding a corner that led toward the old music wing, long abandoned after a pipe burst in the ceiling last fall. “Somewhere quiet.”

And then—

“Looking for something, sweetheart?”

You froze.

The voice was soft. Low. Almost playful.

You turned slowly, heart already starting to pound.

Violet Warwick leaned against the wall just behind you. Hair half-tucked behind her ear, uniform sleeves rolled up, boots crossed at the ankle like she’d been standing there forever.

“Or maybe someone,” she added, pushing off the wall.

Your breath caught. “I—no, I was just—”

She held up a hand, smiling. “Relax. I’m not here to bite you. Not unless you ask.”

Then, impossibly smooth, she stepped forward and took your hand—lifting it gently.

You tensed, but her touch was light. Careful.

She brought your fingers to her lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles like something out of a fairytale.

And the second her lips touched your skin—

The bond flared.

Not Caitlyn. Not Sevika.

Her.

It was faint. Wrong. But it was there.

You gasped, stumbling back—but your feet wouldn’t move.

You tried again. Nothing.

Your whole body was stuck. Locked in place like someone had wrapped invisible chains around your limbs.

Violet’s eyes glinted, and she stepped closer.

“You’re a little more interesting than they let on,” she whispered, voice dripping with curiosity and danger. “You feel that too, don’t you?”

You couldn’t speak.

She brushed your hair back behind your ear, her fingers cool and impossibly gentle, and leaned down toward your throat.

You saw her fangs. White. Sharp. Bared.

“Let me guess,” she murmured. “No one told you what happens when too many of us touch your blood.”

You couldn’t scream.

You could barely breathe.

And then—

CRASH.

The door at the end of the hall slammed open.

“Get away from her!” Caitlyn’s voice rang out, sharp, furious.

“Back off, Vi.” Sevika’s voice followed, low and deadly.

Violet paused, her lips inches from your neck.

Then she looked up with a wicked little smirk. “Oh well. Maybe next time.”

She snapped her fingers—and you dropped to your knees, breath coming in ragged gasps as your body came back to you all at once.

Caitlyn was already beside you, grabbing your arms, checking your face.

Sevika moved in front of you, shielding you with her body, eyes locked on Violet.

But Violet?

She just blew you a kiss, winked—

—and disappeared into the shadows.

You were still on your knees, gasping like you’d just surfaced from drowning.

Your limbs tingled as sensation returned—pins and needles prickling through your legs, your fingertips twitching. Your whole body felt violated. Not touched, not bitten, but… held. Puppeted.

Caitlyn was at your side in an instant.

“Y/N, hey—hey, look at me,” she said, her voice softer now, but trembling beneath the surface. Her hands cupped your face as she crouched down in front of you, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

You nodded shakily, throat too tight to speak.

Sevika was behind you, her metal hand resting on your back, firm and grounding.

“I should’ve fucking known,” she muttered, glaring down the hallway where Violet had vanished. “I felt something shift.”

“I told them this would happen if they let them roam without rules,” Caitlyn hissed, barely able to keep her voice down as she checked your pulse. “She could’ve—God, if we’d been seconds later—”

“She didn’t bite me,” you croaked, voice hoarse.

Both of them stilled.

“She wanted to,” you added, eyes wide, still dazed. “I saw her fangs. I felt the—whatever she did. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything.”

Sevika cursed under her breath again and stood up straight, pacing a few steps away before dragging her hand through her hair. “That was a power. Some kind of control response—probably blood-based. If she touched you, she could trigger it without biting.”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched as she pulled you into a protective hug, her arms wrapping around your shoulders tightly.

“She shouldn’t have been able to do that,” she said, almost to herself. “That means the bond's pulling more than we thought. Pulling in others.”

You buried your face into Caitlyn’s shoulder, heart still thudding.

“I don’t want to feel anyone else,” you whispered.

Sevika looked at you, something hard behind her eyes softening for the first time in minutes.

“You won’t,” she said, stepping closer again. “We won’t let them get near you.”

Caitlyn nodded against your hair. “We’re putting an end to this. Starting now.”

But even as she said it—you could still feel the ghost of Violet’s kiss on your hand.

And worse… A part of you did feel it.

That new, unwanted tether. Like a third string, distant but undeniably there.

The council chamber was tucked deep beneath the oldest wing of the academy—thick stone walls, sealed doors, and no windows to the outside world. Only candlelight flickered in elegant sconces along the walls, giving the space a hushed, almost sacred weight.

The room was full. Every seat at the long, dark-wood table was occupied.

Vampires. Pristine. Ancient. Beautiful in that way only predators could be—still, quiet, and always watching.

At the head of the table sat Cassandra Kiramman, draped in deep crimson, her hair pulled into a tight chignon. Regal. Calculating. Every word she spoke felt rehearsed—but never insincere.

Beside her was Tobias Kiramman, Caitlyn’s father. Dressed in tailored charcoal-gray, his expression unreadable, his hands folded on the table like he was waiting for someone to slip so he could crush them with one sentence.

Caitlyn sat farther down, fists clenched in her lap, her jaw locked so tight her teeth might crack.

Sevika stood behind her chair, arms crossed, her eyes shadowed and unreadable.

The topic had already taken over the room.

You.

Y/N L/N. Human. Bitten. Twice bonded. Still alive. Still on campus. And now, seen by Violet Warwick—who had touched you, tasted your bond, and left without consequence.

“The dual bond is unstable,” one council member said, tapping their finger lightly on the polished table. “And unknown. It’s never occurred naturally—at least not in the last two centuries. What happens when it pulls her apart?”

“She’s already showing psychic resonance,” another chimed in. “She’s connected to Caitlyn and Sevika—but now others are responding. That Warwick girl. Who’s next? Viktor? Jinx? What happens when her blood starts calling to anyone who gets too close?”

“We’re not talking about a girl anymore,” an older vampire said flatly. “We’re talking about a trigger. A potential collapse of centuries of secrecy.”

Cassandra lifted a hand and the room fell quiet.

“Which is why we’re proposing immediate relocation,” she said calmly. “To the care of her parents. She will be protected, hidden, monitored—no contact with the student population, no further exposure to the bond.”

Caitlyn stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor.

“No.”

Cassandra didn’t even blink.

“We’re not exiling her,” Caitlyn snapped. “She hasn’t done anything wrong. You’re treating her like she’s a weapon waiting to go off—she’s not. She’s confused and scared and under our protection.”

Sevika said nothing.

Her eyes were cast down at the table, lips pressed into a hard line. She hadn’t spoken once since the meeting began.

Then—Tobias’s voice cut through the silence.

“Caitlyn. Sit down.”

She didn’t move.

“I said sit.”

Caitlyn clenched her jaw—but obeyed.

Tobias’s voice was calm, precise. “You’re too close to this. We understand your emotional attachment, but this isn’t personal. It’s a political risk. A supernatural anomaly. One we can’t afford to keep in plain sight.”

“She’s not a threat,” Caitlyn whispered.

“She will be,” he replied without hesitation.

Then Cassandra nodded once, slow and deliberate. “I agree.”

The decision began forming like frost on glass.

And Sevika?

Still silent.

But something dark flickered behind her eyes.

She was thinking.

Not about what was safest.

But what she’d be willing to do… if they actually sent you away.

The meeting room emptied slowly, voices fading down the long hallway as the elite disappeared behind heavy doors and into waiting black cars.

Only Caitlyn and Sevika remained.

The silence in the chamber was thick—like smoke after a fire. Still burning. Still dangerous.

Caitlyn stood with her back to the long council table, arms folded, eyes locked on the stone floor like she could glare a hole through it.

Sevika leaned against the far wall, her metal arm flexing unconsciously, jaw working like she was chewing on words that refused to settle.

“You didn’t say anything,” Caitlyn said suddenly.

Her voice was low. Controlled. But not calm.

“You stood there the entire time and didn’t say a single fucking word.”

Sevika didn’t look at her.

“I didn’t need to,” she muttered.

“You did.” Caitlyn turned to face her now, eyes sharp and wet with restrained fury. “They’re sending her away. Away from the one place she felt safe. Away from us. And you just stood there like it didn’t matter.”

“It’s not about what matters,” Sevika snapped, finally pushing off the wall. “It’s about what keeps her alive.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted—like she might scream, or laugh, or break all at once.

“So that’s your answer? We just let them exile her? Lock her away like she’s a threat? Like some creature they can study?”

“No,” Sevika said, her voice low now. Measured. “My answer is I don’t make moves until I know how far I’m willing to go.”

Caitlyn took a step closer. “And?”

Sevika looked at her.

Really looked.

And for the first time since the meeting, something honest cracked through her silence.

“I don’t think I can let her go,” she said.

The words hit the room like a confession.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched.

They stood in the quiet, both of them too stubborn to speak first. Both of them aching in different ways for the same girl.

“She won’t survive this if we’re not on the same page,” Caitlyn said finally. “If we fight each other instead of them.”

Sevika nodded once. Just barely.

Then turned away again.

“She’s not gonna take it well.”

“I know.”

“She’ll try to run.”

Caitlyn exhaled. “Then we don’t let her.”

The greenhouse was warm and damp, the glass above fogged over from late afternoon condensation. The smell of earth clung to everything—rich, sweet, and almost suffocating. It was the only place on campus that still felt alive… even if everything in it was quietly dying.

You crouched near the corner, your fingertips brushing the wilted leaves of a once-blooming peace lily. Its petals had curled into themselves, yellowed at the edges. No matter how much water, how much light— It was going.

You didn’t hear the door open.

Didn’t hear the soft footsteps.

You were too lost in your own thoughts—too weighed down by the council, the tension between Caitlyn and Sevika, the way your own body felt like it was tearing itself in two.

And then—

“It has a disease,” a quiet voice said behind you, smooth and dispassionate. “It’s going to die. No matter what you do.”

You gasped and turned sharply.

Viktor.

Standing in the shadowed aisle between the planters. Hands in the pockets of his coat. Still. Silent. Watching.

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

He walked slowly toward you, the sound of his boots muffled by the mossy floor. He stopped beside the dying plant and crouched, thin fingers reaching out.

A spark flickered at the tips of his fingers as they hovered just above the leaf. Faint—like static before a storm. The leaf twitched, then stilled. The spark vanished.

You didn’t know if he’d tried to save it… or help it die faster.

Viktor stood again, brushing off his hand absently.

“I understand what it’s like,” he said quietly, his eyes on the plant… then shifting to you. “To work so hard to save something. To pour every part of yourself into it.”

He paused.

“And then…” his gaze flicked downward, slow and deliberate, landing on the scars at your neck.

“It just blows up in your face.”

You swallowed hard, your back straightening.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t mocking. Just… watching. Like he was trying to decide if you were another dying thing he couldn’t fix.

You wanted to say something. Anything.

But all that came out was a whisper:

“…What do you want?”

Viktor’s eyes, dull gold and softly glowing, lingered on your face a moment longer.

Then he simply said,

“Careful, Y/N. The roots rot first.”

And just like that—he walked away.

Leaving you in the quiet greenhouse, surrounded by things that had once been beautiful… and couldn’t be saved.

You watched him walk away, his limp pronounced but unhurried, his coat trailing just above the floor of fallen petals and damp moss. His presence lingered long after the greenhouse door clicked shut behind him—like smoke, or static, or something colder.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

What the hell was that?

Turning back to the planter, your eyes flicked to the spot where Viktor had crouched moments ago.

The peace lily.

The same plant that had been withering for days—its leaves brown, curling in on themselves, the soil dry no matter how much water you poured in—

Was now green.

Lush. Upright. The petals fully open and gleaming with dew.

You knelt down, reaching out to touch it.

Warm.

Alive.

That tiny spark from Viktor’s fingers... it hadn’t been for show.

He did something.

You stood up slowly, your eyes drifting over the workspace where he’d been standing. A rusted watering can. A cracked ceramic pot. And then—

Your gaze caught on something.

A thin silver bracelet, resting neatly on the edge of the table.

At first, you thought it was just decorative—maybe part of his uniform.

But when you stepped closer, your stomach twisted.

Intricate blood-red markings were etched into the silver band. Symbols you didn’t recognize… but your gut did.

They felt wrong.

Like they weren’t meant to be seen by human eyes.

Like they were watching back.

You reached out, fingers hovering just above the metal, unsure whether to touch it at all.

A vampiric symbol.

Not Caitlyn’s. Not Sevika’s.

This was something older. Something darker.

You backed away slowly, your mind racing, heart pounding.

Because Viktor hadn’t left it by accident.

He’d wanted you to find it.

And now?

You had no idea what it meant.

But the plant beside you whispered its answer—

Life. Or death.

Depending on who held the power.

The greenhouse was still, save for the distant hum of fans and the quiet creak of old glass shifting in the frame.

You stared at the bracelet for one last moment—its silver glinting faintly in the light—before you snatched it off the table and shoved it into the pocket of your navy blue blazer with your school logo on it, heart pounding. The metal was cold. Uncomfortably cold.

Then—

The door creaked open.

You spun around just as Sevika stepped inside, eyes scanning the room like she already knew you were there.

She found you quickly—half-hidden behind the tall ferns, your face flushed from panic and adrenaline.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, controlled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You didn’t speak.

She took a few careful steps forward, pausing beside a wide planter full of basil and lavender. “We need to talk.”

You braced yourself. “About the council.”

Her jaw tensed. “Yeah.”

You nodded slowly, your hand tightening in your hoodie pocket around the cold curve of the bracelet.

“They’re weighing options,” Sevika continued. “Keeping you at the Kirraman estate was their original offer, but…” She hesitated. “They’re now considering something more… permanent.”

Your blood ran cold. “What does that mean?”

“They might try to send you back,” she said carefully. “Back to your family. Off-campus. Full severance from the bonds.”

You blinked. Once. Then again. Like you hadn’t heard her right.

“Back home?”

Sevika’s brow furrowed at your tone. “I know it’s not ideal, but—”

“No.”

Your voice cracked like a whip. Loud. Sharp. Final.

Sevika stiffened.

You took a step back, eyes wide with disbelief. “I’m not going back there.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but you were already shaking your head—fast, your breath hitching in your chest as your voice rose.

“I’m not going back to a house where I was a guest in my own life. Where my dad pretended my mom never existed the second she was buried.”

