#etc etc. so yeah that. if anyone that knows how the romances really go and want to give me some tips I'm open for them 👉👈

[majorblinks]

DOWNRIGHT ICONIC (aespa karina)

(smut, male reader, screenwriter you, stranger karina, public sex, rough sex [choking/slapping/biting/spanking/hair-pulling etc], oral, anal, facefucking, titfucking, facial, bondage, degradation, name-calling, other weird stuff, 26k words, it's been 1 million years..., BUT WE'RE SO BACK BABY <3)

Hey, turns out the critics really are onto something:

You’re going to win an Oscar for this.

You aren’t surprised when the nominations are announced. It’s all anyone’s been talking about. You’re this up-and-coming screenwriter, this newly-minted visionary, and - cue the applause - you’ve just made the movie of the year. Clips go viral everywhere; the reviews are calling it extraordinary. They all want to know how you - a relative nobody - managed to pull it off. What’s your secret? What’s your inspiration? Where’d you get this billion-dollar box office idea? 

And here’s one version of the truth:

“Well,” you’re quoted saying in every single interview: “honestly, it’s about a girl.”

Everyone eats this up, of course. It’s so fucking romantic.

You’ll tell an abridged version of this story for the rest of your life. A blip in time in early January - a certified slow-motion movie moment. You’ll say things like she was the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. You’ll say things like, I know it sounds lame, but that’s how it went. She took my breath away. She fascinated me. I saw her and I don’t think my life has ever been the same. 

You’ll never once say her name. 

“It’s weird, actually,” you’ll say in an interview after the news of the nominations drops. “Making this movie about her. She’ll last forever there, you know? She’ll always exist in this film, in this one moment in time. She’s in all of it, basically - every scene, every line. It’s all her.”

“You make it sound like she’s dead,” the interviewer will say, all open-mouthed melodrama.

You’ll laugh. “Oh, God, no,” you’ll say. “She’s alive and well.” As if it hasn’t been years since you last saw her face, watching you from down the corridor, looking lost and torn apart and very, very small. “She’s okay. I mean - I think - yeah, she’s okay.”

As if you’d know. 

Because here’s another version of the truth:

You’re going to win an Oscar for this. You’re going to stand up on that stage and thank your family and your friends. You’re going to stare at all those faces until they swim together into one golden, glittering blur, and then all you’ll see is her - her dark eyes, her glossy hair, her wrist in your grip, her throat between your fingers - her in your sheets, her smiling in your doorway, her shivering in your shower, her sobbing into her hands, her bleeding in your bed, her walking away. Her, her, her. Immortalized forever in this perfect thing you made, winning awards off the reconstruction of a memory. Art imitating life; reality warped into something magnificent, and beautiful, and better. 

And the only thing you’ll feel like doing is throwing up. 

Sure, you’ll bask for decades in the thrill of it: the fame, the fortune, the glory; the adoration, the worship, the attention; the eternal, endless love. You’ll be able to look back on your life when you’re decrepit on your deathbed and know that you - brilliant you, utterly superior you - were divinely blessed with earth-shattering success, and no one will ever be able to take that away from you. You made your mark. You meant something. You were the best, for fuck’s sake, and you have the accolades to prove it - you really, really were. 

So here’s the full truth - the final bottom line:

You’re going to win an Oscar for this. You’ll live the kind of life people beg God for. You’ll get everything you ever wanted. 

It won’t be worth it at all. 

-

First, though, there’s this. 

-

Disturbingly enough, you’re in the romance section of a bookstore when everything starts. 

This is really not your genre - that’s the funniest part. Historically, you’re bored to death by the cartoonish pastel covers; you don’t get your kicks from seeing the same delightfully quirky heroines fall for brooding bad boys, or whatever the fuck goes on in those books. You have your standards. You prefer your art a little gritty, a little fucked up, a little more interesting - the kind of thing that can leave you shellshocked in a movie theater, overcome with the sort of full-body, lightning-struck epiphany only truly good work can manage. It’s not a judgment call - you’re not trying to be pretentious. It’s just that you prefer something with some fucking bite.

The second funniest part is this: 

You’re pressed against the shelves, surrounded by the cutest, chastest love stories ever told-

“Are you serious?” 

-and Karina’s on her knees, about to take your cock down her throat. 

Maybe this is what your contemporaries call cinematic irony.

That’s gotta be the only phrase for it, really. The scene itself dripping with classless, crude, erotic filth - the way she ducks her chin to spit on her hand, the slow pump of her fist around you, the rough hum in her mouth at how achingly hard you are - nasty and irredeemable, too fast and too loud. The gross lack of subtlety in her sex appeal: all pale thighs and porn-star tits, the wet pink flash of tongue. Seductive in a way that screams at you. It’d be so easy to write this off as some deliberately controversial opening scene, gory shock value, horror-film suspense - starring you and the slut you’re about to ravage and ruin and potentially leave for dead. 

“Baby - are you sure?” 

It’d be so easy, if Karina didn’t look like an angel incarnate.

“I mean, you-” You’re stammering. You’ve got both hands in her hair, fingers sliding through the glossy black in petting, soothing motions - your clumsy attempt at reassurance. “You don’t have to, if you don’t - we’re in public - I’m not expecting you to - I don’t need it-” 

Karina’s fine, sculpted eyebrows twitch upwards. Her lips are a twist of scarlet, distinct and amused. She doesn’t quite smirk, doesn’t give a voice to the sarcasm, but the sentiment is the same - yeah, right. 

And then she lowers her mouth to lick. 

“Jesus fucking Christ-” 

Scratch that, then. This is the funniest part. The most inhumanly beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, debasing herself in public like some sort of desperate common whore - come on, bring in the laugh track. 

Not that anyone’s laughing now. 

You’re no poet - they’re a few sections over, Plath and Yeats and Dickinson - but Karina’s the kind of thing that makes you understand the motivation completely: only capable of being captured in metaphor, without context, painstakingly interpreted hundreds of years from now by people who will never get this right. All carved-out cheekbones, fluttering lashes; tight fuckable body clad in a little low-cut dress, feet tucked neatly behind her like she’s simulating worship. Dirty and religiously devoted in how she stretches her full glossed lips around your cock and lets your grip tangle in her hair and- 

“Karina,” you get out, but her only response is to blink sweetly up at you and suck. 

Well, who gives a shit about the poets, anyway? You doubt any of them ever got to fuck a mouth like this. 

There’s an unfamiliar caution to the rut of your hips, a wincing fascination every time she gags - and she gags loud, choking and heaving, saliva dripping slick around you and down her chin - that seems to both entertain and confuse Karina. A skeptical crease in her forehead, saying everything she can’t: you don’t wanna fuck me up? Ruin me? Cloudy spit falling in strands to her tits, seeping into the crimson fabric of her dress; she’s wearing a worn black sweatshirt that’s slipping off one shoulder, exposing the clean line of her collarbone. The hollow of her cheeks, the obscene painful sound of your cock clogging her throat - it’s subtext, explicit suggestion. A preternatural understanding. I know what this is. I know what you want from me. 

Which - she couldn’t possibly. 

“Baby.” You sound so wretched that it’s humiliating. Karina’s sharply lined eyes seem to flash with humor, smug and lazily self-satisfied. “You’re gonna make me fucking cum.” 

The thick, sloppy, choked noise she makes is the closest she’s gonna get to a laugh. 

Oh, sure, whatever, it’s not like you’re not thinking about it: digging your fingertips into her scalp and really fucking her face, relishing in the way those eyes would go wide and glassy with unshed tears; refusing to let her have control, to let her lick and lap and breathe. You’re scripting it in your head already. You’d strip her bare and make her sob. You’d wreck her throat and cum all over her face and force her to walk out like that: coated in the sticky, filthy evidence of everything you’ve made her - look at this, you’d say, look at what I have. Look at what I did - all this, all me. 

“God.” Your thumb braces against Karina’s temple, like the gentle stroke of a brush, like you’re painting her right into existence. “You’re just-” A harsh gag; a fall of dirty, drooling spit. “You’re really enjoying this, huh? Getting on your knees in public for a fucking stranger?” 

That’s why the fantasy of fucking her into brutal submission is actually so understandable. You don’t know her. You don’t owe her shit. You could destroy her and it’s not like she could do anything to fight back - not when she’s already below you, looking up. When she asked for this. 

Except-

“Karina.” You can’t stop saying her name. “You’re - fucking perfect.” 

And it’s true.

So you cum. 

Karina swallows it all with the same amount of sultry grace she seems to do everything - how she laughs and walks and talks and takes your cock like a fucking professional - languishing in the practiced bob of her throat, the preening flicker of her eyelids, her face shiny and pale. It tugs the same feeling out of you as a flawless shot in a film, a well-timed bit of dialogue: watching an expert at work, pulling out all their stops. One hand through her hair. Her nails the same rich color as her mouth and her dress. Nasty, slutty, impressive attention to detail - Christ, get this girl in front of a camera, get the moon to be her limelight - you’re breathless, you’re enthralled, you’re so fucking far gone. 

Then: the sticky retreating glide of her pouty mouth, lipstick smeared badly down her chin, stark and arresting as blood. 

“In my experience,” Karina says, finally, “being perfect’s never gotten me anywhere good.” 

She pulls the sleeve of her sweatshirt up and wipes her face with her wrist. 

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, dizzy.

“Thank you,” Karina says, sweet like she means it, and sits back on her heels. 

You can’t help yourself; you’re petting back her hair again, cupping her face softly in your hand, caught on the dark glint of her irises. Angel was an understatement. She looks more than that - looks like something holy and all-powerful, something omniscient and blindingly beautiful, something who knows exactly what you need and knows exactly how to follow through. Something worthy of mythology. Something like a god.

And any sort of rough, ruthless, fucked-up fantasy - it’s never going to happen. 

You just can’t ruin a girl like her. 

“So?” Karina’s voice is a smoky bombshell lilt, like she’s just stepped out of some film noir from the 1950s. Hands folded primly in her lap, fingers interlocked like a lady. She could be a pop culture icon, an eternal sex symbol - a Marilyn, a Bond girl, a timeless universal beauty. “What now?” 

You think your brain actually short-circuits. “Sorry?” 

Head tilted, lids dropped low. Smirk still sharp and scarlet. “Are you gonna take me home?” 

You open your mouth to respond, but then a customer walks by the aisle. 

You’re a panicked flurry of motion - zipping up your pants, turning away, frantically patting down your clothes - but Karina just stays kneeling on the floor, little chin on an incline, utterly incriminating. It doesn’t matter. The customer passes you by. The world returns to the way it should be: just the two of you.

“Karina,” you say, flabbergasted by her composure. 

Karina’s lips quirk. “What?” 

You shake your head and offer your hand to help her up, but Karina laughs instead - actually laughs. It’s peculiar, beautiful: raspy like a chronic chainsmoker, as though there’s something foreign she’s trying to dislodge. The raw, gravelly aftermath of a skinned knee, a grisly scrape over skin. 

“Wow,” she says, and stands all on her own, tugs the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her fingers. “That’s a yes to taking me home, then?” 

“What are you doing?” You’re laughing too - you can’t help it - reaching for Karina’s tiny waist to pull her in. “What are you - what do you want?” 

When Karina smiles, it seems to set her eyes aflame. Bright and dancing, lashes like a shroud of smoke. “What do you mean?” 

“You just met me.” It sounds feeble, somehow: a thin, useless excuse. Nothing against the way her body slots between your hands, a smooth effortless fit; nothing compared to how she kisses you between sentences, so quick and easy it already feels like a habit. “You don’t - you don’t know me.” 

Karina’s mouth puckers, coy. “No?” 

“No,” you shoot back, grinning, but it doesn’t sound convincing at all. “Come on, baby, seriously. What do you want?” 

There’s gotta be some motive, you’re thinking. There’s gotta be a reason. Karina is so still, so soft and pliant under your hands, all the carved porcelain perfection of a marble sculpture but with none of the cold stiffness. Spine curving under your fingertips, jaw tilting into your touch. 

A complete stranger, maybe - but every part of her body is begging to be known. 

“Don’t you get it?” Karina says. “I want whatever you want.” 

It’s so simple and earnest it takes your breath away. 

“I - Jesus.” You’re biting on the inside of your cheek, drinking her in. “What if I told you I don’t know what I want?”

Another rasp of a laugh, sound like the serrated edge of a blade. “I’d say fine, okay.” Karina’s voice is low, conspiratorial. “But I’d think you’re lying.” 

And here’s the thing you know for sure:

The very second you saw Karina you swear you saw the next hundred pages of a manuscript unfurling in front of you, lines and themes and gorgeous dark-eyed heroines, tragically beautiful endings and stunning cinematography - infinite narratives in the glossy sweep of her hair, in the seductive stretch of her legs, in the way she looked at you in a crowded room and smiled a lovely, secret smile and told you she’d follow you anywhere. She’s worth making art about. She’s worth devoting lifetimes to. The most honest thing you could say to her right now is baby, I’m writing a movie about this one day, and I think you’re really gonna like it.

Karina couldn’t possibly know any of this, but it still feels like she does - impractical knowledge in how she loops one arm around your neck and kisses you again, no hesitation. Like she actually knows you. 

“I want to fuck you,” you murmur against her mouth, because it’s the next most honest thing. “Is that enough for you?”

You’re a screenwriter. You know your horror movies. A small part of you recognizes that this is precisely how they start: fanged vampires, wicked succubi, femme fatales out for blood. Karina’s so gorgeous she can’t be human - teeth so sharp there’s no way her intentions are pure.

“Sure,” Karina says, smirk glimmering like starlight. “Then I want that, too.” 

It’s a murder plot waiting to happen. 

You take her home anyway. 

-

(Oh, and about your Oscar-winning script-

In theory, this is how it begins.

It’s classic. There’s a stranger and there’s a beautiful girl and they’re both sitting at a bar, talking for the very first time. The girl has a rose tucked behind her ear; it matches the crimson color of her lipstick perfectly. The stranger had asked her what the deal with it was, but she’d said something vague and nonsensical about it being a gift, so now they’re talking about normal, average things. Jobs, names, flirtatious pickup lines. It’s obvious because it’s meant to be, like a set-up to some predictable porn - everyone watching knows they’re going to fuck. 

She keeps getting closer to him. At one point he thinks she’s going in for a kiss.

Instead, all she does is pluck the rose from behind her ear, and hand it to him. 

It’s okay, she says. No thorns. 

He stares at the rich furled petals and the whittled-down stem. 

Thanks, he says, amused, charmed. He thinks there’s something odd about her. He likes it, though; if she were as beautiful as she is - which is very beautiful, exquisitely fucking beautiful - and she behaved like most people do, he’d find her terribly boring. 

He takes it from her. Turns over the rose in his hands absentmindedly as she keeps talking. She’s got all this hair: wild and glossy black, pouring over her thin shoulders, her ribs, her tiny waist. After a moment he feels the sharp prick of a thorn against his fingertip and releases the rose in surprise. 

You said there weren’t thorns, he tells her, laughing. Ow. 

Whoops, she says. Then: Did it get me too? 

She turns her head, pulls her hair out of the way. There’s a scarlet bead of blood trickling down the side of her perfect pale neck. He can’t quite tell where the point of entry was, where the thorn had dug in and broken skin. It’s bleeding a bit too heavily. Covering its tracks. 

She swivels, slightly. She sees the look on his face. Is it bad? she asks.

No, he says, though he can’t really tell. But - couldn’t you feel it, though? The thorn? 

The girl presses her hand to the side of her throat. It comes back bloodstained, a neat smear of red along the lifeline of her palm. 

No, she echoes, though this can’t possibly be true. Hey, you wanna get out of here or something? 

Alright, he says, smiling. They both stand. They leave the rose where it is. Let’s go. 

He cups her cheek instead of her neck when he kisses her for the first time, so he doesn’t have her blood on his hands.

It starts simple like that.) 

-

Karina’s so out of place in your apartment that it’s almost laughable - or it would be, if you were capable of thinking about anything but her mouth and her hands and her tits crushed up against your chest as you pin her to the doorframe. She keeps making these little sounds into your mouth: low and throaty, almost agonized. You swallow all her moans off her lips - oh, baby, you’re okay - and you only kiss her harder. She doesn’t belong, among your carpet worn-down from pacing and your laptop still open and idling and the mess of incoherent colorful post-it notes pasted to your fridge. She doesn’t fit here. Here kissing your mouth, here in your arms, here on fucking earth with the rest of you heathens-

“You wanna fuck me so bad,” murmurs Karina, chin on an incline, staring up at you, “then do it already.” 

She doesn’t squirm or fidget; she doesn’t get needy or start begging. She stays pinned down by your body, lips parted, and stands completely still. 

It’s like she’s telling you to make your move. Waiting for something inevitable. 

“What happened to patience?” you say, anyway. 

Karina’s mouth curls. She palms your cock through your pants. “What the fuck is that?”

You try to laugh, breathless and turned on, but all she does is kiss you again.

You’re a creative - you’re ready to attribute meaning to every movement - but there’s nothing so profound about it when you get Karina on your bed, all that thick black hair fanned out on your sheets, her hands grasping to get your shirt off - off, she murmurs, off. Even that comes out measured. She never shakes. She’s so sure. You kiss her everywhere you can reach, her face and her neck and her collarbone and her tits, drunk on the soft, humming sounds she makes when you do. You’re so fucking gorgeous, you can’t stop saying, and Karina keeps laughing that same raspy laugh, like it’s the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard. 

“You told me you already know that, right?” You’ve got her face cupped in one of your hands and your other one at the neckline of her scarlet dress. “So what’s so funny?” 

“Everything.” Her teeth glint the way fangs would, a deliberate trick of the light. She’d be villainous if she weren’t so content to be trapped underneath you. “All of it.” She presses her palm to the side of your neck. “You’re too nice.” 

“Fuck.” Your thumb accidentally digs too hard into her cheek. She doesn’t wince, but you feel it - the stomach-turning thrill, the possibility of leaving a bruise. Your hand drops low - lower, down her throat and her tits and her flat midriff - and slips between her thighs, up her dress. It feels safer, somehow. “How do you manage to make the word nice sound like an insult?” 

“It’s not,” she says, simply, and spreads her legs. 

And it must not be - because Karina’s so wet. 

She makes another low velvety sound when you first touch her, seems to melt into the stretch of your finger in her cunt - just one finger, and her back arches faintly, prettily, hips lifting to take more. “Jesus,” you mutter, but Karina’s not looking at you: her eyes are shut tight, lashes fluttering black, tits heaving in her dress with each draw of breath. You’ve fucked girls who’ve seemed unsure of themselves - embarrassed by their own wantonness, how wet they are, how bad they want it - but all Karina does is wrap her hand around your wrist and tug, once: a clear soundless plea for more.

For a second you’re actually, positively certain that you’ve lost it. 

It’s abject fantasy. It can’t be real. You in your apartment with the dream girl - the personal Aphrodite - the muse; God, if anyone was ever made to be a fucking muse, it’s her - underneath you with her ridiculous tits and her tight little pussy, face like a Hollywood dream. Ludicrous. Impossible. Bucking as she tries to fuck herself deeper on your fingers, all the way to the knuckle - slowing down only to say you wanna fuck my cunt open with your big fat cock or what? 

“I,” you try to say, strangled - her mouth’s so fucking filthy. “I was - I mean - we could take it slow-”

“How romantic,” says Karina - and this, too, sounds like a heinous insult coming from her - but she drags your wrist to her lips and sucks her own slick off your hand anyway. 

You choke on your next breath. “Karina-” 

She looks up at you, unflinching, tits half out of her dress and cunt dripping down her thighs. Lipstick worn-down, kissed-off. All over your mouth, or your throat, or your shirt. Mouth chapped from the cold and stained marvelously pink. There’s something in the way her smile forms slight and crooked every time you say her name, as if there’s some private joke you’re not in on. 

“You’re such a gentleman,” Karina purrs, all syrupy-sweet condescension. Then: “You really don’t have to be.” 

She licks the pad of your finger. She’s so completely shameless. You feel monstrous on top of her, in this sick, superior way, like she’s just too small to be so sopping wet and slutty and fuckable - too beautiful to be anything but treated just right. 

“If you want me to fuck you like a whore, baby,” you tell her, half-joking, “then just say that.” 

It’s a mistake the moment it leaves your mouth - a line crossed. Because all Karina does is cock her head, your wrist gripped delicately in her hand, her legs parted underneath you, and stares. Almost droll, bemused. Like you’re so goddamn predictable.  

“Didn’t you hear me?” That perfect face sears right through you. You’d nearly fucked that face. Not quite. Not yet. “I want whatever you want.” 

She’s even tinier than you originally thought she was. You only realize this now, tracing her stomach under your fingertips, feeling the sharp relief of each rib straining beneath her skin. You don’t know it until you touch her, but you can span the width of her thigh under one hand. It sends a strange shiver through you: mapping every jut of bone, every startling edge. She’s tiny. Breakable, practically. Men meaner than you have probably thrown her around, fucked her up against walls, used her like a toy. 

“So,” says Karina. “What do you want?” 

Your fist clenches tight in her grasp, right in front of her face, knuckles going horrifically white.

Like you - like you’re going to-

An accident. A primal sort of gesture, like you’re less than human, turned under her touch into some feral hot-blooded animal who can’t control itself: carnivorous, predatory. You stare at your own hand and then the sharp scythelike curve of her mouth and feel revolted embarrassment crawl straight up your spine. 

It’s abhorrent. 

It also doesn’t even seem to matter.

Karina doesn’t go wide-eyed and nervous; she doesn’t look at your wound fist like she’s scared of what it could do to her. She clicks her tongue, once. Like this, too, is something she already saw coming.

“I thought so,” she says, anyway. Maybe this is it, what does it for her; looking the devil full in the face and begging to be burned. “Then do it.” 

“I can’t do that to you,” you mutter, but you tug her dress up, and you fuck her anyway. 

-

She’s a stranger. This is the point of fucking strangers. To do things to them that you’d never do to anyone else - to take out your worst impulses and tell your best lies and know that none of it matters, in the end. Because they’re nobody, and because you’ll never see them again. 

But you just can’t. 

She’s too indulgent and stunning and soft, with her low moans and the addicting drenched heat of her cunt, hand gentle and careful on the nape of your neck so she can keep pulling you into a kiss. She’s made up of curves, delicate edges - those hips and those tits you can’t keep your hands off of and her lips in a dreamy smile - and you find yourself stroking her hair back from her face so you can drink it all in: the blush in her cheeks, the almost serene way she lets her eyes slip shut and her mouth drop open, slack and enticingly wet. So good, baby, you keep telling her, because she is, her entire body warm and wanting and so easily fucked open, little pussy swallowing your cock right up. She doesn’t fidget or plead. She’s so sweet, such a perfect fit, humming into your mouth as your cock eases her open; so wet you can hear it, the sloppy squelch of her cunt when you bottom out. Your voice comes out coaxing. You like that? That feel good? Taking my cock so nicely, huh?

“Mmm,” Karina breathes, in an exhilarating moan, right into your mouth, against your tongue. “Mm, mm-”

She never quite manages full sentences. Never finds it in herself to make any more obscene demands. Just gets all small and soaking underneath you, licks messily at your bottom lip, and lets you do all the talking - lets you draw a careful hand through her hair and drop your other one between her thighs, clenches tight around your cock when you rub at her clit, keens low in her throat and listens. To the good girl, to the I got you, baby, to the that’s it, there you go, this is what you wanted - I know, honey, I know, you just needed to get this cunt fucked right, you just needed to cum real bad. I know what this is. I know what you need. 

“Fuck.” She’s flushed pink to her chest, delightfully ineloquent. “Yes-” 

Well - good thing you’re decent with your words, when it counts. Let Karina blush and drool and slick up your cock with every stroke. That’ll work just fine with you.

It’s the kind of juxtaposition you’d really lean into - the kind of thing you’d write just to get so self-indulgent with, a personalized note to the director, a wink and a nudge to every audience member. Look at that. Look at her eyes like something straight out of poetry. Look at her body like a pornographic fantasy. Look at how she gets so tamed and docile and compliant when she gets her tiny pussy stuffed full, creaming all over that cock, huge tits bouncing - look, that’s art, isn’t it? What else would you call it? What else could it be?

“You gonna cum, baby?” She’s so fragile underneath you. Color staining her cheeks apple-red; lips swollen and begging to be kissed. Fictive little fairy tale. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yeah.” It’s breathy and barely-there. Her chin trembles, jerks in a weak nod. “I’m - I - fuck-” 

See: you just can’t rough her up. It’d be blasphemous. Sacrilege. Taking one single look at the stained-glass windows of a church and tearing it all to the ground.

Still, you’re mesmerized by how utterly vulnerable she looks: the glossy shine to her irises; the way she inhales all slow and shaky, body slipping from some sort of precipice. Not just like she’s near-tears, but like she’s stunned - struck dumb from a violent blow, mouth wide open in the aftermath. And it’s just sex - and, fuck, you’ve said it, you see things the way every obsessive artist does; sex is never just sex. Every one thing means something more. A metaphor. An allegory. You get nasty and debauched and dirty because you know exactly what you can spin it into. Put the entire scene in a silent film and everyone can swoon about the things you might be saying to her, this impossibly captivating stranger in your bed with her graceful name, her dizzying moans, her shuddering frame in her orgasm. Don’t you get it? you could be telling her, hand brushing gently over her sweat-damp hairline. Don’t you feel that? You’re a stranger to me, baby, but you don’t have to be. There’s a reason we met. There’s a meant-to-be here, somewhere. I’m not a believer, sweetheart, but you could make one out of me - I swear you could, I promise-

But that’s the reason why these things are best left to the imagination, anyway. 

A million scripted sweet nothings - and none of them manage to make it out of your mouth. 

“Karina.” Your hips jerk hard. You sound half-possessed. “So pretty, cumming all over my cock like that. Such a perfect little cunt, baby - so fucking good-”

Her eyes suddenly shut tight; her body arcs into your touch, lips parted in a silent gasp. And for a second it seems like such a snapshot of innocence, like she’s brand-new to getting fucked quick and rough and dirty - though you know this can’t possibly be the truth, not with the way she flirts and whines and drips for more like she’s made for it - but she’s trembling under your fingertips, and you can dream. She’s your beautiful stranger, your pristine muse; you can pretend she’s whatever the fuck you want. 

“God,” Karina murmurs, so soft and weak it makes your head spin. 

Before you know what you’re doing - before you can even think twice about it - you’re pulling out, and cumming all over her stomach. 

You can’t help it. You shouldn’t have had that thought about innocence. Jesus. This is what you mean, about you and your own painful humanity; you’ve got all the same vile desires. When you see a pure thing - all that porcelain skin, all that thick glossy black hair, all those gleaming white teeth in her open mouth - your very first instinct is to fuck it up bad.

You’d do worse, if you were worse - you’d make a real fucking disaster out of her. 

“Baby,” you say, breathlessly. “Are you…”

And Karina, then, does something truly evil: 

Sighs luxuriously, stretches her arms above her head, eases those gorgeous eyes open, and smiles. 

As if she’s reveling in it. The scent of sex - the defiled tautness of her tummy - the way you’re not sure where her little red dress or her shoes or her panties are, how her cunt’s dripping wet onto your sheets, her hair a glorious mess. Grinning in the face of utter filth. 

“You,” you exhale, running your palm down her side. “You’re so…” 

Karina’s mouth pulls up at a corner, like she’s daring you to finish the sentence, but you never do. 

You can’t stop staring at the stretch of cum-covered skin before you. Coating her belly, pooling into her navel. You realize with a start that there’s a new bruise blooming on her chest, a vicious sort of bite mark. You can’t remember when you did that. You’d been kissing her - of course you kissed her - her mouth and her neck and her tits, but you’d been so gentle, sucking light and soothing her skin with your tongue after-

“You didn’t want to cum inside me?” Karina asks, hoarsely. 

You blink so hard your vision blurs. “What?” 

“Right.” Her eyeshadow’s smudged dark underneath her eyes, making her look deliciously used up. “You did want to cum inside me.” 

“Karina,” you warn - or, at least, you mean to make it sound like a warning - but her name comes out too faint. It’s horrific. Your hand traces her hipbone so reverently. You’re no match for her. 

Karina arches a brow in unhurried challenge, ghosts her hand across her tummy. Takes two fingers and drags them through the cum you spilled, pulls back with it clinging thickly to her skin. Drifts down, down, down. 

“Karina,” you try to say again, even more pathetic than last time. “Jesus-” 

But you saying her name holds no weight here; she’s made that more than obvious. Nothing to stop her as she smears her cum-slick fingers across her glistening pussy, gaze locked amusedly on your face, tracking your reaction. She’s still so fucking wet - she rubs your cum in circles across her clit - tossing her head back a little, chest heaving and falling, fingertips just barely dipping inside her cunt-

“I can’t.” Karina lifts her hand to pop her fingers in her mouth, sucks them clean. Pointedly flashes her too-sharp nails at you like she’s unsheathing claws. “If you want it, you’re gonna have to do it yourself.”

“You,” you say, though your hand’s already pressing hard into her ribs, “are fucking cruel, baby.” 

“And you,” replies Karina, head tilting, “just want to see my cunt all filled up and leaking your cum.” 

Oh, she hasn’t been wrong about you all night. She certainly won’t start now. 

“What?” A sly, languid smirk tugs at her lips. “Afraid you’re gonna knock me up or something?” 

Your breath halts right in your lungs.

You’d been right about her too, it seems. Succubus. Vampire. She must be; she’s bloodthirsty. Tits gleaming with sweat, the scarlet stain of that bite mark you can’t remember leaving, cunt all dripping wet and desperately empty - body like a fatal fucking blow. 

Karina’s eyes glint. I want what you want, she’d said. 

With the way she spreads her legs, she’s gotta be ready to prove it.

So you never stood a chance. You give in and scoop up cum with one finger and sink it deep inside her aching cunt, feeling as she clenches down, as she takes it so well; like a good girl, you tell her, letting me do whatever I want with this needy little cunt; that’s my good girl. Karina lifts her hips - goes so still and so obedient - and lets you repeat it over and over again, fucking into her with your fingers until the plane of her stomach is bare and sticky and her cunt’s dribbling your cum onto your sheets. It’s completely nasty. It’s hot. It’s Karina craning her neck back and shutting her eyes as you bury three fingers inside of her and fill her with your cum, every part of her in utter surrender, entirely at your mercy, breathing out hard through her nose until your thumb rubs at her clit and she’s cumming again, all over your hand. She gets this look on her face, afterwards - exhausted, every line of her face gentle and lax - staring up at you like you’re the only person still left on this planet. Adoring, almost. As if you’re something out of another world. 

It’s an expression too sweet for a scene like this - and it’s exactly what men like you make art about. 

“There,” you say, soft and mesmerized, wiping your hand across her chest. “Satisfied?” 

