#but when she’s put in proximity she sees the truth.

[bomber-grl]

Enemies to lovers with Leo Valdez

Pairing(s): Leo Valdez x Gn!Reader

If anything it probs stemmed from a misunderstanding

Maybe you were cranky the first two times he ever approached you

And perhaps you may have taken it out on him

And maybe just maybe he thought u were those stereotypical condescending people

Basically what ensued from then on was just you two attacking each other verbally each time you ran into each other

But then you’re officially introduced to him by either Percy or Annabeth or anyone else that’s part of the 7 that’s close to you

He’d be especially shocked if it’s Piper or Jason who introduces you two to eachother

Of course that doesn’t automatically solve anything and you’re both total assholes to each other still

Leo is complaining about you and how could any of his friends also be yours?

You feel the same exact way

And unfortunately this is a case of forced proximity as is all my hcs because I’m an uncreative bitch

Maybe it’s just me but I’d imagine constant bickering and making faces would be a bit hard to ignore and go unnoticed

So they all agree to force you two to get along

So you’re on the Argo ll and are forced to clean the stables

(Before the Athena Parthenos is put there obv)

It’s not messy messy but it’s still something

You two both finally agreed to be quiet

But then he gets almost thrown out the window by the ship getting rocked by a monster or something

And so you have to save him by obligation

You two are literally hanging out the window and Leo is yelling like crazy bro

Eventually you bring him back and he thanks you

It was done reluctantly- you make sure he knows that

Plus the situation gives you material to make fun of him for 💀

Then some time after that you’re fighting some daily monsters and he (despite not rlly being a fighter) helps you out by firing some of the weapons on the Argo

This incident spawns this unspoken alliance??

Literally everyone else is made aware of it too and even they’re confused

But honestly at least you’re not constantly at each others throats anymore

Instances where you saved each others asses continued from then on out

It got to the point where you saved eachother so often that you became literal 4lifers

Like genuinely enjoying each other’s company despite the occasional off handed remarks

There was obvious tension that you were both teased for by your individual friends

Even couch Hedge acknowledged it 💀

And youd both deny it

I mean it was the obvious choice

But there had always been tension between you two if you’re being honest

Like if someone asked you if you thought Leo was cute , well let’s not say you’d say he was, just that you really couldn’t deny it

And so your interactions and dynamic continued all the way until the prophecy that started this quest came to an end

And so did you interacting with Leo

He was dead, and despite having liked him, you’d never be able to tell him.

That’s something you had come to accept, and something you realized you’d never get the chance to admit to him

Until you could.

Leo appears back at camp with Calypso in tow

Let’s just say Leo felt ok about her and saved her cuz he’s a good guy and she went along cuz she wanted an escape)

Anyway like everyone else you line up to hit him

Ain’t no way you’re running to him when there’s so many other ppl infront 💀

Gods forbid YOU end up being the one that gets jumped

Even from the good amount of distance you’re away from him you can still very much see his- what can be best as described- upset demeanor

Why he looked that way? You didn’t know and couldn’t tell even if held at gunpoint

Well anyways eventually you end up face to face with him and his expression can’t even be described with just a few words

So ill try anyway

Hes absolutely star struck and, in truth, made breathless from the sight of you alone

I mean with the way Leo looks at you, you’d think he spotted his only true want in this world.

The guy doesn’t say anything at all but then he sorta gains consciousness (?)

He tries to hug you but then hesitates- tries again/ then hesitates

Before he could do anything else you slap the hell out of him 💀

The act is honestly so violate and loud it was genuinely startling

Some would say that you jumped him that day of his return but what did they know??

And then you hugged him

A deep, emotionally charged hug

All the days you had spent mourning him, being tortured by his death that you couldn’t help but feel was avoidable despite the prophecy-

And yet you couldn’t help but melt into the hug

Obviously awkwardness follows after- and for a good while after too

But in the end you two end up together (per advice from emmie and Jo once Apollo casually mentioned the undefined relationship between you two as defense against a remark Leo had made)

And after Apollo is done at the waystation (and you’re not already involved there)Leo will ask if you’d want to stay there together and go to school and be “normal” teens.

The answer is up to you, but we all know what you’re gonna choose

Cmon you’re reading this so you’re obviously down bad 💀

[emcads]

every time I talk about historical context with potc I need to put a disclaimer, but there’s something very haunting about the way Elizabeth’s, Will’s, and James’ personal journeys all coincide with the piracy act (which granted colonial governors the authority to hang pirates on site instead of sending them back to England). how many pirates must have made the Atlantic crossing in the opposite direction before them. how it’s not ultimately law and Englishness and Moral Righteousness that destroys the pirates, but commerce.

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Dirty Dozen

GN! MC x Pervert OM! Characters

Pervert! Lucifer who pretends to be more drunk than he actually is so he can lean on you when you escort to his room, pulling you into his arms and refusing to let go when you reach his bed. Even if his hands wander inside your clothes, you can't really hold it against him.

Pervert! Mammon who tries to do his best in tests and classes, cause he recalls every praise you give him while jerking off. And when you sit on the sofa, he sits on the ground leaning on your thighs thinking of you sitting on his face.

Pervert! Levi who designs the skimpiest possible cosplay outfits for you and only changing it after he's sees it on you himself. He asks you to twirl around or bend over even when you already feel exposed, brushing his knuckles against your bare skin to take measurements.

Pervert! Satan who sometimes recommends you the most erotic books he owns and loves watching your face change shades and your thighs squirm together with every page. He sometimes whispers the characters lines into your ear so he can hear every subtle gasp or moan.

Pervert! Asmo who asks to help him film couple thirst trap videos and messing up on purpose to hold you in risque places or even press kisses as the 'challenge' requires. Will deliberately put the same perfume he's wearing on you, so it seems like you spent last night in his room.

Pervert! Beel who likes to feed you big mouthfuls of food and thinks its so cute the way you still manage to fit it in your mouth. He loves holding hands with you, his large ones completely encasing your smaller ones - it reminded him how tiny and cute you'd look writhing underneath his large form.

Pervert! Belphie who watches you sleep during sleepovers while he implants sex dreams in your head using his powers. He watches you whimper and twitch with your hands between your legs as he ruts into his pillow right next to you.

Pervert! Solomon who loves to put you in accidental situations where you simply have to rely on him, especially in close proximity. The Box of Truth was just the beginning with your chest pressed up tightly against his, now he's secretly planning a trap where you both have to fuck a few times to escape.

Pervert! Simeon who secretly loses his mind every time your hands touch his exposed bare skin and looks for excuses for you to do it. Once on a dare, you had wrapped your arms around his waist and playfully bit his shoulders, and now he jerks off to it once every week.

Pervert! Diavolo who likes to seat you on his lap to help him work, feeling the softness of your cute little ass against his groin. Sometimes he'll grind against you subconsciously and then excuse it saying he's just trying to make sure you're not bored while he's thinking of ravaging you at his very desk.

Pervert! Barbatos who is just desperate to worship your body and give you more pleasure than you can handle. He is already so esctatic when you allow him to massage your back, now only if you'd let him strip you down one day.

Pervert! Thirteen who likes seeing you caught up in her traps and beg for rescue. You look so adorable pouting and huffing like that, struggling to escape as she runs an idle finger over your clothes, being a little tease.

[capslocked]

PROXIMITY

male reader x chou tzuyu

25k words

You’re not a bad person. And you know how that sounds apropos of nothing - defensive, unscrupulous - but it’s true. You’re like anybody else: full of mistakes, but good, mostly. 

You are also aware of the way she looks at you. None of that has changed.

The slight quirk at the corner of her lips. A flicker, a smirk. A game, all doe-eyed and deep dimpled - she's playing the seduction one. It isn’t subtle, and you're losing by proxy. So you're backtracking, drawing your conclusions; you're reading into the line of her jaw, the fall of her hair. Measuring the weight behind each blink.

"You were wrong by the way," Tzuyu starts, indifferent. Through some act of divine retribution, she laughs. "Because to tell you the truth, I used to have, like, the biggest crush on you."

She’s young, and - well, she’s a lot of things. A terrible idea. Incredibly off-limits. She is anathema, red tape, an original sin. You shake your head at her, smile fading - which for anyone keeping score, is an admonishment, however faint.

Because Chou Tzuyu, you recognize, is categorically, unequivocally: never supposed to happen.

-

If you want a read on your current dilemma, then this is how it pans out:

You’re walking headfirst into one of the multiple terrible, terrible scenarios you've probably had an anxiety dream about. It’s an ambush, really.

There’s the text from Mina, explaining all the ins and outs of her winter hideaway, the logistical whereabouts, and the pinched photo from the outside, the endless winding driveway, the clearing in the woods. The remote location, the unfussed snow, the towering trees. There are no neighbors to speak of, just seclusion and isolation and that makes you, among the seven billion or whatever, the only one who will know precisely how fucked you are.

The door to the cabin swings open on its hinges. You kick the snow off your boots, and the air smells indistinctly of peppermint tea.

It’s a cozy place, you think. A slightly rustic aesthetic. There’s a pair of skis decommissioned over the mantle. Mina, as usual, has good taste. You peek around: the foyer, the open living space, the wood finishes, the sunken fireplace. You almost make out a bathroom, through a half-opened doorway - and the kitchen, maybe, is nestled around the far corner.

You settle in, find your bearings, and start taking these leisurely steps down the hall.

That’s when you see her. Wearing a sweater that's a size too big, draped over her frame - sleeves tucked, exposing the barest hint of skin on her wrists, her delicate fingertips. You blink once, twice. That’s a dangerous flare. The rest of her, this canvas of pale skin and soft, endless legs, the hollowed stretch of inner thigh-

Actually, you know what, you are going to delete that out of your mind; as far as you're concerned, Tzuyu absolutely does not have her long, satin-like mahogany hair spilling over her shoulder, her bare legs poking out from under that bulky cotton blend, and she definitely, very absolutely has not given you a complete lack of boundaries, so it's more than plausible for her to slide onto a stool near the countertop with her painted-toes peeking out from beneath the folded press of her thigh (the pedicure, really, now?) and look over at you like you aren’t perfectly familiar with that goddamn face. Those eyes, that jaw.

And her collarbone is out too. Ouch.

Tzuyu rests her chin in one of her perfectly manicured hands, and tilts her head: she’s very blatantly checking you out.

The problem is, you’ve recognized her immediately.

Which - god, the bottom-lines, the blurred borders. It’s been years. She's twenty-three, twenty-four now, and as it turns out, she's taller than you remember. She's thinner, taller, actually a bit filled out too-

Right, okay, no. Just. Delete that image from the internal memory.

"Oh," you breathe, because there's not a single thing you're sure you’re supposed to do. It takes a split second too long to put the brakes on everything in your brain and say, "Tzuyu." It takes even more control not to tack an unthinkingly fond 'miss' to the front of her name - you're a god-honest lost hope - but at the last minute, you settle for, "hi."

It’s unnatural. She's actually somehow prettier than you remember, and the tousled brown curls flowing down her shoulder make it worse. She smiles, gently; this soft-spoken, "hey."

She’s at the kitchen island, holding a bowl of cereal and looking at you like she’s taking inventory. The strap of her bra is black, loose around the curve of her left shoulder; she's barefoot. Any other context, and it's your favorite kind of combination, basically: casual and messy and haphazard. Perfect. She's so tall, christ.

"We've met a few times," and she's not even phrasing it as a question - because she knows for a fact that you know her - and now, well, you can see how that's a problem.

"Yeah." You drop your bags. "Nobody said anything about anyone being here, so, I'm just a little-"

“Relieved?” Tzuyu tries, and if it sounds conceited, you’ve imagined it.

“Surprised,” you amend, quickly. There is a massive amount of distance currently between the both of you - several feet and an island counter to top it off. That's good, you think.

Tzuyu runs her hands over the top of her hair, a half-effort at putting it up into some sort of a ponytail, or maybe a bun. You see now that her nails are bare. "I'd heard from Mina," she starts, "that Sana was coming here-"

And you watch, absentmindedly, as Tzuyu slides down off her chair. You watch her too carefully almost, for a beat. You want to follow the length of her legs with the same ease and shamelessness - like it's instinct or just expected; it's ridiculous and wrong to think, but-

"-with, uh, someone. She left it purposefully vague." Tzuyu finishes, then pauses. Her gaze slides across you. If the awkward stretch of silence is weird, she doesn't comment on it. “Then I heard the flight got delayed because of all the snow."

"Just Sana’s," you correct, and that's not information you should be simply giving away. She just stands there, blinking up at you.

"Huh," she says, eyebrow lifted - slower than is explicitly necessary, “so you’re like. All alone until she gets here.” She simply eats a spoonful of cereal, chews for a moment, and adds, “bummer.”

It’s true, in some sense. You sigh, rake a hand back through your hair, and your jacket falls further down on one of your shoulders; she drops her gaze down, almost imperceptibly, following the motion.

There is definitely a point where you could take notice of a lot of things, and they include, but are certainly not limited to: the fucking languor with which she is licking the yogurt off the back of her spoon, her stupidly long eyelashes fanning on the tops of her cheeks when she glances down, the frankly risque neckline of her sweater. Those kinds of things. Those kinds of details. Really, you wouldn’t dare.

"It sounds like she’ll be getting in tomorrow evening," you decide to inform her, though she didn't ask, and now she nods, focusing still on the yogurt and granola at the bottom of her bowl.

You walk into the kitchen. Rap your knuckles on the countertop. Tzuyu’s right there, and your mind is filling up with images you could really do without. That's the unfortunate, traitorous nature of all this: in any universe, Chou Tzuyu fawns over you. And she will, on accident or purpose, test you. And as for your hesitation - that's an instinct that gets activated every time you so much as meet Tzuyu in person, this invasive little impulse. 

"Well," Tzuyu says, way too casually. “It’s just us then.”

"Yeah." you agree, stilted. “Just us.”

"There's wine," she decides, tilts her head. Then, matter of factly, "and coffee, hot cocoa. Mina’s more or less stocked on everything."

Her voice hits the room all nice, sweet, syrupy - god, fuck, maybe there's a window or a door here somewhere that you're supposed to open to clear the air, but when you look, there’s frost on the glass; it’s the subalpine frigidity. Tzuyu flashes you this other sort of glance - her teeth scrape the rounded spoon's tip before her lips fully fix around it. The drowsy, delirious feeling is almost involuntary at this point.

"I should unpack my things, is what I should do, probably," and now you are saying things for the sake of saying them, as an escape. "Hey, seriously. Sorry for the inconvenience."

“Don’t be,” she tells you. "The weather isn't anybody's fault."

(Here, a premonition. You look at Tzuyu, who raises an eyebrow back.)

The next logical move is: leave. Tzuyu folds her long limbs back up onto the stool, and you're - trying not to look. You're also trying not to do it consciously, actively - you're not, and not. You fail, like you did a few years ago, too - the eyes have a bad habit of wandering. She's made of porcelain, all thin wrists, thin neck, soft curves and delicate lines. She's made out of glass - she’s at her most dangerous when you’ve gone and broken her.

It’s possible, you think, she could break you too.

-

Look, contextually - it’s Murphy’s law, or maybe your own very specific curse. A lot of stuff happens, so here’s a rough draft, your best effort at an approximation, a smudged-pencil sketch:

Tzuyu has been on vacation in the Alps from the start of the week, or maybe the week prior - she's alone in this stupidly big cabin you're supposed to be meeting Sana in for two weeks and change of pure unadulterated, hedonistic fun. Skiing, lounging, stargazing, drinking, screwing, consummating a situationship. You know the drill.

However there ends up being an actual, literal avalanche - with snow and rocks and ice and whatever the fuck - the power goes out, and you can only assume the whole mountain's gone dark. It's like a classic, a cautionary tale: hey, dude, you're on vacation with this drop-dead gorgeous girl who will let you do whatever you want to her - in the name of love and lust and a loosely legal liability. She says she'll be yours forever, except you also heard her say that the universe is entitled to laugh at you, a bit - so you do something you'll regret (which, okay, you've done countless things you'll regret) and now you're getting punished for it, and so is the stunning temptress currently shivering in the bed next to you. Seriously, whatever you do, do not fuck her, don't let her get too attached, because oh, man - Tzuyu really likes to make herself comfortable, huh? To nestle herself into your arms, let her hand stroke circles in the dark fabric of your t-shirt, warm her cold nose into your chest, and cuddle the night away. She's so easy to give in to, isn't she? This walking, talking paradox of everything she's not supposed to be and everything she'll willingly do anyway - there's her expression, placid and rapturous in equal measures, the sleepy mumbles against your skin that sound like prayers, her damp breaths.

You should know better. You should know that this is the universe, laughing its ass off at you.

And just for the record, there is sound reason for everyone to feel, in some sense, extremely concerned by the narrative that your life has slowly, unceremoniously devolved itself into.

The first time you meet Chou Tzuyu is years ago. She’s dramatically, devastatingly, problematically, young.

It was all happening before you could really clock it, and it was morally reprehensible, and it was, in fact, probably all your own doing.

And it’s even more obvious in retrospect: how she would react to the way you reach back and ruffle your hair when you laugh, the casual appeal of your smile, the depths of your tone, how you cut it as close as you can get it. A girl will trip all over herself to let you look after her; that’s the basic blueprint, that's the default. See, you're in your twenties, an adult - not having figured out much, but having certainly figured out this - and it's very much not lost on you that the girl should not be flirting with you - but she does, and the very worst of it is: you let her.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jihyo had said at the time, and, in fairness, yeah. That more or less sums it up.

So you end up making a point of never getting to know her, to always keep the conversation nonexistent. Or in the worst case scenario, brief - on surface level topics. The weather. Your job. Food. If you like her sunglasses. (They look protective, you’d told her, very practical. Very safe.) It's the essentials, a light, professional rapport - never once crossing the border from casual conversation to candid disclosure. 

She's infatuated, of course. You're not mincing words here. It's actually rather unfortunate, how gone she is for you. You could’ve probably stood to dial it back; you, and your charm. Your smiles.

Because Chou Tzuyu was however many years young, very much off-limits - and like a lot of people it seems, totally hooked on your whole deal.

-

(Theoretically, that's how it all starts. Which is why, pragmatically, you will never, ever lay a finger on her.)

-

So, the plan to get through this was simple and to the point and as follows:

* Avoid unnecessary physical contact

* Maintain social distance, in fact - something covid-esque sounds great, about six feet

* Do not offer opinions/advice unless specifically asked

* Minimize speaking, just to be safe

* Do not exchange gifts, especially personal ones

* Be wary of the temptation to take a voluntarily-tipsy Tzuyu to bed, because you'll want to - and god knows Tzuyu will make it extremely clear that you could; this is exactly how shit turns south-

* Adjust and reframe

* Reinforce

* Remind yourself

* To just fucking think about literally anything else

It was working fine, so far - really fine, especially if you consider how early into the stay you're sitting there, telling yourself off in the bathroom mirror, get it together, you dumbass. What is wrong with you, don’t you know better by now - before an unapologetic knock on the door snaps you out of it, and the click of the door opening a moment later forces a heavy inhale from your chest: you just need a fucking second, thanks - not a half-decent excuse or a rearrangement, not a careful restructure, just a split second in your own head; that's not even the sort of thing you're prone to needing, because it's you, but with Chou fucking Tzuyu-

A soft breathy laugh, "are you okay in here?"

Tzuyu pokes her head into the room, her hair a wavy curtain that tumbles down past the middle of her back. You have this vague, fleeting impulse to run your fingers through it.

"Well," and there goes all the shit you'd managed not to think about, or contemplate, or dwell upon for that one glorious, naive, misinformed second. "Sort of," you say, offering her a quick glance.

"Really?" Tzuyu says, not catching onto the whole existential crisis thing. "Is there anything else you need? I mean," and then your eyes fall upon her; she's put a sweater on, pants, which all things considered, is a huge victory, a total rout - her baggy sweater drapes on her, practically brushing her thigh where the material stops, the hem. "I guess not, just. Um," her teeth catch her bottom lip for a quick moment, and this time she glances back towards the hall, the granite-finish tiles. "Wanna make s'mores?"

"What," you ask, because honestly, what the actual fuck-

"I went into town to get fresh groceries earlier this week. Everything just kinda landed in my cart," she says, the beginning of an explanation - the backstory, if you will. "And there's a fireplace. Momo always says the calories don't count if it's social eating, so." She makes a small shrug.

"Oh,” you say, like you understand. Your throat feels tight. “She’s totally right.”

She offers you a small nod. Tucks her hair behind her ear. You wonder if she knows how suggestive even the smallest of gestures she makes are; and more so, if she does it knowingly, or simply without thought - if it's a facet of her own effortlessness.

"Um," you say, for no particular reason other than that Tzuyu is fucking distracting. "Okay."

The edges of her mouth tick upwards at that. "We could put something on the tv,” she suggests. “For the vibe."

"Oh yeah, for the ambience."

"For the ambience," she nods.

(And fuck her, seriously. You might be a goner already.)

-

"A winter weather advisory," Tzuyu reads, squinting slightly at the tv. A minute later: "Just stay home," followed by another pause, and a frown: "hail and ice too. Yeah, no kidding."

She's reading the weather report. You're pretending you have any idea how to work the fireplace while she sets her eyes on the news, hands running over the blankets she has huddled around herself - legs folded, tucked into the edge of her chest. She'd gotten as far as logging into her Netflix account before the suggestion of cuddling was so obviously implied, her hands patting the cushioned space beside her that you were required by moral law to flip through the cable options until you found the least sexy, least rom-com-y option you could find: a newscaster reporting on the ongoing inclement weather, a forecaster saying 'near zero chance of improving, so travel is heavily discouraged, we strongly advise against-'

"Wonder if Sana's even going to make it," Tzuyu breaks the relative silence, and you are acutely aware of how casual she has been referring to Sana, the complete and utter lack of jealousy or any emotion related - or you guess, inspired. She's not even the slightest bit irked. “If the airport opens, maybe," she adds, and, after a beat, "let's hope."

-

It gets colder. You can barely see three feet past the front door. The forecast only gets worse, the storm intensifies and swells, it snows and snows - and this isn't a cottage somewhere on the lake, you're a couple miles down a single-track, woodsy road, far, far away from society.

-

If only these walls could talk, honestly. You're like, caught in a moment. With Tzuyu and marshmallows and these tiny, sticky wooden skewers. This is a story you will tell nobody, ever.

"I don’t mean to say I told you so," she says, but it comes out with a mouthful of chocolate and graham cracker, and marshmallow, which sort of takes the bite out of it. "But the movie is a little more entertaining."

You pretend like you weren't staring at her mouth a beat prior. "Right, a cinematic masterpiece." 

Tzuyu tugs a marshmallow off the stick, and looks over at you again. Smiles around the impromptu pastry. She's just such a bright, wholesome thing - soft-hearted, selfless, so innocuous and so pleasant. It's absolutely sick. You have a fucking pavlovian response to Tzuyu simply existing.

And you’re pretending like the white, tacky remains on her mouth haven't permanently solidified that look into memory: the melted chocolate, the whipped sugar, the dimple. You could really do without this specific feeling - for however much longer it'll last, should the storm linger.

"You don’t ever have stuff like this, just for a quiet, carefree time?" Tzuyu licks it off her skin, and the question kind of drags your attention elsewhere.

You breathe in, slow.

Maybe she can feel it too, you think. Because Tzuyu drags the pad of her thumb against her bottom lip, and a question she doesn't ask flickers to life in her gaze: if you'll break or not, if there is an absolute limit.

But it’s impossible to read her. Tzuyu takes up this real easy-going disposition, all quiet and stoic, sort of, and maybe that's the dangerous part of her - the stillness. Other moments, she has this uncanny knack for conversation. She's charming in that way, you have always thought, a bright face. She has a keen understanding of things too - maybe sometimes too much; maybe a little bit beyond her years, really, a little too knowledgeable.

"When the gang does," you answer, diplomatically. “Sure, I suppose.”

There's another smile at that, which is how you know that the back and forth, this coolly cool, somewhat-stiff exchange is sort of becoming a game. A bet on who cracks, who turns. She won't tell you it's you, and you'll never in your right mind acknowledge her. It's some version of honesty. A bit like Russian roulette.

"I used to think we were friends, you know," she muses, like it's some great mystery - all very deliberately cryptic. Like it's funny.

"Hey, you were like, a teenager," you're grasping at straws. You’re spinning the bullet round the conversational chamber. “And I have this thing-”

"You have a thing?" Her eyebrow is raised again - sweetly challenging.

"-like, a principle, a standard - if there's nothing there, and let's face it: there's really not something here-"

"Aw," Tzuyu fakes pouting, which is simultaneously very mean and also like, painfully hot, and she makes this pitiful coo, "you really have nothing to say at all, do you."

Which. Fuck, she’s right. The 'thing' here is the no touching, the no messing, the no making anything resembling a move. She's sitting over there with her mouth covered in sugar, batting her goddamn eyelashes. Which you ignore, thank god for impulse control, or the instinct of it, and Tzuyu pushes a graham cracker past her lips to placate her own expression.

And so it goes. She keeps looking at you and looking and looking and you stare, transfixed, back at her. The edges of her jaw, the rise of her nose, the jutting curve of her collarbone; you say something dumb or clever and you're making her laugh, and every time she does, her teeth catch on her bottom lip and you could really do with a distraction right now, but it's impossible not to flirt. 

It's just the way the universe has constructed you - this starvation, a twisted desire. There’s cruelty in the design.

-

(Things take a turn for the worse, of course. You don’t know how, but she gets to you agree that you two should've gotten closer in all that time-

"Well, I’m sure you were just so busy," you'd shrugged, indifferent, and she'd pressed the sleeve of her sweater to her mouth, just to hide how bright the smile was.

-which, honestly, fuck you - given all the context. Because now she's right here in the cabin; she's an arm's length away, and all this time, you've meant to stay the fuck out of reach.) 

-

Tzuyu does the worst thing. She returns from the kitchen, hands full, with two squat tumblers and a bottle of dark brandy. She sets one down next to you and asks if you want some.

You look. You mean, what are you even supposed to do? It's a catch twenty-two, it's a joke - what can a girl be thinking, standing there. Bending the right way, hair framing a face like hers.

Yeah, sure - it’s the voice of someone who's slipping, who’s gonna say the same thing three more times. "Hm, why not."

The ice clinks against the glass. Then, the pour. Toast to good health, a clean conscience, safe passage; you’ll take whatever you can get. 

You watch Tzuyu knock back an impressive amount and make an impressive face. There’s maturity there, you cope. Because you want to touch her jaw, thumb over her cheekbone, breathe baby, it's too strong, slow down on her lips, watch her mouth open slightly-

The fire pops.

She leans toward you. “Are you going to keep stealing stories from me, or are you going to supply anything good to the discussion?"

"About me, personally?" you say, purposefully pedantic.

Tzuyu’s smirk is half-present, half-playful. She sets down her tumbler on a coaster - Mina would be appreciative - and hums at you. “What do you think I mean?”

"I was really hoping the inflection would help clarify."

She levels a gaze with you. You fight back for a hot second - this slow-burning heat under the skin, your resolve threatening to buckle, shatter, spill itself everywhere - and in the end, she is the one that looks away, softly laughing, a pfft under her breath. You’re left the opportunity to just - look. See where the glow from the wood-burning fire has cast this gorgeous gold over her face, all her defined curves, her delicate features.

"I don't care, it could be anything," she poses, settling back into the pillows. Smiling. "Please. Entertain me."

Her cheeks are rosy. You realize, quite suddenly, you are not totally sober either. This is exactly how Sana talked you into something however many moons ago, then however many moons later, surgically unattached all the strings. Sana’s good at talking. At convincing. And you don't do shots like her, or apparently like Tzuyu does - but hell, it's that maddening, pretty little dimple of hers - the one that's always there when she does her mischievous smirk - a deeply devastating look, a devil-may-care demeanor, and you're dead-drunk on it, honestly.

"Want me to talk about Sana?" you offer, "seems like an obvious choice."

"I think you’re projecting," Tzuyu teases. “You just miss her, I'm sure.”

"Mhm. Sure."

Tzuyu makes a noise halfway between a chuckle and a snort, and draws the blankets more tightly around her. "What," she says, nonplussed, "who doesn't want to hear some gossip about their friends?"

You're fucking up, right? Fucking up the same way you did years ago when you caught the wrong kind of feeling for an entirely, altogether inappropriate woman. But you'll blame the drinks. And the mood. And the ambience, the fucking fire that's almost suffocating, the closeness of her body next to you-

"Hey," you say, and it's such a mistake. You're pointing to a spot on your chin. You're making it worse. "You got a little, uh-"

You watch as she lifts her hand, glides it through the air - brushes her own cheek with her fingertips, smoothing out an imagined blemish.

"Did I get it?"

"Uh, well, sorta-" and she knows you’re lying.

Tzuyu tries again. Comes up short, and when her hair falls in front of her face, she’s looking at you like maybe you’ll help take care of that too. She’s a total fucking coquette - though maybe she hasn’t even done it on purpose, maybe she's just that unaware, innocent. Not the second one, you figure. You're leaning, tilting closer and closer to her - in any other scenario, there'd be the shortest possible time between her touching herself and you, cupping her jaw with one of your hands.

But your mouth feels like it's moving of its own accord. "No, wait, let me help you," you continue, before you know it. 

Isn’t it disastrous; all ice and hazard, this is the advisory in effect; a napoleon-goes-to-russia caliber calamity, a colossal write off, a write in. You could have, should have stopped, except you didn't and now you're reaching, gently, until your palm cups the side of her face - until you press, until you hold her steady. Her head tilts. She lets you, blinking up. Her eyes are this hazy, intoxicated coffee-brown, honeyed and burnt and fucking beautiful.

You swipe your thumb along her bottom lip. The gesture is slow, languid, intentional; you think, through some cosmic error, that might just be the end of it.

"There," you say, smiling, naive.

"Yeah," Tzuyu breathes out, and she winds her fist into the fabric of your shirt. "Thanks."

You lean, or she does; you go down, or she pulls you; there's no difference, really.

She is kissing you, this soft little press. A tug in every direction. You hadn’t kissed her, at the very start, but when her fingers thread through your hair, gripping hard, bringing you closer until you groan, parting your lips slightly, and - and her tongue flits past yours - your brain does this wild mental leap that you ought to be questioning later.

But everything starts to sink. 

One of your hands lands on her waist, thumb slipping under the hem of her sweater and pressing against bare skin, and her knee nudges between both of your legs - until Tzuyu hums this low, pretty sound in her throat. There is something fervent here, all-consuming, devouring; her mouth moves like it's frantic for air, for oxygen and fuel, and her whole body melts under yours like she's completely falling apart.

Fuck, you think. There is a deep, smouldering heat in the pit of your stomach.

Because she’s perfect. You always knew that, didn’t you. She is firelight and perfume and muted gold; everything else falls into shadow, fades into the background. Her lips are velvet-soft, and they open again and again with these heavy exhales of hot air - so much so that you have to shift the hand you'd set on her waist lower, a little, her hip bone under your palm, a touch ghosting towards the dip and the swell.

Somehow you have this knowledge: at the end of everything, it'll be her name falling helplessly off your tongue.

"You were wrong by the way,” she stops to say. 

"About-" You press another kiss into her jaw, and her mouth parts around the same slow sigh. "Wait." You lean back enough to look at her again.

“Whatever you said earlier." Tzuyu’s eyes go half-lidded as she starts petting your hair back into place, thumb stroking your jawline. "I'd have made time."

Oh, christ-

"Because to tell you the truth," her tongue wets her lip, shiny, wet, "I've never really forgotten. Like I just thought, that whole thing was so… fleeting, you know, like the last time, when you let me text you - god, I was crushing so hard."

You breathe, shaking your head. 

"Don’t," is what comes out of your mouth after, quick, sharpened. 

“Don’t what?” Tzuyu taunts, pushing another inch further. That small grin on her face, her long, nimble fingers combing through your hair. 

You are trying to think, and there was an apology, right? You'd had this one in you. The one that began as a guilty soliloquy, a rueful acknowledgement; something that should have been directed toward Tzuyu, told her, at one point, or another: look. Sorry it's like this.

But there is a hand tracing the collar of your shirt - a sensation that follows all the way to the base of your throat; you lean further into her touch, almost involuntarily - a simple motion, and yet. "You shouldn't. You shouldn't say things like that to me," and you mean: these things you already know. "It's not good."

"Doesn't feel that bad," she tells you, a breezy sort of whisper, warm. "I think I'm getting the opposite impression."

"Maybe for the wrong reasons," you remind her. And to remind yourself, actually. "Probably for the wrong reasons - trust me, it is.”

"Trust you," and it’s the slightest bit ridiculing, a tease - Tzuyu drops her smile, pulls you in by the hair, whispers low. "Sure," the syllable soft, pressed against your throat, "I trust you not to hurt me," and the 'not' gets hung on for an impossibly long moment, stretched out thin. 

She's sinister; she has to be, or some amalgamation of the most potent version of every word she’s ever said. A dream girl, the definition and essence of a temptress, this shameless attraction - an insistent siren begging for your attention; the incepting mind-game; the entity that stalks the halls in the deepest trenches of the night, whispering your worst fears right into your ear. You fall further into Tzuyu, the prettiest of nightmares.

(Oh, it's the dimple that does you in, really: if there's any possible way that Chou Tzuyu has unintentionally ruined your life, she's done it with that innocent little smile.)

"You can kiss me again," Tzuyu says, permissive.

And you do. You kiss her, and kiss her like you’ve no choice - like you've decided, at least in this very moment, if Tzuyu can own a piece of your soul, you can take something too.

-

(The thing about a cautionary tale: sometimes it is really just a story. Sometimes it happens and the world is left unscathed. There were a lot of warning signs, yes. But this could be a coda, a moralistic adage, a story to turn the page on and laugh and be embarrassed by and say, oh, no, I'd definitely do better; a blip. We’d never do anything like that. It's all history, honestly.)

-

It's not romantic, and it's less gentle than you’d have expected: Tzuyu bites your lip at one point, and you grab her hip so hard she yelps. The pause in the after is filled with a provocation, a stare, a tilt of your head, and her saying, “hey, easy now.” You cup her face in your hands, and run your thumb over lips. The calm is pretty short-lived. She gets her hands working frantically to tear your shirt off over your head. Then it's a haphazard stumble into the doorframe of the bedroom, with her pulling you in too-hard by the waist, bumping your nose against hers in this rough meeting - until your lips fit together. 

“Mm,” Tzuyu’s mouth pushes insistently into yours and your tongue immediately laves at its underside, coaxes it to slide against yours and soon she’s sliding forward on purpose - on her own initiative, pressing the steady line of your cock against the seam of your pants, the pressure sudden.

