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haeryna · 3 months

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the purest shade of white ↪ okkotsu yuuta x reader ⸙͎｡˚⋆ 𓋼

summary: yuuta looks almost like an angel, you think to yourself grimly, as you shift on the balls of your feet. you haven't seen your best friend in a couple years now, not since he left for africa. too bad he's attempting to kill the kouhai that you're trying to protect.

tw: manga spoilers! anime watchers, do not read. mild angst but happy ending. starts at the beginning of ch. 139. naoya zenin is here and he is his classic asshole self. reader is in the same grade as yuuta, both in age and in terms of cursed energy. swearing because reader is a bad bitch. mildly suggestive. unironic use of "senpai" and "kouhai." slight descriptions of blood and injury, everyone is subjected to the author's attempts at writing dialogue and fight scenes. not proofread but at this point that shouldn't be a surprise. it is blatantly obvious that the writer also does not know how to end stories

notes: thank you for 100 new friends! :) poll is technically still up but i'm impatient and yuuta was winning by a pretty decent margin so here it is lol. divider by @/saradika-graphics!

"Yuuji!" you yelp, slicing the head off a curse with a clean stroke of your katana. Purple ichor splatters to the ground as you whirl, searching for the familiar head of pink hair. "Stay close to me!"

Behind you, Choso grunts with exertion, sending out another bolt of Piercing Blood. Panting, you weave through the curses, letting their corpses fall behind you. Yuuji, where is Yuuji?

As the last body falls, you can't but let out an exasperated huff at the sheepish grin on Yuuji's face. "Don't scare me like that," you chide. "How am I supposed to protect you if I can't even find you?" Yuuji opens his mouth to protest but you shake your head. "I made a promise," you tell him, pain rippling through your heart dully. Gojo-sensei was long gone, stolen away by one of the people he had loved most in the world. Grimacing, you sheathe your katana, mindful of the blood that stains your palms, as you try to ignore the memory of his words all those months ago.

If anything happens, I need you to protect Itadori Yuuji. I know they're going to pull something on him once I'm not there to back him up.

"Senpai, what should-"

Yuuji immediately tenses as your hand flies to the grip of your katana. "I smell a rat," you mutter, nose wrinkling as you turn to face Naoya Zenin, standing atop a bridge. He bares his teeth at you in semblance of a smile. "How perceptive as always," he mocks.

"Cut the bullshit," you snap, hand still resting on the pommel. "What do you want?"

"Fushiguro Megumi," is his rather bland response, and you shift your feet into the opening steps of Flowing River.

"What do you want with Fushiguro?" Yuuji yells, and the way Naoya's face twists makes you want to vomit.

"I think I'll have him die."

Cursed energy fills your body as you leap. Naoya's resounding cackle burns through your ears as you swing, barely grazing his shoulder. Before you can push forward off your feet, a heavy presence rests on your shoulders, locking you in place. All four of you freeze. Yuuji and Choso look horrified, and Naoya looks as though he's broken out into a cold sweat. But you know this feeling, feel it settle back into your body as if it never left.

Okkotsu Yuuta steps out from the building ledge, dark eyes unreadable. Your body sings. Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta! His hair has grown longer, bangs sweeping over his forehead, eyebags a little darker than they used to be. You can feel Rika's presence, swirling around you in a mass of death and decay. You're used to it. You've grown to crave it, even. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, his facade cracks. Confusion, fear, and...regret?

Yuuta leaps, slamming into concrete and sending shockwaves deep into your bones. "Who's with Itadori?" God, even his voice is different, so different from the boy who said goodbye to you so long ago. You open your mouth to speak, but Choso beats you to it, brows furrowed.

"So you're Yuuji's executioner."

Blood turns to ice in your veins, and you can tell by the pained expression Yuuta has that you aren't hiding your emotions as well as you think you are. Naoya laughs. "I was going to tell you that, but you were being too emotional like the bitch you are."

"Who're you?"

Yuuta's voice is cold, but as Naoya babbles on, you can feel the horror settle thickly into your chest. Choso and Yuuji are talking behind you but it feels like you're underwater, you're sinking, drowning, and Yuuta must have come to a conclusion because all of a sudden he's surging forward-

You move before you can even think, steel clashing against steel. "Yuuji," you say, through gritted teeth. "Run."

A horrible grating noise fills the air as you let cursed energy flow through your body, shoving Yuuta's sword away from yourself. "I won't let you kill him," you hiss, body already shifting into Jagged Bolt. Yuuta's eyes flash as you surge forward, katana in hand.

"How would you describe my cursed technique?" you had asked Gojo, mindlessly swinging your feet. Gojo hums.

"Have you ever heard of Newton's Law's of Motion?"

You had crinkled your nose at that. "No?"

"An object in motion, stays in motion. Except you are the object. And your cursed energy is the motion." You remember how Gojo's lips curved slightly. "In other words, once you start, nobody can stop you."

You're crying, you realize with a start, as you cut a line into Yuuta's chest. Moisture seeps from your eyes as you twist your forearm into a parry, katanas sparking with each strike. Belatedly, you sense that Yuuji, your foolish, stupid, loyal kouhai has stayed, trading strikes with his fists between the precise movements of your blade. Your heart drops as Yuuta reaches for the ring on his finger.

No. No!

He twists it, and Rika appears behind you. Claws sink into your shoulder and you let out a cry of pain as she flips you into the ground.

"Be nice, Rika," Yuuta chides, as you hit the concrete. Blood spurts from your mouth as you choke, fingers clawing at the ground desperately for your katana. A piece of scaffolding is practically crushing your legs; instinctively, you know that if you try to break through it, you'll tear your limbs right off.

As Rika holds Yuuji up, you lunge desperately, uncaring of what you have to sacrifice. Inumaki's arm, the way half of Nobara's face had been practically ripped out of her skull, the remains of Nanami-san, the way that you were the one to find Maki's charred body-

I can't lose anyone else.

You scream as Yuuta pierces Yuuji's chest with his katana, cursed energy building in your legs as you prepare to shoot forward. Yuuta turns, eyes filled with an unidentifiable emotion as he sees you about to tear yourself in half just to reach Yuuji.

With a wave of his hand, Rika dives for you, and everything goes dark.

Yuuta had known you were special from the day he'd first met you. That spring, when Gojo-sensei had dropped him (and Rika) into a class of unsuspecting first years, he remembers that out of the four of them, you had moved so gracefully that he hadn't processed the katana in your hand until you'd pressed it against your throat.

"Gojo-sensei," you'd hissed. "What is this?"

While Maki, Inumaki, and Panda had been subsequently bruised up by Rika, you had dodged every single one of her movements until Rika had been (barely) called back by Yuuta.

"Another Special Grade," Gojo had hummed. "Just like you, hm?"

Special Grade?

What he hadn't realized then, he realized later; you weren't just special to him, but to the entire rest of the Jujutsu World as well. Special Grade Sorcerers were rare, Maki had told him. "You only have it because of Rika," she'd scoffed, "but she deserves it."

You quickly became one of his closest friends. You were fast enough to dodge Rika's ire, even laughing whenever she tried. You'd shown Yuuta kindness that he didn't think he deserved. You broke him out of his shell enough so that when he left for Africa, he felt as though he was standing with his own strength. His first katana had been the sister blade of your own, forged from the same metal by the same hands. The way your eyes had lit up when you saw it was a memory he cherished.

Somberly, Yuuta eyes the chains encasing your wrists and ankles, each decorated with the slips of protective paper that would nullify your cursed energy. Most sorcerers required only one. You required at least twenty.

He knows you, knows the way you always take the strawberry daifuku, leaving him the red bean ones even though he knows you prefer the red bean. He knows that you push yourself hard, harder than he's ever seen anyone work. But most of all, he knows your loyalty, how once your heart finally lets someone in, you'll never let them go.

Did you miss him like he missed you?

The chains are more for your own protection. He needs you to hear him out before you attempt to end his life for a second time. Yuuta knows now that Gojo must have asked you the same thing he'd asked him; to keep Itadori Yuji safe from the whims of the higher ups. Gojo, being the forgetful bastard he was, probably didn't alert you to the fact that he'd gone to Yuuta for help as well. Crouching, Yuuta eyes your body with a sad tilt of his lips. The injuries you'd sustained were immense, and it had taken quite a bit of his own cursed energy to reverse.

Will you forgive him?

You're asleep, breath hitching every so often. Yuuta wonders what you're dreaming of, before pushing the thought away. Tenderly, he cups your face in the palm of his hand, calloused fingers stroking your cheek.

"You need to wake up now," he murmurs, as your eyes flutter open, first in dazed confusion, before sharpening into panic.

"I'll miss you!" you'd cried, as you clung to Yuuta under the shade of the large oak. You were the first person he had told about his departure to Africa, and you took it hard. Yuuta had stood frozen as the first of your tears had dripped down your cheeks. It was the first time he'd seen you cry.

"I'll be back before you know it," he'd murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to the top of your head. You'd looked up to him, eyes teary.

"Promise?"

"I promise," he'd said, interlocking his pinky with your own. A love like Yuuta's is a dangerous thing, you know, but in this moment you feel nothing but safe.

The first sensation you feel upon awakening is the dull ache in your (miraculously still attached) legs. The second is the warmth on your cheek. Yuuta is standing above you, hand gently resting against your face. Immediately you lunge forward, teeth bared. The rattle of chains stops you, and you swear. Of course he would have taken precautions. Yuuta looks almost hurt as you violently shake off his touch.

"Don't touch me, I swear to god I'm going to rip you apart."

Yuuta says your name sadly, but you're practically trembling with rage.

"He was just a kid, with the kind of power we wield, why the fuck would you listen to the higher ups?"

Yuuta echoes your name a bit more firmly, but you ignore him, tears building in your eyes.

"You're no better than the rest of them are you, you're just-"

"Senpai!"

Your heart stops as Yuuji pokes his head out from around the corner. They must have brought you back to Jujutsu Tech, you think distractedly. Just how long were you out?

"Yuuji!" you cry out, scanning his body for any injuries. He seems to be uninjured, but most importantly, he's alive. Tears fall down your cheeks. "Are you alright?"

Yuuji appears horrified by the sudden outburst as he hastily holds up his hands. "I'm fine, senpai, really, I'm sorry for worrying you. Okkotsu-san is actually on our side, I swear! It was a binding vow, that's why he had to actually kill me, but he did some really cool Reverse Technique shit and I'm all good now!"

Warily, you eye Yuuta, whose expression resembles that of a kicked puppy. "Okkotsu Yuuta," you say, voice hard. "Let me out of these chains right fucking now."

With a wave of his hand, the papers attached to the chains fall to the floor. Yuuta looks dejected as he looks away from you. "I'm so sor-"

Before he can finish you immediate tackle him into a hug, knocking the both of you into the floor as you bury your face into the soft slope of his neck. "You're such an idiot," you sob, unable to hide the rush of emotions going through you. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Tentatively, Yuuta wraps his arms around you, and you melt, pressing yourself closer to his body. "To be honest, I think Gojo-sensei is to blame. I think he forgot to mention to either of us that he asked us to do the exact same thing."

You let out a hiccupping laugh. "Of course he did. That forgetful asshole."

The sigh Yuuta lets out is shaky as he nuzzles the top of your head. "I'm so, so sorry," he tells you earnestly. "I must have scared you, and Rika's mad at me for making me hurt you like that. I think she likes you, even though she pretends not to."

You look up at him, really look at him, and see the look of adoration in his eyes as he stares back down at you. Thankfully Yuuji's escaped long ago, most likely understanding that you two would need privacy. "You came back," you whisper, and Yuuta's resulting smile makes your heart skip a beat.

"I promised you, didn't I?"

Before you can stop yourself, you pull Yuuta down for a searing kiss. He's so soft, and you nip at the plush of his bottom lip teasingly, pulling a whine from his throat. His large hands grip your hips, and in retaliation, you grab a fistful of his hair and tug. The breathy noise he makes goes straight between your thighs. You know he can feel your smile against his lips.

"I missed you," you breathe, pulling away. Yuuta looks dazed, lips kiss swollen, pupils so dilated that you can barely see the soft brown of his eyes.

"I love you," he blurts out, and your resulting laugh is airy as you press another chaste kiss to his lips.

"I've always loved you, Yuuta," you admit. "During Shibuya, I thought I wasn't going to make it. You were the only thing keeping me going."

The look in his eyes is fierce as he tugs you back into him, enveloping you in his arms. "You'll never have to worry about that again. You have my entire life. Where you go, I'll follow, and if I die, not even Death would be able to separate me from your side."

"Those sound a lot like wedding vows, don't you think?"

Yuuta's blush covers his entire face and you grin, pressing one last kiss to his lips. "Come on now. We have kids we need to protect."

As Yuuta leads you to where the others have convened, even under the dark circumstances you're in, the warmth of his hand clutching yours fills you with a giddiness you hadn't experienced in months. The sentiment is quickly dashed as soon as Maki opens her mouth.

"Fucking finally. Inumaki owes me 3,000 yen."

#haerinwrites #jjk x reader #jjk x reader angst #jjk x reader fluff #jjk angst #jjk fluff #yuta x reader #yuuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #i'm actually maki with the fucking finally #i love friends to lovers !!

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bfpnola · 7 months

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IMAGE DESCRIPTION ADDED. REBLOG THIS VERSION AND THANK YOU @lab-labrava FOR WRITING IT!

ID: An infographic from the Instagram account @letstalkpalestine consisting of 10 slides. Image 1: The title page of the infographic. The text says: "Let's talk Anti-Zionist Jewish History." A smaller subtitle underneath the title says: "Jewish solidarity with Palestine until today." End ID.

Image 2: The infographic continues to the next panel. The text says, "As long as Zionism has existed, so has Jewish resistance to it. While today the majority of Jewish people and communities worldwide still have a Zionist connection, more and more Jewish people, especially from the younger generation, are unlearning Zionism & speaking out. Swipe to learn more about just part of anti-Zionist Jewish history - since there's more than we can fit in 10 slides." A semi-transparent image is overlayed in the background, of someone holding up a sign that reads: Jews for Palestine! #Free Sheik Jarrah. End ID.

Image 3: Icon of a location tag next to the words Eastern Europe. In large, blue text is the word "The Bund" and the subtitle describing what it is, "A Jewish Socialist movement, established in 1987." The following paragraph says, "Opposing Zionism from the start, its 50-year tenure saw hundred of thousands of members across Eastern Europe advocate for workers' rights and cultivate a Yiddish culture." Location tag and the title, "North America." The paragraph says, "After mass immigration to the US in the early 20th century, [American Jewish Labor groups] (highlighted in chalky blue and bold white text) criticized Zionism for its colonial, nationalist, and bourgeois nature." Next to this text, is a circle with women protestors holding up signs. End ID.

Image 4: The title, "Middle East and North Africa." The paragraph states, "In 1945 a group of Iraqi Jews founded the Anti-Zionist League. They recognized Zionism as a form of colonialism linked to Western Interests. They hosted events and published pamphlets throughout the Middle East about the difference between Zionism & Judaism. They warned that Zionism is dangerous to Arab Jews, forcing them to split their Arab and Jewish identities, and urged the UN to create a unified Palestinian state.

Image 5: The panel is titled, "Anti-Zionist Jewish figures." A faded image of Hannah Arendt's visage is in the background. Overlayed on top, the following paragraphs discuss her. "Before 1948, several prominent Jewish leaders and scholars came out in opposition to political Zionism. Writers like Hannah Arendt turned against the Zionist movement and opposed a Jewish state. They correctly predicted a dark future if Zionism continued on the same path in Palestine. End ID.

Image 6: The day after the Deir Yassin Massacre in 1948, when Zionist militants wiped out the Deir Yassin village & its inhabitants, Albert Einstein wrote: "When a real and final catastrophe should befall us in Palestine the first responsible for it would be the British and the second responsible for it the Terrorist organizations built up from our own ranks. I am not willing to see anybody associated with those misled and criminal people." The former paragraphs are imposed against a tan, parchment fragment, in typewriter font, and the letter ends with Sincerely yourn, Albert Einstein, both his signature and typed name. End ID.

Image 7: Titled "Anti Zionism Today." Blue sketchy image of someone's hand gripping jail bars breaks up the following paragraphs which say: Jewish solidarity with Palestinians is growing around the world, including even some Israelis who take the basic step of refusing Israeli military service. As punishment, Israel imprisons these conscientious objectors — but unlike Palestininas, they have a fair trial & often severe relatively short sentences of a few months . This is a first step towards solidarity and has the real consequence of depriving the occupation state of its soldiers. End ID.

Image 8: Titled "Israel's Crackdown on Jewish Anti-Zionism" Behind this text are a picture of handcuffs. In the corner is a picture of Jonathan Pollak. The following text says: Jonathan Pollak is a Jewish Israeli and long-time anti-Zionist activist. Israel has detained him several times, most recetly in January as he protested with Palestinians in Beita, (a Palestinian village) for allegedly throwing stones. Jonathan has been violently attacked for his activism. In 2018, Jonathan was slashed across the face by settlers who ambushed him outside his workplace. Earlier, in 2005, Israeli soldiers shot a tear gas canister. directly at him, causing internal bleeding in his brain." End ID.

Image 9: Semi-transparent image of an umbrella behind the title text is "Jewish Anti-Zionism isn’t one ideology. It’s an umbrella movement that encapsulates multiple communities and beliefs towards decolonizing Palestine. Some motivations or Jewish anti-Zionism include: 1. Pursuing millenia of Jewish tradition as a diasporic community 2, Detachibng religious and cultural tradition from political nationalism. 3. Socialist visions of a Jewish Society. 4. Believing in the right to self-determination for Palestinians Standing up to Zionism is: 1. Standing up to apartheid and colonization. 2. Standing up for a liberated, equal, and just Palestine from the river to the sea.

Image 10: An ending quote, and call to action, by the Anti-Zionist League. It says: "Jewish Men! Jewish Women! Zionism wants to throw us into a dangerous & hopeless adventure. Zionism contributes to making Palestine uninhabitable. Zionism wants to isolate us from the Egyptian people. Zionism is the enemy of the Jewish people. Down with Zionism! Long live the brotherhood of Jews and Arabs!" --The Anti-Zionist League. End ID.

#israel #jewish #jews #jumblr #palestine #resources #history #resistance #genocide #instagram #ethnic cleansing #activism #zionism #anti zionism #socialism #colonialism #colonization #judaism #free palestine

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maissafespace · 6 months

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Always There.

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: what hasn’t he gone through, would be a good question. all that was bound to break him more than anything, people left, people died, but somehow he could still feel warmth in his heart. it was all because of you, you were always there and he was grateful for it.

warnings: fluff. close friends, intimacy, may/may not have slept together, suggestive, gojo being a flirt to not show feelings, reader is a year younger, canonverse after volume 0. light angst. gojo’s trauma, gojo bottling up, crying.

a/n: don’t really know where i was going with this, i don’t know if there will be a part two or something but i wanted some fluff with gojo, hope you like it! reblog and comment! t!p if you can XD.