Karina laughs her strange, gravelly, gorgeous laugh. 

“No,” she says, shamelessly. “But that’s not your fault.” 

Your fingers curl around the curve of her jaw. “No?”

She barely looks like she belongs in your bed - she must be something divine, lit from within, god-blessedly gorgeous. She’s a fucking fever dream: stunning eyes and the bob of her throat and her tits and her curves and all that hair. Stay, you think of telling her. Let me see what I can make of you. I don’t know you yet but I could, baby, I really could. 

“Nope.” Karina smiles, and somewhere, soliloquies are writing themselves. “I always want more.”

“Okay,” you say, mouth hovering over hers. “Then stay.” 

-

So she stays.

-

(An update on your script:

The stranger and the girl are back at his place. They’re sitting on his couch. Nobody has cleaned off her neck. He’s been too busy pawing at her: at her face, between her legs, at her tits in her tight dress. I need you, he’s been murmuring to her, and it feels like he really means it: like he’ll die if he doesn’t get her desperate and whining underneath him, his cock stretching her tight little cunt wide open. He doesn’t feel too bad about it. She’s a dirty slut. She’s said as much. She’s got her own needs, too. 

What happened to your window? she asks, suddenly.

He pulls back from her chest, his spit clinging shiny to her skin. 

She isn’t looking at him. He has the sudden, unnerving feeling that she hasn’t been looking at him the whole time. Not like she’s had her eyes closed in blinding, overwhelming pleasure - but like she’s deliberately been trying to look at anything else. 

But his hand falls between her thighs, and he realizes she’s already wet. 

A bird flew into it, probably, he says. That happens, sometimes. 

They’re talking about the stain on the once-clean glass of his window. The backdrop of the night sky behind means it’s barely visible, but the suggestion of it is enough. Implicit gore. Tiny little black feathers, caked in blood from the impact, dark and dried. It’ll be scrubbed off soon enough, he knows. It’ll be all gone eventually. 

Oh, she says. She doesn’t apologize for potentially killing the mood. She hasn’t, anyway, not really. She’s still wet and small underneath him, begging for it. Poor thing. 

Yeah, he says. 

She turns back to him. Her hair’s everywhere, all over the arm of his couch, wayward strands beneath his fingers. She’s clearly expecting something - to be kissed, to be fucked hard, to be called baby and angel and good girl. It doesn’t really matter either way. Those are the only things he can give her. 

He stares at the blood on her neck. 

Let me clean that off for you, actually, he says, and goes to the kitchen to get a washcloth.)

-

Much, much later:

“I admire you,” Karina says, all tucked up in your bed, underneath your sheets, half-buried into your side. Moonlight bleeds into the room. Her eyes gleam like galaxies. “For showing some self-control.” 

“What?” 

Karina’s hair pours over your pillowcase. She takes your hand and brings it close to her face, working your fingers into a tight fist. 

“Fucking bitch,” you mutter, and then regret it immediately. It lands too harshly, too strange and serious. “Sorry. I didn’t - that came out weird. I don’t think you’re a bitch.” 

Karina’s lips brush your knuckles. “Not the meanest thing I’ve been called.” Her voice twists with humor. She shouldn’t be so comfortable curled up with a man she doesn’t know in the middle of the night. You think of kissing her hard, of scraping her neck with your teeth, of warning her about self-preservation - sweetheart, you could tell her, this is how people end up dead. “Not the meanest thing I’ll be called, either.” 

You shift. Your fist, unconsciously, goes tense in her hand. “What’s your deal?” 

Her mouth tilts. “What’s yours?” 

You huff out a laugh. “You’re unbearable,” you say softly, which feels much kinder than calling her a bitch. “What are you - what do you mean?” 

I’m not hard to figure out, you want to tell her. I’ll let you in if you ask me to. But you - you, you imagine saying, cupping Karina’s face in your hands and saying her name like you’re praying to her, drafting scenes in your head with each whispered syllable - you. Look at you. I’d fill a thousand pages trying to find a way to understand you. 

“If you want to hurt me,” Karina says, “then hurt me.” 

Your throat dries up. Your fist falls open. “What?” 

“I wouldn’t blame you.” Her voice is matter-of-fact. You see her tongue dart over her bottom lip, the slick glimmer of spit. “If that’s what you wanted.” 

You stare at her, hard. 

It’s not difficult to make out her silhouette in the dark; she’s illuminated so distinctly by the moon, like it’s her own on-set spotlight, professionally arranged - she’s got the cosmos calling her shots. You think about how careful you’d been with her: doing what she wanted and making her cum and kissing her like you have history and maybe fucking her like you love her, just a little.

You think about that bruise you left on her chest, her skin between your teeth, the feeling of biting down. 

“It’s not,” you say, and the lie tastes acrid in your mouth. “It’s - it’s not, Karina.” 

“You fucked my face in public within like an hour of meeting me. And fucked me and came on my stomach. And fingered your cum inside of me.” It’s far past midnight. She sounds more alert than she should. “You’re gonna start being polite now?”

It sends an odd knot to your gut, the way she puts it. Equating all of that to hurting her. Laughing in the face of your clenched fist - not because she thinks you won’t do it, but because she knows how bad you want it. 

Hurt me. She says it like it’s so easy. Fuck me. Let me stay the night. Hurt me; you’ve earned it. 

“I’m not polite.” The truth doesn’t taste much better. “I just have, you know, common fucking decency.” 

“Hm,” Karina says, a nonchalant little noise, and nothing else.

You brush her hair off her neck and your fingertips graze the hollow of her throat. You feel her swallow under your touch. You open your mouth, though you’re not sure what you’re about to say - Karina, like a chant, like she’s consumed you in a matter of moments, Karina - but she shuts her eyes delicately, and curls close to you, and just like that the moment is over. 

I have common decency, you’d said. I won’t hurt you. I promise. I can control myself.

So maybe you weren’t right about everything. You’re not the devil. That’d be a delusion of grandeur - the idea that you’d ever have that kind of power over a girl like her. 

Not for long, she’d replied, in the knowing tilt of her smile. Not if I can help it.

-

In the morning, it’s a picture of crime-scene proportions. It takes a little work to piece it all together.

Karina’s not in bed when you wake up, but there are traces of her everywhere - telltale, incriminating bits of evidence. Strands of her hair on the pillow. Blood-red lipstick stains on the fabric. Her crimson dress crumpled on your bedroom floor, sporting a tiny tear in the hem that you don’t remember leaving; you can still smell her perfume all over your sheets, like a calling card. If this was a TV drama - a clichéd police procedural - she’d probably be dead in your living room right now, blank-eyed and beyond saving, rigor mortis deforming her perfect body into something grotesque. 

This is also probably not a thought you should ever relay to Karina, but you do anyway.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she replies. She’s perched on your kitchen counter, dressed in one of your t-shirts, bare legs swinging. “I’m very much alive.”

“I was being dramatic,” you try to say, gesturing with your hands to set the scene - the lighting, the fake blood and the special effects, the potential pallor of her face. “I’m - I’m a screenwriter. It’s in my nature. I didn’t mean I wanted to find your fucking corpse out here-”

“It’s okay if you did.”

You choke. “What?”

“I’m right with you, babe.” Karina leans forward conspiratorially. There’s a sharpness to the dark glint in her eyes that kind of makes you think she really does understand: that she has the same tendency to jump to the worst possible conclusions. A kindred, morbid spirit. “I get it. I’m pretty devastated that I’m still breathing, too.”

She says this all in a scratchy, sultry voice, hoarse as though she’s been sleeping for years instead of hours. Lashes fluttering like she’s just told you something very adorable and sweet.

“God,” you say, desperately charmed, and laugh until you feel light-headed. “You’re sick.”

Karina’s mouth curls. “Right.”

“I’m serious.” It’s surreal: her wearing your clothes and sitting on your counter like this is an everyday occurrence, indulging every fucked-up thing you say to her. Maybe you’re still caught somewhere in a dream, just waiting to wake up. “You’re, like - not normal.” 

“Hey.” A light, careless shrug; her palm rests over the back of her neck. “No arguments here.”

You rub a hand over your eyes, smiling like an idiot, and take a breath. 

It’s late January, and cool sunlight drips into the room, over your furniture and your floors and the angel right in the middle of your kitchen. It should wash her out, blur her at the edges; it doesn’t even come close. Turns her to a freeze frame instead, carefully color-graded, every hue just a bit too intense: skin ghost-pale, lips pouty and pink, hair jet-black and tangled to her waist. Your shirt hangs off of her slender frame like it aims to swallow her up. You thought you’d been stunned by Karina before, lulled by the late night, the electric rush of touching her - you’d assumed you could blame it on the alcohol, the slutty dress and the sultry makeup and the long-held habit of artistic romanticization-

But it’s nothing compared to seeing her now. 

Karina crosses one leg over the other, and waits as though expecting a rating: to be starred out of five like a film. 

Face scrubbed clean. Bone structure a study of faultless symmetry, delicate in a way that feels both inhuman and invulnerable. She’s so classically breathtaking - a miraculous second coming of a tragic, iconic movie star, a phenomenon back from the grave; jaw and nose and mouth all clean lines, aesthetically precise art - but God, those eyes. Enormous without the thick liner, suggestive only of impossible innocence. Like some darling baby animal, some long-lashed lamb to the slaughter - something pristine and completely untouched. 

The morning after, the direct light, the exposed behind-the-scenes - she’s still beyond beautiful. 

And somehow she’s still here with you. 

“That’s insane, by the way,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “That you stayed.” 

There’s a loud cracking sound. 

You squint, disoriented. “What-” 

Karina blinks at you, wide-eyed; her jaw shifts. The sound echoes again, startling and sudden. “What?” 

“Are-” You step closer. “Are you chewing on fucking glass or something?” 

“Or something,” Karina replies, smile’s tiny and closed-off. She gestures to the cup next to her. “It’s just ice.” 

She’s so calm watching you approach her. You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the freakout, for the breakdown - or, at the very least, the scrambling excuses before the walk of shame. Here’s the truth: she doesn’t know you. Here’s an even worse truth: judging by her hickey that looks like you might’ve tried to rip her throat out earlier, she’d have every right to take one look at you and run. 

Karina doesn’t do any of it. Just raises her cup to her lips and tips it back, the arc of her neck so inviting. 

“That’s so fucking bad for your enamel.” You’re laughing again. You’re in front of her now, settled between her legs. “You’re gonna break a tooth.” 

Karina sets her glass down. Wipes the corner of her mouth with her wrist, eyes locked amusedly on yours - heavy-lidded enough to seem lazy, but pupils blown enough to be a siren call, a deliberate suggestion.

“Oh, no,” she says, all smoky sarcasm. “Who’d ever want me then?” 

She parts her thighs the second you touch them; her body’s so obedient under your fingertips, like a doll’s, something to be dressed up and posed and played with. Daring you to do everything you’re already thinking about doing. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, and give in completely.

So:

Look, you know exactly how the movies would frame this. Pandering to the wide-eyed teenagers and hopeless romantics; adding the swell of strings every time your eyes or hands or lips meet, each motion accompanied with unsubtle cues - there’s the meet-cute, there’s the moment, there’s the love-at-first-sight. It’s ridiculous to drag any of that into your real life, of course. It’d be like believing in God. Giving up logic to put your faith in something silly and mythic and implausible - to follow true love like a religion, expecting it to save your soul; to pray to the one like a healing property, a benevolent higher power. 

You can’t believe in that. You can’t. 

But-

Karina pulls back the barest amount, eyelids fluttering open like a new day dawning, and smiles when she sees the look on your face. So sweet and gorgeous; so struck and adoring. So comfortable wrapped up in your arms.

“Hi,” she murmurs. 

And - as though it’s some bone-deep instinct, saturating your bloodstream - you just have to kiss her again. 

Don’t you feel that? you think of telling her again, your hand slipping to cup her cheek - the sentiment always seems to come back around. You swear you can see scenes flashing behind your eyelids, the beginnings of a creative epiphany; it must be seeping through your fingers, staining her skin with ink, every possible action depicted neatly between brackets. A laugh, a look, a touch. A version of Karina projected across the silver screen to a wild, wanting audience. Don’t you see what you could do for me? What you’re capable of becoming? 

You can’t believe in any of this, but it’s gotta be something close. 

The feeling doesn’t end when the kiss does: only intensifies, made tangible somehow. Sculpted into the spit-slick curve of her lips, the flinty gleam in her eye. Like she feels it too. Like she knows. 

“And it’s not insane that I stayed,” Karina says, belatedly. “You asked me to.” 

For a moment you just stare at her, seconds from her mouth and speechless. 

It’s the truth without difficulty. It’s a confession with no strings attached. It’s the fucking dangerous way she says it - as if whatever you want extends to a lot more than sex. 

“And you don’t-” Your throat closes over a swallow; you find your eyes darting between hers, searching for anything but honesty. “You don’t think that’s insane? Doing whatever a stranger tells you to?”

Karina only laughs her strange laugh, gritty the way good music is, demanding to be heard.

“Nope,” she says, like this is all so simple. “That’s just what I do.”

It’s unbearably filthy in its implication - and it’s exactly what you need. 

The room seems to fill with potential, fantasies pouring in from the ceiling, enough to bloat any manuscript to its breaking point. You let out a breathless laugh, loud and unabashed. You think of pushing for even more, pressing your nails in and digging deeper - why me, why this, why now - but Karina leans in close before you can and slots her mouth to yours, and you’re no fool: there’s no line of questioning worth giving that up. 

Seems like you’ll have to come up with this character motivation all on your own. 

-

“Look at us,” she murmurs against your lips - meaning this very minute, the chemistry, how every glittering star must’ve conspired to get you here. “Kinda feels like this was meant to be, huh?” 

She’s clearly kidding, because it’s too soon and too fucking crazy, but-

Well, the way you kiss her then is absolutely your version of a yes. 

-

Here’s something people should probably know about artists like you:

You’re rather enamored with the idea of a magnum opus. 

It’s a natural thing to reach for, to visualize - the concept of your one great masterpiece. Something you can pour years and years into, water into roaring reckless oceans; time transforming the things you make into something worth remembering forever. Everyone you know - your sculptors, your songwriters - has their own version of this, somewhere. When I finally create this one perfect thing I’ll be - go on, fill in the blank. Fulfilled. Gratified. Happy. When I finally do this, I’ll feel whole. 

It’s strangely fantastical. A lifelong dream a kid would have - a childlike, storybook aspiration. 

Yours - as far as you’ve figured out - looks a little like this:

“It’s not as romantic as it should be,” you admit, now. “I’m not really into that as a theme. True love, I mean. Or optimism. Or hope. I want something more…” Something rougher, you mean. Something with pain. Something with blood and bruises. “Nuanced, you know? Complicated, messy.” 

“I get it,” replies Karina. She has her hands twisted in her lap, watching you very closely. You’re obsessed with the way she looks at you - like she’s drinking every word in with those smoldering dark eyes, greedy for more. For you. “All the best art is about pain, huh?” 

You snap your fingers, pleased to be understood. “Exactly.” 

Karina smiles, small and knowing, and gestures you on. 

In your vision, your magnum opus is always about a girl. Like you said, it’s the way it goes with all the best films ever made: not about love, but the futility of it lasting. Think of all the famed examples - think of the filmmakers and their obsessions, sneaking the great loves of their lives between each line: there’s something she said, there’s a dress she wore, there’s a conversation they had in the middle of the night, tangled up in sheets and whispering against skin. Your future muse will be just like that. A reincarnation of the infamous women who haunt all the greatest artists - an amalgamation of their bodies contorted into narratives and replicated in loving, graphic detail. Someone with skin like marble, a statue you could take a sledgehammer to. Someone who looks unfathomably pretty when she cries. 

Someone like-

“Uh-huh,” says Karina. She must’ve just gotten out of the shower before you found her, because her hair’s damp enough to have left wet patches on your t-shirt. She licks her bottom lip, once. “Sure.” 

Someone to be what you’ve always wanted: a flawless girl to fall from the sky into your lap. To fulfill your promise to yourself: when I meet her, I’ll know. I’ll be able to make this movie. When I meet her, everything will slip exactly into place. 

Karina cracks another ice cube between her teeth.

“So,” she says, low with insinuation. “When you told me last night that you found me inspiring…”

She doesn’t need to finish the question. She knows exactly what you want.

“You’re…” You shake your head. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I saw you and I just - I felt like I knew. I knew. I wanted you.” You shrug helplessly, smiling. “Do you think I’m nuts?” 

She should, probably. You’re a total stranger, a practical lunatic, an artist talking of your visions like you’re possessed. You don’t know her - that’s the reality of the situation. You don’t know her. 

But then there’s everything else.

The unbelievable sex, the staying the night; the way she lets you touch her, blinking slow and subservient, like you already have a claim to her body. You think muse and you think in abstract concepts, glittering stars, guiding lights; you think of skin cut up and sewn together, of creators and their finest monsters, of the implicit poetry in the undoing. You think muse and you think of the way Karina smiles at you now, full lips and frail bones, a painter’s portrait reference. Unmoving, unafraid. Too otherworldly for your day-to-day but just right when she’s in your arms, like a trial-run demonstration: this is what we’re capable of. You could make it happen. You could make me fit.

You swear you’ve been dreaming of someone like her your whole fucking life. 

You think muse, and now you can only think of her. 

It’s a sign. It must be. And this, the next one:

“No,” Karina says, easily. “I think you’re just like everyone else.” But she raises an eyebrow, so you know it’s a joke. “I think you’re all the same.” 

You laugh, delighted; Karina’s smile widens, shows her teeth. “Shut up.” 

Karina acquiesces immediately - claps a hand over her mouth like it’ll keep any other words from escaping. It’s so adorable that you can’t keep yourself from pouncing, suddenly all over her like an animal: wrenching her thin wrist down, fingers threading through her hair, tugging her lips to yours as if you’ve been starved and she’s something to devour. She’s so cold, ice still melting on her tongue; even her body feels glacial, more porcelain than real. It drives you wild - the stunning impossibility of her. The desire to see it all reworked, unwound, shattered. 

“So,” you breathe over her mouth. “I can write about you?” 

“Babe.” Karina’s dark eyes sparkle, frozen-over streets in the mid-winter sun. “You can do anything you want with me.” 

That’s the whole point of having a muse, after all. Everything they are becomes yours. 

-

“But,” you can’t help saying right after: “you don’t have to be, like - concerned. About what I said. About art and pain. I mean…” You falter. You’re standing in between her spread legs now, thumbing the sharp curve of her jaw. “It’s fiction. I’m not that kind of guy in real life - I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Karina just stares at you, sentiment clear and unspoken. 

“Not like - not seriously.” You roll your eyes, laughing it off. “Not like that.” 

“Not like that,” Karina echoes. The hickey on her neck seems to flush redder every time you look at it - a photograph in a darkroom, developing. “But in other ways.”

Your mouth opens, but whatever defense you might’ve had gets traitorously stuck in your throat.

Karina laughs hoarsely, lets you trace her bottom lip with a finger. She seems to get the picture - that you’d love to see it bitten and bloody, but only ever in the name of art. There’s a kind of sick, sadistic beauty in destruction, battles waged and lost. She leans into your touch like she’s seen all the war films and knows precisely why they’re so well-loved. 

“For the record,” she tells you, arms looped loosely around your neck: “I look very pretty when I cry.” 

“Jesus Christ.” You’re smiling. She couldn’t be more perfect if you’d dreamt her up yourself. “Then I guess I’ll have to make it happen.” 

-

It’s like fate, probably. 

-

(Up next in your script:

The girl is standing in the stranger’s bathroom. She’s turning a little glass perfume bottle over in her hands when he stops in the doorway. He’s perfectly content to watch her; she’s the kind of beautiful that deserves to be observed, like some exotic wild animal caged between four walls in an elaborate exhibit, mildly unaware of all the attention. Her hair is messy; her head is tilted down. Unseeing. 

Oh, he says. That was my-

Except he doesn’t even get the rest of the sentence out before the girl whirls around, and the bottle slips from her hand and shatters on the floor. 

Jesus. The stranger jolts back. Jumpy. He’s not too concerned about the broken bottle; it’s not his, anyway. Why the fuck did you do that? 

Sorry, the girl says. She’s leaning rather casually against the counter, observing the glass covering the ground, the sickly-sweet smell of the perfume sticking to the tile. Honeysuckle and the sharp note of alcohol, rendered unrecognizable. You scared me. 

He looks down. A crystalline stretch of tiny little shards - if she tried to move she’d slice her foot open. 

No worries, he says. Hold on. 

He ducks into the kitchen to get a broom and when he comes back he stops in his tracks. There’s something slightly off about the picture in front of him. She’s small against the background counter, frozen, barely blinking. Everything about her looks suddenly frail, fair skin ghostly underneath shitty bathroom lighting, cheekbones gaunt and sunken-in, hair pouring ink-black in endless waves. A vengeful spirit. An incorporeal haunting. 

Did you…? he starts to say, thrown. 

She blinks, finally. Did I what? 

He pauses, reassesses. She’s gorgeous. She’s art. She’s vibrantly alive. 

Never mind, he says. 

It seems kind of like she’d moved, but he can’t tell. He forgets about it. She’s still beautiful and she seems okay and so he steps forward and clears the worst of the glass out of the way. 

It’s silly, she says, watching him. I used to know someone who wore that perfume. 

It was my ex-girlfriend’s, he says. She left it here a while back. I think it’s a common brand or whatever. Hey, let me help you. 

He’s very chivalrous about it, sweeping her off her feet, cradling her bridal-style across the possible remnants of glass. She laughs all the while, playing into it - a princess out of a fairy tale, being carried to safety by some gallant knight. But then he sets her down and cups her ass and says, You gonna pay me back for the property damage or what? and she laughs harder, because there’s nothing funnier than that: sweet moments turned filthy, a startling hairpin turn in intention. 

Or - conversely - a revelation of the absolute truth. Because what else could he ever want from her?

So she says, Yeah, sure, take everything, and leans in to kiss him.

It’s a normal kiss, mostly. It’s just that it begins pointedly erotic but seems to turn strange after a second, like he might be gripping her hair too hard, like she might be corpse-limp in his arms, like at any moment he could unhinge his jaw and sprout fangs and swallow her whole, cannibalistic, viperous. There’s too much spit and sound. There’s too much teeth and selfishness. It stretches on too long and lingers where it shouldn’t and overstays its welcome terribly - the score seems to fall off-beat, the lighting seems to shift dark and discolored-

But then the kiss breaks, and it’s over. 

When he pulls off of her she looks like the perfect picture of flushed contentment. Eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering, her pouty lips swollen and rosy. Smiling like she wants more, like she wants it so, so bad. 

It didn’t get you? he asks finally, looking at her neck, thinking of thorns and pinprick pain and the rivulet of crimson that’d decorated her throat. The glass? 

No, she says. Don’t you wanna fuck me now? 

Oh, God, he says, grinning, and every other thought melts away into nothing. He likes how she doesn’t play coy. He likes how she’s smaller and has to tilt her chin up to look at him. He wants to fuck her, so he does. 

It’s excellent sex. The blood on the tile doesn’t really matter.)

-

Before you really start writing, there’s just one singular problem: you don’t know anything about her. 

“That’s not true,” Karina replies, right away. 

You open your mouth, then close it, because - okay, she’s not completely wrong. 

For about an hour now you just haven’t been able to stop talking to her. About anything, everything: your start into screenwriting, your favorite novels, your greatest inspirations, your neverending passion for eerie, erotic art. You can’t seem to shut up. And it would be bad - would be making you feel self-conscious right now, if it were anyone else - but it’s just not. Because it’s, well-

It’s you, you told her, thoughtfully, watching as the sun climbed higher into the sky, golden light grazing each scalpel-sharp edge of Karina’s body. You’re easy to talk to. Has anyone ever told you that?

Karina blinked at you. Tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear and looked away, considering it. 

She has this way about her: this serene openness to her big eyes, her body language. Leaning back on her hands, humming and nodding and saying I get it, I feel that way too, I understand with such sweet sincerity that you can’t help but believe her. Like a Catholic confessional, a pristinely blank page - something you could pour hours and hours of words into that would never, ever complain. 

Yeah, Karina said, finally. She pulled one leg up to her chest; you could see the lacy black of her panties. I get that all the time. 

Just one of those people, huh? Her character was taking shape already. A vault for everyone else’s thoughts and ideas, cradling them between her fingers like something infinitely precious. A listener. Such a lovely trait; a perfect protagonist characteristic. An observer. 

Yeah. Her cheek rested gently against a knobby knee. Exactly. 

It’s something of an art study. You’ve been filing away these details about Karina since the moment you met her, unraveling her bit by bit.

She always seems to think deeply before she speaks, a sort of charming self-scripting, like she wants to make sure she gets every sentence just right. She makes silence seem like the most natural thing in the world. She doesn’t laugh nervously or blush or get embarrassed, ever. She’d mentioned offhand during one of your tangents about your most beloved movies that she tends to like films about gorgeous, dangerous, scarily self-possessed girls: Thirteen and Black Swan and Girl, Interrupted. She seems both intensely present and consistently lost in thought, there one moment and gone the next, her long-lashed gaze falling in and out of focus like a camera lens. A contradiction, you think to yourself. An enigma, even. Profoundly complicated. Not just a girl but something more. 

Art in and of itself, displayed deliberately on your kitchen counter, waiting to be understood. 

“No, you’re right.” Your fingers have strayed to your open laptop; you’re seconds from typing Karina’s name like a title, something you’ve created all on your own. “I know…”

You’re trying to think of something nonchalant to say and failing. I know you - the first instinct, somehow. I know you’re something brilliant and remarkable and new. I know I’ve never felt this way before about anyone. I know there’s something here, I know what I feel, I know what I want - you, you, you. 

Karina stares at the ice melting in her glass. 

Then she says, mouth tripping up at a corner: “You know I’m a world-class fuck.” 

“Jesus.” You laugh out loud, surprised. “Okay, yeah. That.” A pause. “And, obviously-” 

“Obviously,” Karina echoes, like she knows where this is going. 

“I know that you’re, like - outrageously fucking beautiful.” 

Karina hums once, letting the compliment wash over her, and turns to look out the window. 

You bite down on your lip - bite back all the other too-soon things you could say about her, threatening to claw their way out of your mouth - and go in on your script instead. 

It’s shockingly easy to write with her in the room. The details seem to stitch themselves together on-page, the restorative aftermath of an autopsy: sealing the slit chest cavity back up, prepping a corpse for an open casket, making something disconnected whole and beautiful again. You’d pulled these specifics from her like pulsing, throbbing organs - her tits, her tone, her tiny waist - and now all you’re doing is repurposing them. You know her body now. You turn stretches of pale, bruised-pink skin into prose, the curl of her little fingers around her thigh into dialogue. You imagine taking that perfect frame and picking it apart again, bit by bit; not just undressing her but peeling back layers of flesh, familiarizing yourself with the stark scarlet of her bloodstream. Until there’s nothing to hide and you can finally say it - I know you - and it’ll feel earned, and real, and honest. 

All very melodramatic, of course. It’s just the process: the natural consequence of being a writer. 

Your eyes trace the jutting protrusion of muscle in Karina’s throat, and you think about fucking her again. 

“Also,” you say, as though your earlier conversation isn’t long over. “I want to know-”

Karina makes a huffy, half-impatient noise.

You grin, gaze flicking back to her face. “What?” 

“You want to know more?” Her brows furrow in exaggerated confusion; her smile is absurdly self-deprecating. As if there’s anything she could possibly be insecure about. “You already got the two most interesting things about me, babe.” 

“Stop.” Your mouth twitches. “No way.” 

Karina’s smile stills in place, expectant. “No?”

“Come on.” Your hand slips from the keyboard to trace her knee. “I’m sure there’s all kinds of interesting things about you I haven’t learned yet.” 

The laugh she lets out is quiet and nearly secretive, legs parting to let you touch her. You’re already half in some faraway daydream, wondering if you can bottle the color of her eyes and turn it loose on the page.

“Okay,” Karina says, easily. She nudges your laptop away, scoots closer to you, her sharp chin pointed down at you. “Come and learn them, then.” 

“God.” As if that’s what you’re doing. Memorizing her body as some private education; taking her apart in a classroom dissection. “Can I - I’m trying to write, Karina. I’m being productive. I…” You’re shaking your head as though you’re not already giving in, fingers slipping up her thighs - she’s smirking at you like she knows it. “You’re fucking insatiable, you know that?”

“Then satiate me.” Karina’s head tilts, lids heavy. “Fuck me. Use me.” She leans down like she’s telling you a filthy, sordid secret. “Cum in me like I know you want to.” 

There’s something surreal about how certain she is: never tripping over her words or waffling over intentions, the most practiced actress you’ve ever seen. Every move - her tongue wetting her bottom lip, her hand sliding gracefully through her hair, her mouth forming a sweet little pout - all clean, choreographed precision. 

I know you, she says - like it’s earned, real, honest. Inexplicable, but there anyway. I know you want to. 

“Karina.” Her name comes out embarrassingly strangled. You’re pulling her thighs further apart, toying with the edge of her underwear. “You’re such a fucking - you’re so needy.” 

Her smirk sharpens even as you tug her panties roughly to the side. “I’m what?” 

“Needy.” 

“No.” She’s so wet - she’s probably seconds from dissolving into a whimpering breathless thing, begging to be underneath you, begging for more. That damn smirk is probably seconds from shattering completely. “What were you going to call me?” 

“Nothing.” You drag a finger down the slick drenched heat of her cunt.

“A slut.” Her voice is a purr, gravelly and sensual. “You think I’m just this fucking slut who needs your cock all the time, huh?” 

But it’s the kind of question that you already both know the answer to. Karina takes your finger-fucking so well, hips raised and rutting, hair cutting across her cheekbones - seems to give herself over to desire so fucking easily, with her whole body, back arching and neck craned and hot little cunt a sloppy mess. Never puts up a fight, never demures or acts shy; never says wait or don’t or stop. Only spreads her legs, and drips down your hand, and waits to be fucked good and hard.

And - hey, there’s one dirty word for a girl like that. 

“Well.” You raise your eyebrows at her: a challenge. “Are you?”

It’s dangerous. This is all dangerous. Stumbling down a treacherous path, asking a stranger something like this. Are you what I think you are? Do I know you? Do I really? 

Karina makes a low, luxurious noise at the stretch of your fingers in her cunt, buried to the knuckle. 

“Sure,” she says - and the gleam in her eye tells you she knows exactly what she’s getting herself into. “I’m whatever you want me to be.” 

-

So, it’s possible this is really the most interesting thing about her: she’s the kind of girl who never says no. 