"Watch it," you murmur, breaking away a little to glare at her, which just makes her smile, like she likes pissing you off or something, likes watching you get mad at her, or whatever - if she says it's true, then it is, probably - she's honest.

Her small hand darts up, gripping the sides of your jaw tightly and moving in, kissing like it's easy; like she knows what the fuck she's doing. Her head tilts and she does it again, except it's a few times in a row, making out in the doorway. 

"And if I say no?" She grins, hand at your dick again, just palming through the fabric and getting off on your soundless reactions to it all. "Like, is that really enough? I feel like you'd have to like - tie me up. Something - you know?"

"That sounds like a you problem."

A mischievous smile steals across her lips and you feel yourself doing the same. "Yeah, you're right," she responds, dragging her thumb and forefinger from the zipper of your jeans to the hard line of your cock, pinching gently along the shape. "It is my problem."

She feels pliant, more than willing, but it's a calculated type of softness. Still, you get a hint, a vague message and you figure, the way this girl's smirking in her lips: she likes being held down, held fast and steady, so you pin her wrists above her head - her eyes stay on you, don't drop; you pin her, and her expression becomes that shade more dark, more teasing. Oh, you'll go slowly, you think, until Tzuyu gives. You'll climb a hand further under her sweater, let it skim over her ribs. You'll kiss her again, open-mouthed, and slow, until she can't breathe.

Her head knocks into the wall, she bites and smiles like a promise, and all her muscle flexes under your grip. "Oh, seriously," Tzuyu whispers into your mouth. "Y'know, this is like a fantasy of mine.”

And that's kind of it: she has that look. In the morning, you can see yourself chasing her down into sheets - just pinning her with the weight of your whole body, feeling each tensed curve of her against you. She pulls you closer, into her; she seems the type.

"I’d really rather not hear that, Tzu.”

"And I want to hear you say please, more than anything," Tzuyu laughs at herself, something hard in it, "but I think you want to fuck me so bad, it'll come naturally. Like, the second you have your fingers inside me. And that's what you want, right? Tell me."

"I'm thinking about your legs,” you tell her, running your palm around the curve of her thigh. Fuck, she’s perfect. “Think they'd fit around my waist."

"And hook my ankles? I’d love that." Her eyes crinkle. "Is that it, though?"

"Maybe I'd keep my hand on your throat and fuck you like that, too. That's on the table."

Tzuyu laughs: a real, actual sound, but not at you. "It is. You're smart."

"To be completely transparent," you mutter. "I don't plan on asking you very nicely at all."

The lines in Tzuyu's face go a little blissful, contented, like she's so, so pleased with this, like she approves, and she kisses you again, the length of your bodies pressed together, except where her hips cant up and meet the space between your thighs. You drag a hand roughly along her waist, kneading muscle there, down to the rise of her jeans - which, fuck, you need to help her shimmy out of and find the pull of the sweater, whatever - and she grinds out some noise, something caught between her throat and her teeth, but mostly in the place where your hand's dragged under the material, tugging gently at the wire of a bra, and you'd actually kind of forgotten it was a thing.

It's when you hear her own rasp, when she slips the side of your zipper open with a few quick strokes, shoving her fingers inside to hold the base of your cock, that you finally decide:

She's yours and you'll prove it. You'll make sure she knows: the evidence, the fingerprints,  the bruises blooming the size of your thumbs and she'll be the one showing them off with pride. She'll let you do whatever you like, which'll be a lot. She'll appeal to all the worst parts of you; she'll say thank you; she'll whimper while you're pulling her bra off and simply letting it flutter to the ground; she'll be crying within the first half an hour of you touching her. You can read it right off her gorgeous face. She'll be so damn breathtakingly-pretty, bouncing on your cock, folded under your weight - it'll be incredible. She'll be yours.

"Come on," Tzuyu breathes. "Yes. Please," she adds, as though it's an afterthought, her free hand tangling in your hair, pulling. "Hurry, or something - I fucking love this but we need to- I’m literally going to, like, die if you don’t touch me right now."

"Yeah," is what you get out. Her jeans finally fall to her ankles and she kicks, to get them to puddle onto the floor. "Yeah. Alright, maybe."

You won't even need to hear her begging, you already know how she sounds: a little annoyed and very turned on, rolling her eyes at herself. This part - she's playing at resistance, but she's giving in. A kiss back, hotter than you were expecting, as you slip a hand up the back of her bare thigh and the edge of her underwear, a thin strip, like it's done on purpose.

When you tuck a finger inside the waistband, feeling a little guilty about the way her whole body reacts - the flex, the pull, the weight of all her muscle straining against how her legs fall open - Tzuyu manages, her face in the hollow of your cheek: "you've waited long enough, right?"

God, she knows where the wounds are still fresh. Which bruises will hurt most when she puts a finger right into one - a reminder you couldn't possibly ignore. She's playing this whole thing a little bit sadistically; she wants this to be your fault, you can tell.

And your mind isn't unbending. You push a finger into her cunt and the girl absolutely shakes apart, body jerking like you've severed a lifeline. She's so wet, and so pretty, so sensitive. Maybe you really have.

"Tzu," you tell her. The hand in your hair tightens, a warning, as you let two, then three, fingers shove inside her. She's breathless; the slow, rough motions, her entire body riding the heel of your palm. "Do you want me to tell you how good you are for me, right now? Is that it?"

"Yeah - do. Please, fuck - please say it."

"I was right," is what you manage, biting your tongue.

"Right?" She asks, her fingers locked, urging your thrusting to turn punishing. "Please."

"Do you want me to make this a nice, pretty little memory? Suck the bitterness out and - have something sweet to go back to, the next time someone hurts you."

"I can take it." She snaps, not even responding to your comment. "Tell me you need me and you're leaving me no choice."

You smile into her hair, because she's a dream. Your thumb pushes into her clit and you can feel her seize up with a pathetic whine.

"Pretty," you mutter, as she slumps her chest to yours. You kiss it right into her hair. “I need you, Tzu.”

And the idea's seductive: keep her pinned and fuck her right into the wall. See her wrecked by the end; the swell of her thumb bloody from how she was biting into it, how she's wrenching at your wrist. Your lips land over her collarbone - no, hers do, to the side of your head - she'd be bent in half if it wasn't for the wood at her back. Her leg crossed in the small of your back. A proper, all-consuming kind of wrecking, with your name on it.

"Yes." Tzuyu nods into your temple, “just- that.” 

You're kissing the crook of her neck; your fingertips sliding right against the end of her, your fingers pressing into her and stretching the girl to her limits, making her tremble in her own skin, making her insides melt for the next round, and the next round, and the next; the best, and worst, and longest-lasting kind of high. Your fingertips push together, flutter apart, and Tzuyu's eyes open all of a sudden, locking onto yours.

"Please," she gasps, this one thing. She has tears in her eyes: her face falls into your hands like water, a long drip, and she's all but unraveling.

"I'm going to make you cum, okay?" you tell her, and it sounds so sincere that she simply nods. She trusts you. Implicitly. You see how something in her relaxes, muscles unwinding as though for one last moment. Then you lean down, to her ear, to murmur: "say you're mine."

Her teeth are gritting. You can feel every last point.

"Just yours," she mutters, and it's barely even audible, but she'll say it: over and over, as her orgasm builds, before her mouth goes slack. "Always been. From the very beginning, please-"

“Fuck,” you bite down, and she looks like she’s won.

“So long, y’know?” she manages, in her halting voice, as if you haven't got two fingers up her sweet, perfect cunt, which is, currently, gripping the shit out of your hand, the hungry slutty muscle spasms, a slippery fist; it's not too hard getting Tzuyu to talk dirty and vulgar like a total degenerate - all it takes is the circle of your thumb and she’s perfect and pliant and absolutely out of her mind. “Since like, forever-”

You need her to stop. Need her to be quiet. Your palm lands over the shape of her mouth. She's murmuring something else, but it's muffled - and that's perfect, really. You’re not going to hell; all the devils are already here, getting off on the impropriety-

On the fucking drag of your fingertips. If it isn’t mean, it’s definitely cynical. Each curl of a knuckle unwinding her, a little more, a little further. The gush of her slick that’s collected on the webbing between your fingers is getting unruly, and you’re pressing her mouth flat against your hand, muffling the sheer appreciation.

“Shh,” you tell her, and she seems to calm - insofar you find a spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back and her chest shudder. “Don’t. Hold still for me, I want to watch you cum, Tzu.”

The only thing you can hear beyond the stilted breathing against your hand is her wet cunt getting stretched and fucked on your fingers. It’s so simple. So straightforward. The front of her orgasm makes her jolt against your hips and you pin her again, just to see those gorgeous eyes opening and shutting in sync.

It's this beautiful thing, watching her cum; her flushed cheeks, her pupils blown.

"Good girl," is the only thing you manage in response. "Such a good - such a good little-"

She moans into your hand and finally the muscles of her core tighten, tipping over the precipice as she tips back from the edge. "Ah, you - oh, it feels so-”

You tell her not to talk, and thumb her sensitive clit until the girl's screaming.

Her cries cut through the hallway: the friction, your movements - she's grinding desperate to ride her own orgasm. The absolute highs wracking her silent. She doesn't seem capable of getting off her tiptoes, or opening her eyes properly. Her mouth's still gaping beneath your palm with a whimper, her lungs heaving, and her cunt practically burning-hot - or, she just is, she's overheating, and everything else is burning around her.

"I'm going to fuck your pretty little cunt, Tzu," you tell her as her hips jump and her eyes open. You drop her leg, which buckles instantly. "You're going to be good for me, won’t you?"

"Yes, sir," Tzuyu promises you - it makes you wince - like she'd say anything else, with her hips pushing into your hand like she can't remember how not to. 

Even with her brain turning to mush, Tzuyu finds it within her to tease, to pull, to coax - as her slick slides down the seam between your fingers, like she's gushing, a wet ribbon coating the backs of your knuckles. There's a fantasy in it, you think - and it's always the unapologetic type, like, they never admit it: they want the dirt, the debasing. There's always a blueprint to it; they want to hear how terrible it is and then have some fun playing into it, playing a part.

Only Tzuyu’s lip is wobbling; she’s looking at you like you’re going to fuck her apart and she’ll thank you for it. There's no play. Tzuyu wants your cum and she's so open-legged about it you can't pretend it's not exactly that simple.

She’s going to fall apart if you don’t shove your cock in her tight cunt. You need to pin her there - fuck her until she’s shaking. You can already see the face she’ll make when you shock yourself inside her-

"What is it, baby?" you ask her, and a beat later, you draw your zipper down with a steady hand, the other working in her mouth, pressing down the tip of her tongue - not exactly holding, not exactly pulling out of her.

Tzuyu sighs, heavy on her eyelids and slow. Very pretty.

"I want-" Her head is lolling. She's in a daze, now, you can tell: her mouth wet and trembling, her legs kicking weakly, a full-bodied tremor overcoming her. Everything wraps around you as your cock slides inside her: the pale-soft underside of her legs, her slender arms. All those lovely, endless tensed lines, her strong abs. She can hold you like this, with only her abdomen tightening, the rest of her almost liquid. Her head knocks into yours. "Fu-fuck my cunt, fill it, please.”

You use the angle, the approach. Her pussy's practically spasming on the thick tip, milking the hardness there - but the deeper, more confident strokes, you feel it in every one of her shaky breaths. The only thing you can see is Tzuyu's dumb little doe eyes, the one-to-two second interval, fluttering in between slow, heavy blinks. The walls of her pussy are all at once so gentle and smooth, her cunt a plush, warm vice on your cock; she's clinging, and hot, and you're so buried inside you could probably pick her apart with a few words alone:

"Please," she's muttering to herself, and every single cry gets stuck in her mouth and vibrates between the both of you.

Your fingertips hook into the curve of her waist, until your nails are sinking into the flesh, pinching gently, and watching her expression twist, you grip her hips with all the bruising-strength in your hands, yank her back onto your cock. Her spine goes rigid as a line of curses fall like rain from her mouth. A shuddering gasp - you have to steady her against you, where her knees lock tight around your waist as though she's worried you're leaving, like she's scared you won't stay-

"Baby," you grit out, like you'd beg too, "Oh- fuck, my baby, you're - you're all mine, okay."

You bury yourself balls-deep - and there's no pretense, it's just you and her, the pace making Tzuyu's little repeating "ah" go choppy with your thrusting, her eyes clamping shut, her limbs locking around you.

"Too deep," she groans. "Jesus, it's-"

"Uh uh," you mutter against the bend of her chin, and press in, still, maybe just to spite her. "Fight me. If it's too deep."

There’s tears in her lashes, she’s sobbing; you’re fucking her so properly you think she wants to kill you. It might even be written into that glossy expression: death, your demise. But her pretty eyes glint with mischief and her lips split into a grin.

"Try me," and this laugh, coming up from your chest - low, amused. "Go ahead. Put my neck in your hand, if you want-"

There's only ever a couple of moves. Like in chess, the combinations repeat, patterns emerge. Tzuyu pulls into your kiss; her wrist pinned to the wall behind her with one of your hands, the other knocking her thighs apart. Her ankles hook into your hips, just as you knew they would. There are so few options for a person; the only solution's the natural one - the urge to match each other's needs; to lose yourself in the easy push and the easy pull.

It doesn't take long before she opens up beneath you: until there's nothing between the hard pound of your hips and her tender, creaming cunt. Then there's that final gasp, this violent pulse as she takes her hands back from you to cup around your ears and press her lips to the line of your cheekbones and nose and mouth, with her tear-slick skin and saliva and, god - she's a whimperer, you now know, but Tzuyu holds her body still enough to not sway. The picture-perfect example of a good little girl -

That's how you push your mouth to hers: the steady-languid thrust of your cock between the hot clamp of her legs. "Oh, god, you’re gonna make me cum again, christ," her cries go, all muffled, right into your lips. She’s a little lost. Fucked-out. Blissful.

It's not right, though; just pinning the girl against a wall - no, she deserves better. You don't let her fall as you drag her into the bedroom. Not until a tumble into the sheets. She doesn’t try to control the fall, you land on top of her, and Tzuyu laughs a little, but it dies into the hard breaths you can feel bouncing back against your mouth. Her soft thighs pressed beneath your weight, quivering still.

"Fuck your cum into me," She huffs out, softly, more air than noise. You’re practically crushing her. And then the tilt of her head, almost inviting, like a question. "Please. I want it."

In hindsight, the real memory of this moment will be a soft and lovely thing - fabricated mostly: her tiny frame shaking, trembling in its effort to take you in, her voice giving out around a cry as she cums again - there's something sacred there, surely, a holiness that isn't altogether safe, considering what this girl is.

You’ll try not to remember how you fucked her and buried your face between her tits, though she did look up at you through her tears and made it sound sweet, said your name just so, or even the fact that she watched her whole body get filled and only smiled with contentment. That part won’t survive - nor the fact you’ll hold the girl down later and cum inside her three times. Until she’s leaking. Details to be confined to Mina’s cabin-secrecy - or at least, to whatever depth of oblivion, past your will to suppress it, her mind reaches when you bury your hand in her hair and pull her head back to really make sure you've hit every corner of her and left your cum there, marking her insides, turning her warm.

And look, Tzuyu doesn't balk. Instead she lets you pull her in close, her nails raking into the nape of your neck, the muscles under your skin. She drags scratches down your back as you sink into her cunt, hot, willing - she’s so fucking wet you’re bottoming out in each sloppy thrust.

"Tzu," you can't stop yourself from muttering, almost reverent. You were right, on all accounts. The girl is a problem.

One that is currently collapsing under you. You push her knees up to her elbows, and all her weight melts under your hands, limp and helpless.

"Fuck, your pussy is unbelievable.” You shouldn’t be fucking her this hard, but, well, you are - “Tzuyu, baby,” and when your hand comes up to her jaw, she palms it. Takes your thumb into her mouth and sucks. Fuck, it’s all slipping, consuming, you need to cum in her, need to bury your cock deep in her cunt and cum right into that wet sopping mess. Fill her up where she’s molten hot and her walls are gripping you so hard they’re practically begging-

"Yeah," she repeats around the digit, flitting her tongue against your fingertip. “Yeah. Cum for me.”

That's how she likes it. She'll scream, if you let her. If you give her the deepest fill. She’ll apologize and she won’t know for what. You already know how her expression will shift as soon as it hits. Head falling back. Her hands fisting in your hair, the bedding - her knees nearly get drawn up, and you push them apart by your fingertips. She whimpers, and whimpers, and you can't stop from fucking the pretty noises right out of her lungs until she's dripping - soaking you, all over the sheets. You want her to feel it when you leave. Your presence. It’s only fair - she should remember some part of you, in exchange for what she’s traded and stolen away - ideally forever.

You thumb at the tear tracks and lift her by a fistful of that pretty dark hair. And for her, you can be kind, you let your lips graze hers. As tenderly as you can manage, which isn't much, but then the angle settles lower, your cock hits deeper, all the right spots - and god, Tzuyu is so easy to fuck. She slips a little, and you’re catching her, pushing deeper, harder - she’s easy to pound too, to hold down and smother and grind deep, to have under you, all boneless, insensible-

"So pretty for me, Tzu," you growl into the shell of her ear, because you can, and another stroke, another velvety drag has you cumming in her hot, little cunt.

Each throb brings more, pumping her full of your cum, and she likes it. Keeps muttering baby, baby please in your ear, and fuck, you almost slip a hand down and make her fall apart too - but - her fingers wrap around your wrist before they get there, so tight.

"Can feel it. So deep," she whispers, when your eyelids screw shut and the mess floods out of her - gets fucked right back in: your hot cum and her thick slick, the creamy mess leaking from her cunt. You pull your cock out halfway, and she does sob - that sounds just like you'd imagine, too. "Please. Oh, my god- sir. That's it. That's it, let it out, sir. Sir, all your cum feels so good in me - please. Please- just give it to me, sir, yes-"

She’s not even taunting or mocking on that ‘sir,’ you think, not the way she sounds now, the halfway-slur. It's all torn up and tired. It makes you press closer, making the head of your cock swell between the thin walls of her pussy. It hurts - the squeeze. And then the soft, pleading sound she makes.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," you groan, a last attempt at a condescending tone. But she's so raw, so broken down by now that nothing is quite right.

"Fuck," she mutters against your mouth, "fuck, thank you," and your palm drags down the length of her sternum, following the angle of her jaw, slipping your palm onto her tits, thumbing at the indent. It's soft, pliant skin, and you pinch: not anywhere sharp or cruel, not especially sensitive, just in a line below the ridge of her rib cage, and it's too pretty a picture not to smile at her, when her entire chest jolts at the contact, the intake of breath. "Sir. Fuck."

"I'm still fucking you later," you assure her, as if her breathing could've convinced you otherwise. "But I wanna hear your voice some more. Hum a little. Give me a yes, sweetheart. Can you do that?"

The noise is barely audible, almost nonexistent, except it is: she hums her assent as you dip two fingertips back into her swollen, well-fucked cunt, scooping out some of the mess. Your fingers hook into her cheek and her mouth opens, because she's so obedient, because that's why it has to be like this.

You rub her bottom lip. Her eyes open into yours; a wet mouth. It's impossible not to see what's right there. It's easy, really, to press through and in, and give her that taste, that warm, velvety brush, like she's been sucking your cock, and maybe - oh, yeah, you'll remind her about it tomorrow, how she's a needy little slut for it, can't get enough - how you could've fucked her face until she was drooling and out-of-her mind - but the way her eyelashes flutter against your touch; the look-

You’ll take your time. You know what she wants: more than anything. It's the thing you can read. Maybe the hot, sticky mess, the flush in her cheeks. A touch to her face. Your thumb in her mouth, too, stretching, prying, holding. More cum falling beneath her tongue, dripping in those gaping, half-open red lips.

She’s licking your load from your knuckles, your Tzuyu. You can’t believe it.

"Swallow," you tell her.

"Mmm," and it’s there: this gorgeous expression on her features, her eyelids dropping, the shimmer, the shine. You'd do anything to keep it there.

You let your thumb leave the corner of her mouth and it stays open, just the tip of her tongue darting out to taste what little she can. The rest of her lulls back with a satisfied murmur, eyes half-closed, clearly the type of content-afterglow of wanting the man who'd just ruined her. A gratitude, or a simple, silly thing, if he would just pick her up in his arms: "thank you, sir."

Her panties end up back around her hips, and a new shirt's thrown haphazardly on, a soft, gray cotton which rides down, slipping past one pale shoulder. And then she turns over, to the side, her back curling into the heat of your chest. There's no attempt at leaving or any plans either. The arm you've loosely wrapped around her waist simply tugs. It's not subtle or even nice: your hand rucks up the fabric and snaps the waistband, and the soft cotton doesn't stop it from being painful.

"Fuck me again." Tzuyu shakes off with a shrug. She's wiggling her ass, practically. She's not wrong, you suppose - your cock hardens easily, more of a reaction. "Are you just going to - keep teasing?"

“Such a brat,” you say, and that makes her whole body tense; she makes the most beautiful sounds for you, but words, praise, humiliation - those always hit harder. You know your girl.

"Your brat," says Tzuyu, easily. "You can do whatever you want." 

Your grip on her hip is brutal. Of course you know. That doesn't mean you can't look for loopholes, anyway, right? You don't move, but the threat's there.

The look she shoots over her shoulder is smug. "I like it rough, or something. Doesn't it make you mad that someone could've had me before?"

"Should I be?" You're swiping your cockhead through her folds before you have a chance to say, "Should I care that some guy's had my little cocksleeve before? Should I be angry that someone used my pretty toy before I got to?" You thumb at the tightness, and Tzuyu gives up the front immediately and jerks her hips backward. "If I wasn't the first?"

"Not exactly," comes Tzuyu's mild answer, "not if I was always thinking of you. Plus, they didn't make me feel like that." She tips her head up, to nip at your jaw. She's smiling so fucking coy when she adds: "please, don't hurt me too bad."

You wrap your hands around her. Press a kiss into her shoulder.

“Or do, maybe. Whatever feels natural, you know," she bites down.

"The hickeys are going to be difficult," you agree. "People are gonna see them and they'll picture themselves, probably, with you spread out, huffing, gasping - fucking you out of a brain."

"As they should," she says, and then hums this low, heartfelt note into the mattress. "So how hard can you do this, hm?" She's moaning into the pillow as you slip back into her cunt, but it's a challenge, the tilt in her voice. "Like, if I ask, real nicely."

Who’d have ever guessed she was so filthy. All hidden behind the pristine, the perfection. The prim girls are always the worst: all that beauty means more to them wrecked than revered - it means they've won, again.

Well, that works just fine. She's won you over.

You lean into her shoulder, murmuring, “you’re pushing your luck here, Tzu.”

“Am I?” Her head tilts back until it finds the curve of your jaw. Those deep brown eyes flashing. She knows what’s coming, her pussy tightening prettily. "I'm sorry, sir. I’ll clean up my act."

And the little smile. The fucking dimple, proudly stitched into her cheek - right as you pull her back onto you again, your length working its way slowly into her cunt. The way her ass fits in your hips lets you know you're no match for this girl: how unbelievably good it feels to be inside her. Hot, tight, wanting. Pressed tight between her gorgeous thighs.

“Guess I never noticed,” she says, before falling quiet with the soft punch of breath as you drag her backwards, against your body and the rocking press of your hips. Her eyelashes tremble while your cock nudges its way fully inside her pussy. The rest, as it seems, is silent: only the crash of skin, the sound of your breathing.

You’re already gathering her hair into your fist when you tug her back to your waist, mouth hovering right at the shell of her ear: "fuck, you take my dick like you're made for it. Do you even know how good your pussy feels? I'll ruin you if you let me. We can find out together," you tell her, pulling her back onto your cock. A wordless, pained, perfect whimper.

Tzuyu lets herself go slack against your chest.

She's taking you like a dream and that's it, that's enough, all you've got to say, and Tzuyu, jesus-fucking-christ, she does it with a laugh: this awful, melodic, bright, sweet, airy fucking thing: "don't fucking test me, Tzuyu -" you repeat, a warning.

Tzuyu bats those long lashes, like it'll mean anything, like this isn't all the proof you need. 

"Okay. Don't tease, then.” Her hand reaches up to the nape of your neck, finds your body close and hot. She sighs. “I want to feel it, sir. So much that I can't walk after. That I'll still have you in me. I want it all to hurt. Is that too much?"

All she does is try to hide her smiles, and she's terrible at it. There's a gasp buried underneath her giggling, one that Tzuyu loses every time she moves her body with yours. There are only two conclusions now: either she's that perfect of a fuck or she's as full of shit as you are. Either way, the dimple's giving her away - her smile, her lips, the full, syrupy brown of her gaze.

Tzuyu wraps that leg up and back around you and the angle is devastating.

"Baby, I want you- I want your cock deeper - yes, baby. Deeper - as deep as it'll go. I want you to fuck me until I can’t think, until there's nothing I can do. Seriously. Fuck me." 

Her hand dives over the shirt; there's no question when your gaze follows the trail she takes over her tensing body, over the curve of her breasts and down to where she's dragging at her pussy, where she's exposed herself. She finds the space and lets the fingertips flutter down, onto her needy, swollen clit; the place where your bodies join and separate; the throbbing pulse of her pussy.

"And then fuck me some more,” she adds, like that'll help. Her pussy fits you like a glove - it’s not fair. It’s not right.

But she's so beautiful up close, eyes fluttering in pure, concentrated rapture as she loses the tension in her face - one more thing that the facets, angles, and shades of Tzuyu become, something you tuck away in a vault somewhere safe; a secret just between the two of you.

Her hand runs up your thigh, fastens back on your hip. “You owe it to me, to use my body a little bit, don’t you think?”

There's no sense fighting it, not anymore - maybe there never was - and when you grip Tzuyu's upper thigh, tilt her leg upwards, she gives you an anticipatory hum. This light sound. An ankle lands over your hip, and what follows is a tight, enveloping slide, your cock buried in her wet pussy. So close together that she can't move much at all except to take it - the hard thrust, the one that forces its way up to the hilt. She's impossibly, overwhelmingly soft, a pleasure unlike any other. The absolute worst kind.

She knows exactly the danger of getting involved with you, and when she cums, once, again, and once more - her eyes water, her voice flooded - you think, so do you.

-

It’s in the hours of the morning that’re not quite today, nor quite tomorrow when Tzuyu leans on the end of the bed as she stretches. A loose t-shirt is draped over her petite body - you glance over at her as the bottom of the fabric lifts, exposing more skin across her legs. No matter the circumstances, the space she inhabits will always feel charged. She could wear a potato sack and have the same effect, you suppose, because that's just how she is: Tzuyu is magnetizing.

"That is definitely not yours," you say, finally.

The girl has a lovely arch to her back, a golden glow of perfection that you can't find elsewhere. That's when Tzuyu laughs and spins around. "Is that a question?"

You only have yourself to blame. Of course it's not hers. The shirt's oversized and could fit all five feet, eight inches of her like a tent. It doesn't belong to her, but her heart-shaped lips make you feel stupid, so you're giving her a second chance. You really need that shirt back. You packed light, it's your favorite tee, it’s a family heirloom, or something - whatever makes her get it off, you guess. You sit up against the bed, and watch her fingers hook into the hem as it slowly peels off from her frame.

And that is - a vision.

You already knew - but it's worth repeating, or forgetting your name and every last bit of your existence for; the sharp collarbone, the striking red lines beneath them, the palest, sweetest chest. Her breasts, a bit smaller, a bit rounder than normal (not that you would know), sit heavy in her hands, soft and full - oh, the hickeys, the perfect peaks and the bruised nipples - she's an aphrodisiac.

"I want one later," she tells you, and runs a hand over her breast, pressing against the angry red marks that color the pale skin.

"A shirt?"

She turns back toward the mirror, an image reflected tenfold - a beautiful flush on her high cheekbones. It's only a small win to think that those rosy cheeks are there because of you. Only a little one, if at all. "One of yours, sure."

You laugh, but she looks taken aback. "What, you mean like a keepsake?"

"Hey, if it smells good." Tzuyu brings up the neckline to her nose, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second before they snap closed. "Yes. Like a keepsake, is that so unnatural?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you are, like, really forward." You thought you knew, but there's this part of you that wonders. Why the sudden revelation. "Not that it isn't obvious. I meant...with the rest. Just to clarify."

"With sex, you mean?" Her smile turns a little sheepish. "I can tone it down a little. I don't even notice sometimes, I just talk."

You walk forward and wrap your arms around her waist. You fit easily around her. "Don't," you say, quietly, against the back of her neck. "It's nice, in a way."

She cranes her head to trade the reflection of your eyes for the real thing. Her body is soft, warm. "You like to talk too."

"Right."

"Your favorite past-time."

"Point taken." Your thumb runs down the middle of her breast and traces her nipple. It's tender, you note. You can’t really keep your hands off her waist, or stop touching her tits - because who would ever let something so delightful pass them by? Not you. No way. "Want to hear a story?"

"If it's coming from you," she whispers, a little smile, a lot of entendre, "I’ll listen to anything."

"Do you see the wall over there?" You nod to the window. She follows it with her gaze, her chin jutting towards your shoulder, her long neck arching. It's hard not to kiss it. There's a clear stretch of drywall beside her desk. She nods. "When I came here with Sana and Mina last," and your nose presses into her hair, inhaling her, the way she smells like something tropical: vanilla and citrus. Something far from here. "I put up a few paintings. I'm handy sometimes, a hammer seeking a nail sorta thing."

Tzuyu almost snorts, and sways a bit in your grasp. You tighten your hold, not wanting to drop her. "Oh?” she teases out, suggestive. “Show me."

-

(You shouldn’t. You can’t stop, frankly. Fucking Tzuyu is in its own category: the luxury, the treasure, the extravagance; feeling between your fingers the finest silk, the richest cashmere.

Her palms slide higher up the wall, fingers splayed. The curve of her back, the pull of her hair. Tzuyu kissing you like the world will end and the moon will be the first to know, her fists curling into your back, a furious, frantic urgency - Tzuyu fucking you. Well. Tzuyu always, always kissing you; it's the universe resetting, it's a timeline rewritten, it's trading everything sweet for salt, giving you teeth and tongue, the insides of her lip rubbed raw - she tastes like 80 Proof, a sticky, melting liquor, and it goes down too easy. "Why are you making this hard for me." It's not a question, her face in your neck - then she says, like there's a hundred other things, a hundred thousand ways you can ask:

"What makes you think I want to make this easy?")

-

The power goes out early in the morning.

Which means you're in the dark. But, it's alright. You consider for a moment the omen-like timing, if such an idea is ludicrous in the first place. This could be a metaphor. After all, what is Tzuyu if not a classic trope? It isn't fair to judge anyone based off their flaws. For starters, you have more than you can count. You consider a moment longer, that the timing isn't metaphor-worthy. After all, if this was a punitive force, you're certain that it would've been more apparent, more explicit, if the electric panel had burst into flames or the cable box was shot-out; something bigger, flashier, less like something that you'd play up for theatrics. And it probably would've been when you had the girl on all on fours, your handprints seared into the round of her ass-

Or, when she got on her knees. The snap of darkness setting in as you slipped your cock out of her lips and spilled a rope of hot cum on her face, in her hair. The way she just relaxed into it, a reverence to her being baptized, kneeling. “Oh, Tzu,” you said, with a fist around a cock, and jerked the rest right out on her tongue. You probably would have heard her sniffle after, still recovering from her choking a bit.

Or, when you had half a mind to kneel down between her legs in the shower, suck her clit until she was dripping, fucking her open with your tongue; you could taste her sweat, her slick, and imagine how hard it must be to put up that front: biting into a washcloth, trying not to fall apart.

(Karma arrives late, or it doesn't arrive at all. Or, something. Who knows. It doesn't matter. The outcome would have remained the same.)

Tzuyu opens the sliding glass door to the balcony.

You watch her from behind - there's a small pile of snow at the edge. The whole mountain has gone into complete darkness. No moon, no lights, no light poles, or blinking bulbs or strobe signs or house lights - just night. How eerily romantic, that. And if there was an excess amount of snow before, it only got heavier, thicker, now weighing on the steel bars of the railing.

Tzuyu rests her hands there, leaning her hips a bit forward, so far that her knees lock. Her back bends. "It's so weird," she breathes out, and you can see your exhales, both of yours. "I feel like you and I are the only ones here right now. Everyone else is probably taking shelter. Maybe the power went out for everybody."

"Maybe."

"It's all a bit spooky. Or creepy. But, exciting too, yeah?" She turns, just enough. Her fingertips run along the side of her face. "In the mountains, yes." She doesn't even need to say the rest, doesn't need to ask: does that appeal to you? All this isolation? I could scream and scream and nobody would ever hear it. I'm yours to fuck, to have, to own, to do anything to-

"It'll probably be fixed in the morning," you tell her. "Who would turn it back on tonight. To this place. They'll start at the closest areas to town and go out from there."

"Mina has a generator," Tzuyu supplies helpfully. "No living clue where."

"Want to look for it?"

She lets her head tilt, as if to follow the expanse of trees leading up into the rocky ground. "Would it kill us to wait for tomorrow?" Her bare toes curl into the floorboards. The blanket stays wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and a single line of her wrist can be seen when she tilts her arm a certain way. "We won't die or anything."

You wouldn't die, not before being smitten with a different death, falling headfirst and in love; and that's what you've felt since the start, since the beginning: you've always wanted more. It was always inevitable, her letting her weight fall backwards, in the living room - all your filthy secrets falling out. It felt like the sky had dropped. All over the bedroom floor.

"Then let's get some sleep," you say, but still step closer, as you do with anyone, to brush aside the strand of hair over her ear.

-

It feels like the temperature must have dropped dramatically. Not that it bothers either of you very much, you note, when you move under the blankets together. Some might feel embarrassed by the necessity, but then, most aren't half the people that you both are.

Tzuyu presses her fingers under her thigh to keep her legs shut. To avoid the cold, she claims, but you can hear the slippery noises that her cunt makes as her body shakes with each thrust of her fingers. You almost suggest that you heat her up in an entirely different fashion, but the smile, her smile, gets the best of you. Instead, you let yourself touch and trace, and feel her wherever it may land. There's no sense in pretending either, so you tangle yourself into her: a finger between her legs. Another in her palm, resting against her hip. When you press your thumb against her cunt, she begins to smile, too, as if to show you exactly what kind of person she is. That is to say, completely insatiable.

You let your free hand slip under her chin. Tilting her head up, exposing the faint pulse-points. You wonder if she's imagining the things you'd do if the snow never cleared: toying with her hair, petting the top of her head, speaking pretty and dirty and pressing kisses against her bare back, in a rhythm, as you fuck her without care - something close and tight like the little noises she makes and how they die off, finally, when you push your cock deeper, still.