Masterlist • Masterpost.

walking through the gardens surrounded by utmost silence would’ve been routine for you, relax without anyone annoying you, but, today of all days, your heart was heavy in your chest as you walked toward Satoru’s residence.

you had only come back to Tokyo today in the early morning and had been notified by Yaga of the events that occurred this last week.

noticeably, Suguru’s return.

you had remained shook at the everything that happened, Suguru’s new plans or former plans for the Jujutsu world. so much, that you could not go to Satoru right away, you had to clear your own mind before ever going to comfort him at all.

you greeted the workers with a small smile, making your way through the hallways and stairs till you were in front of his door and made your way in.

the whole room was dark even though it was late afternoon, a few rays of light got through, brightening the little it could, enough for you to see the silhouette of his body on the bed, lying with an arm over his face, his bare chest going up and down with his breathing and legs crouched with a pair of sweatpants on.

you sighed, taking the dark blue uniform off you and throwing it on the couch on the other side of the room, leaving you in your panties and a t-shirt.

“satoruuu…” you called him softly and calmly, climbing on the other side of the bed, sitting on your knees beside him. your hand poking his side waiting for a reaction. “satoru.” but nothing.

a bit annoyed you made the move. with another sigh, your hands sat on his chest, throwing your leg on the other side of his waist. you saw immediately that stupid grin on his face with his free hand going on your thigh in a millisecond.

“this is a good feeling.” he said with a chuckle. “heard you got back today from some lost place in South Africa, i’m offended you didn’t come to greet me first thing, babe.”

“right, can we go right to the point, honey.” you got his arm off his face but his eyes were still closed. “maybe you could look at me to start off.”

he breathed deeply, the amusement falling off for a second into numbness, he opened them, looking to the side for a moment before looking at you. you smiled sadly at the single glance to his beautiful light blue eyes. a pair that held so much behind them, feelings that he didn’t show easily.

“do you want to talk?” you asked him softly, your thumb brushing the side of his cheek, along his jawline.

“there’s something more productive i’d like to do. you, for example.” his fingers were playing with the elastic band of your panties.

“and they say romance is dead.” his light laugh and snort made a faint smile on your face appear. “if that were true, i’d feel you poking into me then i’d reject you as i’ve done before. but that’s not the case.”

“i mean, it doesn’t really take a lot…” his finger was going to the front of your panties, bringing them down till your own hand brought him out of them, back onto your waist. “we both need it, y/n, a nice distraction and consolation.” he sighed.

“i’ll consider it if we talk first. come on, we have done this before, satoru.” you were trying to be patient, keyword is trying, but that’s all, you have been through this countless times already, you knew the flirting and cute words were just to distract you from the purpose, though he knew you were not a flatterer.

“have i told you how pretty you look today?” he said with his hand lightly stroking your chin. you smiled, kissing the tip of his fingers.

“i love to hear such things from a handsome man.” you leaned down on him, chest to chest, your forearms keeping you up enough to still face him. “but we still need to talk. now you’re trapped, so start talking before we stay for days on this bed.”

“what about your trip? tell me about it? was the special grade curse as bad as people were making it out to be?” you sighed. you cupped his cheeks fully, inches away from his face. looking directly into his eyes, your heart beating fast at the way you would break the ice so abruptly.

“‘toru, tell me what happened with Suguru.” you asked.

you felt the way his chest stopped their movement for a second, you saw how his breath hitched and his eyes widened quickly. yet, no response came, you were just looking at him continuously, to the point where you didn’t realize how your positions changed.

he was on top of you, your legs wrapped around him as he breathed heavily. “satoru… i’m here. i’ve always been here.” you reminded him, trying to give him some faith and trust in yourself.

he collapsed gently, his head on your chest, his big figure sprawled on top of you and between your legs.

your hand brushing through his hair gently, rubbing his scalp and nape like a feather as he took his time.

“he’s gone.”

you hummed at his choked tone of voice. his shoulders were slightly trembling, then the sniffling started and then you felt your t-shirt dampening of his tears.

you just held him as he cried.

nobody was unaware of the relationship they had when they were young and in school, they had a friendship like no others, they were friends, brothers, family, maybe soulmates. you had just come in accidentally, being a year younger gave you all the time to admire your superiors, just one day you had found him wondering around alone, sighing.

sighing was a bad indicator for anything. you approached him and till now you had become something similar to a diary or a therapist, perhaps.

he told you the place each person had in his life, suguru was something like the sun in the hell of a childhood he lived, he was an anchor of life for him. when he left, it was visible how his life seemed to have been sucked out of him, you hated to see him like that. he slowly recovered from it but it was never the same, the walls were built.

it was worse the first months, he wouldn’t talk about it, he wouldn’t utter a word, he put on an act, then he’d get annoyed, then he’d try to run and make you leave, yell even, till you pressed and finally he opened up. he cried then too, he let his vulnerable side out in the world with you and you cried with him the first time. but now it was different.

you were in no way trying to involve yourself, or understand what he was going through, even though you did, since you had lost Yu after all, but right then it wasn’t your job to play who had it worse or make it about you, it was a moment of “let it out, before it consumes you.”

his body was calming down after some time.

his arms were even tighter around your torso, his body growing in heat, letting you reach around you to drop a blanket over the both of you before he got sick.

he cleared his throat, his voice still hoarse but he started to tell you in detail everything that had happened while you were away. you hummed here and there, asking a few questions as well, still rubbing your hands on his back and shoulders, seemingly comforting him.

“so up till now, you have not eaten a single thing.” you asked. “that’s not good, satoru, come on, we got to get out of bed.” you patted him, he whined in response.

“i disagree with that notion. we can cuddle and snuggle, maybe have some great sex-“

“see, no.” you tried to pull him off you but he didn’t let go. “i have a date tonight, but i need you up on your feet before i go, because if we wait you’ll be rotting tomorrow. wait!” in a moment and costing your neck, you were up, straddling his lap. as he looked up with a frown.

“what do you mean date? we have never agreed to this.” he really looked incredulous.

“you didn’t. i did. life is continuing outside the Jujustu world, my dear friend.” you slapped his cheek softly. “get up, you are having dinner right now.” you got out of his arms and out of bed, reaching for the couch as you put your pants back on. you turned on the lights and looked at him, his hand was ruffling his own hair while he still sat on the edge of the bed.

“satoru?” you called him. you walked back to him, taking his hands from his knees and have him stand up. “let’s go.”

you guided him slowly, he just complied, he followed after you, looking down at the your intertwined hands.

he looked at you as you talked friendly to the maid, asking her to please cook a little something in big portions to feed him for the days he had not eaten, and once everything was prepared he wanted to laugh at all the food laid out in front of him but you sat there with your arms crossed, looking at him intensely.

he just complied. starting to eat as you watched with a small smile, sometimes it fell into sadness to then turn into fondness.

it was dark outside by the time he was done. he laid back on his back with his legs still under the table, breathing heavily waiting for his stomach to do its job. “that was too much.” he muttered.

“now, you’ll think twice about starving yourself. i’m turning into a granny by worrying for you.” you said getting up, ready to get out of here and into the world.

“i’ll need you even if you’d turn into a granny. you’d be a hot granny.” you chuckled, reaching his side, receiving the invite of his hand reaching for you. you sat down with him one last time. looking directly into each other, his lips formed a weak smile, guiding his hand with yours in it to his lips and kissing it lightly.

he wanted to grin at the slight blush on your cheeks, but he refrained from doing that. “thank you.” you smiled genuinely at his words. “thank you for always being there for me. i haven’t been the best for you, but you’re always here. so, thank you.”

the smile on your face widened, your eyes almost completely invisible by it. “love to hear it.”

there was a moment of silence before the maids started to come in and the shiny atmosphere was disrupted. “i have to go now. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“all right, see you later, y/n.”

he sat up, watching you walk away and out of his residence with a big smile while he sighed and stood to walk back to his room.

he stood under the hot water, thinking. and thinking. and thinking more.

shit ending i know, but i didn’t have the inspiration for the conclusion. not my best work.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo angst #gojo satoru angst

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bbsmuts · 9 months

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Field Trip Ft. BLACKPINK Jennie and Jeon Somi

A/N: This was another pitch by @xiaoondc, the Momo smut was his idea as well. I don’t know how long this will be, I’m just going off of the pitch. Also I was a bit unsure about the ending, I was finishing as quickly as possible. I was trying to finish it before my client’s court hearing tomorrow, so it might not be good, don’t be too rough. I finished my collab smut that I wrote for when I hit 1k followers, just waiting to reach it now. Enjoy!

Also, this contains sexual violence and a humiliation scene, so that might not suit everyone. -상훈

Length: 4.8k

It was about ten in the morning when the plane landed in Kenya. After a not-so-good night of sleep on the plane, Jennie was ready to be off.

It wasn’t as though she wasn’t looking forward to the trip, she had been anticipating that for ages. But she wasn’t used to the heat of Africa or being jetlagged from changing time zones. She would be glad to have some rest in the hotel before the tour started. They would be exploring the Kenyan savanna with the tour guide and passing through the village of an the Kikuyu tribe (real Kenyan tribe, by the way), then making a circle back to Nairobi. Her taxi took her to the hotel, and after giving him his pay she stepped out and cast an eye over the hotel. A large sign out front on the roof read ‘Radisson Blu’, along with another on the west wall. She could tell just looking at it that she had chosen the right one. When she entered and checked in, a bellhop showed her to her room. The lobby was one of the finest she had ever seen, and that way saying a lot. The interior had a white theme with dark colored armchairs. Plants dotted the room here and there, and twinkling lights hung from the ceiling. Even the hallway leading to her room was extravagantly decorated. She took her luggage off the rack and unlocked her room with her keycard. She would have a couple of hours before the tour started, enough to get a good rest in. She quickly undressed and fell into the immense bed, falling asleep within seconds.

…

When she woke, she realized she would need to move quickly, the tour was starting in fifteen minutes. She got up and slipped on her shorts and crop top, not wanting to be stuck in pants or anything warm while she was out in the hot Kenya sun. After a quick snack she headed out to her taxi and headed to the venue for the tour. She arrived shortly after, where a small group of other foreigners (foreigners to Kenya, not Kenyans themselves) were waiting for it to start. The tour guide introduced herself as Ngina Mwangi and shepherded them onto a large, open-windowed bus. Jennie sat down next to a friendly-looking Korean woman and introduced herself. “I’m Somi,” the woman said in response to Jennie. “Jeon Somi. How are you?” “Good.” Replied Jennie. “It’s really hot here, especially compared to Seoul.” “You live in Seoul too?” “Yes! What district?” “I’m in Gangnam-gu, what about you?” “Ah, I’m in Insa-dong. Not that far from Gangnam-gu, though.” The two of them hit it off, getting along well as the only two Koreans there. (Yes, I know Somi isn’t Korean, but give me a break, she moved when she was a year old. Besides, Somi wasn’t my idea.) Ngina pointed out various historical sites and landmarks along the way, and after a while they pulled up to the village boundary of the Kikuyu tribe. All of them disembarked the bus and walked into the village. The tribe leader shook hands with Ngina, saying something in Swahili, and welcomed the group into the village. “I guess these people know Ngina,” Jennie whispered to Somi. “Probably from all the tours,” Somi replied. “I wonder what they do when they get to this village?” “Mmm, I don’t know. Just have a look around, maybe? They’ll lead us around.” However, Jennie’s assumptions were incorrect. The tour guide invited them to look around themselves, as allowed by the tribe leader. Jennie noticed the leader’s gaze following them as they wandered off. “So,” said Somi, once they were away from the village, “Ngina said to meet back at the village in three hours?” “Yes, I expect they’ll want us back before the high heat of the afternoon. Liability issues, you know.” “I guess. She gave us maps to get back, but they’re not easy to read. C’mon, let’s have a look around.” The natives were very friendly, though they had trouble understanding what Jennie and Somi were saying. They got along it fine though, and ate up about an hour talking with the locals. Then they went to explore the surrounding savannah. It was already getting very hot, and Jennie could feel sweat gathering all over her. A group of men were trooping around the village and surrounding areas wielding spears and machetes, and they passed by Jennie and Somi. Jennie saw a few eyes follow her retreating ass as she walked. She thought of what they must be thinking. She and Somi were both hot, and they had good bodies. These men probably didn’t have sex much, so that was definitely on their minds. Despite herself, Jennie felt a pang of lust run through her at the thought. “Did you see how they were looking at us?” Somi asked, a tinge of indignation in her voice. “Can you blame them?” Jennie asked, completely unconcerned. “No offense to the locals, but they’re not exactly supermodels, are they? As for us, we’re probably the only really hot girls for miles. I wouldn’t be any different if I were one of them.” “I know, but…” Somi gave a delicate shudder. “Pervs.” “Hey, give them a break. Like I said, we’re probably the only super hot girls for miles around.” They walked around for a while more, and by the third time the guard passed them by, Jennie started to suspect they were doing it deliberately. She didn’t mind, though. The men wore nothing but a loincloth made of parasol tree leaves, which didn’t leave much to Jennie’s wild imagination. She caught herself daydreaming about lewd things as she and Somi walked the fields together, and intentionally swaying her hips as they went by. She and Somi walked to the edge of a field and looked over a large lake. A large Mugumo tree sat by the bank closest to them, and they went to have a closer look. An altar had been built about five feet from the base of the tree. Jennie had read up on Kenyan rituals and such before she left Seoul, and she knew this altar would be for goat sacrificing rituals. Before long they spotted the guard making its way steadily towards them. Jennie wondered what they were doing. As far as she could see no one else was here, so they had no reason to be over here. “You are not allowed here,” said the leader in a thick accent, advancing towards them. “This is a forbidden area, for priests and spiritual leaders only. Come with us now.” They were led unprotestingly back to the village. But when they got there, they were not taken back to Ngina. The guard split up when they reached the village. Somi was taken the opposite direction, while Jennie was taken to a smaller hut closer to the outskirts. Four members of the guard came in with her. Once the door was closed, they seized her by the arms. “What the fu-” Her indignant exclamation was cut short by a length of linen cloth being tied around her head and in her mouth, cutting back any cries. The tribesmen grabbed ahold of her midriff shirt and tore it off, taking her bra with it. They yanked her shorts and panties to her ankles and took them off as well, leaving her naked on the floor. They bound her hands together behind her back and her feet together, rendering her incapable of movement. She tried to scream for help but the gag muffled all noise from her, and they left her alone. …

It must have been ten minutes she sat there, naked and bound on the packed clay of the floor, wondering what came next. Would she be raped, tortured, killed? Her questions were answered as five tribesmen from the guard entered and removed their loincloths. Her breathing quickened as she saw five huge, erect cocks pointing back at her, and knew that she was about to experience her first BBC gangbang. Despite her misgivings, a burgeon of excitement shot through her, and she felt a bit of slick leak out of her. She didn’t resist as they approached her and made her kneel. One of them slashed through the binds on her ankles and got under her, spreading her legs wide. She moaned against her gag as he entered her and started thrusting his hips. Two more advanced and knelt. One of them pushed his cock into her ass and the other went to her face, removed her gag, and drove his shaft roughly down her throat. She moaned luxuriously into it. She had never been airtight like this, she had never felt so pleasured in her life, and most of all, she had never been gangbanged by hung tribesmen on a clay floored hut in a rural tribe village in the middle of Kenya. Their cocks reached points deep inside her she didn’t know existed, the sheer size driving her mad with lust and unobstructed pleasure. “Jamani, inajisikia vizuri sana,” groaned the man under her as he fucked her pussy. Vaguely she wondered whether Somi was receiving the same treatment. But the thought was pushed from her head by the pure bliss she was feeling and the orgasm building inside her. No sooner had she realized this sensation than the man fucking her ass gave a loud groan and stopped thrusting, burying himself in her tight hole and spurting his load into her. The flood of warmth from this triggered Jennie’s own orgasm, which caused a chain reaction. Jennie let out a cry of intense pleasure and squirted hard onto the man under her, causing him to also cum. The second torrent of cum shot into her caused another orgasm from her. The pleasurable vibrations from her second squeal of bliss caused the man fucking her throat to cum as well. He released a roar and shoved his cock as far as he could in her throat, erupting in her and firing his cum down her throat. She gagged and choked on both his cock and the cum, overwhelmed with the simultaneous orgasms. His dick slid out of her throat as she slumped onto the man below her. But what came next took Jennie by surprise. The three of them got up, replaced the gag around her head, and took her by the arms. Two of them opened the door after putting back on their loincloths, and Jennie was dragged right into the middle of the street and dumped in full view of the entire village. Despite her pleasure at being gangbanged, she felt her cheeks grow red and hot with humiliation. Here she was, naked and tied up in the middle of the street, a small crowd already gathering around her, pushing and clamoring to get a good look at her. She tried to shift her legs so as to hide her pussy from the stares of the crowd, but to no avail. Before anything else could happen, however, she was grabbed and pulled to her feet by the three guards. They led her to a tall baobab tree with branches extending horizontally over her head. Her eyes found another, familiar figure, whose hands were tied to a branch far above her head and recognized it as Somi, who had also been stripped naked. Though Jennie was in a rather perilous situation, she couldn’t help admiring Somi’s graceful, slim, curvy figure, from her chest to her hips to the round of her ass. She shot Jennie a fearful look as Jennie’s hands were seized. Another roped was tied around them and thrown up over another branch by someone she could not see. The rope was secured on the branch. Jennie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the jeers of the crowd. She had never been overly modest, but standing there completely naked before the large crowd of locals ignited a sense of strong humiliation. Then a deep, gravelly voice spoke out from behind her. “Wanawake hawa walipatikana wakiingia kwa njia isiyo halali kwenye uwanja wa mti mtakatifu wa Mugumo, na kama adhabu watapokea kuchapwa viboko hadharani. Umati unapaswa kusimama nyuma.” Jennie didn’t speak Swahili, but she could understand some. From what he said she understood ‘caught’, ‘trespassing’, ‘mugumo’, ‘punishment’, and ‘whipping’. A few in the crowd of onlookers jeered angrily at the mention of the trespassing on the mugumo tree. At the mention of a whipping she felt a dreadful and anxious anticipation, and the crowd gave a unified gasp at something she couldn’t see. A sharp crack sounded and Somi gave a cry of pain beside her. Jennie’s dread intensified. Another crack sounded and she felt a searing pain on her back, making her gasp in both shock and pain. She looked around and saw two men, each of whom carried a long bullwhip with a tassel at the end. She looked away as Somi was hit again, trying to ignore her shriek of torment. Jennie was lashed again, this time lower down on her back. She gave a whimper, feeling the sharp sting in full. Ten lashes were given to both of them, leaving their backs stinging and aching. Then the two men approached and turned them around, so they were facing the crowd. Jennie hung her head in shame, trying not to meet the gazes that roved over her naked body. Another lash was given to Somi. Then the tip of the whip made contact with her breast, lashing her nipple directly. She yelled in pain as Somi was hit again. Then the man lashed her other breast, and she felt shock before pain. They were targeting areas that were sure to cause intense suffering, and it was working. They each got ten more lashes, and then the bullwhips were put away. Jennie breathed a sigh of relief before seeing what they brought out next. A full crate of whips was brought out. One guard removed a barbed cat-o-nine tailed whip and Jennie caught her breath, but the other shoved it back, shaking his head and muttering something in Swahili. Then he took out two long, thin wooden switches and handed one to the other man. They approached Jennie and Somi once more and turned them around. No uniformity or pretense of professionalism was shown this time. The guards didn’t wait for one another, but immediately began striking their asses savagely. Jennie, eyes watering with pain and mouth open in a continuous cry of agony, looked to Somi and saw each swat of the switch crack off of her ass, creating ripples on her skin. One particularly nasty smack made Jennie scream in pain. Jennie lost count of how many times she was hit, but after a minute they backed off, leaving Jennie and Somi breathless. Jennie truly thought it was over, until they took out riding crops. The two of them were turned around again. One guard asked something in Swahili and the other nodded. He raised the crop in front of Jennie and brought it down on her right breast, smacking her squarely on the nipple. She tensed up with a cry and then fell limp against her bonds, wishing it to be over. He whipped her breast again, and then once more. Then she looked up just in time to see the crop streaking towards her left breast. She cried out once more, still resolutely trying to ignore the gazes of the crowd. She felt shamed, humiliated. The guard whipped her breast twice more and then stepped back for a moment. She looked up optimistically, thinking it to be over, and then her hopes were dashed once more as he advanced again. He grabbed her thighs and wrenched them apart, baring her pussy to the crowd’s stares. The next moment, he brought the lash up from the ground into her still-wet pussy with a smack that resounded around the square. The crowd took a collective inhale at this, and with a tremendous effort Jennie kept silent. The screams of torture from beside her were no longer audible. A sense of defiance had risen from the jumble of other feelings inside her, risen like a viper from a pit. She would keep silent, no matter how many times he struck her. At the same time she came to this conclusion, he realized it, and gave a vicious uppercut to her smarting lips, and her effort doubled as the sting seared through her. He gave her five more, ten more, twenty. She lost count as she shut her eyes and bore it. But at what she thought was number forty, he gave one particularly forceful stroke, and despite herself Jennie finally let out the wail of torment that had been longing to escape her. The guard, satisfied, motioned for the other to stop and put away the crops and the crate. Jennie looked to Somi and saw that her entire front was covered in red marks from her beating. Their arms were untied from the branches, but not untied from each other. Someone grabbed ahold of her and threw her off the dais that the tree sat on. She landed painfully on the ground, and when she looked up she saw that she had been thrown at the feet of the crowd. Then the man’s voice spoke again, and Jennie understood what he said perfectly. “Do what you want to them.” Hands, Jennie couldn’t tell how many, groped at her body. Her breasts were roughly squeezed and slapped, and more hands rubbed, smacked, and teased her pussy. She tried to cry for help, but the gag was still in her mouth and she couldn’t make a sound. She shut her eyes tightly as she was lifted into the air, also noticing the guards sitting back and watching. A few supported her and two forced her legs apart. More fingers teased her slit, and then someone forced three fingers inside her. She moaned in pleasure despite herself, bucking her hips when the fingers brushed her g-spot. The person fingering her pulled his fingers out and shouted something to the crowd in which the words ‘whores’ and ‘parade’ were distinguishable, to general assent from the mob. Jennie knew nothing good could come of those words, and she was right. The mob set her down and someone came running to the man who had been fingering her with a collar. The collar was fastened around her neck and then yanked forward towards the town center. She didn’t even try to resist, there were too many of them, and in any case they were too unpredictably volatile to risk it. She was paraded around the town naked with Somi for a good ten minutes, and her cheeks were on fire by the time they returned to the square, her naked body having been on display for everyone in the area. After being informed of their heinous crime, the natives had spat on them, slapped them, beaten them with sticks, and whapped them with canes. Jennie was covered in red marks and spit, and once they returned to the square their hands were tied to the branches again. More countless hands groped her body and slapped her breasts, and then someone in the crowd started a chant of “Kuwatomba!”, which Jennie didn’t understand but figured out when she and Somi were forced onto the ground. Immediately, she was surrounded, face to the ground, the side of her head collecting sand. A second later she gave a cry as she felt two cocks invade her ass and pussy. Someone yanked her head from the ground and stuffed his cock into her mouth. Hands landed on her ass and tits, slapping ferociously, and the crowd cheered the men fucking Jennie on. Jennie never suspected that such peaceful villagers would get so aggressive after finding out what Jennie and Somi did. It didn’t seem that serious, but now the crowd’s rage and lust was reaching fever pitch. As much as she tried to hold it in, she couldn’t stop herself moaning in pleasure at the huge cocks stretching her out. The men groaned and fucked her harder, and the feeling overwhelmed her. The pleasure took her over and she felt herself squirting hard onto them. The men backed up and then someone smacked her ass hard. Their hands were tied to the tree again so that any passersby could see them. After a few more minutes of physical and verbal abuse the crowd dispersed and finally they were left alone there. Passersby stopped, whispered, and pointed at them, but no questions were asked, and no help was offered.