-

That scene goes down how all scenes should:

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

Karina’s choking out curses like she can’t recall any other words, head lolling back to expose the pretty bob of her throat. You thrust deep right then and she lets out a sound like an aching gasp, like you’ve doubled down with a fist to her gut, like you’re knocking the the air right out of her; you might as well be - oh, she moans, like she could be in shock or awe or pain - with the way you’ve got one of her thighs pulled up so you can fuck deep into her tight dripping cunt. It’s not nice, not really. Her back keeps hitting your counter. You keep staring at her neck and her hair and her face: the faint flush of her cheeks, the flawless construction of her bones underneath - there’s so much unmarked skin - God, she’s so clean, it’s like she’s never been fucking touched-

“You gonna cum for me?” you murmur, voice coming out thick and half-animalistic. 

She has one hand curled around the back of your neck. She’s got those ridiculous clawed nails on her but she never presses down. Her pussy can’t stop clenching around your cock but she takes it so well, lets you make room inside her little cunt, shuts her eyes and trips over her own breath as you force her spine hard against your counter over and over again. 

“Karina.” 

“Yeah,” she exhales, raspy and strained, as your cock stretches her out. “Fuck, yeah-” 

“Cum for me, honey. Cum all over my cock - oh, there you go, good girl-” 

It’s hypnotic. The tiny bitten-off sounds spilling from her ice-cold mouth - that small pristine face and all that hair tangled to her waist, just available to be knotted and tugged and fucked all the way up - Karina clings to you when she cums, and you feel so much bigger than her when she does, like you’ve got her sloppy and open around your cock and you could do anything to her, that’s what she told you, and even if she hadn’t, it’s not like she could stop you - she’s gorgeous but she doesn’t have it in her - she’s just too fucking delicate-

It happens too fast to process. 

One minute you’re buried inside her pussy and the next Karina’s on her knees, on the ground, and you’re jerking your cock until you’re cumming all over her. 

It’s obscene. It’s fucking inevitable. Thick ropes of creamy cum coating her forehead, her cheekbone, her nose and mouth and getting all in that hair-

Her hair. You don’t realize how hard you’re gripping her hair with one hand - balled in a brutal fist at the back of her head - until you disentangle your fingers from it and Karina sinks to the floor like she’s just been cut loose from marionette strings, breathing fast and hard. She doesn’t even say anything: doesn’t comment on the fact that you’d just shoved her straight to the ground or complain when the head of your cock smears cum across her jaw. Doesn’t even flinch when your cock slaps heavy across her cheek, at the indecent sound of the impact. 

You’re staring at her, open-mouthed. At her gorgeous, breathtaking, defiled face. 

Karina’s not looking at you. Instead, she’s preening in the most lewd, pornographic way possible: swiping her thumb through the cum streaking across her forehead, popping it into her mouth to suck. Halfway through she seems to remember you’re still in the room - seems to recall the value of a performance - and she redirects her gaze up at you, lids heavy, and smirks. 

“Did I…” you start, without knowing how the sentence will end. “Did I - was I-”

Karina lifts a cum-covered eyebrow. Her mouth’s an arresting pink, puckering around her thumb like it puckered around the cubes of ice, how her lips formed a ring around your cock back in the bookstore yesterday. She lets it slip free, shiny with spit. 

“No,” she says. “You’re good.” 

You can’t stop looking at the cum caught in her hairline. She’d been so fucking clean. 

You glance down and realize there are strands of black hair broken off in your clenched fist. 

Karina’s looking at her hair in your hand too, now, but with a sort of amused detachment. She stands shakily, using the counter for support. There’s cum all over her. Her knees are red from how hard she’d been pushed down.

“You’re so cute,” she tells you, grazing the side of your neck with her fingertips. “There’s no shame in being rough with me, babe.” 

“Right.” There’s an unnamed pressure coiling in your chest. “But - but you-” 

“Hey.” The word comes out in a rasp, and then Karina laughs, pushing the low hoarse lilt of her voice to its limits. She steps closer, angles her little cum-stained chin up at you. “Are you really gonna tell me you don’t like seeing me covered in your cum?” She’s tonguing the corner of her mouth. “Turning me into a-” her smirk pulls wicked; your next breath hitches so badly- “messy fucking whore for your cock?” 

“God,” you get out, because she’s winding an arm around your neck, and her pretty face is still sticky with your cum. “I-” 

“It’s what you wanted.” Karina blinks, in a show of such doe-eyed naïveté that saliva begins pooling hot in your mouth - like you’re feral, like you’re rabid. “Isn’t it?” 

You’re looking down again. Her knees are going to bruise. Black and blue, as if someone’s bullied her in the schoolyard, pulled her pigtails and knocked her to the asphalt. An echo of something teachers could’ve told her years ago: oh, look, he’s mean to you because he’s got a crush. It’s okay, really - he only hurts you because he likes you.  

“You like me like this,” Karina murmurs, dangerously low. “All sloppy and slutty for you.” Her gaze is trained on your mouth. “Marking me up.” Her hair slips from your hand. “Owning me.” 

Her name clogs your throat, cloying and candy-sweet. “Karina-”

Karina’s head tilts. “Yes or no?” 

She’s too close to you. She’s so filthily beautiful she seems somewhat alien, some kind of foreign invention. Her jaw is smeared with your cum and her flawless teeth shine like jewels and she’s like every creative vision you’ve ever had cut in clips and playing back in a movie theater, made to be scrutinized. 

“Yes,” you tell her, winded. “You’re fucking - you’re unreal, you know that?”

You’re smiling like it’s flattery, like it’s an exaggeration. Like she’s not living, breathing, visionary art. 

She smiles back, like she knows just how much you really mean it.

“So I’ve been told,” Karina says, and taps your neck, lightly. “Go make breakfast.” She shakes her hair out; some of it gets stuck to the cum on her cheekbone. “I’m taking another shower.” 

“Right.” You bite into your bottom lip, hand skimming down her side. “Go get clean.” 

“Clean?” She steps back and flashes a disbelieving grin, gestures pointedly at herself - her creamy thighs, her porn star tits in your t-shirt, her body like sex itself. Dirty by design. “Never happening.”

Some cynical part of you keeps waiting for a slip-up, some mistake in a masterfully crafted script - no one can be that gorgeous and still be here with you. But Karina moves and your eyes are hopelessly drawn to the disheveled curtain of her hair spiraling down her back, the sharp distinct lines of her calves, the flex of muscle in her thighs. Her hands, balled into little fists. She’s alluring as if manufactured that way: engineered to be perfectly bruisable, ruinable. It defies logic. It’s movie magic.

“Well.” You snort with laughter, swat at Karina’s ass as she turns to go. “At least you can try.”

You don’t even think she can help it - that’s the thing. It’s just what she was made for. 

-

“What would you have done if I said no, though?” you ask after a moment, as she wavers in the doorway. “Like - what if I told you I didn’t like you like this?” 

Karina shrugs.

“I would’ve been something else,” she says, and closes the bathroom door behind her. 

-

(Next:

The stranger and the girl fuck and afterwards he promises her breakfast and then he realizes his cabinets are bare, his fridge painfully unstocked. Sorry, he says, as she pokes around his kitchen. I don’t know how that happened. I usually have something to eat here, I swear. 

I don’t mind, she says. Her fingertips sweep his shelves. She seems fascinated by the emptiness, admiring the vacancy. Oh, wait, look. 

She finds a half-eaten jar of honey that she ends up scooping up crudely with her fingers, dripping sticky amber down her hand. He’d tell her that’s disgusting but she makes it - as she seems to make everything - into a pointed seduction, her tongue pink and wetly visible, her skin gleaming as she licks it off. It’s funny. He’d never thought it possible to turn eating into some sort of sexual performance but she manages it anyway: meets his eyes, sucks loud and lewd, smacks her lips and wipes her mouth with her thumb, ill-mannered and stunning. 

I can’t imagine that’s very filling, he says, delighted by her commitment. 

Yeah, well, she says. It’s a good thing I hate feeling full. 

But it seems like a moment of hilarious irony when ten minutes later he’s got her bent over his kitchen counter, tits pressed punishingly to the flat surface, honey stuck to her neck and collarbone as she’s fucked hard again and again, stuffed with his cock, his fingers everywhere, like her own body barely even belongs to her - all mine, he keeps saying, and means it; you’re all mine. All filled up. Overfed. Bursting. 

Sex is a manner of consuming, it seems. He might as well be eating her alive.)

-

“Do you do this a lot?”

Eventually, it turns into one of those lazy Saturdays. An afternoon of sitcom plot points. 

It’s just so easy to fill the time, the space, the page - you tell Karina some inane story from your college years and she reacts in all the right places like your own built-in studio audience; she says something off-handed and enticingly vague and suddenly you have a new thread of dialogue to explore. You’re both sprawled out over your couch, Karina’s got her thighs tucked over your legs, wearing another one of your t-shirts, a fresh hickey bruising over her throat. There’s something delightfully domestic about it - like you’ve been doing it for a lot longer than you have, or like you could do it eternally if given the chance, holding all the silken comfort of an old routine. When you’d mentioned it - I kind of feel like I could do this forever - she’d laughed her scratchy laugh and said forever’s nowhere near as long as you think it is, babe. A perfectly cinematic line. You stared at her, leaned over, and added it immediately to your draft. 

“This whole…” You’re trying to elaborate now, staring at the blinking cursor on your laptop screen. Your knuckles skim her bare, bony knees. “You know.” 

“Eloquent.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I thought you were a writer.” 

“Karina.” You’re charmed by the drawl of her voice, the raspy roll of sarcasm. “I’m just wondering.”

Karina shifts in your lap. You’ve got one hand sneaking up the hem of her shirt - your shirt - skating up her tummy, her ribs. You’re probably about five minutes from snapping your laptop shut and pulling her on top of you and saying something crass about her tits and passing it off as a character study. 

“What do you mean?” She’s as close to clean as she can be. You made sure of it - licked the hollow of her collarbone earlier after she got out of the shower, tasted nothing but soap and skin. “Do I have a lot of sex with strangers? Or do I stay the night a lot after I have sex with strangers?”

“Both.” You think of taking her hair down, sifting your hand through it, wrapping the strands around your fingers. “All of the above.” 

Karina shoots you a look, fluttered lashes, suggestive understanding. You hear it without her having to say it. You want me to tell you that you’re special. 

“I’ve kind of been going through a phase,” she says instead, nonchalantly. 

Your eyebrows fly up. “A phase?” 

“I’ve been, you know.” She gives an airy sigh. “Trying to find myself in the big city. Running wild. Terrified of monogamy but being very brave and quirky about it. Sordid past with love and romance and general human connection. Doing the whole manic pixie dream girl thing.” Her eyes flick to your open laptop, abruptly too wide and innocent. “That sound about right?” 

“Fuck off.” It’s a complete non-answer. You run a hand past her stomach, laughing. “You’re fucking with me.”

“What?” Karina inches closer. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Your textbook rom-com love interest?”

You make a rather disparaging sound in the back of your throat. “Ugh.” 

“Oh, my bad.” Her mouth curls, contradictory. There’s nothing apologetic about her. “I forgot. You don’t believe in art about love. You wanna see broken people and broken people only.” 

“See?” You’re obsessed with her tone; all flirtation, some distorted version of come-hither charm. Talking of suffering like it’s a seduction tactic. “You get it.” 

Karina rakes a hand through her hair; her fingers fall to the back of her neck and linger there. She pulls herself out of your lap and turns, hooks one bare long leg over you until she’s straddling you. Your hands find her hips. You’re disarmed by her strange weightlessness, like she’s seconds from either shattering or taking flight.  

Then she asks, “Is that what you’re doing with me?”

It’s gotta be a very roundabout request to fuck her stupid, because she follows it up torturously: ducks her chin, parts her lips, rocks her hips down until you groan. You watch her throat, the way muscle works over bone, picturing unspeakable things: taking her by that pretty neck and pinning her to the wall, ripping your shirt right off of her with your fingertips leaving bruises - bending her over to fuck her fast and cruel until her cunt’s raw and aching and leaking your cum - until she’s begging pathetically, saying please, God, please - and you’re triumphant, victorious. Telling her you asked for this, didn’t you? You said anything. You said anything I want. 

“Depends,” you reply, when you can breathe again. “Are you a broken person?” 

Karina stops, moments from your mouth. 

“Depends,” she echoes. “Is that what you want from me?”

It actually takes a beat for the question to sink in. Then two, then-

“No,” you say, loudly. “Obviously not, Karina, Jesus. Why would I…”

You falter. 

Karina only looks back at you, patient, tolerant. Like if right now you said that’s exactly it: I want you broken, I want you ruined, I want you decaying and dead and buried, she’d smile and say do your worst. Flashing those white, white teeth, perfect like pearls, ready to be knocked right out and strung together. 

You blink the bloody vision away. “Why would I ever want that?”

Karina studies you for a second longer, expression indecipherable. 

“Okay,” she agrees, breezily. “Then I’m not broken. I’m just going through a phase, like I said. I don’t like being tied down.” Her shirt rides tantalizingly high up her thighs; her hand slips down to palm your cock. There’s a twist to her lips, a dirty sort of smirk. “You understand that, right?”

You stare at her.

“Right?” Karina prods, again, low and sultry. 

“Right,” you say, unable to fight your sudden smile. 

The pout of her mouth’s an inevitability; her little body in your lap’s a seductive form of foreshadowing. You dig your fingers into her protruding ribs, playful, and you don’t quite get the squeal of laughter you were expecting - all Karina does is curl closer, expecting more, expecting harder. She knows what you’re capable of. You’re both just biding your time until you cross the same line you’ve been crossing and you fall back into bed again.

“A phase,” you add, considering. It intrigues you, anyway - the casualness, the connotation. “So - I’m not special, then. That’s the moral of this story.” 

Karina’s fingers sift gently through your hair. “You wanna be special?”

“I mean, yeah.” Your palm falls to her neck, presses down. She doesn’t seem to mind. “Doesn’t everyone?” 

Her eyebrows rise in vague, unconvinced amusement. It makes sense: she’s the most special of all, a cosmic glitch, an angelic fluke. Someone like Karina wouldn’t understand the aching, clawing, consuming desire to be extraordinary. She’s already there. 

Your hand on her throat looks even bigger now, tendons straining from underneath skin.

“I think we all want to feel important,” you mumble, thumb grazing gently across her jaw. “Don’t you?” 

You’re pretty sure the wry, glittering smile that sits at Karina’s mouth is an answer in itself. 

-

Alright, forget your television metaphors - you’re not sure there’s any sitcom out there that goes quite like this.

“By the way,” you say, grinning against her hair as you pull her to the bedroom. “Did you say you don’t like being tied down?” 

Karina turns in your arms and doesn’t even flinch when you force her too hard against the doorframe and its edge smacks into her shoulder blade, digging in hard. You should apologize but you don’t; the possibility of her in pain seems laughable, a distant fantasy. This is how it goes, fucking a girl who looks like a god - your brain is convinced she’s wholly immune to hurt. The universe wouldn’t actually let someone so pretty bleed. 

“Oh, sorry,” she says, voice raspy with insinuation. “Let me rephrase.” 

“Karina,” you say, not really like a warning - more like you’ve got something to prove. This is real. You’re really here. You’re really this perfect, gorgeous, greedy thing. You’re really made for me. 

Karina only lets her lips tilt in a smirk, devilish and knowing.

“I meant that I don’t like commitment,” she says. “I love being tied down.”

She’s still smiling when you shove her through the doorway, across the threshold - across that same old fucking line.

-

Not that it makes a difference now, but one of the reasons you and your most recent ex-girlfriend broke up was because of what you’d both referred to as sexual incompatibility. Actually, there were about fourteen other things, too - she was a trainwreck and a textbook attention whore; you spent all your time writing and she took offense to the fact that you found your scripts more interesting than her - but the crux of the sex problem between the two of you was that she thought you wanted too much power over her. She seemed to assume that was the point of potentially tying her up and shit like that: to exert power. To put you and only you in control. To make her into this helpless little toy - and I hate that, she’d said, working herself into a fit, I hate feeling helpless. 

You hadn’t pushed her. You’d also tried to justify it in a number of ways. It isn’t about that. It’s not about control. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. But it hadn’t made a difference and she hadn’t believed you and you’d come to the reluctant, inevitable conclusion that that particular dream would never actually get fulfilled. 

Until-

“Look at you, baby.” 

Until now, when you’ve got Karina stripped bare and tied to your bed, thighs parted as you kneel over her, pretty little cunt glistening wet and tits heaving with every breath as she waits, and waits, and waits. 

Eyes half-lidded. Utterly fuckable. A curated collection of every salacious desire you’ve ever had. 

“You’ve been looking at me forever,” murmurs Karina, her tone still humorous, like the reason her voice is run so ragged is because she’s holding back a fit of giggles. “You gonna fuck me anytime soon?” 

To Karina’s credit, the idea of tying her up didn’t seem to bother her one bit. She’d let you knot her wrists to your bedframe and only grinned sharply when you asked her if it was too much. She didn’t seem to care about feeling helpless or feeling bad. Actually - judging from the wetness that collects on your fingers as you rub two of them over her cunt - it all seemed to turn her on either way. 

“You’re so fucking mouthy.” You lift your hand only to ghost it over her stomach, leaving a lewd shiny streak across her skin. “It’s like you want to be punished.” 

“Well, you put in all this work.” Karina yanks at the ropes tethering her wrists to the bedframe until they bite so severely into her skin that it turns white. “I’d hate to see it go to waste.” 

“Not a waste.” 

“No?” She’s got that seductive little smirk on, legs spread shamelessly, head back and throat bared. 

“Nope.” Your eyes rove down her body. “It’s a great view, actually.”

You’re shocked by the sound Karina makes, then: harsh and derisive, scratchy and painful, like she’s choking badly around some injury in her throat. You’re half-expecting her to turn her face and spit blood onto your sheets - all murder-scene evidence, horrifically vibrant gore. Coughing up her own vocal chords. 

It’s so awful it actually takes you a minute to realize that she’s laughing. 

“Karina?” you say, perturbed.

“Oh, please.” Karina hacks out one more horrid laugh. “Cut the shit.” 

You draw your hand back uncertainly. “What are you-”

��Come on, man.” There’s a glint to Karina’s gaze as she looks up at you: bored, mocking, infuriating. Irises flashing like the darkest corners of haunted houses, set-ups for a summoning; lashes like cobwebs, self-spun and delicate. “Fuck me or leave me alone.”

For a second you just stare at her, unmoving, something caustic and furious threading up your spine. 

And then-

Look, none of this next part is on you. You can’t blame yourself. It’s her - her tiny hands in tight clenched fists, tummy so flat it seems caved-in, hollowed-out; her own glimmer of slick smeared on her belly, physical proof of how desperately slutty she really is. The bruise on her chest; the one on her throat. Her goddamn eyes. Her lazy, lilting drawl, the exact matter-of-fact casualness she’d had last night when she’d told you to hurt her - fuck me or leave me alone. 

It’s so obvious what she’s trying to do - provoke a reaction out of you. It’s gotta be the only reason she’s talking to you like that. Like, what else are we here for? Like, what else could I possibly want from you? 

So - no, God, it’s not your fault. 

But-

It’s over before you can even think about it. Before you’ve even rationalized doing it, before you recognize the sound ricocheting through the room as the perfect violent land of a blow, the hot whiplash of skin on skin, your palm connecting with its target. Before you blink, and recalibrate, and you take in the rapid reddening of her cheek, and her angled jaw, and her hair falling starkly past her chin - it’s too late. It’s already done. 

Because you’ve just slapped Karina clean across the face - hard. 

“Oh.” You’re babbling as if on autopilot, all your nerves on shutdown. “Oh. Oh, God. Karina-” 

Karina licks the corner of her lip, like she can taste the impact. 

“Jesus Christ,” you’re saying, panicking; you can’t shut up. You don’t know what to do with your hands; you find yourself kneeling carefully in front of her, cupping her face, stroking her temples with your thumbs like it’ll soothe the sting. You can’t believe you hit her. All the things you could do to a girl like that, and you - “I’m sorry. I didn’t - fuck, baby. I’m sorry.”

Karina blinks up at you, expression placid and blank, porcelain-doll cool. 

“For what?” she asks. 

You freeze, her face still between your palms. “For-”

But the serene tilt of her mouth makes the words die in your throat. 

“Seriously.” Karina’s voice is softer now, a kind twist of mirth. “Isn’t that what you wanted to do with me this whole time?” 

Her features seem to fall out of alignment, occurring to you in cut, edited fragments - the baby-animal eyes, the bone-white glint of teeth, the pretty blooming flush of her cheek, blood rising underneath skin but never breaking through. No evidence of a limit breached; she doesn’t wince or wail or cry. She wears the hit so well. She’s smiling. A you-don’t-need-to-be-sorry smile, a you’re-forgiven smile: I’m strong, I’m good, I can take it. Whatever you need. Whatever you have to give. 

You blink and Karina reassembles, stitched up at the seams, beautiful and uninjured and intact.

“You want this,” you exhale, a wondrous revelation.

“Of course.” Karina’s shoulders rise as much as they can with her arms so tightly tied back. “You do, don’t you?” 

The panic recedes, and something else - something electric and brutal, visceral, intoxicating - takes its place instead. 

It’s the way she says it: rhetorical, all-knowing. As if she’s seen exactly what’s in your mind - what repulsive daydreams have settled right behind your ribcage, clawing to be set free - and she’s offering her own body in sacrifice. Saying here, put them here. 

So you do. 

She doesn’t even look surprised when you slap her again. 

“See?” Karina’s chin tips upwards in delicious, submissive invitation: eyes darkly pleased, pale skin a burning wildfire, curled mouth a beckoning. Like it’s been what she’s waiting for, all along. “There you are.” 

And when you’re finally able to catch your breath:

Oh, you think, in some exhilarating epiphany. Here I am. 

Every single reservation falls out the window. Karina’s smirk slants viciously and then you’ve got your hands all over her, on her shoulders and her tits and her hips and her throat and her face, thumb digging hard into her cheekbone. Any sort of gentle caution is gone when you’re getting on top of her and burying your cock deep inside the suffocating vice of her aching little cunt, half-drunk on the high mewling moans you’re forcing out of her, head swimming at the drenched audible sound of her pussy every time you fuck into her - at how tight she clenches down around your cock. Fuck it all, then, it’s not like it means anything - hurt me, she’d said, running through your head on loop; I want it so bad, I need it, hurt me - and so you do, wrapping a hand around her delicate neck and pressing down, slapping hard against her heaving tits, salivating over the marks that you leave. She doesn’t even struggle. Takes it like a good girl, an obedient girl: something meant to be hit and torn up and pulled apart. A hands-on art piece. A disassembling, made purely for audience consumption; a sign hung around her neck that says leave your mark, that’s the point. You’d been so naïve, thinking of being careful with her - like she’d ever even fucking want that-

“You like it like this.” Your voice sounds raw, almost unrecognizable; your fingers press into the base of her throat. “This is all you needed, huh? You just needed to be roughed up real hard.” Your hand trails up to grip a fistful of her hair, merciless. Karina shuts her eyes. “Like you’re just a slutty fucktoy-” 

Karina chokes out a small, wet gasp.

“Oh, baby.” You yank harder at her hair. “It’s okay to admit it.”

But in a way, she already is. Doesn’t fight against the restraints tying her wrists, doesn’t flinch at how rough you’re fucking her, doesn’t whine or blink back tears at the harsh graze of your thumbnail against her nipple. Like she’s a plaything, here in your bed for your pleasure alone. Like-

“Like you were just fucking made for this, yeah?” She comes undone so easily: cunt a wet sticky mess when you reach down to rub her clit, teeth pearly-white where they’re caught on her bottom lip - though nothing can hold back the anguished noise Karina lets out at your pace, the thick stretch of your cock, your palm smacking at her tits over and over. “Look at you. That face, these tits, this little fucking cunt-”

Like it’s her one and only purpose - to have all her fair skin turned searing red and bruised under someone else’s hands. Her cunt just begging to be split open and stuffed full, railed so hard she could break. It’s gotta be what she was created for. She’s more than mortal, so above the concept of imperfection; a nasty little fuckdoll of a girl, meant to be used hard and licked clean. She looks too irresistible all fucked-out and ruined. It has to be in her nature. Made for this, you keep telling her: to be fucked until she can’t walk. To be treated forever how you’re treating her now. 

Your ex-girlfriend couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s not about power or control at all.

“You’d really just let me do anything to you, huh?” you murmur, awed, but you’re holding her throat too hard for her to reply. 

You fuck her, and fuck her, and fuck her. Rub at her clit until she clamps down and cums around you, until you can really get on top of her, force her to hold those huge tits together so you can fuck them. You can’t handle how tiny she is underneath you, her face and her mouth slack with lust, eyes glazed over entirely. She squeezes her tits around your cock. She’s hardly even human. It’s the best thing about her. 

“That’s how I know you’re a fucking whore.” Your grin feels wide and manic on your face. You’re gonna cum all over her - again. “None of this even matters.” 

And it’s only after - after you’ve painted her collarbone and chest creamy white and let up on her throat so she can fight for air; after you’ve groped her tits and grabbed her face after just to see your cum glistening all over her perfect slap-marred cheeks; after you’ve rolled off of her and you finally leave her alone - that Karina gives you a response. 

“No,” she says, hoarsely, staring up at the ceiling. “It really, really doesn’t.” 

-

Power just isn’t the right word for it. It’s something much more beautiful than that. 

Desire. You’re dozing off, halfway in a sleepy fantasy. You imagine rolling the word around in your mouth, using it in speeches, citing it as an obvious central theme. It’s about desire, you’d say, in interviews, at film festivals, patiently explaining your motivations to the masses. That irrational animal instinct. That innate human greediness. You’ll maybe even throw in some fun anecdote about how people in past relationships never agreed with you. It’s never been about power, though, you’d explain: how foolish, how crude. It’s about the ache of truly wanting something. Isn’t that so much more romantic?

So you’ll make a movie about this one day. So you tied Karina to the bed and slapped her hard and fucked her senseless. Actually, you picture yourself explaining, foggy and on verge of falling asleep: actually, it’s about hunger. Irrepressible, all-consuming hunger. That’s why I did this. That’s why I’ll keep doing it. You’re all like me; you get it. That makes sense, doesn’t it? 

And it will, to raucous, riotous applause.

Good. You’ll laugh so hard. You’re dreaming, now; you can’t tell if you’re talking about the sex or the hypothetical future movie. I’m glad you understand. Anyone would’ve done what I did. 

Because - honestly - what’s the point of starving yourself of something that’s right in front of you?

-

(Let’s pull back from your script for a second. Here’s a real story:

A few months back you were visiting a museum with one of your friends when you got into this conversation about performance art. He’d told you about a woman back in the seventies who walked into a gallery and laid out various objects and let the audience do whatever they wanted to her for six whole hours. Her as the artist, in title only; herself as the art. A free, untethered canvas. 

And what happened? you asked, morbidly curious. 

Your friend grimaced. What do you think happened? 

It was a rhetorical question. The performance had been a test of what the general public was capable of - a reflection of their moral compass, of what they’d do if left unchecked. The setup spoke for itself. You didn’t have to get all the gory details in order to understand. 

Seriously, though, your friend said, about the artist: I don’t know what’d compel someone to do something like that to themselves. He’d shaken his head, baffled. Like - I think it takes a deeply fucked up person to just give up their body like that. Like it doesn’t even matter to them. 

It’s strange. It’s an almost universally accepted fact that, at least on some level, artists are inclined to put pieces of themselves into the things they create. A memory; a feeling. Condensing twenty different emotions into a single acrylic painting, or a lyrical reenactment of heartbreak into a song - something personal and unique and lovely. Often inspired, sure, but yours. 

I think that’s what’s funny about it, you told your friend, before you realized that funny was a fucked up word to use here. There’s nothing personal about that. It’s so detached. It’s about the rest of the world, whatever they might make of her - it’s not about her at all. 

You were both quiet, thinking. Visualizing what it might’ve been like. To be there, one of many in the audience, watching this woman who had thrown herself to the wolves and asked to be ripped apart. 

She’s just - material for them to use, I guess, you said, after a moment. A blank page. 

Removing her own identity; becoming nothing, no one. A ghost. An empty vessel. A slab of clay, taking on the impression of everyone who’s ever touched her: the ridges of fingerprints, the half-moon cuts of nails, molding her into something new. Even if it took some force. Even if it hurt. 

Still, it’s what she’d asked for. 

You can’t imagine she’d ever expected anything else.)

-

There’s this fascinating complaint people have about films these days, you’ve found. It’s actually quite the phenomenon. You talk to your colleagues and scroll through social media and read comments on movie trailers trying to get a grasp on it all: market research. This isn’t realistic, people gripe. It’d never sound like that. She’d never look like that. This would never, ever happen - God, are you kidding? Who are they trying to fool? As if they’ve somehow missed the point of fiction - of a sweet, escapist fantasy. As if they’ve convinced themselves that the real world is better. 

Which is moronic, obviously. 

“So what’s the solution?” Karina asks.

Well, you’re no expert; it’s been a while since you’d finished your last movie.

“But you have an idea,” Karina interpets. She’s perched on the edge of your coffee table, nursing a new glass of ice. She’s watching you with her head at an angle, eyes shrewd. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be telling me this.” 

As with most of her guesses about you, she’s right. 

“It’s all about the details,” you say, after a moment. “It humanizes a person. Having little bits and pieces about who they are - it makes them alive. Their likes, their dislikes. Embarrassing stories. Things that make them laugh. Diary entries, favorite foods - first loves, first heartbreaks. So on and so forth.” You’ve got one of Karina’s ankles between your hands; your thumb brushes against the bulbous protrusion of bone. “It’s what makes people real.” 

Karina’s mouth twists, sharp and strange; it takes a second for you to realize that she’s grinning. 

“Oh, right,” she says. “You want me to spill my guts to you.” She pushes her ankle further into your grip. Her legs are just like the rest of her: thin and pale, waifish. Like a nineties catwalk model. “That’s how you’re gonna make me real. In your movie.” 

You pull a face, letting her ankle slip from your hands. Spill her guts; what an ugly figure of speech. As if you’re doing something much more invasive and violent than just writing about her. 

“Basically,” you agree, anyway. “I mean, it helps that you’re already, you know - a real, whole, living person.” 

“Ugh,” says Karina, dry and amused. “Barely.” 

You wonder if she’s also thinking about this morning; you, stunned and staring at her cum-streaked hair, calling her unreal.

She’s got a point, in a way. There’s something slightly uncanny about her sitting in front of you, as if she’s been taken straight out of some wildly different scene - some spotlit stage, some movie set, some glossy high-budget existence - and haphazardly edited into your life. You reach out and press two fingers to the side of her neck, like they do on television if they think someone’s bleeding out. 

Karina tips her head to allow you access. Her pulse throbs hotly under your touch. 

“I don’t know,” you say, smiling at the swanlike line of her throat. “You seem pretty alive to me.” 

“Sure.” Her hair tickles your wrist. “But you want more.”