There are no words between you anymore, maybe - but she's not laughing, and you're not angry, and it's only one second before your mouth is on her neck, kissing the column of her throat. It's easy to sleep with her - so, so simple, if not anything else.

"I don't have anything in the morning," you murmur to the top of her shoulder, barely moving as not to break the moment. To tell her it's fine to leave her body or keep it forever. Either way. Both, if it's an option.

She smiles. Her eyes are still closed. "It'd be weird if you did."

She can be a tease - a complete brat - sometimes. Like now. But then again, who would you be if not the person who falls for exactly that.

And that is a weakness: you have a very specific kind of hunger, that won't fade, that can only be sated. She knows it, and yet her coy grin remains. It's a habit, not a mistake. "Yeah, well," you lean up onto your forearm, pressing the knuckles of your right hand against her soft cheek. "This is the most inconvenient of all places, but- don't worry about it."

"Meaning?"

"I don't think they sell birth control or morning after pills or anything up here," you explain, lightly. Your gaze passes from her eyes to the pink of her bottom lip and back, again.

"Do I look like I'd care?" Tzuyu sighs and takes your wrist, pulling your arm over her body. "I know what I'm doing," she adds, which might actually be a lie. "Obviously. You don’t need to pretend you’re like, responsible, or whatever."

Yes, obviously. As if it was all as easy as pulling strings, deciding exactly which points to tease, to stress. You should know. You just kissed and held down and fucked and fucked your cum into this one: you know how to move her strings better than any.

-

You flip the switch in the kitchen. Up, down, up, down: except, nothing. The electricity is still decidedly off by mid-morning, and you and Tzuyu end up having actual, quality, conversation. 

You sit her on the kitchen counter - though it’s not fated to last long, because her legs loop around your waist, and she tugs your sweats down as you try to fix the two of you lunch - Tzuyu gets what Tzuyu wants, of course - so you're standing there fucking her while her head leans back on the cool marble, her silky dark hair tumbling off the end of the counter.

She ends up propped up on one elbow. Eyes hazy and half-lidded, fixed on the glide of you into her creamy folds, spreading her wider, wider.

Tzuyu asks questions - all innocuous, at least to the ear. About your past. Who you were before all this. Whether you want kids, when, whether you were religious, once. She gets personal before you have her cumming and incoherent: how you sleep, in what positions. How often you jerk yourself off. What you're thinking of when you do. How you'd use her - not the lewd version, the spitting, filthy iteration, just the you and her and her being yours part. And she gets specific about that. She'll slide up to you and bury her nose in your throat, wrap her arms around your shoulders, mumble about wanting you closer - you feel her, maybe more than you should - but every few seconds you're sliding home into that pussy and her chest heaves out a deep breath-

"I want what's in here," she finally says, her delicate palm cupping your balls. She's pulling you into her on each stroke like the fucking sun's gone out and this is her last chance - she's magnetism, gravity, a blackhole you'd give up the rest of the universe to. She's got one fist on your shirt, and the other hand on your sack, and her pussy's fluttering around you, and she's watching you watching her, and it's infinity:

"The idea of you." Tzuyu smiles at the way your eyes narrow, the way the word turns itself over and over on your mind, her. She tilts her face to look at your expression. "Like, in here. All your cum. There's so much. Can I please have it-"

You swear.

"Pretty please, baby," Tzuyu's asking if you'll fill her up, if you'll make her your cumdump, keep fucking her even with all your cum inside her, asking what the worst of your fantasies are - you fuck harder, deeper, and she nods eagerly, tightens that fist in your shirt. "Can you give it to me? Please, it's the only thing I need, and we both know I always need something, please."

"Jesus fucking christ," you tell her, helpless, and it's never felt better: her cockwarming on your lap, her teasing and teasing until your self-control's paper thin - won't you? won't you? fucking breed this slutty little cunt? won't you cum until I'm so full it's spilling out-

The snap. Like falling, it’s something you notice right away, but only ever understand a long ways down. 

"Yours," moans Tzuyu, half in an accusatory fashion - fuck - she's almost gasping: "fuck - just use me, use your cumdump, 'cause you'll never have a tighter cunt than this."

God. Damn. Her. You cum so hard it aches, and there's no hesitation:

"My cocksleeve, my good girl, shit-"

"You could leave a baby in me, even, just like that. Couldn't you. Isn't that hot. And nobody could do a fucking thing." Tzuyu’s tits are spilling out the sides of her camisole and she looks like pure porn, in person. Your cum is dripping out of her and you watch as it spills on the marble.

"Is that what my girl wants? 

She smiles, again, so prettily.

“You wanna be full of cum, is that it?" You grab Tzuyu's hair; pull just enough to get the point across. "Is that it? You're a perfect cumslut who needs all that fucking cum, huh? Wants it pumped deep? You like being full of it, right Tzu? This needy little cunt loves the thought of getting bred? Knocked up? Goddamn, Tzu."

"That's me," agrees Tzuyu, in the afterglow. Dimple dug deep. "Yeah. Your personal cumslut, sir."

She just grins when you reach between her thighs, pressing your fingers into the cum you've fucked into her, before you decide that the wet warmth is yours and you’re going to fuck her even further into delirium.

Her hips come up off the granite, desperately.

"Uh-huh," she mumbles, already drifting - you put her off her balance, for real. "God, yes, please," she's whispers, as if all the ways you'd ruin her were prayers, like she wants to start a new religion all her own: you're a god, and it's all about Tzuyu - just you, and her, asking, again, the questions piling on top of other ones, the sweet drawl, the sinful want, the curiosity-

Fuck. She wants everything about you, your dirty secrets and your nice manners - the stories behind your scars, your funny little quirk of raising just one eyebrow at a time-

You turn her around. She's made for this, intelligently designed: her tiptoes just touching the floor, the delicious curve of her lower back, your cock sliding effortlessly into her and hitting a spot she arches into like it's divine intervention and that pussy making its first church of your name. The cum you'd already left in her cunt is making everything wetter, making those obscene sounds echo in the space around the two of you. It's rapturous; you let her feel it slow, and deep, and it’s bliss.

“Tighter,” you growl into her ear, and her cunt clenches like you own it.

The girl's figure is pristine, an ass that belongs under spotlights, on camera; those thick lips, the curtain of her hair when she tips her chin down. It's all been in magazines, billboards, it's been idolized - she is the icon and you're the follower, but, this weekend, here and now-

"So. Fucking. Good-" she gasping, falling apart. She’s collapsing and it’s not even noon.

"Oh, the world knows." You pull her up, hold her body in yours and snap into her cunt. Her skin's hot, feverish, the light that filters through the blinds and the snow slows outside.

It all happens without a moment’s notice - Tzuyu reaches behind and clutches your thigh, as if she could ever pull you deeper, like it wouldn't tear her in half. But you find yourself in a position to grab the edge of the counter; your phone buzzes. It's Sana, probably asking what's up. You want to ignore it and keep fucking Tzuyu from behind. You want to hold her hips, be mindful of the marks, the bruises, sink your fingers into her hair, her tits - you end up murmuring things like please and fucking perfect and if we were a little more religious then you'd be a sin to remember-

Fuck, you're cumming again. The writing’s on the wall as soon as your cock makes her breath draw short and her eyelids snap shut. She’s exquisite, a masterwork - you’re painting in broad strokes, all over the beautiful curves of her ass - not only because you’ve needed to see it cast in hot streaks of white, all debased with your cum, but simply to prove a point; to say that you can. You cum on her cheeks, her cunt, you pump your fist around your shaft and cum in the crotch of her panties too.

"That's it, Tzu," you croon, "look at that," your spent cock twitching against her plush thighs, her dripping pussy lips, and she's sagged forward, onto the counter, your thumb running through a particularly thick rivulet. Her face dips down, pressed to the cold surface, and the words coming out aren't coherent, are just filthy and true; but they're there: she's taken you and kept you, all for herself.

(Thank you, she says, for making me into your little cockwarmer, your toy, for breaking my fucking cunt, baby - thank you, please, thank you-

You could end your career tomorrow, it wouldn't matter. Just saying, man. This girl, fuck.)

There’s a beat, the strained breathing, the panting, the disbelief. She ends up kissing your chin after sliding back to her feet, a saccharine imitation of chaste. Pulls up her shorts without a second's consideration. Her panties, still sticky with your spend - well. She puts those back, too, grinning dreamily. 

Oh, how is a woman like Tzuyu even real, huh? You really do need to find out, somehow.

"Your imagination is…" you say, your tone flat. “I swear.” But you don't deny that the sex isn't. You don't think of her that way. She doesn't ask you for your hopes or your dreams or the full gambit of life, as some people might. She asks about what you think about at three am when she's got one hand on her tits and one on her clit and one finger in her mouth:

"Anything we can think of," she corrects, her long limbs squeezing her tighter to your front. Her grin bright, so perfect she's beyond believable, and how can such a dissonance exist in something, someone, you're holding on to? "I mean, we can if you want."

-

"Maybe we'll talk about that - how you can handle me," is what Tzuyu rasps, softly, tying her hair up afterwards: and you realize this is her post-coital. For her, sex makes her nice. Sweet.

You've already fixed her lunch; Tzuyu comes to sit down at the table with you. "Like, for future reference." You're raising an eyebrow. She grins at that, kicks her feet. Her hips don't do the same, though - no doubt still a little sore, like her lips. She's worn out, finally. She won't try to slice off and claim any more of your aching soul.

“You have no business thinking about babies.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

"You have a breeding kink, is what it is, really. I’m being completely serious."

"Well, am I pregnant yet?" Tzuyu flutters those lashes, puts those big pretty eyes on full display. "No? Then I'm getting off on something else, clearly, isn't it obvious, like maybe there's something about being on the other end of someone so big. Have you considered how wet you make me when you-"

"Tzuyu, cut it out," you chide her. The little brat's giggling. You aren’t going to let her know how pretty the noise is.

"Fine." She reaches across the table, puts her small hand on your larger one. "Like I said - how to handle me." Her tone is placating, the sharp edge to her personality blunted. It's different with Tzuyu - after sex, she gets like this: playful, easy, fond. The mess you've just made, the cunt you've stuffed full, that's another Tzuyu altogether. "For your... benefit."

"My benefit, really?"

"Aside from getting my brains fucked out," she explains, "is what I meant."

"Not making this easier, babe."

Her mouth curves a slow smile. She likes when you call her names, cute shit like that.

"I need to call Sana back," you explain, finally.

Tzuyu nods.

"In a bit," you add. "Also," you're saying, leaning forward. Her head tilts toward yours.

She's receptive, her whole body pliant and lazy, after that, well, marathon - she'll roll with whatever you're suggesting. This has always been a dream to her, she's mentioned. (Who has dreams like that? Someone so young, that innocent - well, yeah.)

But you kiss her temple, lightly. "Gimme a minute."

Tzuyu blinks, in that catlike way she has of staring, intent. Her mouth slightly pouty.

"Then you get your turn," you offer.

"Deal," she nods.

And that makes her beam - your beautiful, very good, very perfect, little toy.

-

"You're going to have to slow down," you tell Sana over the phone. "I have zero reception up here, sorry."

"The highway is shut down, I literally can't get to the other side of town," she yells over the sound of tires rolling on snow. Sana does not sound in the best spirits. If anything, she sounds slightly desperate. "Part of the mountain collapsed on a cliff somewhere. Fuck's sake. The weather is still terrible and they're shutting everything down. Literally shuttering every road off the base of the mountain."

"You sound good," you deadpan, and when Sana grumbles, say, "try the next exit, head around and take a back road-"

"Yeah, except it's snowing like nobody's fucking business right now - I'm not going to risk exposure to try to get there on my own."

"What should I do?" you try, a bit helpless. "Stay here?"

"Why are you even asking," Sana scoffs, "yes, stay there, stupid. Tell Tzuyu you can't drive in snow, that she can't possibly expect me to deal with any of you leaving a safe situation." There's another brief pause. "Ah, seriously, there is not a single living human being near here that can be helpful - and they're supposed to bring us new tires? Here? No, fuck's sake."

"Oh," is all you say.

"Don't worry about me." Sana's voice goes up a notch. "Just be there, alright? Stay warm, okay?" A crackle, more radio waves or distance.

"Text me," you urge. "Tell me you're getting in safe."

"Of course, of course," and that's when you get the click, the abrupt disconnection. You stare at the device in your hand and consider the possibilities, and the outcomes, and how to stay sane while alone with temptation incarnate for a couple nights.

Maybe this really is hell. Or it's a trial. There’s the storm, and there’s your angel, contextually out of place. You're incapable of controlling yourself, clearly.

You sigh, let your gaze slide. The lights are still out, and in their absence, Tzuyu has dragged every available blanket or bed sheet within her reach into the living space, spread a dozen pillows across the sofa and is now occupying one of the corners: there's a book, opened onto her lap, as her nails run circles down the blanket draped over her lower back.

"Tzu, what exactly did Mina mention to you about the generator," is the first thing you blurt, upon entry, and Tzuyu smiles, holding up the page against the fading daylight - which is currently hardly much. "Better question: how are you able to read in the dark?"

"Takes a lot to shake me off, honestly,” she says, which you already know to be true. “Also my eyes aren't old like yours, so."

"Wow."

"What?" Tzuyu grins, tilts her chin. "Do you want me to say that you're ageless? Thirty, flirty and thriving. So impressive, your youthful vigor, that sort of deal? How attracted I am to your experience," the insinuation, this sudden intimacy. She laughs. "Seriously. Let me read."

"Apparently we're going to be stranded for a few days."

"That's cute." She pauses. "Sucks for Sana."

"You don't know what sucks for Sana."

She peeks over the corner of the page, then, grinning, the teeth of a joke. "What's on the menu, then? Hm? So far, the best part was waking up beside you," and you almost grin, at how honest she manages to be without seeming conceited. How shameless Tzuyu has become in the ways of liking you, and maybe a bit of who she thinks you are. And why that's dangerous, really, and it makes the guilt burrow down beneath your ribs a bit: "my ass hurts," she's complaining now, which is only going to encourage the teasing-

"As it should," you comment, then watch her eyes sharpen, glint with mischief. "Oh," you realize, with a shrug, "do we get to cuddle again."

(Let's hope, for a moment, this isn't really karma. Because really, it'd just be an uncalled-for injustice: Chou Tzuyu delivered down on all fours, head tucked into your thighs as a fist grabs a handful of her hair, a slow push and pull - your cock sinking into the velvet warmth between her lips, again, again, and again until she's ruined and crying and still swallowing you whole - as she, not the universe, forces a massive dose of her own medicine down your throat. You see how that might not be quite fair.)

"But I'll have to leave again," you're protesting - no heat, no vitriol. "There's, like. Stuff I gotta grab."

"Then grab me," she sighs, pats her lap, "read over my shoulder. Make out with me. Just keep me warm. That'd be very helpful, and I would be so grateful."

Well, fuck. You're not one for inflating egos - at least not anybody else's - especially when, unchecked, that tends to do the exact opposite of keeping them grounded.

"Fine," you're muttering, and you clearly have a habit for capitulation wherever Tzuyu is concerned, the quirk in her lips, the quiet pride in her dimple, the cadence in her speech - which she's already smug about.

"Wonderful." She taps the back of her fingernail against a book page, waits, just a few more seconds, her grin spreading as you begin to fumble around. "Please," she says, flicks her gaze back down, a tease, "take all the time you need."

-

The thing about mountain air is it has a way of clearing your head, cooling down the frenetic thoughts of indecision and uncertainty and moral conflict.

Well, maybe that's a slight overreach, the mountains also have a way of getting you killed, but the intention was to look upon the white caps and ponder. It didn't work.

-

You eventually find the generator. You hear the clicks of metal and electrical wiring, the roar of the motor kicking on, a steady hum. Then, Tzuyu pokes her head out from behind the shed, her cheeks tinted a warm pink; her eyebrows rise up a beat.

"Yes?" you prompt.

"Is it working?"

"Does it look like it's working, miss?"

"Looks a-okay to me," and she presses the heel of her mitten into her teeth, tries to bite it back down her wrist; she stumbles, a moment, slightly clumsy in the snow. You instinctively reach out. Your hands brush the outer seam of her pajamas, the heavy fabric of her coat - "oh," you can feel the instant the shivers start, "fuck, I'm cold.”

“We’re both probably pretty due for a hot shower,” you say.

"Yeah, you came in my hair. Er, sorry, I meant, we both need a hot shower."

"It was really adorable when you were rutting back on my dick like some horny animal," you snort. "Admit it."

"No comment."

"So shy."

Her smile cracks open, and her breath is a white plume. "Fuck you."

"Sure, babe," you're agreeing, the tone almost saccharine. "If you insist."

She blinks back in mild surprise, the blatant answer - and god, her fucking eyes: soft, dark, her eyelids barely lift up. Even when they should've narrowed. That was another thing to learn. (Maybe, god - who knows, maybe she's still learning how not to care.)

She runs a hand through her hair. The scarf around her neck is fluffing up. There's white clumps settling on the fibers, slowly dissolving into a damp mess.

"Listen," Tzuyu murmurs, wraps an arm around yours to help herself up. 

Your palm settles on the round of her thigh. She shifts, her hand dropping lower - tugs at your arm until she has an elbow in hers. The backs of her knuckles settle against your hip bone, her fingertips sliding across the waistband: you walk backwards through your snowprints, gently - the side door to the cabin is unlocked - Tzuyu's stumbling toward it.

"Going to the shower, we're turning the water on," she explains. You grin, feel your own arm, a slow drag around her lower waist; she tilts into it, steps closer. Presses a finger to your chest: "dinner's gonna be in half an hour," she announces, "and before you ask, I've been craving those boxes of instant mac & cheese in Mina's pantry."

"I haven't had one of those in ages."

"Me neither," and with her heel, she kicks the side door shut; Tzuyu yanks on a cord, pulls the blinds closed. It's pitch black. You're chuckling low, turning around - one of Tzuyu's hands smacks over a nearby light switch, illuminating the room just a shade lighter than it was prior. She presses a hand to your chest, a single-minded goal to your front.

You put your hands on her hips.

"It's the kinda thing that makes me feel like a kid again," you hear her say, just slightly; that, and how the white fabric of her sweater twists, pulled to a single point.

"Happens," is the best explanation you can give. She slaps the lightswitch again. Kisses you. You shove a leg forward. She whines. "Be good," you're chiding, though you both stumble until her back is pressed against the wall. "You were just complaining that you're still sore."

"Maybe I can't help it, maybe that's all on you," the end of the sentence fades. Her nails slide up the sleeve of your arm. There's the soft hitch of a moan. "It's just you. So unfair." She rubs up. Swallows like it's instinct, at the slightest hint of friction. You curl your hand, your thumb grazes the waistband of her underwear; her fingertips tighten, her blunt nails sink deeper - press like she means something else, wants something more.

It'll be a few days, at least, more likely a week; and by then, this girl will have you right where she needs you. She's proven, time after time - you can never just say no.

-

The days bleed together after the snow.

You fuck her, but slower; sometimes softer, a little less raw, the hurt. Not that you'd ever try to take too much: the thought is unthinkable, un-imagined. Infinitely impossible. You'll pull out and empty everything you have, paint her skin, make her ache, fuck until you know exactly where the bruises are and how to touch them, how to breathe the hurt down from her ribs.

But some mornings: she rolls over onto her side, opens her eyes and smiles. Brilliant like the sun, something that would warm your heart even without trying. Some afternoons, you put the fire on; read something aloud from Mina's bookshelves, and watch the red-orange flames turn Tzuyu's cheeks and neck pink and honey. Evenings, especially the colder ones, you're wrapping her up, blankets, sweatshirts, pulling her close: into bed with the lights turned off. She wants the touch, she craves it, she'll almost whimper when you get near her - and it's you, whispering words against her ear; tracing fingertips lightly against her temple, down the nape of her neck, her lower lip-

"How come you don't kiss me, hm?" She sounds sleepy. "Baby. Don't pretend you're a stone. Like, an unfeeling brute."

"I have my limits, princess."

"Like not kissing someone you're fucking." Her face drops from your sight, and Tzuyu turns over: she curls into her comforter, and her legs nudge the back of yours. "That's so fucking cruel," her voice a little whiny. "But okay, okay - tell me the reasons. Just so we can keep going."

"Keep going, huh. Even though I'm mean."

"Well, yeah, I've done much, much worse," the worst, if you think about it; and it's almost true. Maybe her morality was on the rocks long before yours. "Obviously."

You drop a kiss into her hair. "We both know what that mouth of yours is capable of."

She grins into your skin. Presses her lips, like a sign, and stays.

-

A girl like her inspires the worst in a man, and that's just about it: you think a man would burn the world down for her, with her, and maybe that would be how all things end, someway, somehow - not because of him or her, the full spectrum of his intentions, all the intricacies and subtleties, and hers too. You're both complicated creatures, sure; both very capable and wanting. Of big feelings, deep attachments: the overflow of your good hearts, perhaps; or, rather: the deficits.

She appeals to your worst impulses, in the plainest terms.

"Jesus Christ," you hiss, hands firm on her lower back; your voice breaking; Tzuyu has shed the bedsheets and climbed into your lap, one leg bent at the knee, digging the other into your ribs - her shirt hitches up and over the curve of her spine and then pools at her neck.

"Tell me that's good," she murmurs, hips gyrating, rocking her pussy along your cock. "Like that - right?"

"Fuck- yes," your cock slides into her, your entire length, the rest of the world fogged out: even the fire is quiet. "God, tzu. Feels amazing."

Tzuyu rolls her body forward, rides you with ease, and puts one small hand against your mouth. Her shirt hitches up and over the curve of her spine and then pools at her neck.

"I want to make you cum," she says, all quiet determination and wily confidence, "only you." She rolls her hips in your lap and then finds it: the steady, rhythmic grind down, down. Her ass crashes into your balls; the first telltale sign of that wonderful orgasm to come. "Is it wrong to want this? Like, you and I? Fuck. It feels like your cock was made for me."

"Yeah,” you grit, “fucking you feels - like it's meant to be, huh?"

"Sir," she says with an unhealthy smirk. She’s loving this more than you are, and you can’t really blame her for it: there’s no other sound quite like the slick, wet noise that her pussy makes as her body drops to yours, your cock filling her completely. It's music to your ears.

You grab at her ass, her hip, and pull her closer. She smiles, tilts her face down to you.

"Me too, you know, me too," she murmurs, kissing you softly; when you cup her breasts her breath hitches. "God- fuck- just-"

When she does cum, it's with the faintest little groan; a small, intense quiver in her thighs. You kiss her to swallow down the sound; and feel yourself tip over, and when she fucks you through your orgasm - her smile is dark, wicked, totally satisfied.

-

And everything else follows, because you're weak: because she makes you want to say no, even while simultaneously being your very favorite yes. You warm your cock inside her with some slow, gentle rhythm, her nipples hard against your shirt, her cries as sweet and earnest as all the best promises; a slow grind down, her fingers scrabbling for the headboard, you lean and lick her breasts, roll her nipples on your tongue - she gasps, tenses, digs her nails hard into your nape.

You'll have her again in the morning, she's adamant.

Her hands find your back, her legs circle your hips. The taste of her sweat. The taste of her nipples; her chest flushed, hair disheveled, pupils blown.

"Not letting me go." She whispers. Her cheeks are a lovely pink. "Even after this?"

You kiss the corner of her mouth, inhaling, wondering what to say.

"Good," Tzuyu tells you, tilting her jaw: "that's really-" She catches her lips with her teeth. "That's so fucking good."

-

(Her pussy grips your cock like it's the home she's always missed, her lifeline, her safe harbor. And it's dizzying, it's heaven, hell; and, in the morning - when everything is sepia-warm and sleepy - you fuck her again.

A promise, a hope, a plea. It's what makes a girl fall for a guy, in theory.

It's what makes her heart beat. )

-

"My phone's charging," Tzuyu sniffs the next morning: you're brushing out her hair. The sheets are warm.

You continue combing.

"Sana told me she would be texting, or trying to call."

"Well, that's nice," is all you can manage.

"Babe-" she leans back a bit: turns her gaze to the ceiling, exhaling sharply, "what if she got caught in a whole different avalanche, or fell from the top of a mountain, or something-"

You let go, letting her rest her weight against your thigh. "Honestly? Would serve her right. A little cold, a little damp-"

"If you don't take that back-"

"Alright. Alright. I'll send an apology prayer when I get around to it."

"No you won't." She curls in further, and you stroke her neck, shoulder blade; down the ridges of her spine, across the width of her back.

Tzuyu shudders slightly under your touch.

"Haven't I earned enough good faith, or a clean conscience?"

"Sir, don't pretend."

"Let's pray for Sana, then," you mutter. "Wherever the fuck she is."

"With respect," Tzuyu pipes up, eager: "bitch ain't found."

"Jesus.” You laugh out loud. “At least your brain isn't fully turned to mush, yeah?"

"Give yourself some credit. I can hardly fucking walk. You really pounded the feeling in my legs away."

"Too bad."

"Sorry." And she noses at your collarbone, tugging the waistband of your boxers; "feel free," the drawl of an old, forgotten song, "to make me repent. Baby. Do your thing."

"Right, I forgot that I could convince you to do anything by sliding my dick in your throat. Yikes."

"Baby, just, uh- do whatever." Tzuyu grabs hold of your cock through the thin fabric: one light tap of a finger, "my lips are numb," the suggestion. You really could be her everything: and maybe if you said, stop, please, you won't. She'd pause; look at you like you're insane and maybe spit out what the actual fuck is wrong with you. Like the reality:

This doesn't have to end, no?

"Sorry about your phone battery," you tell her, brushing out the knot at the base of her skull. She exhales, goes soft; lets you tug lightly. "We’ll figure things out when Sana can actually text you, okay?"

"Dumbass. When it's warmer and you drive down to meet her."

"You're not jealous," you tell her. You’ve decided for her.

Tzuyu rolls, leans down on her back, smiling prettily-

"Nope," she agrees, pulling your cock out: already hard, ready to cum down her throat. Her fingers pump soft, slow, the anticipation- "just not done."

"Crazy."

She shrugs and lets the silence calm the world around the two of you; at least for a little while. "Takes a certain kind," she agrees.

"Permissiveness. Like what I'm seeing. Your brand or whatever."

"It’s straight from the heart." She shoots up, making a face you want to kiss. "Honestly."

"Absolutely sincere," you deadpan, and she ignores the jab.

"Tie a bow with my hair," she chuckles, the laughter light, and your fingers graze her temple. "Come on. I'll make you so proud. So pleased. Sir. Let me, let me-"

"Only if I can finish down your throat," you retort - half-joking, but, her eyes grow warm, molten, the lust is immediate - you tip her head, lower it gently - she bites down onto her lip, nods a bit.

-

You don't take her right away. Not at first. You’re trying to show some restraint, trying not to think about how Tzuyu wears clothes like a vice. She's that kind of girl. Like an accident waiting to happen. She's moving around the kitchen later, poking about the cabinets. She's slid into some jeans that fit her a little too well, and one of those obscenely thin t-shirts.

You watch her back muscles work, how the cotton bunches as she leans, arms extending. Her chest's flat against the counter to grab whatever item's out of her reach. You catch the ribbon in her hair bob slightly back into place when she stands back up. The hairline on the nape of her neck catches a long highlight of a morning, the thin strands a brilliant brown, a spark of warmth in the midst of a muted winter morning - and it's honestly amazing to look at.

(Her ass hangs out in the open like an invitation. Your eyes are running down every curve of denim like they can't help but search.)

"Tzu," is the warning, and she flashes a grin; turns, the expression shifting, wide. "I can literally see everything you have."

"Hm." The front of her shirt lowers, too - her black bralette, barely a scrap of lace and string, visible through the thin fabric. "If I'd known you'd like that so much, you could've told me earlier."

"It's not your job to figure me out."

"Well, I'm not sorry." The words are sugar sweet, with an almost fake concern: her feet pivot, her ass filling your vision- Tzuyu spreads her hands down her outer thighs.

"Be nice," you reiterate. "C'mere."

Her legs snap to you quick.

-

You are careful, tentative and slow. You leave the ribbon in place and everything; just your mouth, like you have a right to lick down her breasts, her stomach, her clit - like you deserve the faint marks where your hands pressed down onto her waist.

The slow licks, the soft kisses; you could eat her out until the sun sets and Tzuyu was left sobbing through the overstimulation. Her fingers rake your hair like it’s exactly what she’s hoping you’ll do.

When Tzuyu does let go: she doesn't drop. There is no shame, nor shameful whimpers. Instead, she fucking screams, so high and clear it doesn't seem possible: a singer's wail.

"Sir!" she's crying, you can feel it through every tremble. "Oh my god, please-"

You get her to climax twice before the tears fall, your fingers tracing her spine, pressing deeper, a knuckle, then two-

She looks at you in abject reverence, "God, you don't know," is the gasp, "how perfect you are," and you're sure. You'll never get it right again: at least, not without her.

She cums a third time, shivering, collapsing: her eyes wide, glossy, breath shallow, limbs giving in. The sweat clings to her like a lover, a life she doesn't know how to leave.

So, you ask:

"What now, doll?"

Her tongue sweeps the corner of her mouth, a tiny wrinkle.

"Whatever," Tzuyu exhales. "Fuck, whatever, seriously, that was like- amazing- but my throat is actually going to murder me."

"Was the screaming really that necessary."

"Not sure- about anything," is the groggy admission, "like, honestly. Too horny to care, but." She pauses for a second. "You," she finally decides.

"I," is the immediate reply.

"I’ll let you do - anything, but I- can I, like, get a breather? For a minute. Can you wait, like, just."

Her arms open: you settle against her side, and a shaky hand starts combing through your hair. Her other palm lifts to rest against your cheek, cupping it. The nails tap gently along your hairline. 

"Been waiting so long, Tzu, honey," and it doesn't sound as cruel or glib as the slip up should be construed - doesn't even bother to count on forgiveness, either. Maybe you're beyond all of that, honestly, and more or less in love, as a result. It’s kind of fucked. What’s a minute more?

She laughs softly, a cough catching up and sounding pained. She's lost her voice, the poor thing, she’s cummed herself hoarse and ragged and you’re proud of your handiwork.

"Honey," you hear her say, and she shakes, pulls herself closer, kisses you back: like the old, gentle motion can ever fully cure the fever of desire that grips the two of you. It's a pipedream, and you're kissing her. It's a pipedream, and you know it.

-

The calls start coming in after the sun sets and the cabin grows cool with the dark: you feel, faintly, that it's inevitable. That the snow would clear and time would start marching on, a predetermined cycle. (That, maybe, something in the universe - at this stage, almost a hundred years of weather, tectonic plates, astronomical phenomena, interconnected - knew the two of you needed that bit of seclusion.)

"I dunno, just some bog-standard hotel, holiday suites or something. The point is: the roads don’t open until tomorrow and I've been holed up for a while." Sana sighs into the phone. The static pops. "Oh my god, I'm bored out of my mind. I've had like, three full bags of crisps in one sitting, which is just plain wrong."

"You're basically living off carbs." You say this from in front of the fireplace. Tzuyu is sitting on the opposite side of the couch paging through a stack of magazines, wearing a big jumper and sweats and socks pulled up to her knees. Her hair is falling around her shoulders in soft waves, and it makes her look small and domestic and a bit docile - she’d re-tied the ribbon in her hair after you’d fucked it off her, and that more or less completes the look.

"Yes, I have gone off the deep end. A tragic, awful spiral. Because you're not here. Fuck, you have no idea."

"Ah- Sana." You stop. Take a deep breath.

"Do you have any idea? The state of me right now? seriously. I packed so many fucking condoms and the idea of bringing them back home is more defeating than anything else." She lowers her tone a little, then adds, "because, not to be weird, I was kinda sorta hoping we might use them when I got up there."

You blink. Tzuyu isn't even pretending to look anywhere else. Her whole face is shifting into a satisfied expression, and when she catches you looking, she winks.

"Right. Now this might sound like a surprise," Sana is continuing, her voice full of amusement, "but when I get stuck somewhere, alone and thinking about the weather- I'm often in need of a fuck. Please be prepared to service, because god damn, I've got nothing and it's gonna have to be the battery."

"Is that Sana?" Tzuyu interrupts, the tone hushed, but lofty.

You make a face, like: who the fuck else - but that makes her smirk; Sana sighs, then laughs.

"So if you like, you know. If you feel like the vibe is there. I'd appreciate the hand out."

Tzuyu walks over: sets herself down between your feet and kisses your knee. Just to fuck with you. Because she wants to. She holds the kiss, the bow in her hair, done up tight and shiny, visible. You want to tug the stupid thing until it unravels; all your fingertips, her lips, and she sighs-

"Oi," Sana's saying on the line. You can hear her crash onto her bed. "You still there?" 

"I'm sorry," you say, "are you uh, asking for phone sex - or did I totally read that all wrong."

"Nope. Pretty direct." Sana laughs, and the sound should make it easy to close your eyes, picturing it: a silver smile, the low slung skirt and a stretch of stockinged leg, the twinkle of a drink as the ice hits her mouth. It’d be easy, y'know, if your gaze wasn't pinned on the girl who's settled at your feet.

"Oh, jesus, okay," you manage to breathe. Tzuyu hums a little: reaches for your fly. "Is there anything, anything that you want me to do?"

Sana's laughter drops to a murmur: the air goes heady as Tzuyu parts the zipper and rolls down the waist of your pants- "ask me what I'm wearing, duh."

"Boring," Tzuyu breathes into the air. Because apparently Sana's defining trait is being loud. The kiss to your clothed cock is hot, teasing - her eyes never lift away, "always, always start with, 'darling, sweetheart,' or something stupid, sweet." Her tone is pure syrup: you can feel the warm, the wet; a fucking tease, all the way to her core.

"What are you wearing, darling?" you ask, dryly. Tzuyu rolls her eyes.

Sana's grin widens and you swear it's audible, "oh, just these boring pajamas." She draws it out slow and sexy and completely aware. "It's all loose cotton, and it doesn't hang off me, just folds."

"Is it the type that comes down to the mid-thigh? The white kind, where you can see through to the skin?"

"That's a little presumptive, don't you think? A bit on the nose? Yeah, fine, I'm wearing the kind, if you absolutely insist. These legs, bare. Maybe you'd want to bite. Y'know. Mark 'em'. Whatever."

Tzuyu is kissing the outline of your shaft. Pulling your hard-on out from its confines - all gentle and tentative. Her pretty brown eyes dart upward, gauging: okay, just do your thing - you shrug - but it'd be so helpful if you could scoot to the end of the cushion for me, can you-

"Yeah," you're agreeing into the phone, somewhat vague - to no one in particular. You don't give Tzuyu just an inch; instead, you lift your thighs toward her. Sliding, Tzuyu pulls your pants down: enough. There's a delicate pressure applied at the bottom of your cock, right at the base, right where Tzuyu drags her nails. "Let's have that show off a little," your breath comes shallow, "then. Strip, real slow. We can try for something sexy I guess."