Eventually six men came. They took Jennie and Somi’s hands down from the tree and gave them some water, asking where they came from and how they found themselves in such a situation. Jennie answered their questions, and when she got to the part about having accidentally tresspassed, one of them shook his head. “They are always going bananas about that tree, I tell you.” He said. “Whenever someone will get near that tree, it’s always a public whipping. You two are lucky,” he added, “that they didn’t take out the cat-o-nine tails.” “Yes, one was going to,” said another, “but since you are tourists the other refused, on the grounds that you couldn’t have known.” “Exactly!” Jennie exploded. “We had no idea! We were walking along the field, we stopped to have a closer look at the stupid tree, and the next thing I know I’m naked and tied to a tree, having my backside thrashed off!” Somi shook her head. “It’s not right, what they did,” she said hollowly. “Even before they whipped us. We were stripped naked, bound, and fucked. Raped.” Privately, Jennie speculated that for her it wasn’t really rape; she hadn’t objected at all, but the men looked disgusted. “Well, I’m glad some people around here have some decency, at least,” said Jennie wearily. After this the men left, promising to bring back food and clothes. A few minutes later they returned with a few blankets and bowls full of Nyama Choma. Jennie and Somi accepted the blankets and food and covered themselves as best as they could (though it didn’t really matter at this point, the entire town had seen every part of them), thanking the men for their help. Jennie’s wary eye noticed the guards still hanging back over by the hut Jennie had been abducted to. Her eyes followed them as they approached again, the other men having walked off. One started talking to Jennie and Somi in Swahili, talking rapidly. “I can’t understand you,” Jennie said tiredly. “I don’t speak Swa-” The guards bent down as quick as lightning and grabbed Jennie and Somi by the arms. Somi tried to scream but the guard clapped a hand over her mouth, and Jennie’s guard followed suit. The guards strapped gags into their mouths again and Jennie had a feeling that their troubles weren’t over. … It wasn’t long until Jennie found herself naked and tied up on the clay floor again. The guards entered once more, but they didn’t immediately commence fucking her. They took her to the post supporting the tent and tied her hands above her head and her feet to the bottom of the post. Her sensitive nipples grated against the wood. A moment later she felt a strap make contact with her already sore ass. Her voice was already hoarse from screaming in pain, moaning in pleasure and other sounds, and her cry was broken and hoarse. The strap hit her again and she cried out again. They weren’t hitting her hard, but hard enough to cause pain. They struck her ten more times and then she collapsed as they untied her. She mentally wondered what was next. They had beaten her into complete submission, now what? She would let them fuck her, no issues. Tired and sore as she was, she was not going to say no to another gangbang. In fact, that’s what they were about to do, Jennie noticed. They were removing their loincloths again, and despite her anger at being beaten, she spread her legs eagerly. One looked taken aback but advanced anyway. In a matter of moments they were on her. She felt one enter her pussy, which was already wet from arousal, one in her ass, and one man tip her head back and slide into her throat. She moaned as she felt the cock rub against her g-spot. He fucked her harder, making her scream in pleasure into her facefucking. She loved it, she didn’t want it to stop. The man fucking her throat couldn’t last any longer and slammed his hips into her face, burying himself in her throat and shooting his cum into her.She moaned as he pulled out, trying valiantly to swallow it all. At last she managed it, and her toes curled with pleasure. “Oh god yes, fuck me harder!” She yelled. Her hand reached down to her clit and rubbed furiously, pushing her towards her peak. “Feels so good, fuck, I’m gonna cum!” One of them slapped her tit hard and squeezed roughly, only heightening her bliss. “Harder!” Jennie cried, other hand massaging her other breast. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck! Harder, pound my pussy! Shit, I’m cumming! I’m cumming, OH FUCK!” Her last scream of pleasure reverberated in the very timber of the house as she experienced a very intense orgasm and squirted hard onto the man’s cock. He in turn groaned loudly and exploded in her pussy, flooding her with hot cum. The man under her fucking her ass orgasmed as well, pumping her ass full of his seed. “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, feeling the warmth inside her. The men got up and reattached their loincloths. After retying her hands and feet, they went out, leaving her tied, naked, and alone once more. They returned with who Jennie recognized as the tribe leader with them. He took a moment to admire Jennie’s flawless naked body before speaking to her. “I have been informed of your position as a criminal and a trespasser.” He said. “I have decided to give you a choice; Either you disobey and go to prison, or you obey, submit yourself and your body to our village, and become our breeding queen.” Jennie saw the potential to either live in prison forever or live in pleasure forever. But what about Korea? She was only going on vacation, but she didn’t want to stay here forever, not at all. Maybe they could negotiate. “But I don’t live here,” Jennie said. “I will become your breeding queen, hell, even your fucktoy. I’ll let you use me whenever you want, I’ll be your sex slave. But I only request that I be able to return to my home and come here once a year instead of living here.” The guards and leader talked among themselves and then turned back to her. “Yes, that would be acceptable,” said the leader. “So long as you return every year to fulfill your role as breeding queen, we will allow you to leave.” Privately, Jennie speculated that she would be searched for if she wasn’t back when she was supposed to be, but she went with it. She was untied, given her clothes (which had been sitting in a corner) back, but Jennie noticed that they kept her panties. Not surprising. Then she was shown back to Ngina, who certainly had some questions.Had someone told her she would be agreeing to be the cockslave of a Kenyan tribe ten days ago, she would have called the straightjacket patrol. But the pleasure had been too much to handle, she was addicted. With much resignation she answered all the questions. The following discussion sucked away a lot of time, and then the bus was clumsily loaded back up. Most of the passengers cast Jennie fervent looks but avoided her gaze. After about ten minutes of waiting, Somi boarded and flung herself into the seat next to Jennie. Her entire face was burning red and she was clearly livid. “Unbelievable,” she said quietly. “Those stupid, perverted scumbags forced me into being their slave.” “What happened?” “I refused at first. They threatened my life, they held spears to my neck. I had no choice. They’re savages, I had no doubt they would kill me on the spot.”

“Are you ever coming back?” Somi looked at Jennie like she had two heads. “Are you insane? Never! Not once in my entire life! Surely you’re not either?”“Never.” Jennie lied. “They did the same to me, I never want it to happen again.” The bus took them back to Nairobi, where Somi gave Jennie a terse “see you later” and departed. Exhausted, Jennie headed back to the hotel and fell asleep. It wouldn’t be the last time she went to that village.

#kpop smut #blackpink smut #somi smut #jennie smut

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thedovesaredying · 3 months

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Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Part 1

First "official" part of Nikto x Reader fic set in the cowboy AU originally created by @ghouljams once again staring our darling Sputnik. Makes a lot more sense if you read the prologue which can be found linked below.

A/N: Did I spend several hours watching Kevin Richardson videos with him hanging out with his hyenas while writing this? Yes. Do I regret it? Absolutely not. This also ended up a lot longer than I was expecting lmao.

Warnings: Depictions of Minor Medical Procedures.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

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When working as a rural vet there’s a surprising amount of driving involved. Travelling from the clinic to farms and huge properties miles and miles away for in-person appointments and consultations can understandably take several hours out of your day. Most of the time you don’t even have working cell service to help guide you to your destination and you’re forced to either memorise the route beforehand or turn to your old reliable map.

You’re new to the area, having decided to spend some time travelling across the US for the potential experience it could offer you. You’ve done plenty of work on stations in the north of Australia, helping jackaroos to manage any illness within their herds, always moving from place to place, and so Texas seemed like the perfect place to start your travels.

While training, however, you had been given an offer to travel to South Africa to work with the numerous wildlife there both on reserves and in zoos. It was the best year of your life and ignited a passion for working with exotic animals.

Travelling the US for work was an exciting opportunity to help rural communities with their livestock and to work with the numerous native species you’ve never had the chance to encounter in your everyday life. This little town was just another step on your travels and, so far, hadn’t really stood out to you more than any other small town.

So, it isn’t out of place for you to be driving down a lengthy driveway through the woods and pulling up to a rundown old house. What is strange, is the huge creature sitting at the top of the porch.

The hyena is massive. It’s powerfully built with pure muscle, and no doubt would be able to tear you to pieces if it chose to. It’s so distracting that for a long time you don’t even notice the huge man standing beside your car. He looks just as strong as the hyena sitting behind him and you’re not sure how you missed his approach.

When the lady at the front desk informed you that there was a gentleman asking for a veterinarian with experience handling exotics, you were thinking perhaps a rare lizard, or an uncommon species of parrot. What you weren’t expecting was to see an adult hyena staring you down.

You’re more than a little reluctant to leave the safety of the vehicle, but upon receiving a jerk of the head from the man, you cautiously exit the car. Not once do you take your eyes off the predator while you quickly grab your bag from the backseat.

Having dealt with hyenas before, you know better than to show any kind of fear, forcing your shoulders down from your ears and starting to take calm, deep breaths. You offer your name to who you presume is the animal’s owner and hold out a hand for him to shake.

The man, “Nikto,” as he grunts to you, takes your hand after a moment and gives it a firm shake. You’re used to farmers having a strong grip, so you simply offer the man a bright grin. “I take it this is the patient?” you ask, nodding your head toward the hyena in question.

The man is clad head to toe in all-black clothing. Typical cowboy hat, black denim jeans, and a shirt that has a high collar and sleeves that reach all the way down to his wrists where they meet with a pair of leather gloves. All regular clothing, albeit a little dark for such a hot climate, but what really sets him apart is the dark neck gaiter covering most of his features.

You would think it odd for him to be hiding his face on his own property, but you’ve heard that there’s several other ex-military men in the town that also prefer bandanas or masks to showing their bare faces. It looks intimidating, especially given just how huge the guy is, but at the end of the day he’s your client and it isn’t your place to judge.

“да,” Nikto nods, “this is Sputnik.” He looks you up and down, before asking, “you are comfortable with her, yes?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve worked with hyenas before,” you confirm. That, unfortunately, doesn’t make it any easier or less nerve-wracking to be so close to an unrestrained predator. Normally, there’s at least a fence between you and any of the wildlife you’re treating, but hopefully the animal is somewhat friendly given it’s allowed to roam free.

At your confirmation, he lets out a sharp whistle and snaps out a harsh, “КО МНЕ!” Causing the animal to leap to her feet and sprint across the grass to her owner’s side.

You try not to jump when Sputnik runs directly toward you but manage to keep a handle on your reactions. Much to your relief, however, rather than tackling you to the floor and tearing your throat out, the hyena starts laughing excitedly and running circles around you. She’s clearly very curious, stopping every few seconds to try and sniff at you from a distance.

You can imagine it would be an intimidating sight for anyone who has never encountered a hyena before, but she’s clearly just excited to meet someone new. “Is she normally this excited to meet new people?” you ask, unable to resist the smile that grows on your face as Sputnik starts to playfully nip at Nikto’s legs.

The man huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “no.”

You’re beginning to understand that Nikto is not one for making conversation.

As Sputnik calms again, you watch her wander around the area. The issue becomes clear to you quite quickly in the form of a slight limp on one of her hind legs. She seems to otherwise be bright, alert and responsive, only the sore leg causing her problems.

You run through the basic questions about the problem, how long it’s being going on, and how her behaviour has been recently. You quickly take notes on her previous medical history while keeping an eye on Sputnik. After taking down her information, you ask Nikto to bring her to one of the old sheds so you can begin the exam.

She’s a beautiful hyena, and despite not having the behaviour of a domesticated dog, she can somewhat follow her owner’s commands. After seeing Nikto tapping the top of one of the tables, she hops up into a bench for you to more easily inspect her body.

With Sputnik firmly restrained by her owner, you gently reach out for her hind paw. You softly palpate the area, taking note of the large amount of swelling, particularly in the area between two of her toes. After glancing up to ensure she isn’t getting too stressed, you pull apart the toes, spotting a nasty yellow lump of what is presumably infection.

As you check over the area, you notice something black sticking out of the wound. With your trusty pair of tweezers you take hold of the object and begin to gently tease it out of the swollen mass. Sputnik’s leg twitches slightly, clearly not happy about someone touching her sore paw, but after a few soft words of encouragement she settles once again.

Your grip on the object slips a few times, but eventually you’re able to pull it free. It’s a nasty thorn, a whole inch in length that was buried in the poor animal’s foot. Just removing it causes a flood of pus to begin squirting from the wound and you’re thankful for the medical gloves you’re wearing, because it is far from a pleasant smell.

Sputnik whines, trying to pull her paw away again, but with your client still holding her head in place you can continue to express the rest of the fluid without causing her much more distress. With a small syringe of saline, you quickly flush out the remaining chunks of hardened infection until the liquid runs clear.

It’s a small enough opening that she won’t need the wound packed or any stitches to keep it closed. Instead, you spray the area with a thick layer of Blu-Kote to prevent any further infection.

“I'll need to give her a quick antibiotic injection to make sure it won’t come back, just make sure she’s restrained, okay?” You receive a grunt of acknowledgement, then provide the needed shot. Sputnik tries to turn and snap at you, but with Nikto in the way she ends up biting at thin air and growling in frustration.

You gently rub at the hyena’s back with a loving coo, “what a brave girl, you did so well!”

After being released she turns to regard you for a moment, before squealing happily and trying to lick at your face. It seems you’re already forgiven for your cruel transgressions against the poor girl. “Looks like this was the cause of the trouble,” you explain, briefly showing Nikto the old thorn you’d removed.

Nikto turns his gaze to Sputnik, rolling his eyes before gently cuffing her around the back of the head. “Долбоеб,” he mutters, ignoring the way she starts to playfully bite at one of his gloved hands.

You’re not entirely sure what he said, but no doubt it’s some sort of insult. Not that Sputnik seems to care, hopping down from the table and trotting around the barn as if the last ten minutes didn’t occur.

“I gave her a strong antibiotic, but spotted hyenas are pretty notorious for their infections being resistant to treatment, so if she starts getting worse or isn’t improving then be sure to give me a call and we’ll look at if there’s anything we need to do,” you explain, keeping an eye on how Sputnik moves on her feet now.

“Understood,” the man nods, standing ramrod straight with his arms crossed over his chest.

Clearly this man still isn’t very interested in a conversation, given he has nothing further to add and almost seems to be pointedly ignoring you. It’s a little uncomfortable, but he’s certainly not the first... interesting character you’ve dealt with in your career and he won’t be the last. “Do you have any other questions about the treatment?” you ask.

“нет,” he grunts, before quickly adding, “no.”

You nod, offering the man a genuine smile, “well, I’m glad I could help out.” You remove your gloves and quickly start packing away the tools you’d been using, “the office will send through an invoice to your email, so you can pay online or head down to the clinic to pay in person.”