She says it like it’s this given - as if she’s always faced with people wanting more from her. You wouldn’t doubt it, little tease she is. You can picture her in motion so easily. Always running. Letting people pine and plead for more. 

“Yeah,” you say. It seems pointless to lie to her. “I want more.” 

Karina leans in closer. She reaches up and touches one of your knuckles with the pad of her thumb. Without makeup, you can see the shadows of dark circles underneath her eyes, but even those look painted-on, pre-planned; a study on the aesthetic allure of bruises. She lets her gaze drop to your mouth, then bites down on her bottom lip. Impish.

“Karina,” you say, grinning wider now. 

It’s one of those unspoken things: the translation of body language, the transcription of the tilt of her mouth. Then have me, she’s saying, almost certainly - like a swooning melodramatic heroine, throwing herself into your lap, wanting to be saved. You want more? You want me? I’m right here. I’m yours.

“Fine,” Karina purrs, and kisses you again, like sealing a contract. “Take it all.” 

-

You don’t fuck her again - not at first. There’s more than one way to take someone apart. 

Karina says she’s got a story for you and then she pulls out her phone. 

“This was back in high school,” she explains, scrolling back through her photo gallery. There don’t seem to be a lot of recent additions to it; you’d expected selfies, pictures of her with friends. There are more photos of food than anything: plates of pasta and donuts and burgers and pastries piled with whipped cream. It’s cute. It makes you laugh. “When I won prom queen.” 

You splutter. “When you what?” 

“What?” Karina gives you a bemused, sideways look. “Does that surprise you?” 

It floors you, actually. At first you can’t quite put your finger on why, but then you look at Karina again - at her intense dark eyes and pouty fuckdoll lips and the exaggerated pinup proportions of her body - and you realize you’re making that mistake writers often do: buying into archetypes. It just makes sense that she’d be some kind of brooding bad girl. Mysterious, promiscuous; in your creative vision she’s probably cutting classes and chainsmoking in the girls’ bathroom. A favorite of the rumor mill. A pretty little delinquent.

“Wow.” Karina makes a funny noise in the back of her throat when you tell her this. “No. I was - I did fine in school. Perfect attendance, almost. And I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes.” But she doesn’t look offended, either; you imagine people make these assumptions about her all the time. “The prom queen thing - it wasn’t my idea, though. My best friend did all the campaigning for me.” 

“That’s sweet.” You watch as she reaches the year she’s looking for. Flashes of her in a sparkly dress with her arms thrown around another girl - a tiny doe-eyed brunette - slide by. In one of them, Karina’s got her head tipped back, clearly mid-laugh; in another, she and the girl have their heads bent close together as if they’re trading secrets, unaware that they’re being photographed. “Well - I think it’s sweet.” 

Karina’s fingers stall. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“I’m just saying-” You shrug. “It’s a nice gesture if it’s something you wanted, I guess. Seems like a lot of attention, otherwise.” 

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Yeah. It was - I didn’t get to go to junior prom, so it was kind of - this was - senior year. Senior prom.” Another pause. “Yeah. She did it to make me happy.”

“And did it?” She passes by pictures that fill up with more people: friends with big grins who stick close to her side, wrapping her up in an embrace. “Make you happy?” 

“Of course.” Karina’s thumb pauses on a video, the preview dark and unfocused. She says it like she doesn’t even have to think about it. “She was my best friend. She always knew what I wanted. Hey, look at this.” 

The video’s of her in the back of someone’s car, prom queen tiara askew on her head, satiny sash falling off one shoulder. She’s yelling, laughing; the sound isn’t on, but her mouth’s wide open and her dark eyes are crinkled to half-moons, creased underneath heavy false lashes and glittery makeup that’s begun to smudge and fade. It makes her whole face look very soft. Young, too - cheeks full and flushed pink with excitement, hair blown-out and everywhere, glossed black. As if she’s having the time of her life. 

“How old were you here?” you ask, in awe. 

“Eighteen. Just turned, I think.” 

“You look-” Like a baby, you almost want to say. It’s true, though. Big brown eyes, scrunched little nose - grinning like the rest of the world hasn’t quite dug its claws into her yet. Skin unmarred and infant-smooth. “You look pretty.” 

Karina doesn’t look at you, but you can see the slight, entertained upturn of her lips. All the nasty things you’ve called her - all the irredeemable ways you’ve touched her - and now, inexplicably, you’re going for pretty. 

“Thanks,” she says, and clicks the volume up.

“Shut the fuck up,” baby Karina is saying, delightedly. Her voice sounds high, childish and carefree. “You’re so dumb. It wasn’t - it wasn’t even like that, I swear!” She flaps one hand in the air, her nails all short and painted the same rich deep maroon as her dress. “No - you’re just saying that because you’re jealous, you idiot, I know you - you just-”

The person behind the camera says something that you can’t quite make out. 

Baby Karina presses one hand to her sternum, pearl-clutching, and gasps. 

“I would never,” she admonishes - over-the-top like an actress from a movie - before she throws her head back and laughs. 

It’s a startling, wonderful laugh. A little-kid laugh. A mess of wild, unabashed giggles, hiccupy and sweet, so loud and infectious you can hear the other people in the car start cracking up with her; out of frame, someone reaches out to interlace their fingers with Karina’s, waving their joined hands until they smack against the car window and Karina only laughs harder. With her whole body, shoulders shaking and all. Streetlights flashing across her face, making her look sort of blurry and surreal, like something out of a painting. 

“Your laugh,” you find yourself saying, stunned. 

Karina’s touching the back of her neck, completely engrossed in the video. “My what?” 

You don’t laugh like that anymore. That’s what you mean to say. That scratchy, almost painful laugh that she’s been gracing you with since the moment you met her - there’s no trace of that in how baby Karina wriggles with laughter in the backseat of the car until her happy, breathless blush spreads to her neck and her chest. Head tipping back against the seat, like she’s all tuckered out. 

“Um,” you say, voice caught in your throat. 

On the screen, her eyes fall shut, lashes fluttering so delicately. 

You can’t do anything but stare. Brilliant, past-life, prom-queen Karina - grinning at nothing, and sleepy from a perfect night, and laughing as if she’ll exist as this version of herself forever. As if she just doesn’t know any better, yet. 

“You,” you start to say, again-

Karina shuts her phone off, and turns.

And you’re about to say something - something about the gnawing, uncertain feeling you get when you watch this former self of hers. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You don’t laugh like that. Something happened to you. For a moment the whole image just seems off - like the way people make posthumous holograms of pop stars, superimpose faces of long-dead actors on stunt doubles. A kind of intense wrongness. A murmured, uncomfortable: that’s not really you, is it? It can’t be. I barely recognize her. 

“What?” Karina asks. Her smile reveals her teeth. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Then reality hits you, all at once. 

“Sorry.” Your hand finds her thigh. You laugh because you’re being ridiculous - how would you know who she really is, anyway? “I was just thinking - I don’t know. Never mind.”

She seems to take that at face value. You like that about her. How she seems to trust so easily - going home with you, winding up in your bed, staying when you ask her to stay. Giving you whatever you want: her body, her story.

“So,” you say, eventually. “I can put in my movie that you totally peaked in high school, huh?” 

Karina snorts. “Yeah,” she says, playing along, and taps her dark phone screen with a clawed nail. “Say it was the last time I was happy.” She pulls a face, like the thought of it is just unspeakably pathetic. “That’s a tragedy if I’ve ever heard one.” 

“Shakespearean,” you agree, and let her clamber into your lap. “It’s perfect.” 

But you know she’s kidding. You’d like to think that you understand girls like her. They live in a different world than the rest of you - the kind of world where every person on earth looks at them and falls to their feet, falls madly in love. You’ll write about it one day; you’ll feel out the narrative for her, a curious exploration. That rose-tinted life she must flourish in, closed-off and flawless like a snow globe, her spinning and protected in the glass.

“Perfect,” echoes Karina, and kisses you - like she’s proving she really means it. 

That’s the reality, here. That’s it. This is all there is. 

-

Well, almost.

-

Karina lets you scroll through the rest of her photo gallery, front to back. You take the opportunity, because you’re greedy for as much as you can get. 

There’s a lot of photos that are just her, funnily enough - selfies posed in front of the same full-length mirror, over and over again, clad in unholy outfits. Swimsuits, sports bras and little running shorts, lingerie: shit that makes your mouth water, eyes lingering, groaning out loud as she laughs at you. But it’s also her in faded old t-shirts, holding the hem up to expose her stomach. Body angled to the side in girlish sundresses. Hair pulled up, showing off her neck, her gorgeously sharp collarbone - in makeup or out of it, stare intensely focused and sultry. 

“That’s hot,” you comment. “Self-obsessed as fuck, but hot.” 

Karina smiles - her tiny private-joke smile - and doesn’t say anything at all. 

There’s one video in particular that catches your eye. It’s recent, relatively - the date reads late December, last year. Less than a month ago. Christmastime. You click on it, curious. 

Karina’s immediately recognizable in it, black hair winding past her shoulders, drowning in a large black sweatshirt. She’s smiling, but it looks sort of tense and tired - bags under her eyes, like she hasn’t slept in a while. She’s got both hands balled up into fists, held close and protective to her chest; her sharp chin rests on her pale knuckles. There’s a tiny smear of red across her mouth, lower lip bitten bloody. 

“You just got here,” she says. She’s looking at something behind the camera. “The first thing you wanna do is hear me sing?” She laughs once, scratchy and hoarse. “Why are you even filming this?” 

The answering strum of guitar strings, a pretty, perfect chord. An invitation, or a demand.

“You’re kidding.” Karina’s voice is flat.

Another chord - evidently not. 

“Wow,” says Karina. Her smile, out of nowhere, goes very soft at the edges. “You just do this because you know I can’t say no to you.”

“What?” you ask Karina now, laughing. “Is this - what is this? Do you - are you really going to sing?” 

And then - crazily enough - she does. 

“Oh,” you say out loud, adoring, and Karina turns her face into your shoulder. 

Her voice in the video is breathy, sweet. Shyly unpracticed, raspy from disuse, completely and utterly gorgeous; lids slipping shut and open again, laugh leaking into her melody line in lyrics about black eyes and kisses and wanting someone who’s just so, so bad for you. But what surprises you more than anything is the look that dawns on her blurry on-screen face - irises sparkling and smile bashful, hiding her mouth behind the sleeve of her sweatshirt, curled up with her knees to her chest. You see now that she’s wearing pajama pants, fuzzy and patterned with snowflakes. 

She looks radiantly pretty. She looks vulnerable. And not even in a sweaty, satiated, filthy post-fuck kind of way - actually, genuinely vulnerable. Soft and wide-eyed and tender.

Suddenly, you just can’t tear your gaze away. 

“Stop.” 

The song’s over. On-screen Karina’s fully grinning now. Porcelain-fragile, but undeniably happy, too. 

“I hate you,” she says. “Baby, I really do.” 

“You love me,” says the person behind the camera. “You’ll love me for the rest of your life and you know it.” 

And in the video - in vivid, fluid motion - Karina laughs. 

Whole-hearted, lovely. Familiar. For a moment, you swear she’s still that girl sitting in the backseat of a car with her prom queen tiara on, giggling free and uninhibited, unhurt, untouched. A month ago - less than that, even - looking like she’s coming back to life. 

That’s where the clip ends. 

It doesn’t change anything, if you actually think about it. It’s just another version of reality. A Karina from a whole other universe, laughing like a child, and so, so far away from whoever she is now. 

-

(Back between the lines of your script-

The stranger and the girl drink to get drunk and that’s about it. She reads the label of his wine; he makes fun of her for being a snob. She doesn’t really drink, she says at first, but he laughs like this is a challenge, and pours her a glass anyway. She flushes pink and fidgets around. She seems to shed hair like a cat and he thinks this is the most hilarious thing he’s ever seen, picking up thin black strands off of the arm of his couch, teasing her about girls and how they really like to leave their mark, huh?

Leave their mark, she repeats. There’s some trick of the lens here, some sort of strategic camera work - he’s in the forefront and she’s in the background, and she looks so much smaller than him. Why do you say that? 

He still had his ex-girlfriend’s perfume in his cabinet. He probably still has some of her clothes in his closet. Not out of any particular emotional attachment, but sometimes this is just the way things are: when you spend years intertwining your whole existence with someone else’s, it’s hard to rid yourself of that connection. You’ve grown into each other’s spaces, tangling limbs and heart lines, putting down roots. It’s gonna take a little force to get them out. 

They’re just so much, he says, gesticulating with his hands. And they affect everything in your life, like a fucking infection. And then it doesn’t work out, and you - he makes a wide, sweeping motion here, attempting to encompass the wreckage. You have to fix everything they broke. Purge them from your system and all that. It’s so fucked up. 

It’s like this, he means to say - you love someone and then they leave you behind and you’re left staring at the blown-up decimated crater that used to be your life together. You love someone and they don’t love you back and all you have now is the debris.

They’re both drunk. There should be music here and there isn’t. It’s only eerie, too-still silence, suffocating the both of them with every passing second. 

Well, she says, laughing, and takes another sip. You and I can agree on that, at least.)

-

It happens like this:

There’s a monologue you want to write. 

You tell Karina this after you’re finally fucking her again, when she’s balanced on the edge of your glass coffee table with her legs spread and your mouth slick with her cum. Well - not after, technically. She’s between orgasms and you have your thumb on her clit, tracking the expression on her face, the split-second moment where she comes apart. It’s then when you realize so badly that you want to write some great speech for your heroine - something about the sweat beading on Karina’s midriff and her tits that you can’t stop touching and the jerky movements of her hips, trying to get your tongue back on her clit, panting and delightfully desperate. Something about desire. 

“Desire,” repeats Karina, voice halfway into a raspy, worked-up moan. 

“Yeah.” You’ve replaced your mouth with your fingers, fucking up into the obscene tight heat of her cunt. She’s trembling, dripping everywhere; she’s the very picture of what it means to want, probably. “But I just can’t figure it out.” 

Karina laughs roughly, and then she cums. 

“Is that funny?” you ask her, after, when you’re wiping your wet mouth with your wrist and she’s sucking on your glistening fingers, licking the taste of her own cunt off your skin. Her eyes big, lips all full and pink - slutty angel on her pedestal, perched above you. “Me writing about desire?” 

Karina lets your fingers free with a loud pop. She’s still clutching your hand close to her mouth, thumb dragging through the sticky gleam of her spit. “No,” she says, eyes distant. “It just reminded me of something. There’s this Anne Carson quote, about men and desire…” She shakes her head. Presses her lips once to your fingertips in a small, startlingly sweet kiss. “It doesn’t matter. Tell me more.” 

There isn’t much to tell, truthfully. Except that you’ve got this love for movie lines that are just so utterly quotable - things that make their way into the pop culture consciousness. That’s the kind of work you want to be doing: creating something that has an impact, something that’ll exist long after you’re gone. Everlasting. If you had to pull for an example, you’d say-

“You ever seen Closer?” 

“Yeah.” Karina drops your elbow into her lap. “Oh, I get it. He tastes like you but sweeter. Lying’s the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off - et cetera.” She hums the melody line. “So you want an early 2000s pop-punk band to make a song about your movie? Ambitious.” 

“More or less,” you say as she shimmies her shirt back down, hem falling back over her midriff. “But like I said, I’m kind of stuck.”

Karina rolls her neck. Her hair is everywhere, sweet-smelling; snapped-off strands decorate your table, looking like cracks in the glass. 

“Any suggestions?” you ask, thumb skimming along the pale bruised inside of her thigh. 

She smiles, mischievous. “Maybe.” 

That’s how you both end up curled on your couch together with your laptop in front of you, Karina’s eyes glued to the movie playing on the screen, watching as the four main characters fuck and flirt and cheat on each other and scream at the top of their lungs. Melodramatic dialogue. How do you feel about him using your life? You’re lying; I’ve been you. This will hurt, which Karina laughs at - as if announcing the pain will make it better, playacting at exoneration. 

It’s also - predictably - how you end up fucking again. You barely make it an hour in, and then-

“Hey.” Karina’s breath tickles your ear. She’s already seconds from climbing in your lap already; her thigh is hooked over yours, bare and inviting. “Are you inspired?” 

You’re swallowing back a grin. “Sure.” 

“Oh. Great.” She’s no actress herself, clearly. She couldn’t be subtle if she tried. “Do you wanna be more inspired?” 

And - whatever. It’s a movie about sex. If anything, at least you’re sticking to the theme. 

The dialogue plays in the background as Karina rocks her hips down on your lap - you can feel how wet she is again, like she never stops wanting to be fucked. You’re telling her something about how she’s the most insatiable girl you’ve ever met; the sound of the film saturates the room, setting the tone like it knows its purpose. How? How does it work? How do you do this to someone? This big, infidelity-ridden confrontation. Did you phone her? Beg her to come back? Asking him why he falls for another girl, getting this ridiculous answer - it’s because she doesn’t need me.

“Huh.” You smile into the curve of Karina’s neck, already palming her ass. “That one’s funny.”

“Is it funny?” Karina’s sharp jaw brushes against your cheekbone. Her eyes are so dark, shadowed by her long lashes. “I think it’s pretty realistic. People don’t like needy girls. It’s a burden to be loved so hard.” Her tongue darts across her teeth; her smile’s somewhat caustic. “Too much to handle, I guess.” 

“What are you talking about?” This strikes you as fairly fucking ridiculous, too. “What men have you met who don’t like needy girls?” 

Karina just laughs and leans in for another kiss. 

It’s easy to let the rest of the film float away in the background, the lines coming disjointed, unconnected. A spoken-word soundtrack, tone perfuming the air: the angst and pain and eroticism seeping into your clothing. Once in a while you’ll pull back from kissing Karina’s neck or tits or mouth and see a thoughtful little quirk to her mouth. Like she’s genuinely listening, even as you’re taking off her shirt, slipping a hand back between her legs. Where will you go? Disappear. I can’t still see you - if I see you, I’ll never leave you. I amuse you, but I bore you. 

“I bet you’ve never felt that,” you say, half into the silk of her hair. 

Karina pauses. Her shirt’s on the floor; she’s gloriously naked on top of you. “Felt what?” 

“I amuse you, but I bore you,” you recite. You already sound sort of fuck-drunk, far gone. “You’re the farthest thing from boring.”

Back in the movie, the female lead sobs into her fists. Karina studies you, fingertips grazing the nape of your neck. You try to imagine it - her as one of those heartsick heroines, crying herself to pieces, begging a man not to leave her - but you draw an utter blank. Some people just aren’t breakable in that way. 

“You’d be surprised,” Karina says, after a moment. “People get bored of me all the time.”

“Oh, please.” Even when she’s the one top of you, you can’t help feeling so completely in control. It’s gotta be the look in her eyes, dying to be obedient. “I bet you have lots of ways of keeping guys interested in you.” You smack her ass hard just to make a mark. “I bet you let them fuck you however they want.” 

“Exactly,” Karina agrees, without missing a beat. She moves in close until your noses bump together. Lets her voice go all smoky and suggestive. “Wherever they want, too.” 

You open your mouth - probably about to say something very rude about what a dirty whore she is and how you should’ve realized it the second you saw her; I knew it, I know you - but then your hands slip lower and Karina presses her lips to yours and licks into your mouth, over your teeth, making you swallow your words. Filling you up until there’s nothing but her and the movie, playing on.

I think I’ll be happier with her. 

You won’t. You’ll miss me. No one will ever love you as much as I do. Why isn’t love enough? 

“Romantic, right?” murmurs Karina, sweet against your tongue. 

“Shut up,” you say, and grab her by the hair, tugging her off your lap as you stand. “Bedroom. Now.” 

Later, you’ll take the time to consider the different ways filmmakers illustrate a power dynamic - it’s playing on your laptop screen right now. The heroine’s sitting on the arm of the couch, clutching desperately at the hero’s jacket. Gorgeously emotional and pleading for another chance, her tiny chin tilted up, eyes so large and watery. Made fragile and fearful by everyone: the protagonist, the narrative, the director, the audience beyond. By herself, even. It’s a stylistic choice - she wants to look that pathetic.

And you-

Well, you’ve got Karina’s long hair wrapped up in your fist, tits bouncing as she stumbles to her feet, ankle knocking hard and horribly loud against the leg of your table. Cute little ass all red from your hand. Thighs shimmering from how drenched she is, cunt dripping from how you’ve treated her. She hasn’t managed to work her mouth into a trademark smirk fast enough: when she looks at you over her shoulder, her eyes are abyss-dark and bottomless, crease between her brows, lips parted in pained surprise. 

The definition of pathetic, too - but that’s exactly the point. She’s just so much more fuckable like that. 

“Ouch,” you say, touching her hurt ankle with the side of your foot. 

“It’s fine.” Karina’s skin feels clammy and cold. Her smirk’s intact now, camera-ready. “I’ve been through worse.” 

Her ankle throbs under the pressure of your touch; you still haven’t let up on her hair. You’ll go through worse, too, you think of telling her: a sly comment about how rough you’re about to fuck her, what vicious marks you’re about to leave. How you’re gonna hurt her exactly like she asked you to. 

You don’t say a thing.

She must already know all of that, anyway.

-

So, Karina’s not breakable like the helpless, weepy, soft-hearted girls in the movies - but that’s alright. She’s breakable in much more enticing ways.

Case in point:

“Oh, get real, baby. Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

Well, breaking someone down doesn’t really get better than this.

It’s all a scene of your own making, a perfect pre-arrangement. You on your bed, Karina limp and bent belly-down over your lap - you in control and Karina as the most impressive toy you’ve ever gotten your hands on, creamy ass and needy cunt and skin that turns bruises to artwork. You’re goading her and failing - trying to get her to just admit to what she is, what a filthy slut, what a nasty eager fuckdoll - but it’s hard to get a response when even breathing seems to be a chore for her right now. Every noise out of her mouth is nothing but a gasping, choked-out whimper. Her face is buried in her forearm, hidden. And through the shine of lube dribbling down your hand and her ass and into the sticky wetness of her cunt, you’ve got two fingers stretching out her little asshole - and you’re just getting started.

“I know you fucking need this.” Your other hand slides up her back, slips to tangle in her hair. “You’re just too good at it.” You pull hard, wrenching her head from the crook of her elbow. “Too good at being an obedient fucking whore for me, huh?”

Karina’s whole body stiffens when you fuck your fingers deeper, as if tugged taut on a string: the flex of her feet in the air, shoulder blades straining, neck craned back almost painfully. You pull harder. It’s a buzz at the base of your skull, live-wire thrilling: the knowledge that you can yank her into whatever position you want - fuck her anywhere, work her ass open with your cock, fill her up with cum - and she’s just going to have to take it. Like she’s this pliant, powerless thing. Like she’s yours. 

Your self-satisfaction seeps right into your voice. “Answer me.” 

You hear Karina gulp down a breath. “I,” Karina mumbles, but she can’t do anything but babble. “I - fuck-” All teeth-clenching nonsense; she shoots a baleful glance over her shoulder, desperation clawing its way into every word. “Please-”

Your fingers pause. “You want more?” 

Her cheeks are splotchy and pink; you swear there are tears wobbling in those big dark eyes. The heavy arousal in your stomach turns to violent hunger, as though your mouth could start watering at any second. You can’t help it. The thought of seeing her cry is fucking exhilirating. “You - oh-” 

“Answer me. You want my cock?” You’re waiting for the breaking point. “You want me to really fuck your ass?” 

“Fuck-” 

But that’s not a proper reply and Karina knows it, so she doesn’t protest when you pull your glistening fingers out of her and smack your palm hard across her ass. Once, then twice, and then you just don’t stop. She yelps like a hurt animal - trembles uncontrollably, her thighs and her shoulders and her quivering bottom lip - and makes a sound in the back of her throat that might be a sob, but she still lets you hit her: gives into the harsh crack of skin on skin, over and over again. Listens as you tell her that she deserves this, that she wanted this, that you’re making her into a good girl and this is what good girls get when they’re too cock-hungry to follow orders or answer a fucking question, you know that - you know I’m this rough for a reason. It should hurt. It’s so much more fun that way.  

“I’ve been too fucking nice to you,” you mutter, teeth gritted in an effort to hide your grin - as if you even need to. It’s obvious how much you enjoy this. It’s the point. “That’s the problem with girls like you - you never learned your fucking place, huh? Never really been punished for anything?”

Karina mumbles out something unintelligible, slurring from her drooling mouth to the sheets.

“Yeah.” Your hand comes down again - she flinches just before her body goes slack. “That’s what I thought.” 

And after you’ve spanked her so hard that her fair skin is ravaged and raised with goosebumps along the slope of her back - her whole body in revolt - you finally, finally stop. 

Karina doesn’t budge except to breathe, and even that releases shallow, unsteady. You read it all in the shaky lift and fall of her thin shoulders, her hands in white-knuckled fists, her face pressed to your sheets and hidden - her hair coats everything, all ink, all words written but left unsaid. She shivers beneath your fingers. Her cunt’s dripping all over your lap. She’s a masterpiece. She’s a wreck. 

You’re filled up with thick, swollen pride. “Karina.” 

Karina. Your own personal creation, transformed under your touch. Might as well have your name carved into her, too. A brand right across her back, slicing through tissue, scarring to seal her fate - this is who you fucking belong to. 

“Poor baby.” You follow the sharp ridges of her spine, tracking notches, keeping a tally: counting how many times you’ll hit her, how many days she’ll stay in your bed. How many movies she’ll let you make out of her, being your brilliant muse for decades. “It’s painful when you don’t listen to me, huh?”

But then - inexplicably - you think of her bruising ankle. Her twist of a smirk, detached and humorless. I’ve been through worse. 

You’re abruptly glad you can’t see the look on her face. 

“Come on, sweet girl.” You dig the heel of your palm into her lower back, half a warning. “Pull it together.” 

Between the strands of glossy hair tumbling over Karina’s skin and your sheets, you spot a reddish mark on the back of her neck. Like the impression of a thumbprint, small and round. Blurry enough in the dim light that your brain starts conjuring up strange theories; an old wound, maybe. A birthmark or a burn, a childhood injury.

You graze her shoulder blades with your fingertips, exploratory. She feels so small draped over you like this, a tiny wet wisp of a girl. A doll. 

She still hasn’t moved.

“Karina.”

Nothing.

“Karina,” you say again, suddenly uneasy. Your hand stops. “Are you-”

For a few terrible seconds, you can’t even hear her breathing. 

But then Karina shifts. Slow, sensual, deliberate. Pushing herself up off your lap, arching her back, the slick pucker of her asshole obscene from where you fucked it open with your fingers. Her bruised knees dig into your mattress as she straightens up, and her gorgeous pale face seems to glow in the midday light - heavy dark eyes, bitten-pink mouth, black hair curtaining her cheeks like a frame to a portrait.

“You,” you start to say, feeling suddenly like you’re looking at her for the first time. 

“I’m really sorry,” Karina murmurs.

She doesn’t look close to tears at all. She’s so unfazed, as if having her ass spanked punishingly raw is something that happens to a girl like her on the daily. A run-of-the-mill occurrence - a consequence of having a body like that, made to be brutalized. She’s already reaching towards the nightstand for the lube. 

“I just wanted it so bad I couldn’t think straight,” Karina tells you, with erotic-film certainty - reciting all the lines that’ll make her seem the most insatiably slutty. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Her lips form a pout; she leans down to press them to the tip of your cock, all sweet and demure, like she thinks she needs to convince you. Eyes flicking up at you through her thick lashes, molten-hot. “I should’ve listened.” It’s only a breath, warm and torturous. “I deserved that, I know.” 

Your hand winds tight in her hair. You want to force your cock down her pretty throat, make her gag and choke over her simpering apologies, spitting up your cum until it trickles down her chin, her tits, her tummy. Both a game and a power play: prove how sorry you are. 

Karina pulls back before you can, and holds up the lube. 

“Babe,” she says, the term of endearment almost a singsong - a lilting reminder. “I thought you wanted to really fuck me now.” 

“Uh-huh.” Her tits heave as she moves, crawling closer, offering herself up. “And I always get what I want, right?” 

You feel drunk with power. You forget that this isn’t supposed to be about power. You watch as Karina coats her palm with lube and pumps your cock, her fingers slick and hot, her veins starkly blue at her delicate wrists. Expression delighted at how hard you are, pink little tongue poking out between her teeth - seduction down to an art form, meticulously calculated. 

“With me?” Her smile burns. “Obviously.” 

You pull her in by the neck to kiss the smirk off her mouth. 

It’s interesting. There’s this other thing regular critics and moviegoers have been saying about films these days: sex scenes need to have a purpose. Some sort of coherent motivation. Strip your lead actress down to nothing and get her keening and moaning and you’ve got to explain it away somehow. It forwards the plot, you could insist, pitching it to producers and directors. It does something for the character dynamics. It’ll draw in just the right audience, the ones dying to see their favorite celebrity debauched and getting dirty on-screen - they’ll see it over and over just to get a taste. Isn’t that enough? To satisfy the masses? Isn’t that why we’re all here?

Because otherwise all people are staring at is a play at pornography: useless half-convincing make-believe. The heroine can writhe and whine and arch her back all she wants. Everyone knows she doesn’t feel anything. 

“Tell me the truth.” 

Oh, if you two were a movie - you don’t know how anyone could justify a sex scene quite like this. 

It doesn’t matter what artsy angle you take. It all comes down to the same unforgivable details: Karina face-down ass-up on your bed, the perfect bowed curve of her spine, the depraved wide stretch of her asshole around your cock - the sweat shining along her shoulder blades, the hard smack of your palm against the red raw skin of her ass, your other hand at the crown of her skull with your fingers wrapped entirely in her tangled hair - her cunt fucking ruining your sheets, wet all the way down her thighs, each brutal shift of your hips sending her little body into full-blown shudders-

“Tell me that you fucking love it.” Your hand slips lower until you’ve got her pinned down by the back of the neck, fingers pushing down: a grip she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to. “Whoring out your slutty little ass like this for a stranger. Getting on your hands and knees for me just because you’re so fucking needy for cock, baby - don’t even try to deny it, you’re so wet, nasty fucking girl-”

You just can’t stop yourself. It’s so easy. She really is so fucking pathetic. Too fragile to get free - too easily manipulated and manhandled. Trembling and drenched and giving way as you make room inside her, forcing space. She’s just so tight - it’s godless, how you make your cock fit in her lube-slicked asshole, how she moans like a bona fide bitch in heat over it: needing faster, needing harder, needing more. Cheek pink and pressed hard to your mattress, sharp nails digging into the sheets rough enough to tear through the fabric. Giving herself up to be fucked cruelly and stupid and senseless. 

Like she’s a real-

“Natural fucking cockslut, huh?” 

Look, seriously - you can’t be held accountable for the things you say to her here. 