"You," Tzuyu kisses the base and shuffles up the rest of your shaft, "just love bossing people around," then her lips part: the slightest graze, then warmth, the faint suction. “Don’t you?”

"Uh-huh," says Sana, and then the rustle of cloth: and you could imagine her, really, lifting the shirt up, off, sliding it along the inside of her ribs, over the tips of her breasts - she'd cup them, lean into the contact. Sana's hands are always on her tits, or the spread of her hips - she likes the shape of her body more than anyone else. "Sometimes, that's the best way," she tells you. Her breath is hot, full of sex. "Being told what to do. Isn't that true, hm?"

Tzuyu tilts forward, lets your cock drop over her bottom lip. It leaves a smear of spit in its wake, the sensation electric. Her head falls, swallows the whole of the tip: her tongue immediately swirls. A hot little pulse. Her cheeks hollow.

"Yeah. Some could probably argue," your breath catches, the weight of the sensation, the fullness, your hips arch, your spine straightens. The electricity goes through your stomach and down your spine; you can feel the wave rolling along. Tzuyu giggling into the stiff line of your cock-

"Telling us both?" Tzuyu smiles again, running her lips slowly up and down the sides, teasing with her breath and her fingers running down the ridges. "What you want." She hums low, into the hot air.

You press your phone to your neck. "Can you, like-

Tzuyu pulls her mouth off your cock. Just sits there blinking. “Hm?” she asks, tugging a strand of her hair from the corner of her mouth.

“Just please stay quiet, or something- this is already harder than I thought it would be," the joke is as unsubtle as they come, "jesus, okay-" and put the phone back to your ear, "shit, Sana- can you, like-"

Her fucking mouth. The seal, the press - the tongue swirling around your head. Fuck.

“Yeah, babe? What do you want to know?”

The words aren't coming and a very obvious swallow is, Tzuyu leaning closer, and her fingers tangle with yours - guiding you closer, guiding your hand to the ends of her hair.

"Explain," is somehow where you land, shaky. You stick the landing just enough that Sana might buy it. "What are you doing now?"

"Slow circles. On my nipples, pinching," her voice strains, then settles,"yeah, the tip's so sensitive. Jihyo was laughing that guys always obsess over her tits. Always wanna suck, or nibble and I'm like, girl, what the hell are you complaining for?" - Tzuyu inhales a huge breath, and then another: her lips, those eyes - open and glossy, every movement steady like she knows just how to make the wait worth it - "or, or maybe I'm just weird, because the first time I felt someone's teeth and their tongue. Fuck, like, I almost screamed. Or, cried. Literally."

"Hah," and Tzuyu brings her lips lower. Moves her hair gently out of the way to take the rest of you into her mouth: bobbing up, her lips puckering in some rhythm, and her tongue darts, swirls the edge of the cock. Tongue at the slit. The pressure. Fuck, your head falls back. Every breath sounds heavy, loud. "Fingers,” you huff, “are good too I'm sure. I’d be paying close attention. Making you feel good."

"Mhm." Sana agrees. "The little pinches, ugh, I could die happy if you did just that, it's that fucking amazing."

"Baby," you half-moan. You’re struggling. The mouth stops, then sinks: down, all the way. Fucking amazing. Fucking hell.

"Oh?" Sana laughs airly, "are you touching yourself, hm? No fair, are you going to leave me all lonely here-"

You can see that smirk. The fuckery that would come: Sana's version.

"Sir," Tzuyu mumbles, sounding muffled. Her mouth is a tight vise of warmth, and your hand threads through her hair again. You hold, tighten the ribbon a bit, and Tzuyu stares at you through half-lidded eyes: you don't think she'll blink until you make her cry, and by then-

“Fuck,” Sana says, totally flat, "I'm actually pretty wet," the emphasis, "so I'd like some real advice, y'know-"

You see her legs. The tops. The bottom, all the way down- and you inhale sharply, too much and too hard.

Tzuyu has her fist at the base of your cock and her palm is sliding down the slick flesh and, a moment later, up, meeting her mouth at the top of its stroke - and, without a goddamn care, she hollows her cheeks - puckers her lips along the surface.

You were right. "This is hell."

Sana hums a laugh. "Need me that bad, huh? We're missing each other by just a couple days."

You stroke the top of Tzuyu's hair, her bow bobbing in a nice little bounce. Sana would know better than to wear her hair up. To even go near this, her throat - you hold her jaw steady, maybe a second, the moment of recovery to make Tzuyu slow and careful: her tongue does a pass at the sensitive, rigid underside of the crown, the sudden movement - before she speeds up.

"Picturing your hand." She tells you in a languid tone.

"God," you half-say, half-moan, and Tzuyu is good. So fucking good, and the mouth is too damn eager and it's difficult to think.

You barely get your hand free to switch to speaker, then let it clatter to the side. Tzuyu grinning, her lips flushed red and wet and dragging over your cock, sliding down, her tongue doing another pass, swirling at the center, the flare-

"Thinking about you, actually, fuck," Sana has a hitch to her breath that wasn't quite there before. "Doing those things, that mouth all over, Jesus Christ - ah- my legs, my breasts, fuck- are you jerking off right now? You sound, well, pretty uh, yeah."

"Just saying," you breathe, as the shock and the sensations rise and fall; Tzuyu's edging you in her mouth, her own head starting to shake, her chin bobbing up and down the full, long line of your dick - she's never done anything by halves. "It's getting- I'm thinking about you, Sana, of course, and your- pretty cunt, god, of course, so- ah, close- you said you were wet?"

"Huh? Of course, dripping. Imagining you - your thick, your cock," Sana sorta giggles, out of it then-

Tzuyu moans. Her body is pliant and her shoulders roll; she sucks, her cheeks dip, her back arches, and all of the noises hit the air thick, all while Sana's voice sharpens - both girls, two. You're slipping off the cushion, and probably out of your mind. The ache builds and burns and yearns for some sort of release- 

"-how wet and tight I would feel, after so fucking long. Please, fuck, fuck-" you hear Sana, "would you, fuck, c'mon, how I would look, on top of you? Could feel- the stretch, your cock deep inside. The, fuck- friction."

There’s this beat, where it’s just Sana’s stiff breathing; you can picture her wrist between her thighs, the pump, the twist as her fingers run over and over again through the sound of her slick. You’re left wondering if she can hear too, the mouth trailing kisses along your balls, tongue gliding back up and swallowing your length whole.

“Mnph.” Tzu chokes down a little.

And you look down, you have to eventually - to see the steady stare. Tzuyu's brows pinched and her eyelashes fanning out over the hollowed curve of her cheekbones. Pretty, fuck. Beautiful. So sexy: she looks up, swallows you back, like a fucking slut. Her mouth, wet, messy, hot, and her body-

"Third finger, by the way," Sana strains, "'cause- fuck, my pussy - my tight little hole would be swallowing your cock so damn good."

"Mmm, fuck." You're reduced to your base instincts, pulling Tzuyu's hair, dragging her wet, velvety mouth onto your shaft - she follows willingly, no question of her pace slowing, but - more, and more, and you could probably cum in her mouth if her hands weren't clasped firmly over your thighs and you weren't brushing away the tears pricking the ends of Tzuyu's lashes- you won't tell. Not with your fingers. Fuck. Her nails bite at the skin of your bare legs. She looks angry, insistent. Choking.

Sana sounds just as out of sorts, out of breath, "you would feel so fucking good. Look so good. Let me have it- whatever I need, yeah?" And you think she's close: it's that keen edge, a faint, broken whine. She's never going to finish any way except- "would you, inside me? Y'know- make me cum, real full. God- are you close? Would you make a mess out of me? Of my pretty pussy?"

“Okay, holy fuck-" and the question barely even hits you. 

Tzuyu is glaring now, shaking: she wants you to lose it, and she looks furious, holding her fingertips, her thumb on the base of your cock: a new pressure, a new feeling, a new pulse, a new high- she wants you to forget about Sana, maybe. What she sounds like, how she looks. Her legs wide, her bare, slicked skin on display. For you, yes. Fucking her until she- "uh, baby," and this time, your voice makes her smile, and her teeth drag. You wince. Her pupils are blown out, and there's a flush building in her chest. "Where are you?"

"Laying down. Flat- god. Where I'm always-" and you imagine a plane of soft, tanned, toned legs, her wide hips, "I'd, yeah, in a second. Pressure at my back- it would feel so fucking good, y’know, if you were here."

You have no doubt in your mind: Sana would be gorgeous. Even from the back, she'll be hotter, fuck, she always is, especially like that - and the movement of Tzuyu's fingers tightens against the straining, needy ache, and- 

"Please, fuck, fuck- need to-"

"Would cum- a lot, that's it- over my back. Oh, yes, all over my back. My ass. Messy. fuck that's actually so good, jesus christ-" and then Sana lets out another soft keen and a shout - and it's so sweet and high-pitched and familiar, almost musical; she's cumming, hard. You're only a second, a third behind and-

Your balls draw tight and a coil in your stomach unfurls-

Tzuyu sees you, grins, your eyes trained on the pink of her mouth and her perfect, wet lips and the deep brown eyes - her dimpled cheek is the softest fucking thing - but the rest, her mouth, her wet heat: it's pure sensation. The tight vise of a throat swallowing, the taste on the flat of her tongue. You've got your cock shoved deep in her mouth, and you're not easy to take. Fucking Tzuyu's face, thrusting and the throbs of your cock pumping out a hot, heavy spill. More and more: sticky, filling, spreading out from the corners of her lips. Tzuyu gurgles, struggling - fuck, finally letting go with a weak pop, falling back, and the white mess runs hot over her mouth. Your release smeared across her lips, dripping off her jaw - fucking christ - her tongue, her eyelashes - a wild mess of fluid. It splatters against her pale skin - runs down the hollow of her throat to the edges of her chest. She has her fingers working fast still, a squelching tight fist: you cum all over the stupid, cutesy bow too. It's all you see, the only thing-

“Fuck,” Sana says, oblivious. “That’s good.”

-before your eyelids shutter close, a ringing in your ears and your heart racing; and, not far, another sigh, followed by the slide of your phone down the couch.

"Aw, you done already?" Sana says. Lazily. You can see the look on her face, probably rubbing her pussy and thinking about more - if there’s any two ways the girls compare, it’s this allergic reaction to anything like temperance or moderation. You need new friends, new lovers; this can’t last.

"Uh-huh." The back of your head digs into the couch cushions. Fuck. Sana. Phone. On speaker. Oh. Right. Shit. "But I was- mnph. Uhh." Your brain has lost a lot of blood. It's doing nothing. Nothing but losing blood. You wish it’d stop. “I’m here, Sana, talk to me.”

Sana giggles at that, delighted, "don't tell me you're in such bad shape I need to save you-"

"The uh," your voice slurs. Then you're pulling the phone to you, closer. Fuck. Yeah. You're an idiot. Your breath is heavy: "I could go for more, yeah, how’re you feeling?"

"So fucking tired." Her breathing sounds less ragged. A full breath. A pout: a poor me.

"Hmm." Tzuyu crawls onto you. Slides the fabric of your shirt between her palms, up and down your ribs. She pushes the sweater and tee away. Bares your stomach- then kisses there. Lower, and then rises, looking through her lashes. It's clear: a demand. She'll be insisting, pressing down on you, kissing, running her teeth along the edges of your shoulders, your neck. She’ll kiss you right now if you let her - until she sinks into a promise at the center of your body. Your back is arching off the leather from the sensitivity, and Tzuyu has her lips all over you - smiling when your hands tangle with the long strands of her hair.

She pauses. You drop a hand to Tzuyu's waist. Pinch.

"Ow-" she says, coming across slightly betrayed. 

And, satisfied with the expression her face, the phone cradled between your chin, her lips warm over your ribs, her head tickling the edges of your jaw, you keep laughing, or you want to, but Tzuyu takes you between her thighs, lifts a little on your cock - her eyes widen: she's testing your flexibility. Trying to drag this out, trying for teasing. She’s good at that (a verifiable truth), but you’re you - you see right through it: she likes how it feels, the thickness and size of you. Tzuyu keeps sliding slowly down the full length, letting you fill her inch by inch - her slick heat feels unbearable.

“God,” she mutters, and she’s making the dreamiest expression - the blush in her cheeks, the eyelids hung low, the mouth slightly agape - she lifts up, then slams all the way to the base, flush. You grab anything you can to hold onto. Her legs. Her ass. Her thighs. Her jaw. That perfect little fucking waist.

She’s sublime. Your cock is bathing in her slick, the wet heat, the throbbing pulses - she's gasping in your lap, like she can’t believe how good you feel filling her cunt.

"Sana," you grit, "there's- nothing else in the world I'd rather do right now than shove my cock-” 

“Ugh,” Sana sighs in agreement, in imaginary bliss. “In my little fucking pussy- you’re making me miss you, or something, jesus-”

You squeeze her thigh and her lips quirk, just barely, a challenge.

"Want put a nice thick load" - the hand on Tzuyu's hip brings her down in your lap, fucking up hard as her chest racks with breath - "in your slutty little cunt" - you fuck her faster, the sounds of flesh against flesh obscene - "fill up your pussy, princess. Would cum in it until" - and the last inch of your cock, filling Tzuyu’s cunt, you've no control - "you're a mess, you're dripping in it-"

Tzuyu's movements still. A pause. Her hips. Your own, and all the rest, every nerve in your body is on fire. 

She moves with the most graceful slide, her wet lips gliding - gripping - up your cock. Then, down. The quiet. The lull. The pause before she does it again. She has cum all over her face, and she’ll kill you. You’ll let her.

"God. We'll have to get around to it," Sana finally tells you, dryly, "when this fucking snow clears. Say hi to Tzuyu for me won’t you?"

-

You're not a bad person. 

(The reassurance that you aren’t - or don’t want to be? - is probably still not super convincing. There's some line drawn there, blurred, crossed, and thoroughly annihilated by your actions, you think, vaguely, but maybe it's better if no one sees, hears, finds out. The finer details matter a lot less at that point.)

You're like anybody else: you get desperate to hold onto something, somebody, even for just a moment. Sometimes you don’t even need a reason at all.

Tzuyu is stepping out of the shower, her head bobbing: it takes everything in you not to drag her back in there. She’d let you. She wouldn’t even complain.

You can hear the catch and the slide of a bath towel, the wisp of water hitting the bottoms of her feet and trailing, an exaggerated moan - a gesture, meant to entice, a suggestion: fuck her right back in the shower until her hair is plastered to her cheeks, and she's panting. Or the steam lifts her breasts in a gentle, humid press. That mouth on the tiles - sobbing.

“Tzu,” you call out, and she just continues humming some indifferent tune. 

You pull a thick sweater over your head: it's gray wool, and it's all clean and good and new. When she wraps her arms around you, a deep inhale: a grin, then a shiver. She's naked and dripping everywhere, wet hair leaving a trail in its wake. She burrows her face in the folds of fabric at your spine - and if you turned, the slightest movement, the smooth line of her torso would be exposed, and your fingers could trace down her belly button, the tips dipping between her legs-

The window is fogging at the bottom, the steam slipping out in tendrils - but the heat can't compete against the girl all wet and dripping, and it does nothing but give way to the cold, seeping in.

"I still think it's funny," she says, all matter of fact. "It's weird that this isn't awkward."

“What’s that?”

She's at the doorway.

“Us. Being here.”

You turn, and Tzuyu pulls at your sweater: looking for attention, always seeking out the easy praise. Her hand automatically slides beneath the cloth of your collar, drawing your jaw up for a short, hard kiss.

"Okay," and there's a small nod, the line of her throat pulsing as she breathes, "yeah," her chest rising and falling.

"Look at you,” you tell her. “All dry and tidy. Cute. "

A dumb comment earns you the tiniest smile, then she's leaning back, taking her hands to her hair and wringing out the water, pulling and tugging at the tangles - the towel wraps around her waist again and again, and she looks good, clean: it makes you think of what comes later. Not having to give a fuck - at least not for a little while.

"Jeez," she's shivering, still, and rubbing the tops of her arms, "and Sana is gonna be, like, all over you once she gets the chance. Wants a nice lay too, from the sound of it. Was being honest about that. Seems pretty pent up."

“Maybe you can help,” you offer, a bit flippant. She smiles - but in all seriousness, it’s a resounding: no.

There's something else, too, as she runs her fingertips, absently, through her hair - it falls flat on her neck and around her bare shoulders, dark against the lightness of her skin, but somehow you get the impression that she's not entirely preoccupied. "Y'know, I had a really good time and all, but I'm not the homewrecker type, yeah - it's not worth the stress," a slight shrug, like she isn't certain, her mind a little more tangled than usual, and for good reason, too, "probably won't hook up ever again."

"Gloomy," you tease.

"Don’t act like you're not going to miss it," she says, conspiratorial - and Tzuyu plants herself where you can feel her in your space - but she doesn't press. "Even when you're keeping busy, you'll have the smallest reminder, like - aha, Tzuyu would've really liked this, or that - when, y'know - you're stuck somewhere, thinking about the weather," and her cheeks are heating with color as her tongue forms the syllables - and the meaning is clear now as it always was.

“Even if you’re like, totally smitten, or whatever with her,” she adds, smirking.

"Sana will be back to her usual antics in no time. Being annoying and forward and whatever," you reply. "Won't miss much."

The girl's expression flickers a little - a slight twitch - but otherwise, a flat look.

She fixes the lay of her towel across her wide hips. You reach for her arm: pull at it, pulling her toward.

"I mean- Sana and I have a few things in common, anyway. Something in common. Can both be a spoilsport. Dull. Can be a bit, uh, territorial, if you you know-"

The rest is cut off, the words running into a kiss, deep and desperate; there's no place like her mouth: soft, eager, hot.

"And our usual antics?" she asks.

She leans into you, the chill starting to set, a fire burning nearby: something clandestine that maybe shouldn't last as long as it does. A log settling against the others, another plume of heat, and you say, a touch solemn,

"Dunno if we've ever been in common about anything, babe."

"Jeez. You don't have to spell it out like that, do you?" Tzuyu laughs lightly, holding the bath towel at her hips - her breasts are bare. They fall without support, her nipples, the slope of her ribs, everything. "I mean, how cruel."

(It isn't really. Because, here's the thing. In the grand scheme of things, Chou Tzuyu was never really supposed to happen at all.)

-

The snow clears, like all things you suppose, slowly and with a sigh: with the change in winds and a promise for a gradual spring. Tzuyu steals a shirt. Doesn't seem inclined to return it, says she's good at letting her imagination do half the work in lieu of the actual sex. (The nip is like a sting: it'll last longer, apparently. The bruising at the edges of her waist is more abstract.)

You’re in the driveway. Tzuyu’s leaning back on her luggage.

She kisses you like she wants to make you lose something: her lipstick, her mind, her heart or soul. And when her arms slide, her mouth parting - her tongue darting and sweeping, taking - Tzuyu knows a good many things about herself. She knows you, too. What makes her wet, what gets her off. What part of you will always come back to her. But her hair falls heavy: so much silk. She's laughing - a grin and she's licking the pink right off her teeth and she's beautiful and you think you'll want this always:

A girl like her, kissing so eager for you-

"You can totally say it first," she tells you, that mouth at the edge of your ear.

"Um," you say, and she settles down a little further, her wrists locked behind your neck. "You are so: clingy."

The look she gives you is adorable. All dimple, no worry. “Yeah, so?”

“How is that fair?”

"I don't really care if it is or isn’t. We’d be good together - and that’s a fact. So say something good, or I'm getting in that cab right now."

So you do. You do. The first word, the syllable, the way you ask her, the sound that is something like: mine, and the way it dries the edge of your throat; you kiss it away and she giggles because maybe this means, after a while, you really are as terrible as she always hoped.

She'll give you everything. She says, yours, and it would always be you; she halts a bit, and says it like she’s thawing a revelation, one that’s been there since the start - says she loves you and she always has. You laugh and she says it again: always.

-

Sana ends up standing in the cabin a day later. The same place you stood, watching Tzuyu lick yogurt off her spoon. Her coat looks expensive. There's her purse. The boots. That red-painted mouth. Her eyes are fixed, and she sees nothing out of the ordinary. Which is probably, you think, ideal.

"That's funny," her face betrays nothing.

The cabin smells a little like burning wood, vaguely: peppermint tea. An electric kind of heat and the warmth of the sun. It had smelled like evidence prior, the way a girl gets with her underwear missing, hair a tangled mess, body sore and aching, a wet bed. You'd looked like a pair of kids caught in a terrible storm, a lovers' quarrel in a small space - or, just: well-fucked.

"What's funny?" is how you finally manage.

"I just mean," she starts again, "she used to have like. The craziest crush on you. It would’ve been cute if it wasn't sorta sad. Did you know? You couldn't, I guess." She shrugs: a heavy lift of her shoulders, a release. The tension is leaking everywhere. "Must've been torture for her to get stuck here with you."

"Huh," you say, like you were missing something, which is exactly the wrong tone and definitely the wrong sentiment. “Oh, the crush. That. Sure.” You’re suppressing a smile. “Torture, yeah. Hey. Don't worry about it. I’m sure we’ll be fine."

-

(You can’t stop running it back through your head, her long dark hair disappearing into the cab. She loves you and you love her, and it’s got this beautiful caveat of being something simple-complex. Like, who would ever believe any of this? Like, who else even matters? 

You say, you belong to me, and she agrees without even thinking. 

“You always knew, though. From the start, you always did. I was never going to be anyone else's," and then she pouts. "Wouldn’t hurt telling me, from time to time."

And the mountains have a way of feeling like the end, sounding like the closing score, the credits - you look out at the white caps and reflect: maybe you shouldn’t have let her go. Maybe you should chase after her. Maybe you could still make it work. Maybe you should consider that a promise.

You look up at the sky, the pale blue - and maybe you can afford to let her go. 

You know you’ll only find your way back.)

[manikas-whims]

someone may have probably already said this, and maybe worded it more eloquently but i wanna dump this thought out of my system..

As we all assume, MC and Sylus were probably experimented on together..you know being cut open, maimed and straight up killed in innumerable ways to see if the aether core within them will bring them back to life or not..

I believe the Aether Cores inside MC and Sylus are not different ones but the same.

There's this good old thing called “unreliable narrator” or things like “omission of truth” due to narrative reasons because there are facts that even the characters aren't aware of..

Now..

no one in the story so far has properly described the aether core, and no one has actually seen what it looks like..just that it's inside MC. And now, due to MC’s knowing, we also know Sylus got one as well. So its safe to assume that its either a single aether core split in two. Or maybe even two aether cores that come together, form an inseparable pair of sorts.

And that it's the halves of the same core put inside MC and Sylus, or one part each of a dual set of the Aether Cores put inside them respectively. It would explain why MC feels an intense hunger when around Sylus..why she hears all these voices echoing in her head, the incessant need to devour him. And it would also explain the weird evol linkage or whatever its called when their wrists randomly bind together..?

Maybe it's actually the Aether Core’s parts trying to reunite whenever close by. Or maybe it’s a pair of Aether Cores that are actually inseparable. And i think if that's how the writers intend it to be, then it's beautiful and poetic ♡ that they just want to be whole again, and that the only way to do it would be for them to be together..

the FORCED PROXIMITY trope done right ♡

[sideysvault]

⋆.˚✮ Unexpected love admissions with Deadpool ✮˚.⋆

Pairing: Wade Wilson x fem!reader

Friends to lovers

wc: 919

Warnings: Foul language

───────

Even if it could be considered a bit unconventional, Wade sees nothing wrong with how the two of you act. However, the truth is that your friendship with him has never been characterized by having too many boundaries.

Neither of you spare a second thought when you nap together, or buy home decorations, or when you're cuddled against him on the couch while you are watching a movie. You think nothing more of it when one of you walks into the bathroom while the other is showering because you really need to ask them something important.

And if anyone dared to bring it up, both of you had a ton of excuses prepared. Your favorite one was that you both could be described as workhorses (Sure, his job was a bit more dangerous than yours. But, still…) So, you made a point of stating that you "don't have the time for a relationship". Still, you guys always found some time to hang out and be together.

But it all changed recently.

Lately, you’ve been noticing a shift in the way your heart reacts to his proximity. In the way your eyes seem to follow him around in any room, any crowd. Suddenly, every mundane show of affection meant something more to you. And it honestly terrified you. You had always managed to push the feelings you had towards Wade deep inside you, even occasionally forgetting about them.

Because at the end of the day, he was a buoyant man. His affections weren’t easily swayed, and he was very loyal, but he constantly jokes around and flirts with anyone in his vicinity. There was no reason for you to get your hopes up just because he crossed the boundaries of what a normal friendship usually looked like. Deadpool crossed every line, all the time, with anyone. But reasoning with yourself was hopeless. And as the weeks went by, so did your infatuation with him. By the time he showed you his face, It was no longer concealable. The fact that he trusted you enough to be that vulnerable with you was just the final drop: You were in love with Wade.

You freaked out, and so, the constant hangouts were getting more and more scarce. The excuses varied, but none of them were particularly convincing. You took the cowardly way out. Whenever he came in for a hug, you casually avoided it. You wouldn’t jokingly flirt back anymore and the prudeness that was characteristic of a lack of intimacy and trust in the other flourished. Abruptly, you had put a lot of space between yourself and him, You knew that you were alienating him. But you truly didn't know what else to do in order to protect your heart. If things went south with him, you’d not only lose your protector, but your dearest friend.

It had been awkward. And, one night over at your apartment, you two were drinking beer and watching a shitty reality tv show when Wade got up and walked into the kitchen. Things were off with him tonight.

Hiding behind the counter, pretending to do something else and hoping that you couldn’t really hear him is when he quietly asked “Do I disgust you?”

You immediately turned around to face him. He looked like he wasn’t even aware that he had spoken such a thing before it left his mouth. Your heart dropped at the sight. He was wearing a cap tonight. And she had not thought much of it because it was getting a bit cold. Fuck. She should've known.

“That’s not it”. She quickly replied, shifting in her seat uncomfortably, “I’ve just been..”

“I don’t want another bullshit excuse, Y/N”

“You are right,” She glanced at him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for acting distant”

But he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. So, the woman made her way towards him. Gently pulling his cap off, and positioning her hands in his roughened cheeks. They were face to face now. It was now or never.

“I’m sorry for not cowboying up sooner. I just… I did not want to get hurt. You are the most lovable man I’ve ever met, Wade. And, I guess I’ve… you know. With your strength, your stupid jokes, the way you never hesitate to take action and how kind you can be towards others when you think no one will notice. I like you. And that includes your appearance too. I was being a pussy. I’m sorry for making you think those horrible thoughts.” She took a breath and looked directly into his eyes. A gaze that was filled with softness, “I will never be disgusted by you. How could I?”

For a moment, Wade did not know how to react. He thought he had scared you away with his face… But here you were, the most beautiful and smart woman he knew, looking at him with such loving eyes.

With a temptative, almost shy movement he captured your lips together.

A warm sensation took over your body. Somewhere in between red cheeks and nuzzling sensations, the hesitant kiss began to escalate. It became messy, hungry for exploration and filled with unspoken thoughts of tenderness. It finally happened. Frantic and sloppy. And it was perfect.

When things calmed down, Time seemingly stopped when Wade cupped your cheeks with his big hands and rested his forehead against yours. You both couldn’t stop grinning, filled with a rush of happiness. Maybe you two could be more than just friends.

────────

Notes: Hello beautiful Lola! I’m sorry if it’s too cheesy for Wade haha this was terribly self indulgent. It took some time but I finally wrote it. Thank you so much for your request. I hope you enjoy it! (I posted this early on my time zone so I don’t deprive you of your sleep anymore 😭) -Sidey xxxo

Based on this request.

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part five | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. this chapter contains explicit sexual content. this chapter also has a content warning for descriptions of torture and dehumanization, plus the aftermath of trauma, themes of identity loss and healing. the previously established story dynamics are prevalent. chapter word count: 10,200 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E FO R E

Felix returns to the base and he is scrutinized, as expected.  They all want to know why he was taken, what the enemy wanted, how he escaped.   Felix has never played so many sides all while obfuscating his real objective.  Alone, he guides himself through the venomous viper’s pit that is this war: Miroh and his enemy, Miroh and the world. 

Where it concerns the enemy, Miroh will always intervene.  He sees the enemy as the antithesis to the house of Miroh.   A rich, spoiled fool, holed up in his golden cave, oblivious to what he has and the work it takes to acquire it.  Miroh is jealous. Miroh is hateful. 

Those are emotions that Felix can manipulate.  He learned it from the best. 

“It was an ambush,” Felix tells him.  “They knew I was going to be there.  They were waiting for me.”  He uses his reputation, formed by Miroh, against Miroh.   

Felix would never lose a fight.  Felix would never fail a mission.  Felix would never surrender.    Felix is a reflection of Miroh so he presents the most flattering image. 

“What information did they want?”  Miroh asks. 

Felix can see the gears spinning in his head.  What could the enemy be seeking so determinedly to lay a trap for Miroh’s asset?  Oh, Miroh has a suspicion.  Felix can see it, because he knows exactly what it is.   

“They asked about Project Twenty-Three,” Felix says.  “I told them I had never heard of it.  Even if I had, I wouldn’t tell them anything.” 

Project Twenty-Three.  Chris has vented about it to Felix.  It is a cyber mission, striking against the enemy’s tightly guarded servers.  It intends to blackout the grid and lay virtual traps while they re-calibrate, compromising not only the enemy but everyone else on that grid: civilians, their homes, their hospitals, their shelters. 

It is a significant job for its scope and because it is the first time a mission will be helmed by Miroh’s daughter. 

Miroh’s daughter, Chris says, intends to sabotage the operation. 

It is Felix’s worst fears coming true.  Miroh’s daughter rebelling against Miroh is doomed to be a catastrophe.  She will inevitably go down and when that blaze tears through the sky, Chris will crash and burn in a similar inferno.  He is too blinded by proximity, too idealistic to see how it is impossible to truly destroy a man like Miroh. 

No one but classified personnel are supposed to know about Project Twenty-Three.  Miroh’s daughter let it slip to Chan, who let it slip to Felix.   As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix should not know about it.  As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix is telling the truth. 

As far as Miroh is concerned, someone is leaking highly sensitive data to the enemy. 

“I’m smarter than that, though,” Felix says.  He appeals to all that haughty vanity and says, “I was trained by the best.  Of course I got away.”

“Of course,” Miroh says.  Where before, he was wary, his guard comes down. 

Felix can sneak in.  Felix can lay his attack. 

“What else did they say?” Miroh asks. 

“I overheard them,” Felix says.  “They’re going to try and kill you.  And it’s going to happen inside your house.” 

The trap is laid.

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Miroh only put one soldier through a reconfiguration program.  And it wasn’t me.  It was you.   

Chan looks at you as if you shot him even though he was the one who fired at you.  

The words land with more violence than a bullet. 

It can’t be true.  That is your first reaction: denial. He is lying or he is confused or something, something, something. Anything but whatever he just said. 

He tries to step towards you.  You look at him and think of the First Guard: him in that corridor, a hand around your neck.  He fought just enough to make it real, the way you and Changbin sometimes fight, but it never went too far, did it?  You think back to that first fight in the ring.  You commended yourself for lasting so long, but that should have been a hint.  You would not have lasted a round with the First Guard on a good day, never mind after fighting several others.   He never came at you with the full brunt of his fatal capacity like you would expect, like you should have considered at the time. 

His eyes in the van, the tilt of his head.  

Trusting as your car stopped an inch from his body. 

His hands out like you were a wild, unpredictable animal, a weapon, something lethal he had to contain.   It’s me, he said.  It’s just me.  As if you knew who that was.

He does the same thing now.  You wrench away from him.   

“No,” you say.

He says your name but it doesn’t sound like a name; it sounds like begging, it sounds like please, it sounds like desperation, painfully barbed on his tongue.  You half expect him to start bleeding from the mouth. 

“No,” you say again.  You jerk away even though he has stopped reaching for you.  You feel a phantom hand on your chest and on your head, a cold fire in your veins. 

You slam shoulders as you dart past.  He says your name again, this time like an alarm, only barely short of a scream as he chases after you.  You get as far as the door before he catches you, his hand wrapped around your bicep and your name a weapon on his lips.

“Stop it,” you say.  It isn’t loud but it is brutal all the same. 

He lets go as if you electrocuted him. 

You look at him.  He stares back, all that begging in his dark eyes. 

“You can’t – you can’t leave,” he says.  His panic bubbles into frustration and he says, “You just told me off for doing that, didn’t you?”

You think of him on that rooftop, not even blinking at Miroh’s dead body, like he couldn’t care less, his eyes rivetted to you alone.   

“Do you trust me?” you ask. 

You think he would rather get hit.  A moment of pain, a scar to join the others. Instead, he has to endure the intensity of your eyes, suffer whatever fucked up expression is haunting your body, and then he has to let you go. 

You do not look at his face when leaving.  You don’t want to see this side of him.  There are already too many versions of him in your head, just as there are too many versions of yourself. 

The denial does not last long.  You walk through the brisk night, destination nowhere.  The sky feels too big.

It’s preposterous, isn’t it?  You are in your body right this moment, looking at the world with your own eyes.  How can anything be wrong inside?   But even while attempting to convince yourself otherwise, you know the truth.  It has been long unfurling in the back of your mind.   You have not felt like yourself for days, maybe weeks, maybe the entire three months since this downfall began. 

You don’t even remember what it means to feel like yourself. 

All the nightmares, the visions, the flashes of dreams that feel more like memories – maybe memories is exactly what they are.  So suppressed it feels like watching a movie rather than your own life, but your story regardless.   Sifting through those fragments feels like searching through rubble in a collapse. How are you ever expected to find a person under that much annihilation? 

When it happens, Changbin said, what feels like a lifetime ago.  When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…”

A sob rips out of you.  You have cried more in days than you have in years.  You cover your face and fall into the dark of your closed eyes.  You see your friend, not a fragment or broken memory, but a whole person.  The scar on your palm twinges, reminding you that you are real and here. 

Remember me, he said. 

That was the very first thing you did.   You saw him on that rooftop and you remembered something.  Him, younger, bleeding, emerging from a fog of smoke.  He lifted a weight off your chest.  He made you a promise. 

You try to chase the memory of that dream, try to hold the image of him in your mind, but it moves like water through a sieve.  It’s like he’s standing right there, just in the corner of your eye if you could only turn your head to look.  But you are trapped in place.  Pinned down, a weight on your chest. 

You lose track of time under the stars.  You are too numb to feel the cold.  Only when the sky purples with the very earliest streak of dawn do you move.  You look at your feet as you walk and it feels like someone else is moving you.  You know it’s just exhaustion, a trick of the weary eye, but a shudder moves through you.   