He just nods, watching you silently as you finish up collecting your tools and placing them back away into your bag. His eyes seem to burn into you, his icy gaze piercing through your body and directly into your very soul. You’re not sure how comfortable you are having your innermost self so openly exposed to someone you’ve only just met, but quickly shake off the feeling.

As soon as you’re finished packing, you pull out one of your personal cards, handing it to Nikto. He stares at the piece of cardboard for a long moment, and you quickly explain, “my card, it’s got my number on it in case you ever need help.” You can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him to find someone with genuine experience treating large predatory animals and you’re more than happy to offer as much of your expertise as he wants.

Nikto awkwardly goes to reach for the card with one of his hands, only to pause midway and reach for it with the other one. He fleetingly glances over the card, then tucks it into one of his shirt pockets.

While you make your way back to your car, Nikto calls Sputnik back over and ensures the animal walks at his heels. She doesn’t seem happy with this command, whining and laughing as she looks between her master and you. She very obviously wants to run after you and play but knows better than to ignore her owner.

Sputnik sits next to Nikto as the man watches you quickly pack everything back into your car. She keeps looking between you and Nikto, as if silently begging him to allow her to go back to you for more attention, but he stands strong against her sad eyes. It’s cute, really, since it likely means that weaponized puppy dog eyes are an effective tool in getting the stoic man to crumble if she’s still attempting to use them against him.

Before you hop into the car you give Sputnik a wave, laughing when she cries at you. “Bye, sweetheart!” you coo again, before offering her owner a wave and a smile.

Looking into the rear-view mirror on your way back toward the main road, you can see both Nikto and Sputnik watching you leave. They’re an odd pair, but it’s been a while since you had the chance to work with such a beautiful animal and you can’t help looking forward to seeing both her and her strange human again sometime soon.

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #fanfic #call of duty nikto #nikto x reader #cowboy au

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 9: Clarence House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, Adventures with Aegon (ft. Sunfyre the Ferret), Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, and no more hints for you, start reading!!!

Word Count: 8.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰🧁

He returns in an afternoon of inescapable golden sunlight, hot and muggy, bumble bees and ladybugs wheeling lazily above tall grass, cumulus clouds like tufts of cotton in a sky the color of Aemond’s eye. You hear him talking to Cadi—she’s out in the front yard making mud pies, earth for sugar and sprinkles of stray pelican feathers—and then the weight of his footsteps on the sinking, sloping porch. He opens the door, never locked, and walks through the living room into the kitchen. From behind, his arms circle around your waist; and you’ve missed him so much—dreaming of waves and storms, chains and blood—that you have nothing for him but softness, gentle smiles and a voice hushed with relief.

“How was Norway?” you ask as you roll out dough on the counter. You’re making a buttermilk pie.

“Fine,” Aemond says, resting his chin on your shoulder. But he sounds tired, low.

You turn around to look at him, raising your fingertips to his unscarred right cheek; he won’t tolerate you touching the left. You leave a dusting of flour across his skin like snow, which you have never seen in person and likely never will. The air conditioner is humming. The little pink Panasonic boombox is playing Africa by Toto. “Did something happen?”

“I just missed you.” Then he brightens. “But I was greeted by some very welcome news when I got back to the house this morning.” He’s wearing his neon teal duffle bag. He drops it to the floor and unzips it; inside you glimpse several Nintendo game cartridges, presumably for Cadi. And you think: I’m always here making things, he’s always bringing them from far away. Aemond takes two small dark blue booklets out of a pocket in the inner lining of the duffle bag and gives them to you. On the front of each is embossed in gold lettering, along with an emblem of a bald eagle: Passport, United States of America.

“…Aemond?!”

“There’s one for you and one for Cadi. I submitted the forms a month ago, but even with expedited processing it took this long. Ridiculous. What does the government do all day besides hunt down social programs to defund?”

“But…but…” You open one of the booklets. A photograph of your own face gazes back at you, serious and serene, taken against the white wall of your bedroom before you knew about Aemond being a Targaryen, or Christabel, or Amir’s exodus to San Franscisco, or the profound futility of everything, it seems. “How…?”

“I took the pictures, obviously. The rest was easy enough to find. You store birth certificates and social security cards the same place where you keep the business records that Amir showed me. Typically people have to go to a passport agency in person, but Criston and I have ways around that. Your signature might have been forged on the applications…but I suspect you won’t be filing any police reports.” Aemond grins, pleased with himself. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely surprising.” You stare down at the passports, amazed. “Aemond…this is a lot. But you already know that.”

“The whole time I was gone, I was wishing you could be there too. And now I can take you anywhere.”

Your heart is pounding, helpless childlike exhilaration. “Where are we going?”

“Clarence House in London.”

London: it’s another world, a distant planet, a constellation whose name you don’t know, the lost city of Atlantis.“Clarence House? Is that a hotel?”

“It’s a royal residence,” Aemond says, amused. “It’s officially the home of the Queen Mother, but the whole family goes to Balmoral in Scotland every summer, and while they’re gone they often rent out one wing to guests, not just anyone, trusted people like distant cousins or longtime, aristocratic friends. And the Targaryens…”

“You’re marrying Christabel, and she’s nobility. So you’re basically nobility now too.”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, a little guiltily, perhaps. “But you’re the person I’m inviting.”

“And Cadi.”

Now he’s genuinely puzzled. “Of course. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

Maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can make this work.

And you climb onto your tiptoes to circle your arms around the back of his neck, embracing him, thanking him, thinking: Christabel will have his ring, his last name, his family’s mansion, his acquiescent kiss at the altar of the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens…but I have what he’s made of, dreams, soul, bones in the abyss of an ocean of blood. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

First class, cheerful stewardesses, an array of magazines purchased from a gift shop in New Orleans International Airport: the National Enquirer and Food & Wine for you, The Face and Smithsonian for Aemond, and National Geographic Kids and Zoobooks for Cadi. The Zoobooks animal this month is the eagle, how quintessentially American. You are served antipasto Italiano, shrimp cocktail, Perrier, and champagne (Cadi gets a Shirley Temple) over the Atlantic Ocean. Aemond shows you and Cadi how to chew gum to pop your ears as the pressure builds to pain. When there is turbulence and he leans in close to tell you everything is fine, Aemond smells like Wrigley’s Doublemint, cologne, Marlboro cigarettes like the logo on his red and white jacket. You press your palm to the cool window, and clouds float by through the gaps between your fingers. The world is older than anything you could fathom; the world is brand new.

There is a black limousine waiting outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. The driver gets out to load the sparse luggage: Aemond’s teal duffle bag, a frayed and battered rolling suitcase that you borrowed from your mother, a Super Mario Bros. backpack that you found for Cadi at Kmart. Aemond doesn’t have much time to spare, only 4 days, practically a long weekend; but it feels like an eternity stretches out in front of you as the limousine zooms through the narrow, winding streets of downtown London, Starship’s We Built This City piping from the radio. You have never had more than a few uninterrupted hours with Aemond before. Now you will have a hundred.

The London air is cool, grey, misty; fresh rainwater bleeds into puddles, dark pools of mirrorlike reflections. With the windows rolled down and clean slate-colored air unfurling in your lungs, Aemond points to the landmarks you pass: Gunnersbury Park, Chiswick House and its gardens, cathedrals, museums, shopping districts, centuries-old cemeteries, stations of the London Underground, the River Thames, Hyde Park, the Ritz Hotel, Buckingham Palace, Saint James’ Palace, and at last Clarence House. It is a boxy white four-story townhouse with columns at the entranceway that remind you of the Targaryens’ estate on the shore of Lake Verret, the beautiful yet temporary home they call The Last Desire.

Aemond says that the entire first floor will be yours for the duration of your stay. There is the Lancaster Room, red and gold, and the Morning Room of creams and weak watery blue. There is the Library, the Dining Room, and the vibrantly pink Horse Corridor named for its ample equine paintings and sculptures; Cadi immediately proclaims this to be the best part of the house. She lingers in the hallway examining the art pieces as you and Aemond proceed to the Garden Room, which looks out upon a sea of lavender and shrubs meticulously shaped into a maze no higher than your waist. It has a golden harp and a grand piano, and a vast bed large enough for at least five people, in your estimation. I wonder if Aemond has ever tried that, you think distractedly. I wonder if there are temptations I can’t satisfy for him.

“You and Cadi can have this room,” Aemond says. He keeps wincing and bringing his hand up to the left side of his face; you doubt he’s even aware of it. “I’ll sleep on one of the couches.” Of course he will; Cadi thinks you’re just friends, and she’s aware he’s getting married to someone else. He knew exactly what it would mean when he bought a passport for her. “Queen Elizabeth and her husband Philip lived here before she ascended to the throne. They loved it so much that at first they refused to move to Buckingham Palace, which is the traditional residence of the reigning monarch. But their insolence was worn down. No one gets to break the rules.”

I shouldn’t be in this place, you keep thinking as you gaze around at the portraits on the wall, the stiff unnatural photographs of royals, the vases, the chandeliers, the fireplaces, the plush intricate rugs, the garden on the other side of the windows. People like me don’t belong here. “Aemond, are you alright?”

“It’s my eye,” he confesses with an uneasy, apologetic smirk. “Sometimes flights…the altitude changes…it aggravates the nerve damage. It’s like needles in my skull. But I’ll be okay.”

“You fly a lot for work, don’t you?” You hurt yourself for Viserys, in body and soul.

“I do,” he agrees. He unzips his duffle bag and produces a bottle of Percocet. “Why do you think I carry these around?”

“Take one,” you say. “Lie down, rest. Cadi and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours.”

He’s relieved, he’s grateful. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You can even borrow the bed.”

“Back between your sheets, huh?” Aemond says, in pain but smiling through it. He draws a semicircle from the part in your hair down to your chin, a weightless sweep of his fingertips like a kind breeze. “You are incurable. You can’t resist me.”

“I have my own scheme in mind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You grab the front of his Marlboro jacket, appropriate for the overcast London weather. He belongs here, this house, this city, this way of life. He wasn’t made for the primordial heat of the swamplands. You fold into him, close enough to tease, to quicken his heartbeat and momentarily clear the wounded furrows from his brow. “I want my pillows to smell like you. I want to breathe you in all night. It’s how I sleep best.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Aemond says, a little stunned; but he’s elated too. For a moment, you’ve distracted him from his suffering entirely. “I’ll roll around all over them. I will mar the bedding irrevocably, the Queen Mother will never invite me back.” And he watches as you leave, his gaze transfixed and meditative and—more than anything else—hopeful.

“Hey, honey,” you say when you find Cadi in the Horse Corridor, poking a 100-year-old oil painting that she is definitely not supposed to be touching. “Let’s go explore and grab some dinner. Aemond isn’t feeling great, but we’ll hang out with him later.”

“Is it his face?”

You are startled. She knows so much. “Yeah, actually, it is.”

“He showed me,” Cadi says casually, still peering up at the horse; and you remember the day when he took her out to the front yard after she said she wished you were more like her friends’ mothers. “He even let me touch it. Radical, right? It’s so gross, but super cool too.”

Aemond couldn’t stand for me to see how he was maimed, but he forced himself to endure it for Cadi. “What did he tell you?”

“That I should appreciate having a good mom, because not all parents treat their kids right. He said his dad let his eye get crushed. And he told me he’d bet $1 million that you’d snap someone’s neck if they hurt me like that.”

You reach out to skim your fingers through her dark disheveled hair, smiling faintly, fondly. Cadi doesn’t seem to mind. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Can we get fish and chips?”

“Totally. I have 50 British pounds in my wallet, I assume that’s enough for dinner.”

“Wow! How much is 50 pounds in dollars?”

“I have no idea,” you say. “Let’s go spend them.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evenings, you, Cadi, and Aemond gather around the television in the Lancaster Room and help yourself to the extensive VHS collection stocked for guests. You let Cadi pick: Raiders Of The Lost Ark, The Terminator, Firestarter, the Karate Kid, Aliens. You make popcorn in the extravagant kitchen in the basement of Clarence House and the three of you devour bowlfuls of it as you giggle on the couch, engulfed with throw pillows and playfully kicking at each other beneath the blankets. One night at Cadi’s request you bake Betty Crocker’s Party Rainbow Chip cupcakes with mix purchased at a Tesco down the street; on another you make hot chocolate to sip from antique tea cups. Each day, Aemond has new destinations picked out to tour. You ride the Underground like true Londoners to the Hampton Court Palace, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Natural History Museum, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Tower Bridge, the National Gallery, the Kew Gardens, Imperial College where Aemond received the petroleum engineering degree he never wanted.

As he shows you the classrooms where he attended lectures and seminars—you aren’t sure what the difference is, though you can sense that there is one—Aemond doesn’t talk about math or oil drilling. Instead, he tells you and Cadi about the people he learned about in the history classes he managed to slip into his exacting schedule like splinters into flesh: Sir Harold Gillies who pioneered plastic surgery in his treatment of World War I veterans, Phillis Wheatley who was enslaved as a child and became a renowned poet and abolitionist, Boudicca who led a rebellion against the Roman invaders and upon her defeat succumbed to some tragic, enigmatic doom. Aemond loves stories like this, you can see the light that sparks into the crystalline blue of his right eye. There is nothing he deems more heroic than people who took circumstances beyond their control and made something worthwhile out of them.

The night before the flight back to New Orleans, you’re staring at the crown molding of the Garden Room as Cadi snores softly from the other end of the massive bed and silvery moonlight covers the world. You can’t stop your thoughts from roiling like the North Sea; you can’t stop thinking about desks and chairs and books and clever blue-blooded girls jotting down in their notebooks not cake orders but mathematical equations or dates of conquest. When you breathe in the smoke and cologne Aemond left on your pillows, it tastes dark and forbidden. You climb out of the bed, roomy Bob Dylan t-shirt, pink cotton shorts, hair loose and wild, bare feet.

He is outside pacing around the sundial in the center of the garden, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette and pondering the full moon. “Can’t sleep?” Aemond asks, exhaling smoke as he glances over at you.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“What?” He stops pacing. “Why?”

“Imperial College,” you say. “And the sorts of people who go to places like that. You must have known a lot of women who could recite Shakespear and name all the kings of England, all of Jupiter’s moons. Things I never learned. Things that I have no use for. I don’t write books or design machines or study the secrets of the universe. I bake cupcakes.”

“And they’re brilliant,” Aemond says, smiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No?”

“No,” Aemond insists. “I think that if you’d been born where I was, you would have done far more with it.”

“Aemond…” You walk across the wet cobblestones to meet him by the sundial. It’s been raining again. The night air is chilly, foggy, painting you with goosebumps. “You still have time to become who you want to be.”

“No. I don’t.”

It’s coming from somewhere, distant but still audible, a parked car or a nearby building: Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Aemond chuckles, flicks the end of his cigarette into the lavender bushes—surely against the rules—and takes your hands in his.

“I remember this,” he says as he dances with you slowly, clumsily; you don’t know the steps. Still, you don’t want him to stop. “In your kitchen.”

He remembers everything. “Right before we went to Olive Garden for the first time.”

He sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Of course that’s the part you committed to memory.”

“I’ve held onto a few other details too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like how small the back seat of your Audi Quattro is.”

“A limousine would be far more comfortable. I should invest in one.”

You laugh as he twirls you and you trip over your own feet; he pulls you upright before you can fall to the slick cobblestones. And you think: This is real. No matter what happens between him and anyone else, what we have is safe and extraordinary and real.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cupcake,” Aemond murmurs through your hair, holding you without seeking more. “You and Cadi.”

You want him again, or you’re so close to wanting him that the line is less of a boundary than a quagmire, indistinct edges and quicksand that can drag you down to drown in it. “I never knew that this was possible. Thank you, Aemond.”

“It can be like this all the time.”

Not all the time, you think, knowing that there will always be Jade Dragon, the Targaryens, the stock market, the world, the past and the future, Christabel. But some of it.