Because when you say shit like you’d just let me do anything - like you’d let me fucking tie you up and keep you here forever, be an eager fucking cumdump for me whenever I want you, I know it, I know you - that’s just the moment talking. The circumstances. The pretty arch of her back and the drooling wetness of her cunt and the indecent tightness of her ass, conspiring to make you lose your mind mid-fuck - that’s the whole reason you even tell her any of it. You think you’re good for anything else? Right at her ear, your body covering hers, your cock buried deep. You’re not. Just made to get this slutty ass fucked open, and your mouth, and your cunt - this is all anyone’s ever gonna want from you and you know it - better get used to it now, baby. This is all you got. This is all you are. 

It’s Karina’s fault, really. She just takes it - all of it. She doesn’t even try to fight it. 

“But that’s okay,” you murmur, as she gasps and squirms and cries out like you’re killing her. “I’m still gonna make you cum.” 

And with your cock filling her ass and your hand between her legs, slapping hard at her sopping cunt until she can’t do anything but collapse - shaking, shattered - her whimpers fucked-out and drool-soaked and bleeding into one big nonsensical mess, everything about her used and ruined-

“You’re mine,” you tell her, laughing as she falls apart. “You get that? You’re mine.” 

-then, you do.

When it’s all over, Karina rolls over to face the wall, breathing hard. She’s slick everywhere, sweat and saliva and lube, your creamy cum dripping out of her well-fucked asshole and trickling down her thigh. You trace her lower back and grin at the way her skin seems to give into you, turning pink with a press of your fingertips. You’ve come to realize you adore her like this, the fugue state after you fuck her: utterly dead to the world. 

Like she could become a permanent fixture in your bed. Too tired to move. Too tired to ever leave. 

“Mine,” you say again, softer.

Karina doesn’t argue. 

It’s basically all the confirmation you need. 

-

So, really, if you two were a movie-

It goes like this: life can imitate art, too. It happens all the time. The line between fiction and reality blurs together until it’s indistinguishable - until you can’t tell where the fantasy ends, or if it ever did at all. 

-

(It goes like this: the heroine smiles sleepily and tells the hero he’s the best she’s ever had. You’ve seen this film before. The movie stars with their fake on-screen fucks might not feel a damn thing, but at least it’s still fun to pretend.)

-

Also, the mark you saw on the back of her neck isn’t actually what you thought it was. 

“It’s a tattoo,” you realize out loud, drowsily awed, brushing her hair away so you can get a better look. You’re both tuckered out, an inevitability when you fuck like you do; you’re seconds from dozing off. Karina’s looking away from you, on her side to escape the soreness of her ass, sheets loose across her chest. She lets you touch her wherever. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.” 

“You don’t know me,” mumbles Karina, half into your pillow. “It’s not your job to notice anything about me.” 

The tattoo’s crimson-red, all delicate linework. It really does look like it hurts: like someone painstakingly cut the shape into her skin. It’s of a heart, rendered in anatomical detail - valves and ventricles and arteries. It’s beautiful, you realize belatedly. Bright instead of faded, and obviously cared for. Lovely. 

The only permanent stain on her perfect body. You press your thumb against the ink, fascinated. 

“What does it mean?” you ask, but Karina’s already fallen asleep. 

-

(In your script, the girl and the stranger watch some gory crime show, except they don’t pay very close attention and he tugs her into his lap and makes her ride his thigh. The episode they’ve got on is about a serial killer who murders so-called sinners - liars, adulterers, the like. Slaughters them like sacrifices, cutting their throats with vicious efficiency. Fake blood drenches the screen with every crime scene: a form of fucked-up baptism, a psuedo-religious cleansing. 

The girl’s putting on an equally decent show on top of the stranger: head thrown back, eyelids fluttering, high-pitched little moans. He sinks his teeth into her shoulder and keeps watching the TV.

Hey, he says, a murmur against her skin, a close-up on his mouth. You’re a sinner, right?

She’s got her hands on his shoulders, hips rolling. Sure am. 

How do you think this guy would kill you? 

He thinks this’ll shock her, but she doesn’t even pause. Like he kills all the rest, she says. Like an animal.

I think he’d be more careful with you, the stranger muses. You’re too gorgeous. He’d have to use, like - a scalpel, or something. Something cleaner. Something that’d keep you intact. 

It’s no use. Nothing he says seems to scare her. Her eyes are far-off, almost glazed in recollection. Like she’s thought about it too - her own untimely end. Her own vivisection, skin flayed and organs visible, viscera and bone. There, hold the shot: now the audience can consider it with her, ponder all the ways she could be torn apart, all the repulsive things they could do with her desiccated body. All the ways flesh can warp under a human touch: the blue-black yellow-green purpling of bruises, a whole palette on one tiny girl. There’s value in that, isn’t there? There’s something intimately, incomparably beautiful in suffering. There’s art. 

Isn’t that why everyone’s watching? 

I get it, the girl says, still soaking his thigh, smiling as if it’s an inside joke between them. You want me dead. That’s been obvious since the moment you met me. 

I don’t want you dead, he says, and grabs her by the jaw. I just want to fuck you. 

Okay, she says, uncaring, like there’s barely a difference. Fine. Whatever you want. 

They don’t turn the TV off. They let the characters scream and bleed out in the background; he fucks her like she’s got a death wish. It’s funny - he expects her to get louder the harder he fucks her, ruthlessly working over the tight clench of her cunt - but she keeps getting less and less responsive, as if he’s pushing her little body into some sort of trance: expression vacant and blank, body limp and lifeless, mouth open and speechless. It makes him angry. Give me something, he’s saying, frustrated, clawing at her hair: baby, it’s not fair, it’s no fun like this. The on-screen shrieks aren’t enough - he wants it from her. Actually, he keeps saying he needs it - as if fulfilling desire is on the same level as food or air, as if he’ll drop dead in seconds if he doesn’t get her sobbing. He gets his overlarge hands on her face and starts contorting it, pushing her mouth open, her eyes wider, his fingers down her throat until she spits and gags and chokes. Oh, the audience will love this one: it’s reminiscent of those filthy exploitation films with their cult followings, so cleverly referential. Look at her pathetic and pinned down. Look at her helpless and struggling. Think of your favorite on-screen murder scenes, and then think of this.

Anything I want, the stranger reminds her, yanking back her hair as she drools down his wrist. You asked for this, didn’t you? You said anything I want. 

Except now the girl can’t say anything at all. 

This moment will start rumors, invite horrified scandal the same way some purposefully marketed horror movies are passed off as snuff films - that really went down, they really died like that. This scene’ll get a similar response. Did he actually fuck her? Did he actually hurt her? Did everyone - the writer, the director, the crew, the captive audience - actually just stand by and let that happen? 

Sure. Or she might just be a really, really good actress.

There. The stranger’s murmuring to her now, watching her manufactured expression, watching the tears fill her eyes. There you go. There’s my girl. And she is his, she really is - transformed into something all beautiful and new under his clumsy fingertips, molded right into art. The camera will zoom in close on her gorgeous, cadaverous face, a perverse little gift for the audience: here, have this, take a look. She’s all yours now. 

There’s something to be said here about the manmade link between sex and violence - inescapable, brutal, primeval; bodies in all shades of red - but he forgets it the second he touches her, and she’s being fucked too hard to remember.

Maybe they’ll get to it next time.) 

-

AND WE'RE BACK!!!!!!!!!!! <33333

all my luv ever to @capslocked @worldsover @passingnotions @braaan for beta reading my dumbass shenanigans and also for being the best ever I LOVE U!!!!!! AND ANYONE WHO IS READING THIS I LOVE YALL TOO.................. PART 2 COMING SOON!!!!!!!!!!!

[lewdmommie]

Just friends

Summary: can y/n manage being just friends?

Word count: 7.k

🎀Warning🎀:18+NSFW, oral sex, language, fluff, angst, violence, gore, sexual content,panic attack etc

(Like, comment, reblog for part four💗)

This is part 3 of one night stand

Part 1

Part 2

“We need to talk about yesterday.” You state firmly. Your tone was completely different from your usual lighthearted and funny personality. König and Ghost have quite literally seen you crack a joke in the middle of open gunfire. This was uncharted territory for them, whatever you were about to say had to be important. You take a deep breath, thinking of your next words carefully. The last thing you wanted was to hurt anyone again…especially König.

“Spit it out rookie.” Ghost says annoyed.

“Oh god how do I even say this…I feel something…something I can’t explain when I’m with you.” You look at König, he shifts nervously under your gaze.

“And with you.” Your head turns to face Ghost, staring into those glimmering obsidian eyes. He breaks eye contact looking far off into the distance without a word.

“I don’t know what it means but I know it’s something I can’t ignore.” Your brow scrunches as you choke the words out.

“I want to get to know you both and I’m here to ask for that opportunity. I’m here to ask you to be my friends. No titles. No rankings. No romance. Just…friends.” Your teeth nibble at your lower lip waiting for someone else to talk. It was nerve racking not being able to read their facial expressions. Their body language didn’t give much away either, you shift on your heels.

“That’s what you barged in here to ask for… friendship?” He slowly rises from his desk glaring in your direction.

“Well…yeah” Your voice is low.

“Do you really think friendship can fix everything?” Königs voice is dark, he speaks the word friendship as if it was something rancid on his tongue.

“I’m not saying it can I just…” you explain.

“I don’t need to be a part of whatever you two have going on. Leave. both of you.” Ghost barks.

“You seemed to be a part of it yesterday when you had your hands all over her.” König rasps, turning his killer gaze onto him. Ghost strides from behind the desk, his heavy footsteps fill the air as he takes slow deliberate steps forward. The tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife. A chill runs down your spine as you’re standing flush in between these skyscrapers. He stands tall looking König straight in the eyes, not even acknowledging your presence between them.

“I don’t like your tone colonel. I think you’d better change that.” His head tilts mockingly, sizing him up.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you sergeant.” He beams into him like white hot lasers.

“Hah, you’ve always been balsy König, could always count on you to get the job done. But I want you to remember something…you can beat them out there on that battlefield but here this is my territory and you won’t win.” He steps closer making sure he heard every word.

“Why don't we find out serg.” He says through clenched teeth. At this point you’re sure they have completely forgotten your existence . You plant your palms on ghosts chest pushing him back, he seemed to snap back to reality realizing you were still there.

“This isn’t the time or the place…no war within our army. Those are your words sergeant! As a leader you have to practice and enforce that as law. König I know you’re angry and have every right to be but last night was training and that’s all. I won’t keep repeating myself anymore, I get that it’s hard to trust but you’re going to have to try.” You scold.

“ Why do you care so much? How can you stand here and act like you know what I want. You don’t know anything. I’ve never given you the impression that-“ Simon rambles.

“I know it sounds stupid, crazy even, but I know you want to get closer to me Ghost.” You say gently, König tenses at the soft tone of your voice…had you ever spoken to him that way? He couldn’t recall a time you had, and that made him envious.

“You need someone. You’ve spent so much of your time in isolation, it’s time to let people in.” Never had he heard you sound so sure of yourself.

How could you break down his walls so easily, there is something about you that made him feel at ease. When he’s with you it feels like he’s allowed to smile,Things feel easier…happier. But he knew from experience things like this didn’t come so easy. People always get hurt when love is involved.

“And König…I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of being angry and resentful towards each other. These past few weeks have brought us closer together and I don’t want to ruin that with one misunderstanding.” His face burns tomato red under his mask, but he wouldn’t show it. His shoulder stiffen as if he’d been sliced across the chest. How could such beautiful words hurt this bad , you’d summed up his feelings for you perfectly but he couldn’t shake the thought of you being so involved with Ghost. Being your friend sounds like absolute torture but it was a ray of hope. Hope that one day maybe you would undoubtedly love him back. He felt like a lost puppy waiting to be owned by you…it was foolish but he couldn’t stop himself. Your naivety muddled the fact that this would be war and you were the prize.

“It has always been you. I’ve got so much blood on my hands it could run a river red and yet you were granted the title of sergeant. You’ve somehow made sure I was one step below you but that’s gonna change. You said I couldn’t win…watch me.” He says sharply.

“So this is your playing field…her?” Ghost looks you up and down with judgmental eyes. You grimace wondering why he looked so unimpressed.

“Hah, fine I’ll bite. What are the rules of the game?” Ghost chuckles, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“We get individual days to spend with y/n and the other person cannot interfere.”

“And what about the days that aren’t accounted for?” His head tilts curiously.

“First come first serve. It’s up to y/n who she would want to spend that free time with even though I know it’ll be me. No one likes being around you.” König taunts, it isn’t clear if it’s the jealousy talking or the militant hunger for victory. Either way you didn’t appreciate them auctioning off your time and affection like some silly little game.

“You’re on. It’s about time I remind you of your place, colonel.” He reaches out an open palm, König grasps it firmly, shaking on the terms.

It’s like everything you said completely went over their heads but you knew it would take patience and time to build a stronger relationship with them. If thinking of it as a competition got them on board, then you’d just have to play along.

~

Your arms tremble as you push the weighted bar up with all your strength. Your shoulders burn with each rep begging for a break, to your body’s dismay, you were just warming up. You look up into caramel colored eyes, Maya smiles down at you as she helps support the weight of the bar. With a final push you line it up with the metal stand, it lands with a loud crack. You sit up, sweat pouring down your face. Maya removes the white towel from around her neck, she dabs away the stray droplets as they fall. She was always right there at your side helping you with even the tiniest of things.

“Remember to hydrate. The body can lose up to 10 liters of water a day when active.” She hands you her purple water bottle.

“Your knowledge never ceases to amaze me, you're gonna make a great doctor one day.” You tip the bottle up, taking several gulps before coming back up for air. Maya’s eyes softened, she needed to hear that; with all the death and injuries on base that passion could be lost. She is a practicing apprentice Doctor on base as she studies remotely to get her doctorate in medical science. Balancing education with active military duty was no easy feat, personal attachment can get in the way. People she laughed with, pulled pranks on, sat and had meals with…had died in her arms. Brutal excruciating deaths that she could do nothing about. No matter how hard she tried to save everyone…their blood still stained her hands. She thought often about what she would do if you got hurt…could she save you? Maya shakes the negative thoughts away reminding herself that you were one of the special forces best. You may be a handful but you were damn good at your job.

“Thank you y/n, you don’t know how much that means to me.” She stamps a kiss on your forehead.

“I walked in on Sergeant Ghost and Colonel König talking about some new intel on the target. There might be a raid soon, I know how anxious you are with new missions.” A look of discomfort flashes on her face leaving just as quickly. She puts on a fake smile not wanting to put any more stress on you. You were the one who would be out there on the front lines risking your life and she didn’t want to worry you.

“I’m okay,really, you get used to it.” You weren’t sure if she was trying to convince you or herself.

“If you ever need to talk…I am here Maya. I’m always here.” You bore into her with sincere eyes.

“and that’s why you’re my best friend. Now come on, we gotta keep that heart rate up.” She takes your hand, helping you to your feet. The two of you walked over to the pull up bar, arm day was not fun…at all. Your muscles were already achy and tired but you had to push in order to build endurance.

“Can’t I just work on legs today, that’s so much easier.” You whine, Maya laughs patting your lower back.

“As much as I agree with that statement, no. You handle high caliber weaponry. if you’re not strong, All that push back could damage your muscles.” She raises her arms holding the stretches in ten second intervals. Because of her insane height there is no need to use a stepping ladder, she simply reaches up and gets to work. Her fingers graze the bar before pulling back suddenly.

“I forgot my chalk, it helps prevent blisters, I’ll be back. Go ahead and start your sets without me. I gotta run back to our room.” She jogs off leaving you standing alone in the gym. You always felt slightly self conscious being in the weight room without a partner. Like everyone was watching you. Judging you. In reality no one even glanced your way but that didn’t stop the anxiety from striking. A small tremor shakes your hands as you reach up for the bar. It’s way too tall to grab on your own, Maya was usually there to give you a lift. You scan the area for a spare stepping stool or chair but everything is occupied. Eyes. Eyes everywhere. There looked to be two of everything as your vision doubled.The room begins to spin and your knees feel weak, where was Maya? When would she be back? Maya? Maya? Maya?!

“Y/n look at me. Are you okay? Should I take you to the infirmary?” Your vision begins to focus turning the two ghosts in front of you, into one. Your breathing is shaky, you nod unable to speak. His head tilts forward with concern, his bare hand cups

your elbow as he pulls you closer.

“Your eye movements are unsteady,breathing accelerated, pupils dilated…you’re having a panic attack. Talk to me y/n what is distressing you?” His voice is gentle, calming even.

“People. Just so many people. M-Maya left… I’m alone. I-I don’t like being alone.”you choke. His heart breaks at your words, loneliness was no stranger to him. Thinking back, Ghost couldn’t recall a time when you weren’t surrounded by people. He figured it’s because of how likable and fun you were but now the dots began to connect. You made sure to never be alone because it scared you…just like it scared him.

“I’ll stay with you.” His voice was earnest, he surprised himself with his sudden reaction. Normally Ghost worked out alone as he did with most things. But he wanted to help you, seeing you so shaken up tugged at something deep inside him.

“That’s it…slow deep breaths. One…two… exhale three. Very good.” He coaches. He looked to be very familiar with this sort of thing, you wondered if he’d dealt with this before. Ghost didn’t seem like the type to deal with anxiousness, he was always so cool headed.

“I’m good now.” You huff.

“Are you sure? We can go somewhere more private.” Your face heats up at his word choice, you remember the wet dream from just nights ago.

“N-no I’m fine, I still have a few sets to do.” You slide your elbow from his grasp.

“Then let’s do it… I assume your next set is pull ups and judging by your size, you usually have Maya help you up?” He hypothesized walking behind you to examine the bar.

“Yeah Maya always lifts me up-“ your words are cut off by his strong hands sinking into your waist. His fingers press into the soft plush of your hips, the crotch of his cargos rubs against your ass. His eyes fall low as he stares down at you, his thumb absentmindedly drawing circles. You don’t speak up, getting lost in the comfort of his touch. The rush of his heart vibrates through your back, the rise and fall of his chest quickens. You can hear the heaviness in his breath, the heat in his mask makes sweat bead at his brow. This isn’t the first time your bodies have met this closely but somehow this felt…Different. You snap to the reality that there is a room full of people here witnessing this moment. That idea made you focus on the initial goal…pull ups.

“I’m ready.” You assure, jumping as he hoists your body up with ease. Your fingers begin to slip, ghost bounces you up, allowing you to readjust the grip.

Even with the extra help, your arms burn as you pull the entirety of your weight up and over the bar. Your chin taps the cool metal marking one successful rep, ghost pats your thigh.

“Good job, make sure you’re breathing with each pull.” He instructs, his arms squish the fluff of your upper thighs. You nod, extending the length of your arms preparing for the next pull. Ghost is painfully aware of how your ass is pressed against his upper chest. His face is inches from the smooth damp skin of your back, his eyes track the small trickle of sweat that runs down your spine. He says a silent prayer, begging not to get hard in front of his subordinates. Even the slightest touch of your body drove him fucking mad, he’d been attracted to women before but never like this. Those thoughts were always intrusive and fleeting, he didn't let his mind wander too deeply but you…he imagined ripping those mauve pink leggings open and ramming every solid inch of his cock inside you. He hated how much control you had over him without even trying.

“I-I can’t take anymore” you groan, feeling the intense burning sensation growing in your arms.

Oh come on, he thinks. You couldn’t have chosen a better word choice, a shock shoots up his leg activating his dormant member. He nearly drops you as the mirror shows him a glimpse of his hard dick poking through his gray sweatpants. He couldn’t let you see him like this, before you could blink your feet were on the ground and ghost was B lining it to the men’s locker room.

“Hey wait where are you going?!” You call as he scurries away. He doesn’t turn around or even answer as he disappears into the white locker room door. Well that was rude, you think. You were used to him treating you like some kind of germ but this seemed off and you couldn’t put your finger on it.

~

There still hadn’t been any sign of Maya since earlier in the weight room, a sinking feeling pulls at your stomach. It wasn’t like her to just up and disappear without saying a word . The military base wasn’t the biggest in the world so there weren't many places she could have gone. Your eyes scan the mess hall landing on the table you two usually shared. Empty. No sign of her at all, you begin to worry what would keep her from eating lunch. Lunch is Maya’s favorite time of day apart from breakfast and dinner, this was strange. You look at the lunch line and physically cringe when you see that ominous brown paper bag with your name on it. It wouldn’t bother you one bit if you never saw another peanut butter and jelly ever again. You snake through the crowd and head toward the exit deciding to go search for her, it’s what she would have done for you. Just as you burst out of the sea of soldiers there is a deep voice bellowing down the long tan hallway.

“Y/n” a voice rumbles in the distance. Loud heavy footsteps shake the ground as König jogs in your direction.

“I didn’t see you in the mess hall, have you eaten already?” His words are rushed and nervous.

“No I haven’t, I was actually going to-“ he chimes in disregarding the rest of your sentence.

“That’s perfect! I wanted to invite you to have lunch with me.” His voice sounds energetic.

“Well I was just about to go look for Maya…” you trail looking around trying to spot her.

“Oh I saw her a few minutes ago when I was walking past the infirmary.” He says. The infirmary should have been the first place you looked, Maya did tons of overtime with Dr.Bradshaw. Extra hours counted as field work for her university grade, but overworking wasn’t always a good sign for her. You take a mental note to ask her later not wanting to disturb her study time with the Doctor. There was a nagging urge to ask König exactly what she was up to when he saw her but you decided not to snoop. If there was an issue she would come to you about it, you were always there for her and she knew that…or at least you hoped she did.

“Oh okay then I’ll just talk to her later thanks.” You spin on your heels ready to jog back to the cafeteria. A leather gloved hand entraps your wrist, holding you still. Your head whips around staring up into his forest green eyes, they dart back and forth searching your face.

“I’m sorry, I-I uh did you have plans for lunch today? If so I completely understand…I know you might still be worried about Maya.” His voice is shaky.

“No I don’t have plans for lunch, ugh I’m the one who should be sorry I almost blew you off just now. What kind of friend am I?” You joke. His chest tightens at the word friend, he drops your hand back to your side. It catches your attention but you breeze by it not wanting to cause any damage.

“I’d love to have lunch with you König.” You say enthusiastically trying to salvage the situation.

“Perfect. Let’s go, try to act normal.” He nods in the directions of the exit motioning you to follow his lead. You had a feeling this was going to be another mission impossible, König mixed with the words “act normal” never turned out good. Since the recent feud with ghost he was more rebellious than ever. You cautiously walk behind him trailing him out of the double doors, the sun beats down on your skin. Your eyes squint from the sudden lighting change, your hand lifts to shade your forehead blocking out the brightness. Las Almas Mexico was a beautiful mountainous place with endless desert views. There were small cities with an economy based on agriculture and farming. Like every major metropolitan region there are city areas for entertainment and tourism. The base was quite a distance from those areas, the deserts granted seclusion. Most of the drug activity and gang violence originated in the city areas. Although there were plenty of small gangs they all worked under the one major crime organization in the city…The Las Almas Cartel. The whole reason for your special forces deployment was to monitor and take down this organization. They participated in egregious crimes against the residents of Las Almas and helped push the drug epidemic throughout multiple countries. You walk forward,your shoulder brushes his arm ever so slightly. His eyes shift away with embarrassment, he hadn’t touched you since that night. People chirp hello’s as you slip through the ocean of workers, there were so many familiar happy faces in the crowd. You are grateful König is by your side or all the attention could have become overwhelming very quickly. It warmed your heart to be loved by so many but it became exhausting, always chasing approval from others.

König senses a shift in your mood, boldly, he rests his big hand on your lower back; ushering you along. He leads you to the vehicle repair and storage shed. There are lanes wall to wall filled with earth toned military vehicles ranging from Humvee’s to M113’s.

“Oh hey y/n! What are you doing all the way out here darlin’?” His southern twang is thick. The dimples in his cheeks deepen as he smiles toothy and big. His giant veiny hands stain the white cloth as he wipes away black sludge.

“Hey Jack, I hope we didn’t interrupt your work.”

“You could never bother me y/n seeing you is always a treat. Speaking of treats, where’s ol doll face Maya I haven’t gotten my daily fix of her.” He laughs. Jack was a flirt that was no secret but everyone knew about his unrequited love for Maya. Most people found her attractive but Jack’s feelings were public, making sure to scare off anyone who thought about making a move. They were just like an old married couple, arguing about any and everything.

“She’s working in the infirmary.” You explain.

“I’m gonna have to go and pay her a visit, she can’t run forever.” Wrinkles form at the corner of his eyes as he smiles ear to ear.

You can’t help but cheese at his friendly face. König didn’t appreciate Jack's lingering gaze. His eyes slit with annoyance, why were you smiling at him like that? He thinks burning with jealousy.

“I’m taking a Jeep on patrol.” He stated plainly.

“Sure thing, I’ll just need to see that authorization letter from the sergeant.” He says wiping the oil from his cheek.

“I am your Colonel. I grant myself authorization.” His arms fold over his chest as he stands tall and confident.

“But the sergeant said-“ Jack starts.

“Unless you want to be scrubbing toilets for a week I suggest you give me the keys. If not, I’ll just have to report you for interference with a mandatory patrol. Are we clear?” His voice is stern. You find yourself gawking at him. his power had you melting in his gloved palm. König didn’t like abusing his power but there was no way he’d go beg ghost to allow him to take you out. If he wanted you to himself he would make that happen at any cost. It didn’t matter who he had to step over as long as he got to be with you. Jack stares him down for a moment weighing out his options, he could either disobey Ghost and get punished or disobey König and get punished. Great choices he think’s sarcastically.

“Look, if you��re gonna take her out you gotta be back before sunset or else ghost is gonna be on my ass…deal?” He extends a hand to König.

“Deal.” He takes his hand firmly.

“Here I just did an oil change on her so she’s the best I’ve got right now. I’m still repair’n the others.” He tosses him a set of Keys with a dog tag attached. König nods, throwing his black duffel bag in the back seat. You never understood the idea of jeeps being doorless but as you hop in it makes a little more sense. If you’re being shot at you could literally jump right in. You chuckle at the ridiculous thought of you diving into a moving jeep.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, clicking his seat belt and cranking the ignition.

“Nothing, it's dumb.” You laugh tugging the seat belt over your chest. He chuckles backing out of the garage. His arm lays across the back of your headrest as he looks behind him making sure no one was there. Your thighs clench at his focused body language, how did he manage to turn you on with such mundane tasks. The car whips around, he straightens the wheel and puts the gear in drive.

An armed soldier from the gate walks up to the driver's side scoping out the inside of the car.

“Colonel. Where are you headed?” He salutes.

“Me and y/n will be holding a patrol unit on the mountain. There’s been reports of suspicious activity by the locals.” He lies smoothly. The mask came in handy since without it every emotion he felt would be on display. König is, unbenounced to everyone else,a terrible liar. His face gives him away every time. Despite what people think he could be read like a book if it wasn’t for the mask.

“Yes sir. Open the gate!” He calls.

König’s shoulders relax as the metal gates swing open. Mission accomplished. He finally had you to himself for a day. After spotting your workout with the sergeant; he had to find a way to steal your attention back. Your head leans out the door watching in awe as the ground gets further away. The mountain road is bumpy and narrow, your hand grips the seatbelt tightly.

“Scared of heights?” He asks, looking over at you with concern.

“Of course not, keep your eyes on the road.” You scold.

“You know it doesn’t help to look down.” He reaches over, tugging your chin away from the ground. His fingers linger for a second before returning to the wheel. You’d seen this view from the chopper when you first arrived on base but this is a new perspective and it is gorgeous. The cacti bloomed with tiny magenta flowers, the dry soil cracked into interesting shapes. Small animals poke their heads from the grooves in the ground,and Even the sky is clear and vast. If maps didn’t exist you’d have sworn the land stretched on forever. The heat is also comforting, the sun wraps you in a tight embrace kissing your skin. You wished you could see his face, you wondered if he was enamored with the scenery just as you are.

“It’s amazing isn’t it…like a whole new world.” He breathes looking around curiously. One hand gripped the wheel and the other pointed to a viper green snake in the distance.

“Did you see that?!” He exclaims excitedly.

“I did.” You say softly.

He coughs awkwardly, he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you but animals are his weakness. He felt an obligation to protect creatures smaller than him, what better way to use his gigantic size. After what felt like an eternity he pulls into an open area at the top of the mountain overlooking the base. He puts the car in park and takes the key from the ignition. You unbuckle your seatbelt, turning your body to hop down; König jogs around the vehicle blocking your path.

“Allow me.” He pretends to open an invisible door.

You jump down and punch his arm playfully. You both laugh filling the open air with joy. He admires you bent over laughing from your gut, a real laugh, that’s when you were most beautiful. He loved seeing happiness radiate from you, you wore it well. He wanted to make everyday a good day filled with bliss, he dreamed of one day being the one to make that a reality for you. He swings his duffel bag out with a huff walking over to a clear patch of land. With razor focus he unzips the bag unloading its contents onto the sandy ground. He lays a green blanket down before laying zip lock bags of mystery foods on to the cloth. To finish off the set up he sets up two colas on either side of the picnic blanket. It was one of the cutest things you’ve ever seen, he plops down in the blanket waving you over. You can’t help but smile at the exquisite dining arrangement designed by the renowned König.

“Beautiful set up chef.” You joke.

“On today’s menu we have the chefs’ choice…Ham and cheese sandwich. My secret ingredient is melted cheese courtesy of today’s weather. Strawberries, hand picked by me from the local farmers market. And two delicious warm cokes.” Your nose scrunches in disgust, earning a hearty laugh from the colonel. His laugh was like liquid gold, it rumbled deep, shaking your core. It’s a shame others didn’t get to witness this playful side of him.

“Sounds… yummy.” You say snagging a ham sandwich. You unzip the bag and have an experimental bite. To your surprise it’s not too bad, somehow the sun melted cheese worked. Not something you’d have regularly for a snack but the fact that König cooked it, made it taste better. You can’t imagine him moving around the kitchen, did he keep the mask on or take it off? You giggle at the image of him with an apron and mask on.

“You’re always giggling and I’m never a part of the joke.” He pouts.

“I was just imagining you cooking in a cute little apron. Would you keep the mask on or take it off.” You tease.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He slips his sandwich under the hem of his mask, taking a bite. At this angle the sunlight glows behind you like a halo. König admires how angelic you are, he didn’t understand how someone could look so perfect. There wasn’t a word in any language that could describe your beauty, inside and out you were radiant. A rose blush sweeps his face, he looks away realizing how long he’s been staring. Butterflies flutter in your stomach.You turn away relocating your attention to the incredible view. At this height the wind whips strongly , blowing a cool breeze through the air. You close your eyes tilting your face to the sky, his eyes trail down your neck peering at the steady thump of your vein. He remembers the way you look with your pulse beating out of control;lustful eye low eyes staring back at him. That night you took a piece of him with you, he has never been so needy for a woman in his life. In a metaphorical sense you were a succubus and he would gladly give up his soul.