Your hands were trembling now, knuckles white.

“He married some basic Pinterest-brained woman three months later and let her kids take over everything. My room. My space. My name at the fucking dinner table.”

Sevika was silent. Watching. Listening.

You laughed—short, bitter. “And when I didn’t fall in line? When I didn’t smile for their Christmas card? They asked him to send me away. And he did.”

Your throat tightened. “He packed my bags, booked my flight, and told me this school was a ‘fresh start.’ But he didn’t mean that. He meant get lost.”

You looked at her then—eyes shining but hard.

“So no. I’m not going back. I’d rather die here.”

Sevika stepped forward slowly, her expression unreadable but her voice quiet.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

You didn’t move.

“Not if I can help it.”

For a moment, the only sound was your breath and the distant rustle of leaves in the greenhouse.

And the faint, cold weight of the bracelet pressing against your hip.

The greenhouse held its breath with you.

You stood there, trembling with rage and grief, your chest tight with every word you’d just forced out. The kind of truth that burned on the way up. The kind you didn’t say out loud because once you did, it lived in the air with you—real. Permanent.

And Sevika… she didn’t say anything right away.

She didn’t offer the usual empty comforts. Didn’t mutter “that sucks” or try to fix it. She just stood there, looking at you like she could see all of it—not just the words, but the weight behind them—and wasn’t afraid of holding it.

Then she stepped closer.

Slow, deliberate.

You didn’t pull away.

You couldn’t.

Not when her hand came up to gently brush a curl away from your damp cheek. Not when her metal hand settled at your waist, solid and grounding.

“You didn’t deserve that,” she said softly. “None of it.”

Your lip trembled, but you didn’t look away.

And then she leaned in—slowly, watching your eyes the whole time, giving you every second to move if you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

And when her lips met yours—warm, steady, careful—it wasn’t lust.

It was anchor.

Her mouth pressed to yours in a kiss that didn’t rush. That didn’t ask. That held. It said what she didn’t know how to say:

You’re not alone. You’re not going back. I’ve got you.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. Her thumb brushed your jaw, soft despite the calluses.

You closed your eyes, breathing her in.

And for the first time in days, your heart didn’t feel like it was breaking.

It just felt full.

comment to be added to the taglist

[bookish-bogwitch]

Hello! Thank you for the tags, @blackberrysummerblog @mooncello @monbons @artsyunderstudy @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @thehoneyedhufflepuff @nausikaaaand and @alexalexinii. You are wonderful!

Today I'm sharing an anxious plea for reassurance + a snippet of chapter 9 of Basil Pitch's Diary, posting June 7. Below the cut for spoilers and anxiety.

<ANXIETY> I'm working on chapter 10 now and friends, it's slow going. I still love this fic with all my heart, but chapters 1-9 I had mapped out more or less scene by scene months before I started posting, and before writing most of them. Writing them was like novelizing a movie I'd watched in my head a countless times.

For the rest of the fic, though--Ch 10-13--I had only broad strokes figured out. I knew the very ending, and a handful of key emotional beats along the way, but the connective tissue was basically "Collect Underpants ... ? ... Profit."

I've now plotted the rest out in reasonable detail, with help from the extremely kind and insightful @facewithoutheart and @thewholelemon. But I am a plotter to the core and it feels much scarier to be writing a story I just made / am still making up than one that's been living in my head for years.

Also, you guys: Chapter 9 is really fucking good. I'm really proud of it and excited to share it. And also scared that the rest of the fic won't live up to the promise of all I've set up. This fic is my baby and I just really want to nail it.

Intellectually I know I'm just swinging on the creative-confidence pendulum, and that future me will be able to write as well as past me. These doubts are just intrusive thoughts, skittering around my head like the mice that live in my walls. Harmless, but such a nuisance. </ANXIETY>

Anyway! Here are some sentences of Chapter 9, which, did I mention, is really good. Baz is finally going dancing with DeNiall.

“So, cousin. What’s your strategy?” I just raised an eyebrow and gestured at myself. My shirt was a perfectly cut navy so sheer that it read as cobalt over my pale skin. Climbing my chest were embroidered red and pink roses, between which you could clearly see my nipples. I’d changed out of Oxford cloth at Fiona’s. (I didn’t tell her I’d stopped in Blackfriars to drop off my grandmother’s furs and my grandfather’s Dickens.) Through my sleeve you could also see my mother’s wand holster, which my father now insists I wear whenever I leave the house. He’s also looking for a second dog. Something more territorial than Rusty, whose lick is worse than his bite. After the numpties he spent a week teaching me defensive spells. His skill surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. Once, when I was small, someone tried to mug him as we were leaving a theatre. My father didn’t panic or capitulate, just calmly kneecapped the man with a vicious Why me, why now. 

Tagging @angelsfalling16 @brilla-brilla-estrellita @palimpsessed @cutestkilla 

@comesitintheclover @confused-bi-queer @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @drowninginships @dragoneggos

@emeryhall @ebbpettier @aristocratic-otter @hushed-chorus @youarenevertooold 

@ic3-que3n @shrekgogurt @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95

@katatsumuli @valeffelees @martsonmars @whogaveyoupermission @whatevertheweather 

@messofthejess @nightimedreamersworld @alleycat0306 @raenestee @wetheformidables 

@onepintobean @run-for-chamo-miles @skeedelvee @alleycat0306 @iamamythologicalcreature

@twokisses @shrekgogurt

[salixianlegume]

Even more ranting (3/3)

General Worldbuilding; Characters; Stylistic Choices and Concepts (here)

1. In general, I’m trying to limit how much I anthropomorphize the sticks– I’d mention hands, but not fingers; if they haven’t been drawn with eyes (i.e. are not TCO, TDL, TSC, or the crossover sticks), I try to avoid mentioning eyes when discussing their expression; if they haven’t been drawn with mouths, I avoid mentioning mouth bits. I broke the rules and mentioned TCO having teeth, and describing others as biting things, though. :(

I also let them bleed for dramatic effect, but whether or not it’s red and acts like normal blood is up to you.

That said, I believe canonically the sticks have our sensory organs, just invisible to us, but since they’re invisible to us, mentioning them can temporarily jar me out of a fic— the one that really gets me for no reason is mentioning hair. (A personal preference.)

2. I tried to be deliberate with the names other people used for each other, which may differ from how they think of themselves.

For example, Alan and the CG all call TSC "Orange" (even Orange themself), but Chosen calls them "Second," as he's a bit more distant and doesn't know much about Orange and their nicknames. Agent and victim call TSC by their full name, as they are at even more of a social distance.

Dark is the only person to call Chosen "Cho", and Chosen doesn't really append the "One" or prepend the "The". Verbally, most people don't include "the" as part of the name because I, the author, think it looks clunky as dialogue, but Agent would probably include the "the" in his internal narration, though.

Speaking of "the," Chosen dropping "the" from Agent's name in Ch. 4 was not me getting tired of writing it out. It's supposed to be indicative of Chosen's changing opinion of the guy, where "Agent" goes from being Smith's epithet to his name, in Chosen's mind. I'd actually considered making the switch in Ch. 3, but 3 is more of the catalyst for the change, so I pushed it back.

3. I considered writing the victim interlude in lapslock, but that just leaves more room for mistakes and is harder (for me) to read, so I didn't. I also considered starting out with victim narrating their name as "Victim", then "victim", and then "the victim" as they start to spiral, but the capitalized version is inconsistent with how I'm approaching their attitude towards their name, so the first stage was dropped.

4. Finally— victim’s power. It’s actually a protracted computer memory joke. :)

(victim wasn’t saved (“written to memory”) in their first death, and now has trouble being written to everyone else’s person-memory.

On that note, victim being recovered from being “deleted” is computationally plausible, probably more so than being recovered from being unsaved. Standard computer deletion doesn’t get rid of data, it just marks it as junk that can be overwritten. Since victim was recovered quickly, there wasn’t much time to be overwritten.)

The initial concept is that victim is extra-forgettable to the Becker sticks (as Alan's PC was where they were deleted), but that got sorta dropped? Not super great for writing a story where victim’s missing— if I had a longer fic where vic’s working in the shadows, I might have included that, and had the Becker sticks have conspicuous gaps in memory as part of a side-plot.

This actually was come up with before AVA 11 came out and victim's full backstory was unknown, so it really was just a memory joke, with the hypothesis that victim’s grey color came from not being saved, and that there may be other lingering effects; but with the information we got in AVA 11, here’s sort of how I think the development of the power went down.

Being unsaved planted the seed of the power in victim; throughout their many deaths, victim sort of acquired an internal mantra of “don’t notice me, don’t look at me,” which helped solidify the power. Of course, it didn’t work on Alan. In their escape, getting so tangled up with Mitsi’s life particles gave Mitsi some natural resistance to victim’s ability (because, TBF, if Mitsi wasn’t immune, I don’t think victim would have the survival skills to make it). Breaking through the Sky Tiles really messed victim and their code up (I mean, it even changed how their head was animated), and made their memorability problem worse.

As a treat(?) for reading this— holy cow 3k+ word— ramble, here’s the first thing I wrote for the AU to play around with the idea, made defunct by AVA 11! And yes I fill in parts I don’t want to write with carets.

<Scene: Vic leading Agent into figuring out his power><Some sort of lead in> The boss snorted softly, and tipped over the nameplate they kept on their desk, as if anyone could forget that this was the boss’s office.

“All right, Agent,” said the boss, “What’s my name?”

“Sir,” Agent said, “I’ve worked for you for over a year. I know who you–”

“My name, Agent Smith.”

Agent sighed. “It’s…” he trailed off. He should know it. The boss made no effort to hide their identity. It was just on the tip of his tongue– why didn’t he know it? Something was wrong.

“Precisely,” said the boss, a touch sardonic.

Agent’s brow furrowed, the boss had introduced themself; they had tracked him down and given him a tech demo– they’d said their name was…

“It’s V… It’s Vic–” once again Agent paused. That wasn’t the boss’s whole name. Thinking back on it, he’d thought that the boss’d had an odd name, but…

“...huh,” said the boss, “Most people don’t get that far.” They tipped the nameplate back up so that Agent could read their name again.

Ah right, that was their name. No wonder Agent thought it was odd.

“Apparently,” said the boss, “I just have one of those faces. The forgettable kind. As well as that sort of name, personality, and personal history.”

“I don’t think that’s… normal,” Agent said, slowly.

“Assuredly not.”

<Agent leaves>

…fuck, what was the boss’s name again?

[friedbaekhyunandeggso]

found you - ch. 5 (part I)

pairing: gojo satoru x female oc (ara natsuna)

tropes: psycho! rival! athlete! yandere! gojo x introvert! booksmart! sheltered! rbf! oc

warnings: 18+ only babes, stalking/possessive themes, profanity, coercion, pet names (kitten, baby), begging, mentions of abusive parents, w33d, dub/non-consented sex, unprotected & protected sex, rough sex (just pls be an adult before reading this)

word count/plot: [17.3k!] ara catches gojo's attention when news breaks that she is the top academically ranked student in their grade. he is ranked second. he tries to befriend her but she ignores him. despite her obvious disinterest, his obsession begins...

a/n: ahaaa so i know this has been a long time coming tbh i wasn't even sure if i was ever going to end up finishing writing this chapter bc it is soooo long. prolly the biggest chapter yet. i just didn't want to post it without completing it all and maybe at the end of this chapter (in part 4) you'll see why. regardless tysm for even being interested & pestering me enough to feel guilty about leaving u guys on a cliffhanger for so long haha. u guys got me thru writing this toxic bs but here it finally is!! enjoyy

ch. 1 , ch. 2 [ part 1 | part 2 ] , ch. 3 , ch. 4 , chapter 5 [ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 ]

She couldn’t stop crying. The loud pitter-patter of the rain behind her felt like her tears.

Gojo clutched her so tight, it was almost reassuring. She almost wished he could crush her to dust. She was tired of herself.

And now, she reached rock bottom. She went to him.

She knew what that meant. What stepping into Ijichi’s car would entail. And she hadn’t stopped.

She went to him.

And now her consequences were own to bear.

Ijichi grabbed her fallen duffel bag from the ground beside her. He’d offered to carry her bag for her but she refused. She supposed it didn’t matter now because she dropped it the second Gojo held her in his arms. 

Gojo’s voice was faint to her ears, “That all her stuff?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take it to my room.”

Her breathing evened out as the last of her tears slipped down her face. She had no tears left to cry.

The moonlight streaming through the windows casted shapes along on the floor, a slanted reflection of the tall windows. The outlines luminous enough to subtly brighten the dimly lit living room–if that’s what this expansive space even was. It was so quiet, her sniffles and uneven breath felt like the loudest thing in the room.

His fingers ran down her hair, “You done?” he whispered, voice soft.

She glanced up at him-heat scattering along her cheeks as she realized this was the second time she’d cried on him as if he weren’t a part of the reason. She supposed it didn’t matter anymore, especially not after the decision she’d made.

His iridescent eyes searched her face as he whispered once-more, “Can I kiss you now?”

Her puffy eyes narrowed, “Seriously?” she croaked.

A low, whiny sound left him as he tugged her further up his lap-pressing his forehead to hers. “Just one, just one,” he insisted-trying to convince her, “On the cheek.”

It seemed he was helpless to his instincts because he didn’t wait for an answer-quickly tilting his head to press a short yet eager peck to her cheek.

She felt him pause, his lips ghosting up her temple before kissing her forehead. She sighed, she knew it wouldn’t be just one.

Suddenly he was kissing her all over—showering her face with short, chaste kisses that landed everywhere but her lips.

She writhed on his lap before placing a hand on his chest to push him back, “Satoru!”

“Sorry, sorry.” he sighed, “I just missed you. A lot.”

She merely stared at him, searching his crystalline eyes. She could only imagine why.

My body, you mean.

“All of you.” he corrected, a light smile slipping across his lips.

She instantly tensed. She hadn’t meant to say that outloud.

He lightly flicked her forehead, “Your mind..”

He lowered his hand, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip, “..your naughty mouth..”

His fingertips trailed down her navel, “I guess I missed this place too..”

Her eyes widened, quickly catching his hand before it went lower.

His lips curled into a smirk, “But your panties kept me company.”