You don’t want to think about it.  Whenever your mind starts to go there – to that room, to that hole, to the cell – it backs away screaming.  It is probably why you can’t hold any picture for longer than a second. 

A small part of you still rebels, insisting it isn’t true because it’s can’t be true, but you know intrinsically that it is. 

This confirmation solidifies when you get back to the room and find Chan still awake, sitting in a chair with his head in his hands. 

He lifts his head.   You can’t hold his gaze for long, swallowed up by the dark depth that sees something in you, far beyond the surface, buried so deep you can’t find it. 

You turn away.   You climb into bed. 

It isn’t an escape.  You know that, even as you close your eyes and shut out the world.   It’s all waiting for you there, your subconscious caught in a perpetually crashing tidal wave.  

You fall asleep, ready to face the nightmares. 

-

It feels like swimming against an acidic current.  You push through but it bears down; you struggle but it burns your skin, sloughs down to the clean marrow.  Pieces of you are lost to the tide.  You try to catch each flaking sliver of personhood but then your arms are full and you can no longer swim.

You are going to drown. 

“Let go,” says a voice, colder than the water.  “This will all stop.  Just let go.” 

Just let go.  Just let your skin unravel.  Just let the tide take it away.  You will never get it back.  You will be a living corpse, a half-consciousness puppeting your bones. 

You decide to drown.  You slip further and further into the blackness behind your lids.

“Hey, it’s me!  I’m coming!” 

Changbin.

You can hear his footsteps as he thunders towards you, but you can’t see him.  Your eyelids are so heavy, as if being held shut by a hand in the water.

Another hand reaches straight through the corrosive cold and seizes your face in a desperate grip. 

“Wake up,” Changbin says.  He taps your cheek repeatedly, a little harder each time, a little more frantic.  “Hey, wake up.  Please.  Please wake up.”

It feels like he is prying your eyes open.  One moment there is nothing but darkness, then Changbin is there.  He looks like he did when you last saw him, grown, fight-ready, a little scar on his face.  It bleeds more than such a tiny mark should.  A droplet hits your cheek, burning hot compared to the water. 

“It’s me,” he says. “Hold on.  Keep your eyes open.  Don’t go.  I promise I’ll get you out.” 

Don’t go.  Don’t go.  An echoing reverberation that circles the wooden beams high above your head.  You look there, staring at the ceiling as your lungs slowly fill with oxygen. 

The ceiling shatters in a spray of splinters, the world vanishing in a cloud of grey smoke.  Changbin is gone and your father stands over you, keeping that weight on your chest with a press of his fist. 

“You’ll thank me one day,” he says, and plunges you back under water.  Ice cold currents and electric hot fire twine in and around you in an unfathomable vice.  Your vision flickers as you twitch and flail, avoiding one sensation to succumb to the other. 

“Don’t go,” Changbin says.  “I promise I’ll get you out.” 

Another bolt of lightning slices through you. 

“Just let go.”  A cold and clinical voice.

There is a war between those voices.  Time passes slowly as you volley in the current, slamming into one or the other. 

In the bubbling frenzy, you hear a whisper.  

“Let her go.”  That is not Changbin.  That is not your father.  It’s too soft – soft, until it’s not, until it sounds like speaking through an open chest cavity, heaving up its heart with every cry.  “Please,” the voice begs.  “Let her go.” 

“Thank me,” your father says.  He stands with his back to you, angled just enough you can see the gun in his hands.   You can’t see the person on the receiving end.  You just know it’s a soldier.  You just know it’s a boy. 

You have to stop it.  The thought overwhelms you and you reach for the gun, but your hand never makes contact, splashing through cold water. 

“Subject recognizes control,” says that clinical voice.

There is a hand on your chest.  It pushes you back under water. 

You are alone in the current and the corrosion and the cold.  The hand pushes you deeper and deeper into the endless darkness under you.  

You are going to drown.  You are going to let yourself drown. 

“You don’t want to do that,” you say. 

Your father still has a gun in his hand.  It is pointed at that boy. 

“Subject— Control—”

You need to get that gun.  You need to swim.  You need to see him.  You need to save him. 

You finally let go. 

-

You open your eyes. 

Unlike in your dreams, it’s fast.  You jolt awake in a cold sweat.  The ceiling is unmoving, the air cool and dry from the motel’s cheap, noisy air conditioner.  The blinds are closed but the neon light outside the window creates a fuzzy square halo.  It brightens the room just enough to see  the outline of everything clearly.  

That includes Chan.

He is still awake.  If this was just one night ago, you would tell him to get into bed and sleep because you can’t have him tired for the mission.  But now, you find yourself staring back at him, at his bare and open face, his tired eyes and the uncomfortable tension in his shoulders.   

When you went to sleep, he was sitting on that same chair in the corner, and it looks like he hasn’t moved once.  He’s been waiting for you. 

He’s been waiting a lot longer than one night.   If she ever came back to me, he said, revealing years of hope, of watching, waiting for you to break through your conditioning and show him a sign.  He was never brainwashed, just trapped in a precarious situation, bound to a bargain with no way out that didn’t compromise you.  He could have saved himself at any time but it wouldn’t have mattered.   

“You were never reconfigured,” you say. 

“No.” 

The question and answer breaks a dam.  A flood of questions pour to the front of your mind, overwhelming you, taking you back to your dreams where you almost drown – again and again.  You remember the report, stating too much recollection could trigger some kind of breakdown.  Yes, you could ask Chan to tell you everything, to string together all those gaps in your nightmares, but you already know that would not help.  It would either feel like a story about a girl you do not know, or it would just throw you deeper into the whirlpool.

You let those questions turn over themselves like a crashing wave.  When it settles, you ask the one question that remains.

“Were we friends?” 

He doesn’t answer right away.   He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands under his chin.  He is impossibly strong but right now he looks too weak to support himself.

“No,” he finally says.  His eyes dart to the floor.  “No, we weren’t friends.” 

He looks at you and you fall into the unspoken story within his eyes.  You have been conversing without words since you met.  He has been looking at you with that wanting tilt and desperate stare since he stepped into the ring. 

You remember a fragment from a dream.   Him, younger, his face ravaged with tears and his mouth open on a muted shout.   It would be easy to mistake that as him being tortured, his pain that palpable.  But your memory is not of his suffering, just his watching, just his waiting.   

All this time, he has been waiting.  

“Did you love me?” you ask. 

This answer comes faster, but rougher as if guarding against vulnerability.  His voice is low.

“Yes.”

A phantom spark fires up your arm, straight into your heart. 

“Did I love you?” you ask.

He holds your gaze, though it feels like he is looking just a little past you, seeing something you can’t see.  Then again, maybe he doesn’t see it, maybe he is just searching, and maybe he comes up empty.  Because when he answers, his voice is airy, and the word is like a hiss of pain, like getting hit in the chest and all the air leaving the body at once.

“Yes,” he says.

You feel the weight of that hit too.  Wavering under the force of it, you blurt, “I don’t remember.” 

“I know,” he says.  He drops his head into his hands and rubs his palms over his face, scrunches his eyes shut tight and shakes his head.  “I know.”    

You want to go to him.  You are not sure where the urge comes from because, despite what he said, you have never loved like that.  Is it something buried inside you, something that remembers?  Maybe it’s just you, who you are now, the person who has spent the last few days with this man at her side.  His proximity has been a confusing comfort from the start.  Maybe it’s a memory or maybe it’s just him. 

You stand before thinking it through.  He doesn’t even notice, a sign this competent soldier is very far gone, his face still buried in his hands.  When you touch his shoulder, it catches him off guard, both arms jolting as if stung. 

He looks up at you, his hand instinctively flying to the one you rest on his shoulder.  He clasps it, holds it there, presses it down like he needs convincing it is real. 

He meets your eyes.   You do not know what you look like; you just know it hurts him, that it makes everything so much worse. 

A child-like sob punches out of him.  His eyes close tight, his face going red as he fights to hold it in.   He cried earlier and it looked like the typical outpouring of stress and hurt, but it did not look like this. 

After that first sob, reminiscent of the little boy he never really was, years of torment come tearing violently out of his chest.  Flashes of memories melt with the sight, his young face twisted as he wails, that muted shout filled in with his voice now. 

He holds his forehead, doubles over.  When you see the top of his head, those other images fade away.  It is just him, here, now.  Whoever he is, he has been good to you.  Your hand is still on his shoulder and he is still clinging to it. 

“Chan,” you whisper.  You’re not sure if he hears it, but his breath catches when you nudge him upright.  You are certain he can’t see very well through his tears, but he looks up anyway. 

When you climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, he does not hesitate to throw his arms around you.  His hands find your back and he presses you so close, it feels like he is trying to push you right into his heart.  He puts his face in your neck where he fights to steady his breathing. 

You touch the nape of his neck.  You shiver at his long exhale. 

You feel miserable and choked for a myriad of reasons.  For him, everything he as endured and lost.  For you, who doesn’t even know what she lost at all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.  His breathing is less laboured, though his voice sounds sore.  He exhales again, some tension leaving his shoulders where you rest your hands. 

You squeeze those shoulders and lean back to look at him.  His expression is more than a little abashed, gaze uncertain.  You are not good at smiling but you try, even though you think your brows are furrowed and his sorrow is reflecting back through your eyes. 

“Thought we agreed to stop apologizing,” you say. 

His laugh is as weak as your smile, but certainly there.   You touch his face with your scarred palm, feel the curve of his jaw where that wound runs sharpest.    You think you can only touch him because of that scar.  You used to balk at the sight of someone else’s tears, even deride them.  You don’t remember being a lover.  You didn’t even realize you had a friend until it was too late.

You might not know who you are, and you might not know how to describe how you feel, but you certainly understand it feels different, and you certainly know what kind of person you do not want to be anymore. 

So you do not rip your hand away.  You curl a tuft of hair behind his ear. 

“I just—”  You trip over your own words, wishing you were a better speaker, more personable and warm than your stiff recitation.  “I can’t be that person,” you say.  “I don’t know what person I will be, but I’m not – I can’t—”

“I know,” he says, sincere.  He is holding your waist and he gives it a small squeeze, a reassuring touch that moves through you with a burst of warmth.  It simmers in your bloodstream when he smiles – his eyes still sorrowful despite the dimple in his cheek.   “I don’t wish you were someone else,” he says.  With a wince, he says, “I wish I was.” 

Your stomach twists in an awful knot.  You think of all that blood on his hands.  Despite his efforts to keep it away from you, you feel it on yourself.  You have to close your eyes to push away the flood of images, unsure which are imaginative fabrications and which are potential memories.  You just know he looks too young to have that kind of red on him. 

You open your eyes and look at him.  His eyes are open but his gaze is faraway, lost in thought.  You touch a tendril of curly hair, feel it under your fingers like you have the past couple nights.  He looks at you with eyes that have already shared multiple conversations. 

“I wish you hadn’t suffered,” you say.  “I don’t think anyone should suffer that way.  I don’t think the ends justify the means anymore.  But also I—” 

Even while your heart is changing inside, getting those words outside is a different struggle entirely. 

Chan looks at you with that tilt to his head, that questioning brow, his eyes a lot softer with his curiosity.  Your breath is jagged, a messy gasp as you gather yourself.  You look away, wholly incapable of maintaining eye contact.

“I got in the car with the First Guard,” you say.   “Not with some other version of you.  This soldier.  This Chan.”   You look down at your hands, absent-minded in the way you move them, from his shoulders down to his chest.  “This is the man I trusted,” you say.  “The one I still do.”

Your eyes lift.  They meet his.  His expression is a mix of confusion and amazement. 

His lips part with a question, but it gets caught.  He stares a little longer, then he asks, “Why?”

An unexpected laugh bubbles and bursts right out of you. 

“I have no idea,” you say, giving in to that bubbly feeling, letting it fill your chest and lift you up like a safety raft.  “I don’t know anything at all.” 

You realize there is something freeing in that thought.  No, you don’t know who you are.  No, you don’t know what is going to happen past right now.  You have to save your friend.  You have to end your father’s business.  Everything else, the becoming of you and the world and your place in it, is unanswerable.  You can’t find blueprints or scour maps or form battle strategies.  You don’t know where the water leads.  You just have to swim. 

“Maybe it doesn’t even matter,” you say with a shrug.  “I don’t know.  Nothing about yesterday, nothing tomorrow—”

“Just right now,” he says.

His voice is a little lower.  Just right now.  That was the pact you made the other night. 

Your whole body comes alight, waking from the ice cold state it has been frozen in.  It warms under his palms on your hips and where his dark eyes roam. 

“Just right now,” you repeat as softly.  You look at your hands again, realize more consciously how intimately they rest on his chest.  Rather than retract, you swipe your thumb across the exposed strip of skin where his flannel is buttoned askew.   “Maybe that’s all I need to know.” 

This right now feels different than before.  You don’t blame his emotional reaction to your earlier intimacy if it was an affect of all his memories, all he had lost, and all he was.  You think your straightforward trust in him – not in spite of his identity, but because of it – has shifted things again.  Your hands on his chest and your words in the open seem to have changed the shape of this whole room. 

“I’m the First Guard,” he says.  His eyes drop to your mouth then back up.  “You’re Miroh’s daughter.” 

“Yes, you are,” you say.  “And no, I’m not.”  You see the shiver that moves through him when you run your hands up his chest and curl your hand around the back of his neck.   You feel his thighs get tense under yours, his whole body reacting.  “Say my name,” you say.

When he does, it is not like a weapon or alarm, but spoken in a way that makes you feel like you have never heard your name spoken properly before that moment. 

You kiss him first and this time it lands deliberately, catching him mid-breath and stealing the rest of it.  When you start to lean away, to see if it’s all right, he puts his hand on the back of your head, curls his fingers in your hair, and draws you right into him, stealing back that breath with a desperate kiss. 

In a way, this is familiar to you.  You always liked and used sex as a grounding exercise.  You feel present in your body, regardless of how floaty and detached you felt before.  From the tingling top of your head to the curling of your toes, you feel every inch of yourself, alive and hot. 

But it feels different too.  You were always eager to chase the high, to reach the final destination with little care for the journey.  You realize, maybe, it is about the becoming, itself.

“Chan,” you say, squeezing his hips between your legs when he runs his hands under your shirt.  You climbed into bed still wearing your pants and shirt, wishing differently now as you rock your body against his. 

You buck a little eagerly, sensations going to your head quicker than intoxication.  Chan brings you back down, shushing you gently, guiding your open mouth back to his.  He kisses you slowly, touches you like he is memorizing every contour.   You make a sweet sound into his mouth, cupping his face as you kiss him back. 

“Can we—” you start.

“Yes,” he says.  “Yes, yes.” 

You stand on shaky legs and strip your bottom layers away.  The few seconds apart are dizzying, the whole world around him fuzzy as that neon yellow light leaking into the room.   Because he is staring at you, looking dazed and dishevelled, it takes him longer to unbutton his jeans than it did for you to remove your pants altogether.  You climb back onto his lap and do not help at all, distracting him with another kiss. 

A kiss always felt like a waste of time, but you think you could content yourself with just kissing him forever.   Slow or fast, gentle or needy.  

You are kissing when he gets inside you, gripping your bare thighs with a possessive hold that will feel tender tomorrow.   You luxuriate in the pleasure and the pain, your body yours, shared with him, reciprocated in turn.  

Whatever else existed – or could exist – ceases to matter for a time.  You come together and come apart in each other’s arms, chests pressed together, hearts racing against each other.  You tug his hair and pull his face into your neck, moaning under the press of his teeth and the heat of his lips. 

“Mm, fuck,” he groans into your skin, clutching your hips even tighter, rocking up into you while you roll down against him.  His gentle curse has you whimpering, his mouth on your throat making you shake.  “Mm, get all tight when I bite you, you know,” he murmurs, and leaves no time for argument or embarrassment because he nips at your neck again.  You do exactly what he said, clenching around him with an involuntary shudder. 

“Fuck,” is all you say.  He breathes a laugh against your skin. 

You clutch his shoulders when he gathers you and stands, moving the couple small steps towards the bed where he lays you out.  You are apart for only seconds, but you feel so cold and empty that it is almost terrifying.  When he shucks his jeans and gets back on top of you, you unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers, body in convulsions from the angle he is fucking you.   

You have never been fully alive in your body until right now. 

You come while he fucks you and you come again, when he puts his hands on you, like he really does need to feel every inch of you with his searching fingers.  When he keeps touching you, you are so stimulated you slap his chest, making him smile at your loss of words. 

 You lay in a tangled heap, your legs twined together.  Your shirt is gone and his is unbuttoned, your cheek on his chest as he lays on his back.  You let yourself be a little lulled by the cadence of his breathing.

Your eyes eventually wander.  You realize the sun has joined that neon light, the fuzzy halo around the window now a clearer glow.  The day is beckoning.  It brings you back to reality, to the world outside this re-shaped room. 

“I know I need to face it eventually,” you say.  “I don’t know what will happen. But right now – I can’t be distracted from the mission.  I need to rescue Changbin.  I need to stop my father.”

Miroh is dead but everything he did haunts you, like a ghost around every corner.  You can’t afford to confront the other ghosts, including your own. 

“Whatever happens after right now,” you say.  “I guess I’ll see.” 

“I understand,” Chan says.  He is caressing your spine, fingertips stroking up and down the slope of your back.   He scratches a little at the nape of your neck, making you hum in contentment.  “Really,” he says.  “I know things got crazy earlier but… I think right now… I can do right now.”

You look up at him.  He smiles down at you, dimples digging into his cheeks.  You have to look away, because you just promised yourself no distractions, but that smile causes a flush of warmth that goes beyond the physical. 

“Well,” you say with a sigh, patting his chest.  “Maybe by then you and me will be friends for real.” 

You feel his body stiffen, shoulders dropping, the hand on your nape freezing.   You look up to see his face, a questioning brow quirked.  He is returning the expression, though his countenance is a little more drole. 

“What?” you say. 

He answers with a firmer grip on the back of your neck.  He rolls you over, onto your back, keeping your head lifted in his hand.  The length of his open flannel drapes over your warm skin, a soft tickle as he leans down and kisses you.  It starts gentle but doesn’t last, his tongue parting your lips and the hot, needy press of his mouth pinning you to the bed and his arms.   You kiss back but hardly keep up, dizzy with breathlessness as he licks into your mouth, as he chases down the breath of you, as he keeps your lips on his for as long as he possibly can. 

Then he leans to one side.  His breath tickles your neck before he kisses just below your ear.  He whispers, “I don’t want to be friends.” 

He looks at you with a far too innocent dimpled smile.  You think Chan might be a bigger threat to your well-being than the First Guard. 

“Okay,” you say, breathless.  “Noted.” 

-

You open the blinds.  Once the room is full of sunlight, you revert to soldiership and work on your next strategy. 

There is no doubt the Miroh corporation is floundering in a state of panic.   They are not only dealing with the loss of its boss and heir, but also destabilizing insider attacks on various sectors while vulnerable.  On top of everything else, stocks have plummeted and investors are running for their lives and their wallets. 

You and Chan have watched the company as well as the social reaction.  With different leaks and financial fallouts, especially given Miroh’s connections to governmental and military divisions, it is no surprise that different stories have been cycling through the news.  You have kept an ear on the radio and an eye on tv stations. 

As you scour blueprints and map your next manoeuvre, you have the news playing at a low volume in the background.  They are currently reporting the combustion of a Miroh facility.  Their research and sources have led them to deduce it is an inside job.  

That much is fairly obvious as no one else could do what you and Chan are doing, though you are not suspects.  The media believes you are dead, that both you and your father were assassinated at the same time.  You are not sure if the company honestly believes you died, that the First Guard killed you then disappeared without Miroh to corral him, or if they reported that so they could kill you without a fuss in the future. 

There are no reports on Chan, of course.  No one outside of Miroh’s world even knows he exists. 

The major suspects are disgruntled investors and former employers, so far mostly scientists and research assistants given the targeted facilities.  With some of the government leaks, there are also theories that some deals with legislators went sour and resulted in a target being painted over the name Miroh. 

This seems to the angle the current report is taking.  At first, you are only half-listening, as the news reporter does not mention anything you have not heard before. 

Then you catch the latter half of a sentence you are not expecting.

“—of greater potential concern as this latest attack was on a military base.”

Both you and Chan whip your heads up at the same time. 

You have not attacked any military bases. 

“Turn that up,” you say.

Chan is already on his feet and moving towards the bed where the remote was discarded.  He turns up the volume on the television and you both watch the report. 

It is not impossible that a domino effect could ripple from one facility to the next.  The more attacks you make – targeting all the little chinks in Miroh’s armour – the more likely it is that certain institutions will collapse entirely on their own.  Either people will chase the money, like a lot of former investors, or they will abandon course altogether.  Eventually, Miroh’s world will eat itself alive, with or without your help. 

But you have so far only targeted a couple smaller research facilities.  Yes, there have already been consequences, but not enough that a totally unrelated military base on the other side of the country would spontaneously combust. 

You stare at the screen.  That base is big.  It isn’t going down without a fight.  No one outside of the house of Miroh would have dared target it.  No one else would have known how. 

“Changbin,” you say. 

Chan puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.  You look at him then at the television, at the story unfolding rapidly in front of you. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” you ask.  “It has to be.”

There might be just enough chaos in the ranks that if a solder of Changbin’s calibre was being held, something might fall wayside and he would have an opportunity to escape.  

You are just not sure he would try.   Changbin has obviously undergone changes of his own, all seeming to stem from that final confrontation with Lee Felix before the enemy went down and took his world with him.   Changbin clearly decided once and for all what was really important to him.  Changbin has always played the game carefully, but in the last few months he repeatedly put himself between you and your father.   He intercepted multiple interactions with Miroh’s men, altercations you dismissed as nuisances at the time but shudder to realize the weight now. 

Changbin threw himself in the middle, again and again, painting a bigger and bigger target on his back.  He seemed resigned to his demise.  For that reason, you are not sure how much he would fight even if given the opportunity.  He seemed whole-heartedly certain he would be left behind, no matter what happened. 

You curl your hand into a fist, digging your nails into your scar.  There was so much you should have told him.  If he knew that you were willing to fight this hard.  If he knew you would find out the truth.  If, if, if—

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Chan says. 

You look at him just as he kneels down beside your chair.  He takes your hand, the one with the scar, and unfolds it carefully. 

“Kicking yourself won’t save him, yeah?”  Chan says. 

“Yeah,” you say with a huff. 

The report continues.  It details this attack as being an inside job as well.  Supposedly, according to rumours breaching the walls, multiple people have gone missing, but their identities have not been given to the press.  Hearing that, you become marginally more hopeful that Changbin is among them.  The company would not report their supposed missing persons because they are most likely prisoners being held in less-than-legal circumstances.  Changbin would be that type of prisoner.  

The fight is ongoing.  He could still be there. 

“It’s a lead, at least,” Chan says, echoing your thoughts. 

“Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place this whole time,” you say.  You have been targeting the science sector when maybe your father kept it all in the military house after all.  Maybe after the initial pass through that research facility, he was moved onto a more secure base, given his background as a former child soldier of the special-ops program. 

Well, if that is the case, their extra security did not work.  Of course it didn’t work.  It’s Seo Changbin.   You could laugh at their idiocy. 

“We need to find out either way,” you say. 

You manage your expectations for now, but as you sit at the table and change course to plan an entirely new strategy, it is with a hope as clear and bright as the sunlight.

-

It is a lot of driving to the military base.  You will get there at nightfall the next day if you stop only sparsely. 

You and Chan are swift in packing and climbing back into that car.  You take turns sleeping and driving, though the last leg of the journey is spent on edge.  You are braced and ready for a fight, all that determination exacerbated by the very real possibility that you are about to see Changbin again. 

What will you say to him?  What will he say to you?  You wonder how much he knew about the reconfiguration.  Clearly, he knew something, if not the specifics, as he went to great lengths to keep you away from your father. 

You thought Changbin had saved you on an emotional level, but you realize now how it crossed into every sphere of life.    

You close your eyes while Chan drives.  You see Changbin on that rooftop, saying he will not leave you behind.  It was the first hit that shattered the glass around you.  Miroh had so carefully built that clear coffin around your consciousness, and Changbin smashed right through with the sheer brute force of his friendship. 

You glance at Chan.  Miroh did everything in his power to make sure you forgot about him.  Bang Christopher Chan, the First Guard.  Someone you loved and who loved you.  Your father would have focussed on that.  He would not have seen anything. 

Why would he care about a friendship?  What does that word even mean to a man like him?  He would have looked right past Changbin.  He spent all that time wiping Chan from your mind, that he never thought to look for anything else. 

Your body gets cold as you remember – something.  You close your eyes.  You are standing in front of Changbin.  He’s young, in his late teens, about the age you would have been when they reconfigured you.  He is looking at you with uncertainty.  You feel an uneasiness looking back at him. 

Don’t you know me? he asks.  He pulls a face, makes some dumb noises, waves his hands.  Then he frowns.  Changbin can be funny, but he turns it off in a second, as deadly as the rest of them.   So much anger floods his eyes, they look black with the focussed intensity of his fury.  You know me, he says.  Think.  Remember me. 

You see a slant of moonlight, a windowpane, a streak of blood.  Remember me. 

You feel a weight as it is lifted off your chest.  You hear him shouting your name.  You hear him running. 

You know me, he says. 

You flinch – in your memory? – right now? – and a piercing wail floods your mind.  You don’t want to go towards that scream.  You can’t go there. 

It’s me, he says.  Hold on.  Keep your eyes open.  Don’t go.  I promise I’ll get you out.

“Changbin,” you say. 

“Hey, hey, baby, hey—”  That is Chan.  He is shaking your arm.

Your eyes pop open. 

You have never had flashes of recollection while awake.  It feels like a bigger adrenaline rush than waking from a nightmare, very little to divide your mind from reality. 

You take a few steadying breaths while Chan rubs your shoulder.  He was driving but the car is now stopped on the side of the road.  You did not even feel him braking. 

“What happened?” he asks when you are settled enough to speak.

“I don’t know,” you say.  “I just—I was thinking.  Remembering.  Not like that.  It’s complicated.  I just—”

You close your eyes.  A teenage Changbin is still standing there, looking at you warily. 

You know me. 

I know you.

“Changbin,” you say, choked up.  You blink your eyes open and take another breath.  “I’ll be okay,” you say.  “We can’t stop for long.  Let’s get back on the road.”

Chan does not look convinced, frowning as he stares into your face.  You blink at him, then narrow your eyes into a squint.

“Did you call me baby?” you ask. 

He clears his throat and turns back to the steering wheel.  Looking out over the dashboard, definitely not at you, and with the tips of his ears more than a little red, he says, “You’re right.  Let’s get back on the road.”

In spite of everything, you find yourself smiling. 

-

It is only natural that you are waylaid at the very last minute, right on the cusp of sunset as you approach the vicinity of the military base.  Not only is your path to finally rescuing Changbin obstructed, but it is halted by the most asinine, mundane nonsense in the world. 

Soldiers, agents, entire convoluted military operations – those you can easily take.  Minimum wage workers, on the other hand, are impossible combatants.  More grizzled than the worst of ancient servicemen, they blink at your pleading with a harsher chill than a mob boss.   You are certain this gas station attendant has seen some shit because he is not remotely inclined to assuage anyone’s anxiety. 

“The till is down,” he says with an icy tone, face pinched unpleasantly.  “It’ll be back up in a minute.” 

He goes back to talking to his manager on the phone, smacking his computer till at random intervals.  It does not exactly inspire confidence. 

While you and Chan have been getting by with theft and subterfuge, you do everything in your power to not draw attention.  That means you pay for gas as many stations have security cameras that log and report drive-offs and defaults. 

That means you are stuck in this line with several other customers while the hapless cashier whacks his computer.

The little bell above the door rings as Chan steps inside the shop. 

“What’s taking so long?” he asks. 

“I want to hit him,” you say, pointing to the disinterested cashier.  “He’s never gonna get that thing fixed.  We have somewhere to be, we can’t just stand here all day—” 

“Ah, ah, ah, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Chan says soothingly.  He interrupts your rant as you were raising your voice.   Not that it matters because the incompetent cashier is not paying any attention. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Chan says.  “You just have to know how to talk to people, yeah?” 

The cashier paid you absolutely no mind when you tried to complain.  He gave you a nasty look and ordered you to get to the back of the line.  Chan, on the other, receives a quick onceover and a blink of seeming approval. 

Chan leans on the counter and smiles a devastatingly charming smile, those dimples blinding.  The cashier puts the phone on his shoulder and looks at him expectantly.    

“Hey there,” Chan says. 

“Hello,” the cashier replies, coolly but not as rudely.  “The till is broken, sir.  We’re going to have to wait for a repair.”

“You know, I’m pretty good with my hands,” Chan says.  “I bet if you let me under there, I could figure something out.” 

The cashier blinks at him.  One blink, two blinks, three.  Then he hangs up the phone and opens the gate to let Chan behind the counter. 

You cross your arms and roll your eyes. 

Chan, perhaps unsurprisingly given his necessary breadth of skills, helps the useless cashier get his dumb register running again.  You all but throw the money at his stupid pretty head before marching away. 

“Thanks, Wolfgang,” the cashier says, using the made-up name Chan gave him.

“No problem.”  Chan winks back at him.   “Have a good day, uh—”  He squints at the name tag, gives it only a sparing glance as he steps out the door.  “Hyunjin,” he says.

The door swings closed and you continue on your way. 

-

Fortunately, you have no more preposterous interludes.   You approach the base differently than the facilities, especially because you have not been able to do a proper sweep.  However, that should be fine given the entire operation here has already been massively destabilized.  All the main assets have moved along, either because of imminent danger or because the media now has its eyes on its actions. 

Either way, you get inside without much fuss.  You stick together for longer, not trusting the dark corridors and labyrinthine tunnels. 

It is a lot emptier than anticipated.  The fight seems to have ended some time in the last couple hours.  There is an eerie, unsettled feeling, like a house abandoned in the middle of a meal.  Unlike the dusty underground hovels at the research facility, this place is still breathing.   You are not sure what it will cough up. 

“Still think he’s here?”  Chan asks, likely coming to the same conclusion as you: that even if Changbin was here, he has probably moved on.  He has either escaped and gone of his own volition or he was caught and reprimanded and has been relocated. 

“Maybe,” you say with a sigh.  “Maybe not.  But it’s still a lead.  Treat it like one.” 

You finally split up to cover more ground, agreeing to reconvene at the central warehouse in half-an-hour. 

Maybe Changbin is no longer in these walls – maybe he was never here at all – but there might still be answers.  You suspect there are questions too, because you cannot imagine who outside of the special-ops program would have both the calibre of skill and necessary intel to pull of an operation like this.  Someone reached right into the heart of this base and yanked at its ventricles like it was nothing.  And if not to escape, then why?

It has to be Changbin, you tell yourself, even while a sense of wrongness creeps under your skin.  It is the same odd, unsettled feeling you get when you think about the night the enemy died – specifically when you think about that security system somehow being wiped after the house burned down with everyone inside it.  It is that strange discombobulation, where the answer is probably simple and right in front of your face, so blatant that its absence haunts and distracts you.

You are distracted with thought.  Maybe that is why you make your first mistake.

You turn a corner and crash right into someone.  You are shocked because you did not hear their approach.  Even distracted, you should have heard footsteps in an empty corridor, especially in heavy combat boots.  You are quiet but you have unique bodily control that even well-trained soldiers cannot replicate.  No one else can walk that quietly.

It is clear the same startled reaction ripples through their body. 

You draw guns at the same time, firing with equal speed and precision.  You also both duck at the same time.  Smooth as a dance, you whirl around each other, firing and re-loading until they do a spin-kick and knock the gun aside.  

As you fight with your hands, you only catch glimpses of your opponent.  They are dressed all in black but not in Miroh’s uniform, a balaclava pulled over their face and head.  They are very slender, but they land a hit like someone twice their size. 

Your second mistake is your own fault.  You underestimate them based on their build and it earns you a good right cross. In the ensuing dizziness, they make a break down the corridor at an alarming speed.  It leaves you reeling more than the hit. 

“What the fuck,” you say, staggering after them. 

This person does not work for Miroh, that much is obvious.  It also definitely isn’t Changbin.  This person has the completely wrong build, opposite of Changbin in almost every way.   No, it isn’t your friend, but it might very well be another prisoner.  They might have an idea of what happened.  They might know if Changbin was here and where he went. 

The thought propels you into a determined sprint.  You cannot follow sound as the person is good enough to keep their footsteps low, but you are just as skilled so they likewise do not see you coming. 

They coincidentally head straight for the central warehouse.   The warehouse previously functioned as a pseudo-armory, but it has already been completely cleared.  It is two levels, the top floor a balcony walkway overlooking the main warehouse floor. 

The warehouse is empty except for the intruder. The person seems to be deliberating.   They remove their head covering for a second, long enough to catch their breath.  You see a flash of black hair and a hint of a masculine profile before you are spotted.   The man tugs the fabric back over his head. 

He leaps right off the balcony. 

It is too high for a normal person to jump without breaking a leg.  Naturally, you run to the railing to look over.

Your adversary is a step ahead of you.   He is dangling there, waiting for you to approach so he can swing back over and knock you down.  You skid across the balcony level, the metal walkway rattling under your weight. 

You don’t stay down for long.  Another fight begins, a back and forth tussle that makes you think you need more training.  The past day has been more than a little hectic, but you should be able to take down even a well-trained soldier. 

He does another spin-kick, a solid roundhouse that knocks your mask right off.   You stumble sideways while the mask clatters across the balcony before spilling right over the ledge.  It is a long descent before it smacks the ground. 

You ground your footing, assuming a defensive stance with a swift upward swing.

“Who are you?” you ask.

At the exact same time, the man says, “You.” 

That prompts another question, a bigger question, why on earth this stranger would recognize you in this context.   You cannot even think about your question, however, because the man abruptly flies at you with twice the verve as before.  Caught off guard, at first you struggle to defend yourself.   When he finally swings too wide, giving you an opening, you do not waste the opportunity. 

You tackle him, fully and bodily, arms around him as you charge the balcony.   You shove him right over the railing.  It is not so high that he’ll die, but you don’t want to kill him anyway.  You need to ask him questions – like did he do all this and how and why?  Are there others?  Is Changbin among them? 

You grasp the railing.  You are prepared to swing and jump over but you stop short at what you find.  The man, who should be nursing a fractured leg right about now, is instead getting to his feet.  He looks a bit dizzy, shaking his head and rubbing his temple, but he is otherwise unscathed. 

You just stand there for a second, gawping at him like an animal. 

That shielded face finally lifts, eyes finding yours across the space.   His head cocks, seemingly a dry and irritated, Really?

You launch yourself off the balcony, landing heavily but safely.  You absorb the shock and straighten, not taking your eyes off this man for a second. 