Is that enough?

~~~~~~~~~~

Willis agreed to you and Aemond taking Cadi out of the country on one condition: that you return her to him the second you arrive back in Napoleonville. It’s late Tuesday afternoon when the plane’s wheels hit the runway and squeal to a halt. Aemond has left his red Audi in the Park-and-Ride lot. You collect the car and soar west on Route 10 into the red-gold horizon, chasing the setting sun.

“Daddy!” Cadi bellows when she throws open the front door of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office, waving his gift bag excitedly. Inside is a refrigerator magnet, several packages of McVitie’s Digestives in different flavors, and a miniature red-coated Queen’s Guard to keep on his desk, perpetually covered with disorganized papers and crumbs from innumerable desserts. From her poster on the wall, Heather Locklear simpers at you. At the center of the dartboard, poor Tommy Lee is impaled in four different places.

“Comment ca va, cherie?!” Willis opens his arms to hug Cadi when she barrels into him. He guffaws, his eyes are shiny; he has missed her. “Ya had a real good time, I reckon?”

“It was totally tubular. But I’m glad I’m home now. Can I get a horse? His name is Patches and I love him.”

“Huh? What the hell ya need a horse for?” He peeks around Cadi to look at you, a curious blue gaze beneath the thick dark bangs of his mullet. “What’s she talkin’ ‘bout, sugar?”

Beside you, Aemond groans irritably. Then you hear a voice from one of the holding cells, almost always empty: “Hey, cake lady.”

“Aegon?!” you and Aemond say at once, and sure enough, when you check the last holding cell there he is: unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, blue shorts, rainbow flip flops, hair like he’s been in a hurricane, a new eyebrow piercing.

Aemond asks Willis: “What did he do?”

Willis picks up a clipboard from his cluttered desk and begins reading. “Possession with intent to distribute cocaine—”

“I told you, I wasn’t distributing anything! It was for me!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Aemond pleads.

“Possession with intent to distribute marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of methamphetamine less than 28 grams, operatin’ a vehicle while intoxicated, possession of MDMA, possession of alcoholic beverages in a motor vehicle, operatin’ a vehicle with a suspended license, resistin’ an officer…” Willis flips the page. “Speedin’, reckless drivin’, disturbin’ the peace while in an intoxicated condition, possession with intent to distribute Xanax, theft—”

“What the hell did you steal?!” Aemond demands.

“Burritos. I forgot my wallet at home.” Now Aegon is indignant. “But I saidI’d get them back! They didn’t need to call anybody about it!”

“Aegon, Taco Bell does not offer payment plans!”

“I can release him to ya, I guess,” Willis tells Aemond in a slow drawl.

“I really appreciate that. I’m so sorry about him, I’m absolutely mortified, I’ll pay whatever fines you want—”

“Wait, no,” Aegon says, panicked. His hands are gripped around the iron bars. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aemond stares at him. “You’re asking to stay in jail…?”

“I can’t go home. Stephanie’s there.”

“Of course she’s there. You knew she was flying in for the wedding.”

“Please let me stay here until she goes back to Monaco.”

“Definitely not. How’s everything else?”

“There’s something wrong with one of the Lake Verret rigs. Viserys mentioned a…a…I don’t remember, a dirt dump or something.”

“A mud pump?!”

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s what he said. It exploded.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses, then remembers that Cadi’s still there. She gives him a sly grin. You messed up, she means. Aemond looks to you, apologetic, disappointed. “I’m going to have to drop you off and then head straight home. There are messes to be mopped up.”

“No,” Aegon moans as Willis unlocks the holding cell and then wrestles him out of it when Aegon resists. “No, I’m a felon! I’m a danger to the public!”

“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, and this time his brother listens.

You say goodbye to Cadi—she barely notices—but as you go to follow Aemond and Aegon out of the Sheriff’s Office, she has a question. “Aemond?”

He stops. “Yeah, Cadi?”

“Can I go to the wedding?”

“Weddin’?!” Willis exclaims. “Already?!”

“Not mine,” you say.

“You really want to go?” Aemond asks Cadi with some reticence. But he seems to be considering it.

“Well, yeah. Mom said she and Amir are going. You’ll be there. Lots of cake will be there. And I’ve never been to a wedding before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Aemond turns to you, then to Willis, searching for permission. “It’s alright with me,” Willis says. “As long as someone there is keepin’ an eye on her.”

“It’s your choice,” you tell Cadi. “If you’re interested, I have no objections. But you have to be nice to Christabel.”

“Christabel?!” Willis says.

“That’s Aemond’s fiancée.” And there is a collective uncomfortable silence: Willis nodding slowly as he squints at you, Cadi chewing on her thumbnail, Aemond looking down at his Adidas sneakers, Aegon staring vacuously at the Heather Locklear poster on the wall.

With Aegon squeezed into the back seat, Aemond drops you off at the home Cadi calls the Fall-Down House. The new house hasn’t closed yet, but probably will in the next week. The adolescent gator is sunbathing in the last of the daylight in one corner of the yard; you can hear the pink Panasonic boombox inside playing Another One Bites The Dust.

“Ho, you’re back!” Amir cries, jubilant. He hugs you energetically, staining you with the flour on his hands; he’s been watching the bakery while you’ve been gone and keeping every cent of the profits in recognition of his labor, as agreed upon. “How was London?”

You give him his souvenir: a purple t-shirt with Princess Diana’s face on it. “Rainy. Wonderful.”

“Did you have any kinky sex in the royal grandma’s bed?”

“No,” you say, laughing. “But it was…I don’t know how to describe it. Calm. Normal. Easy. Like we could live that way forever.”

“So you’ve decided to be his Camilla.”

“Some moments I have. Other times I haven’t. But more and more, I just…” You try to decide what you mean. “The thought of giving him up feels impossible. And Christabel…they’re so distant with each other, so disconnected, so platonic. Their relationship doesn’t feel real. Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe this is the best I can hope for.”

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises an eyebrow. “It might feel more real in three days.”

The rehearsal dinner is on Friday; the wedding is only 24 hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really should consider writing a cookbook, dear,” Alicent says from where she sits across from you. The dining room table is covered with flickering pink candles, bouquets of wildflowers, drinks garnished with cotton candy and Pop Rocks. Balloons bump against the ceilings, their long ribbons streaming down like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The stereo is thumping out Caught Up In You by 38 Special. Everything is pink and red: the colors of love. Yet just like at the engagement party, no one is talking about the couple getting married tomorrow. You could almost forget that there’s going to be a wedding. That makes it easier; and if denial is the terrain you live on now, so be it. That is far less agonizing than the alternative.

“Oh, no,” you demur, taking a sip of a cotton candy cocktail. You exchange a glance with Aemond, sitting several seats down from his mother. He is in a suit—black and white, fitted, faultless—and smiling, proud of you. “A book?! I couldn’t. Not in a million years.” I never even finished high school English.

“But all of my friends from home are captivated by your recipes, darling, and it would be so much easier if I could simply send them a copy of a cookbook rather than trying to describe every dish to them! Please consider it. Do you promise?”

“That I’ll think about it? Not too taxing a commitment. I suppose so.”

“Good,” Alicent chirps, then turns to whisper something to Criston, who drapes an arm briefly across her shoulders and gives her a reassuring little embrace. Amir is chatting with Aemond about San Franscisco. Christabel is talking to Helaena, who has been forced into a voluminous, magenta taffeta dress that she clearly despises; her chameleon Dreamfyre lurches around the table, occasionally stealing tastes of people’s food. Daeron, with Tessarion perched on the back of his chair, is trying to discuss something called seismic testing results with Viserys but getting ignored. Viserys is deep in conversation with Christabel’s father, the marquess, a large loud man whose booming voice drowns out everyone else. The two of them seem delighted, celebratory, very much in their own world. Their schemes have come at last to fruition. Christabel has several younger sisters in attendance—her bridesmaids—but no mother. You gather from pieces of dialogue you’ve overheard that her mother died when she was a child, a terrible and irreparable loss. Otto is so bored he’s flipping through a picture book about Kiribati. Aegon’s wife, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, is a headstrong, charismatic, and rather critical woman with short dark hair. She notifies Aegon each and every time he fails her, which happens frequently: You’re using the wrong fork. You missed a button on your shirt. You haven’t fucked me properly in over two years. You didn’t send flowers to my grandma’s funeral. This is evidently Aegon’s worst nightmare; he has disappeared upstairs in an effort to escape her.

Dinner is finished, and dessert has been brought by the servants. It turned out more like a crepe cake than a Napoleon cake—the layers of puff pastry didn’t want to fluff up as much as they should have—but no one seems to notice. This time, you and Amir knew the dress code expectations. You are both wearing black to fade into the backdrop like shadows, like distant memories. You are invited guests, but you are also locals, inferiors, recipients of charity.

“Where’s Aegon?” Helaena says. “He has to try this cake, it’s delicious! The cherry jam cuts the heaviness of the cream and pastry dough and makes it a perfect dessert for summer! And the color is delightful! It looks just like blood!”

“Where the hell is he?” Viserys demands, looking around, twisting in his chair. “It’s his brother’s rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. One night of this importance and he can’t handle it? I swear to God, if he’s snorting or smoking anything up there I’ll have him committed to an institution—”

“I’ll find him,” you offer as you stand from the table. You have to visit the bathroom anyway, too many glitzy pink cocktails; two birds, one stone. You depart from the table and Aemond’s gaze follows you, a low heat that is building towards incineration, a baiting promise of dark euphoria that you can no longer pretend you don’t want desperately, defenselessly. Christabel gives you a sweet little wave. She is dripping in gold—dress, heels, jewelry—and seems happier tonight, more self-assured. Perhaps with the wedding so close, her trepidation concerning Aemond’s commitment has evaporated. Surely it is too late to call off the ceremony now. Tonight they feast, tomorrow they recite their vows, and then…

But no, you don’t think about the honeymoon. You will not allow yourself to. It can’t exist to you, and that is how you’ll survive this. Christabel will be in one universe, you in another, two timelines that never cross like something out of Star Trek. And the way she and Aemond interact is so impersonal, so untactile, that it is not so difficult to treat anything beyond chaste pecks on cheeks as an impossibility.

At the top of the staircase, Vhagar is lurking. She wags her long twiglike tail when she sees you and licks the knuckles of your left hand. You give her a pat on the head—and then several more when she whines as you try to leave—then at last she lopes off down the hallway.

Aegon is exactly where you’d assumed he’d be. He’s in his bedroom hunched over his computer and hammering furiously at the keyboard. There’s white powder on his fingers and in his thin mustache. On the screen, bizarrely, is what appears to be neon green grass and an ox-drawn wagon like the ones from the pioneer days. Sunfyre the ferret is stretched out across the bed napping, his angular face resting on his paws.

Aegon whirls around to face you. He is wearing a lime green satin suit but has forgotten to put on a shirt under it. “What? What? What do you want? I’m playing Oregon Trail. I have dysentery.”

“You have what…? Never mind, it’s not important. You need to come downstairs and eat some dessert. People are wondering where you are.”

“I’m busy.”

“If you don’t make an appearance on your own, Viserys will come looking for you. Also there are some Cap’n Crunch treats I left on the kitchen counter that you might be interested in.”

“Consider me tempted. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“You better be,” you tell Aegon, then retrace your steps back to the kitchen. Amir and Christabel are both there getting cans of Pepsi from the fridge and making very cumbersome small talk…or perhaps only Amir thinks it is that much of a burden. Christabel is chattering blithely away about different types of wildflowers. He gives you a look like Oh thank God, an excuse to escape and wastes no time heading back to the dining room.

“Did you notice what’s playing now?” he asks you just before he vanishes, then points towards the stereo in the grand foyer. You listen; it’s Money For Nothing by Dire Straits. “You think they know this song is about class warfare?”

“You should tell them,” you joke.

“Yeah, if I want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.” Then Amir is gone.

“How are you doing?” you ask Christabel to be polite. You open the refrigerator and start hunting for your own can of Pepsi. “Excited? Nervous? You seem a little more relaxed than the last time I saw you. Are the wedding jitters finally dissipating?”

“They are,” she says, and when you glance back at her she is wearing a bashful sort of smile. It’s not an expression you can read. You resume digging through the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi; Amir and Christabel might have taken the last ones.

“That’s good,” you say noncommittally, hoping she’ll leave. But Christabel doesn’t leave. She seems to have something she needs to say. Just as you spy a lone can of Pepsi at the very back of the refrigerator and lean in to grab it, she proceeds to unburden herself.

“Well, you know, I was so concerned about me and Aemond before. I had no conviction that he especially liked me, and we never had anything to talk about, and he was so dreadfully undemonstrative…I was just beside myself, truly. I didn’t know what to do. But I feel much better about everything now. Norway was so good for us.”

Norway?

You close the refrigerator, your ice-cold Pepsi can clutched in your hand. You’re going cold all over. Slowly, you turn towards Christabel, glittering in her gold dress.

Norway???

“He took you on the North Sea trip.” You hear the words, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve said them. They sound flat and dazed.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Christabel says; and again, her smile has no cruelty or sharp awareness in it, but her cheeks are pink. She’s blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about? “My father doesn’t know. He wouldn’t approve. But I just felt…I felt ready, you know? I’m sure you understand what I mean. You aren’t so clinical and aloof about everything. I had to know if Aemond and I really had something between us before we got married.”

“You felt…ready?” Ready for what? Ready for WHAT, Christabel?

“I asked Aemond to take me with him. I begged, actually.” She giggles. “I won’t try to be proud about it! And finally he said yes. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Bergen, and during the day he would have to fly by helicopter out to the rigs, but at night…”

You’re staring blankly at her. You can’t believe what you think she’s going to say. Surely it must be something else, anything else—

“It wasn’t my plan to ever be intimate with a man before marriage, but sometimes…things change. Minds change, circumstances change. And I knew I wanted it. And it went so well! Now what do I have to be nervous about? All the uncertainties are resolved. Now we just sign the paperwork and start our lives together.”

He took her to Norway.

He slept with her in Norway.

“I hope it was just as good for him,” Christabel muses, a compulsive sort of oversharing. But she has had a few cocktails and she thinks you’re nonjudgemental and there’s probably not a single other soul she feels she can be truthful with…so why not the girl who got knocked up at prom and had a baby at seventeen? Surely she’s in no position to judge. “It’ll be even better once we can…you know. When we’re officially trying for a baby and there’s no need to worry about any precautions. I want Aemond to enjoy himself as much as possible. I want to be a good wife to him.”

You feel dizzy; you feel violently ill. And now you see everything: Aemond kissing her with his mouth open and ravenous, his hands between her legs, his hips pressed to hers, peeling off her clothes and learning how to make her moan, make her wet, make her come, and you think of how careful he must have been with her, a girl with no past, no ex-husband, no childbirth that nearly killed her, no stretchmarks and no baggage, just a smooth pristine rivulet of flesh that was so pure and uncontaminated it was weightless, and you can hear—though you don’t want to, though it feels like it will kill you—how tender he was, how encouraging, not a dominant who drinks down fantasies like a vampire sustained by blood but just a man, and a man who has at last found a woman he doesn’t need to grab, bite, bruise, handcuff to a bedpost to feel satisfied with.

He took her to Norway and he never told me.

You are saying something, and Christabel is nodding appreciatively, accepting the sage wisdom of a tarnished life. Your words don’t matter. They are folktales and charms, the croaks of bullfrogs, the whispers of the wind through Spanish moss, the Morse code of ripples in the water of the bayou. You are a novelty and your counsel is a souvenir; one day when she is living in California or Argentina or Australia or Alaska or her ancestral castle back in the U.K., Christabel will tell Aemond’s children: Once I met a nice single mom from Napoleonville Louisiana, and she told me to follow my heart and not let anyone shame me for wanting to be close with my soon-to-be husband.

Vhagar trots into the kitchen and begins nudging her massive head against Christabel’s bare knees. “Hi, big girl!” Christabel coos as she pets the blue merle Great Dane, clearly accustomed to this. “Who’s a giant gorgeous girl? You are!”

What did I expect? I knew they were getting married. I knew they were going to sleep together.

Yes, you knew it, but you hadn’t felt it, and now you have.

I can’t do this, you realize. I thought I could but I can’t.

“Christabel?” Alicent is calling like a windchime. “Darling, there are just a few more things we have to discuss before tomorrow, will you come back to the table please?”

“On my way!” Christabel replies obediently, and she gives you a quick, impulsive hug before vanishing.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m going to drop dead right in the middle of this fucking kitchen.

Leaving your can of Pepsi forgotten on the countertop, you escape to the living room and then out the French doors into the garden. You run past the pool all the way to the pond full of multicolored fish you once hadn’t known were koi. You drop to your knees, then lie down on the cold cobblestones, and when it hits you again—Aemond touching her, Aemond loving her—you rupture into sobs that are breathless and shuddering. You try to stifle the noise with your palms; you clasp them over your mouth and smother your wails. It feels like you’re being ripped apart; it feels like you’re in labor, but there is no end, no consolation of a new life, no point at which your body chooses whether you live or die. It is only a razored wheel that turns in you again and again and again, shredding muscle and splitting bones.

There is a hand on your shoulder; someone is patting it awkwardly. You look up to see Aegon standing there. “Sorry,” he says. “You look…not good.”

“I’m really not good. I’m fucking terrible.” Your face is soaked and stinging with tears, your voice is strangled.

“Do you want some coke?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“From you? Yeah, for sure, getting impaled by a stop sign would be a great next move for me.”

“I’m totally fine to drive.”

“Can you just pull Amir aside without anyone else noticing and tell him to say his goodbyes and then meet me in the driveway, please? He drove me here. I need him to take me home.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, and then: “Thanks for the Cap’n Crunch Treats. Thanks for remembering something I like and caring enough to bring more. No one really does that around here.” And he’s gone before you can think of a reply.

To get to the driveway without going though the house, you climb over a 5-foot wrought iron fence swarmed with rosebushes and ivy, no easy feat in a black Kmart dress and matching ballet flats. You acquire a dozen shallow gashes on your hands and forearms, but make it to the Ford Escort just in time for Amir to meet you under the full, cloudless moon, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

“What did—?” Then he sees your face. He gasps, knowing how bad it is. He’s never seen you like this. He didn’t know it was possible for you to look like this. He unlocks the Ford Escort and joins you inside, turning the key in the ignition. “What the fuck did Aemond do to you?!”

“I have to go home. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t do this.”

Amir is spinning out of the driveway. “Did he hurt you, did he—?!”

“He fucked Christabel in Norway,” you say, sobbing uncontrollably. “And I know I have no right to be jealous, I know we don’t have a conventional relationship, I thought I could handle this but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing him with her, and hearing it, and I…I…I don’t understand why this hurts so goddamn bad.”

“Babe,” Amir says gently, a palm on your trembling thigh. “You’re in love with him. That’s why.”

“This is killing me,” you whisper. You’re shaking all over. You feel like you’re battling for every breath.

Your best friend—your only friend—is quiet for a long time. “Don’t go tomorrow,” Amir finally says. “You don’t need to see the wedding. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. I’ll go, I can handle the cake alone, especially if Cadi’s with me to help with carrying plates and stuff.”

You don’t say anything. You stare out the nightscape window and mop tears from your face with McDonald’s napkins you find in Amir’s glovebox.

“Did you hear me? I don’t think you should go to the wedding tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you agree hoarsely. “I can’t watch them have my wedding.”

“Willis is dropping Cadi off in the morning, right? I’ll pick her and the cake up from your house and bring her back when it’s over. You can tell her whatever you want…you have another cake order to work on, you’re sick, you’re injured, your mom needs a ride to the doctor, whatever.”

“Okay,” you whimper.

“Hey, look at me.”

You do, sniffling, shivering, in agony.

“You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than this.”

I don’t think I do. I think if I did, it would have happened by now. But you know Amir will not accept this answer. “Okay,” you say again, trying to make yourself believe it.

In the gravel driveway of your sinking house, Amir asks if you want him to say. You tell him no, you want to be alone, you have to think, you have to plan. Really, you just don’t want anyone to see you this shattered. It’s humiliating, it’s like you’re an animal, like something less than human needing to licks its wounds in a dark place. You walk into the Fall-Down House and flip on the kitchen light, artificial yellow luminance. You don’t start the air conditioner. You don’t touch the Panasonic boombox. You stand there mindlessly in the sounds of the bayou: cicada screams, owl hoots, the far-away hissing of gators. The wedding cake is in the refrigerator, banana bread, cream cheese frosting, a kaleidoscope of wildflowers painted by Amir’s expert hand. He’s leaving. Aemond’s leaving. Everyone is leaving.