“You-?” Her face instantly heated up when she realized. She threw his hand away from her, “Ugh. You’re actually disgusting.”

His eyes glittered with amusement, “Yet you came back.”

She glared, her face simultaneously blazing brighter as she hastily turned her face aside.

He laughed-the sound too triumphant for her liking. 

A yawn suddenly left her lips. It seemed her lack of sleep finally caught up to her.

“You tired?”

She froze-her eyes flitting to him. If she said yes he’d most likely take her to his bedroom and she didn’t trust what that would entail. She didn’t trust him. She truly couldn’t tonight. Especially not with the way her whole body ached.

“No.” she replied instinctively.

“Hmm,” his blue eyes raked over her countenance, “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Are you…staying the night?���

She swallowed before whispering, “Yes.”

“Just tonight?” he asked-a little too quickly.

She paused, her voice hollow, “Longer.”

She saw something flash through his glowing eyes. His arms around her tightening possessively.

He nuzzled her hair, inhaling sharply-before exhaling when he pressed his forehead to hers, “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

She hesitated, voice shaky, “N-not right now.”

His gaze sharpened, eyes colder than ice, “Why?”

“Because..” she slipped her shaky hand over his jaw, “I don’t want to be sad anymore.”

He went quiet at that, seemingly still for a moment. Her fingers stroking his jaw wavered as something close to fear made her stomach knot.

Suddenly he tilted his face into her palm, his eyes flickering close like a cat enjoying their scratches.

“Hm..” he murmured before kissing the bottom of her palm, his eyes bright, “I got an idea.”

He showed her ‘their’ home (he kept calling it that)—giving her a house tour. Well, estate because that's what it really was. There were so many rooms, so many floors. It was entirely impossible for her to remember them all.

It was 4 am and they still weren’t done with touring the ‘house’ yet. It was truly unreal. It was nothing like she’d ever seen, not even in her dreams. The architecture was so ‘old world’–everything exquisitely detailed down to a T. It was breathtaking, and overwhelming.

A music room. ball room. library. gym. balconies–several balconies, as well as living rooms, dining halls. engraved ceilings. statues–real-life, hand carved statues. She couldn’t fathom it. She couldn’t understand how someone could have so much.

Her head was spinning.

She stared at the marble steps growing larger behind him as he carried her upstairs. Looks like her tour was done for the night.

She glanced up at the sky themed mural on the vast ceiling and walls. She could only imagine how long that took to paint. It suddenly struck her that every part of the house contained some sort of blue. Not always the exact same shade but there were hues of blue everywhere.

Especially the main areas. The kitchen, the foyer, the extravagant pool directly in front of the manor—she couldn’t help but notice that those areas were the same shade of blue. The blue felt oddly familiar, maybe because it meshed so well with the rest of the white and tan-ish gold theme of the manor. She couldn’t help but commend whoever the interior designer was-they’d truly done the estate justice.

She glanced up at him and suddenly everything clicked into place. His eyes. Everything blue was a similar shade to his eyes. Even now, the sky themed mural on the ceiling above matched perfectly with his eyes.

“Gojo..?”

He glanced down at her. His platinum hair was slicked back today-for what reason, she didn’t know but it seemed the gel couldn’t tame him either because unruly white strands hung all over his forehead.

He pouted, “You know how I feel about that name, sweets.”

“Satoru.” she corrected quietly.

A subtle smirk formed on his lips as he perused her countenance fondly, “Mhm?”

She absentmindedly held onto his shirt tighter, “Does everyone in your family have blue eyes?”

He raised a playful brow, “Why do you ask?”

“Cause.. there's a lot of blue everywhere. You said this has been your family home for generations so I thought-maybe-“ she fumbled with her words, “It wasn’t a coincidence.”

A sly smile slipped across his lips, “Smart girl.”

He lowered his head to dramatically blink in her face, purposely showing her his big diamond blues up-close. She pushed his chin away, squinting in disapproval.

His smile widened, “Yeah, everyone in my family’s got blue eyes. It doesn’t matter who we marry, the kid always gets blue eyes.”

He glanced up at the sky mural above them as he made it to the top of the steps, “I guess we made it a personality trait.” he teased.

She glanced at the rest of the floor ahead of them. It looked empty. In fact, the only people they’d encountered during her tour was a maid here and there.

“Where is everyone?” she asked impulsively.

“What do ya mean?”

She glanced up at him, “Is there no one else here?”

She’d known he was an only child but.. all this space? There had to be others.

He nodded before pressing a delicate kiss to her neck as he continued to carry her through the hallway.

“No one but us.” he smirked.

A cold shot of fear entered her system as she rapidly became hyper-aware of her situation, who she was with–what she was doing–his arms carrying her, bridal style, at that. 

She tensed, “Put me down.”

He glanced down at her-walking a bit slower, “But we’re almost to my room.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly-an uneasy feeling swirling in her gut, “We’re going to your room?”

“Yeah,” He blinked, “What—you wanna stay up?”

She paused, “No.. It’s late, I’m tired.”

When he didn’t respond, she added, “A-and we have school tomorrow..”

A short laugh left him, “Oh, we’re not goin’ to school tomorrow.”

She stared at his room. It was the size of her living room–quadrupled. It was dauntingly surreal, the level of luxury he was encircled with. It was nothing short of royalty. She didn’t understand how he eagerly stayed all those nights in her room when he had access to this much space.

It felt irregular for her to even be seeing all of this–like she shouldn’t be here.

His chest brushed the back of her head. His hands lightly touching her waist, “You gonna stand here all night?”

She hesitated before stepping past the threshold. His hands sliding off her as she walked into his room.

He waited a beat, watching her step further into his domain with slow, unhurried steps. It was almost teasing, the way she took her sweet time, as if he hadn’t repeatedly dreamt of her being here with him countless of times. Whether it be a passionate fantasy of them intertwined on his bed or a glimpse of a future where they made this home less empty–he never dared to believe he’d get here this soon. 

The feeling that settled in his gut was so utterly possessive-it was visceral in its intensity. This was their room now. Everything here was hers as much as it was his.

She looked so curious, so hesitant-maybe for good reason. He watched her twirl around slightly, taking in the room as if it were too much to accept. Her eyes swept over the lounge area, the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony, the leveled embroidered ceiling. Her neck arching as she tilted her head back to peer at it.

A subtle smile slipped across his lips. Too damn cute. Her eye for art was too obvious, her eyes always catching little details. His great-great grandfather also had an eye for such things. He utilized that interest when he designed this place.  She’d fit right in here.

He quietly closed the doors behind himself-his eyes never leaving her. He covertly followed behind when she stepped through the short pathway that led into the private area of their room. Her eyes skimmed over the king sized bed, the flat screen TV across it, the multiple doors at each corner-those leading to his closet, bathroom and study. He’d show her them all tomorrow.

She stood beside his bed, completely distracted by her surroundings when he silently approached her. His arms snaked around her sides, drawing her close to kiss the crown of her head. She gasped.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

His low voice sent a shot of fear up her spine. His hands traveled up her hip bones to the dip of her waist, squeezing lightly. She winced-hard.

“W-wait-“ she quickly turned around, hastily sitting on the edge of the bed. Her eyes wide, “I can’t tonight. I really can’t.”

His white brows drew together when he spotted her arm over her stomach, “Why?”

“B-because-“ she came up with something on the spot, “I’m on my period.”

He took a step towards her, “You know a little blood doesn’t scare me.”

Shit. Shit! She did know that. Her frantic mind couldn’t come up with a good excuse.

She slowly shifted further back on the bed-trying not to move too fast. She knew if she made it too obvious that she was trying to gain some distance from him, he’d act without a second thought.

“M-my cramps are really bad. It hurts-a lot, please.” her voice shook.

He held her gaze for a long moment. She thought her anxiety would end her before he responded.

“Take your shirt off, Ara.”

Her eyes widened, “I-I’m in pain, Toru-please.”

His eyes flared, “Not for that.”

He moved towards her and she instinctively scrambled back. Just as she made it halfway across the bed, he grabbed her by the leg. She screamed as he dragged her back to the bed’s edge.

She struggled against him, crying and writhing as he pinned her wrists above her head-forcing her in place. He ripped her shirt off with his free hand.

She sobbed, turning her face aside, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn’t bear this-she never let anyone see her like this.

His lucid eyes slowly took in the sight of her body. Her skin tone matching bra the only article of clothing on the upper half of her body. Bruises of varying colors blooming all over her torso—especially along her clavicle, sternum and abdomen. There were also thin red cuts on her skin-some longer than others, some scabbed over and others still bubbling with caked blood.

He released her wrists, standing over her in pure, unadulterated silence. He stared as she instinctively turned to her side, curling in on herself as she sobbed-unintentionally revealing her back. It was in worse condition than her front, with a few larger cuts marking her shoulder blades and spine. Most were already scabbing. A bruise faintly resembling the shape of a hand on her upper arm.

“He cut you.” his voice was flat, purely factual.

She shook her head, her voice cracking, “N-no, I fell on broken glass.”

“Don’t lie.” he snapped.

“I’m not!” she shouted through tears, partially sitting up, “He kept kicking me so I fucking fell on the pieces of the mirror. H-he dragged me t-through it s-so-“ 

Her voice cracked and she curled in on herself once more—trembling.

“He.. dragged you?” he repeated, voice hollow.

“He threw so many things..” she murmured to herself, a bit zoned out,  “I don’t know how he’s gonna clean it all up.”

His eyes widened. Suddenly she sat up, “He remembered you, y’know. He asked me who the white haired boy was.”

He stared down at her-appearing to consider that, “Is that right?”

She glanced aside-deep in thought, “Yes. He remembered you.. hurt him that night. I-I don’t know how.” her voice ended as a whisper.

“So he knows of me then..” he nodded a few times, “That’s good.”

He sauntered backwards a couple steps, “I should pay him a visit.” His tone was oddly light.

Her eyes snapped up, refocusing on him, “What?”

He glanced down at his rolled up sleeves, eyeing the Patek on his wrist, “It’s not too late now, is it? He should be up.” he mused.

She rose from her seat on the bed, “W-what are you talking about?” her voice slightly raspy.

He lowered his arm, shrugging, “It’s about time we officially met, no? I’ve been wanting to introduce myself for a while..”

His eyes raked over her body once more before he tugged at his tie-easily loosening it as he turned around, “There’s a lot I want to ask him.”

Her eyes widened. His tone was too light. His attitude too airy. Something wasn’t right.

She closed the distance between them-nearly tripping as she ran on wobbly legs to stand in front of him, “What are you saying?!” her voice panicked, “You can’t see him-You can’t-He’s n-not okay. I didn’t tell you so-“

“Relax, Ara,” his voice was silkier than honey as he touched the side of her face, “I just wanna talk, that’s all.”

She gripped his shirt, staring up at him through tear-filled eyes as she spoke, “No, you don’t. You don’t!”

She searched his face wildly, heart beating erratically in her chest as she whispered, “You’re angry.”

He stared down at her for a long moment before a fervid smile slowly blooms across his lips, “You got me all figured out, don’t you?”

He tilts his head, his hands slipping around her loose fists at his shirt. He tugs her wrists-forcing her close-close enough that his lips brush hers with every word he spoke.

“No one touches what’s mine, remember? No one.”

He yanks her wrists off him-with enough force to make her stumble backwards. She gasped out, clutching the armrest of a nearby loveseat to keep from falling. She quickly glanced up to see him stalk towards the door.

“No!” she ran towards him, attempting to grab the back of his shirt, “Toru! Toru-please!”

He easily side-stepped her.

She lunged, clutching onto him with all her might. Her arms locked around his waist as she buried her face in his back.

“Stop, toru! Stop–STOP!” she cried out, he could feel her body trembling with the force of her cries, “It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t fucking matter–I hate him!”

He froze. If there was one thing about Ara, she never-ever-spoke badly about her dad. Even if he brought up an obvious disparity, it didn’t matter. She would easily shoot him down with a cold look or say ‘don’t talk about him’ with such a severe edge that even he decided it wasn’t worth the argument.

Her arms tightened around him as she whispered off, “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him–” her voice cracked.

Suddenly her arms disappeared from his waist and he immediately turned around. Her back was to him, her hands running rampantly through her hair as she sobbed, “I HATE HIM–I HATE HIMMM!”

The pain in her voice, the frustration echoed throughout the walls and seemed to rack through her own body as she visibly shook.

He reached for her, “Ara-”

She smacked his hand away, “No!”

He reached for her again, voice softer, “Ara—”

“NO!” she screamed before scurrying away from him, “You don’t get it—you don’t get it!”

She shook her head, another sob leaving her lips before she raked her hands through her hair once more, “I did everything for him-everything! I did everything for my family but guess what? GUESS WHAT?”

She went on, “No one gives a shit! My dad doesn’t give a shit. My mom doesn't give a shit. And n-now I don’t give a shit. I’m done. I’m done!”

But she was lying. Her watery eyes, trembling lips, wobbly knees. Every part of her was hurting.

She dropped to her knees and he immediately went to her. He lowered himself before her but before he could get a word out, she shoved him back—barely making him budge.

She yelled, “I don’t wanna see him again! I don’t want to-” her voice cracked.

He pulled her close, letting her lean against his chest. His long arms easily enclosing around her back, one hand at the crown of her head, “You don’t have to.” he murmured into her temple before kissing her forehead, “You don’t ever have to.”

A deep sob left her, the kind that made her feel so utterly vulnerable. She’d been trying to hold it back, gritting her teeth so tightly to the point that it hurt but it was useless. Useless, when it came to being held in his arms.

She clutched his arms as he sank lower to the floor, letting her fully lean into him-in between his long legs. He gently rubbed her back, trying to quell her trembling as she buried her face into his chest.

Suddenly her head shot up-a lost look to her tear stained eyes, “Y-you can’t see him either! No one can see him-” her voice was so small, so hoarse from all her yelling and crying. Her frail hands tightened around his sleeves, over his biceps, as she shook her head.

“You can’t leave me,” her voice cracked again, “You can’t–”

His eyes widened before he instantly cupped her face, “No, kitten, no, no, no,” his voice oh so gentle as he planted sweet deft little kisses all over her face as she cried, “I’m not leaving you, I’m never leaving you.”

