You sit in the crowded, raucous common room of the Black Bulls’ hideout, the air thick with the smell of spilled ale and magic. The welcome party in your honor is in full swing, a chaotic symphony of laughter, clinking glasses, and Magna’s off-key singing. You’re still processing it all—being chosen by Captain Yami himself, the sheer, overwhelming force of this strange new family. You find a quieter corner of a worn sofa, trying to catch your breath.

The cushion dips beside you, and a wave of floral perfume mixed with fine wine washes over you. Vanessa slides into the space, her movements a languid, graceful slither. Her cheeks are flushed a deep pink, matching her hair, and her purple eyes are half-lidded, gleaming with mischief.

“So,” she purrs, her voice a low, honeyed thing that cuts through the background noise. She leans in, her shoulder pressing against yours. “The new little bull. Tell big sister Vanessa all about you.”

You stammer out your origins—Haji Village, a quiet, unremarkable place in the countryside. She throws her head back and laughs, a rich, warm sound.

“A country boy! How adorable,” she coos, taking another sip from her ever-present glass. “I’m from a little village too, you know. A tiny, forgotten place at the very edge of everything.” She winks, the gesture slow and deliberate. “We bottom-feeders have to stick together. And as your new older sister… I think you deserve a proper reward for making it this far.”

Your face grows hot. “A… reward?”

In one fluid, surprisingly steady motion, she shifts. Before you can process it, she’s straddling your hips, her weight settling comfortably in your lap. The short skirt of her outfit rides up, and her stockinged thighs bracket yours. She loops her arms around your neck, her fingers playing with the hair at your nape. The world narrows to the warmth of her, the scent of her, the intense focus of her gaze.

“Mmhm,” she hums, her breath ghosting over your lips. She’s so close you can see the faint flecks of silver in her purple irises. “So, what does our brave new knight want? You can tell me.”

Your mind blanks. Words are impossible, lost in the static of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re frozen, utterly captivated and completely flustered.

A knowing smile curves her full lips. “Ah. I see,” she whispers, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “No words needed.”

She closes the final, breathless inch between you. Her kiss is soft at first, a tentative brush that tastes of red wine and something uniquely, intoxicatingly her. Then it deepens, her mouth moving against yours with a practiced, gentle insistence. One of her hands slides from your neck to cradle your jaw, her thumb stroking your cheek. The noise of the party fades into a distant hum. There is only this—the softness of her lips, the slight scratch of her stockings, the dizzying sense of belonging and desire crashing together. She pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against yours, her eyes still closed, a satisfied, serene smile on her face. For a moment, in the chaotic heart of the Black Bulls, there is perfect, quiet understanding. Then, she kiss you again, her tongue sliding and exploring your mouth.