There are tires crunching on gravel in the driveway, there are footsteps on the sloping porch. He is able to yank the door open because you never lock it. He blows in like a storm that kills.

“What the hell happened?!” Aemond shouts. “Why did you leave?! You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to me—”

“You took her to Norway.”

Aemond’s face goes from furious to lost. “Why would she tell you that?”

Not That’s not true, not Let me explain, not It didn’t mean anything. Your stomach sinks, a basket full of stones. “Because she thinks I’m her friend.”

“It wasn’t…” Aemond sighs. “It was a last-minute thing, and it was her idea. She really, really wanted to go to Norway, and I figured…you know…what’s the difference between the wedding night and a few weeks before it? So yeah, it happened—”

“Oh God,” you whisper, starting to sob again.

“And then I came home to your house, to your doorstep, because I missed you the entire time. The entire time, every hour, every minute, and there are no exceptions, okay, are you listening to me? I took her to Norway because I had to. I took you and Cadi to Clarence House because I wanted to. What I do with her is a reflex, an obligation, I’m on autopilot, I’m thinking of you to get myself hard, I don’t know how else to express to you how completely different these situation are in every single goddamn way.”

“She said it was good,” you say huskily, tears snaking down your cheeks that are raw from trying to dab them dry.

“Of course it was good for her!” Aemond flings back. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex, I know how to make women come, it’s a math equation, it doesn’t mean we’re soulmates!”

“I know I have no claim to you, but I…” You gaze out the kitchen window, dark and still, nothing to see but stars and lighting bugs. “I can’t do this.”

Aemond asks, kindly now: “What do you want?”

I want to not have to beg you to choose me. “I want this to be over.”

“No,” he says, panicking. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You’re going to give this up as soon as it gets painful? I’m not worth fighting for, what I can do for you and Cadi isn’t worth a little pain? Because I’m no stranger to it either. You think I’m not hurting, you think nothing ever keeps me awake at night?”

“You could leave your prison any time you want to. But instead you built a brand new one around me.”

“You don’t understand what the kind of responsibility I’m beholden to feels like.”

“Yeah, a town named after Napoleon is the right place for you,” you seethe, enraged. “You’ve felt so fucking small your whole life that now you’re starving for what it tastes like to be in control. But I can’t let you destroy me. I can’t let my daughter grow up watching me settle for less than I need from a man. She’ll learn to live the same way.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Aemond,” you say, and you wait until he looks at you. “Do you really want children?”

When he answers, his voice frayed and his right eye misty. “I love Cadi.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want children of your own with Christabel?”

“I have to,” he says, miserable.

“No,” you plead. “You cannot have a baby with that girl. You can’t, Aemond. You are going to ruin so many lives, not just your own.”

“I have to,” he says again.

“Then get out. Viserys owns you, and Viserys wouldn’t want you here. He would want you back at the mansion impregnating your child bride.”

“She’s a legal adult, she’s 19, and she wants me, she begs for me, I’m not twisting her arm—”

“Then go!” you roar, striking him hard, both palms to his chest. Aemond doesn’t budge. “Get out, go home, go have kids you won’t give a fuck about just like Viserys never cared about you. Go repeat the cycle all over again. I’m done. I can’t be a part of it.”

“I won’t be like him,” Aemond swears.

“You will be. You already are.” You shove him again, but still, Aemond doesn’t move. You know what he’s waiting for, you know the right word to say. But you can’t get it to launch from your lips; it catches in your throat like a blade through the windpipe. “Get out!”

Your fingers hook into the lapels of his black suit jacket and stay there; you can’t let go. You’re both breathing heavily; you can hear it, you can feel the heat in the air. You keep his jacket gripped in your hands, he can move no closer, no farther away. When he leans into you, you breathe in his smoke and cologne; when his hands cradle your face, you feel the benevolent power that once gave you peace.

I want him. I need him. Not forever, no, I understand that’s not possible. But just for right now.

You look up at him and Aemond kisses you, his lips and tongue claiming you like untouched land; he puts down roots, he slits the jugulars of trespassers.

Here. Now.

You drag him down with you. When you drop to the floor, you strike the back of your skull against the scuffed, sloping wood and bite back a yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aemond says, though it isn’t his fault; he reaches for your head and cushions it with his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You’re tearing open his white shirt; tiny translucent buttons go flying in every direction. Your palms glide over his chest, up to his throat, to his jaw, to knot in his hair. He reaches beneath your dress to slide off your panties, then buries his fingers between your legs. You moan helplessly, needfully, spreading your thighs wider for him. No man has ever been able to do this to you before: to make you forget everything, to make you feel—if only for a moment—beloved, worthy, chosen. He’s kissing you like he knows this is the last time. You’re touching the left side of his face and he doesn’t even notice, he won’t realize until later that there was a time when he was cured.

Aemond pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his suit pants, flips it open, and roots through it until he finds a condom. He starts to rip it open, moving with desperate speed, dire impatience.

“No, don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. I want all of you.” And I won’t get another chance.

He exhales in deep, ecstatic relief; he wants it too. You’re soaked, you’re ready, you’re aching for him like mending bones. He eases himself into you, gasping, and you are stunned by how good it feels already, how close you are, every rope of nerves and muscle glimmering with an opening heat that builds higher and higher, the reverse of a tornado finally touching down on earth. His hands are linked with yours and pinned to the floor above your head; he’s kissing you, he’s moaning into you, he thrusts deeper and harder when you beg him to do it.

Aemond untangles one hand from yours and reaches low to stroke you. Your fingers find his again and catch him, capture him, bring his hand back to the floor where it can be entwined with yours and his weight can hold it to the scraped wood. “I don’t need it, I’m close. Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, panting; and the friction of his body against yours overtakes you, and when you come it is blinding, bone-breaking, a whirlpool that traps you for what feels like over a minute, soaring highs punctuated by the illusion of fading over and over again until you think you can’t stand it, and only then does it end, Aemond collapsing on the floor beside you covered in your sweat and your wetness, you feeling the remnants of him bleeding down your bare thighs.

You drag yourself upright—muscles sore in your belly and back and thighs—and roll onto your knees so you can stagger to your feet. You tug on your panties so he doesn’t drip out of you onto the floor. Then you straighten the skirt of your black dress, turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox—it’s a U2 song, Where The Streets Have No Name—and begin washing a muffin tin that was left in the sink.

Aemond stands up and runs a hand through his hair, getting his bearings. He looks down at his pants and fixes his zipper and belt. He tries to close his shirt and then remembers you tore off the buttons. They lie scattered across the floor, useless.

As you scrub the muffin tin, you hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. His palms begin at the small of your back and then skate around your waist to encircle you.

“Stop,” you tell him; and immediately his hands fall away. Aemond waits for you to say more, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him.

He walks to where the kitchen becomes the living room—you can tell by the creaks in the floor—and again, he waits. After a while he says: “I’ll call you when the new house is ready.”

“No. Have Criston handle it. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“You get that I’m in love with you, right?” Aemond forces out, and when at last you turn to him there is the metallic glistening of tears on his right cheek. “I never feel this way about anyone. I don’t know how to handle it, I didn’t even know it was possible. But it’s true.”

“It’s not enough,” you say simply, and resume scrubbing the muffin tin.

He waits in silence, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Then the door opens and shuts—like the jaws of a beast—and he’s gone.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

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moonystoes · 3 months

Text

Safe Dance - Elisa De Almeida x international!reader

summary: this pretty much explains it all lol.

Warning: Sexual assault, old man being a creep, mentions of alcohol, not well written, slowww burn like it's pissing me off too im sorry, elisa being our protective queen.

a/n: i'm bringing this up again, i just started writing, especially fics as long as this (the last one -and the first- had only 500 words). So feedback and help is needed!! also sorry i got a little bored and wrote too many useless things lol.

w/c: 5.218k

You knew you needed to celebrate your high GPA after graduating from your bachelor degree at some point. But you've been putting it off, feeling like it's too much effort and energy for your introverted self. It's no secret French people are distant towards foreigners, it's been something known worldwide (which is ironic since a big part of their population are people of color coming from different countries from Africa and Asia). But you ignored all the toxic things you heard about France when you unexpectedly got a scholarship into the University of Paris.

Now, four years later, you are still alone. You have made friends in some projects, but right when the project is over, your friendship ends as well. Your mom has messaged you a long paragraph on how proud she is of you, but the loneliness is still wearing you down. You knew you probably looked silly walking down the street, wearing a short V-neck dress with high heels obviously to party, but there is a permanent frown on your face.

When you looked up from your phone, you didn't even need to look for the club. You can feel the music vibrate the ground and there is a huge line at the entrance. You turned off your phone and waited in line, wanting to just drink all day and celebrate by then. You checked on your friend (an international student like you) who promised that she'll be here, but your message was left on delivered for 2 hours.

After 15 minutes of scrolling through your Instagram and 3 missed calls to Liz, it was your turn to show the security your ID. His dark eye bags showed you that he was too exhausted to care, so he took less than a second to glance at your card before returning it to you, and opening the door for you in a frustrated way.

You walked in awkwardly, couples grinding and dancing around you, you felt disgusted - and secretly jealous. The club was dark and had red LED lights, it was filled with large posters of icons and models from the 70s, and of course the playboy magazines of women wearing lingerie. It looked good enough for you to settle down on the bar stool and immediately order a light drink.

While you were sitting there to decide whether you should dance or wait for Liz (you were honestly frustrated at her for ditching you with no explanation), the bartender passed a large drink towards you. You glanced at him with a confused look, “oh sorry, I didn't order this.”

“Yeah I know, it's the man there.” He pointed to the table on your left, to an older man with thin white hair. Your jaw dropped when you looked at him, realizing that he caught you staring.

“Umm… that old man?” You tried your hardest to whisper over the thudding music, trying not to let the creep that is sitting just 2 meters away from you hear what you said. The bartender nodded and walked away to the other side of the bar, making you sigh in annoyance that he didn't bother to even help you out. You slowly pushed the light pink drink away from you, it smelled strong which showed his true intentions, getting you drunk.

You pulled out your phone and texted Liz a quick message, “Liz a man is being weird where are you ☹️☹️?” You scrolled through your gallery to pretend you are doing something and distract yourself from the man on your left, until you are tapped on the shoulder. You froze, quickly turning off your phone as you took a deep breath, pretending that you didn't feel it.

“May I know why you didn't accept the drink, it was really expensive.” you flinched when you felt his breath hit your neck, no way this is happening today. Where the fuck is Liz? You turned around slowly, trying to act calm and collected, “sorry, I didn't want to drink today, I'm just here for someone.”

“I don't see anyone here,” he mockingly glanced around the bar to see the ‘person’ you were waiting for. “I saw you drink just a few minutes ago.”

You closed your eyes for a second and took a deep breath. You glanced at his striking blue eyes and felt your hands starting to shake, you looked away back to the drink he ordered for you and grasped it, taking a small sip just to taste what it is. You knew you were fucked, Liz isn't here and she's probably not going to come, the bartender couldn't give a shit, and this man won't leave you alone. Why was he at a bar on a Wednesday night? Doesn't he have some office job to do tomorrow or is he too old that he's retired now.

The drink tasted sour and tangy, but had a strawberry flavor. The burning of your throat made you cough and your eyes shutting close, it was definitely alcoholic, very alcoholic. You rested the drink on the table and faked-smiled and awkwardly nodded, but your smile disappeared when his hand clutched your arm and pulled you forward, “why don't you dance with me, huh? Wearing this dress for nothing must be a shame.”

You panicked and took a quick scan of your surroundings to see who could help. On the bar table to your left, there were other older men, possibly friends of the weirdo that's now bruising your arm. On the large leather sofas that were placed on the other corner, there was a couple?...a throple? A man was sitting comfortably on it as he crossed his legs on the mini table in front of him, two girls were sprawled over him, one playing with his hair and the other playing with his shirt while she chugs from a beer can…yeah they will be too busy to help.

You took a quick turn to the VIP entrance, seeing a short girl with a Gucci bag waiting to be let in… rich spoiled people are too busy to look around. You swore you never cared about religion until then, when the man tugged you to his chest, your eyes slowly closing as you were holding your tears praying to God to let you out of this misery.

You felt his hands being placed on your hips, as he forcefully tugged your back towards his groin. He pushed you to the crowded area so people can't see your discomfort in your face.

But before he does more than this, a large hand tugged you away from the man, making the man behind you exhale loudly. “Anna! I'm sorry for making you wait, hey let's go…umm do you know him?” you've never heard such a soft yet deep voice like this. Before you even had the chance to look at who grabbed you, her right arm tugged you into her chest, trying to hide you from the stranger. “No, I don't.” You whispered, afraid of making the situation even bigger.

“Seriously? you were waiting for this…” His angry voice and arm pointing at the both of you made you anxiously stare at him. He looked at the woman hugging you up and down with disgust before muttering a ‘nevermind’ and stomping off.

You shakingly held tightly into her, staring at the spot the man was at. “Are you okay?” She let out a soft whisper from above your head. You were shaken at the whole encounter, blocking off what she said until you felt soft taps on your shoulder, making you look up at her.

This was the first opportunity you had to actually see who saved you from this, and she was gorgeous. She had sunglasses placed on the collar of her dress shirt with two of the buttons opened. Why was she even wearing a dress shirt at a club? When you looked up to her face (because she's 5 '9 and the first thing you saw was her tan skin), her hair was short, swooped to the side. Her cheekbones were sharp and her eyes were furrowed worriedly. You quickly separated from her and took two steps away.

“Hey, it's okay.” She took a step forward, opening her hands around her face to show you she doesn't want to hurt you, “are you waiting for someone?”

You looked away from her eyes, the smell of alcohol and sweat is making it difficult for you to think straight -literally. You looked at your phone, finding a new notification, “oh thank God she responded!” You relaxed, until you pressed on it.

“Hey baby!! It's your favorite uncle 😉, just saw your post about graduating. Congratulations! I miss you so much. Maybe one day we can all reunite when you graduate your masters 💪keep working hard!”

You inhaled deeply, turning off your phone and throwing it in your mini purse. You looked at the woman, she looked at you with raised brows waiting for an explanation for your reaction. You rested your hand on your forehead and frustratedly groaned out, “no she fucking ignored my messages.”

Her face turned sour as she looked behind you, probably to the place where the old men were sitting, giving you the chance to look at her face once again. You blushed at her clenched sharp jaw, slight pink cheeks, and the soft lips. When you looked back at her eyes, she was already looking at you.

You internally wanted to kill yourself for looking at her lips, because she definitely caught that. You looked away to her arms, doing everything in your power to not look at her face again. But then you realized glancing at her arms will make the situation even worse. Her arms were athletic and the sleeves were tight around her biceps. How is she this hot?

“You can stay with me, my friends are here.” She softly grasped your hand, pulling you away from the crowded dance floor. “It's fine, I'll just go home.”

“No, come on! It's a secluded area, no one will bother us.” She encouraged you, her hand still in yours. You looked down at your heels, you felt like shit. This whole time at the bar was for you and Liz to celebrate your day and you end up being a charity case for a hot woman. You don't even know why you chose the club, you hated partying anyways. You bit into your lip, one single line going through your head:

I deserve to celebrate my achievements no matter with who. I'm the one who worked hard for this, I need this.

“Okay just… Please don't do this because you feel bad for what happened.” her eyes softened, intertwining your fingers with hers and whispering a soft ‘never’. You felt embarrassed as she was dragging you around the bar to the place her friends are staying at, you didn't want to see anyone’s face so you just looked down at your intertwined hands and hoped you won't collide with anyone. Your hand looked small compared to her large ones as she held into you, feeling her rough skin tightly around yours.

When you realized she stopped, you looked up to where she took you. “Oh no… I'm not going there,” You frowned at her, “VIP? I heard it's expensive here.” You felt guilty that she might spend money on a spot for you, but you were curious on how she makes enough money to be here.

“Don't worry, my work has paid for the night here, I didn’t spend a euro on me or anyone.” She smiled at you, finding it cute how you were worried about her money. She let go of your hand and opened the door slowly, signaling her hand to follow her.

You stood still for a few seconds, feeling exhausted and tired. And unfortunately, you felt gross. You looked down at your dress, remembering what the old man said. It was your favorite, it may not look fancy but you've loved it and waited for a moment to wear it, now you can't even glance at it without feeling down. You glanced at the woman, she had already taken a few steps until she realized you weren't following her, “Do you want to go home? I can order you an Uber?”

This was your chance to actually get to know someone, you've been alone all this time in Paris and Liz was an American student. The woman in front of you seemed like the first French woman that actually tried to befriend you, and she's attractive. Her face softened as she took a few steps towards you again, understanding your silence. “My name is Elisa, what's yours?”

“Y/n.” You didn't know what to do after this so you reached out your hand to handshake her, internally cringing from how awkward you are…no wonder why your love life is as low as your mood today. She giggled and grasped your hand, shaking it aggressively. You looked at her with a confused face and she just winked quickly, “so… y/n why are you here at the club on a Wednesday night?”

“I just graduated so I wanted to celebrate.” You were staring at your held hands, feeling awkward when looking at anyone's eyes, especially élisa's. But when you felt her hand immediately let go of yours and wipe it off with her dress pants, you looked at her face slightly hurt. Her eyes are slightly widened, which made you realize why she let go of your hand, “bachelor degree in physical therapy.”

“Ohh! That's so nice. You know at my job we need a lot of physiotherapists, I like them.” Her body physically relaxed, making you laugh at her panic. The poor woman thought you were some high school student, but you didn't blame her, you never made it clear when you spoke about it.

“Cool… what do you work as?” You asked, a smile appearing in your face. You didn't realize that by a small comment, Elise made your feelings better just as she planned. She let out an open smile when she noticed yours, feeling proud of herself for making you feel better.

“Guess.”

Your smile wiped off your face, “no please I don't like doing this game just say it.”

She laughed, “I'll give you a hint, I wear number 5.”

It took a moment for you to answer because you froze when you heard her laugh, making a stupid grin plaster into your face, “...football?” You dragged the word as you questioned, worried it might be wrong. She nodded with a proud smile.

“Wow, that's so cool I do watch football!... not the women, I don't know where to watch…sorry.”

She laughed, stepping closer and resting her left arm around your shoulder, encouraging you to walk through the dark maroon hallway with her. “It's okay, we're used to it.”

When you looked up from this angle, your attraction worsened. Her side profile was perfect. It took a moment for you to recover from it, “ehm…some girls in my class wanted to be football physios so they could work with Szoboszlai.” You muttered, obviously not knowing what to say. You didn't know if you should wrap your right hand around her waist or just keep it awkwardly limping between the both of you.

She glanced at you and laughed, “and you? Is that what you wanted?”. You looked away, deciding to focus on the dark walnut wood corridor in front of you instead of her eyes. “I don't really like men.”

“Ha! Me too.” Her left arm tapped your shoulder to the beat of the music. Elisa was glad that you weren't into men; she felt like it's finally her time where she can get attention from a woman that isn't a fangirl. She pulled you inside a room, filled with people singing and jumping around.