“You promise?”

How could I ever deny you?

“I promise.”

Her shoulders sagged before she curled into his chest once more. He wrapped his arms around her again-one hand at her lower back and the other in between her small shoulder blades. One long leg semi raised beside her while the other was bent at the knee, outstretched on the floor. His fingers raked through her hair as he rested his chin atop her head.

He patiently listened to the pace of her uneven breaths as she cried, listened to the way her breathing gradually staggered less and less and grew into something more slow, more shallow. 

“Why is it always you..” she suddenly asked. her voice low, a subtle scratchiness to it before she repeated herself, slightly stronger, “Why’s it always you?”

She pulled back from him slightly and he loosened his arms to give her some room. He glanced down to find her staring-somewhat zoned out-at his chest.

“Why are you always there-“ for me, her voice cracked, “..why do you always know what to do… what to say… to make me feel better… why.. why? why!” she didn’t know when she started to hit him but she was. Her tiny fists connected with his chest, blow after blow–continuously yelling ‘why!’ as she did so.

His lips were moving, probably saying her name but she didn’t hear it–not until her arms were pinned to the floor and he was over her.

“Ara!” his voice wasn’t angry at all, maybe a bit admonishing but even then he didn’t appear offended. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be.

His bright blue eyes stayed on her for a lingering moment. He was slightly out of breath, she felt it against her skin as puffs of air traveled down her neck. She watched his eyes slowly look her up and down-as if just now realizing their proximity. His hands unconsciously tightened around her wrists.

She quickly turned her face into her elbows, “No–”

Suddenly he yanked her wrists higher, forcing her arms to straighten. No where for her to hide now.

Her eyes widened as he leaned closer, his face merely millimeters away, “I make you feel good..” his eyes trailed up and down her face once more, “cuz your mine, Ara, your mine.”

Her mouth parted a hair's breadth and suddenly his lips were on her. In that all consuming manner that she’d nearly forgotten–no, more like tried to forget. Every part of her lit up in that heedy addictive way that only he knew how to ignite. His tongue sweeped her mouth as he tilted his head, needing to taste all of her. A broken whimper left her lips as he kissed her like a madman, an addict who hadn’t gotten its fix in too long.

His jaw opened up as he pulled back for a millisecond only to attack her mouth again. Her lips were merely his to use with how demanding he was being. It was like he was trying to prove his words to her, by branding her lips with his own. She could feel the desperation of his obsession thrumming through him, through the force of his hands on her wrists, through the pressure of his lips on hers.

When he finally pulled away, his vivid eyes were hazy with lust–his hair infinitely more disordered than usual.

Her elbows shook as she attempted to move her hands underneath his grip, “Toru.. let me touch you.”

He froze-as if in shock-before instantly letting her wrists go. She placed her hands on his chest, pushing him aside so that he laid on his back, on his elbows. She climbed atop him, planting her ass on his abs–inches away from where she knew he’d prefer her to be. He stared at her with wide eyes as her hands slid up his chest to either side of his neck.

She took her time lowering her face above his.. before kissing him. Her kiss was slow, light and teasing at first. Her lips pressing his sweetly before nipping at his lower lip-a trick she’d learned from him. She felt his breath hitch–and reacted a millisecond before he could. Her tongue slipped past his lips and intertwined with his. She gripped his jaw-controlling the pace as she turned the kiss into something molten hot and sensual to a degree that made him dizzy.

So much so, he nearly lost strength in his elbows and fell back but she broke the kiss. He leaned up slightly-chasing her lips-but she pushed his shoulders, making him fall back.

He groaned.

She smiled slightly. He never wanted their kisses to end.

Her palms rested over his pecs as she stared down at him. She mumbled something, her voice entirely too faint to hear.

His head immediately snapped up. His big blue eyes blown wide, “What?”

She squinted, “I’m not saying it again.”

A seductive grin split across his lips as he sat up, she slid into his lap in the process.

“You missed me?” His forehead pressed into hers as his eyes sparkled with satisfaction, “I knew it.”

“Your hearing things.”

His hand slipped into her hair, around her nape and suddenly they were kissing again. His lips insistent at first before growing more gentle, more probing.

He pulled away, his nose nudging hers, “You're staying here.”

He hadn’t asked but she heard the undercurrent of question in his tone.

She nodded.

His fingers around her nape tightened slightly, “Not just tonight right?”

He already asked her this but she hesitated anyway, “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

A slight laugh left him as he recalled the countless times she vehemently denied him from bringing her here whenever he offered, “Right.”

He watched her glance away, unsurely, “I’ll stay here as long you let me.”

Something within him swelled so strongly he nearly crushed her in his arms then and there, but instead he snaked his arms slowly around her shoulders, drawing her as close as possible.

She felt his smirk against her lips, “I’ll keep you here forever then.”

She awoke to the sweet smell of waffles and maple syrup. She jolted upright on the bed, only to immediately crumple in on herself at the pain that consumed her. It looked like all the pain-numbing salves the nurse applied last night could only deter so much.

She gasped slightly, hand over her stomach as she writhed.

“Ma’am-Ma’am, are you okay?”

Her eyes shot open to see she was in an extravagant, sunlight lit room-Gojo’s room. Last night had been real then.. not just a bad nightmare…

She pulled the covers up when she saw an elderly woman in a monochrome outfit standing at her bedside. A cart filled with several trays of breakfast food behind her.

She blinked, completely at a loss for words.

“Should I call the doctor?” The woman inquired-despite her monotone voice and wary gaze she seemed genuinely concerned.

“N-no,” she croaked before clearing her throat. She slowly straightened to a sitting position, “.. Who are you?”

“I’m Marin.”

Ara gave her a once-over and belatedly realized that her outfit could surpass as a maid uniform. She supposed her all black attire was a requirement, similar to Ijichi-who always wore black head to toe. The only color being that tiny blue emblem at the chest pocket—the Gojo family sigil.

Ara swallowed, “Where’s Satoru?”

“He wanted me to inform you that he had a family matter to attend to. He won’t be long. He’d like for you to eat breakfast without him.”

“He didn’t go to school?” she questioned.

She shook her head, “No, ma’am.”

Her brows furrowed as she glanced at the several trays on the cart beside her. There was too much-food-drinks-fruits-it was completely excessive.

“He doesn’t.. expect me to eat all of that, does he?”

Marin paused, “I’m sure he’d want you to eat as much as you like.”

She stared at the cart in wonder. The entire contents of the cart was enough to feed a family of ten-maybe even fifteen.

Marin followed her gaze to the cart and clasped her hands together in front of herself. “Please let me know if you need anything else.”

“Erm-“ Ara stammered, “I’m good. Thank you.”

She slightly bowed her head and exited the room.

She felt the sheets shift slightly and immediately opened her eyes. Gojo sat on the edge of the bed, beside her.

He looked absolutely breathtaking. The sunlight streaming through the open windows lit the edges of his white hair, casting an angel-like glow to one side of his face. His blue eyes glittered as he smiled.

He tousled her hair, “Wakey, wakey.”

His touch drew out of her daze. She quickly shoved her face back under the sheets, groaning. She heard him laugh.

He tugged the blanket lower-revealing her face again. “Araa, you barely ate y’know.”

“I ate enough.” she muttered, “Who eats that much in the morning?”

“Me.” he said, rather upbeat.

She narrowed her eyes before freezing when he leaned close. She turned away a millisecond before his lips touched hers.

“I-I didn’t brush my tee—“

His hand found her throat, rendering her frozen when he pressed a sweet yet passionate kiss to her lips.

He withdrew, a satisfied smile on his lips, “You know I don’t care about that stuff, kitten.”

His blue eyes looked her up and down slowly. In the midst of his silent perusal she asked, rather quietly- “Did something happen with your family?”

His eyes widened before he smiled again, “Ah, right-you met Marin. What’d you think of her? She was so curious about you.”

Ara blinked, “.. she was?”

His smile turned impish, “I don’t usually have girls running into my arms and crying on my doorstep-despite what you may think.”

She buried her face into the sheets once more, “Shut up.”

“You were so cute y’know-”

She squeezed the sheets tighter, “Stop talking!”

He chuckled, tugging her blanket down again. He leaned towards her, “Make sure to call her if you need anything when I’m not here, ‘kay? She knows where everything is. She’s been with my family for 50 years.”

Her eyes shot open, “50 years?!”

He smirked at her shock, “Mhmm..”

He cupped the side of her face, his thumb playing with her bottom lip, “You’re gonna be with me for much longer..” he grinned.

She smacked his hand away. “Go away.” she mumbled before pulling the sheets up once more.

He laid down atop her, tickling her through the blanket. She gasped before laughing uncontrollably. She twisted underneath him-making a mess of the sheets as she did so.

His grin widened, “Never.”

“Toru-toru! Wait, wait. It hurts.” she whined through laughs.

He paused, immediately tugging the blanket down to see her flushed face. He watched her gather her breath, “Sorry.” he replied.

He waited a moment before resting his head on her chest, continuing to stare at her. He absentmindedly twirled a strand of her hair until her breath returned to normal.

“Are you gonna lay in bed all day?”

She turned her face aside, not meeting his gaze, “.. Is it bad if I do?”

He stared at her-his blue eyes searching her face for a moment, “Course not.”

She glanced down at him, holding his gaze for a few seconds before her face heated up. She didn’t know how he managed to look so innocent sometimes-despite being the most chaotic individual she knew. Maybe it was those big baby blue eyes. They ought to swallow her up whole at this point.

She placed her hand over his eyes, “You should’ve went to school.” she muttered.

He shook his head to move her hand away, “And leave you here all by yourself? After I just got you back? Hell no.”

“Satoru-”

He nuzzled his face between her collarbones-making her squirm from ticklishness, “I wanna stay with you.” he whined.

“Okay, okay.” She huffed, turning her face aside to cover her eyes with her arms. She didn’t want him to see the effect his words had on her.

A moment of silence ensued until she felt him kiss her cleavage, somewhere along the soft skin that treaded above her breasts. She shivered, shifting slightly, “Toru..”

She was grateful he hadn’t tried to touch her again after everything that occurred last night. She wasn’t sure if her wounds would stop him when he kept kissing her before bed. She could tell he wanted to go further.. but it seemed he had enough decency to hold back.

She felt his breath whisper down her skin as he hummed, “This doesn’t feel real.. you being here…doesn’t feel real.”

She raised her arms slightly to look down at him laying over her. Her breath caught at the sight. He was looking at her as if.. as if he had everything he wanted.

She gently cupped his jaw, her chest inadvertently rising as she forced herself to breathe. If someone had told her at the start of this semester that Gojo would look at her like this she would’ve told them to go back to the psych ward they were discharged from. And yet, here she was.

Her eyes flitted between his before she swallowed inaudibly. She used her hands on his face to lure him closer, gently pressing her lips to his.

He instantly deepened the kiss-his head pushing her further into the pillow. A subtle sound left her, “mmmh!”

His tongue moved eagerly against hers-unrelenting. She slipped her fingers through his hair, swiftly kissing him back with just as much strength.

He immediately tilted his head, intensifying their lip lock-until she began to run her fingers through his hair, somewhat coaxingly. Her lips moved softly over his-kissing him sweetly before using her hands in his hair to gently pull him back.

Their shallow breaths filled the minimal air between them. She ran her hand over his smooth cheekbone as she spoke quietly-through uneven breaths, “What if I’m not real..”

He exhaled in faint humor, his gaze flitting between her lips and eyes, “Yeah?”

A subtle smile bloomed on her lips, “I’m just a figment of your imagination..” she teased.

He nuzzled her nose with his own, his typical smirk on his lips. “Nah.”

“You’re dreaming.” she continued.

His smirk widened, “We do different stuff in my dreams.”

Her eyes widened before she shoved his face away. His bright laughter filling the room.

“I really don’t wanna go..”

“Should we both skip?”

“No.” She glanced up at him, “You should go to class.”

Gojo blew out a puff from his joint, “Now that’s not fair.” he complained.

“Why’d you park all the way out here?” Another voice pitched in from nearby.

Gojo glanced over from his perch against the car before tossing his unfinished joint in the air and rushing to- “Suguru!” he slipped his arm over the male’s shoulder, greeting him enthusiastically.

Suguru accepted his liveliness with a mere shake of his head. He lightly elbowed Gojo before returning his hands to his pockets, “What’s got you all-oh.”

Suguru’s dark eyes landed on Ara and nodded in greeting, “Glad to see you back.”

Gojo used his free hand to gesture towards her, “You see, Ara here is going through a little..” he paused, as if considering the right word for it, “-social anxiety moment so I parked all the way here for her sake.”

She glared, “What?!”

It was true to some extent. When they pulled up to school in his car, he’d pulled into his unofficial yet ‘official’ parking spot-which was the first one closest to the school. No one else parked there but him-it seemed no one else ‘dared’ to. But Ara wasn’t mentally prepared to step out of his car and have all eyes on her again. She’d gotten comfortable slinking back to her semi-unnoticeable demeanor at school and wasn’t ready to be forced back into the spotlight again.

“It looks like you're tryna’ hide.” Geto muttered, kicking a nearby rock to cover the joint on the ground.

Gojo blinked at Ara, “Am I wrong?”

Ara’s glare intensified, “I asked you to park away from the school entrance, not the furthest spot in the entire lot! Now we look even more sus.”

The boys watched her discreetly peek past the car. She instantly noticed the other students glancing their way-a few even pointing at Gojo’s car-before murmuring amongst themselves. She raised her hands to her head, turning her back to them as she made a noise of frustration.

Geto chuckled under his breath before glancing at Gojo beside him, “You didn’t kidnap her, did you?”

Gojo beamed, “Nope. She came back to me by herself.”

“For real?”

“For real real.”

Ara closed her locker door only to jump when she saw Millie behind it.

Millie stood with her hands on her hips, “You and Gojo are back together?!” 

“Holy shit, Mills,” She glanced around before snapping quietly, “Can you talk lower?”

Millie threw her hands up, “How come you didn’t tell me?”

Ara sighed, readjusting her tote bag over her shoulder before turning to walk down the hallway. Millie walked in stride beside her.

“I’m living with him now.” Ara mumbled.

Millie’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, “What?! No way.”

Ara kept her eyes low, “Yeah.”