“God you’re gorgeous.” He breathes. Your eyes widen as you stammer for words nervously.

“W-what, you can’t just say that out of nowhere.” You stutter.

“Should I give you a warning next time?” He flirts.

“You’re always messing with me.” You slap his hand. He smirks loving how you crumble for him. He reaches over to grab the bag of fresh strawberries, his palm brushes the base of your thigh. He slides a berry under his mask, making a sound of approval.

“Mmm. These are really good. Try it.” He plucks a strawberry from the bag, holding it up to your lips.

You’re hesitant for a while looking at the berry in disbelief, he couldn’t be serious. This is definitely not something friends do but you do have a habit of overthinking things. Maybe this is one of those things, it’s just a strawberry, nothing less, and nothing more. You nod coyly, leaning in and wrapping your plump lips around the fruit as your teeth sink in; taking a small bite. His jaw tenses as he fights back the urge to lick the sticky juices from your mouth. With his free hand he lifts his mask, exposing the lower portion of his face. There is an intensity behind his eyes as he slides the rest of your half eaten berry past his blushed lips.

“You’re right, these are…really…good.” You trail as he closes the distance between you.

“Here, have some more then.” He bites another one. His giant hand rests at the back of your neck pulling you closer inch by inch. All thoughts evacuate your mind as his soft breath brushes your lips. He’s so close you can almost taste him. So achingly close that it makes your heart leap right out of your chest. Why was he doing this to you, making you yearn to feel him again. Reminding you of the mind bending orgasms he gave you that night. It wasn’t fair, how could you be friends when he is so irresistible? You can’t. You shouldn’t. You won’t. He brushes his soft warm lips over yours begging for permission, pleading for just one kiss. You did. You’re caught in his net as your lips meld desperately in a symphony of passion. His tongue spreads the strawberry nectar across your taste buds making the kiss intoxicatingly sweet. He shifts onto his knees towering over you, never breaking the kiss. He leans down deepening it, gripping the curve of your hips; a camo clad knee forces through the barrier of your thighs. It’s feverish and greedy, he kisses you like he’ll never get the chance to again. Your back arches into his touch, a loud moan echoes through the mountain as he teases your pulsing clit. The friction was unbearable, it felt good but it wasn’t enough. You wanted, no, needed more. Your pussy quivers as he breaks the kiss to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“W-we can’t. Friends don’t uhn-friends can’t do this.”You pant.

“I want to please you. I didn’t get to show you all of my tricks last time.” He whispers seductively. He pushes you back onto your elbows, clearing the picnic blanket in one swoop of his hand. You stare down at him, your breathing is erratic wondering what his next move will be. Strong calloused fingers work the complicated buckle of your work pants. Soon your pants are not only unbuckled but being slid down the length of your legs. Your chunky black combat boots prevented them from going any further so naturally he removed those too; leaving you completely exposed from the waist down. You couldn’t believe you were letting this happen and in a desert nonetheless. König wastes no time grasping your hips and lifting your pelvis, leveling your pussy with his eager mouth. Your shoulders and head rest on the blanket while your lower half is suspended upward; legs dangling on his hunched shoulders. Even with him leaning over, your ass is still elevated at a staggering height. You’re completely at his mercy, no matter how much you squirm his grip is iron tight. The black fabric of his mask sits on the plush of your mound hiding his face as he kisses your warm lower lips. You couldn’t see anything from this angle and the mask added even more security to his next action. You watch the clouds move up above as he traces the glazed slit of your entrance, your hips buck in response. A quiet whimper vibrates your skin as he tastes you for the first time, the scent of your arousal fills the limited space in his mask. Every breath he took was filled with you, that one lick already had his dick frustratingly hard and throbbing.

“Du schmeckst so verdammt fantastisch (you taste so fucking amazing)” he mumbles into your heat. It’s impossible to hold back any more, his tongue slithers up and down the slippery split of your cunt. The tip of his tongue draws circles around your stiff clit, he nips and sucks at the bundle of nerves making your legs shake. His hands sink into your thighs as he pushes deeper into your delectable pussy. The thick flat of his tongue laps at your labia teasing the wet folds of your outer sex. Your muscles contract as he explores every crevice of your dewy flower, your juices dribble down his chin as he teases the perimeter of your tight hole. You grind up into his face wanting him to go further tasting the deepest parts of your sweetness. His hands release your thighs leaving the heavy lifting to your core strength. Your body shakes as you fight to stay in this position not wanting the pleasure to end.

“That’s it, you're doing so good Schatz(love) you’re going to have to put in some work to cum.” He breathes. His hands tug at your shirt fighting to push it up past your breast. You decide to help him out, lifting your shirt and black bra in one motion; your nipples are stiff with arousal. He rolls your hard peaks between his fingers, teasing and caressing the sensitive buds. Your mouth falls slack as his tongue eases into you, your walls clench as he strokes your inner velvet. A sloshing wet sound fills the air as he fucks your cunt with his long skillful tongue. Your hands fist the blanket as you become overwhelmed by all the sensations. How could something wrong feel so good.

“No no no you can’t cum yet, I am still enjoying my meal.” He reprimands. You bite your lip and stare up at him with pleading teary eyes.

“P-please let me cum, s’to much c-can’t hold it please.” You cry.

“Look at me Prinzessin. Focus on me. Just like that, I’m so proud of you. Don’t give up beautiful. You're taking it so well.” He praises, locking eyes with you. He feels your pussy flutter on his tongue as you fight the urge to drench his face. He sucks your clit into his mouth gently, with a final pull sending you tumbling over the edge.

“I’m g-gonna cum, need to cum fuck-“

Your spent cunt spurts delicious cream all over Königs face, drenching his mask.

“Look at the mess you made. Naughty girl.” He eases your body back to the ground, licking his lips. You lie there twitching, unable to form a coherent sentence.

~

“Suns going down. We’d better start heading back to base.” He says in a disappointed tone. He wished this day could last forever but that wasn’t realistic. The last thing he wanted to deal with was ghost pulling rank on him again. You nod helping him pack his duffel bag, he smiles as your hands brush when reaching for the same items.

“I had so much fun with you today.” You chat loading the leftover snacks into the bag.

“Me too. We should come back here soon, I’ll pack better lunches next time.” He promises, throwing the bag over his shoulder.

“Everything was perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.” You assure, swallowing back the feelings of regret. What did this mean moving forward, did you make the mistake of leading him on again? König catches a glimpse of doubt on your face and speaks up.

“Today…never happened. We hung out, as friends.” He pats your head. You smile up at him appreciating his kindness and understanding, he knew you never meant to hurt him. Today was all on him, he took that step knowing what it meant and he’d do it again. He knows you need time to figure things out and he was done being impatient. He is sure about his feelings for you and is willing to wait as long as it takes.

“Let’s go.” He taps your butt as he walks by. You gasp smacking his back in return,trailing behind him to the jeep. He tosses the duffle bag in the back seat, walking around to help you into the car.

You stop in your tracks peering up into his beautiful lush green eyes, his heart thumps rapidly.

“Did you forget something?” He asks.

“No. You’re just…incredible you know that.”

“Y/n I-Get down!” He leaps forward shielding your body as you two tumble to the ground in a panic.

“Ah! Scheisse! I’ve been hit.” He groans, squeezing the oozing gunshot wound. A ringing sounds in your ears from the blast, everything moves in slow motion as you help him limp to the Jeep.

“A fucking sniper. We have to move! Now! Drive” he instructs baring down his teeth, holding back a scream. His leg is on fire, blood spurts between his fingers as he applies pressure. The gas pedal is touching the floor as you push the vehicle as fast as it’ll go. Your fist beats down on the horn trying to alert the front gate you’re coming in hot. one hand swerves the wheel frantically twisting and turning and the other is on Königs head holding him close as you quick fire words of affirmation.

“It’s gonna be okay, please stay with me. Hang on alittle longer. König? König?! Fuck!” You sob whipping the wheel back and forth making it harder for the snipe to aim. His consciousness begins to fade from the excessive blood loss; the once cream flooring of the Jeep is now a cherry red. His hand goes limp as he faints no longer applying pressure to the wound. He’s fading fast.

“No no no wake up. I know you’re sleepy but stay with me please please König we’re almost there.” Tears stream down your face as you beat down on the horn. The gate is a few feet away, the soldier on guard sees you approaching at 150 miles an hour. He sounds the alarm, triggering the gate to open up slowly. You can’t let up on the speed it’s too late, you have to push it. Any further delay could cost him his life, you slam your foot to the floor giving it all you’ve got. A loud crack slices through the air as you burst through the half opened gate, taking the side view mirrors off in the process. Both feet hit the brakes forcing you to a violent stop. You jump out, yelling for back up.

“Please help me, he's hit! The colonel has been shot! Please he isn’t responding help me!” You scream, wrapping your hands around his calf trying to stop the bleeding.

“Y/n! What happened?!” Maya runs up taking off her shirt to use as a makeshift tourniquet.

“They shot him.” You hyperventilate.

“Who shot him?! Get him to the operating room now!” She barks at the nearby soldiers.

“I-I don’t know…” you sob watching the men carry him away.

To be continued?…

[antimony-medusa]

Gonna be honest with you though if someone outright says “don’t ship my character with other people” or something to that extent regarding smut or whatever I don’t think there should be any ambiguity

I get your point about the nature of fanfic being inherently encroaching upon people’s images so that levity should be extended to otherwise uncommon avenues but I really believe hardline boundaries should be respected, end of, no discussion. If I see people violating creators’ boundaries for their characters Or themselves (and these can be intertwined, it’s not up to the audience to pick apart their boundaries, cuz I’ve seen people try to do that) I’m not going to judge them fairly and I feel like neither should you.

Lines can be crossed and intimacy (not even necessarily romantic!) is a very different monster than the other avenues of storytelling because of how it involves real life relationships seeping into character relationships. Its’s uncommon for people to be like “I wrote A’s character being tortured because I feel like A is tortured in real life” but they Can and Often do that with ship work. So I don’t know, I feel like you’re not affording this the right nuance.

Alright, so, this is another post I'm gonna slap with a discourse and long post warning right away, buckle in.

Yeah, I hear what you're saying, and this is not an uncommon opinion to have! It's still the opinion of twitter/x so far as I know, and I think it's probably the opinion of the bulk of dsmp fans here, as well. I know my posts get notes once they start circulating in hermitblr, but I don't kid myself that I have the majority view. I am posting to explain my views expressly because I know a lot of people don't agree with me!

And in this case we do have a difference of opinion. There's two sort of points as I see it in your posts— we have hardline boundaries about shipping/nsfw from some people, and everyone in the fandom should be abiding by those no exceptions or be thrown out of the fandom; and we have shipping boundaries but not boundaries for other things because shipping is uniquely boundary-crossing and terrible and invasive, in contrast to anything else we can do in fandom.

Taking the second part first, I just don't think that's true. Let's not forget, boundaries discourse started with SMPLive and SMPronpa, and it was not the shipping that caused the discussion, it was the death games. The first real fandom reckoning we had with the notion of boundaries as mcyt fandom was over gore and murder and portraying people in violent ways. Shipping was barely a blip on the radar. The way the discourse has developed now, shipping is framed as the absolute worst thing anyone could ever do with your public image, and everything else is fine, but that is not the case for everyone. Recently the Pirates SMP creators were asked repeatedly for their boundaries (bothered on twitter, really) until they gave them and thus we saw people being fine with shipping but not wanting family dynamic, or being against both shipping and gore, or being fine with shipping but not wanting to be gender bent or trans headcanoned, etc. Not everyone feels the same way about the same things, despite the us-american cultural viewpoint that romance and sexualization is uniquely bad but gore and torture is fine, that everything else is fine.

Like, if we're looking at DSMP, I think there are a lot of creators who would feel just as strongly if not stronger about fics in which their character died of a terminal illness than they would about a fic in which they kiss someone, for understandable reasons. But I see those tropes in the tags regularly!

I think if we are honest with ourselves, if we are going to hardline boundaries about things that are uniquely invasive or bad to do to a creator's character with the view that we are putting all of this up for the creator's approval, we need to accept that this excludes us from writing anything where a character is abusive or is tortured or dies of a terminal illness or is psychologically broken or is age regressed or is neurodivergent or is queer if the cc is straight or trans if the cc is cis or cis if the cc is trans or straight if they're gay— the list of things that would be weird to do in the face of the real guy is really long. And it has most of our favourite tropes on it!

I love writing autistic philza. It would be really fuckin' weird to go up to Philza and tell him about how I write his character as whumped and autistic. Come on now. (But that's within boundaries, so that's— fine? I really don't think it's fine!)

Which is why my stance is that we should be thinking critically about these things, and keeping the fandom seperate from the creators. Some of these things are just not for the creators. They're fine but they shouldn't go on twitter. Y'know?

The idea that shipping draws uniquely on the real person and leads to invasive behaviour but nothing else does— that nobody does "I wrote A being tortured because I think A is tortured in real life"— Look. I have been in the fandom a long time. I remember how all the abused tommy narratives fed right into people assuming his family in real life were abusive— and talking about this on twitter! Where he and his family could see! People did this with WIlbur and Techno too!

I remember people reading about trans tommy and then truthing that the creator either was transmasc or was going to come out as transfemme any day now, publically, on twitter and in his chat. I have seen people she/her tubbo to his face on twitter, with fancams. I have been in chat when people who have clearly assigned Phil "dad" start asking WILDLY invasive things in TTS. If you think that shipping is the only fandom behaviour that can lead to people drawing directly from the streamers for their work and treating the creators weirdly about it, you simply have not been paying attention.

The way the fandom insists on treating benchtrio as children despite the fact that they're almost twenty and viciously attacking their friends for treating them as adults and chiding tommy and tubbo and ranboo for inappropriate behaviour. The list goes ON.

So. The recieved DSMP wisdom is that we should TTS the streamers to check if it's okay if we write a fic in which they die of cancer. We should DM them on instagram to ask if it's okay if we write them as a gender or sexual identity they don't share. We should show up in their twitter mentions to ask if it's okay if we write them as a physically abusive parent.

No????????

My view on that is that it is frankly bizzare it is that we have decided that "asking creators for detailed instructions regarding porn or gore" (especially in TTS! When they're fucking at WORK and can't step away! Stop doing this to the hermits!) is normal and fine and responsible but "post your shit in appropriate places and leave the creators out of it" will make you a monster.

Once again, the experience of someone coming up and saying "i think of you as age regressed" and someone saying "i found this fic where you're age regressed" and someone saying "can I write a fic where you're age regressed" is not that different. In all cases you know that the person has been thinking about it and putting it out there, and in all cases you didnt seek out this information, it was brought to you. In all cases it's weird. Just do not bring this information up to them!

If you just think about it for a while, you see that there is an entire host of things that would be weird to force into the view of a creator, especially when you consider that half the time we got these clips from TTS information when we have no idea if the person answering knew the context of what they were being asked, if they were specifically aware of the creator/cc divide that the fandom works with, or if they felt pressured into it. Oh yeah, let's take a TTS clip from Tubbo when it was 2 in the morning for him and he was deep in a minecraft mod when someone asked him about alters and delusions and he was like "oh you mean like— when they can't help it? I guess that's fine." That definately counts as freely given, reversible, informed, enthusiastic and specific consent to show him anything we want at all times forever. That's never going to make him uncomfortable.

Think a little here.

So I think there's a lot of the fandom that we should not be putting up for the approval of the creators, and if we don't have a firm answer on if they would like potential edge cases, we should probably be thinking about it and keeping it away from them (and I would err on the side of caution), we should NOT be showing up in the TTS to ask them about narratives in which they're institutionalized, or making them a GOP conservative in fiction, or if Wilbur was canon about seeing them as a bottom, or whatever bizzare thing someone is cooking up now. Honestly if you think to yourself "I don't know if the creator would like seeing this", I would be much more comfortable if the two choices we were picking between there were "simply don't write it" or "write it but keep it away from them", and "harass the creator for an answer on this subject and only write it if they say yes" never entered the equation at all.

And to return to your first point, if we already have a class of fiction that we are keeping away from the creators because basic intellectual curiosity would show that it would be weird to show someone, I don't think it's the end of the world to go "okay, creator doesn't like NSFW, so we also keep the NSFW away from them, keep this shit off twitter, block them if you create it, don't show it to them" and then we archive lock it and continue on our little weirdo on the internet ways.

Now, I don't expect to convince you of this, the phrasing of your post does not indicate that you're open to discussion on this topic. That's fine. Nobody has to agree with me. But I grew up conservative christian, and I have already had people try and get me to throw people out of the community for their perceived sins where I was like "well, I really don't think this is that bad", and I'm really resistant to being forced to do that again. I don't think it's a healthy way to run a fandom, to be shunning people for what they're doing in fiction. Harassing creators in chat? Sure, I will block them from my events as untrustworthy. That's hurting someone in the real world. Writing something that I don't vibe with privately on the archive for an audience of 50 people? That is not doing harm to real people. As long as they're not showing it to the creators, I don't count that as offensive.

How's that for nuance.

[jahiera]

How To Know If Your Evil Vampire Boygirlfriend Really Likes You (a meta on Astarion's manipulations of Tav deeper into the romance.)

Okay, this was supposed to be a response to this ask right here, and it got so long I decided to just put it in its own thing for slightly easier reading. Thank you again to the asker for giving me an excuse to go off the rails talking about THE BOY. This also got long enough that it needs. Subheadings. And it is [checks notes] 3.6k words long. If you're interested in skipping the act 2 Scene Breakdown and going straight for the character analysis of Act 3 specifically, you can jump to the uhhh 3. Yeah He's Manipulative (Trauma Edition) subheading.

Prefacing that this is just my personal interpretation of Astarion here, the game leaves several moments ambiguous on purpose & I'd be super intrigued to hear what anyone else thinks is going on in this rancid little lad's head. This became more of a process of breaking down what I think he's doing in each scene than anything else, so I hope it's interesting to... you? reader? Since it's a bit long-winded and a lot of speculation and interpretation on my part for his wild ass behavior.

(Also, I haven't played far enough with an ascended Astarion to properly break down the differences between both--he'll have his own playthrough for sure but since I haven't gone far enough in that path, all of this is with no-ritual Astarion in mind) (I also don't have screenshots for everything but hopefully that's alright. just trust me bro.)

Fair warning, I didn't proof-read this & I moved paragraphs around so if it sounds incoherent that's a feature not a bug. Now. Let's get into the EVIDENCE.

1. but did he mean the kisses????

So, before the hug scene, the game leaves us a bit of room to interpret the progression of the relationship. I kind of wish we had one extra scene to sort of solidify his growing feelings in the in-between period of his "I'm just sleeping with you to secure my safety here," era (pre-confession as we'll call it) and his "oh shit I actually kind of care about you," era (post-confession, pre-ritual), but I understand why it wasn't included. Game mechanics & cost aside, the space between these two periods is left entirely up to player interpretation, & has lots of room for HC up to each individual player & Tav.

To address the easiest examples the asker gave, the repeatable kiss dialogues are all ones I'm going to mark under "sincere." Mostly because those are all post-confession, and after Astarion has acknowledged to himself (& the player) that he doesn't want to do anything sexual, but presumably kissing is fine (given that he's enthusiastic about the kisses & will shut down sex/intimacy acts otherwise.)

There's not really a logic to him being slinky here, and I didn't interpret any of his post-kiss repeated dialogues as insincere, much more so playful or coy or cheeky. The voice acting is subtle here, but I found it to be much more playful than his annoying little, for lack of a better word, purring "hello, beautiful" etc etc in act 1 / early act 2. Also, all these dialogues stay the same after the ritual happens, and your romance has been solidified in the grave scene, where he wholly says:

"I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don't want to lose that."

^ Not a lie. So I think we can mark off those particular dialogue as sincere.

In act 2, there aren't really a lot of places for Astarion to actually get into his manipulative tendencies. He overtly needs your aid with Yurgir (Repeat after me: thank you for helping me. It was very kind.) so he doesn't really manipulate you at... all...? in my opinion? Act 2 shows you his most sincere moment yet in the confession/hug scene. He is not lying. He is more honest in those moments than he has been in the entire game, and it shows in his wording, his body language. He's uncertain of himself, maybe. He doesn't know what to make of the situation yet. He says as much to Tav when you ask him "What are we?" and he says:

"I don't know. But isn't it nice? Not to know. You're not a victim. Not a target. Not just one night it's better to forget. But then... whatever in the world could you be?"

He has no reason to say that without sincerity. He could say you're his specialest babygirl if he wanted to keep up the lie. And other than helping him with Raphael, there's really not a moment where Astarion has an opportunity to manipulate you....

EXCEPT.

EXCEPT. For this moment in particular. which is one of my FAVORITE Astarion ones because it is gloriously bitchy.

2. what if we took over a cult, babe.

Context first: I played a paladin of devotion, rough around the edges but fairly good-aligned Tav. She was a bit of a jerk but she saved people for free, and I adhered to her dialogue roleplay hard, choosing the "destroy the Absolute" dialogues at every turn. I don't have a save for this scene sadly otherwise I'd replay it and compare/contrast answers like a pepe silvia meme, so I'm only able to break this scene down from that particular lens.

Secondary context: This scene is important because it highlights Astarion's manipulative routine while still with a Tav he's very fond of (exceptional approval in this scene) and the way he lays it out is necessary to understand the moments later where he tries to manipulate Tav again, since it has components of the same themes, ideas, and tendencies that go on.

So, Astarion will hit you with this hot take early-ish on.

"You know. I feel a connection between us. Like we're two souls walking the same path (...)" Astarion establishes emotional connection, and a foundation of similarity/commonality/shareed interest. This is pretty standard fare for him. He does the same thing a lot early in act one, where he's almost CONSTANTLY asking you to "trust him," (when you really should not.)

"You might be a little naive in the ways of the world, but I see promise in you. Ambition." - He kind of snidely reveals what he actually thinks--you're a bit naive, you "have a big heart,"--he's hoping that his emotional cloying and little comment and connection with Tav will be enough to sway them over to what he wants to do, and they'll give him what he wants because We're So Similar, See?

"So I was thinking, what would be the right thing do when we get to Moonrise Towers?" - He wields his language carefully. The right thing to do. That's a language he thinks Tav speaks. An interest in doing the Right Thing; so, he adjusts accordingly. He wants to do the right thing too, you see, and the right thing conveniently lines up with what he actually wants, which is real power. Astarion confesses he's not a details guy, yada yada, then--

"If we can take that control from them, imagine the power we'd wield." <- He lets slip what he's actually interested in. Astarion generally can't keep a charade up for too long. His real thoughts always come through, and he reveals his hand in conversations often, but usually in offhanded ways and, well--he's never made a secret really of where his actual interests lie. His attempts at currying your favor and persuading you (and you can really feel the persuasion here) are prettyyyyy overt, but still, he's trying anyways.

"I'm just saying there's an opportunity here. If we can control the tadpoles, we can keep ourselves safe and liberate the world from this evil." <- He brings the conversation back around to what's more neutral than Absolute Power -- keeping ourselves safe. He uses the We and Us language a lot when he wants to convince other people of anything, really. "We're all such good, trusting friends!" he'll say, lying through his FUCKING teeth. His manipulations here are like.... pretty clear, but he still gets an A for effort for trying to align himself with Tav & Tav's perceived goals & see if he can wriggle in his own in the process, put "become god-cult-leader" up as a Reasonable and Rational thing to Want to achieve.

The actual question here: does he care about Tav at this point? Up for interpretation, but I'm going to say yes with... the caveat that I don't think he's fully acknowledged it to himself, and I don't think it's love here. It is high approval though. I do think he cares about Tav, I do think he's including Tav in longer-term goals, he's depending on Tav at this point as an ally he can count on, and he's starting to get chipped away at.

I don't even really think it's a lie that he on some level would like to see Tav safe, and takes their wellbeing into account. He's been with them long enough to worry over their safety to some extent, and to at least partially lump it in with his own (in my opinion). Is that love? I don't think so. "We can finally be safe," is a reoccurring theme in the other scene I'm going to break down in just a second. And it's interesting for a lot of reasons.

And furthermore: you can care about someone and still be manipulative toward them. That's a core thing going on here, I think, with Astarion.

3. Yeah He's Manipulative (Trauma Edition).

"Is Astarion Manipulating Me In Act 3? " YES. A little bit. And here's why it's INTERESTING.

So, the confession scene in act two has already happened. Astarion has confessed some of his big mushy feelings to you. He likes you. You've slammed the "can I kiss you?" dialogue 100 times already because you're really super normal about the vampire twink. He doesn't know what to make of his caring about Tav yet. See: his "what are we??" dialogue.

MOVING ON. Astarion is also, a manipulative little shit, and he will NOT change his ways just because he likes you a lot and giggles when you give him a little kissy kiss.

Astarion is deeply, deeply traumatized, and his trauma has in his own words makes him act out the same cycles of behavior that he did prior to escaping Cazador. In its most obvious format, one of those behaviors was seducing Tav because that was the kind of behavior he knew, and it was the only thing he could think of to secure his own safety. By act 2, he's somewhat aware of the cycle, but--

Traumatic behaviors, like anything relating to surviving abuse & getting out of it, come and go in waves. You'll likely not find a survivor of abuse who doesn't revert back to coping mechanisms at times, especially in moments or episodes of heightened stress, or being put back into the old environment again. ->

Astarion going back to Baldur's Gate--and specifically with killing cazador in mind--is him going back to that same place where traumatic events occurred... almost constantly. Thus, he goes back to his old behaviors. Not to the exact same level, but it is there.

Safety. THIS is a word that comes back a lot with Astarion, it is one of his most reoccurring (if not the most) themes. He wants to feel safe. He associates power with safety, because the safest person in the world--as in, literally safe, not "safe for other people"--in his mind, is Cazador, who is powerful enough to repel any threats to himself & what he owns, has, possesses, and keeps.

Astarion is still, at his core, no matter what, self-serving. He will do what's best for himself first and foremost in almost every circumstance you put him in. Or at least, he will want to--if Tav or someone else stands in his way, and he sticks it out, it'll be begrudgingly. That's a fundamental aspect of his character & to try and do away with it makes no sense.

And in case it got lost, I'll reiterate that I do think Astarion's actual feelings for Tav at this stage are entirely genuine, & deeply felt. It shows, and it's obvious. He's just got several layers of behavior going on in the process.

"But I thought astarion liked me??? why would he consciously choose to manipulate me??" The thing is, once again, you can like someone and still try to manipulate them, pull on their heartstrings, or quite frankly guilt trip them into helping you kill like, a lot of fucking people so you can become godlord supreme emperor of mortals and vampire kind.

Let's get into the second scene I want to break down. Keeping all of what we've established above about how Astarion goes about establishing connection & togetherness & the idea of shared safety to sway Tav over to his side.

So let's set up one thing for sure. It's pretty obvious, everyone gets this scene, but let's set it up anyways.

"What's a handful of the wretch's servants? IF they're anything like me when I was enslaved, they'll all be begging for death anyways." <- apathy toward others, generally motivated by self-interest, lack of empathy for others' plights, a callousness that is fairly unrepetant. He's fairly sure this is what he wants, and--

"After two hundred years of pure shit, I think I deserve something better." Again, Astarion tells us exactly what he's thinking. And what he believes. And he's not wrong! He does deserve something better than what he had before. Or, at least, he doesn't deserve the level of cruelty he endured at Cazador's hands. However.

And then he follows it up with, "I know you do [care]. It matters to me too. I want to be able to protect you too." <- finally, we come back around to the reoccurring theme he'll use to sway Tav over to his side. He sees the soft point of Tav in the conversation--they care about him--and he needles that in; they care about him, he cares about them, they should help him complete the ritual for it, it's what's best for everyone. Except for the 7000 spawn, but. You know.

NEXT IMPORTANT SCENE. let's take a look at the scene that follows after you confront his fellow vampire spawn in the tavern.

I'm keeping the full screencap so I can keep his shifty little look in here. It's not the best format, I wish I'd kept videos, the body language & voice acting adds a lot to this moment, but. Neil you're so good at balancing Astarion's careful shiftiness, his gleeful/vindictive revelry at being so close to his end goal & confronting his siblings without flinching, his coy little pleading, and his near desperate watchfulness. He needs Tav. He cares about Tav, yes, but he needs Tav to help him.

Astarion is, again, fairly callous about the deaths of his brethren. You have to remind him time & again to maybe empathize with their suffering & similarity to him. But each time he reverts back to, "their lives" serving a greater purpose.

Astarion then follows that up with "But we're a team. If I become all powerful, then we become all-powerful." <- I think he genuinely does think of himself & Tav as a team, and as a good one at that. More than anything, Tav is the first person Astarion, in his own words, feels he truly cares for. They've killed a few gods chosens together, Tav has given him respect, patience, care. He feels fairly assured of their presence & kindness at this point. And assurance tends to breed............. let's call it, taking for granted?

I believe he's trying to again emotionally bid for their help & loyalty as much as gauge if they're still with him, as he does by going -> "We are a team after all. You're still with me?" Once again, the easiest way to secure aid is through emotional connections; someone's attraction to you, or better yet, their care for your well-being, are easy strings to pull on to try and entice someone to do what you want them to do. It's not necessarily maliciously intended, but it is a kind of manipulation.

"But Astarion just genuinely wants to know you're on his side!" Yes. And he also really wants you to help him with the ritual. ANY arguments against the idea that he's benignly trying to manipulate Tav's feelings, I'm just gonna put up this screencap right here, one of the last times he bids for Tav's affection & loyalty in this, in this particular conversation:

Look at his stupid pouty face and his "You want what's best for me, surely?" and oh god the voice acting. We're smacked right in the face with Act 1 Astarion's slinky, whiny little "truuuuust me it'll just be a taste I promise &lt;3333" voice. That PURE "I'm trying so hard to connive my way into your good will because I REALLY want this." voice.

His strength is your strength. And he will pleading face emoji his way through getting you over to his side if he needs to. It's honestly so funny, how the writing plays out, because SEVERAL times you can choose to fully fall for it, "yes of course I want whats best for you / want you to be safe / feel good" and every time, he's like "I know I know <333 and I want YOU to feel safe too <3333" and I don't even think that's a lie! I don't think it's a LIE, I just think it's the same pattern of manipulative behavior he's exhibited time and again even when he cares for you.

Astarion is still Astarion. He is very willing to kill, lie, and cheat his way through just about anything to protect himself, & all of that makes PERFECT sense for him. And if you're not on board with his plans, of course he will use every tool at his disposal to get you on board. It is, after all, what's best for both you and him. His power is your power.

4. "I'm doing this for you too." He said, lying. Or genuinely believing that but lying to himself too and executing it in the weirdest way imaginable.

So, this is probably my favorite interaction in the entire Astarion romance. Love the grave scene. Love the horny evil vampire turning. But this moment in particular is fucking brilliant, because it illustrates the dilemma here perfectly.