You felt sick all over again, not knowing Elisa had this many friends. You remembered her speaking about her work paying for this, are all of these people her teammates? The room was built almost like a sunken living room, the leather couches were placed into the ground around the walls with stairs in the side, and two small tables placed in two opposite corners that were filled with drinks and purses. Elisa felt your body turn rigid, she leaned in close to your ear and whispered gently, “They're all nice, I promise.” You turned to look at her, you didn't understand why but you felt at ease around her, maybe because of what she did earlier, but you took a deep breath and calmed down.

She pointed at an empty seat next to a blonde woman, “hey Jackie, this is y/n, she's a physiotherapy graduate.” Jackie turned to look at you and elisa, she smiled brightly and raised her hand to signal you to sit with her. You let out a tight-lipped smile and approached the table to sit. You noticed Jackie looking at your attire and glancing at Elisa with a confused look, but before she said a thing, Elisa interrupted her by saying she needed to go to the bathroom.

Well shit, now you have to do this alone. You stared at Elisa as she was walking out, secretly checking her out and also praying that she’ll come back soon. “Umm… do you work here?”

You turned to look at Jackie, “oh, no. I'm just here to party.”

“Ohh…I thought you were one of the dancers offered here.” She looked at her whiskey and took a sip, clearly not seeing the shock in your face.

You froze as you gave her a confused glance, “oh. You thought I was a stripper?” You glanced down at your dress… It's a short dress, yes, but a dancer? You had no disrespect for them, just felt a little confused. Does Elisa call dancers for a lap dance? Is this where she went to?

“Oh not your dress! It's just that Elisa never spoke about bringing someone here so I assumed. Also, you're really pretty.” She gave you a wink with her compliment.

You gave her a soft smile with a shy ‘thanks’. “Elisa isn't really into those things, that’s why I was kind of confused.” She nudged your arm when you glanced at the exit again, realizing that you were waiting for Elisa. After hearing what Jackie said, you relaxed into your seat and looked at your surroundings.

Everyone seemed drunk except one, her thick black hair was tied in a high ponytail, too engrossed with her phone to really notice anyone. The other players were dancing, some were singing loudly to some song by Aya, an icon in french music from what you noticed in the past four years living here. “May I ask how you know elisa?” Jackie asked.

“Oh we just met here so…” you shrugged, you didn't feel like telling anyone what actually happened. Jackie nodded, taking her purse into her lap and pulling things out, trying to find something in it. After a while of scrolling on tiktok and looking at the girls partying, Elisa came back in, immediately settling down next to you. You looked at her with a smile, glad that she's back, but your smile was wiped off when you saw her frustrated and sweaty state. When she noticed the worry in your eyes she leaned in closer to you, “Do you like this club?”

You were caught off guard from this question and nodded slowly, “good because I want you to come back here,” You were confused, obviously you'll never come here. It doesn't matter how nice and fancy this place is, after that weirdo, you'll never step foot here. “I kicked him out, he's banned from coming here again.”

“Wa- wait what?” You gasped, looking at the door she came back from, expecting to see him standing there. But he wasn't, and even from the small glass window on the door, you can see that his spot is now empty, as well as his friends’.

“I want you to feel safe celebrating your achievements, I know today has probably been shit.” You bit your lip, turning to look at Jackie playing with her now found camera. You couldn't look at Elisa's eyes or else you would cry. You felt her hand softly caress your shoulder, bringing your body closer to hers. “Thank you, I mean… I don't even know what else to say.”

She gave you a gentle smile and turned to look at her teammates singing karaoke now. “No problem, now do you want to sing and dance with them? Or just sit here?”

“I'll just sit here, you can have fun with them.”

She looked back at you, deciding to lean back into the coach and find a comfortable position. “I play for Paris Saint Germain.”

“What! No way…I feel like shit for not watching you play.” You gasped, psg is the biggest team in France. And that's probably because they are loaded with money and can afford the top players, but you wondered how powerful the women's team is.

She laughed, quickly shaking her head, “don't feel that way! I just wanted to tell you. We just got qualified for the quarterfinals of the champions league that's why they're all drunk and shit.” She tilted her head towards a player dancing on the table. You bit your lip trying not to laugh at the poor woman, but when you heard Elisa's cackle, you let out a little laugh.

“Quarterfinals to the champions league… that's great! That's so cool, honestly, you should go and dance with them!” You pushed her towards the women, but she didn't even budge. She winked at you when she saw you try to move her and held your arm down, “Are you actually trying to push me or are you playing around?”

You knew she was joking, she can tell your struggling face when you tried to push her. You glanced at the way she grabbed your forearm, feeling the blush coming around your cheeks. Her muscles tensed beneath her fitted black shirt, elisa has been trying to subtly send you hints without panicking too much. But she knew she needed to do something even more, so she let her hand slowly go from your forearm to your hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. A shy smile broke out in both of your faces, looking up to see her already smiling at you. “Okay…maybe I do want to dance a little.”

You bite your lip and give her a soft nod, indicating that you wanted to dance with her. She grinned brightly and stood up from the couch, delicately pulling you with her. You felt content for the first time, you're finally going to dance and party like how you wanted before you came here in the first place. Elisa pulled you into her body, looking at your eyes to see if you're okay with her wrapping her arms around your waist. You felt speechless so you just nodded and dragged your hands from her forearms all the way to her shoulders, blushing at the feeling of her rough muscles.

Because you were busy trying to mask your flustered state, you didn't notice the panic Elisa was in. Her tightly wrapped hands were shaking and it seemed like she couldn't even glance at your face for three seconds without finding something else to look at. The girls had stopped singing karaoke now, the speaker playing some french afrobeats. “I forgot to tell you, I'm shit at dancing. I was planning on getting too drunk to care.” You admitted with a laugh, elisa tightened her hands around your waist, making your chest flush with hers. “Oh wait until you see me dance.”

“You do realize this song isn’t for slow dancing?” You loved the feeling of her body against yours, but the idea of slow dancing to afrobeats in front of people is confusing you. “Shhh don’t ruin the moment now.” she joked, turning her head around the room, she looked back at you and said, “They’re all too drunk to care.”

You looked around the room, and fortunately she was right. The girls were all dancing, separated into multiple groups and only focusing on them. Even the sober one had stood up and was dancing with the rest. You rested your head on her shoulder, feeling like it doesn’t matter at this point what happens between you. Elisa will probably forget about you, and date an instagram model like every football player does -well… that’s what the male players do at least.

“You tired?” her velvety voice soothed you as she leaned her head on yours. You closed your eyes and hummed in response, not feeling like moving your body. You tried to excuse the exhaustion as the sickness from the old man, but throughout the semester, you have been sleeping 4 hours and only working and studying. And today has been the day you can finally rest.

Elisa moved her hands from your waist to wrap them around your shoulders instead. As much as she was worried about the possible rejection from you, she felt great about you being okay with her physical touches and wanted to enjoy the chance. She can feel your beating heart from the thin dress you’re wearing against her sternum. Elisa’s long fingers were playing with the hem of the dress from your neck, her body slowly rocking as if she’s putting a baby to sleep.

“Thank you,” You whispered, opening your eyes just to see her jaw. “For today. I may not seem happy, but I am really grateful for this, I’m happy.”

“Do you want to go home?”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, before letting out a short breathy laugh, “Is it obvious I don’t like to party?” You didn’t want to offend her, especially after what she did.

“I can call an uber for you, or I can drive you home if you don’t feel safe.” You almost wanted to cry at how thoughtful she is, but you knew you needed some alone time after all of this. Also, the thought of parting ways with Elisa and her completely forgetting about you is eating you alive.

“Thank you, but I’ll feel very guilty if I take you away from the party you should be celebrating.” You let go of the tight embrace you were in, looking at her eyes to let her know how much you meant it. She sighed and nodded with a small hidden frown in her face. Elisa felt like a child attached to a toy, she was worried to let you go and never find you again. Now that she kicked the assaulters out, she hoped you’d come to the club more often.

“Okay, I’ll walk you out.” She held your hand and walked you out of the VIP entrance. The smell of sweat and alcohol hit you in the face, the club is even busier now since it was around 10 at night. Elisa pulled you to her body, putting her arm around your shoulder protectively in case someone does a thing to you. Once you reached the closest exit, she pushed the heavy door and let you go out.

“Ehm… Can I have your phone number?” Elisa suddenly blurted, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye, so she said the lamest thing she thought, “Just to make sure you went home safe…you never know what can happen.”

When Elisa asked that question, your heart started beating faster, your worry about losing her is now out of your head, feeling glad that she wanted to contact you. But after her explanation, you sighed in disappointment, she’s probably not interested in you, she wants to know if you went home safe only.

“Yeah, okay.” You opened your hand, waiting for her to hand you her phone. She pulled out her phone from her front pocket, and passed it to you quickly. Her palms were sweaty from anxiousness, and she hoped her sweat wasn’t all over the phone. She knew she fucked up, she could’ve told you the truth but instead she acted like some sick teenager, and it made her even more annoyed with herself when she saw the excitement in your face disappear like fog. She wanted you to know she’s interested in you. You typed your phone number quickly, before giving it back to her with a tight smile.

“Bye-Bye,” You stepped back, still facing her. “Again, thank you for today.” You gave her a small wave, and then turned and walked your way back home. She was invading your thoughts, her face, her smile, her deep yet delicate voice, her body, and the fact that she’s a professional player that can get anyone she wants.

Once you reached home, you looked at your phone notifications, there were none. 0 from Liz, and 0 from Elisa. You cussed yourself, why would she even bother to text you? She is the hottest woman you’ve ever seen, you probably look like charity work next to her exes. You boiled water for instant noodles, feeling too low to even worry about making dinner. After eating the soggy cheap noodles, you turned on the bathtub faucet and added some oils to calm you down and distract you from Elisa. You contemplated on searching up her name and see what google says about her, but you forced yourself to not even look up a picture of her. She clearly doesn’t care about you, why would you care about her?

After the 30 minute depressing bath, you plopped into the bed, not bothering to put the blanket over you. You suddenly heard a notification ding from your phone. Closing your eyes tightly, you swore that if it's Liz you'll run to her house barefoot to yell at her. When you heard another ding, you opened your eyes slowly and reached out for your bedside table.

[Unknown number]

I'm sorry

I was acting like a kid around u I wanted to ask you out but I got too shy

Can I take you to dinner one day?

You bit into your lip harshly, trying so hard to suppress your blush. You thought about it for a second, you weren't mad because she couldn't ask you out in front of you. You couldn't do it either, and you were also flattered to the thought of her being too shy in front of you. It felt as though she was the confident one there. It didn't matter anyways, what mattered is that you wanted to be hers. And if this date is the first step, you'll take it.

[You]

Okay

Only if I can go and watch you play on the quarterfinals

[Elisa ⚽️]

Really??

YES OF COURSE

Only with my jersey 😉

You turned off your phone and banged your head into the pillow, grabbing your phone again to send her a quick message.

[You]

Of course

I'm going to sleep rn

Good night 💞

[Elisa ⚽️]

Good night 😴

You turned off your phone and closed your eyes, immediately sleeping from the exhaustion of the day.

[Elisa⚽️]

The dress looked perfect on you.

#elisa de almeida #élisa de almeida #nel's writings #elisa de almeida x reader #élisa de almeida x reader #elisa de almedia fluff #woso #woso fanfiction #woso fanfics #woso x reader #women’s football #wlw fanfic

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darknight3904 · 22 days

Text

Freedom

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇɢʀᴜᴅɢɪɴɢʟʏ ꜱᴘᴇɴᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴀᴏʏᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀɢᴏ.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ᴊᴊᴋ ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ. ᴄᴜʀꜱɪɴɢ. ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ/ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ. ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇx. ᴏᴜᴛᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴢᴇɴɪɴ ᴄʟᴀɴ ɪᴅᴇᴀʟꜱ

ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ᴢᴇɴɪɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6ᴋ

ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴅᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ @starryparkrr ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ᴀᴅᴠɪᴄᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴇɴᴛʟʏ.

ɪ'ᴍ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ! ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ…ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴜʟᴛ ʜᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴄᴜʙᴇᴅ ᴏᴋᴀʏ?

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

2018

November 4

The light is the first thing you can register when your eyes open again. You want to yell at Satoru for not shutting the curtains before falling asleep. Of course, you can't, the room you wake in is foreign yet familiar at the same time.

"Jeez, finally." An all too familiar voice says

"Where am I?" You mumble while the voice laughs at you

"What's supposed to be our shared room after we marry."

Your eyes snap open immediately. you know that voice, how could you ever forget it?

"Naoya." You greet, sitting up from the futon you had been tucked into

"Good, you have your memories." He smiles from his seat across the room.

"Why wouldn't I have my memories?" You roll your eyes

"Dunno, that doctor said the meds she gave you were heavy. I thought you might've been on death's door or something." He shrugs

Naoya is surprisingly calm. What the hell was up with him? He still hadn't attempted to insult you.

"You should thank me." He says

"Excuse me?" You ask baffled

"Those higher-ups wanted to execute you for being a collaborator for whatever happened in Shibuya." He explains

"Why the hell would I be a collaborator?" You ask

"Your relationship with that white-haired fool must've tipped them off." Naoya says, "Don't cut me off again"

You want to tell him to shove his words up his ass but he seems deadly serious and your head is hurting terribly, you doubt could take him in a fight right now. So, instead, you just roll your eyes and he seems content with that.

What even happened? The last thing you remember was Nanami pushing you away from that curse...

"I stepped in of course. Our engagement contact came in handy for once, by the way. I said you'd retire from being a sorcerer and marry me. Pop out a few brats and live the housewife life."

You want to run across the room and tackle him out of that dumb tatami chair he's sitting in.

"Before you freak out, don't worry I didn't marry you in your sleep." He smiles, "Now can I get a thank you? After all they wanted to appoint that Yuta Okkotsu kid as your executioner. He's stronger than you if I'm correct?"

"Yeah, he is." You admit, thinking of the kind-hearted dark-haired boy who had been sent off to Africa with Miguel.

"Right, so a thank you then?" Naoya smiled

How annoying he was today. Of course, it could've been worse, He hadn't insulted you or called you any rude names, yet.

"Whatever. Thank you." You say quietly

Naoya smiles with glee, and then motions for you to join him at the table.

You shuffle your way across the room to him. Your body was incredibly sore. He said Shoko had given you medicine but they didn't just use her technique to heal you? You felt like a bus ran you over.

"That doctor wasn't allowed to use her technique on you. The higher ups were hoping you'd die of your head injury. I had her cook up some drug cocktail and the Zenin doctors have been in to see you and to stitch up that stomach wound," Naoya says as he watches you stiffly sit next to him, "Attendants have been feeding you this disgusting soup that's supposed to help you recover quickly. I tasted it earlier, its basically dog shit."

"Alright, cut the bullshit." You glare, "Why're you in such a good mood?"

"Me? I'm always in a good mood." He says, " Although I guess I am being nicer than usual."

That was the understatement of the year!

"My father died last night."

Naobito? Didn't that mean Naoya was officially the head of the clan?

"The injuries he got from Shibuya were too much for him. And the reader of his will is due to arrive soon. I'm certain I will become head of the clan." He smiles at you

Naoya reminds you of a child, giddy for a present like it was Christmas morning. Except the present is his father dying and the fortune that the family sits on.

"Why should I care about any of this?" You ask, wanting to lay back down

"Once I'm clan head my first act is to dissolve this stupid contract," Naoya says, pushing a folder to you

You don't even have to open it to know what's inside. You know it's the engagement papers both of your fathers drew up years ago.

"I'd do it now but only the contract signers or the clan head legally have the power to end it. I doubt your dad will be interested and mine just kicked it." He explains

"Why do you want to do this? I thought there was some genetic advantage to us having kids." You say, skeptical

You remember the night you were told that the engagement was finalized. Your mother had sat you down and told you that because you and Naoya were the strongest sorcerers of the family, you'd most likely create amazing kids.

You had stopped speaking to her after that night, not interested in a mother who would sell you like a piece of meat.

"Oh, there is. But I don't want to be chained to you for the rest of my life. Even if it does mean my kids would be amazing. You're disgusting. I doubt you'd walk three paces behind me and your ass certainly isn't big enough. Not to mention you've been broken in by Satoru Gojo of all people."

His words are wildly insulting and normally you'd want to punch him in the face for his insults. But, for once your imperfections are paying off.

"Thank you." You say "For letting me go."

"I'm not doing it for you, woman. I'm doing it for myself." He says

Before you can tell him to die, a knock sounds and the door slides open. Ogi and Jinichi Zenin enter. Ogi is sporting a long ponytail that seems to have doubled in length since you last saw him on a visit to Maki. As for Jinichi, he's as rough-looking as ever, the whispers about Toji being the better-looking son were certainly true.

"You've been sitting around with your fiancee instead of mourning your father? What's wrong with you?" Ogi scolds

"Why would anyone want to mourn him?" You say

"You haven't taught her to hold her tongue? I'm surprised Naoya." Ogi says, ignoring you

"She doesn't listen to me. She's right though, why would I want to mourn? I'm the next head of the clan. You haven't amounted to anything, Ogi." Naoya laughs, "As for you Jinichi, you're just..."

Naoya trails off like he isn't quite sure what to say.

"You're too ugly." You blurt out

Oh crap. You shouldn't have spoken up.

Jinichi grunts out of anger, and you see him lunging for you. Your instincts are dulled. You're reacting slowly, a side effect of all the medication from Shoko? Ah, he's going to tackle you to the floor. Jinichi's smelly self is going to crush you.

"Now can't we get along? What if she's the one sitting by my side? Don't you want to get along with my wife?" Naoya says, easily pinning Jinichi to the floor before he can reach you.

Jinichi's ugly face is a few inches from your feet and your brain says to step on him. Something wasn't right though. Why did he decide to stop Jinchi? And why was he pretending he planned to marry you?

A clink of a sword is heard as Ogi draws his blade to press it to Naoya's throat.

"I'm in mourning! You wouldn't kill a man whose daddy just died would you?" Naoya smiles, sitting back down next to you, a bit closer than last time.

Your eyes widen as he reaches and pulls you close so his lips tickle your ear when he talks. To the two old men in the room with you it probably looks like two love birds whispering to each other.

"Keep your mouth shut. These two will kill you if they find out I'm not interested in you. The higher-ups put your execution notice out, if you're not with me you're dead. I don't think you're in a condition to fight, Miss Special Grade."

Of course, he tells you that now...

Sure, he was right about the whole not being able to fight. You're pretty sure even Miwa from Kyoto could knock you out right now. God you wished you could figure out reversed curse technique.

"Flirt on your own time, Naoya." Ogi scolds as a small man with glasses enters the room.

"Oh, I plan to." Naoya smiles, tossing a big arm over your shoulders, which you shrug off and shoot him a glare that could kill him.

"Good, you're all here. I am Furudate. I have Master Noabito's will. I will read it now."

Naoya's lips quirk up in a triumphant smile as Furudate delivers the news that he is to be the head, and is set to inherit every asset the Zenin family has.

"Freedom awaits." He says, with a whisper to your ear

So close. You wished he'd back off, of course, you understood he had a role to play. You weren't interested in fighting Ogi or Jinichi.

"However, if Satoru Gojo has become incapacitated in any way...A written agreement concluded with Toji Fushiguro will welcome Megumi Fushiguro into the Zenin Clan...where he shall become head of the Zenin Clan...and all assets shall pass to him."

Oh shit...

"What?"

You quickly scoot away from Naoya, suddenly more interested in the floor. Ah, what a lovely shade of brown!

"Where is Megumi?" Naoya asks

"He is searching for Yuji Itadori in Tokyo." A female attendant says

"Who's that?" Noaya asks

"Sukuna's vessel." She says

Please do not let this be going in the direction you think it is...

Naoya shoots a glance to Ogi and Jinichi and motions for you to follow him out the door.

Who does he think you are? A dog?

You follow him anyway though, worried about his sudden interest in Megumi and Itadori.