“How?” Millie asked.

Ara’s eyes shot to her, “I told you. My dad kicked me out.”

Millie stared at her before stammering out, “Wait so.. your Dad was legit about that?”

Ara raked a hand through her lengthy hair, barely keeping the annoyance from her tone as she responded lowly, “Yes.”

Millie pried, “He hasn’t contacted you since then?”

Ara stopped walking, not looking Millie in the eye as she nodded.

Millie merely stared at Ara in shock-while she fidgeted uneasily under her gaze. Millie knew how Ara was, there was no way she was comfortable living without her Dad.

Millie asked, “What are you gonna do?”

Ara shrugged.

“Are you really not gonna call him?”

Something flashed through Ara’s eyes before her poker face returned. She merely shrugged again-still avoiding eye contact.

Millie’s brows furrowed. This behavior was completely unlike the Ara she knew.

Millie belatedly added, “Also.. I thought you never wanted to get back with Gojo? You seemed so sure..”

Ara winced, “Um..”

“Ara!”

The girls both turned around to see Gojo waving his hands wildly from the other end of the hall. A bright, boyish smile on his face.

Millie glanced back at Ara to see her gnawing at her bottom lip. She finally met her gaze, her voice low, “Gotta go. See you.”

Ara quickly walked past her.

Millie watched Ara walk up to him-completely unaware of the students moving aside to make room for her. She watched a cute yet shy smile bloom on the girl’s face the second Gojo engulfed her in his arms. Light laughter coming from her as he squeezed her obnoxiously.

Millie couldn’t believe her eyes. Ara wasn’t the type to enjoy PDA. Even when her and Gojo dated before, she never accepted his PDA without her typical grumpiness or scolding. This was.. different.

Gojo lowered his face to kiss her and she welcomed it-a small, pretty smile on her lips when he withdrew. He automatically returned her smile with a cheeky one of his own.

Wow. She really is different. Millie concluded before staring at them a little longer. Something about them was just so intriguing to watch.. 

Ara looked so small compared to him-especially with the way she had to turn her face up to look at him. Even her hand on his chest looked small. Maybe it was the height difference-maybe it was their clashing personalities-she couldn’t pinpoint it.

I guess I’d cave too if I had the chance. Millie giggled to herself before glancing down at her phone to check the time.

Shit. She only had two minutes to get to her class. Just as she turned to head in the direction of her next class, she froze.

She slowly turned around to see she was standing directly beside the door. Ara must’ve stopped walking here on purpose.

She smiled, glancing over to check where she’d last seen her-only to find that she was gone, as well as Gojo.

She sighed. Ara was always the considerate type-once you got to know her anyway.

At least, that hasn’t changed.

“What the hell?”

“What is it?”

Ara spun around, she hadn’t expected him to be here. He must’ve skipped basketball practice again. This was the third day now-coincidentally the same amount of days since she’d been here, living with him. It seemed he was trying to find every excuse to be home now.

She stared at him leaning against the entrance of their shared closet. Half of the closet had been cleared out and replaced with feminine clothes, accessories, shoes-you name it. It was completely excessive.

She blinked before pointing at the countertop where her duffel bag had been, “Where’s my bag?”

“I dumped it.”

“What?!” she snapped, her voice sharper than a blade.

He held his hands up, laughing airily as he sauntered towards her, “Heh-heh! Just kidding—kidding!” (a/n: he wasn’t kidding, he’s about to make Marin go dumpster diving)

He grasped her shoulders before spinning her around to face the various rows of high-end, maybe even fresh off the runway items.

“Your clothes were dirty so I put ‘em in the wash. You can use all this now ‘kay? I ordered a lot cuz I didn’t know what you’d want—a stylist helped me but we can always do more shopping if you don’t like it.”

She stared at ‘her’ side of the closet in shell-shocked silence. Everything about it was just… unfathomable. A stylist? Did he seriously go to a stylist?

She unconsciously gravitated towards a floor length dress on a hanger. It was undoubtedly stunning. It might’ve looked plain and simple to some but it was quite literally everything to her. A pure white silk dress that looked almost perfectly tailored to her frame. It had the most unique ruching around the chest area and was backless.

She moved the dress aside to look at the other dresses behind it and nearly gaped. A blue thin strap, beautifully detailed, high-low style dress lay before her eyes. It was somewhat early 2000s inspired as well, clearly haute couture. The following dresses-a nearly sheer purple dress, a more modern-esque black dress, an elegant silky light pastel yellow dress-weren't any less impressive.

She found herself touching the angelically soft material of the pastel yellow dress, “This is insane.” she murmured.

The corner of his lip curled upwards.

She immediately withdrew her hand, facing him, “Where the hell would I wear this.”

He shrugged, “Galas, soirées, red carpets, any black tie event.”

She stared at him like he’d grown three heads before remembering he was somewhat known in the media for his father's name—and basketball, annoyingly enough. She was sure his last name contributed to that as well since his family was listed yearly on Forbes richest families, aka billion dollar dynasties. The media would never leave those families alone.

She fixed him with a glare, “I’m not going to any of that.”

He whined, “You have tooo. I need a plus one.“

“No-“ she cut herself off when she saw the classic Louboutin’s amongst the several women’s shoes arranged on the built in shelves, “Red bottoms, seriously?”

His grin reappeared, “They’re hot.”

She rubbed her temple, “Baby, y’know I can barely walk in kitten heels.”

His eyes widened momentarily before his arms slipped around her-drawing her small back against his chest. It was hard to focus on her little complaints when she oh-so-rarely called him pet names.

He kissed the spot of her temple she’d been rubbing moments ago, “You can practice in them?” he suggested lightly.

He kissed her cheekbone while winding his arms a bit tighter around her waist, “M’sorry, kitten. I know I got carried away. I jus got excited cuz you look so sexy in everything-“

He kissed her neck, “-had to spoil you..”

She flushed deeper, “Satoru..”

Her breath scattered all over the place when he continued to kiss and nip her neck.

She pushed at his arms around her, “Toru—Toru, wait, I need pajamas.”

His head suddenly shot up, “Pajamas? Hehe—I got you.”

Her brows furrowed when he quickly released her and began to open several drawers, efficiently searching for whatever he was looking for. He usually never let go of her that easily—or eagerly, at that. It made her nervous.

“Aha~” he grinned brightly, holding up something that she couldn’t see until he tossed it to her. She instinctively caught it as he said, “Wear this.”

She didn’t miss the glint of mischievousness in his eyes before she caught it. She held open the nightgown. She immediately bunched it up-a bright flush on her face.

“I’m not wearing this.“

“Pleaseeeee, don’t be mean.” He was suddenly behind her again. His arms slipping around her waist as he buried his face into her neck, “I got it for you.”

She squirmed slightly, “Toru-“

“Try it, just try it. You can take it off later if you hate it that much but I wanna see it on you.”

She pushed at his arms around her waist, “Let go-“

He dug his face into the crook of her neck once more, “No.” he whined, squeezing her in his arms, “No. no. no-not til you tell me you're gonna try it.

She pushed at his arms again, “Let go, you fool.”

He began to tickle her and she shrieked before laughing. “Oh- my god! Stop! Stop!”

He kept tickling her and she doubled over in laughter. He grinned boyishly as she tried to push his arms.

“Stop what?”

“Toru!” she yelled before shaking her head, “Okay! Okay! I will-let go,”

He didn’t stop. “Promise?”

“Promise-!” she squeaked through giggles.

He instantly let go, a bright smile on his face, “Really?!”

She immediately shoved him, “Fuck you!”

He was laughing now, “You promised~”

She stepped out of the closet, covering the top half of the thin nightgown with her arms. The material was incredibly soft, in fact she might’ve liked it if it wasn’t… the way it was. The straps were awfully thin, it ended a little higher than mid-thigh—in fact she wasn’t sure if it even fully covered her ass—and the chest area of the nightgown was see-through.

“Satoru,” she called out-a bit hesitant, “I’m not wearing this. I’m taking it off, okay?”

When she didn’t hear a response, she walked further into the bedroom, “Okay?”

She’d kicked him out of the closet to change-despite him wanting to stay-but she hadn’t expected him to leave the room. She supposed that saved her the trouble.

Just as she speedily turned around to zip back into the closet and steal one his shirts, an arm slipped around her and she yelped.

“Woa, woa–where you runnin’ off to..”

She tensed when she was pulled flat against his chest. Her back against him as he slowly slid his hands down her sides. He sighed-in a way that was anything but regretful.

“You look so cute, Ara.”

He gently kissed her below the ear and she shifted slightly, turning her face into her opposite shoulder. She wrapped her arms tighter around her chest. 

“Can I take it off now? You saw it..”

“Hold on, hold on,” he whined a bit before pausing, “But I didn’t see all of it, did I?”

She blinked, “What?”

He moved his arms over her own wrapped around her chest. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?” he teased-though there was an undecipherable undercurrent to his tone.

She swallowed, too dumbstruck to respond when he grasped her hands and slowly led them down to her sides–unveiling her ample chest, barely contained within the lace bust.

He inhaled sharply through his nose.

She closed her eyes, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. She felt his gaze from above her shoulder-in fact, she felt it all over. From the strands of her hair pressed against his chest to the goosebumps rising along the skin his eyes pierced. She couldn’t bear it–and his silence only made it more unnerving.

He squeezed her hips, making her jolt.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, a bit quietly.

She swallowed, “N-no.”

His hands slid higher up her sides, into the dip of her waist. He squeezed lightly, “What about here?” he murmured.

She was so tense, she wondered if he sensed it, “No.”

His hands slid higher, his fingers fitting right underneath her plushy underboobs as he gently squeezed her over her ribs.

“And here?” he asked, not a trace of emotion in his low voice.

A sprinkle of pain spread from his hold but it was rather faint. It seemed the wounds her father had given her had healed some. The nurse’s ointments were more effective than she thought.

“A little.” she murmured.

Suddenly he pressed his face into the side of hers.

The sound of his low groan was muffled by her hair as he fisted her nightgown needily. Her nightgown bunching up between his fingers.

“Okay,” he breathed out, his nose grazing her temple as he withdrew-his voice ragged, “That’s okay..”

Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest. She didn’t understand what he was on about.

“I can work with that.” he murmured.

Suddenly he tugged down her straps, “Let’s take this off-“

She didn’t get the chance to react when she was getting walked to his bed-his firm frame walking behind her forcing her to stumble ahead. She held onto the front of her nightgown to keep it from falling.

“Wait-“ she tried to fast walk ahead but couldn’t when she was suddenly grabbed by the hips. She yelled when she was held up and tossed onto the bed. She landed face down in the sheets with her hips in the air.

He hastily unbuckled himself-the sound of his belt hitting the floor and zipper quickly followed. 

She attempted to turn around only for him to steady her hips and flip her nightgown up. He caressed the soft skin of her hips, groaning under his breath, “Fuck, jus’ looking at you..”

She twisted partially to look at him, her movement rather restricted due to his grasp. Fear bloomed in her gut at the hunger in his eyes. She instinctively reached towards him, “Toru, wait-Toru–”

He grabbed her forearm, pinning it to her lower back, “What is it, kitten?”

She winced at the uncomfortable angle he held her arm at, “I’m not ready, Toru-please, I’m not ready.” she pleaded futilely, “My body hurts..”

He bent over her, pressing short needy kisses along her jaw and temple as he rasped, “You said only a little..”

She felt his cock ghost along her inner thigh. He was hard-hard enough that she had to look.

She glanced underneath her partially twisted body to see his rigid cock between her raised hips. His cockhead a prominent shade of pink, as if it was swollen for attention. She couldn’t ignore the veins popping out against his pale length. Her eyes widened as his angry cockhead twitched and touched her belly, a clearish white substance dribbling out the tip.

She buried her face into the sheets, holding back a sob.

“Ara..” his voice was ragged-speaking into her temple, “I miss you, Ara. I wanna be in you..”

She felt his tip graze her pussylips and jolted.

“Toru-toru! Be gentle, be gentle-please.” she begged.

Her begging made him want to do anything but. He straightened to hold his cock at her entrance. He released her restrained arm to keep a hand on her ass.

He pushed his cockhead through her narrow hole, groaning through his teeth, “Fuck, Ara..”

He’d only gotten an inch past the tip in and her cunt was already acting like she couldn’t take it. Her pussy was too damn tight. He would’ve burst right there if he hadn’t gotten himself off that morning-well, every morning since she’d moved in. Sometimes it’d be multiple times a day. It was the only way he kept his hands off of her for this long.

He gripped the rest of his length, trying to push himself deeper—she yelled out, gripping the sheets, “Toru-Toru! Please-nngh—“

He pulled out slightly, only leaving the tip in. Her cunt was so tight it wasn’t letting him leave.

Fuckin’ hell. He glanced down at the sight of his cock stuck in her pussy—only a fourth or so in. The rest of his veiny length waiting to be fully drenched. He was desperate-delirious-addicted.

He squeezed her ass cheeks, hard, “Been two months and you forgot me already, hmm? Do I need to reshape you all over again?”

She gasped, “N-no, please, be gentle with me, please..”

“Sh, sh, sh..” he pressed his hand into her nape, pushing her down, “S’okay…”

He spoke into her temple, “Just listen to me and you’ll be okay, kitten. I promise.”

She cried silently into the sheets.

His hand slid down her nape, along her spine. He gently pressed the middle of her back, “Bend more here.”

He watched her back arch further-her nightgown dropping low to reveal her waist. He just wanted to hold that pretty little waist and fuck her senseless.. but that would have to wait.

He caressed her hips, his tip still lodged in her cunt. His eyes flitted closed as his cockhead nudged her walls, “Raise your hips a bit.”

She complied, her thighs trembling oh so bad as she did so. God, she’s so cute.

He lowered his hands, letting his palms run over her soft ass before his thumbs touched her pussylips right where it suctioned his cockhead. She jolted, whimpering.

“Loosen up here.” he ordered, raspily.

“I-I can’t!” she cried out, face buried in the sheets-hidden from him.

“You didn’t even try, kitten.” he teased.

She merely whimpered in response.

He bent over her once more, pressing his hands to the sheets beside her head while pushing his hips into her slightly.

“You won’t like it if I do it.”