Astarion outright tells us exactly why he is the way he is, and why he cares for Tav while being able to be so cruel and callous about others. "No one ever looked out for me [...] you're the only one." Tav is exceptional--as in, THE EXCEPTION to the rule--because they cared for him in a way no one else ever has. He has ZERO reason to even bother lifting a finger for anyone else besides himself, because in his mind, none of them ever bothered to help him, why should he bother with them. But TAV. Tav he can make promises too.

On some level, I do kind of believe him when he says things like "I'm doing this for you too." -- As in, I believe that he believes that he's taken Tav into account here as well. I do think he genuinely thinks they'll be an even more magnificent duo of glorious bastards together once he's God Vampire Emperor Of Eternity. And on some level, he's probably right. They do take over the world together in some endings, so. Good for them.

However, do I think he's primarily motivated by anything but himself? No. Tav also benefitting from his mega vampire powers is just a bonus in a laundry list of reasons why Astarion wants to ascend at this point in the game. Why Astarion is willing to pull out every guilt-trippy, pleading face to get Tav to help him, if they show even a hint of reluctance. More than anything: Astarion is a survivor, and a survivor of severe abuse that pretty quickly explain why he is the way he is. Does that excuse what he does in the aftermath of that abuse, when it comes to harming other people? Not really. But it explains it pretty clearly.

Because Astarion is back where he came from, he's immediately thrust back into the cycles of behavior that both traumatized him & were what he had to do. The pattern of behavior, coping mechanisms, rooted in traumatic cycles, that he has done time and time and time again that has successfully gotten him, not what he wants, but what he needs to survive. Does his manipulation of Tav here mean he doesn't care? Not at all. It's just that he needs this work. He needs his allies to help him make it work, and he's willing to pull out every stop to see Cazador dead and himself with enough power to never feel so helpless or vulnerable again.

Astarion can love you & still be himself. He will never stop being a bit bitchy, a bit conniving, extremely focused on self-preservation at all costs. He might not seek out active maliciousness, but even in act 3 after the ritual, he still approves of generally being a sneaky bastard, taking short cuts, taking easy ways out. And none of this is necessarily... a problem? It isn't ""moral"", sure, but it's not really a problem. In some endings, he can pursue ""better"" paths, but his general deceivery and typical behavior aren't going away. Feature, not a bug. How each Tav feels about his ... fairly obvious deep romance manipulations is up to each player though, and that is what's interesting for each playthrough.

There are five more essays to write in here. There's the Astarion after the ritual, who agrees that fine, killing 7000 people is wrong. And there's the Astarion after the ascension, who is now fully entrenched in the idea that Power Is Everything, and all that means for him afterward, and his visceral, intense, obsessive controlling dynamic with Tav where they descend into Chaotic Vampire Evil Marriage. And there's Astarion and Tav together finally, honestly, openly, with the heart-wrenching intimacy of the grave scene. And this is almost 4000 words so I'm shutting the fuck up here.

So. I will end this by saying I'm peeling him like an onion rn I'm obsessed with him. He's gods horrible princess and he's never going to die.

[absolutebl]

Genuine Question: Given how much people hate problematic topics in BL eg: kp, mame, love syndrome, etc. why is everyone so damn excited about Only Friends? Like we know nothing about the show. It's GMMTV so how sexy is it going to get? you know, like it's GMMTV. I like the cast as much as anyone and particularly FirstKhao but I don't see this 'sexiness' everyone is going so crazy over? Is it some bts thing like I know the director is jojo and he's gay. Is that why everyone so excited? Is it because we just haven't gotten anything really brilliant this year that gets the whole BL fandom together and that's why people are hoping this will, is that what's going on? I like everyone involved well enough but 'sexy', 'crazy', 'problematic', 'high heat'... I don't get it.

Only Friends & Jojo

Genuine answer.

Okay so this question got me invested enough to get off the phone, over to the laptop, and onto hotel wifi, which means typos rather than dictation homophones, but there it is.

I guess what I am saying it...

mistakes will be made

From the tenor of your question methinks you have not watched Friend Zone? It's a 2 part series. Mostly messy hets but...

Also a TON of broad spectrum queer rep (lesbian, bi, ace, demi). Real queers, not sanitized for straight consumption.

Because yeah, GMMTV will get messy and go into higher heat levels in a late night way (not in a KP way).

But actually what has most people excited about Only Friends is it being sourced in this man:

Jojo Tichakorn Phukhaotong

Jojo is a screenwriter (originals) and director, openly gay, multifaceted and a little experimental, naturally talented (on the job trained - he's an archaeologist originally), and he is behind:

The Warp Effect, Friend Zone and MOST importantly (IMHO)...

3 Will Be Free

There are others too, but for the purposes of this post, those are the 3 that count. I think of him a little as the GMMTV director version of Ohm's acting.

Jojo specializes in:

ensemble pieces,

good chemistry (NOT necessarily high heat, so by this I mean actor chemistry with each other all around - couples, cast, team, production)

working with and finding actors within GMMTV's stable who work well together (even if that means busting up a pair),

a queer lens,

queer rep,

and often very messy story (as in he is not invested in the traditional beats of a romance, let alone a BL).

AND he can shoot action (this is a specific skill set for directors and it's NOT easy),

thus he will shoot his sex/intimacy & COMEDY scenes as if they WERE action sequences.

This makes his stuff particularly exciting to watch. It's dynamic, there's a lot of movement, the eye is caught and dragged places. He doesn't use dirty/peekaboo framing or central aperture or manga style (not with INTENT the way trained directors do). In fact he does none of those things I harp on about because I like the romance stuff.

He's not being clever with us. He's being honest, but still applying skill. His stuff not quite raw, but also not really directed. You can tell he gives his actors a script, throws them together and then instructs them to just BE THOSE CHARACTERS. He has a light touch, he trusts them. He's not fussy or nit-picky. He's not doing a million takes to get that sene exactly how he envisions it. His ensemble pieces are just that, group projects.

His eye is wide, even for intimacy, by which I mean: he controls and watches for multiple actors at once when there are a lot of them on screen together, without them feeling stiff.

His style is quite organic but not too gritty.

Struggling to understand what I mean?

For example, watch a Jojo "group of friends chatting" scene where everyone is just standing around then watch the same thing in, say, SCOY. You'll see what I mean. SCOY is also a very queer ensemble piece, but it will feel quite stiff, unnatural, and "planned" (staged) by comparison.

For the giffers out there you might notice that Jojo's stuff is particularly difficult to gif cleanly? This is why.

I find him an exciting director. I didn't cover him in my directors overview because at the time he hadn't done much BL (and frankly, he still hasn't). It's not his focus.

I think Only Friends is actually not likely to be very BL. Queer = yes, BL = NO. He won't hit the tropes and there is no reason to assume it will end happily for all couples (if any). That's not Jojo's point of view.

He doesn't play our game. As a result, some of those excited by the idea of this show (or excited the general enthusiasm & anticipation around it), may be doomed to disappointment.

It's one of the reasons you don't see me getting excited about it.

I'm a fan of specifically the fluffy side of BL, this will NOT be that. And I can appreciate a director without necessarily liking the stories he tells.

I am industry enough to acknowledge Jojo's skill (and I LOVE 3 Will Be Free - just not as a BL), but I don't always like his narratives. No matter how good he is, his stuff is not why I personally watch Thai BL.

It's GMMTV, so how sexy is it going to get?

Again, see Friend Zone. GMMTV has a late night pantheon, mostly for het, but they will get salacious. Lots of cheating and terrible decisions. There will be no archetypes. Characters will exist in grey areas, even the "good" characters. There will be no paladins in this show. No seme/uke.

To answer this frankly?

Only Friends will get soap opera or telenovella sexy but no more. So we will be in Midnight Chicken territory, not Bed Friends.

I think the words being bandied about:

'sexy', 'crazy', 'problematic', 'high heat'

are used here on tumblr (and in fandom) as an attempt to articulate expectations set up by Jojo's style.

Most viewers only react emotionally to the tenor of a director with this set of skills. That's fine, that's what the production company wants: A visceral emotional reaction.

But I hope I've managed to clarify from a film-critic perspective what's bringing this sensation about?

But ALSO seeing a bunch of, essentially, lower heat pure BL pairs, have to push themselves into messy queer spaces? (Notice GMMTV only let the more established actors into this one? No JoongDunk, no GeminiFourth)

This is probably really what everyone is excited about.

They are gonna see their favorites cheat, sleep around, be gay (not BL gay, but actual gay). Some are legitimately excited about this, some are shipper excited, and the BL-stans who don't know Jojo are doomed to disappointment.

I'm mostly excited by how messy this is gonna make the fandom.

Su su na.

(source)

[lovelyhan]

— inflection point ⟢

pairing: jeonghan x reader x seungcheol

summary: after reconciling with your first love, all seems well in your relationship thus far. but when you notice jeonghan distancing himself from you and seungcheol, you're determined to get to the bottom of it.

word count: 7.6k words

tags: established relationship, angst, smut

warnings: graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

tags: @miko1ly - @misssugarlips - @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan - @amixoferrthang - @sysymei (sorry if i missed anyone!)

notes: give it up for part three! thank you so much for showing this series so much love! i hope you like how it all ends hehe :3c

additional notes: the smut is much filthier than usual, so i'm going to put the tags accordingly under the cut.

smut tags: morning sex, cockwarming, pet names (angel, baby, sweetheart, etc.), spitroasting, manhandling, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare

part one - part two - part three | masterlist

“Me and Hannie?”

From where he’s seated across from you in this hole-in-the-wall restaurant that you dragged him into, Seungcheol nods before sticking a french fry into his mouth. “You never really told me how it all started.”

You frown. “I did.”

“Yeah, but ‘it was just your everyday office romance’ doesn’t really give me a lot to work with here, princess.”

You’re about to tell him to quit being a smartass when someone—who definitely isn’t the waitress that was mooning over your boyfriend when she took your orders—comes up to your table with a shy smile. It’s a boy that’s probably fresh out of high school, stammering with his words as he hands Seungcheol a pen and napkin. He immediately gets the gist.

“I keep forgetting that you’re a literal celebrity now,” you chuckle, sipping on your milkshake with a teasing look as the kid happily walks away with his idol’s autograph. “Star football player, Choi Seungcheol, spotted in a local diner with some girl.”

“Hey, you’re not just some girl.” He pouts. “You’re the love of my life.”

Past that strong personality of his, you tend to forget that Seungcheol is really just a big baby inside a buff man’s body. “So is Jeonghan, silly.”

“Okay, one of the loves of my life, then,” he grumbles. “Anyway, don’t think I already let you off the hook. Are you going to tell me how exactly you and Han wound up together or am I going to have to invite Soonyoung and Jihoon to dinner just to procure the details?”

That earns him a scowl. “Do you seriously think my best friends are just going to betray me like that?” 

Seungcheol shrugs. “You’re the one who said that Soonyoung will never pass up on the opportunity to gossip, and how Jihoon keeps a cool head about stuff at first, only to play devil’s advocate the longer the conversation progresses.”

Damn it. You hate how this guy is so attuned to every single thing in your life—your best friends’ flaws and weaknesses included. 

“Fine, fine,” you sigh before munching on the last bite of your burger. “Do you remember that time a few months ago when you had this really bad argument with Jeonghan in the office?”

Seungcheol raises his eyebrow. “You saw that?”

“No, Joshua just shared some of the details over lunch the day after,” you explain. “If I actually bore witness to it firsthand and realized you’re the one who’s been giving my hotter-than-hell boss more problems than he already has, I would’ve castrated you on the spot.”

He smirks. “Right. You’ve been crushing on him for…how many years?”

You roll your eyes at his attempt at gloating. “Since the day I first laid my eyes on him. Now focus, Cheol. Do you remember that day?”

“Of course I remember.”

“Then, I’ll have you know that right after Joshua and I had lunch, Jeonghan asked me to come up to his office to talk about something important.” 

Seungcheol nods. “Okay.”

“I thought it was about the report I gave him earlier that day, but…” You find your voice trailing off at the memory of Jeonghan—calm, sophisticated Yoon Jeonghan—forgoing his usual façade of level-headedness for something more…vulnerable. 

“He asked me if loving each other was enough to sustain a relationship. If it’s still worth continuing even if it always seems like something’s still missing no matter how much either of the people involved compromised.” 

You stare at Seungcheol to gauge his reaction, but he’s simply sitting there, eating the rest of his food in contemplative silence with an unreadable look. 

Hesitantly, you continue, “I didn’t…know who it was that made him ask all those questions, but even if I did, my answer would’ve been the same.”

“That is?”

You’re a little startled by the sudden switch-up in his expressions. One moment he’s indecipherable, and now he’s leaning forward on the table, as if wholly expectant of your response. You let out a quiet laugh, mirroring his actions before pressing a soft kiss on his nose. This considerably surprises Seungcheol, but he doesn’t flinch away regardless.

“If something’s missing, why don’t the two of you try looking for it?” you murmur. “Literally the only piece of advice I gave him, and it’s vague as hell. That came back to bite me in the ass a few weeks later, though, because—”

“He suddenly asked you to be our girlfriend?” Seungcheol supplies, reaching for your hand on the table before kissing the top of your hand with a dimpled smile. “Kind of a good call if you ask me. Although, now that you made me realize it…”

“Han totally did that because he can’t put up with me anymore, can he?” 

You snort out loud at his wild assumption. This guy, seriously…

“Quit being an idiot, Cheol. You think Hannie is that one-dimensional? That he thinks of you as some sort of kid that he has trouble dealing with alone?” 

“You’ll be surprised at how many times I’ve had to sleep on the couch because of my…childish tendencies.”

You sigh. Can’t exactly argue with him on that.

“Why’d you ask in the first place anyway?” you wonder. “This never really came up before.”

Seungcheol moves to rest his back against his seat, opening his mouth as if to answer—only to be interrupted by the sound of both of your phones chiming with text notifications. You’re the first to fish yours out, unlocking it to see that Jeonghan sent a message to your little groupchat with Seungcheol.

Hannie [8:22 P.M.]: hi, sorry. i might not be able to make it :( 

Hannie [8:22 P.M.]: meeting’s running late, i'll just grab dinner with shua

Me [8:23 P.M.]: it’s alright. take care on the way back home <3 ily

Hannie [8:25 P.M.]: i love you, too, baby

Your gaze flickers over to Seungcheol when you realize he hasn’t responded to Jeonghan’s update despite the read receipts. The fact that he probably won’t solidifies itself when he eventually turns his phone, screen-down on the table before flashing you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You want a refill on that milkshake?”

...

About two weeks after that odd dinner date with Seungcheol, you’re waiting eagerly for Jeonghan to come home from work as you made a mess in their kitchen. 

While you normally went home together with your boss-turned-boyfriend, he’s once again forced to stay behind since the business deal he’s been stressing about for a better part of the year is finally at its final stages today. Just a few more adjustments to the contract he’s setting up, and he’s home free.

On the drive to the grocery store, he informed you and Seungcheol that the agreements have finally been formalized on paper, and that he can finally get the break he deserves. Both of you were both proud of and happy for him, of course. And to commemorate that, you decided to rope Seungcheol into cooking dinner for Jeonghan from scratch.

Before you came into the picture, he and Jeonghan mostly relied on food delivery apps, much to your horror. Seungcheol is a pretty decent cook, but the man is lazier than a sloth when it comes to making food at home. Jeonghan, on the other hand, cannot be left alone in the kitchen without there being any sort of fire hazard.

You genuinely wonder how they survived all this time.

“And done,” you sigh, taking off your oven mitts once you’ve taken the lasagna out of the oven. “How’s the chicken going, Cheol? Haven’t burned it, have you?”

“I can do a decent job if I want to, you know,” he grumbles as he clicks his tongs together as if to prove a point. “See? It’s golden brown, just how Han likes it.”

You giggle before prancing behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist before pressing your cheek into his back. “That’s why I’m sure he is going to be really happy once he gets home.”

Once Seungcheol is done frying enough chicken strips as a side dish for the pasta recipe you looked up on a whim, you set the table in anticipation of Jeonghan’s arrival. Fancy tableware, a bottle of champagne, and—

By some stroke of luck, the man of the hour arrives while you’re in the middle of all the preparations—making you squeak with surprise before practically tackling him at the entrance.

“Congratulations, Hannie,” you coo, trapping him in a tight embrace before he can even set down his suitcase. “Joshua already spilled the details in the team groupchat. Don’t even try to act all humble.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he laughs, patting your head affectionately. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Welcome back.”

The two of you snap your heads in the direction of Seungcheol’s voice, where he emerges from the kitchen with two glasses of champagne in his hands. A wide smile roots itself onto your face when he hands the two of you one each. 

“Thank you, Cheol,” Jeonghan sighs with a small smile before taking a small sip. 

“Come on,” you say, tugging his arm with your free hand. “We prepared a really nice surprise for you!”

But to your confusion, Jeonghan resists your grip where he would normally relent, feet rooted in place as he flashes you an apologetic smile. You flash him a puzzled look.

“Sorry, love, I’m a bit…tired today,” he reasons. “You and Cheol made dinner, didn’t you? Thank you for going out of your way, but I should really head to bed before this migraine kills me.”

“But, won’t you feel better if you get some food in you?” You pout, glancing at Seungcheol for back-up. 

“I already ate on the way here, don’t worry,” Jeonghan reassures, leaning to kiss your forehead before handing the champagne glass back to Seungcheol. “That one’s aged pretty well. But I liked the bottle Mingyu gave us for our anniversary last year better.”

With that, Jeonghan has led himself to the bedroom, leaving you and Seungcheol standing there in blatant disbelief.

You turn to your remaining company in a snap. “Is everything alright with him?”

Seungcheol downs the rest of the champagne in one swig before letting out a deep sigh. “My guess is as good as yours.”

You and Seungcheol ruminate in the silence as the gears in your brain start to turn. Did any of you do something that he didn’t like? What could possibly catalyze Jeonghan’s sudden evasiveness?

“...Do you think he knows? About us?” 

“God, no.” Seungcheol shakes his head. “I thought it was our silent agreement to not let him know? And that was back when we quote-unquote hated each other.”

You chew the inside of your cheek from sheer nervousness, eyeing the feast for three that’s laid out on the dining table. 

“What if he already found out? What if he’s giving us the cold shoulder because we didn’t tell him up front?” you ask, hands going clammy with nervousness. 

“No. Stop it. You know Jeonghan isn’t like that,” Seungcheol says with a kind of dismissiveness that discourages you  from pressing the matter further. He even makes a beeline for your awaiting dinner just to get you to drop the topic altogether.

“Let’s eat. Don’t want the food we worked so hard for going cold, now do we?”

You cast one last glance at the hall in which Jeonghan disappeared into before letting out a withering sigh. 

Guess you’ll just leave him some leftover portions in the fridge.

…

When the weekend comes, so does your monthly get-together with Soonyoung and Jihoon, and like your last visit, all you’re bringing to the table is your stupid boyfriend problems. You’re honestly starting to feel bad for subjecting them to such a tiresome routine, but you know they’re more than happy to help.

“What do you mean you haven’t told Jeonghan?” Soonyoung exclaims with his hands on your shoulders, as if he’s doing everything in his power just to keep himself from throttling you. “I thought we were going to celebrate because you’ve made up with Cheol! Why are we suddenly hearing about a brand new problem?!”

“Uh…sorry?”

Jihoon sighs, flipping through a fashion magazine that’s normally just gathering dust under their coffee table. “Pray tell, why did you guys think it was a good idea to keep the fact that you’re exes from the person who brought you together again?”

You sigh, sinking into the cushions of their sofa the moment Soonyoung lets go of you. “Because we didn’t want to break Hannie’s heart with the news that we actually hate each other?”

“So you chose to break his heart later by keeping up such a stupid charade?” Soonyoung scoffs. “You’re better than this! I know you are! What happened?”

“Seungcheol happened,” Jihoon replies with a shake of his head. “You know how love makes people do crazy things? Yeah.”

“Hey, for the record, I did that for Jeonghan—”

“What? Lie to him?”

“Soonie!”

Your older best friend presses his lips together into a thin line, and you nearly sink to your knees just to beg for his forgiveness. But you know he’s just acting like this because he’s disappointed in you.  Honestly, you are, too.

“Okay, there’s nothing we can really do about it now,” Jihoon sighs. “But you’re bringing this up because you think Jeonghan knows, right? Even if you and Seungcheol haven’t breathed a word about it?”

Soonyoung makes a noise in complaint. “But how can Jeonghan not know? Doesn’t everyone share their dating history to their current partner? Are you sure Seungcheol hasn’t said anything? And…isn’t Jeonghan like an evil person that’s always one step ahead of his opponents?”

Both you and Jihoon look at him like he’s just grown a second head.

“What? That’s how she described him when she lost the mafia game during a Christmas party back then.”

“At this point, I don’t really think it matters if he knows or not,” Jihoon interjects before turning to you with a stern look. “You’ve been with him and Seungcheol for almost three months now. Don’t you think it’s about time both of you came clean about the past anyway?” 

Soonyoung nods. “Yeah! What he said!” 

You puff out your cheeks, once again humbled by your friends’ observations. It’s funny how you claim to be a grown woman who’s learned from her past mistakes, but the fact that you keep making even more kind of revokes that. 

Still, you guess it isn’t too late to tell the truth.

“Hey! Where are you going?” you hear Soonyoung call out from the living room as you bolt to the entrance of their apartment—hastily putting your shoes back on.

“To get the love of my life to forgive me,” you say, before contemplatively adding, “one of the loves of my life.” 

Then, you’re off, telling yourself to just treat them to dinner once you’ve got your boyfriend problems sorted out.

…

You find it a bit silly, how you nearly forgot how to commute to your boyfriends’ house, given the amount of times the Seungcheol has driven you on the way instead. But you make do anyway, since neither of them are expecting the visit—having told them you’d be spending the weekend at Soonyoung and Jihoon’s. 

There’s no answer when you ring the doorbell, but Seungcheol’s car is parked in the garage right next to Jeonghan’s, so you’re certain that they’re home. You bounce on the balls of your feet for a few moments before ringing it again, anticipation buzzing through your veins.

But when no one comes to open the door for you after five minutes, you decide to rummage through your bag for the spare key they gave you back then—hastily twisting it in the keyhole before letting yourself in.

The lights in the living room are off, and it’s the same case for the dining room. You glance around at the shoe rack near the entrance to confirm whether or not Seungcheol went out for a run. However, when your ears catch the sound of muted conversation at the end of the hall, you suspect that they’re inside the bedroom.

With each step closer, you get a better idea of what they must be talking about. From the earnest tone in Seungcheol’s voice, you figure that it must be serious. 

Could he have beaten you to telling Jeonghan the truth? God, couldn’t he have at least invited you over if he did? You have to take responsibility, too!

But as you raise your fist to knock on the door, you immediately still at the sound of someone sniffling.

You don’t even bother announcing your presence anymore, swinging the door open with eyes alert. On the mattress, you see Seungcheol and Jeonghan sitting at the edge—the latter with his face buried in the former’s chest. Seungcheol was in the middle of placating him by smoothing a hand across his back, but he immediately snaps his gaze to the door as you barge in. 

“Hannie?” you whisper. 

Jeonghan immediately springs away from Seungcheol’s grasp—eyes blotchy with tears. His lips part with surprise when he recognizes you and makes quick work of his face by hiding it from view.

“Sweetheart, what’re you doing here?” he asks, trying (in vain) to mask the nasal tone of his voice. “Did Soonyoung kick you out or something?”

You don’t answer him right away, instead rushing to his side to give him a hug of your own. Jeonghan stiffens beneath your touch—not having expected you to give it with little context behind your actions. But you’re actually doing it to catch Seungcheol’s gaze to mouth, what the hell is going on?

Jeonghan is crying. Jeonghan never cries.

Ever since the night Jeonghan rejected your little dinner surprise, it’s like both you and Seungcheol were walking on eggshells around him. Something was obviously wrong, but Jeonghan would either brush it off or find some excuse to not talk about it. 

Seungcheol got the brunt of it, living under the same roof and all. It gave rise to many sleepless nights and a few blunders here and there whenever he’s training. You even offered for him to crash at your apartment if he wants to, but he outright refused—saying that the last thing he wants to do is leave Jeonghan alone when he’s like…this.

It got so bad that you even asked Joshua if he knew anything, but Jeonghan’s secretary merely told you that he hasn’t been acting all that different at work. 

Now, though…

Seungcheol looks considerably less agitated compared to how he was over the last two weeks. There’s a gentle look in his eyes that tells you, it’s alright, it’s going to be okay.

“He knows,” Seungcheol starts with a sheepish smile. “He’s known all this time.”

It takes you a while to digest the newfound information, letting go of Jeonghan in favor of looking into his tear-stricken eyes. Your lover manages a tight-lipped smile, an apology written in his eyes before he can even say a word.

“But…how?” 

Jeonghan swallows thickly, forcing himself to breathe. “Before you get any ideas, I was completely in the dark when I introduced the both of you. I just had this…feeling. That the two of you would get along swimmingly.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose, exhaling through parted lips. Before Jeonghan can continue, you take your seat right beside him.

“So…when did you figure it out?”

“Neither of you were being discreet about the fake affection, so I figured that you must have known each other from somewhere,” he says, the ghost of a smile hovering over his lips. “It just so happens that I remembered a story you told me back then—about the ex who straight up left after taking your first time—”

Seungcheol winces in the corner of your eye. You don’t even remember telling Jeonghan about your ‘legendary shitty ex’ as Jihoon permanently branded Seungcheol. But you’re notorious for making a reputation for yourself in those annual company Christmas parties once the alcohol sets in, so…

“—and how the details coincide a bit too well with how Seungcheol described his first relationship ended.” Jeonghan pauses, fidgeting with his fingers on his lap. “I only had a hunch back then, so I made Joshua look into your records, and…that’s when I found out you graduated from the same high school as Cheol.”

Isn’t Jeonghan like an evil person that’s always one step ahead of his opponents? Soonyoung’s voice echoes in your mind.

‘One step ahead of his opponents’, sure, but ‘an evil person’...? 

From the years you’ve spent working (and pining for) your boss, you know that Jeonghan has an incurable habit of being a tease. And sure, you’ve described him as such whenever he’s out to drive you insane on purpose, but… 

Right now, you know Jeonghan’s intentions are anything but malicious.

“Why didn’t you call us out on our bullshit then?” you mumble, more because you’re still afraid to take responsibility for your own silence than anything else. So much for making things right. “If you knew all along then why’d we all have to play house like nothing’s wrong?”

“Because I wanted the both of you to sort out your issues between yourselves first,” Jeonghan says, and the smile on his face turns sad. “And you did. I’m so proud that you did. Both of you won’t even be able to understand how happy I was to see you two curled up together in bed when I got home from Busan.”

The confused look on your face doesn’t let up. “But you still didn’t…” 

For a moment, Jeonghan looks as if he’s about to burst into tears again, but Seungcheol places a hand on his waist. A silent reassurance. 

“I didn’t want to rush you,” he says, despite the fact that this is something you and Seungcheol should’ve told him right from the start. “I wanted to give the two of you the time and space to get used to being together again. Really being together. But…”

On a whim, you take Jeonghan’s delicate hands in yours. You’re not even sure if it makes things any easier for him, but when you see how his tense shoulders relax at your touch, you figure this is alright.

“Seeing the chemistry you both had despite all the years that passed, all the time you missed… I think I got a little over my head every time I saw it.” Jeonghan laughs mirthlessly. “You told me back then that Seungcheol and I might just be missing something, which was why things were so rocky between us. I thought that something was you, but then I gave it a little more thought and…

“Maybe both of you were simply missing each other, and that I shouldn’t have been part of the picture to begin with.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, your grip tightens around his hands, staring at him with slack-jawed silence. “Jeonghan, are you out of your goddamn mind?”

He shakes his head, wiping the rest of the tears from his eyes. “Seungcheol asked the same thing before you arrived. I might just be, if you’re both reacting that way.”

“Is that the reason you were so distant these past few weeks?” you ask, voice betraying the thick coil of emotion clinging to your throat. “Don’t tell me you were planning to break up with us because of it—”

“No,” Jeonghan says sharply, eyes widening when he sees you on the verge of tears as well. “God, no. This is just me falling prey to my own insecurities, sweetheart. I would— I would never leave both of you because of something that can be solved by holding a proper conversation.”

Okay. You forgot for a moment that Jeonghan isn’t an emotionally volatile high schooler that would abandon you at a drop of a hat at the slightest inconvenience. Neither is Seungcheol, and that’s why you’re all sitting down to talk about all of this now.

Just like you should have a long time ago.

“Han, look at me,” Seungcheol pleads, and Jeonghan is quick to relent—puffy eyes meeting his earnest gaze. “Don’t you ever think that we’re better off without you. After all, the reason that brought us back together in the first place isn’t just you, but the fact that we both love you. So fucking much.”

You couldn’t have said it better yourself, actually.

Seungcheol is your first love, that much is true, and even if the two of you encountered several difficulties when it came to making amends, you both conquered the ghosts of the past side by side. But that doesn’t make you love Jeonghan any less.

You’ve been pining for the man for God knows how long, and now that he’s become such an integral part of your life—having learned how to love him past the superficial infatuation—you can’t even imagine living without him.

It’s never just you and Seungcheol. Or you and Jeonghan. Or Jeonghan and Seungcheol, for the matter. 

The best of things come in threes—as unconventional as it is, that’s how your life has always been.

A few moments later, you manage a warm smile, lifting Jeonghan’s hands to your lips so you could plant kisses on his knuckles. “Mhmm. You think someone as hard-headed as Seungcheol would stick around someone he isn’t crazy about?”

Jeonghan breathes through a chuckle. “You both might kill me for this, but didn’t Cheol do the exact opposite back when you two were still—”

“Han.”

“Hannie.”

More than offensive remarks aside, the fact that Jeonghan is cracking that no-good smile of his again tells you that the storm has more or less passed. 

And you couldn’t ask for anything more.

“We’re still sorry for keeping our past a secret,” you say once three of you are lounging back on the cloud couch again—buried beneath Jeonghan’s favorite blanket as you all watch a kid’s movie that he insisted on watching. “Right, Cheol?”

“More than sorry,” he sighs before pressing his lips on the crown of Jeonghan’s head. “We’ll do anything to make up for it.”

“Hm? Anything?”

Part of you knows that giving Jeonghan that kind of power is a very dangerous thing. God knows what kind of schemes are stewing in this man’s head. But for once, you let him have a free pass for all the mischief he can come up with.

“Then…” he starts before turning to you, eyes alight with adoration. 

“I want you to move in with us. For real.”

The words sink in a few moments too late, and you can only dole out a dazed, “What?” before Seungcheol crushes both you and Jeonghan into a life-threatening hug.