A beat of silence follows as you fall into pace with an angry Naoya. You have no interest in following his stupid three-step rule like the attendant does.

"Tell the higher-ups that I will kill Sukuna's vessel for them...I'll kill both of them." He says and the attendant nods.

"They're kids, Naoya. Megumi doesn't even want to be the clan head. I'm sure he will hand it over willingly if you just talk to him. " You try to reason with him, worried for the kids' safety if he goes after them.

"Make sure she doesn't leave my quarters. There's the drugs from that woman from the school. Give them to her on schedule until I return." He says, before grabbing you by the arm and dragging you down the hall as you trip on your feet in the long traditional garb you're wearing.

Naoya pulls you along until you're in another room on the other side of the estate. This one is tastefully decorated, more lived-in than the last one.

"You'll stay put if you know what's good for you." Naoya says as he tosses you onto the ground.

You might be a match for him when it comes to techniques but physically he's bigger than you and easily stronger.

"Stay put while you kill the kid I helped raise and his friend? You must be delusional." You laugh, standing back up

"You'll lose if we fight right now." He chides

"Maybe, but that doesn't matter." You huff, ready to activate your technique

"I'm not interested in fighting a weak version of you. If we fight, I want you at full power, so that when I beat you, you'll know I'm truly better." He says

"Then stay. We can spar like we used to when we were kids." You tempt him with nostalgia

"That wasn't sparing. That was you beating me every day so I could go to dinner and listen to my father mock me." He glares

"Prove you're better then." You smile

Perhaps you can get him to forget about Megumi with a little healthy competition. You don't want Naoya messing with Megumi or Itadori. After Shibuya, there was no telling what condition either of them was in. If they weren't at their best, he'd win and kill both of them.

You weren't interested in burying either of them. Megumi meant more to you than you had ever thought he would.

"Our little blessing."

Satoru's teasing voice echoed in your brain. He called him that as a joke but it was true. Megumi and Tsumiki were one of the most important things in your life.

"You're injured. You won't be healed for another few days. Plenty of time to kill the kids and then spar." He says, beginning to walk for the door

Shit. You couldn't let him run off!

"Fine then, no sparring then..."

If there was a God, you prayed that he would step in before this went too far. You slowly cross the room to where Naoya is. Your hands gently tug at your robe, pulling it so your chest pops into his line of sight.

"Instead of sparring, why don't you stay here with me..." You put on your best smile, hoping you don't gag as you speak, and press yourself against him, "Aren't you interested in why Satoru has kept me around for so long? I'm good with my mouth..."

You'd do anything to keep Naoya away from Megumi. Even sleep with him if that's what it took...

"Looks like I was right, you're nothing but some cheap whore." Naoya laughs, pushing you off of him "Cover up. Maybe when I'm back I'll take you up on your offer. I'll bring you Megumi's head, too. He can watch as we fuck."

His words are so crude you activate your technique, hoping you have enough in you for a duplicate or two.

"Stop that." He smiles, mockingly

A flash of color from Naoya's clothes floats in front of your face and a hard fist is the last thing you see.

March 1995 (You and Naoya: 4)

"Naoya, you could've dodged that!"

The angered voice of his father's voice carrys across the training grounds.

What the hell did he know? It wasn't even fair for him to be fighting, after all his technique hadn't manifested yet so how come he was fighting some girl who already had hers? Did his father like watching him get sent flying by her or her stupid doubles?

"Can we stop now? My mom is making rice balls at home and I want to help her!" The girl who stands above him asks

"No! I don't care about stupid rice balls, we're sparring until I beat you!" Naoya demands, brushing dirt from his pants as he stands up

"But aren't you tired of getting punched?" She asks him innocently

Sure he is, but he's more tired of listening to everyone blab about this girl across from him and her technique and skill. He was born a week before her so why was she so much better than him? It wasn't fair!

"We're fighting until I win!" He demands

July 1997 (You and Naoya: 6)

"Has anyone ever told you you're a terrible person, Naoya?" You ask as he pulls you through the maze of hallways that was the Zenin estate

"Huh? What are you blabbing about now?" He asks, clearly uninterested in what you had to say

You wouldn't venture to say that you were friends with the dark-haired boy. More like both your parents were constantly pushing the two of you to spend time together. Whether it was training or school work, or even just a normal day, you were stuck with Naoya Zenin. Why? You weren't quite sure yet.

"You're dragging me to go see someone who doesn't have any cursed energy just so we can go make fun of him. That's rude don't you think?" You ask

"Why does it matter? This man must be pathetic anyway. Just some weakling." He responds but his voice falls quiet at the end as you both reach your destination.

The man Naoya had dragged you around all day for was right in front of you. Messy dark hair was on his head and a healed scar adorned his face right where his lips met.

You glance at Naoya who seems frozen by the sheer intimidation the man, Toji Zenin puts out. He passes by silently, one big arm suspended by a sling, the other resting idly by his side.

"Still think he's pathetic?" You ask once Toji is out of earshot

"Shut up." Naoya commands

September 1999 (You and Naoya: 8)

"You're crushing me!" You gasp as Naoya tries to use you like some ladder and sits on your shoulders

"You're the one who was saying that you were stronger than me the other day during training. Suck it up." He says

"I didn't think I was going to have to lift you up to a window like a personal step stool." You groan

"Shut up. Someone just opened the door to the room." Naoya says

You roll your eyes but stop speaking anyway. Besides, you were interested in what was happening too. Rumors had been swirling the past week that members of the Gojo Clan would be visiting the Zenin Estate.

Apparently, the new clan head was a child, only a year older than you and Naoya. Satoru Gojo was supposed to be in the room Naoya was trying to peer into atop your shoulders.

"Lift me higher." He whispers

"I can't! You gained weight since the last time we did this!" You say, trying to straighten your knees so he could be taller.

The last time you had held The slightly shorter than you Naoya like this was in July. His mother had yelled at him for eating too much sugar and you helped him steal a bag of sweets he knew she hid ontop of the refrigerator.

"What are you doing?" A voice asks

"Shit..." Naoya says

Yor turn your head slightly to see where the voice was coming from but Naoya interrupts.

"Put me down!-" Naoya commands, struggling

"Wait! I need to-"

You don't get to finish as you lose your grip on him and the two of you fall backward.

"Idiot!" Naoya scolds as you try to ignore the pain in your back as he gets to his feet first

"It's your fault!" You argue back looking at the hand Naoya has extended to help you up.

A soft laughter fills the air and you look up to the person who had snuck up on the two of you.

Hair whiter than snow glitters in the sun as you watch as he covers his mouth while laughing.

"You can't laugh at me! I'm the heir of my family!" Naoya says, angry that he fell over.

"Naoya I think that's..." You trail off as the white-haired boy opens his eyes

Dazzling blue meets your eyes and Naoya freezes next to you. Satoru Gojo is just six feet from the two of you. The boy you had heard about for so many years was looking right at you.

Suddenly, a bustle of female attendants interrupted whatever this was and Satoru Gojo was led away.

"What an idiot." Naoya deems as he watches the other boy who disappears into a room.

"So rude. You know, no girl will want to date you if you're mean like that." You say

"Good!" Naoya scoffs "Let's go get some ice cream, I'm hungry.

June 2004 (You and Naoya: 13)

"Mom, where is Naoya? I thought we were supposed to train today. I got stuck with one of the other guys and he smelled like old fish." You groan

"Noabito-san has sent Naoya away. He's spending some time training with the Hei." She responds "I heard he'll be gone all summer."

"What? No fair! I'm better than Naoya is at everything! How come I didn't get to go?" You whine as you enter the kitchen

"The training was set up just for Naoya. Besides, I think it's a men-only thing. You understand right?" She says as she cuts vegetables for dinner

You let out a scoff at that. Men only? Naoya hasn't won a single fight against you yet he gets special time with the Hei!? Whatever. Once he comes back you were going to beat his ass into the ground for leaving,

November 2004 (You: 13 Naoya: 14)

Cold wind threatened to knock you over as you ran from the car to the house. When the hell did it get so cold so early?

"I'm home! They didn't have any white onions so I got some yellow ones!" You yell toward the kitchen where your mother was surely awaiting your arrival with the extra things she needed for the food.

"You got taller."

You turn from where your face was buried in the overflowing coat closet where you had shoved your coat.

"Naoya!" You greet

He certainly looked different...dyed hair, piercings...shit was he actually taller than you now?

"Looks like you actually have to wear a bra now. Guess your height isn't the only thing that's changed. " He mocks, staring at your chest

Your face heats up with embarrassment as your mother urges the two of you to come sit down.

"Would you like tea?" Your mother asks

"Yes," Naoya says he seemed almost bored

"How were your private tutoring sessions with the Hei? Think you're finally strong enough to beat me?" You tease, hoping he'll fall back into your usual pattern.

Maybe that bra comment was just a fluke. He was 14...your mother had said boys got like that as they got older.

"Shut up. I didn't come here to be insulted by a woman. Go help prepare tea if you're going to run your mouth. I'm not interested in answering questions from you. I don't have to tell you anything."

What. The. Fuck.

You're sure you scare your mother half to death when she opens the tatami doors to find you wrestling with the heir of the clan. She tries to peel you off him but you're set on pounding his obnoxious face into the floor.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You yell when she finally is able to move you enough that Naoya scampers out from under you

"Your daughter has become an animal!" Naoya shouts to your mother and father whose hands are full with the rest of the groceries, Naoya's hand is clutching his injured eye, "If she ever presumes to lay a hand on me again I'll kill her. I don't care about the potential she has, she's just a stupid whore who can't keep her hands to herself!"

You watch an enraged Naoya storm out of your home, brushing past your father, who rushes after him.

The way he carries himself is starkly different than the boy you grew up with. His words hurt your heart as your parents yell at you for what you've done but you can't bring yourself to care, you're mourning the loss of a childhood friend tonight. Sure he wasn't the best but he was the only one you had to begin with and now he was gone, buried by blonde hair and a confusing persona you thought he'd never develop towards you.

November 8, 2018

"Did you OD while I was gone?" A voice asks as you're shaken awake

Naoya sits next to you on the floor as a doctor is looming over you. Your shirt has been pushed up and you can just barely feel some pinching on your abdomen.

"Master Naoya. Removing stitches can be rather graphic. You may want to wait outside." The doctor suggests.

"Just get it over with. I have business to attend to with my future wife here." He grumbles

"Of course." The doctor says, "You'll just feel some light pinching."

A few moments pass and you don't miss the way Naoya looks away when the doctor goes to work. You want to tease him for being a wuss but your brain feels a bit foggy, most likely a side effect of whatever drugs are in your system and the fact that Naoya knocked you out before he ran off.

Wait a moment...if he was back, then where the hell was Megumi?

"Where is Megumi?" You ask, fearing the worst.

"He's alive. Yuta Okkotsu killed Sukuna's vessel though. Megumi never showed up so I came back here." He says

Itadori was dead? Sukuna just let Yuta kill him? That didn't sound right...

"Alright, I'm done. Keep the area clean and take it easy for a day or two." The doctor says as you sit up.

"Thank you." You say as you fix your shirt

Naoya waits for the doctor's departure to speak again.

"Megumi will turn up eventually. If not I'll get ahold of Maki or Mai and then he'll have to show." He says

"They won't come back here willingly." You say

"No? What about when Maki needs a cursed tool? We cleared the stock that we kept at the school. If she wants one she'll have to come here." Naoya smiles

He's probably in the right for once. Megumi would show up if it meant danger for another. Not to mention if Naoya said that you were at the estate as well...

"Stop thinking so hard, you'll hurt yourself," Naoya says before grabbing your arm and hauling to your feet

"You promised a sparring match." He says as he leads you down the hallway

The scene before you is oddly familiar. Naoya has dragged you to the training grounds against your will and is now preparing for a fight he expects to go his way. It's nostalgic and makes you feel like a child again.

"Before we start...I want to ask you something." You say

"I'm not pulling my punches. This is our first match since we were 14, I intend to go all out." He glares

"I know that. I wanted to ask why you bothered saving me from execution and from Jinichi. Letting me die would be easier and it would get you out of the contract easily." You say

"You're smart for a woman. I kept you alive because I wanted to be the one to kill you. I can't let you go to the grave without having won a fight against you, simple as that." He shrugs

You should've known it was something as petty as that. Of course, Naoya only cared about his ego.

"So is this my death sentence then?" You ask warily

"Sure. After you it'll be Megumi and then Maki and Mai. I can't have any competition for the clan head. I'm the sole heir." He says

"Yeah those 15-year-olds, they pose a big threat, huh?" You laugh and pick up the training staff that rests on the stand of weapons

"Shut up." He says

"So are we using techniques? Or just hand to hand like when we were kids?" You ask

"Both. I want to beat you at your best. Besides we already know I'm physically bigger than you. I don't want to cheat my way to victory."He says

"Right. You're a Special grade one right? Last time I checked that means I still rank higher than you." You smile

"Do you ever stop running your mouth?" Naoya groans

"No, I in fact quite enjoy hearing the sound of my own voice."

You're taunting him and he's falling for it like he always does. It sucks you never got married, the fights would've been legendary!

Naoya makes the first move, and like always he swings right for your head.

"So predictable." You huff and easily jump back.

The medicine that was clogging your brain has worn off and you feel better than ever. Perhaps it was that strange soup the attendants had fed you as you drifted in and out of consciousness waiting for Naoya to return from his murder mission.

"Head of the Hei, and I can still read your every move." You say

"Shut up!" Naoya yells and stomps his foot like a small child

"I don't think I will." You say

Perhaps you should start with four duplicates. One to hold each of Naoya's limbs.

"Activating your technique so early? Are you scared?" He asks as he swings at you again

"Nah, I'm interested in wrapping this up quickly. I wanna go see Megumi, make sure you're telling the truth." You say

"You leave me and the higher-ups will have you killed. Can you truly win against Yuta Okkotsu?' He asks

"Probably not. I don't mind dying though, just as long as it's not by your hands." You say honestly.

A loud bell interrupts Naoya before he can speak again.

"The alarm?" You ask dropping the staff

"What the hell is going on?" Naoya asks looking at you for an answer

"You seriously think I'd use a cheap distraction to beat you?" You roll your eyes

"You've become quite the conniving bitch over the years, I wouldn't put it past you." He snaps "Come, let's see what's going on."

"I'm not a dog, Naoya." You scold

He doesn't reply as you walk next to him, interested to see why the alarms would be ringing, Has Megumi come to challenge Naoya? Was he seriously that stupid?

You're nearly mowed over by Ranta, another member of the Hei as he turns a corner.

"Master Naoya! Its Maki! She's gone mad!" Ranta says "She killed Master Ogi!"

Maki killed her father? What the hell was she doing? More importantly, how did she do it?

"She killed Ogi..."Naoya asks slowly

"The Kukuru are off to confront her," Ranka says

"Good. Bring her to me when they get her." Naoya says, cooly

"She's a kid, Naoya." You say, "Ogi must've provoked her if she went after him."

"I won't let your student run around murdering members of the clan. You can either hold your tongue like a woman should or die with her. I've already been lenient with you, even now you're standing next to me like you're my equal. Don't forget what you are." Naoya says

You think of Satoru, Megumi, and Tsumiki...was it worth it trying to resist Naoya for your own pride?

"Fine. But once Maki is here I expect you to talk to her, not just cut her down right away." You say

"It's a deal," Naoya says

Loud shouts are coming from across the estate, none of them sound promising as Naoya paces in anger.

"Where the hell is Jinichi and Ranka? They should have grabbed her by now." Naoya says

You follow him towards where Maki is supposed to be. For once you listen to his three-step rule, after all, being behind a person is the best way to get the drop on them.

Your eyes widen when you see what is taking place, Maki has cut down all of the Kakuru and she holds Jinichi's head in one hand, a cursed tool in the other. Ranka is there as well, blind from who knows what.

A smile streches arocss your face when you see what she's doing. How she's doing it, you're not sure but right now she's fulfilling everything you saw in her all those years ago.

You have potential to be amazing,

Looks like you were right. Maki's moving at a speed that rivals most special grades as she cuts through the last of the Kakuru and sets her sights on Ranka.

"Looks like my student won't be dying today." You laugh as you quickly deliver a kick to Naoya's back.

"What do you think you're doing? You're a member of this clan. Go down there and stop her, special grade!" He says pointing at Maki.

"Nah, Don't want to." You say

"You'll become an exile then." Naoya seethes "And just when I was beginning to think you weren't so bad."

"You talk a lot." You point out and activate your technique, "Think you can beat me and Maki?"

Naoya seems slower than usual or maybe he was just slow in general as your four duplicates grabbed him on all sides.

"Maki?" You call to the girl who readys a finishing blow

Naoya lets out a loud call, he reminds you of an animal who know's its trapped.

And then suddenly a blade is in his hands and he cuts through your unsuspecting duplicates.

"I hate sorcerers who only rely on blades." He declares " I'll be beating the two of you without this."

You watch as he discards the once-hidden weapon. Naoya easily closes in on Maki and sends her flying with a good punch. Ah, so that wasn't his top speed.

"You. I can't believe you're betraying your entire bloodline for a teenager." He says

"Believe it. I don't feel any allegiance to the Zenin. Why should I? I haven't felt welcome in the clan since you came back from that training when we were 14." You say blocking the punch he sends your way

"You're still upset about that? What a stupid woman you are. Fawning over the past." He berates and slaps your arm to activate his technique.

Dammit, his technique was so annoying.

He easily kicks you through a wall or two and you stand up, your duplicates are back running behind him, ready for an attack.

"Looks like this is our final act then, Naoya." You say

"Let's make it a good one, then." He grins

He's a blur as he sends a barrage of punches to you. Your duplicates take some of them and melt away as you think of a way to stop him. You can hear Maki fighting again, the rest of the Kakuru must have come after her.

"You're weak. I don't know why I wasn't able to beat you before." He says when he finally stops

You're out of breath and bloody from his well-timed hits. He targeted the spot where your stitches had just been removed and the blood was flowing from it again, staining the concrete of the walls the two of you had broken through.

" I'm not the weak little boy you used to beat up on the training ground anymore. Too bad my dear old daddy is dead. He spent a lot of time comparing me to you when I was young, Made me sick listening to it all." He says

"Yet you spent how many years by my side?" You laugh, ouch that hurts your stomach

"It wasn't voluntary." He dismisses

"You're a piece of shit, Naoya, I didn't know you were a liar though." You say "I know you didn't mind being around me when we were kids."

"You spend too much time mourning for the past." He says

You were right. That's all you need to know as you let more duplicates out. Naoya is nothing but a kid who views you as a rival. Perhaps that's all it ever was, maybe you were wrong for thinking he was a friend all those years ago. Oh well, it doesn't matter now.

None of it ever has.

You smile as your duplicate grabs Naoya from behind, pinning his arms against his back. Another grasps his legs and you get ready to finish him for good.

"No." Naoya orders, his technique doesn't work on the new duplicates since they weren't active when he slapped your arm earlier, "Stop it, now."

"Why should I? You're nothing to me. After all, you just said you didn't want to spend time with me. Why should I want to spend any more time around you after that confession?" You ask

"We have history. You don't want to let it go. You're sentimental." He says

He's trying to weasel his way out of this, he must be scared of death.

"You're right, I am sentimental. Just not for you." You say, "Getting rid of you means getting rid of everything I've hated for so many years."

A discarded knife sits on the ground. It's not a cursed tool, just a normal kitchen knife and it'll do just fine.

Naoya lets out a string of pleas and struggles against your two duplicates. He even calls your name for the first time in years. Not whore or bitch, or even woman. He's scared and he's calling to your humanity with your name.

Too bad for him though. he doesn't matter to you anymore.

You ignore his words and pour your cursed energy into your duplicates, strengthening them both tenfold.

"I'll see you in hell, Naoya." You sweetly say into his ear

There's a slick slicing sound and warm blood pours onto your hand and down your arm as you slowly slit his throat.

You release your technique and your duplicates are gone. Without them, he collapses and claws at the wound.

You watch as Naoya Zenin, your wonderful fiance, drowns in his own blood, clawing at his throat like an animal. His last words are a gurgle of unintelligible sounds. A smile is tugging at your lips as his hand reaches for your ankle, his blood smearing across your skin.

What a wonderful sight. You can taste the freedom already.

I didn't really spend too much time editing this one. If you saw a typo, no you didn't.

More to come! Comment to be tagged!

Taglist:

@laviefantasie @kiya-things @dann-acalle @bakedpotato12 @pweewee @lysaray @midnightwriter21 @exprimidordefresas @ariiiii0938

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