“I’m not interested in hurting you,” you say. 

He scoffs, pointedly looking down at your uniform. 

“I don’t work for Miroh anymore,” you say.  “I’m just trying to blend in.” 

“You?” he says.  It is so far the only thing he is willing to say.  His voice has a darker, deeper tone, scratching at the back of your head, but his monosyllabic replies do nothing to help place him. 

You want to say more but he doesn’t let you, jumping back into action.  You huff in aggravation, wanting to shout, we’re on the same side!   But he is fast.  You expend your energy just keeping him at bay.

Your stamina is fairly well-matched, just like everything else.  You move around the warehouse, kicking and punching and flipping around each other, losing track of minutes. 

A sheen of sweat breaks under your uniform.  He is slowing down too.  There is just one difference: he still has his gun. 

He gets you behind the knee and puts you on your back.  Before you can retaliate, he draws his gun and points it at your face. 

You freeze, staring down the barrel.  You slowly lift your eyes to him, just in case any sudden movement convinces him to fire.  So far, he is holding, though you are not sure why.  If he truly wanted to avoid detection, it would have been in his best interest to kill you and move on. 

He hesitates.  His hand is steady but his eyes are darting around inside the masked fabric. 

Your eyes continue to wander up, up.  Your heart leaps when you see Chan approaching on the balcony, silent and serious, gun in hand.  He has a longer-range weapon, not a little pistol like you and the adversary.   He takes aim from his perch but you shake your head.

You know Chan can make the shot, that he could get the man through the head and not so much as graze you under him.  But if this man dies, his answers go with him. 

“No!” you shout at the same time the gun goes off. 

You wrap your legs around the man’s midsection and yank him to the side.  You roll, one over the other until you are pinned once more.  You are both unharmed.  With the head covering, it is hard to tell if he is frazzled.  He certainly whips his head around quickly, trying to see where he dropped his gun. 

You spot it at the same time.  You glance at each other then bolt, stumbling over one another as you charge the discarded pistol. 

Chan jumps down off the balcony.  He takes more of a running leap, jumping forward rather than just down.  It gives him far more momentum so he hits the ground and tucks into a roll, riding the wave of that momentum until he is in the middle of the room. 

Chan reaches the gun first.  He kicks it out of the way and comes at the adversary with his bare hands.  He may not understand why you wanted to save an enemy who had you pinned under a gun, but Chan must trust there is a reason because he fights to incapacitate rather than kill. 

It is a good fight, but the man is already tired from fighting you. 

And you are good, but Chan is better.  If he could not beat you, only tie, then he cannot beat Chan. 

Sure enough, it takes a few more moves before the man is on his back.  Chan, still wearing his half-mask, straddles the man’s chest, pinning his arms at his sides and his body to the floor.  He draws a knife out of a thigh holster for good measure.   

“Got him,” Chan says.  “Who is this guy?”

“I have no idea,” you say, jogging over to them.  “That’s what I want to find out.”

“Let me go,” the man says, wriggling uselessly under Chan’s weight.   “I have nothing to say to her.”

“I told you already, I’m on your side,” you say.  “Or at least I’m not on Miroh’s side.”

“Whose side are you on?”  Chan asks with a jerk of his head. 

“Mine,” the man answers.  “Now let me go.  I have a job.”

“We have a job,” you say.  “We’re the ones who have been taking out the facilities so far.”

That gets the man to stop squirming.  He looks at you through the narrow eye slits in his balaclava, eyes darting to where you stand behind Chan. 

“You?” the man asks, seemingly his favourite word. 

“Yes, me,” you snap.  “And who are you exactly?” 

“One way to find out,” Chan says.  He does not wait for any further acknowledgement, ripping the man’s mask right off his head.  It is not a cruel or violent action, more a casual shrug of his arm than anything.  You are not expecting to find anything more than the scowling face of a stranger.   

You and Chan freeze.   

Staring back at you, with his hair returned to its natural pitch, his dark eyes narrowed in an intense glare, and a face full of unmistakable freckles, is a former agent of Miroh’s special-ops program.  One of the last and a traitor, not to mention supposedly dead. 

“You,” is what you say.

You do not know what else to say to Lee Felix. 

[shinidamachu]

inuyasha, kagome and jealousy: why their feelings were justified

disclaimer: I'm aware there's a debate about whether or not inukag was officially, canonically dating during the series and that the answers tend to change according to the source material embasing them (manga or anime), but despite using manga panels to write this, I did it purely out of practicality and have no intentions of opening this particular can of worms right now. The point I'll be trying to make for @inukag-week's bickering prompt is that their feelings were valid regardless.

Inuyasha and Kagome get criticized a lot for the jealousy they feel of each other.

People seem to think that Kagome is not entitled to that sentiment because she chose to stay by his side knowing what it entailed and, more often than not, was the one telling him to go see Kikyo, so it's not fair of her to resent him when he actually does.

On the other hand, they claim that precisely because Inuyasha goes to see Kikyo, it's hypocritical of him to get mad at the fact that Koga is constantly showing just how much romantically invested he is on Kagome, as he has no ground to stand on.

Their feelings, however, are completely justified and no other scene proves that better than this manga interaction Sunrise mercilessly cut out:

Inuyasha is once again jealous of Kagome and Koga's proximity and he lets his frustrations out in no uncertain terms, but then Kagome makes a good point: what righ has he to be upset about it when he is also close to Kikyo? It's exactly why he gets flak in the first place. And his answer to that question is very interesting:

She may think Inuyasha is diverting, but he's really not. That's the briliance of this exchange: they are both right and they are both wrong on their assumptions.

Of course that, from Kagome's perspective, Koga putting his arms around her is not that big of a deal. They have no history whatsoever and she made it clear since day one that she wasn't interested. If he still wants to shoot his shot, it's all she can do to lay a friend and ally down gently.

Plus, it doesn't hurt that Koga's interest on her is such an ego boost...

Or that it turns the tables on Inuyasha to make him feel insecure and worried for a change.

Or that, in a twisted way, it actually reassures her of the feelings he tries so hard to be nonchalant about.

It might be a little petty of her, but how any of that even compares to Inuyasha kissing Kikyo? To Inuyasha meeting her alone even though she did terrible things to the two of them? To everyone constantly talking about how he still has feelings for her?

Surely he must know, after everything they've been through, that it can't compare, that he is the one Kagome is in love with. And since he does know, how dare he ever doubt her?

And of course that, from Inuyasha's point of view, Koga putting his arms around her is a huge deal. She complains about how every time he sees Kikyo they "float off into their own little world" but the truth is that except for the kiss she laid on him and the goodbye one they shared when she passed away for good — none of which had romantic conotations —, his interactions with Kikyo were pretty sterile, especially if juxtaposed with Kagome's interactions with Koga.

Kikyo is dead and isn't romantically interested in Inuyasha, nor is he romantically interested in her, but Koga certainly is into Kagome. Just because it isn't reciprocal yet, doesn't mean it hasn't potential to be.

Koga is the one regularly inserting himself into her personal space and she lets him, even though he did terrible things to the two of them. And so how can he be sure she doesn't like it? And how exactly is that different from the dynamic they share? Was she, after all, just being nice with him too and nothing more?

Surely she must know, after everything they've been through, that he only leaves because he has a duty to fulfil, but that he will always come back to her, that she is the one whose shoulders he puts his arm around. And since she does know, how dare she ever doubt him?

It's a classic case of miscommunication, but one that actually makes total sense, because they're just two teenagers navigating through extremely complex feelings in the worst possible circumstances.

They don't have the bigger picture the audience has and even if they did, their judgement would still be clouded by their jealousy, which keeps they stuck into their own perspectives.

And what makes even hard for them to get over these feelings is that they don't come from a place of ownership at all, but rather from a place of insecurity.

That's why Koga and Kikyo make up for such formidable rivals for Inuyasha and Kagome: it's not about the competition — the audience knows there isn't really one —, it's about the insecurities they bring out of the pairing, because they were carefully designed to do just that.

From the very beginning Kagome was being compared to Kikyo for being her reincarnation. She starts the story already having to measure up to her in power and once Kikyo actually enters the scene, Kagome is also taken aback by her beauty and elegance, but more than that: she feels like she can't compete because Kikyo "died for Inuyasha." One day he might return the favor.

For his part, Inuyasha has Koga to deal with. A good looking, uncomplicated man who has taken a like to Kagome and has absolutely nothing holding him back from pursuing her, while he has nothing to offer but a difficult past, an unstable present and an uncertain future. One day she could grow tired of it all and realize that Koga could give her everything he couldn't and leave for good.

In conclusion, all that jealousy is rooted in insecurities and in the fear of losing each other, which are completely understandable and absolutely valid .

The differece, I think, is that the narrative lets Inuyasha express his feelings of jealousy directly towards Koga, from insults to actual physical fights, without grand repercutions, while Kagome is never allowed allowed a similar outlet

But that's a topic for another day.

Special thanks to @kitramune for helping me with the panels.

[despacito-uwu16]

The Falling Action

Kenji Sato x Journalist! Reader

Enemies To Lovers | Foced Proximity | Pining

A/N: Thus chapter is a tad angsty. Also, the plot line from the film slightly changed, so in this case his dad doesn’t make an appearance in this series”.

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That night, you were talking false prophets and profits they make in the margins of poetry sonnets. You never read up on it, shame could've learned something.

Us by Gracie Abrams ft Taylor Swift

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

You were at the library studying for your journalism exam next week. With the editor finally taking you seriously and letting you cover more games, and finals coming up, you were stressed out.

While reviewing your notes, you felt the table slightly shake, along with the sound of something slammed onto the table. You look up to see an angry Kenji Sato looking down at you. You took your headphones off and looked at him up and down.

“Can I help you”? You deadpanned.

“What the fuck is this”? He point at the paper that he slammed on the table.

“Kenji Sato, the next irrelevance in baseball”

“My truth”?

“It’s just one game Y/N, ONE. FUCKING. GAME”! He slams his fist on the table, unfazing you.

“So? I report what I see”.

“Do you realize what this does to my career? My status on the team is on the line, my reputation, is about to be in shambles. Nobody is gonna sign me because of you”! Kenji raised his voice to the point where he was grabbing the attention of everyone around the two of you.

“If you don’t like what you see, you should try harder next time”. you retorted.

He lets out a laugh. “You know, I don’t even know why I came here in the first place. Considering the person who wrote this knows how to sleep her way through a sports team”.

You stood up angrily, slamming your hands onto the table.

“I work to get what I want. Between the two of us, I don’t sleep with other people just to increase a body count”.

“At least I have natural talent”

“At least I don’t talk shit about another girl to their roommate while she watches”.

Ken stood there in silence. Everyone was staring at the two of you. A couple of bystanders were whispering to each other and side eyeing you.

“Now if you excuse me, some of us are trying to survive finals week”. You sat back down and put your headphones back on, turning up the volume of your music.

Kenji growled, snatching the paper off the table and walking away. But then he turns back to you.

“I’ll show you. Just wait and see. I’ll become the greatest living player! Then we’ll see who the irrelevant one is”.

“Mhm, keep telling yourself that”.

~

Your faced turned white as a ghost as you come face to face with a baby kaiju. You wanted to run, but your feet were glued to the floor, and your knees locked itself.

“Y/N? I can explain”. You hear Kenji say.

He tried to calm you down, but you tuned him out and you still stood there in fear while the Kaiju chirps happily at you.

“W-W-Why is there a kaiju in your basement”? You whisper.

The Kaiju approaches you slowly, curious about the tiny person in front of her.

“Please don’t eat me”. You cried.

“It’s okay, she’s harmless”. He reassures you.

You slowly approach the kaiju, hesitant to touch her. She crouched down to your level, consenting for you to pat her head. You gently pat her head, making her chirp. You and Kenji smile as she clapped and jumped happily.

~

“Why did you go down to the basement when I told you not to”? He interrogated you while you sipped on your coffee.

“The more important question here is why are you keeping a kaiju in your basement”? You gestured to the baby pink lizard that’s now sleeping in the containment tube. Kenji sighs, running his hands through his hair. You slowly turn to him, the realization hitting you.

“Holy shit”.

Kenji didn’t look at you.

“HOLY SHIT”

“Theres a lot more to it than you think. But promise me you won’t tell anybody about this”. He pleaded.

You sat up straight. You took your phone out of your pocket and you shut it off right in front of him. You then put it down on the table.

“You have my word”.

He goes on to explain what’s been going on the past few months. He tells you about taking his father’s place as Ultraman, which explains the excess damage in the city. He also tells you how he rescued the baby kaiju from the KDF and how he’s been trying to raise her alone.

“So the reason why you’ve been off your game lately is because you were taking care of the baby”? You ask.

“Yeah. It’s part of being Ultraman I guess”. He shrugged.

“That explains a lot of things”. The room fell silent for a moment before Kenji spoke up.

“You’re not going to add this to your article are you”? He worries.

“Ken, I’m not that inhumane. I promise you, I won’t tell anyone”. You said.

“Thank you”. Kenji sighs in relief.

“Does she have a name”?

“No, her name is just baby”.

“You’ve been taking care of a baby kaiju for two months, and you haven’t thought about giving her a name”?

“Well, I don’t see you giving me ideas”.

You sigh, you pinched the bridge of your nose and shook your head.

“I really am trying my best. With baseball, with raising “baby”, with everything. I want people to know that I want to be the best player and the best hero, but it’s hard when you really can’t tell anyone. It just feels so”…

“Isolating”?

“Yeah, also, the KDF is on my ass and well, my dad isn’t really around, so”..

You look at him with pity. Kenji was looking down at the ground, not knowing how to handle anything anymore. You scoot next to him and take his hand.

“Y’know, you don’t have to do this alone. If you need help, then I can step in. As much as I like seeing you suffer, I don’t want you to suffer.”

Kenji’s eyes widened. “Wow, you actually do care”. He said in disbelief. You roll your eyes. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll look over her”.

“You sure, I mean she’s kind of”-

“Good night Kenji”. You say, picking up a magazine and putting your legs on the table.

Kenji stared at you in bewilderment. He feared the day that you would find out and expose him in the tabloids. But to his surprise, you were more accepting, more human. He left the basement feeling much calmer, knowing that you’re ready to show up for him.

~

For the past 3 weeks, you kept your promises and helped Kenji take care of the baby kaiju (that you both named Emi) while he juggles his baseball career and his Ultraman duties.

While he caught up on sleep, you fed Emi her late night snacks and read her bed time stories.

While he was out, you cooked him healthy meals and prepare some heating packs incase he comes home with sore muscles. Everytime Kenji comes home in the evening, he would always look forward to the food that’s on the table. Whenever you weren’t busy with your job, he would ask you to have dinner with him. During those times, you guys would have a casual conversation. No forced interviews, no bickering or throwing insults. When it came to the interviews, he started to become more vulnerable. The exchange didn’t feel forced, and he became more genuine with you. What felt like a hundred year feud came to a close, and the two of you started to become friends.

You’ve noticed a huge change in Ken. He became a leader for his team, and a better hero for the city. Whenever the two of you bond, he showed off his softer side, a side you’ve grown to love.

Ken was very grateful for you. Although he hasn’t showed it, he’s glad to have you around. It made him smile whenever he sees you and Emi bonding. There was something about you that made his heart beat skip a beat. The way you would laugh at his attempts to make an actual joke during the interview session. Or the way you would passionately talking about the games you’ve been to when you went abroad.

The two of you know that your time with Ken is short lived. But deep down, Ken doesn’t know what he would do when you leave.

~

Kenji walked into the basement to find you sitting couch typing away on your laptop while looking after a sleeping Emi. It warmed Kenji’s heart that you were so accepting of Emi and everything else that has been going on.

You look up from your laptop and smile. “I’ve finished the revisions. Wanna take a look”? You give him your laptop. Kenji takes it from you and skims it.

“Inside Ken Sato’s Space”

Kenji skims each paragraph while quickly scrolling down, stopping at the last paragraph.

“What we all thought was an arrogant athlete, turns out to be a guy with a misunderstood, soft heart. Ken Sato has grown up, not only as an athlete, but as a human being. His newfound maturity has led to the giants to win after win. His leadership and confidence has not only impacted everyone on and off the field, but also in himself. His attitude continues to impact the Giants as they head to the championship game”.

“It’s perfect”. He smiled, handing your laptop back.

You scroll to the top of the page and hovered over the post now button.

“And posted”! You said as you closed your laptop. Kenji looks at you with so much admiration.

“What, you think it’s too cheesy”? You tease. Kenji laughs.

“No, no. I just… I never got to say thank you. For helping me with Emi, and for not taking a chance on me”.

“You don’t have to thank me. Emi is the sweetest”. You say as you filed your documents into a folder.

“Anyways, I was just thinking, I should take you out for dinner. As a thank you for tolerating for the past 2 months”.

“As much as I love being treated to a 5 star michelin restaurant, I think I know a better way to celebrate”.

~

You flipped the grilled cheese on the pan and turned off the stove. But before you could put it on the plate, Kenji takes it from the pan and takes a bite.

“Ah hot”! He yelps. You laughed at him as he throws the grilled cheese onto the porcelain plate.

“You really don’t learn from your mistakes”. You laugh.

“Hey, I’m just hungry”. He pouts.

You notice the crumbs at the corner of Kenji’s mouth and gently brushes it off. Kenji leans into your touch as he stares into your (e/c) eyes. Your breath hitched as his face inches closer to you. Your heart beats faster, waiting for him to make a move. But before you both could do anything, his watch started beeping. He looks down to see live camera footage of Emi, now awake from her nap.

“I should go check on her”. He says.

“I’ll wash the dishes”. You said, starting to grab the pan and knife from the stove.

~

You were putting the clean dishes onto the dish rack when you hear your phone ringing in the living room. You walked up to grab it, and when you turned it over, the adrenaline rushes through your body when you realize your boss was calling.

“Hi Daryl”. You immediately answer

“Y/N, have you checked your article? Your boss asks.

“Why, is there something wrong with it”? You ask.

“Just look at it”. Daryl demanded.

You looked at the website where your article was published, and your eyes widened.

900 K likes; 750 comments

“It hasn’t been 24 hours”.

“Well, believe it. Cause you did that Y/N. The company has been getting a lot of new subscribers for the sports page. Which leads me to another thing, my supervisor loves your work so much, that they want you to work a 2 year residency at the Norwegian office.

“Wait, Norway”?

“Yes, Y/N. Consider it a promotion. You definitely deserve it”. Daryl says.

You almost jumped for joy. It’s always been your dream to work in Norway. That’s where all of the best soccer and volleyball teams are. You managed to contain yourself before you freak out the whole house.

“You’re expected to start next month, until then, keep up the good work”. He says.

“Thank you, I promise I won’t let you down”. You say before Daryl hangs up.

You began to jump up and down and squealed with excitement. You’re finally getting the life you wanted, and there was nothing holding you back.

“Who was that”? You turn to see Kenji walking out of the elevator.

“That was my boss, Daryl”.

“Was there something wrong with the article”? Kenji asks.

“No, in fact, look how much reception it got”! You showed him the article on your phone. His eyes widened with the

“Wow, that is a lot of likes”. His eyes widened.

“I know, and it’s been only five hours”! You smiled ear to ear. “And the best part is, I’m offered a 2 year residency in Norway”!

“So you’re leaving again”?

“Well, yeah”.

Kenji’s smile faded. He was so used to having you here, but now you’re leaving again. To him, it felt like college all over again.

“Kenji”? He looks up at you.

“Are you okay”?

Kenji gives you a small smile. He puts his hand on your shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Y/N”.

You smiled back at him. “Thank you, Kenji”.

What you thought was a happy moment turned cold and distant during your final week with Kenji.

He would go out at night, and wouldn’t come back until early morning, blaming it on “ultraman duty”.

Whenever you tried to talk to him, he would either give you a short response or just not respond at all. And every time you walk in a room, Kenji would just leave.

One day, you were at the dining table, finalizing paperwork for Milan while eating some maple & brown sugar oatmeal. Kenji walked in the kitchen, not realizing you were there.

“Kenji”?

He didn’t look at you as he walked up to the fridge.

“I made some oatmeal. Do you want some”?

He grabbed his energy drink from the fridge and walked out of the kitchen. You got up and walked after him. You caught up with him, and blocked his path.

“Okay, what is going on with you? You’ve been straight up ignoring me for the last few days. What’s going on with you”?

“Nothing, Y/N”. Kenji begins to walk away. But you push him back.

“Kenji, please. Whatever I did wrong, please, just tell me”.

“What’s bothering me is that you’re leaving, again”.

“What are you talking about”?

“You have everything you wanted. You got everything right here. You don’t need Norway to prove a point”.

“This is MY career, Kenji. My life. I’ve built my whole life on my work, and I’m not letting you get in my way”.

“So I’m just another stepping stone for you huh”? He scoffs. “If only your college self could see you now”. He says with sarcasm.

Your eyes widened. “Wow, and here I thought you finally grew up”. You folded your arms”. “You’re so shallow”.

“And you’re just a pain in my ass”. Kenji retorts.

There was silence between the two of you. What you thought was a progressing friendship was now destroyed, pushing you both back to square one.

“This was a mistake. You should’ve left when you got the chance”. Kenji mutters

“And then what? If I did leave, were you going to blackmail me again”?

He looks up at you, meeting your (eye color) eyes. You stared him down with anger and disgust.

“For all I care, you can expose me whenever the fuck you want. I don’t care what people think of me, and I’m not scared of you”.

He knew he shouldn’t have put you up to this. That this whole interview process was a mistake. He hurt you and himself, and all he could do now is deal with the collateral damage.

“I want you out of here by tomorrow morning”.

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll leave right now”. You walk past him and entered the guest room. Kenji flinched at the sound of the door slamming shut.

~

You put the last suitcase in the trunk and closed the trunk door. Before you went in your car, you stared at the front door, hoping that Ken would apologize and ask you to come back in. But you shrug the expectation off and drove off.

As you drove into the city, you start to tear up. The interview was merely an assignment, so why is this affecting you so much?

“You don’t need Norway to prove a point”.

You hated Ken, you hated the way he roped you into this mess, how he played with your feelings again. But your heart screamed, “GO BACK”, while your head told you to press the gas pedal harder.

~

Kenji enters the basement where the baby kaiju was waiting for the both of you. She chirps with glee when she sees Kenji, and then she looks around for you.

“She’s not coming back”. He sighs, sitting down on the steps next to the baby’s containment unit. Her smile fades. She lets out a little whimper.

“I’m sorry Emi. I scared her off, and I don’t know how to fix this”. Kenji sat next to Emi and put his head in his arms. She settles down next to him in hopes of comforting her father. He leaned onto Emi, resting his head on her arm. It made him feel a little better, but the pain ran deeper in his heart. He had so many opportunities to tell you how he felt about you, but now you slipped through his fingers again.

“Nice going Ken”.

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated!!

A/N: By the time this gets posted, I’ll be on my way to Japan (ultradaddy here i come 🤭). See you all in the finale tomorrow :)

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

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𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷/ part 4

Pairing: vampire!𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

“The thruth”

"The truth?" she asked arching an eyebrow, whilst her eyes seemed to search your soul probing for any hint of deception.

Seeing the worry etched on her face, you quickly realized that your choice of words had conveyed something entirely different to her.

"I didn’t mention anything about the... supernatural stuff. I just told them I was looking for my supervisor regarding some case we had been working on— his assistant told me he was in a late meeting with Bowman so I knocked on the door of his office, but when no one answered, I uh…made sure no one was in there and then I left.” You quickly reassured her.

Natasha's posture relaxed slightly, but her eyes remained sharp. "Good. You did well. You almost had me worried"— She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper "I thought I might actually have to follow through on my promise."

A shiver ran down your spine at her words, the memory of her earlier threats lingering in the air. "I swear, I didn’t say anything about…you know…the thing."

Natasha's lips curved into a smirk. "You seem quite certain of yourself. But understand, I take no chances."

You nodded, a wave of relief washing over you. "I still feel bad for not telling the whole truth though" You said as a small pout appeared on your face.

"Do not burden yourself with unnecessary guilt" Natasha said, her voice soothing yet firm. "You protected yourself and perhaps many others. This world requires discretion."

“You’re right—soo why are you really here?”

She paused, her eyes studying you intently before she spoke. “I have some leads concerning the men Bowman was talking to. It appears there is a clandestine gathering—a sort of secret society. They host an exclusive party every week, and it seems integral to whatever plan Bowman was involved in.”

You leaned in, your curiosity piqued. “A secret society? What kind of party?”

Natasha’s expression grew serious. “These gatherings are not your typical soirées. It’s a place where the lines between business and pleasure blur, and the stakes are extraordinarily high.”

“Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“The plan” she said with a touch of finality, “is for me to uncover more about your boss’s scheme and the men he was entangled with. You, however, must stay put.”

You bristled at her command. “I want to help”

“Absolutely not.” she retorted, her tone brooking no argument.

You met her gaze defiantly. “I need to know what my boss was hiding and why he killed Davis. I can’t just sit around doing nothing.”

“This is not your fight. Your involvement could jeopardize everything—and it could get you killed.” You felt a mix of frustration and determination welling up inside you. “Can I trust you not to interfere again or put yourself into trouble?” she asked, her voice both commanding and concerned.

You smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I guess I could be persuaded.”

Natasha stepped closer, her presence both intoxicating and intimidating—“How could I persuade you?” —her voice a sultry whisper, a knowing grin teasing her lips.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears—She was close, too close. Her proximity made you nervous, your throat suddenly dry, your palms clammy. From this angle, you could see every detail of her face: the subtle curve of her lips, the slight arch of her brows, the way her eyes sparkled. She was beautiful, stunningly so, and it left you both captivated and unnerved. She needed to stop making you feel like this.

“Well, for starters, you could keep me in the loop. Every time you have news… and you could answer some of my questions.” you said steadying your voice.

“Darling, this is not a negotiation; either you do what I told you willingly or I make you. Your choice.”

What harm could it do anyone to tell you what you so ardently desired to know? Had she no trust in your good sense or honour? Why would she not believe you when you assured her, so solemnly, that you would not divulge one syllable of what she told you to any mortal breathing.

You sighed “Ugh, why do you have to be such a buzzkill!?” you said as you walked around the room before collapsing onto the couch.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, lifting a brow. "Getting quite bold, aren’t we? I would’ve thought you still feared me. But no, I sense no fear in you anymore."

You couldn't help but smile. "Maybe I’ve just gotten used to it”

“Perhaps” Her eyes searched yours, as if trying to discern the truth of your words— “Fascinating,” she murmured, more to herself than to you. “You are either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish.”

You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. “Maybe a bit of both.” You looked up at her, your heart pounding. “I don’t want to be left in the dark” you admitted quietly. “I need to understand what’s going on…please”

She regarded you for a long moment, as if weighing her options. “Very well” she said finally. “I shall keep you informed, but you must promise to stay out of it.“

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. “Deal. But don’t think I’m just going to sit idly by.”

Natasha’s laughter was soft, almost musical. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

You sat up on the couch, leaning forward slightly. “There are so many things I want to ask you” you began, your voice steadier now, despite the lingering effects of alcohol.

“Oh? Pray tell, sweetheart” Her tone was both amused and challenging, as if daring you to delve deeper.

You took a deep breath, trying to organize the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. “Well, for starters, how old are you in like vampire…age? Are there rules or a society you have to follow? How fast can you run? Do you have a uhm…a family?” The questions tumbled out in a rapid rush, leaving you out of breath.

Natasha’s eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and caution. “My, my, such inquisitiveness”

“Well, I think its only fair for you to answer my questions if we’re going to work together”

“Is that so? I do not recall the moment when I agreed that we would work together” Natasha said—her tone carrying a hint of amusement.

You leaned forward, undeterred. “Well, if you want me to stay out of trouble, it’s only fair I know what I’m dealing with. Besides, you already said you needed me to keep this between us. We’re practically partners in crime now.”

Natasha’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Very well, I shall indulge your curiosity for a moment” Her eyes flicked over you, as if assessing the depth of your resolve. “I shall warn you, the answers you seek may not bring you the comfort you hope for”

You nodded eagerly, the anticipation bubbling up within you. “I’ll take my chances”

She paused, her gaze growing distant as if she were reaching back through the annals of time. “I am much older than you might imagine”— There was a coldness, it seemed to you, beyond her years, in her smiling melancholy persistent refusal to afford you the least ray of light.

Your eyes widened with awe. “How old are we talking?” you asked with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Natasha avoided your gaze, her eyes roaming the room as if seeking something lost. Then, with a fluid grace, she moved closer and sat beside you on the couch. Her presence was both comforting and intimidating, a paradox that left you breathless. You did not scoot away.

“I’m 1053 years old” she said quietly, her words hanging in the air like a ghostly whisper.

The statement echoed in your mind— a reverberation of disbelief. 1,053 years old? —You stared at her, your brain struggling to wrap around the concept—A thousand years. Over a millennium of experiences, of living through history you only read about in books.

But what did that mean for you, standing in front of her, barely a blip in the vast expanse of her existence? —Your life, with all its challenges and milestones, must seem like a fleeting moment to her. The thought was humbling, almost belittling. Yet, it also brought a strange sense of wonder. Here you were, an ordinary person, sharing a moment with someone who had seen and survived a thousand years. It was surreal.

Your breath hitched. “Wow”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. “Wow Indeed. I have witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the birth and death of countless souls. Time is both a gift and a curse.”

You swallowed hard, trying to comprehend the weight of her words. “What’s it like? Living for so long?”

“It is a relentless march of time, where the world changes around you while you remain the same. You learn to cherish fleeting moments, yet you also bear the burden of endless memories.”

You felt a pang of sympathy for her. “That sounds... incredibly hard.”

Natasha shrugged slightly, her expression softening. “It is what it is. One learns to adapt, to find purpose in the midst of eternity”

Your breath hitched, the weight of her revelation sinking in. “That’s... unbelievable. I can’t even imagine living for so long.”

“It is not something one can easily fathom. You witness the world change in ways unimaginable, yet remain untouched by time yourself.”

“Must be incredibly lonely”

She shook her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. “I got lucky. I’m not entirely alone. I have a family, friends, and a sister. They make the endless years more bearable.”

You felt a spark of curiosity. “A sister? Like, a biological sister? Is she... like you?

“Not by blood” she clarified. “But as close to it as one can get. We were turned together, and we’ve looked after each other ever since”

“That’s... actually quite beautiful” you said, feeling a strange sense of admiration. “Having someone who understands you, who’s been through the same things.”

“It is a rare gift” she admitted, her voice softening. “Many of our kind are not so fortunate. We are often solitary creatures by necessity.”

You hesitated, then asked, “What about your friends? Are they... humans?”

Natasha paused, her gaze becoming distant as she considered your question. “No,” she finally replied, shaking her head slightly. “I do not engage with humans, at least not for... pleasure.”

“So, your friends are... other vampires?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice tinged with an old sorrow. “Over the centuries, I’ve found it safer to form bonds with those who understand our nature, our struggles. Humans are... fragile. Temporary. It’s difficult to form lasting connections when you know they will wither and die in what feels like the blink of an eye.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you could sense the weight of centuries in her gaze. “So, you only interact with humans when you need something?”

She sighed, her expression conflicted. “In essence, yes. Whether it’s information, sustenance, or to blend in, my interactions are often driven by necessity. Anything more is... dangerous.”

“So, you’re using me to get information?”

She looked at you, her expression unreadable. “In a manner of speaking, yes. But it’s not as simple as that.”

You felt a pang of disappointment and a touch of hurt. “So, I’m just a tool to you? Just someone you can manipulate to get what you need?”

Natasha sighed, her eyes softening slightly. “It’s not that I see you as a mere tool. It’s just that involving humans in our world is fraught with complications. The less you’re entangled, the better, for the both of us.”

The sting of her implication lingered in the air, sharper than you expected. Why did it hurt so much? There was a connection, a growing bond that made you feel significant in a way you hadn't felt in a long time. Her presence had stirred something within you—the idea that she might view you merely as a tool, a pawn in whatever game she was playing, cut deep. You wanted to be more than that.

The vulnerability of that desire caught you off guard, and it scared you. Why did her opinion matter so much? Why did her validation feel like something you desperately craved?

You had hoped that in her eyes, you were more than just a means to an end. You wanted her to see you. You needed her to.

Your mind raced, trying to process her words. “I would have hoped you didn’t see me that way” you said quietly, more to yourself than to her.

“How would you like me to see you?”

“I don’t know…but I don’t like to be considered a tool. I’m much more.”

“And i’m sure you are” Her gaze was penetrating, almost otherworldly, and you found yourself lost in the depths of her green eyes. It felt as though she was seeing right through you, peeling back layers you didn't even know you had. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air growing thick with an electric tension that crackled between you.

You stared into each other's eyes, locked in a silent battle of wills. Her eyes held a hint of amusement, as if she was enjoying watching you squirm under her scrutiny. It was both unsettling and mesmerizing. The intensity of her gaze made time stretch, elongating each second into an eternity. Your breath caught in your throat, and you struggled to maintain your composure, to not let her see how deeply she affected you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears like a drum. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush forming that you were powerless to stop. You would’ve blamed it on the alcohol, but deep down, you knew it was her—her presence, her eyes, the way she seemed to envelop you completely.

You tried to muster the strength to break the gaze, to regain some semblance of control. But her eyes held you captive, and you felt as though you were drowning in them, unable to look away.

Every nerve in your body was on high alert and the intensity was almost too much to bear. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

Finally, with a monumental effort, you managed to tear your gaze away from hers. The break in eye contact felt like a physical release, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your heart was still racing, and you could feel the warmth in your cheeks, a telltale sign of your flustered state. You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the effect she had on you, but the feeling lingered, making you nervous and unsteady.

“Do you have a phone?” you asked, desperate to change the topic and alleviate the tension.

Your voice was more desperate than you intended, fear lacing your words. You hoped Natasha wouldn't notice, but it emerged with a quiver that betrayed your nerves.

“Why?”

“Well, you can let me know if you have news without having to break into my house and give me a scare.”

“Are you that desperate to see me again?” she asked grinning at your request.

Your cheeks flushed, and you shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe I am, or maybe I just want to make sure I’m not left in the dark."

She studied you for a second, then pulled a phone from her leather jacket and handed it to you. You smiled when you saw it, realizing she was probably not used to modern technology. You quickly added your number to her contacts and sent yourself a text.

“There” you said, handing it back to her.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, noticing your attempt to contain your smile.

“Nothing.”

“You should know better than to lie to me” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“Sorry, uhm, it’s just I haven’t seen one of those phones since 2012” you said, smiling softly.

“Well, I have no use for it. Why would I get another one?”

“No, it’s cute,” you said, grinning.

“Cute?” she echoed, her tone slightly incredulous.