A low, weak whiny sound left her before she wriggled her hips slightly. He watched eagerly as she spread her knees, angling her hips up high around his cock, only to tremble when she tried to lower herself over him.

He groaned, her cunt walls sucking him in so fucking tight. He grabbed her hips, his long fingers leaving marks on her soft skin as he attempted to work with her and slowly push himself in.

I missed this… so much—so fuckin’ much.

Her pussy walls were wrapping around him just right. The rigidness of her cunt gradually giving way the further he seated himself.

Her mewls and whines didn’t stop-only getting louder the deeper he sank into her cunt. His cock was half-way in when he lost it. His fingers dug into her waist-forcing her still-before savagely thrusting his cock all the way through.

“Toru!” she shrieked, “Toru-toru!—fuck!”

His forehead dropped to her nape as he groaned. His grip on her waist unforgiving as he delivered short desperate thrusts to her cunt. Lewd sounds echoing throughout his room.

“-m’sorry, Ara-m’sorry, I can’t—I can’t stop.” he rushed out, completely lost in the feeling of her.

“nnngh-torunnh-ngh! unh-unh-toru!”

His speed picked up. The lewd sound of their sex louder now that her pussy had grown slippery within.

“Missed you s’much-so fuckin’ much—“ he half groaned, half-growled into her ear. His grip on her waist relentless as he pounded into her.

“Never gonna let this pussy forget me again.”

She moaned when his cock reached a spot too deep. She couldn’t take it. He promised he would be gentle and yet here she was. She should’ve known.

His cock twitched and her eyes widened. Oh no.

“Satoru!” she cried, “not inside, not inside-please-“

Suddenly his hand fisted her hair, forcing her face into the sheets as he bent over her. His voice ragged beside her ear, “Let me, Ara, let me-I deserve it.”

“T-toru-nnghf-f-fuck-uungh.”

He didn’t slow down, “Be good to me and take it-all of it.”

“Toru-uh!-ngh! ohhh.” she moaned through tears.

His cock throbbed within her slick cunt. His tip pulsating against her cervix before spurting within her. She felt his warm cum fill her cunt up—it’d been too long since he’d had her bareback.

His mouth was half-open, his eyes squeezed shut as he buried his face into her neck. His hands clasping the back of hers as he groaned.

She felt so fucking good he couldn’t stop. The tip of his cock twitched as it spilt load after load within her. 

He needed her—he needed this.

He squeezed her tits while looking down at her. Her tits bouncing hypnotically with each rough fuck.

His free hand fisted the sheets beside her head, her hair splayed out all over his fingers. The heels of her feet knocking into his lower back as she lay spread open between his knees. Her smooth legs supported by his firm thighs. Her body trembled-addictingly-with each deep rut of his cock. Her eyelids sewn shut as she bit into her lower lip.

He let go of her right breast to grasp her jaw. His thumb swiftly tugging her bottom lip free from her teeth.

“Don’t quiet yourself. It’s just me.”

She merely reddened.

His cock pistoned into her harder—forcing her to cry out.

“Toru-uh-ungh!-hnn-” Broken moans left her.

He bent over her, his hand finding her tits once more. He squeezed greedily before palming her perky nipple. She was breathless—and so helpless to his advances he couldn’t help but fuck her harder. It didn’t help that her tiny pussy walls seemed to gobble him in.

“Be as loud as you want.” he urged-wanting to hear it all. She would always have to keep quiet at her father’s house.

She held onto his forearm as her body jerked.

“unngh-satoru!-p-please-nngh!!”

Her cunt tightened around him. She was close.

He saw it in her face-her trembling lips, her strained expression. She always tried to hide her pretty face when she came, as if she were doing something wrong. It was truly adorable, but she couldn’t hide from him now.

Nor did they have to hide from anyone else.

His lips ghosted her neck as her entire body arched, “This is our home now.”

His cock slipped out of her with a lewd sound. A low sigh left her lips as she plopped onto the sheets. Her breasts pressing into the bed uncomfortably but she was too tired to care.

She felt something warm and thick slowly slip out of her cunt, traveling down her thighs. She couldn’t even think straight.

Suddenly she felt his cockhead touch her leaking cunt again-she jolted, “T-toru!”

But he was already back inside her, buried half-way to the hilt. She was so gummy inside that there was no resistance. He nuzzled her cheekbone, strands of his light hair sticking to her skin. “One more time. One more,” he urged.

She whined through strangled gasps as she felt him push his cock deeper, shoving his spilled cum back in.

“Hhnngh, toru..” She shook her head, her voice cracking, “Y-you said that last time.”

He thrust his hips into her and she cried out-quickly fisting the sheets once more.

She lay in bed, facing him. The moonlight streaming through the thin curtains the only light in the dark room.

Her short uneven breaths loud in the silence.

The air felt thick from their nonstop activities. The scent of sex stuck to the sheets. Her breath still hadn’t recovered-neither had her heartbeat.

His blue eyes glimmered in the dark-not one emotion on his face as he stared at her. He appeared completely composed, a calm aura radiating from him. As if completely satisfied.

He looked agitatedly beautiful. His pale face flushed as he lay his head atop his lean bicep. Strands of his white hair pointed every which way from their sex. She couldn’t count how many times she’d sifted her fingers through his hair to draw him near or away whenever she came.

Light pink nail marks decorated his tautly muscular chest. There were a few along his bulging shoulders as well. She hadn’t realized she marked him that much.  She didn’t even want to think about the marks he left on her.

His hand ran up and down her side reassuringly, lightly squeezing her over her ribs.

He scooched closer, “Breathe, Ara..”

He kissed her forehead, “You’re perfect yanno.. perfect.” A low, slightly rugged edge to his voice.

She closed her eyes when he began to lightly thumb the sensitive skin of her under boob. He always liked to touch her there.

She instinctively held onto his arm, stopping the subtle movement. Her eyes flickering open to find his eyes still on her.

The silent stream of fear coursing through her couldn’t be withheld as she shivered. Her hand wavered over his elbow; her gaze dropped to his arm to reel herself in. She needed to focus on something that wasn’t his eyes.

Her eyes followed the bright green veins protruding against his triceps, down his forearm-like little pathways along his skin. She didn’t notice her hand following her gaze, her fingertips lightly tracing his dark veins.

When her fingers made it up to his wrist, she took his hand-gently lifting it off of her. She intertwined her fingers with his before placing their connected hands beside her cheek, using it as a makeshift pillow for the lower half of her face.

She glanced up at him-finally confident enough too-and immediately flushed at his expression. His light, clear-ish blue eyes were looking at her as if she was the only thing in the universe.

She glanced away from him again, inadvertently squeezing his hand as she did so.

“Toru..” she whispered.

“Hm?”

Her eyes flickered back to his, “What would you do if I didn’t come back?”

She felt his hand subtly twitch in hers before a short silence ensued. It was hard to make out his expression in the dark. They’d fucked all evening since they got back from school so no one had gotten the chance to turn on any lights-in his room anyway.

Suddenly his hand in hers yanked her close. His lips caught hers mid-gasp. The kiss was needy—desperate—and unrestrained. His tongue lashing against hers as he winded his arm around her lower back, keeping her close as she twisted slightly. Her hands on his chest the only thing keeping some distance between their bodies.

He drew his face back, a small grin on his lips as their noses grazed each other.

His arm subtly tightened around her back, “I had a few ideas…”

His eyes shimmered as he searched her face, “You’d hate me if I told you.”

Her breath hitched. She didn’t doubt his words.

Her tone was flat, “You don’t think I hate you already?”

His white teeth were visible in the dark. She hated how attractive his smile was.

He leaned closer, his forehead nudging hers, “Nahh..”

His hand on her lower back traveled down to her ass, squeezing her with enough strength to make her yelp.

He watched her cry out with a grin before whispering into her ear, “You moan like you love me.”

Her face instantly went hot. She pushed his hand away from her ass and quickly turned around to face the other side of the bed—only to be stopped by a firm hand on her hip.

“Where are you goin’ Araa?” A bit of laughter intertwined in his tone.

She didn’t have time to answer because suddenly she was pushed to her back and her hands were pinned to the bed.

He squeezed her wrists before moving her arms so that only one of his hands was necessary to keep her down. His one hand was large enough to curl his fingers around both of her wrists.

His blue eyes were fierce in the dark as he leaned above her, nearly panting as he looked her up and down. She suddenly wished that she wasn’t naked.

She turned her face aside, raising her elbows slightly as if they could cover her.

“What are you doing?” she asked shakily.

His head dropped low, making their foreheads touch, “I’m showing you how I woulda had you tied to my bed..”

Her eyes widened as his free hand touched her arm-his knuckles grazing her skin-making her hands buckle slightly. His gaze was distant, yet alert.

He cupped her breast, making a low whimper leave her lips. Her tits were already so marked up and sore from his attention, she wasn’t sure she could handle anymore.

He continued, “If Suguru wasn’t around you would’ve been right here a week in. Tied up, spread open..”

He squeezed her wrists, “I pictured it.”

His voice dropped low as he looked her up and down again, “I had the rope, just no you.”

His forehead against hers pressed her deeper into the sheets, “I missed you so much, Ara.” She couldn’t miss the desperation running rampant in his tone.

He palmed her breasts, needily, “Suguru stopped me from getting you so many times—I hated it. I jus wanted you back.”

Her eyes widened, “H-he knows?” -that you would literally kidnap me?

“He knows I don’t like being abandoned.”

She gasped when his thumb pressed into her nipple, “Toru!” she squealed.

He leaned back to watch her writhe below him. His gaze growing fond as he played with her. He missed those pretty expressions on her face so damn much.

“He kept telling me to leave you alone..” he tilted his head, tips of his white hair tickling her face, “but look at you.”

Her body arched, pressing her chest into his to slide his hand off her breasts. Her nipples were too sensitive, his touch was too much.

“Toru!” she whined, “No more, toru, please.”

He pecked her lips, loving the feel of her bare tits pressed up against him. He let himself lean into her with all his weight, nearly crushing her petite body. His free hand slipped under her thigh, tugging her leg around his waist.

She moaned weakly. If she’d known her question would lead to this..

He pecked her once more, “Suguru said you’d come back if we were meant to be.”

Her eyes widened as he kissed the heart of her throat.

“He was right.” he whispered, before shoving his length through her slick walls. Her pretty whines masking his groan.

He was right.

“Ara Natsuna?” Mrs. Finch called.

“Absent.” Gojo’s voice answered.

Mrs. Finch raised her head from her clipboard to cut a glance towards Ara’s desk—to find it empty. She’d been ready to scold him but it seemed he was being honest-for once.

She merely squinted at him before continuing down the list.

He smiled to himself, completely unaware of the looks coming from the other students glancing his way. He sat propped up on his elbow, hand supporting his head. His posture lax as he absentmindedly spun a pencil in his free hand.

Suddenly the pencil was snatched away, instantly drawing him from his thoughts.

He blinked to find Geto staring quizzically at him-pencil in hand, “What’s with you?”

The corner of his lip curled, “Oh, nothing.”

Ara glanced down at the steamy dish on the ornate plate before her, with several utensils set out on either side of the plate. She hesitantly raised her hand only to freeze when she heard a camera click.

She immediately glanced up to see Gojo lowering his phone, a smirk on his lips, “Shit-“

She reached out, trying to snatch his phone, “What the hell—“

He easily stretched his arm out of her reach, his grin widening, “Aht, aht, this is for me.”

She leaned back in her seat, scowling, “Why?”

She watched him scroll through his phone with a stupidly wide grin, “Because,” he explained lightly, “I don’t have enough pics of you.”

Her brows furrowed as he continued, “I always take pics on your phone cuz I want you to think of me but when you left I realized I didn’t have you on my phone.”

He set his phone down on the table before resting his face on his propped arm. He reached over to flick her chin with his free hand.

“You won’t give me the chance to miss you like that again but I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

A smug smile slipped across his lips before he gestured towards her food, “Eat. You asked the chef for it after all.”

More like he had asked for her since she was still shy with the house staff. She wasn’t used to having people at her beck and call but she also wanted to test if his chef really could cook everything.

It was simple banter with Gojo at first-with him trying to convince her that his chef could truly cook anything-but it ended with her googling an uncommon dish to purposely throw off the chef. Now, they both sat at the lavish long table in one of the several dining rooms with a steaming bowl of Käsespätzle in front of her. And it smelled delicious.

She’d only picked the German dish because she remembered once seeing a microwavable, frozen food tray version of it at the grocery store. She never saw it again so she assumed it was seasonal.

She scooped up a bit with her fork before taking a hesitant bite. She was careful to school her reaction as she chewed—heavily aware of Gojo’s eyes zoned in on her.

“How is it?” he asked.

It seemed the chef had defied her expectations.

She swallowed-doing her best to keep her poker face intact, “It’s… okay.”

His eyes glittered with amusement as he watched her grip over her fork waver and her little tongue deftly swipe her bottom lip to lick up a bit of cheese sauce.

“Oh?” he raised a brow before reaching out to her plate with the bowl atop it, “I’ll take it then-“

She instinctively smacked his hand, “It’s mine.”

He grinned and she immediately flushed-belatedly seeing through him.

She quickly withdrew her hand, crossing her arms, “Nevermind, it’s yours.”

He suddenly grabbed the bottom rim of her chair and tugged her seat close. He shoved aside the several neatly aligned utensils to place her plate before her.

“You’re a bad liar, kitten,” a teasing grin on his lips as he raised a forkful to her lips, “just eat.”

Ara grabbed her lunch tray and turned around. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as she walked through the cafeteria to the courtyard entrance.

She used her back to open the courtyard door before stepping outside. The weather was nice enough to make her feel warm through her blazer.

She took a moment to scan the freshly landscaped expanse of green before her eyes landed on the familiar gazebo. She took her time as she made her way towards it. The closer she walked she began to overhear their voices.

“That’s not the answer.” Geto’s voice.

“Yes it is!” Gojo.

“It’s not, where’d you even get that equation from?“

“Ara!!” Gojo exclaimed the second she entered his line of sight. 

He reached for her as she set her tray down beside his. His muscular arms winding around her to bury his face in her sternum, a low whine coming from him.

She placed her hand over his head, absentmindedly raking her fingers through his fluffy white hair as she half-sat, half-stood on the bench attached to the table. 