“Yes, cute” you repeated, laughing softly. “It’s endearing, seeing someone like you with something so outdated. It makes you seem... more approachable”

Natasha’s eyes softened for a moment, a rare glimpse of vulnerability flashing across her features. “Approachable and cute, you say? That is not a word often used to describe me”

You leaned back on the couch, feeling a bit more relaxed now that the tension had eased. “Well, I think it suits you” you said with a warm smile plastered on your face.

“It is late, and you have had a taxing evening” she said, her tone shifting to one of gentle authority as she stoop up from the couch “I believe it is time for you to go to bed.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change of her behavior. “Yes ma’am” you replied attempting to stand. As you got up, you almost stumbled over the carpet, an embarrassed smile spreading across your face.

“Can I trust you to make it to bed without falling along the way?” she asked, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Yeah, I’m good” you said, steadying yourself.

“Alright, then I guess this is goodbye for now”

You took a step towards the door, trying to maintain your balance. “Good night” you said, reaching out to open the door for her. Natasha’s lips curved into a smile at the gesture.

“Good night” she replied, her voice a soft whisper that lingered in the air as she stepped through the doorway.

Entering your room, you barely managed to close the door before collapsing onto your bed. Her presence had been overwhelming, but in a way that left you wanting more.

You buried your face in your pillow, letting out frustrated murmurs as you began to grasp the full weight of your situation.

"Fuck” the word softly leaped from your mouth through an appeased air, to which in vain it fell onto the silk pillow under your cheek.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A strong rush of shivers coursed through your body, the wet grass beneath your heels composing a delicate struggle with each step.

An arm twisted with yours, bringing the warmth your heart so desperately needed.

“Im craving coffee so bad” Ava said slowing her peace. Her voice trembled slightly, blending with the rustling leaves around you.

“yeah me too” you replied, your thoughts drifting as you tried to keep up the small talk. The chill in the air seemed to seep into your bones, amplifying the emotional numbness you felt.

Ava squeezed your arm gently, drawing you out of your reverie. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes searching yours with concern.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Just... thinking about everything. It was intense.”

“Tell me about it” Ava sighed. “It’s hard to believe Davis is really gone. And his poor mother and wife were so devastated…it was heartbreaking”

“Yeah” you echoed, your mind flashing back to the ceremony. The speeches, the memories shared, the way everyone had come together to honor Davis’s legacy. It was overwhelming, but also a stark reminder of the void he left behind.

As you approached the office building, the familiar hum of activity began to seep into your senses. The transition from the tranquil outdoors to the bustling environment felt jarring. The routine, the noise, the normalcy—everything seemed out of place in the wake of your loss.

“Hey” Ava’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Want to grab that coffee before we dive into work?”

“Yeah, that sounds good” you replied, grateful for the distraction.

As you walked to the break room, you couldn’t help but replay your last conversation with Natasha. You haven’t seen her since Friday, it’s like you ached for her presence, but she hadn’t contacted you and the worries that she might not contact you again left you numb.

“So” Ava said as she poured two cups of coffee, “Do you think we’ll ever find out what really happened to Davis?”

You took a sip of the steaming coffee, the warmth spreading through you. “I hope so”

Ava nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah well, im pretty sure Bowman has something to do with it.”

“Yeah probably”

——

As you returned to your desk, coffee in hand, you found yourself immersed once more in Davis's meticulously organized case files, each page a breadcrumb leading deeper into the convoluted narratives of high-profile divorces and contentious custody battles. Amid the dry legal documents, something about the case of a wealthy couple caught your attention—an affluent businessman accusing his wife of alcoholism, claiming custody of their child. It tugged at your heart, remembering of your parents hard divorce.

Lost in thought, you absentmindedly flipped through the paperwork, trying to piece together the puzzle of a mother yearning to reclaim what she perceived as stolen from her.

Suddenly, a folder nestled among the case files caught your eye. It seemed out of place, not connected to any ongoing litigation. As you opened it, you were surprised to find what appeared to be economic data of the company—a jumble of numbers, graphs, and financial projections. Your brow furrowed as you tried to make sense of the figures. There was an unsettling pattern indicating financial instability, a revelation that sent a chill down your spine.

Sitting back in your chair, you rubbed your temples, the implications sinking in. Davis had been onto something—evidence of corporate malfeasance, perhaps. Was it possible he had stumbled upon information that Bowman would kill to protect?

Your fingers traced over the pages, each one revealing more about what might be causing the company's impending downfall. There were records of donations far exceeding what the company could sustainably afford, and a name jumped out at you: "The Old Oak Sip." — It sparked a memory, a name you had encountered before, but where?

The clock on the wall ticked away, a steady reminder of time slipping by as you delved deeper into each piece of evidence which hinted at a larger conspiracy, and you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The numbers were not just figures on a page; they were the remnants of a hidden truth, a web of deceit and corruption that Davis had inadvertently stumbled upon.

Your mind raced, trying to connect the dots. The Old Oak Sip—why did it sound so familiar? You closed your eyes, willing the memory to resurface.

Could this club be the key to unraveling the mystery of Davis's murder? The thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through you. If Davis had uncovered something significant about this place and maybe the reason why Bowman was making donation to this place, it might explain why he was killed.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered the files and carefully tucked them in your bag mindful of the prying eyes that might be watching you.

Standing up from your chair, you cast a glance around the office, ensuring no one was watching too closely. As you made your way to the elevator, you felt the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside, only to be met by Emily.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

You mustered a weak smile. "Not really, I’m not feeling too well. I think I need to head home. Can you let Ava know?"

Emily nodded sympathetically. "Of course. Take care of yourself, alright?"

"Thanks" you replied as the elevator doors closed with a soft ding.

——

Your apartment was a mess: each file spread across the coffee table, your eyes scanning the documents with a mix of urgency and trepidation. You flipped open your laptop, fingers flying over the keys as you searched for any information on "The Old Oak Sip." The results were scant, revealing only that it was a high-end night club cocktail bar open exclusively on Wednesday nights. You tried to dig deeper, but everything seemed locked behind layers of exclusivity, and the club accessible only with tickets.

A frustrated huff escaped your lips. You needed to get inside that club, to uncover the secrets it held. But how?

Then it struck you—Bowman's money clip. The strange tickets you had found in the secret compartment. You hadn't understood their significance at the time, but now, a spark of realization ignited. You dashed to your bedroom, rifling through the nightstand until your fingers closed around the wallet.

"Ah, found it!" you exclaimed, excitement bubbling up as you pulled out the tickets. "Old Oak Ink Premium Pass." This was it. Your ticket inside.

You held the pass in your hand, the weight of it somehow more profound now. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you let out a shaky breath. This pass was your key to uncovering the truth. Your mind drifted back to Davis, to the look of determination on his face when he had been on the verge of a breakthrough. He had died for this, and now it was up to you to finish what he started.

Taking a deep breath, you resolved to see this through. You couldn't let fear hold you back, not when so much was at stake.

You placed the pass carefully in your wallet, feeling a renewed sense of purpose heading’s back to the living room, your mind was already racing with plans for the night. The Old Oak Sip awaited, and with it, the answers you so desperately sought.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Wednesday had arrived faster than you anticipated, your mind racing with thoughts of the impending night at The Old Oak Sip. Natasha's continued silence gnawed at you, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the immediate task: choosing how to dress.

Standing before your closet, you searched for an outfit that would help you blend in. Finally, after twenty minutes of searching through your wardrobe you opted for skinny black jeans, high boots, and a black shirt—a look that was both sleek and understated. Not your usual, but it fitted the purpose.

The taxi sped through the ink-black night, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and crimson. The hum of the engine thrummed beneath you, a dull counterpoint to the chaotic swirl of thoughts in your mind. You leaned back against the worn leather seat, the coolness of the material doing little to calm the fevered heat of your thoughts. Natasha’s stern, knowing eyes flashed in your memory, and you could almost hear her voice, a melody of concern and admonition, warning you against your reckless choice.

Outside, the city seemed to pulse with life—treetlights cast elongated shadows that danced like phantoms across the pavement, and the distant murmur of the nightlife was a haunting symphony that filled the silence. You knew you should tell Natasha about your discovery, about the cryptic “Old Oak Sip” but the thought of her disapproving gaze, the inevitable scolding for your recklessness, made you hesitate. You needed to deal with this one on your own.

The cabbie’s eyes flicked to you in the rearview mirror, curiosity evident but unspoken—The taxi slowed to a stop, and you paid the fare with hands that trembled slightly, the anticipation gnawing at your resolve. As you stepped out into the night, the cool air hit you like a slap, invigorating and terrifying all at once.

The Old Oak Sip loomed ahead, its neon sign casting an eerie glow. Two imposing bodyguards stood at the entrance, their muscular frames and stern expressions exuding an air of intimidation. One had a shaved head and a thick neck, his arms crossed over a broad chest, while the other sported a buzz cut and an angular jaw, his eyes scanning the crowd with hawk-like vigilance. A small group of people lingered outside, chatting and smoking, their laughter incongruent with the tension knotting your stomach.

You took a deep breath and approached the door. "Hello" you greeted, your voice wavering slightly.

"Ticket?" one of the bodyguards demanded, his gaze piercing through you.

"Oh, yes. Right" You fumbled with your wallet, pulling out the ticket and handing it over with a forced smile. "Sorry, it’s my first time here"

The guard nodded, his expression inscrutable. "Have fun" he said, handing the ticket back and stepping aside to let you pass.

Inside, a strange mix of scents assaulted your senses—sweat, alcohol, and something floral, perhaps incense. The interior was a blend of opulence and decay. Dim, colored lights cast long shadows on the worn wooden floor, and rich red velvet drapes framed the walls, giving the place an almost theatrical feel. The bar was a polished mahogany affair, lined with bottles of every conceivable liquor, and the air buzzed with the low hum of conversations and distant music.

As you scanned the room, trying to find someone who might be a staff member, a woman appeared before you. She had striking features—sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes lined with kohl, and full, dark lips. Her hair was an intricate mass of braids, adorned with tiny, shimmering beads that caught the light as she moved.

"Hello" she said, her voice smooth and commanding.

"Hi" you replied, taken aback by her presence.

"You’re late. Volunteers need to come around nine so that we can dress them up" she said, her tone leaving little room for argument.

You stared at her, confused. "I- uh..”

“It’s alright, I’ll make an exception…you smell- divine by the way”

“Uhm thanks but I’m n-“ You tried to explain, but she cut you off swiftly “Come on, we have to be quick” she said— before you could protest further, she grabbed your hand, her grip firm and insistent, and began leading you through the place.

Your mind raced, a mix of anxiety and confusion swirling within you. The realization that you were being mistaken for someone else-or something else— brought a surge of panic. What had you gotten yourself into? You felt the press of bodies around you, the pulse of the music thrumming through the air, heightening your senses and adding to your disorientation.

"Wait, I-" you tried to protest, but the words were lost in the cacophony of the club. The woman's pace was relentless, weaving through clusters of people with practiced ease. Her grip on your hand was unyielding, and you stumbled slightly, struggling to keep up.

"What?” she asked not hinting to stop walking.

"I’m not a volunteer. I really need to talk to your boss or whoever’s in charge here" you insisted, your voice tinged with desperation.

She halted abruptly, turning to face you. "Why do you need to talk to Viktor?" she asked, her eyes boring into yours.

You hesitated, heart pounding. "I... I need to discuss something important. It’s about... business" you stammered, hoping it sounded convincing.

"Listen, sweetie, I have a job to do and we’re already late. I don’t want to be fired." She studied you for a moment, then sighed. "You know what? Keep your clothes. They’ll do. You still look gorgeous" — “Follow me”

"Look, I’m not a dancer or a stripper-I can’t dance if that’s what you were hoping. I just want to get some uh…drinks" you lied, trying to sound casual.

She laughed, a melodic sound that seemed out of place in the dim, chaotic club. "You can have all the drinks you want, after someone picks you"

"Pick me?" you echoed, confusion evident in your voice.

"Yeah, some of them are ugh, ugly…but don’t worry. You’ll forget everything by tomorrow morning" she said nonchalantly, leading you through a set of heavy red velvet curtains.

Your heart pounded as you stepped through the velvet curtains, the rhythm so fierce you feared it might burst from your chest— You stood paralyzed, your limbs weighted by a sudden, profound fear. How could you be this stupid, this naive, you thought, your mind spiraling in frantic loops. The sight before you seemed to stretch time, the air thick with an oppressive, unnameable dread.

Your breath hitched, panic bubbling up as you tried to make sense of the scene.

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but your feet were rooted to the spot, trapped by an invisible force.

In that moment, you knew you were in over your head. The full weight of your mistake crashed down on you, leaving you breathless and trembling. The realization was as cold and merciless as the air around you, and you could do nothing but stand there, paralyzed by the enormity of what you had stumbled into.

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

[01zfan]

understanding my faith pt. 2 | l. at

churchboy!anton x reader | 2.9k words

contains: references to the bible, implied virginity loss, oral (f. receiving)

umf: part one | part two | part three

sacrilegious masterlist

anton had become your tutor when it came to church. although it took him awhile to text you, once you scheduled the meeting you were with him almost everyday. it turns out you were also looking for escape from your strict bible thumping father. you both found your strict parents appeased by being in the house god built, learning about his holy word.

after spending time together for a month, you two had finally started to open up. you two were cramped underneath the cubby of the grand piano, hiding from a mom in the congregation. it started off as a joke, giggling while she called out your name. after a while, the proximity to you made anton feel lightheaded. he needed to distract himself so he said the first thing that came to his mind.

“why did you leave?” anton could feel you tense up next to him. he was ready to tell you there was no pressure to answer but you started your story.

anton finally heard the truth of why you left, your mom shunned from the other mothers in the congregation. she was an atheist. anton remembers holding his breath when you said that word, like something was going to strike you then and there. your parents divorced shortly after, belief systems too different. your father moved you two back here while your mom stayed. he remembers the hurt in your voice when your mom didn’t even fight for custody.

“i’m sorry.” anton put a hand on your shoulder. he tried to imagine being in your shoes. hearing the whispers every time you walked into the room. your dad was held in good graces for leaving the non believer and coming back home, while you were the spitting image of your mother.

“he will never admit that my mom was the one who wanted the divorce.“ you whispered to him after the pastor welcomed your father back to the congregation.

“it’s okay, anton.” you rested your head on his hand.

anton was so close to you in this space. he could see your eyelashes, and the wispy hairs the sun always caught. everything about you had a glow to it. when you looked up at him from his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. your eyes were locked on his when you scooted closer to him. anton didn’t know what he was doing when you put an hand on his knee, or when he scooted closer to you. anton didn’t know what he was doing when he tilted your chin upwards or when you put a hand on his face to bring his lips to yours.

you closed your eyes first. anton watched you tilt your head and intertwine your fingers. by the time he had closed his eyes, your lips had already made contact and you pulled back.

“is this okay?” you whispered.

anton squeezed your hand and nodded. anton summoned all of his courage to go in first this time. anton wasn’t surprised the lips of an angel were so soft. they tasted like the vanilla chapstick that you kept tucked in the pocket of your pants.

anton painfully let go of your hand to put both hands on your face. the gentle pecks eventually turned to something more after you put your hand on the back of his neck. he got into the rhythm you set quickly. it was like the first time you met him. he’s waiting for your cues at every move. when you tilt your head to get a better angle, he tilts his the opposite way. when you lick his bottom lip he opened your mouth just a little wider to let your tongue in. you let your hands roam the back of his body, and anton for the first time in his life showed off the muscles he gained from swimming. he let your hands come in contact with flexed muscles, becoming solid like the heavenly sculptures on pillars. you slowly pulled away from him, sucking on his bottom lip and looking up at him. you had a look in your eyes that anton at the time couldn’t pinpoint. all he knew was that he was a little closer to understanding his faith.

“have you ever done anything like this in church?” you still had your hands on his body. anton wanted to touch more of you.

anton could see the space in between your cardigan, the supple skin of your neck. you kind of were reminiscent of the paintings from that time. anton could see some renaissance painting with you holding a cherub, or being surrounded by gods disciples.

“anton.” you tapped the back of his neck to get his attention again.

he forgot you asked him a question.

“no i’ve never done anything before.” anton shakes his head.

“anything?”

anton shakes his head again. he doesn’t know how he expected you to react. but he feels something when you smile at him.

“anton have you ever worshipped anything besides god before?”

anton shakes his head again. you stand up from your cramped stop underneath the piano. anton looks at the buckle on your shoes as you move to stand in front of him. anton feels a soft hand underneath his chin, to bring his gaze up to yours.

“i see the way you look at me, anton.”

anton looks up at you. although you look down at him, he feels you pass no judgement on him. you are forgiving and warm, bathed in the light coming from the stained glass windows. you have a smile on your face, but a look in your eyes that causes anton to get on his knees before you.

“i feel your stares all the time.”

anton wants to grip the ends of your dress to bring you close. you bend over to get closer to him. anton can feel your lips close to the shell of his ear.

“do you worship god even in the bedroom?” you whisper into anton’s ear.

anton pulls away to look at you in astonishment. he wonders if you’ve read his mind, hearing the thoughts of lust when he first saw your lips. anton’s then thinks your all-seeing eyes have laid witness to anton in between his sheets, huffing over where his imagination would lead him late at night. you go back to standing above him. anton is looking at you still, tears welling in his eyes.

“i’m sorry.”

you put a finger over his lips. your other hand rests on his cheek and anton leans into your touch.

“don’t apologize.” you voice still lacks judgement. all anton hears is empathy.

anton would be lying if he said he never touched himself. he was young and his hormones were raging a new flame blazing everyday. when he would be alone in the dead of the night though, his mind wouldn’t focus on anything specific. just the thought of something more was enough to take him to the edge. anton recalls the first time he was able to finish. he was approaching the edge, trying to remain silent. sometimes it seemed lile his old house creaked if he breathed too loud. so he did his best to remain, other hand digging into his bedsheets. he saw white hot flames burst over his vision when he saw your hand reaching for him. anton leaped over the edge as you pulled him to the other side, surrounded by trees that bloomed apples. by this point, anton became accustomed whimpering your name at night. he thought it wasn’t obviously, that he was secretly worshipping you in the bedroom.

“i have sinned.” anton says pitifully. he looks down, unable to meet your gaze.

you are silent for a moment. anton tries to keep the tears back.

“maybe if you sin, you will be brought to the path of righteousness again with a better understanding of your faith.”

anton looks at you again in disbelief. you bend your legs to get closer to him. your dress is caught on your knees. you look at anton innocently before grabbing his hand.

“and maybe if you worship something else,”

anton feels his hand slowly be put underneath your dress. you move his hand so that its over the fabric of your panties. anton sees your eyes hooded and sleepy, an expression he’s never seen before. he takes a moment to lean forward on his other hand to get closer. his strength gets the best of him as he slightly overpowers you. you hands quickly catch yourself from falling backwards. anton almost lurches forward to try and catch you, but you remain steady. anton can feel the heat radiating from your core and he moves his hand forward to cup all of you. anton is astonished at how warm you are, everywhere.

“you can find that same feeling of faith in god too.”

anton wondered if he was going to go to hell for how he touched you in god place of worship. so he drove you both in the dead of night to his house, where his bedroom had become his place to worship you.

in less than an hour you were there atop the same sheets he first found his faith. with your hair resting like an angels halo.

anton started at your feet. he took off your socks and shoes slowly. he massaged your feet and kissed your calves. you were propped up on your elbows watching his every move. anton thought this is how god must look down at his creations, wrecking havoc on the earth.

“i have never felt like this before.” anton confessed in between kisses. telling you his secrets came easily now. he knew you would extend sympathy and a gracious hand each time.

“just do what comes naturally.”

anton stopped kissing. he became aware of the fact that he had something so beautiful in his bed. he didn’t want to stumble through the night. he needed you to have an experience, to feel like you were properly worshipped.

“can you tell me what to do?” anton looked at you.

you pushed yourself up from your elbows and brought anton’s face close to yours. you kissed his lips; a quick peck.

“i want you to act on your own volition, anton. if you have blunders i know it comes from a good place. if it ever hurts, i will let you know.”

you bring him in for another kiss. immediately anton deepens the kiss. putting a hand on the back of your neck to bring you closer.

anton laid you down and broke the kiss. he went down to your neck, laying experimental kisses. he looked up at you. he was so desperate for your approval that when you nodded he started sucking on your skin.

anton was egged on by your whimpers. your secular mouthpiece gave him the closest thing he’s ever heard to god’s speech. anton followed your moans and whimpers until you were completely naked underneath him. although you were the exposed one, anton felt completely at your mercy.

anton wandered down. he held your boobs in his hands. he moved them in tandem. your skin was so soft and supple. without second thought, he brought a nipple into his mouth. you rubbed his hair affectionately, moving down to massage his ears. he wanted to pierce his ears in all the places you touched in your memory. you arched your back into him and he moved to the other.

he kissed down the valley of your breasts. anton couldn’t stop himself from occasionally biting your skin. anton bared witness to the flesh and blood of his new christ, how could he not take a bite? as reparations anton covered each bite in gentle kisses. you let out new noises when anton administered a little pain.

when anton got to your navel, he looked at you for approval. when you nodded, anton brought his index finger to your core. you sucked in a large breath, one you didn’t let out until anton put his finger all the way in. you were squirming underneath him, anton watched your stomach flex as you moved your hips against his hands. he added in another one, fixated on the way your flesh moved against his. you were soft and warm and snug inside, like the hug you gave him. anton slowly pulled his fingers out and put them back in just as slow. anton wasn’t sure if the pace was the speed you wanted, but he had to go slow for his own selfish needs. he needed to watch you grind against his hand for more friction. he needed to see you grip the sheets of his bed, trying to ground yourself. anton also needed to feel the slight pain you caused him as you slightly pulled his hair. anton wanted to take his time.

“i understand why service lasts for hours now.” anton whispered from your thigh. you laugh quietly. anton wants to tell you he’s close to a revelation and it might be in between your thighs. he says nothing and instead uses his other hand to spread your folds. he pulls his fingers out, and rests his head on the bed to look directly into you. he sees your walls close in on nothing, and sees the bundle of nerves tremble. you let out a shaky breath. anton brings his mouth to you.

your slick was holy water that anton was baptizing himself in. he moans hymns into your heat, sticking his tongue inside of you. anton hears you chanting like you are saying prayer of your own, incorporating anton’s name into the words. he thinks it’s all so backwards, how he should be singing praise about you. he continues to kiss and suck on your heat. anton sees your hand work on the protruding bud. he watches you for a moment, to see how you being yourself pleasure. after he learns, he moves your hand away and does it himself. this has you closing your thighs around his head, locking him in place. you rock against his lips and anton picks you up from below your ass to get a better angle. anton feels all his senses get flooded as you yell out his name. anton feels you all over his face, and he sees your communion glisten when he finally pulls away from your core.

your eyes are droop like you’re tired and anton feels you pulling at his clothes. wordlessly he takes his shirt off, flexing the muscles he’s earned over time. you watch him with bated breath feeling like you may catch on fire at any point. anton doesn’t let you reach for his him again. he returns himself to you after discarding the rest of his clothes, condom in hand.

“can i put it on you?” you ask. anton pinches the tinfoil package in his hand, wondering if he’s worth your touch. before anton can say no, you swipe it from his hand.

“lay down for me.”

anton heeds your request instantly. anton touches your thighs to bring you to straddle him. slowly you open the package and anton watches you bring the condom to his dick. you grabbing the base of him alone has him near the edge, he has to breathe in an out to calm himself down. you look at him and smile. smiling down at him purely while you put a condom on his dick. he’s almost dizzy from thinking about it.

“does it feel good?”

“yes it does.” anton moans. how could it not feel good?

you move yourself up anton’s body slowly. anton watches your every move. his hands have a vice grip on your hips. when you raise yourself above his dick, his grip on you stops you from going all the way down.

“i should’ve worshipped you sooner.” anton says. his lips are parted, pupils blown out. he slowly guides you down as you take all of him.

you stay like that for awhile. anton fully inside of you. anton can feel your flesh pulsing and clenching around him. the clenches are inconsistent, each one causing him to jolt further inside of you. anton pries his hand from his hip to hold one of your hands as you stabilize yourself. before anton can comprehend anything, you are bouncing on him. anton reaches for anything he can grab. he holds onto your boobs and hip, watching your body move. he refuses to stop you in your element. when you lean over to anton, he wraps your arms around your body to bring you close. anton plants his feet into the mattress and fucks relentlessly into you.

neither of you can say anything as you both hurdle closer and closer to the edge. anton keeps a firm hand on your back and you hold onto his shoulder, resting your head on his chest. both of you ramble out the mouths with incoherent thoughts and moaned names.

with one final thrust anton brings you down to him and he can feel himself pulse into you. anton pulls himself out and you fall beside him, eyes closed. anton looks at you while he ties off the end of the condom, afraid that if he looks away you’ll be gone.

he returns back to bed and you curl into him. he plays with your hair, trying to figure out how he can get you to confess that you are an angel, sent down to help him understand his faith.

sacrilegious masterlist

[mandu-17]

Trust me, Baby | Cho Miyeon x fem! reader

Requested by: Anonynoums

Request: Hi! Could get an imagine where miyeon confesses to reader that she likes her(reader also does) and they end up sleeping together. But, the next day reader finds out she’s “dating someone”, (which is really just a publicity stunt) and accuses miyeon of using her. Basically smut/angst but with a happy ending.

Warnings: Language, drinking, phone smushing in anger

Genre: Smut, angst and fluff

Wordcount: ~ 3,324

A/N: IT’S OCTOBER 3RD

“I love this colour on you.” Miyeon murmured, one of her hands put a stray of your hair behind your ear, in the other one she held a glass of champagne.

Your heads were almost pressed together, as both of you were watching your new nails.

“Thank you.” Your smile being slightly uneasy because of the sudden proximity between you two.

The thing was that you weren’t uncomfortable, in fact you were yearning for more of Miyeon. The two of you had known each other for many years and that little crush you developed on her was slowly getting out of control.

Especially whenever it was only the two of you hanging out just like that night at her apartment when the living room was lit by purple LED lights and few candles. With her weekend finally off, Miyeon invited you for a fun, girly sleepover.

Unfortunately for you, three glasses of champagne later, Miyeon was already feeling slightly more playful and touchy, in your opinion bold even.

She did not see any problem with her knee touching yours all the time, it also seemed like there was no need for her to explain her fingers fidgeting with sleeves of your hoodie.

“It’s unbelievable how you can literally pull off anything.” Miyeon’s back rested against the couch, after she put her glass, half empty on the table. Her eyelids were moving slower and slower.

It was almost 2 AM - the time when all of her tiredness was making its’ way to acknowledgement.

“It’s just nail color, come on.” You shrugged trying your best not to show how her raspy voice was affecting you.

“But I meant everything, clothes, hair colors...” You bit your lip when Miyeon paused and tense silence filled the space between you. “I think even bald you’d still be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Her brown, Bambi eyes raised up to meet yours. Corners of her lips also raised coyly creating a soft yet charming smile. The rest of her face was serious, as if Miyeon really wanted you to hear her out.

“I-I can’t be the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. I mean you’re an idol yourself working with and seeing all these other beautiful idols everyday.” You shook your head with an amused smile.

“Y/N?”

You hummed with a raised eyebrow.

“For once, just shut up.” Her words came out quietly but also stern.

Your eyes widened in shock.

“Now you’re just being mean.” You scoffed, not used to Miyeon talking to you like that. Yes, it was in a playful manner, but the two of you were usually very sweet to each other.

“I’m serious when I say you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and I’m also serious when I say that anything you wear looks incredibly good on you. Y/N, I-” Miyeon stopped suddenly and before continuing she licked her lips. “I like you.”

“I like you too.” She frowned at your response.

“Not like that. I really do like you, Y/N. And you’re more than just a friend to me.” You could clearly see how hard Miyeon was trying not to reveal her nervousness. Her voice as well as her breathing was unsteady, brunette tried to busy her fingers with the hem of her gray hoodie this time. On the inside she was already shaking in regret - was it a good idea to let you know the truth?

It was easy to panic when she did not hear a single word back from you. The look on your face in that moment was also something she couldn’t really interpret. Yes, you looked shocked to your core with your mouth hanging slightly open, but was it a good kind of shock? Was there a chance that you reciprocated her feelings? What if there was no going back now and all these years of friendship had ended right then and there?

“I-I didn’t... It’s not-” Miyeon began apologizing when something cut her off. It was you or more specifically your lips brushing against hers.

And before she even knew it, Miyeon’s eyes fell closed, your kiss just felt incredibly natural.

You trembled slightly in her arms when her hand cupped your cheek gently. Once her sweet smell hit your nose you were about to explode, you were certain. The heat of Miyeon’s skin, her soft touches and those two hums she let out against your mouth were overwhelming.

“I-... You-” You pulled away, a breathless stuttering mess. “Do you actually like me? Is this really happening?”

Brunette giggled loudly, her response came as another kiss and a quickly muttered ‘yes’.

This time was way more passionate, Miyeon even pushed you against the couch and straddled hurriedly. Your eyebrows raised in surprise nevertheless you were far from complaining. Like a snake you let your arms sneak around brunette’s tiny waist, you pressed her body firmly against yours. Miyeon raised your chin with her finger so that she had the best access to your neck. At first, she was only pecking your skin there, but soon enough her actions turned less soft.

“Are you sure? I mean, isn’t it too fast?” You moaned suddenly feeling her teeth graze the column of your throat.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” Her deep voice was there again. You bit your lip hard in order to contain yourself. As she straightened her back, those Bambi eyes looked down at you. “Love me, Y/N.”

You intertwined your fingers and brought her hand up to you lips. That was your answer.

Miyeon smirked, in her head probably already imagining all the things the two of you were about to do. Then, when she tried to lean in you gripped her thighs before picking up her whole body with bedroom being your destination.

“I really have to start working out too.” Brunette gasped wrapping her arms around your neck. She loved staying so close to you, especially now while you were showing off, Miyeon couldn’t help but adore you even more. Seconds later, you gently put her on that huge bed and your lips met again.

Surprisingly, it was her who took your shirt off first, although hers joined your on the floor almost immediately. Her, who pushed you to lay down on a cotton pillow. Despite everything you did your best to stay gentle with your actions.

Also, you just really wanted to see Miyeon’s vision for your first night together.

And just like with anything else you could imagine - there was no way she’d let you down.

Her eager mouth made sure to mark as many spots on your skin as possible, Miyeon especially liked your reaction at her biting onto your collarbone. That deep moan you let out got her thighs squeezing, she could already feel how wet and desperate she was getting for you.

Refusing to wait any longer, Miyeon got rid of her pants making you follow quickly.

“There’s no going back now.” She whispered with her 40 degrees nose resting against yours.

“I don’t want to go back.” You answered while your hand was sneakily getting to the clip of her bra.

Miyeon sighed in relief once the last piece of clothing in your way fell down, she hid her face in your hair feeling way too hot, shy even, after you started playing with her boobs. You cherished each and every single whine that escaped her. And even though it was your first time seeing and touching her breasts you felt addicted already to the softness of her skin.

“Oh, Miyeon.” You whimpered when she sat down directly on your thigh and pressed down on it.

“Shit, Y/N.” Her wet folds created such an intense, pleasant feeling on your leg, you bit your lip harshly.

Just as Miyeon’s hips began to rock back and forth you expected her on focusing on chasing her own pleasure while riding your thigh, but that’s when she surprised you once again. Her long, slim fingers reached out to the wetness that arose in between your legs.

“Fuck-” Both of you panted, lost in your own intimate paradise.

With no warning, Miyeon pushed two digits into your dripping core causing you to mewl weakly. The way she curled them inside you made you wonder where she got that experience from.

“Baby, right there. Please don’t stop.” Brunette gripped your shoulder tightly with her right hand while her left one was knuckles deep in, fucking you.

You gripped her hips in order to guide her a little faster, make her press down a bit harder and finally to turn her into a moaning, sweaty mess that won’t be able to walk properly the next day.

Miyeon’s back arched unexpectedly when you flexed your thigh, she started shaking and soon after that her limit was reached. Bambi eyes rolled to the back of her head, as she came with a loud cry.

She never let her fingers rest though, through it all they kept on pumping in and out of you, it was becoming too much. The rhythm of her hips, breathy sounds she was making and all the sweat coating both of your bodies - you felt like passing out.

When your climax came, with teary eyes you kept on repeating Miyeon’s name like she was the only thing you’d ever gotten to touch, hear and see. In no time you felt overstimulated which made you push Miyeon’s hand away.

“S-sensitive.” You mumbled, still helping her ‘down’ from your leg and lay beside you.

Both your chests continued on raising and falling rapidly, when you felt her curious eyes on you. You turned your head to the right to take a long look at the most wonderful woman you’ve ever met.

Miyeon was already curled on her left side, her face illuminated only by the moonlight. She trapped your leg between hers, as she let herself stare at you endlessly. You didn’t even need her to say anything - Bambi eyes were your answers.

Only when her breathing returned to normal, her cheeks slowly regained their pale colour and you noticed her messy hair did you acknowledge what the two of you had actually done.

Shyly, you closed your eyes.

“Told you there’s no going back.”

With a hum, you nuzzled your face into her shoulder.

~

Grinning like an idiot, you walked into the kitchen with the intention of making coffee for your lover and you. It was around 9 AM and Miyeon was also up, already locked in the bathroom while brushing teeth and washing her face as every other morning.

You clicked on the coffee machine and watched brown liquor pouring down into the first one of two white mugs you’d had prepared. Your fingers mindlessly played with the zipper of Miyeon’s big hoodie that you borrowed. Once hers coffee was done, you switched the mugs and waited for another one to fill up. It was your phone beeping that pulled you out of that small coffee trance.

With no thought, you made your way over to the couch and looked for the device for a moment before eventually finding it behind a fluffy pillow. Miyeon and you didn’t have time to clean up the living room last night.

Your phone screen lit up because of your coworkers typing on the group chat. Uninterested, you muted the conversation - it was the weekend after all, you’d catch up with them later.

Once you were in the kitchen again with a comforting cup of hot coffee in your hand and your phone in the other one, you decided to scroll through social media while waiting for Miyeon to stop occupying the bathroom and finally let you know what she’d like for you to cook for breakfast.

That was when it’d popped up.

You dropped the mug, having to reread the article’s title at least two more times. They indeed included photos that showed Miyeon’s heart eyes.

(G)I-DLE’s Miyeon and SF9’s Hwiyoung spotted on a romantic night walk by the Han River! The couple of visuals look so in love!

Miyeon ran into the kitchen, panic present in her eyes as she heard glass breaking.

“Everything okay?” She gasped spotting sharp white pieces of the mug scattered on the floor.

“What is this?” You ignored her while nearly shoving your phone into her face.