“What is it?” she muttered as she glanced down at the open notebook and ipad-displaying a textbook page-laying on the table.

She instinctively reached for the notebook just as he raised his head to look up at her from against her chest. She read over his scribbles as he complained.

“Suguru is saying I’m wrong~”

She recognized the problem immediately, it was a physics problem.

“Is this Mr. Langard?” she asked.

“Yes.” “Yep~” Geto and Gojo answered simultaneously. She’d taken his class last semester.

She pointed at an equation in Gojo’s notebook, “That’s wrong.”

Geto immediately pitched in, “Exactly.”

“But that’s what photomath used!”

“Seriously.” Geto grumbled.

“That equation isn’t bad-if you're looking for an estimate,” she leaned over to use her fingers and zoom in on a specific sentence in the online textbook, “You need precise numbers for this question.”

Geto quietly read over the zoomed in text-which confirmed her words. He hadn’t known that, he’d merely been following Mr. Langard’s instructions. Gojo’s lips made a small ‘o’ shape.

Geto then went on to use his apple pencil to minimize the textbook to one half of the screen and reveal his own notes in the other. He swiped to a specific point in his notes before circling an equation. 

Geto added, “This is the equation you're supposed to use.”

She peered at his work before reaching out to swipe her index finger across the screen to see if there was more, only to find blank sheets.

A subtle frown graced her features before she responded, “Yeah but your answer is incomplete.”

Both boys merely stared as she slipped the apple pencil from Geto’s fingers and scribbled in a new formula underneath his numerical work.

She continued to deftly solve the equation until she circled the answer, “This is the answer.”

Geto’s brows furrowed as he turned the iPad to himself—quickly readjusting it for him and Gojo to see when Gojo loosened his hold around her to lean towards the ipad.

Gojo silently assessed the work as Geto glanced up towards her, “How?” he asked.

“We need to convert it back to its original units.” Gojo answered-rather quickly.

Ara nodded, before sitting down beside Gojo.

Geto shook his head, gradually retreating into his slouched position as he did so. “I completely missed that.”

Just as she handed the apple pencil back to Geto, Gojo pressed a haste yet passionate kiss to her cheek. She immediately shoved his face away.

He was beaming, “I love having a smart girlfriend.”

Geto’s attention returned to the ipad, his thin brows furrowed in concentration, “This formula.. do they ever ask for estimates on exams?”

Ara shook her head briefly, “No but that formula is mainly for checking your work. If your answer is far off from the estimate then you probably did something wrong.”

“Ah, makes sense.” Geto said, until Toji plopped into the seat beside him.

Toji was peeling an orange in his hands, “What’re you guys talking about.” he asked, though he didn’t sound too interested.

“Nothing you would understand.” Gojo answered sweetly.

“Fuck you.” Toji retorted.

Toji’s head was suddenly shoved and they all looked to see Shoko behind him, cigarette in hand. Toji rubbed his head, “The hell?”

“You skipped again? Are you planning on repeating this year too?”

Toji frowned, “Why do you care?”

“I don’t. Miss Payton was asking about you.”

Toji raised a brow, grinning, “Was she?”

Shoko rolled her eyes before sitting beside him, “Don’t tell me you gave her STDs too.”

Geto's brows raised, “too?”

“Yeah, didn’t you hear Inez got herpes?” Shoko gave Toji a dramatic side-eye, “Zenin was messing with her last sooo we all know who the herpes handler here is.”

Geto and Gojo burst out laughing while Toji’s face twisted in annoyance.

Geto shook his head, “Herpes handler is crazy.”

Gojo reached out to high-five Shoko, “Syphilis sampler.”

Shoko high-fived him back, “Gonorrhea gobbler.”

“Will ya shut the fuck up.” Toji spoke up, rubbing his temple as if he had a headache.

Suddenly Haibara ran up to the table, all huffing and puffing.

“Hi guys.” he chirped through breaths.

Shoko looked him up and down, “Why are you running?”

He used his thumb to point behind him, “Nanami wanted to race here—“ he turned around to glance behind himself. No one was there.

Shoko snorted, “Idiot.”

Haibara barely frowned before slipping into the seat next to Ara. Ara was diligently eating her lunch.

He greeted her politely, “Hi Ara.”

She glanced over, “Hey.”

He smiled shyly, “Can I have one of your mozzarella sticks?”

“Don’t give it to him,” a male voice stated. Ara glanced over to see Nanami walk upto the table, “He already ate mine.”

Nanami lightly smacked Haibara on the back of the head before sitting down next to Shoko.

Shoko offered him her cigarette and Nanami took it without a second’s hesitance, only to toss it on the ground and stomp it out.

“What-!” Shoko exclaimed.

He glanced over at her, “I thought you were tryna quit?”

Toji snorted, “She says that every week.”

Shoko shot him a look, “Noo.”

Gojo’s tone was teasing as he tilted his head, “Are you actually tryna quit then?”

She scratched her head, “I was..”

“How long did you last?” Geto asked.

“30 minutes.”

Geto chuckled while Nanami shook his head.

Gojo faced Nanami, “Yo, what’d you get on your exam?”

Nanami answered flatly, “Ninety eight.”

Shoko smiled-nudging him, “I knew you were gonna ace it. We should celebrate.”

Haibara immediately piped in, “Yeah! Let’s.”

Nanami kept his eyes on Shoko, “Don’t we have to go to the mall today?”

“Oh shit, you're right. I need to get a gift for my aunt.”

“Can I come too?” Haibara asked.

Shoko nodded, “Yeah, yeah, come,” her eyes landed on Ara, “You come too.”

Ara’s eyes lifted up from her lunch, “Me?”

“Yeah, we don’t hang out enough,” her eyes cut to Gojo, “since Gojo’s gatekeeping you.”

Gojo smirked, “I’m not gatekeeping her~”

“Then why don’t you bring her to the hangouts?”

“Because she’s always studying!” he pouted.

“Oh c’monnn,” Shoko tilted her head at Ara, “You gotta come out sometime. How about this weekend?”

Ara glanced at Gojo to see him looking at her with thinly veiled anticipation. Ever since they got back together he’d been asking her to come hang out with his friends with him or not-so-subtly tell her who was throwing a party this weekend—she always declined, using studying as an excuse. Though it wasn’t entirely an excuse. She wasn’t like Gojo who didn’t have to try to keep up stellar grades.

She would tell him to hang out with his friends by himself, which he sometimes did, but he never went to parties—since it was against his self-assigned rule of not going without her.

She knew not attending these ‘parties’ was making his social butterfly ass itch.

She ran a hand through her hair, “..how about after midterms?”

“So next weekend?” Shoko asked.

“Yeah.”

She felt Gojo’s hand at her back, “Really?” he asked.

She glanced at him, noticing the subtle spark in his gaze before rolling her eyes, “Yeah.”

Shoko announced, “She can get ready at mine.”

Gojo immediately responded, “Wha—no, she’s getting ready with me.”

“No-“

“Yes-“

“You see! You are gatekeeping her.”

“I’m not!”

Gojo bounded up the steps before scurrying down the hallway to his room. He gathered his breath before entering the bedroom.

The doors opened soundlessly as he stepped within. There were some lo-fi beats playing from the speaker and he smiled slightly before his gaze fell on Ara.

She was sitting on his bed, papers splayed out before her. She used a textbook as a firm surface to write on as she shifted her attention between her notebook and laptop.

Her hair was down loose, tucked behind her ears to keep her hair from falling in front of her face. She wore a pair of fuzzy shorts and a tank top. One baby pink ankle sock on her left foot whereas the other sock lay a foot away on the floor. Her face a mask of deep concentration.

His smile widened subtly, tilting his head as he watched her.

He told her she was free to use the desk but she always seemed to find her way to the bed.

He deftly picked up his drawstring bag and backpack off his shoulder before letting it drop to the floor. Her eyes immediately darted up.

Her eyes widened, “Satoru.”

He walked towards the bed, a wide smile on his lips, “Hey.”

“How was practice—aah!”

He jumped atop the bed, letting his head rest on her lap and the rest of his long limbs crinkle her papers.

His arms slipped around her, “I missed you.”

Her eyes widened as the bed shifted from his weight and her Macbook tipped over the bed’s edge.

“TORU—“

Suddenly his arm shot out and he caught its edge a millisecond before it tumbled off.

“Got it.”

At her silence he glanced up and instantly grinned at her shell-shocked expression. He placed the Macbook on a safer area of the bed before slipping his arms around her again.

He tilted his head on her lap, “Can I have a kiss now?”

She blinked-gathering herself from her shock to respond, “You think you deserve one?”

He pouted, “I don’t?”

She stammered out, “Y-you literally jumped on my homework and damn near broke my laptop—“

“But did it break?”

She glanced down at him, “What?”

His bright eyes didn’t waver, “Did your laptop break?”

Her brows furrowed slowly, “.. no but-“

“Aht aht. I saved it, so we’re good.”

She squinted, opening her mouth to refute him only to get interrupted by a whiny nonsensical sound, “It’s not like I can’t get you a new one if it broke, okay?”

He partially raised his head from her lap. His adam's apple bobbing within his neck as he spoke, “Now gimme a kiss.” he pleaded.

She rolled her eyes before gently slipping her hands around either side of his face, “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned delightfully, “I know.”

She bent low, letting her nose lightly nudge his before pressing her lips to his.

He couldn’t deny the butterflies that erupted in his gut.

He leaned up slightly, trying to access more of her lips but she continued to peck him—some of her pecks longer than others. She was truly such a tease.

Just as he leaned in some more, she broke the kiss. Her hands cupping his face slid down to his neck, her thumbs stroking the skin along his sharp jaw..

“Toru—“

She yelped when his arm around her grabbed her thigh, deftly tugging her down so that she was no longer sitting. Instead she now lay beside him.

His hand clasped her throat before he kissed her—deep and with tongue. Just the way he liked.

He lightly bit her lower lip before breaking the kiss. His gaze was fond as he looked down at her, “You know how perfect you look on my bed?”

She couldn’t find any words—to breathless by his kisses to speak.

“I used to dream about you being here..” His piercing eyes slowly looked her up and down, making her skin rise with goosebumps wherever his gaze touched, “..never thought I’d get to see it this soon.”

He kissed her cheek, “Now I get to see you sitting pretty on it everyday,”

He kissed the corner of her lip, “I’m too lucky..”

His lips hovered over hers, “I get to come home to you.”

She placed her hand on his chest-stopping him a millisecond before he leaned in.

“Toru wait—w-we can’t.”

He made a short sound of dismay before continuing to shift himself over her. He easily angled himself between her legs, “Why not?” he whined once-more.

She cupped his jaw just as he leaned in again, “Cuz you stink, fool.” 

He chuckled as she went on, “Go shower.”

“Liarrrr.” His nose nudged hers playfully, “You’re just tryna get rid of me.”

She reddened, “Nooo.”

He shook his head wildly, letting strands of wet hair touch her face.

She immediately faced elsewhere, “Ew! Get your sweaty hair off me-“

He laughed, his lips ghosting her cheek as he stopped shaking his head, “It’s not sweat, baby. I showered in the locker room.”

She swallowed inaudibly, her eyes widening with indecision.

Suddenly his hand found her throat, his long fingers gently probing her to face him.

She cupped his hand over her throat, “Toru, we have homework..” she whined hesitantly.

He pressed his forehead to hers, “Sh, sh, sh. No more excuses..” he murmured before unbuttoning her top one by one.

“nngh-ngh!-unnn—“ She gripped the sheets tight as he pounded into her. Her macbook and papers scattered along the ground.

His fingers dug into her hips as he panted. She looked so fucking good, he couldn’t stop.

Her back was to him, his large hands easily fitting into the curves of her waist as he moved her hips as fast as he liked. She could barely moan properly due to his pace.

Her hair swayed sexily with each deep thrust of his cock. Her body jolted when the tip of his cock reached somewhere deliciously deep.

“toru…!” she rasped, “oh god—oh godohgodohgod—nnnh!”

She bent over, her hands resting on his knees as her cunt twitched around him.

He groaned, “fuckkk, ara, ara, ara..”

He sat up straight from his position against the headboard. He cupped her tits-squeezing them heartily-as he pushed her small back against his chest. He shoved his cock deeper into her, making her yelp.

“toru please!” she cried as her cunt tightened drastically, “please-t’much, toomuch.”

He didn’t stop fucking her through her high. His bright eyes peered down at her over her shoulder, kneading her tits greedily with one hand and keeping his palm against her stomach with the other.

“cum, ara. cum.” he huskily urged her, his eyes only growing brighter with each squeeze of her cunt, “cum on me jus like that.”

He groaned when her body listened to him. He’d been fantasizing about fucking her like this all day—the feeling of her cunt suctioning his cock like this. Fuckk, her pussy was perfect. perfect.

“a-araa..” he groaned into her ear as his cock throbbed. He knew she felt it too when a whimper left her lips. Her legs continued to shake as he burst inside her—his cum so warm she could feel it through the condom.

Her head was spinning as he squeezed her tits hard. She knew there’d be marks left behind. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily as she ran a hand over forehead to move her hair out of her face.

His haggard breaths trailed down her skin as he began to massage her breasts—more kindly.

She kept her eyes closed as his lips ghosted her neck, “Again.”

His fingers found her clit and she instinctively squeezed her legs together. His fingers didn’t budge, neither did his stiff cock within her.

“Let’s do it again,” he murmured-almost drunkenly as strangled gasps left her when he rubbed her clit, “again and again and again.”

“You don’t understand, this one has 12 new weapons-“

“You said that about 30 times.” Nanami muttered.

Haibara was too distracted by Toji and Geto heading towards the kitchen.

“Yo! Where you guys goin? Let’s go to the spot.”

Toji opened the french door refrigerator, “I’m tryna eat something first.”

“C’monnn, we can eat later-“

Nanami ruffled Haibara’s hair, “Aren’t you a little too excited for a game?”

Haibara immediately faced him, “It’s not just a game!”

“Can you tell he gets no bitches,” Toji closed the fridge when he spotted nothing but fresh ingredients, “Where’s the chef here?”

Haibara pouted, “Hey.”

“Me and you both, Haibara,” Geto slid off the stool beside the island counter, “I’ll get Marin.”

Toji raised a brow, “Marin?”

“The maid,” Geto answered, “She’s cooked for you a thousand times and you still don’t know her name.”

Toji scratched the back of his neck, “Oops.”

Geto disappeared down a hallway just as Haibara announced, “Alright, you all get ten minutes to do your shit before you're required to show up to the game room, okay? Be fast. I don’t wanna start without everyone.”

“Okay, dweeb.” Toji muttered.

“Shut up, don’t act like you're not hype.” Haibara replied lightheartedly.

Toji grinned, “True.”

“Where’s Gojo?” Nanami asked.

“Dunno, but Toji can let him know he has to get to his ass to the game room, okay? Let’s goooo!” Haibara’s voice faded out as he bolted from the kitchen in the direction of the game room.

Nanami shook his head.

Suddenly her airpod disappeared from her ear. She glanced over and screeched.

“Oh my god!! What the fuck, Satoru!” Ara yelled while scurrying out of the chair, hand over her heart. “Scared the shit outta me.” 

He smiled-a bit too brightly, “Heh, I wanted to surprise you.”

She glanced over at the clock before frowning, “Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?”

He set the airpod down on her desk, “We got out early today.”

She stared as he stepped towards her. He cupped the sides of her face, keeping her eyes on him.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?”

She lightly grasped his forearms, tilting her head back when he leaned over her.

“No..” she smiled slightly when his lips grazed hers, “Never.”

He pouted, “Meanie.”

She didn’t have to go on her tiptoes to press a light peck to his lips. He eagerly returned it, his arms sliding around her waist to tug her against him.

He tilted his head, prying her lips open with his own before going still. He then kissed the corner of her lip, her jaw, her neck..

“Tell me the truth, kitten.”

She blushed, quickly closing her expectant mouth. She turned her face aside and pressed her forehead against his chest. His large hands rubbing her lower back as he lightly nipped at her ear.

She shivered. Her hands grasped his firm biceps as she spoke-her voice wavering, “You already know how I feel about you..”

“Do I?” he squeezed her hips, “Tell me again.”

She squealed slightly before shaking her head, voice small, “You don’t need to hear it.”

He chuckled slightly. She was always worried about making his ego too big, wasn’t she? Too late.

He kissed her forehead, “Fine. Then show me.”

Her brows furrowed only to loose all train of thought when his hand wrapped around her neck and tilted her face up.

She stared at him as he nudged her nose fondly, “Show me you're happy to see me..”

“Where the hell is he..” Geto muttered.

They’d been waiting in the game room for a good five minutes before Haibara got restless—constantly asking him about Gojo's whereabouts as if he knew. Gojo wasn’t answering his texts either, just like the rest of them.

He sighed while walking up the steps, hands buried in his pockets. He made it Gojo’s bedroom, pushing open the door with his shoulder.

“unngh—nngh! ohh, toru..”

“Yo-“ he immediately cut himself off when he processed what he heard.

His eyes instinctively landed on the bed and froze when he got a split second glimpse of Gojo propped over someone. Even with the blanket over them it wasn’t hard to tell that whoever it was had their legs around his waist. A short feminine yelp came from under sheets and the blanket suddenly got yanked higher, only revealing the top of her lengthy hair.

Geto immediately turned around, hastily running a hand over his face in shock. Ara. He’d completely forgotten she lived with him now.

Even through his breathlessness, he could still hear the smirk in Gojo's voice, “Suguru!! hi~”

Geto’s face burned, “Dammit, I didn't know y—“ he quickly cut himself off when he swore he heard not-so-subtle sounds of the bed moving and a whispery ‘stop’.

Geto raised his hands, “Fuck, I’m out.”

Just as he bolted towards the door, Gojo called out, “Suguru, wait!” The little shit was laughing.

He continued heading out the door, face still hot.

“Sorry!” Gojo called out, his voice laced with humor. “You guys can start without me!”

Just as Geto closed the door he faintly overheard Ara’s voice, “You didn’t lock the fucking door?!”

Ara hesitated before entering the semi-dark room. Her eyes followed the atmospheric lights dancing along the high ceilings and walls while recalling the first time Gojo showed her this room—ironically, the last time she’d been in there.

The huge flat screen TV on the center wall was the main source of light. It would’ve resembled a movie theater if it weren’t for the gunshots blasting infinitely from the speakers in the walls. She didn’t know how they managed to sound proof this room.

“Haibara what are you doing?” Nanami snapped.

“I’m reloading! Wait, wa—“

Suddenly the sound of a bomb rang from the speakers.

“What the fuck!” Toji hollered.

Gojo’s maniacal laughter filled the room, “Oops~”

“You said you had no bombs left!” Haibara protested.

She watched Suguru smack the back of Gojo’s head as he continued to laugh.

Gojo suddenly raised his hands, one hand clutching the video game controller as he shouted in his typical whimsical demeanor. It wasn't hard to tell that he was-unapologetically-explaining himself from his body language but his words were suddenly too far to make out. too distant to decipher.

Her eyes had latched onto his hands and her mind had gone elsewhere…

She couldn’t believe those hands were pinning her wrists to the sheets moments ago. or that sly voice of his was in her ear—all breathy, whiny and worshipping.

She didn’t even need to close her eyes to remember…

...

"ara—araa," he whined over the repeated smacking sound of his cock pummeling into her. her inner thighs growing slicker with each thrust.

...

"T-toru!" she cried out. she couldn’t take it anymore. He'd grown bigger inside of her and was stretching her to her limit. She’d lost her ability to think eons ago.

He didn’t stop. He spoke haggardly, between fucks, "your cunny knows what it wants right—how to milk Toru dry."

...

His cock throbbed within her.

"gripping me so tight," He groaned out—ever so desperately, "you wanna get knocked up so bad."

...

“mmmm,” He groaned from above her.

She felt his eyes on her skin—his hands on the back of her thighs—his hot cum on her stomach.

He spread her knees further apart, letting her watch as he rubbed his length through her folds—over her clit.

“toruuuuu—“ she pleaded, weakly.

He watched her body arch, trying to give her overstimulated pussy some space but he refused-merely lowering himself against her to keep his cock glued to her clit. She moaned when the pace of his grinding picked up.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes never leaving her face, “y’know how beautiful you are, ara? sodamnperfect, i can’t take it.” he was breathless.

Her hands found his chest, trying to push at him, “stop toru—please—“ she whined. He came twice already, it should be enough.. should be enough..

“Stop telling me to stop kitten—“ he rammed his length into her, thrusting without a second thought, “-you know i can’t.”

...

“Ara!”

She blinked, suddenly back in the game room. She glanced over to see Haibara beside her.

He smiled, “When did you get here?” He was about to greet her with a side hug until he heard-

“Ara?” another-all too familiar-voice piped up. Haibara stepped out of the way to let her see Gojo. His face was upside down as he looked at her, his head against the couch’s backrest.

“Toru.” she instinctively responded before walking towards him.

“Toru.” Toji mocked under his breath.

Gojo immediately straightened in his seat as she approached, his eyes bright and curious. When she stood close enough he tugged her onto his lap.

“You were lookin’ for me?” he asked her, a note of verve in his voice.

Her eyes met Geto-who was seated right beside him-and immediately flushed. Geto glanced away, seemingly red himself.

“Yeah..” she answered Gojo hesitantly. She placed a hand on his shoulder to adjust herself on his lap more comfortably before facing him, “Why’s the game paused?”

“Cuz Haibara will get his panties inna twist if we play without him.” Toji answered.

“He went to the bathroom.” Geto supplied.

“Ara~” Gojo suddenly whined, tugging her chin to make her face him, “What happened?”

He deftly searched her face before smiling in a way that was endearing yet smug. He murmured, “You came to me.”

“Yeah..” he playfully pinched her cheeks as she spoke on, “I jus wanna know how late you’re gonna stay up.”

“Oh?” he raised a brow, deliberating, “Why? You want me to join you in bed?”

She flushed, “No I was just checking cuz you have a midterm first period tomorrow..”

His eyes sparkled, “You’re worried? How cute~”

Suddenly her face and throat was getting peppered with kisses. She laughed, pushing at his chest to get him off. He didn’t budge, continuing persistently.

She finally managed to push him back a little, “Stop you idiot,” she breathed out through giggles.

He was still grinning, “You’re worried about me~”

She shoved his shoulder, “I’m leaving.”

He immediately grabbed her hips and planted her back down, “Nope, you're gonna stay here.”

She tried to pry his hands off her as he continued, “C’monnn, watch me play.”

She glared, “That’s boring.”

“Then you play.”

“I’m not a kid.”

She faintly heard Toji say, “Wowww.”

Gojo smirked, “You never played video games before, have you?”

“Nope.”

“Yep, you’re not goin’ anywhere.”

He glanced down at her and grinned.

She sat in between him and Suguru, his controller in her hands. She was doing surprisingly well for a beginner, he wasn’t sure if she was truly picking it up that fast or if it was pure luck. Maybe a mix of both.

She was definitely more engaged than she let on, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth and steady gaze on the screen gave her away.

Suguru leaned over to give her a pointer and she nodded before opening her inventory as he instructed.

Suddenly the sound of a bomb going off blasted through the speakers.

“Yo, what thE FUCK! WHO THREW A BOMB???” Toji bellowed. Poor guy was in the lead. was.

She yelled back, “It was an ACCIDENT!”

“How DO YOU ACCIDENTALLY THROW A BOMB?!”

Gojo opened his mouth only to get interrupted-

“LIKE THIS!”

His laughter was masked by the sound of another bomb exploding through the speakers.

He skipped several steps as he bolted upstairs. He boisterously shouldered open his bedroom doors, tossing his duffel bag to the floor before catapulting straight to the bed—

He stopped a second before lift-off, staring at the neatly made bed.

Where is she?

He didn’t move, merely turning his head to aptly scan the room. Her backpack was nowhere to be seen. Her home slippers were left in place. Her daily afterschool coffee left untouched on the nightstand.

She didn’t come home? Marin would’ve said something.

He took a step towards the nightstand only to note a lighter brown line of foam within the rim of the clear mug residing a slight bit higher than the coffee itself. She did come home.

He didn’t waste a second slipping a hand into his pocket and retrieving his phone. He tapped the screen twice before a location showed up.

His brows furrowed, “555 Palm Avenue..” he murmured to himself before his eyes widened.

Shoko’s house.

He tilted his head, faint confusion passing over his features before he raised the phone to his ear.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hi loser.” Shoko.

He tilted his head, “Ieiriiiii, why’d you steal her?”

“What the hell did you do to her phone that it won’t turn off location sharing with you?” she huffed, “I wanted you to have a panic attack.”

“Heheh. Nice try,” his smile flipped into a pout, “Now give her back.”

“Never.”

He slipped his car keys out his pocket before tossing them into the air and catching it, “I’m coming.”

“NO! This is a pre-game for the girls only.”

“Eh? I’m one of the girls too,” he said before adding, “the fuckk.” -in a feminine voice.

“Shut the hell up. And don’t do that again.”

He was cracking up as she continued, “She’s getting ready here.”

“I wanna seeeee.”

“Nope.”

“Can I talk to her then?”

“Nope.”

He whined, “C’monn, don’t do this to me, Ieiri~”

When she remained silent he continued, “pleasepleaseplease-“

“You’re like a puppy with separation anxiety. How is she not sick of you?”

He grinned, “She loves me.”

“She said that?”

He blinked before his brows furrowed slightly, “Not yet.”

“Then don’t assume.”

He knew she only meant that in jest but suddenly he was thinking about it.

He heard the sound of footsteps over the phone, a door opening before the sound of a lot feminine voices. He heard Shoko say something and then-

“Hi baby,” My sweet Ara. She sounded worried, “I’m so sorry, I wanted to call you when she picked me up but she wanted to prank you.”

He shook his head, smiling, “s’okay, kitten. i jus miss your pretty face.”

He heard her exhale softly, “You’ll see me tonight, all dressed up.”

He groaned, “ughh, i don’t wanna waittttt.”

He could hear the smile in her voice, “stop whining you child.”

He grinned, “let me see you at shoko’s then.”

He heard shoko yell, “NO!” in the background.

“did you hear that?” Ara asked with a light laugh.

“yes. tell her i said she sucks bootycheeks.”

Shoko yelled once more, “i know!”

Ara spoke, “i’ll see you at brit’s okay?”

He pouted, “fineeee.”

“bye baby.”

He smiled slightly, he couldn’t help but feel warm whenever she said that. “see you, kitten.”

Shoko sat her down in front of a vanity.

“Alright, now that hair is done, we can do makeup.”

Ara stared as Shoko opened all the drawers of the extravagant vanity before her, revealing a countless amount of high-end makeup. Most of it barely touched.

“Shoko!!” a girl yelled from downstairs.

“What!” Shoko yelled back only for silence to follow.

She rolled her eyes as she mumbled to herself, “What does Arden want now,” she gestured toward the makeup, “Knock yourself out, I’ll be back.”

“Wait—“

Shoko turned around, eyes alert.

Ara hesitated before admitting, “I don’t know how to do my makeup.”

Her eyes widened, “Forreal?” She then crossed her arms, “Actually I can’t even blame you, I only started doing my own makeup like a year ago.”

“Would your Mom do it for you?” she asked, considering the fact that the vanity before them was hers.

“Nah, I had a makeup artist.” Shoko appeared to be in thought before she said, “Hold on.”

She walked out of the room and yelled, “Anybody here good at makeup??!”

A ton of feminine voices arose, answering her. Ara wasn’t the least bit surprised since half of their school’s female population was here.

She heard Shoko yell something before peeking her head back in the room, “Alright, we got help for makeup. Do you want anything to drink?”

Ara hesitated. She’d told herself that she wouldn’t drink after the last party but—

“SHOKO!!”

“IM COMING IDIOT!” Shoko yelled back before saying, “I’ll be back.”

She left within a blink of an eye, only for someone else to enter the room a second later. Karina.

Ara stared as Karina walked closer, looking insanely perfect as usual. She also had a bottle of Pink Whitney in her hand.

She set the bottle down on the vanity, “You need help with your makeup?”

a/n: continued in chapter 5 [ part 2 ] >:) & here's a link to the previous chapter if anyone needs it