Miyeon frowned before visibly paling once she got the look at what the issue was.

“Y/N, don’t... It-it’s not what it looks like, okay?” She stuttered.

“You know what that fucking looks like? You’re a cheater, Miyeon. You used me! Are you fucking kidding me right now?” In a sudden rush of anger you sent your phone to the ground.

“Y/N! Calm down-” Miyeon winced, trying to get a hold of your shoulders after hearing the second crack that morning.

“Don’t fucking touch me! You ruined everything. Y-You- Dammit, Miyeon! I can’t stand you. Just leave me alone!” There was nothing she could really do considering the state you were in. You weren’t thinking straight, clouded by jealousy and anger - Miyeon understood that it was no use for her to try and explain the situation to you. She let you go, gave the space you needed and promised herself that she’ll catch you and talk to you only after you cool off.

~

Without her by your side, you were cold.

Even that stupid hoodie bathed in Miyeon’s perfume didn’t help.

With no destination in mind, you walked around the nearest park wondering why on Earth did it have to be you? To finally touch the sky with your long time crush and then be harshly pushed down from one of the clouds.

That Hwiyoung.

His annoyingly perfect face was something you were unable to compare with even in your best make up look. And these stupid words that Miyeon told you last night, that had already engraved deeply into your brain and heart, that you were the prettiest.

How could she?

That was what hurt the most. How could Miyeon so simply flirt with you, her friend when her only goal was to use you. Maybe her and Hwiyoung had a fight and you were her second choice? Maybe she just wanted to forget about him for one short night? Maybe they just started dating and Miyeon thought that cheating at this point wouldn’t count? There were so many maybes, you felt like either throwing up or beating the shit out of someone.

Without her by your side, you felt lonely.

All these people in the park seemed so distant even though they were taking the same paths you were. You felt isolated in your own broken heart. There were no words to describe how furious at Miyeon you were and how at the same time you were already missing the feeling of her arms around you, keeping you safe. Until then, you’d never noticed how selfish she actually was. That’s how blinded you were by your feelings.

~

The next few days were blurry. After coming home from work you’d only lay down on the couch, barely eat and sleep a lot. Sleep was your true escape as even at work half of your coworkers were non stop talking about Korea’s new favorite Visual Couple.

Then on following Friday, almost a week after your argument with Miyeon, she showed up at your door. You were woken up from your nth nap by the sound of doorbell.

“We have to talk, Y/N.” Bambi eyes were determined to make things right, but in her voice you could hear a note of sadness.

You scanned her features for a moment before wordlessly letting her in by opening the door wider.

Just like anyone could imagine, it was painfully awkward at first. You were still half asleep and Miyeon didn’t know where to start.

“For you.” She pulled a single red rose from behind her back and handed it to you.

You only stared at her.

“I expected that one.” She nodded to herself and put the flower on your kitchen table.

“Just start already, Miyeon. I have better things to do.” With a roll of eyes you plopped down on the couch.

“That article you saw wasn’t true.” Her soft voice came from somewhere on your left.

“Everyone is now talking about you two. What do you mean it wasn’t true?” Your arms crossed on your chest.

“It’s just a PR move to attract more viewers. Hwiyoung and I play in a drama called Replay and our companies thought it’d be a good publicity stunt.” You looked at her blankly, after a moment of your eyes on her, Miyeon felt unsure. “Look, I don’t even have his number on my phone.”

She gave you the device and let you scroll through all the contacts. You even search up names like ‘Baby’, ‘Darling’ or ‘Honey’ but nothing came up. With a frown, you gave it back.

“Why didn’t you tell me then? We were catching up last weekend and what? You somehow forgot to mention your new fake boyfriend?”

“I-I had it in mind, but... When I tell you I can’t think straight when I see you I’m not lying. I got so into your stories that I wasn’t even viewing him as anything important. And especially after we kissed, I... I hadn’t thought of him until you showed me that article in the morning.” Miyeon gulped, looking down on her lap. “I’m incredibly sorry, Y/N. I was planning on telling you, but like I said even in the morning, I was just in such a good mood because of you that I wasn’t thinking about my job.”

“If you don’t have his number then...” You started carefully, “How do you meet up for the paparazzi to see?”

“Our companies contact each other. We’re just being dropped at a place, our managers tell us what we should do and what we should look like. That’s basically it. Hwiyoung and I usually talk about dance practices, studio recordings or shooting for our drama. It’s always only about job.” When Miyeon saw you still processing her words, she added “It’s you that I want to talk to about everything else. It’s you that I want to stare at until I fall asleep and it’s you that I want to wake up with. I’m crazily in love with you, Y/N.”

Brave Bambi eyes stayed on you the whole time. She was putting herself out there for you. Putting an end to your friendship as well.

“I’m in love with you too, Miyeon. I’ve been for so long, but gosh you have no idea how terrified I was when I saw that article.” After all this time you were able to finally breath again. As anxiety was slowly leaving your heart, it was roaring loudly in excitement.

“I have an idea. How about we never bring this up again, huh?” Miyeon asked while standing up from her seat and taking a seat on the couch right next to you.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Fondly, you watched her lean in, as your fingers intertwined on your lap. With a happy sigh you got to kiss her again. Frankly speaking, a big part of you was afraid that you’d never get a chance to do so.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Wait here.” Miyeon gave you a quick peck before storming off to her purse. She came back with both of her hands hidden behind her back. “I figured you might need it.”

She handed you a box with a new phone inside. Genuinely speechless you opened your mouth in shock. Such a sweetheart, your brunette knew damn well that you only had an old brick as a spare phone.

“Miyeon-” You began whining, knowing that it was way too much than what you could have asked for.

“Shh, you’ll thank me later.” She winked.

[lovelyjj]

"I want only you." with jj maybank from the prompt list ??

Jealousy

jj maybank x reader

wc: 1.2k

JJ was going from girl to girl. He was having one-night stands. He was hooking up with every touron in sight. Truth be told JJ was trying to fill a void. He loved you and he was sure you didn’t love him back. He felt like he wasn’t good enough for you.

It was another party at some kooks house, how you and your friends, the pouges, got invited was a mystery. You were having fun dancing and drinking the usual partying scene.

You were getting yourself another drink when you saw him. You saw JJ talking to a girl that you didn’t know. You felt a pain in your chest at the sight. You didn’t know what was being said but you could bet 100 dollars that he was flirting with her.

The drink you got was a mai tai. It entered your system and made you a little buzzed. The idea of having to watch JJ flirt was nauseating. Therefore, you decided to wander upstairs.

You passed by a couple who was making out on the top of the stairs. You wandered down the hallway and tried a few doors but they were all locked. Eventually, finding nothing entertaining you decided to head back downstairs. As you turned around you were met with a hard chest.

“Oh I’m so sorry I didn’t see-“ you started.

“Rafe.”

“Hiya princess, what’s a pretty girl like you doing up here all alone,” Rafe smirked.

“Nothing I was just looking for the bathroom,” you spoke quietly choosing to lie instead of telling him you were just wandering around.

“Second door on the left,” Rafe pointed.

“Hey and maybe when your done we could get you another drink!” Rafe shouted as you walked towards the bathroom.

The bathroom was nice but you didn’t want to be in there long. You simply did your business and walked back out to the party. Rafe was leaning against the wall, waiting for you.

“There she is!” Rafe gestured towards you outstretching his hands.

“Yeah yeah yeah so where’s this drink you promised?”

“Come with me,” Rafe put his arm around your shoulder and led you downstairs.

When you reached the kitchen, Rafe pulled out two mai tais from the cooler. He handed you one and whispered in your ear, “drink up.”

You did as you were told and before you knew it you were on your fourth. You were standing around talking to Rafe about random things when you see JJ racing towards you and Rafe.

He got right up in your face and started yelling.

“What the hell do you think your doing?!”

“Drinking,” you slurred.

“With Rafe?” JJ accused.

“Yeah with Rafe, you were too busy eye fucking that poor girl,” you spat.

“Right so you keeping tabs on me now?” JJ questioned.

“No but you have no right to be jealous when all you do is hook up with other girls,” you shouted.

“Oh that’s rich. I’m not jealous, I’m just surprised your hanging out with this kook.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I care. I care about you ok?! Is that so hard to believe? Rafe is bad news,” JJ yelled.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you pointed your finger at him. You went to take a step towards him but you lost your balance and fell forward. JJ caught you thankfully.

The proximity of you and JJ got you flustered. The alcohol already was making you flushed you didn’t need to increase it. You could smell the alcohol on JJ’s breath, it was hitting your face.

“Thanks,” you acknowledged for catching you.

“No problem,” he breathed.

“If your little cat fight is over, I wasn’t done talking to y/n,” Rafe cut in.

“You know what Rafe, be my guest. Screw this I’m out of here. Hang out with whoever you want,” JJ stormed off leaving you drunk on his aroma. The few seconds that you were that close to him left you feeling dizzy.

“I’m glad that we’re finally alone,” Rafe expressed.

“Thanks for the drinks but I have to go,” you spoke quickly.

You wanted to find JJ and talk to him anything to continue to be around him but you had no luck. He was gone. You wondered if he found a girl to go home with. You hope not.

Kiara was the one who got you home safely because you were too drunk to do so yourself and you tried asking her about JJ but she knew nothing. When you finally made it to your room, you went to bed that night hoping JJ’s jealousy was real and that he wasn’t hooking up with a girl tonight.

——————

You woke up with a terrible hangover. You had a bad headache and you were feeling nauseous. You wanted to hide under the covers and never come out.

The day was bright and sunny, making you cringe from all the light. The headache you had didn’t help. You were sensitive from the light due to your hangover.

You want to check your phone and realized you had a text from JJ.

JJ: can we please talk?

Y/N: yeah I guess so.

JJ: come to the château.

The walk over to the château wasn’t that bad but your head was pounding. JJ was outside waiting for you.

“Hey you came!?” JJ stated.

“Yep.”

“Ok just listen and let me speak first,” JJ demanded.

You nodded your head.

“About the party, seeing you with Rafe made me really angry. I was super jealous and I know I have no right to be jealous but I was. I wanted to punch the living daylights out of him for even looking in your direction. You make me feel things I never thought I would feel. I think I’m better with you in my life, and I love you.” JJ finished.

You were shocked by his speech, you didn’t expect him to say that at all. You stood there thinking how to respond to that with JJ looking at you for an answer.

“How will I know that you’re loyal?” you asked.

“I want only you,” JJ replied.

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes, I mean every word. No girl could ever compare to you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“So all those girls you were with mean nothing to you?” you raised a brow.

“I was only with those girls because I thought you would never love me back. I was being stupid and careless.” JJ explained.

“It really hurt me to see you with them.”

“So you were jealous?” JJ smirked.

“What No i- maybe,” you pondered.

JJ laughed and you were excited to see him so happy.

“Listen JJ I’ve always loved you,” you started.

JJ let out a sigh of relief, like he was holding his breath waiting for you to tell him that you love him.

“Good.”

“Can i kiss you i’m dying over here.” JJ pleaded.

“Yes.”

JJ grabbed your face and placed his lips on yours. The kiss was heated and frantic. You were relieved that he was kissing you. JJ was eager. Your lips were crushing together. JJ’s blood was rushing through his veins. JJ’s hands were cupping your cheek.

When the kiss was over both of your were smiling.

“Come back here,” JJ spoke.

You grinned into the second kiss. JJ moving one hand to your waist to pull your body closer to his. The other hand moved to your neck.

When it was over you were both breathing heavy.

“it’s just you and me against the world.” JJ acknowledged.

“Yep.”

[thechekhov]

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH45

Slumber party!

Fair, but consider: She deserves a little murder. As a treat.

Kabru be like "IS THAT MY BACKSTORY???"

That sure is....a ship. With no one on it.

Ah, shit the Americans are here.

Two things: Toshiro being tended to like a pretty pretty princess is hilarious.

And also, the fact that they think the elves can kill Falin......... hmmm.... Pressing X to doubt.

............... oh. Laios. 😂

But also like. How was he MEANT to keep it silent? Put a little something in it? I thought since it was a magic bell you could code it to only ring when it's shaken with INTENT?

Fancy ass house.

Also, Namari...........are you hitting that yet? Both of that?

Oh, it's backstory time.

Okay one: that's fucking tragic, it sounds like the Elves are just forcing the dungeons closed with no regard for how the ecosystem compensates and what people suffer by being in close proximity......

And another thing: Kabru. Kabru, isn't that what YOU'RE after? Having all the power?

Why is this so much like that one meme where the girls at the party are looking at you.

It's the same picture.

Kabru that's. That's maybe not the way to go about it. you're going to give them MORE reasons to go in.

Nevermind the governor not being into this 'good boy, now sign' talk, Toshiro's kinda right. Ya fucked up Kabru.

No matter how far Laios runs, he cannot escape other people trying to tell him how to live his life. Poor guy. But at the same time...

Is this real? Or a red herring?

Laios' father and mother seemed to be living relatively pious lives. They clearly had a good house, but it didn't seem like they were extremely rich. Then again, perhaps he's just a cousin of royalty? Is that why his parents wanted him to have children?

They want to.... halt the growth of the dungeon? Is this another part of the natural ecosystem of things? Dungeons growing seems to point even more towards the idea that it's a gigantic, fleshpit-like creature instead of simply a construct.

Then again, constructs CAN be creatures. Like the golems.

Elves not understanding how old humans are continues to be hilarious because like.

As humans, we HAVE this same concept of variant aging. Like. Dogs. We understand that dogs live less than us, and mature a lot slower. But this is.... COMMON KNOWLEDGE. Most people do not make it into adulthood without understanding that dogs mature within 1-2 years of their birth.

The fact that elves, a species with FAR more time on their hands, who have lived alongside other races for AGES....... have STILL not got the general concept of aging down....means their education is atrocious. Or they're all not paying attention.

.......this. THIS is the most fascinating concept in this chapter.

The fallen.... turned into MONSTERS.

We know that dying inside the dungeon doesn't mean permanent death. But dying above-ground does.

We know that dying in the dungeon doesn't mean your body turns into a monster (aside from ghosts and ghouls?) ..... but dying aboveground.... DOES......?

WHAT'S THE TRUTH.

👁👁

Hm.

If Kabru and Laios fused, they could almost make one functioning human being.

Senshi just beginning to speak in the middle of his own internal monologue is so real.

...... what's going on there with the expression, buddy?

Bread.......are they STILL carrying around flour with them?! How are they getting bread?!

Also, it's awesome that the eggs are canonically hard to crack, because it makes sense that they don't break during their many fighting events.

Izutsumi really said ◉_◉

Don't tell me Laios, who is sensitive to ghosts has ALSO been seeing things?

Not gonna lie, that's highkey terrifying.

Props to that ghost that's been following Laios around, not ever giving up hope that it can bother him into acknowledging it.

And also - hey, it already saved them once! that means it's probably not evil!

That, or it's the king of the bloody dungeon. Wouldn't that be something!

[hazashiovo]

Heyy can I have Korra x reader, where they're kinda in a situationship, where Korra ends up confessing everything with a fluffy ending

I kinda see it happening tbh,she can be so awkward sometimes,it's funny.

Gen:angst to comfort ,kinda situationship, Korra worried she would hurt you.

Korra x Gn!Reader

After defeating Amon,Korra started doubting the idea of becoming something more with you.

It's not that she lost feelings for you but after all that happened this feeling took place in her gut. Always there to remind her that if she gets close to you, danger would always lurk in the dark.

And she started distancing herself, training more just to resist the urge to be with you. But it was so hard.

Whenever you'd show up just to see her, the feeling in her gut would grow , almost competing with the feeling in her heart.

So you began worrying, after all you were her best friend more than that. When she started distancing from you,you felt hurt.

You understood that her position as the Avatar would put you and your friends in danger,but it didn't mean that you would leave her,or allow her to leave you just because she believes it's safer this way.

What you have to do,is confront her,it's all just a big mess that hopefully you could fix.

And to top it all of, you couldn't just let things as they are. Because every time you think of Korra and you, the same question echoes in the depths of your mind.

What are we?

You're more than friends you know this much from the way the two of you treat each other...but also less than lovers.

So here you are,ready to confront the avatar for ghosting you after everything you've been through.

When you showed up at her door, Korra had this confused expression on her face, probably wondering where did you come from out of the blue or something.

But she knew,that she couldn't just ignore you forever,and hope for the best outcome.

It was just a matter of time before you came knocking at her door demanding answers,and the time is here.

"Speak to me Korra,what have I done that made you decide you don't want to be my friend anymore?" Your pleading eyes begged her to look at you, to tell you the truth. But the girl had a hard time finding the right words,her silence stressing you out more than you expected.

"It's not about you,I mean it is ,but not something that you did." You huff annoyed.

"Then talk to me! You can't just shut yourself away from me and call it a day!" Your hands tangle in your hair, already feeling like ripping your hair out.

Korra groans annoyed,her attitude starting to match with yours.

"If it's safer to shut myself out,then be it." She crosses her arms avoiding your gaze.

You move closer to her, "It doesn't matter if it's safe or not,you could handle a blood bender but not me?" She feels it,the change in your voice.

Softer sounding now,she also saw the close proximity between the two of you,and she barely resists pulling you in and never letting you go, bad Korra,no no.

"That's different,you're my friend. I could never bear the thought of losing you because of me." She averts her eyes, pinning her gaze on the ground, anything to ignore the puppy look in your eyes. Afraid that if she looks when would no longer be able to hold back her need for you.

"Don't do that,don't decide what's best for me. I'm very capable of doing that myself."

You sigh, touching her arms in a comforting manner. You won't allow her to give up on this,on what you have.

"People got hurt because of me. Beifong lost her bending for a while,and Amon almost got to you! I'm not good for you." She furrows her brows ,eyes narrowed at you. This is the best thing she can do to you.

"Korra...that's not true, nothing that happened was because of you,and even so,you made it right!" Your hands find their way to her cheeks,gently caressing it with your thumb in a soothing manner.

"What if something happens to you and I'm not there to save you,or what if you get harmed because of me?" She sighs,her hands coming around your wrist.

You smile,"Don't live in fear because of a 'What if',I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."your head meets hers lovingly.

That was all Korra needed to hear to kiss you. Her lips meet yours faster than you could register,one hand going around the back of your neck while the other is sneaked around your waist, pulling you even closer to her. Your chests stuck to another, you're able to feel her heart beating,and you could bet she can feel yours to .

This is a new page for you two,and nothing is going to tear it apart.

.

.

I had another writer's block while writing this😅

[warping-realities]

Making Amends (Repost)

Eric Campbell wasn't sure where his life had taken this turn. But if he had to pick a moment, it would be the one when he revealed to his high school best friend, Ryan, that he was gay and in love with him.

Ryan, although receptive to his friend's sexuality, refused any interest in him and from that moment on the friendship cooled down. The situation worsened when Ryan started dating Vanessa, a classmate for whom Eric had no sympathy and who, upon discovering his secret, decided to make his life a real hell. Telling the whole school the truth about his sexuality, which made Eric move to another city.

Between a shaken friendship with someone who was moving and a relationship with a girl who soon revealed she was pregnant with his child, Ryan opted for the second option. And for more than 20 years the two friends did not see each other.

With the sudden death of his father, the only living relative he still had, Eric was forced to return to his hometown to organize the house and the few assets he inherited. Which put him back in proximity to his old friend, today a successful lawyer, who ironically lived on the same block, along Vanessa and their son, who was spending his college vacation at his parents' house.

While Ryan kept the lean body and the long shiny hair that he was so proud of since his youth, Eric accumulated excessive weight, due to the long hours working as a graphic designer, a lot of fast food, and a complete lack of exercises, which associated with his scruffy beard and messy red hair gave him an unkempt look.

It's not that his life was horrible, his career guaranteed him financial stability to live comfortably. But it wasn't a happy life either, as his youth experiences prevented him from having any meaningful relationships and raising a family. And that's what he thought as he slowly fell asleep while watching porn videos, lying on the couch at his parents' old house.

....

“Hello son” Eric got scared when he heard his late father's voice. Looking around he found himself sitting on the same room he had fallen asleep on but with the body and appearance of when he was 18 years old.

“Dad..? But you passed away..”

“Yes, I'm dead, son. But that doesn't mean I can't do something to make amends with you.”

"Make amends? What do you mean?

"The truth is, I didn't support you when I should have, even though I knew I could have done so much more for you than I did. All because deep down I couldn't accept and love you for who you are... but no more. Tomorrow when you wake up you will receive the first of my gifts, after that I want you to go to your old friend Ryan's house to receive the remaining!”

….

It was a strange morning for Ryan, first he woke up alone in his bed, with the odd feeling that someone should be lying next to him. What didn't make the slightest sense, that side of the bed had been empty for over 15 years, when Vanessa, his ex-wife, had abandoned him, leaving him to raise the couple's son, Jacob, alone. Thinking about it made his head hurt, giving him a feeling of unreality.

Speaking of unreality… Ryan was at that very moment sitting across from his old school friend, Eric, who had decided to pay a visit, while he awaited the outcome of his father's probate process. But this Eric was very different from the image he had in his head, acquired by seeing the photos posted on the other man's Instagram, which he had discreetly followed in an embarrassed way over the last few years, thinking with regret of his actions in the last year from school.

The Eric sitting across from him was a fine specimen of a man, with well-developed gargantuan sized muscles, a perfect face and very well-groomed hair. Contrasting with the obese and careless figure that insisted on appearing in the back of his head.

“So, where's Jake? You know I love that boy.” Eric said with a smile on his face.

"He must be in his room getting ready for the day" Ryan replied without thinking. But soon a question came to his lips

“What do you mean with “love”? When did you see him?”

“Yesterday, and the day before, and in all the holidays he spent with me since his childhood.” Eric answered with a smile.

"I do not know what you're talking about. Jacob never spent a day with you.”

“Did you hit your head somewhere, Ry? Jake has spent more time at my house than his own since Vanessa left. You decided it was better for him to stay with his godfather than a nanny.”

“I… I… don't…” Ryan stammered. As consternation came over his face.

“Ry, is everything okay? Now you really worried me.” Eric replied with concern.

It was then that hazy memories surfaced in Ryan's mind. He leaving Jacob as a child at his friend's house, the three walking on a beach, a video sent from an old cell phone, showing Jacob holding a tooth and laughing with a toothless smile while Eric's laughter could be heard in the background.

“I, yes, yes. I don't know how I could forget about that, Red"

The old nickname returning to Ryan's lips as if had never left.

“But I don’t understand, you left a long time ago…”

“Yes, Ry, but I came back when my best friend asked me to help him raise his son”

“Sure, sure. - That made sense, didn't it? "For which Jacob and I will be forever grateful," he concluded.

“There's no need to thank me, ever, I did everything with the greatest pleasure, I love the little devil, and speaking of him, it seems he's not so little anymore. Have you been working out, Jake?” Eric said looking at the skinny dark haired young man who entered the room at that moment. Which in turn replied somewhat disconcerted:

“Humm, no…not really. But… who are you?"

“Jacob, this is no way to talk to Uncle Eric””

“Uncle… Eric … ? what the fuck, dad?

“Jacob, what language is that? You may be a grown man now, but inside my house you won't treat an old friend like that, apologize, now!"

"But, but…”

“Leave the kid alone, Ry. He was always hot-blooded. And he was always a smartass to. I'm sure it's some joke, isn't it, Devil?"

"I don't know what… "- Jacob started to say, but stopped at the same moment when he noticed his father's stern look. “Yes, a joke of course, Uncle…?”

“Hahaha, and he continues! Always the same devilish boy, even though he's a man now, and what a man, look how big you are kid, look at that musculature!”

Both Jacob and Ryan were unable to understand Eric's comments, Jacob had been a quiet and serious child, a behavior he maintained until adulthood, in addition to that he was always averse to physical activities, preferring to pursue academic achievements, as well as his father, which translated into a thin body for life. But those memories began to blur and mix with those of a mischievous boy, given to pranks, who from an early age practiced all kinds of sports.

"Ah, sit here beside me boy, I want to know everything you're up to in college, you must be the terror of the sororitys, and the fraternities too..." - Eric said with a wink, as he pulled Jacob making him sit down up next to him on the couch.

“Hum, I don't know… I don't know… - said Jacob with a feeling of anguish in his chest and a mess of discordant thoughts and memories in his head. From spending his days diligently studying in the college library, except when he was playing chess with friends, to memories of spending his days diligently training in the gym and his nights going to parties, always ending up accompanied by a beautiful woman... or man.

"Calm down little demon" Whispered Eric in the boy's ear, who finally relaxed his shoulders and smiled. “Dad is here and everything is going to be okay.” He concluded, enveloping the boy in a hug and giving him an affectionate and long kiss on the head.

Seeing the scene Ryan thought that was too much and got up with the intention of separating the two.

“Hey…” he started to say. But his head began to hurt intensely, with the objects spinning around him, and the last thing he saw before falling to the ground was Eric's smiling face, as he caressed Jacob's head leaning against the man's huge chest.

…..

It had been a strange morning for Ryan. He woke up lying on the couch in the living room, his head a little dizzy, and with a feeling of strangeness with the environment around him, as if the atmosphere was denser. When he looked at himself he realized that he was wearing pajamas, but he remembered changing clothes when he woke up, but if he was waking up now…. would that have been the day before? Still confused and with his head throbbing he walked slowly to the kitchen thinking about having a glass of water while he waited for this feeling of strangeness disappear.

Upon entering the room, Ryan got a big scare! Standing behind the table was a red haired giant, half naked, smiling in his direction.

“R-Red? What are you doing here."

“Hey Ry. I'm sorry, my thoughts were far away. I see you're awake, I thought I'd take you to bed, but even with those arms I don't know if I'd have the strength for that, big guy!"

“Big guy?” Those words echoed in Ryan's throbbing head. He had always been skinny, but with time and a workout routine he had acquired a more toned musculature, yet being called "Big Guy" made something resonate inside him... but someone like Red calling him big didn't make sense, as the fact that someone was sitting in Ryan's kitchen, helping himself to his coffee, and worst of all, practically naked.

"Red, what are you doing here, and almost naked?"

“Since when are you a prude, Ry? And as for what I'm doing here, I'm making breakfast for you and that devilish boy. Did you see the time he arrived? I imagine not, since you were sleeping on the couch…. You'd think college would knock some sense into our boy's head..."

“Our…boy?” Suddenly Ryan had a flash, a image of Eric approaching Jacob, whispering something in his ear, his smile looking at Ryan while hugging him...

“Jacob! Where is Jacob.” "What you do with him?” He asked with an accusing tone.

“Calm down Ryan, boys will be boys, regardless of age. But we can talk to him, parent to child if that's important to you” Eric answered with a soothing tone, apparently misunderstanding the reason for Ryan's indignation. Who in turn was staring at the giant in front of him with stupefaction.

“From parent to child?” What do you mean by…” Ryan began to say, being interrupted by the entry of an attractive muscular young man with vibrant red hair, totally naked, exposing his muscular body, with a large pole hanging between his legs, swinging from side to side as he trotted to the kitchen table.

“Morning, dad…” - said the young man passing by him while stretching, making his huge cock swing more willingly.

"Dad…? What… how… Jacob??? What happened??? What are you wearing?"

"Hum, nothing?." Answered the young man. Bursting with laughter along with Eric. While Ryan watched him, who was nothing like the thin boy he knew as well as the back of his hand.

“Hey, Devil, where's my hug? Eric asked, approaching the boy and hugging him, not caring that the young man's cock was exposed.

“Daaad…” replied the young man, with mocked irritation as he hugged the other man.

That scene made Ryan's brain shatter into a thousand pieces, to the point where he stood there watching without being able to form a single word, dumbfounded. With his head pounding harder, as the sense of unreality heightened.

“What the fuck is going on here”? Ryan yelled as he finally gathered his strength. Nothing there made sense.

“What kind of language is this, father?” said Jacob in an unconvincing imitation of a strict father.

“Your dad is looking like a prude old man today, Jake. Frankly, he doesn't even look like the man I chose to spend my life with and father my child with." Eric replied containing a laugh.

That was the last straw. Ryan cupped his face in both hands, sighing in frustration. With the throbbing in his head finally reaching its peak as he blacked out.

….

Ryan woke up lying on the couch in the living room, with his head a little dizzy, and with a feeling of strangeness with the environment around him, as if the atmosphere was denser. When he looked at himself he realized that he was wearing his robe and couldn't avoid a strong feeling that he had been through this same situation before. Confused and with his head throbbing, he closed his eyes in an attempt to think more clearly. And that's when he heard a familiar voice.

“Good morning, Big Man. Soon the coffee will be ready, it's time for you to open your eyes to reality!”

A feeling of anguish and fear dominated Ryan's chest, with a voice saying in the back of his mind that it would be best not to listen to anything that person had to say, to get up and leave without looking back. But a second voice silenced the first one, it didn't make any sense to leave the house where he lived, the house where his son lived, the house where his husband lived…. The first voice tried to fight these thoughts. Tried to say that they were misleading, that something very bad had already happened to his son and that the same could happen to him. “Nonsense, said the second voice, Jake was fine and healthier than ever, after all he was lifting as much weight at the gym as Ryan since he came home for the holidays, although neither of them comes close to Red in that regard. ”

"No, no, Jacob didn't lift any weights"

“Of course he would, with a father like Red, genetics and true dedication together are the best combination.”

"No, no, Eric was not Jacob's father, I’m Jacob's father"

"Of course he was Jake's father, they both were, and it didn't matter that the boy didn't have his blood, he was his son, period."

"But, but…

“No buts, his fatherhood was as real as his marriage was real and he would like to see who would have the courage to say otherwise in front of him. He might not be as big as Eric, but he was far from a wimp, years of exercise and a strict diet had given him a body to envy.”

As those thoughts played through the battleground that was Ryan's head, the truth within them was manifesting itself on the outside. With the robe he was wearing fading out of existence and revealing the muscular body they hid, while his luxurious hair shortened and lost its shine and a stubble beard appeared on his face. Eyes open but without seeing, at least not this changing reality, lost while the world changed.

“Yes, he would very much like to see who would challenge the infamous Big Man Ryan in a dispute, after all his fame preceded him, both in court, where he was a defender of gay rights, and outside of it, where he had already been involved in some fights while defending the same rights.”

“Big Man… gay rights… no… fights… no”

“Yes, this attitude started back in school, when Red confessed to him his sexuality and that he was in love with him. That was probably the happiest and most important moment of their lives, when Ryan, as passionate as his friend, responded with a kiss, and the couple's fate was sealed. And anyone who dared say anything about it would have to deal with him, although at the time he wasn't yet "Big Man Ryan", running away from a fight was never an option.”

“No…. Eric… no… Vanessa”

“Vanessa, that bitch! A single night of thoughtless drinking on Eric's part after a silly fight between the couple and the viper took the opportunity. Bitch! But that night was why Jake was born, and Ry wouldn't know what to do without his little red demon.”

“Jaco… no… dev…”

“It was that wretched Vanessa who put Ryan on the path of civil rights. The bitch, revolted when she was rejected by Red, who committed to assume and take care of the child she was expecting, but not to marry her or have to live with her more than necessary. So she decide to take revenge, telling everyone at school and town about Ryan and Eric's relationship. Which in turn resulted in the biggest beating Eric has ever taken in his life. Upon seeing the condition of his boyfriend, Ry made a promise, which he still faithfully kept to this day: he was going to defend the man of his life with everything he had.

“N…. Nh…”

“It was then, at the end of high school, that the idea of law came to mind. Along with the desire and dedication of physical exercise. Ryan spared no effort to achieve his goals, including using anabolic steroids, after all, not everyone has the genes of a red-haired giant like Eric. The results speak for themselves, Ryan has grown to massive size over the years, though in return he has lost all the hair he was so proud of in his youth.

“N…. no.. no… YEAS!!

Again the exterior manifested the interior modifications. In an instant in Ryan's place stood a huge man, with balding hair, a graying beard, and thick, developed musculature, a match in size for Eric himself.

"And it wasn't just in size that they were a match for each other" The only voice present in Ryan's much less agitated head whispered. And that voice was not wrong, both men had a libido proportional to their height and wingspan, being known to break several beds throughout their married life due to their insatiable and uninhibited sexual appetite.

Closing his eyes again, as his posture relaxed as he accepted reality Ryan felt the last words spoken by his husband echo in his head:

“It's about time you open your eyes to reality, open your eyes to reality, open your eyes… open your eyes!!!

And “Big Man” Ryan, fierce defender of civil rights, amateur bodybuilder, devoted father, loving and warm husband, voracious lover… finally opened his eyes, stretched, while getting up and finally flashed a smile to the love of his life.

“Liking what you see, Red, you old pervert?” He asked with a provocative voice.

“Just admiring the material, and congratulating myself on the investment.” Was the playful response Ryan received as he walked over to meet his husband, while throwing his boxer briefs on the floor leaving his big cock free to swing happily between his legs.

“I think the best investment was mine. I paid for a red hot giant and got a wonderful lover, plus an amazing son as a gift.” Ryan said as he approached Eric.

“By the way, speaking of amazing, have I told you how much I loved that you grew a beard? But I think I prefer your hair longer, there's only room for one big bald man in this house."

“I thought you missed that head full of hair” Eric replied very close to his husband's provocative face.

“What I miss is this mouth sucking my dick and this cock in my ass.” Ryan replied.

“What language is this?” Was Eric's last comment before giving himself to his husband with a passionate kiss. And fuck madly on the living room floor.

And it was with both naked, one next to the other, lying down and soaked in sweat and cum that the couple's son found them.

“You know, some people would be extremely embarrassed to find their parents acting so shamelessly.” A comment made by a smiling Jake, wearing only his underwear, when he saw his parents lying on the floor.

“And since when are we a bunch of Puritans, little devil?” Was the answer he received from a smiling Ryan, while getting up after giving his husband a last passionate kiss and passing by his son and giving him a kiss on the cheek, not caring that he was walking totally naked through the house.

"I'm just going to take a quick shower and get ready for work, you two wait for me before eating."

….

Eric “Red” Campbell was sitting at his desk, after a family breakfast, thinking about life's reminiscences, when he was surprised by a soft kiss on his neck. With a smile on his lips he turned and found the manly but smiling face of his man staring back at him.

“Ready to destroy some bastards, Big Ry?”

"Always! I wouldn't be the infamous Big Man Ryan if Don’t break some idiots, would I?" Ryan replied. “But you know what I'm ready for? Round two! Get ready Red, tonight it's my turn to fuck this big ass.

“And why wait until evening?”

“Don't tempt me, Mr. Campbell.” Was the answer of a smiling Ryan while walking to the door.

Eric turned to the window and watched, mug in hand, as the fine specimen of a man that was his husband trot with steady strides across the front yard toward his huge SUV. With a smile on his lips he thought about how happy he was with his marriage, his son, and the direction his life had taken.