“Please say yes,” he whispers, burying his face between yours and Jeonghan’s shoulders. “Please.”

You can feel the rumble of Jeonghan’s laughter reverberating right next to you, and you can only sigh in defeat.

How could you ever say no to them?

…

There are lots of advantages to living with your two boyfriends after several back-and-forths between their house and your apartment for the past three months.

First is that you’re never alone. At work, it’s a given that you’ll be more or less in Jeonghan’s company, but when you spend weekends at your apartment, it gets a little lonely, especially when your boyfriends and best friends are busy during its entirety. 

Now Seungcheol and Jeonghan always make sure you have company whenever one of them has prior commitments to attend to. No matter how much you say that you really don’t mind the solitude, they were having none of it. 

Second, it’s a lot easier to get things done around the house. You’ve gotten so used to doing all your chores by yourself, that you’re still surprised to walk back into the kitchen—intent on cleaning up after the pots and pans you used to whip up dinner—only to see them squeaky clean and already drying with the dishes. 

It’s the same thing with laundry, which is a chore that Seungcheol has a weird affinity for getting done whenever he has the time. Jeonghan has also adopted a habit of watering your plants before you can even remember to do so—making the idea of living with them all the more endearing, with how considerate they are of your lifestyle.

But you’re pretty sure that the best advantage is…

“Angel, you have to be quiet if you don’t want Cheol to wake up.”

Easier said than done, really. You don’t usually start your mornings with Jeonghan’s cock stuffed in your aching pussy while Seungcheol snored softly just a few inches away—squirming in your lover’s grasp as he gloats about how needy you’re being. But ever since you’ve moved into your boyfriends’ house, each day comes with a different surprise. 

“Hannie,” you whimper, shifting your thighs on his lap just a little to grant yourself a sliver of friction. “We’re going to be late.”

Jeonghan chuckles none-too-mischievously in your ear, lips latching onto the sweet spot just below the cut of your jaw. You instantly mewl in response—walls clenching around his girth. 

“Then I’ll just have to bribe Shua into overlooking today’s time cards,” he whispers, making a show of teasing you by shallowly thrusting his hips against yours. “Besides, don’t you prefer warming my cock on a cold morning, love? Much better than our usual nine-to-five monotone, don’t you think?”

“I’d prefer,” you start with a hiss, “if you just fucked me properly somewhere else instead of sneaking around our sleeping boyfriend!”

Jeonghan hums, trailing those sinful lips down your neck. “Or I can fuck you here and wait for Cheol to wake up and see the show we’re putting on.”

The picture he’s putting inside your head has a rush of heat searing through your core—Seungcheol still blinking out the haze of sleep from his eyes while Jeonghan pounds you into the mattress, calling you all those filthy names that have your toes curling. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve begged for him to get on with it right away. 

But it just so happens that Seungcheol is a sore loser that hates missing out on the fun stuff you do with Jeonghan in bed. If you woke him up and incurred his wrath now, you might not be able to walk out of this bedroom, much less go to work.

Jeonghan knows that goddamn well. 

“Aww, our baby’s whining,” he coos, a hand sneaking under your sleep shirt as he squeezes one of your breasts. “Can’t make up your mind? You want to get wrecked on my cock first thing in the morning, but you also don’t want Cheol to hard dom you right before work? What a dilemma! I wonder how I can help you.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, you’re a fucking menace.”

Jeonghan giggles before turning your head so he can kiss your frowning lips. “What a coincidence, love. You’re fucking this menace right now.”

With your sanity on the verge of snapping, you force yourself to turn around to face him—trying your best to ignore how his cock slides along with your movements. Jeonghan’s eyes widen just a tad before you’re lacing your fingers around his nape, bringing him in for a kiss.

“Hannie, don’t you feel sorry for me?” you mouth the words against his lips, rolling your hips to finally get the friction you’ve been craving since you woke up to Jeonghan grinding his morning wood into your ass. “I’ve been so good for you, and you still don’t want to give me what I want?”

Jeonghan groans, lithe fingers immediately migrating to your hips as he guides your movements—that teasing front of his starting to crumble. After all, he’s still just a man, and you have something that Seungcheol likes to call a magic pussy. 

“Don’t you want to stuff me full of cum?” you whisper in his ear, purposely clenching down on his cock until you feel him throb inside you. “Fuck me so full, I’ll be dripping in the office?”

“Baby, you know the breeding kink is more of Cheol’s thing,” he laughs hoarsely before swinging his legs over to the side of the bed. 

“But I kind of get why he likes it so much now.”

You let out a little noise of surprise when Jeonghan gets up—dick very much still inside you—as he supports your weight with his hands on your ass. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his narrow waist, and Jeonghan presses a kiss on the tip of your nose, smiling.

He crosses the threshold of the room with you in his arms, setting you down on the vanity table that Seungcheol purchased for you a few days before you moved in with them. The thought of Jeonghan taking you here, of all places, makes your head spin. 

“Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt,” he moans before pulling his hips back—only to snap forwards with a force that has you clinging onto him like a lifeline. “You wouldn’t be able to fit me and Cheol at the same time, would you?”

Jeonghan’s arms wrap themselves securely around your waist, eyes trained on the blissed out look on your face. He chuckles as your head lolls to the side, dazed with the feeling of his cock making a mess of you with every thrust. 

In your depraved trance, you see Seungcheol fast asleep on his side of the bed—completely oblivious to what his two lovers are up to—and the fact of the matter only serves to arouse you further. 

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

When Jeonghan completely stills inside you, it takes every bit of dignity you have left just to keep yourself from whining. Not that you weren’t already doing that, but you don’t want to give Jeonghan more of an ego boost than you already have. 

“I can,” you whimper. “I can fit both of you inside me. Please Hannie, just—”

Jeonghan doesn’t have to be told twice. Intent on rewarding such obedient behavior, he gathers your hair with his free hand before yanking on it, hard. The pain that prickles your scalp only serves to heighten the pleasure he’s giving you, and when you feel his teeth scrape the skin of your neck, you just know it’ll take you a while to get your makeup in place. 

“Good, good girl,” Jeonghan praises once he’s satisfied with the marks he’s left on your skin—hickeys blooming like flowers in the spring. “Are you close, sweet thing? You need help getting there?”

You nod a little too fast, tears catching in the corners of your eyes once you start to feel your orgasm sizzling underneath your skin. Fortunately for you, Jeonghan is done with all the teasing—the hand that was just in your hair migrating between your slotted bodies until he finds your clit. You muffle the lewd noises spilling from your lips by biting down on his shoulder, causing Jeonghan to groan in the sexiest way possible.

“Squeezing me so goddamn well,” he sighs, raking his fingers through his long hair before forcing you to look back at your reflection in the mirror. Your thighs are spread wide for him, eyes red with tears as the vanity jostles with every thrust. “Go on, sweetheart, let yourself go for me. Need to feel you cum on my cock.”

“Can’t believe you’re starting without me. Again.”

Jeonghan’s movements falter for a millisecond at the sound of Seungcheol’s sexy but sulky morning voice, but he simply breathes out an airy laugh before continuing to wreck you. With his back turned to Seungcheol, who’s already taking his own cock out of his boxers, Jeonghan can’t see the predatory gleam in those sleepy eyes.

“Han, don’t you two have work today?” Seungcheol asks as he wraps his arms around Jeonghan’s waist—grinding his half-hard length into his ass. “Why does it look like you’re fucking her until she can’t walk?”

“That’s the plan, babe,” Jeonghan laughs. 

“Mean. How would you feel if you got a taste of your own medicine, and I did the same to you?”

You let out a sharp cry when Jeonghan manages to graze your g-spot with the head of his cock, fingers tightening around the edge of the vanity as your two lovers flirted right in front of you. Jeonghan chuckles at your adorable reaction before tilting his head to give Seungcheol a little kiss.

“You already had my ass last night, Cheol. I think you’re in the mood for a different kind of hole this morning.” 

The buildup of your orgasm rapidly fades when you feel Jeonghan’s cock slip out of you. You’re on the verge of tears when you whisper a quick, “No, no, no…” But Seungcheol is quick to pacify you when he gathers you into his strong arms—tossing you back onto the bed. He maneuvers you so your face is pressed against the cool sheets and your ass is in the air.

Having switched positions too quickly, you’re disoriented for a couple of seconds before you realize that Jeonghan is right in front of you again—a tight fist wrapped around his cock as if he’s waiting for something.

But even if your brain is yet to comprehend what it is that he wants, your body responds accordingly, struggling a little as you propped yourself on your elbows before taking his dick into the heat of your mouth. 

“Our baby is so cock-drunk, isn’t she?” Seungcheol chuckles from behind you, where you can feel him smooth down those rough hands of his against the swell of your ass—grinding his cock into the mess Jeonghan made between your legs. “Can’t get off on just one anymore. Has to take both of us to feel satisfied.”

“This one said she can take us both in that tight pussy of hers, Cheol,” Jeonghan laughs along with him, gathering your hair in his hands to keep the strands from falling into your face. “You think we should take her up on that?”

“Mmm… We can. When you’re not running late for work, that is.”

Fuck work, honestly. If Jeonghan had the choice to become a baser creature who lived off sex alone or an established figure in a multimillion dollar company, he would’ve chosen the former in every single lifetime. 

The moan that Seungcheol rips out of your throat once he bottoms out inside you is immaculate. Each thrust sends you forward—nearly pressing your nose into Jeonghan’s pubic bone with each bob of your head. Seungcheol has half the mind to stop for a moment to check if you’re alright, but the fact that his aggression just spurred you on to swallow even more of Jeonghan’s cock tells him that he’s in the clear.

Jeonghan hisses when he feels you massaging his cock with the muscles of your throat, holding back that gag reflex like a fucking champ. It’s a miracle how you eased yourself into deepthroating him while Seungcheol destroys your cunt, but he’s not about to complain. 

Being stuffed with your lovers’ cocks on both ends, your mind is simply on autopilot—just sitting there and taking everything they’re willing to give you like a good little girl. 

Seungcheol growls upon recognizing how willing and pliant you are, fingers digging into your hips until the skin glows red from his grip. 

“C-Cheol—” You gasp, breaking away from Jeonghan’s dick for a breather. “So close. Please.”

“Who said you could stop sucking off Han, baby?” he whispers dangerously. “You’re not allowed to cum until you’ve swallowed everything Jeonghan gives you. Understood?”

You don’t even have to give him a verbal response—immediately getting back to work Jeonghan into his much-awaited release. The desperation is clear in his movements, hands holding your head in place as he fucks your mouth with reckless abandon. Seungcheol smirks as he presses down on your lower back, forcing your spine into an arch that he’s damn sure would make him hit angles he normally wouldn’t be able to. 

And he’s right. Your moans are muffled by Jeonghan’s cock, but from the way your body thrashes beneath him, Seungcheol has definitely found that sweet spot inside you.

“Will you let me cum down your throat, sweetheart?” Jeonghan asks hoarsely, yet everyone in the room knows the question is rhetorical. “Don’t waste a single drop, okay?”

Then your mouth is filled with the warm liquid spurting from your lover’s cock, still thrusting into the cavern of your mouth as he rides out his orgasm. Seungcheol fucking adores seeing the glazed look in your eyes as you take every drop Jeonghan dumps into your throat, spurring him on to chase his own orgasm so he can do the same with your greedy little pussy.

It’s a good thing he knows exactly how to make you fall apart.

Once you’ve swallowed Jeonghan’s load, Seungcheol doesn’t even give you a second to breathe—reaching out to rub two fingers around your overstimulated clit. You cry out in sheer pleasure, the sound shooting straight to his cock, and that’s when he knows he’ll burst any second now.

“Cum on my cock, princess,” Seungcheol leans over your back to growl into your ear. “Let me feel you milk me fucking dry.”

Your orgasm crests before you can even feel it build up to the pinnacle, blindsiding you with pleasure so severe, you barely feel it when Seungcheol stills inside you—his emission rushing in to cream your pussy until drips out of your hole from how much he came. 

It fills you with a sense of extreme bliss that has you collapsing back onto the mattress the moment Seungcheol surrenders the iron grip on your waist.

“Shit. I think we broke her.”

You don’t know how much time has passed when you finally come to your senses again, but you’re bundled up beneath the comforter—dressed in fresh clothes, and feeling just a little sore. Your brain is still having a bit of trouble going back online, but your first instinct is to glance at the digital clock on Jeonghan’s side of the bed, and—

“Fuck,” you mutter, throwing the covers off you when the screen reads 11:45 A.M. “Fucking late on a Monday morning…”

While scrambling out of bed to get ready is what you planned to do, your body obviously isn’t able to keep up with the first thing on your agenda—legs immediately giving out underneath you before you land on the floor with a solid thud. You wince in pain before remembering the events that transpired just a few hours earlier, and why you’re probably going to have to call in sick for the day.

“Whoa, sweetheart. Don’t get out of bed just yet.”

Your ears perk up at the sound of Jeonghan’s voice from where he’s seated in front of his laptop on the desk in the far end of the room. He has his work glasses on, but doesn’t look like he’s dressed for work itself, if the baggy shirt and sweats combo doesn’t already speak for itself.

“What are we still doing here?” you groan weakly when he rushes to your side and helps you back onto the mattress. “We have work—”

“Work that we can do in the comfort of our home,” Jeonghan laughs, kissing your forehead as he tucks you back in. “I told Joshuji to overlook this in exchange for a dinner treat tomorrow, don’t worry.”

You scowl at him, slapping his arm. “I can’t believe you bribed Joshua just so we can stay in after you both fucked me into unconsciousness!”

“Don’t say that you didn’t enjoy every second of it, babe.”

Of course Seungcheol chooses this exact time to barge into the room with a tray full of post-sex necessities in his arms. Some pain killers, your stainless water bottle, some leftovers from the fridge, and your favorite tea—

“No. I’m not letting either of you off the hook!” you huff, crossing your arms even as Seungcheol seats himself next to you to place the tray on top of the mattress. “No more intense sex before work!”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “I don’t know why you love your job so much, sweet thing. If I could work from home everyday, I seriously would.”

“Wish I could say the same for me, too,” Seungcheol sighs, and that’s when you notice that he’s already dressed in his training clothes. “By the way, they already released the game schedules for this year’s FIFA World Cup. I’ll send it to you guys later so you can book flights and accommodations in advance.”

“Hmm, does fucking in a hotel room in Qatar before Cheol plays a match count as ‘intense sex before work’?” Jeonghan asks teasingly, and you kick him in the stomach.

“We will not do that because Jihoon and Soonyoung wanted to watch Cheol’s international games with us!” you scold before reaching out for the cup of tea that (you loath to admit) Seungcheol brewed perfectly. “No sex within hearing range of my two best friends. I traumatized them with my problems enough already.” 

Seungcheol hums contemplatively. “Hmm… They won’t be able to hear if we book a separate room for them—”

“Choi Seungcheol!”

The loving banter between yourself and your two lovers comes so easily these days, it’s hard to imagine that your relationship once had rocky foundations. But the time you spent cultivating the love that naturally blossomed between the three of you is worth all the adversaries you had to go through just to get to where you are now.

And for now, you’re more than content with that.

end notes: here we are at the end of it! i cannot thank you all enough for reading through my jeongcheol brain damage (bc brain rot just doesn't cut it anymore LOL). i hope you enjoyed consuming it as much as i enjoyed writing it! lemme know ur thoughts in the tags/reblogs bc i am Thirsty for validation HEHE

poly jeongcheol missing hours? you can read up more on them in the series masterlist!

[jewbeloved]

How would the guys confess to you on Valentine's Day 💌

Note: This is 3 days late I know, I was on a writers block and I was having a fever and I kept throwing up in the progress while my stomach hurted and I missed a day to go to school on Wednesday to do my test because of that. And now I got a massive headache, everything is just spinning at once I can't take it anymore. 😭

Warnings: Absolutely none.

Characters used: The main boys.

Gender: Neutral

💙 Stan Marsh 💠

Man wants to confess to you on Valentine's Day, he literally be eyeing his calendar and keeping track of the days leading up to Valentine's Day.

But when the day actually comes?

Oh sh!t, he's already in a panic. He doesn't know what to give to you or how to even approach you in general to confess.

He went to Kyle for advice and even practicing his confession for you with him. He knows Valentine's Day can be a really special day for your friends and s/os.

He doesn't want to mess up or make things awkward by vomiting all over you like how he did when he was with Wendy :(

He probably might go with basic presents such as: chocolate, teddy bear, etc.

He will confess to you behind the school just in case his confession goes up in flames and he doesn't want other people to see.

"Uhm, Hi..(Name)...I know it's Valentine's Day and all....and I was just wondering if you wanted to be my valentine...". 💙💙💙💙💙💙

💚 Kyle Broflovski ☘️

Jews aren't supposed to have valentines-

Just kidding.

But seriously though every time this boy has a love interest it always ends up in a complete dumpster fire for him. (Not Cartman being the man cause for it anyways).

You and him have been good friends for a good couple of months and Valentine's Day has finally arrived.

This is his moment to shine and he won't let anyone ruin it for him, not even the fatass-.

He already got a big 4ft sized teddy bear with a heart box that has your favorite candy or sweet inside it. He also got you both matching outfits to wear if you accept his confession.

He probably might want to confess to you in the park near a big tree. (Yeah, classic romance confessions)

Please accept this boy's confession, it will literally make him the happiest jew in south park.

"Hi (Name)! I hope nobody else has confessed to you...or maybe they have. But I just wanted to ask you if you could be my valentine for this holiday".

❤️ Eric Cartman 🔥

Cartman is mysteriously preping for something and not being an ass as his usual routine?

I wonder what's on his mind.........probably you.

He obviously doesn't know what to get you for Valentine's Day and he probably doesn't care so he will just get whatever he feels you might like. He forced his mom to buy the presents though! :3

He probably wants to confess to you because you're the only person besides his mom who puts with his psychotic behavior and rude nature.

And probably because you don't make fun of him for being fat😭

The confession will be in his room because he doesn't want the guys ripping on him for having a soft spot for you.

He will confess in the mostly lazily and cheesy way in the first half before actually being honest with his confession.

"So it's Valentine's Day huh? This makes me feel like I am gay if I was doing this for the guys, but since it's just only you (Name), I don't mind it. As anyone would tell their s/o, will you be my valentine?".

🧡 Kenny Mccormick 🧸

He's poor asf how do you think he can afford even a gift for you?

He feels so sad at the times you give him something and he can't gift you anything in return due to him being the poorest kid in south park.

So instead of buying something, he tries to make a homemade gift for you with whatever he can find (He cleans the material he's using if he finds something useful out of the trash).

Definitely sneaked around alleyways and stole some spare changes from homeless guys so he can use it to at least get you a candy or snack he can afford.

Same as Kyle, he will confess to you in the park while bringing the homemade gifts and snacks he got you.

He wanted this confession to be special like the holiday itself so he took a bath in the river (without soap) and fixed up in his hair a little, not a lot though.

He decided to wear his Princess Kenny outfit afterwards.

"Mmmmm...mmmphmmmmhmmphmmmmmmmmhmmp!" (Im sorry Name...I know this isn't much since I'm poor and I can't gift the same amount you do for me and my family, but it's the least I could to repay my gratitude! Will you be my valentine?).

A new banner for my new south park Masterlist that I will be making soon.

[sugar-plum-writer]

A Heian Era Affair

Paring: GojoSatrou!ModernEra x FemReader!HeianEra! Tags: Fem!Reader; Gojo!imagines; slight!mention of violence; 18+ as more chapters come; slow burn [I want to have a good build up~ just like my Sukuna series fic~]; An ancient Japan romance through time with reader Text: Gojo ends up in the Heian Era through unknown reason (will be revealed later on) and meets reader and hence a journey begins both of adventure and romance~ [If you all like it, please heart and reblog the post! to know you want to read more~ and follow for chapter updates! or leave a comment to tag you when I put out new chapters~ I will do my best to roll out UPDATES ASAP!]

CHAPTER - 2

You were stuck now, you barely had enough for yourself and now this 190cm giant man was in your house, how did you end up like this even you are confused yourself. All you remember was eating something known as a cheesecake and the next thing he and you were in your house

"Oh wow, it really is old" Looking around he touched the wooden beams examining the craftsmanship

"Fascinating!"

"Well…it-"

Before you could say anything; a loud slam on the door boomed across the room making you freeze in terror- as if a demon had arrived

"HIDE!" hurriedly you shoved him in the corner much to his confusion

"Wh-?"

"Don't…make a single sound…got it? Please…" Trembling you looked at him and closed the cupboard

"Y/n! Open the door!" with a bang the door of the house flew open causing you shrink back in horror

"There you are" loud steps thumped as the wooden floors creaked underneath, a man walked in smirking- about seven feet tall, his voice dripping with malice

"If you ain't gonna pay the tax today~" smacking his lips eyeing you head to toe "I will need to collect it some other way hehe~"

"It won't be necessary, I have the money" Opening a drawer shakily- you took almost all the money you had and gave it to him

He was disappointed but took the bag of coins, "You won't be so lucky next time…Y/n" Looking at you with a filthy grin he left slamming the door shut behind him

"phew…"

"Who…was that?" his stern breathy voice made you jolt

"It…was the tax collector…he is the right-hand man of the chief…he always targets me…aish it's hard our leader is trash really", biting your lips you glared at the door the man walked out from, "I want to leave this village and go away somewhere else…but…I don't have enough money nothing can be done..." you stood up groaning

"I see…." with a nod clenching his jaw, he looked at you

"Now about you" Looking at him up and down your brain raced with what to do about his appearance, he was tall, his hair was white- eyes were blue, and he was super good-looking. His clothes were weird- he screamed attention; if anyone saw him god knows what would happen to you

"Yes, what about me?"

"Since you can teleport and all can you also change your appearance like magic?"

"I cannot…I might be able to fight, teleport etc but I cannot change my appearance- I am no magician though it would be fun heh~"

"So you are useless then"

"Hey! I am not useless! I am very strong…the strongest" pouting he crossed his arms together

"Yeah, Yeah…as if" Rolling your eyes you sighed

"Can you at least do household chores? Help around the house? Washing clothes, dishes?"

"Yeah! I can I am Gojo Satrou after all~" he smirked cockily

"Fine good…not completely useless then" Looking at him with doubt you rummaged through your drawers and took out a set of old blue robes

"This…belonged to my father... he died in a war so you can use it for now..." your voice dripped with melancholy as you handed the robes to him

"I see…well thank you I will...treasure it" he tried to smile but the atmosphere was gloomy as he looked at the robes

"By the way? What is your name?"

"Y/n is my name, you change- I will prepare dinner", walking out of the room you made your way to the kitchen

After some time, the scent of hot food and its aroma permeated the air, he sat near the table as you arranged the plates, bowls, and chopsticks

"What is this?" he looked at the food curiously like a child who found something interesting

"It is millet porridge rice, with some vegetables on the side"

"I see…no meat?" picking up his chopsticks he took a bite

"Hmm! Not bad now this 100% organic food~" humming he ate

"Meat is a luxury for nobles, we peasants…it's a dream to even eat a bite, sure some people hunt, but I can't…I don't have enough strength" Picking up your chopsticks you ate your food

"What is organic?" you looked at him, he sure used some weird terms

"It is…well...uh it's like pure food you know? without anything added to it!"

"How do you add something to food? It is gross"

"It is, the world after 1000 years is very different! buildings are touching the skies with more than 30 floors" Excited he explained many things as you guys ate, even something known as a car though you don't know what it meant, it was fascinating though

"It is....very different, your time sounds nice; I guess people are not suffering as much" you chuckled

"Our time has it's own problems but hey! maybe when I go back I can show it to you~" he smirked smugly

"Really?" your breath hitched as you looked at him, to be able to live in a world like that is it possible?

"Well, if I do manage to find a way back…I also need to find my clan" helping you pick up the dishes, he and you together washed the dishes- sure he did look dumbstruck, when he saw the ancient way as he called it when you sat down to wash dishes

"Man…I really appreciate modern technology now…thank god humans evolved...I cannot live like this...." sighing he did his best; though he broke one bowl but the guilty puppy eyes he gave you made you not say anything

Seeing him struggle you could not help but chuckle; soon everything came to an end, all the dishes were washed and it was time for bed- finally the day had come to an end after all the chaos you were exhausted

"I only have one futon so we will need to share, I never needed two so I never bought another one...is that okay with you?" taking out the futon and pillows you arranged them on the tatami wooden floor

"Well...I uh don't have any other choice do I? I am in no position to complain haha~" chuckling he laid down on the futon and you laid down beside him; blowing out the candles as the moonlight illuminated the room and braided your hair

"You said you were from the Gojo Clan I have never heard of it?" turning towards him, batting your eyes you gazed at him

"Well...our clan has existed since the Heian era"

"What...? that is amazing to survive till your time...more than a 1000 years"

"Yeah", smirking his azure eyes glistened under the moonlight, "It is, but I never cared....does not matter to me I just need to find the clan in this era...and find a way back"

"But...how will you convince them you are part of the clan?"

"No need to worry, just my ability is enough to convince them~ I am that great after all~"

"Huh....you mean their are more people with powers like you?"

"Oh dear you have no idea~ how vast the world truly is- it's beyond your wildest dreams"

"Really?....where is your clan though?"

"Well...that's the point I don't know; in the modern times it's in Tokyo, but...I don't know where Tokyo is in this era...hah.." sighing he looked you with tired eyes

You paused

"I am sure you will find it...." smiling you looked at him trying to cheer him up

"I hope so~ if not ahhhhh I don't know what I will do~ maybe become head of the clan in this era or something?" with a wink he sneered

"Y...you know how hard it is to become a clan head? people DIE trying to do so...?" your eyes widened in horror

"Darling~" leaning in lips inches apart "All the worries are unnecessary, Afterall I am the strongest~ just trust me dear!"

Link to my pinned post which has my master list and other links! in case you want to read more of my works!

[I have tried my best to look through historical maps of Japan in the Heian era and hence many details I use will be historical just like in my first chapter. From food to location to lifestyle~] And thank you so much for more than a 100 followers! I am so glad you all like my work! my asks are open in case you have any questions for me etc~ I will put out a short intro of myself! <3

[hijackalx]

GORTASH NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

hmm honestly feel like it depends on if hes feeling u or not. if he was just trying to catch a nut hes rude af. like before he leaves he'll throw a wet rag at u. and he used cold water to get it wet �� BUTTTT if he really does like u i think he'll prolly run a bath for u both or something. i can see him washing ur hair/body for u 🥺

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

his chest duhhh lol thats why he walks around with his titties out. i think hes got a really good upper body in general. like shoulders/arms/chest. and i feel like hes an ass man. yes that means all booties ALL. he likes to spank, bite, and leave marks all over it. omggg the type to smack or pinch ur ass in public LMAO

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

yall already know im a firm believer that this man cums bucketfuls. he'll have u sitting there like "damn why is it still going" LMFAO almost exclusively wants to cum inside. to the point to where its hard to convince him not to. he wants to breed u sooo bad 😭😭

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

*NONCON MENTION* it gets him concerningly hard when u tell him no but let him do it anyway. like i dont think he would ever AGGRESSIVELY force u to do anything hence the "let him", but something about being able to change ur mind/overpower u does something to him *NONCON MENTION OVER*

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

well. i think hes an expert when it comes to pleasing himself (which is typically thru penetration, so for my AFABs if yall can finish vaginally just know he do be laying pipe 🤤) but he didnt really grow up caring about his sexual partners much lol. i do think he wants to please you though, like badly. thats the only reason hes willing to let u offer some guidance when it comes to giving oral/fingering u.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

mating press yall. like when he hooks ur legs over his shoulders and basically folds u like a lawn chair lol. also likes doggy though so he can pull ur hair and leave welts on ur ass lol.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

hes wayyyy too intense to be goofy at any moment while u guys are fuckin LMAO. like this man loves sex and gives his ALL. he puts his mf game face on and locks IN baby 😹😹

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

YESSSSSS !!!!! YES !!!!! this man is SO hairy EVERYWHERE !!!! the same texture as the hair on his head. im about to faint yall catch me

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

uhh. i can see him being kind of romantic on special occasions. but like i said hes pretty intense usually and to me that doesnt leave much room for romance lol. especially since he can be so mean too

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

yeah. like all the time. hes a hornball so if ur not around as an alternative he WILL be jizzing into his hand. omfg if yall are like, ever distanced from each other he will want to send nasty ass letters back and forth to keep him satisfied until u get back LMAO god forbid they ever end up at the wrong place

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

his office. will fuck on every surface and up against every wall. everyone else is afraid to touch anything in there 😭

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

he likes when u seem weaker than him, either in the sense that he has a physical or mental advantage over u. dont let anyone else treat u like that tho or he'll think ur a pussy lol

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

^^ as i mentioned letting other ppl have the same power over u as he does is a turn off. so if ur like me u got to grow a backbone or get the boot 🥾🤾‍♀️ 😭😭  anyway. i dont think he'll be willing to do anything that makes him feel "lesser" or more submissive. i mean u could probably trick him into doing it if u make him think its his idea or something LMAO

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

i genuinely think he eventually gains an affinity for giving ??? he likes the sounds u make and the way u pull his hair. so yeah, gives lots of kisses and will mutter a lot of praises while down there too. dont get me wrong though u better be giving back too 😹😹

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

rough as fuckkkk bro. doesnt ever like to be gentle. sex just brings out a lot of aggression in him. u will be sore and bruised after. if u convince him to chill out he'll be a pouty baby about it

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

anywhere and everywhere possible. i dont think its a goal of his to be seen by others while doing it but i also dont think he cares so that doesnt really stop him

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he'll try to get u to do all kinds of fucked up shit. including shit that is probably lowkey dangerous 😹😹 hes pretty sadistic so get ready gurl

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

15-20 mins max shawty lmao sorry 😹😹 and since he wants to act like a wild ape ur prolly not getting a round 2 since he wore himself out. but if u didnt get off in time he'll use his hand to help u finish even if hes sleepy 😴

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

will tease u at random times throughout the day by saying some absolutely horrendous shit in ur ear while ur in public and then acting like nothing happened. but usually doesnt want to waste much time before the act, so he might tease just enough to get u ready. nothing more though

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

heavy grunter and breather. will only moan occasionally if its really hitting right 😹😹 if u do get him to moan i can see it being decently loud. its like a reward

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

very high libido man........ prepare ur hole 🪦

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

sometimes he can stay awake long enough for aftercare but other times itll have to come after a power nap 😭 youll be like "bae how was it" and turn around to see him completely unconscious. snoring and everythang

[honeyhotteoks]

this night together - chapter eleven (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter eleven: a new love song

chapter summary: time, and a well worded letter, heals all wounds. finally, it's time to let go.

warnings: nothing really, social drinking, etc.

notes: reminder that if you're reading this on or around 12.3.23 when it's posted, i'm uploading three chapters at once! if you haven't read chapter ten, go do that before you skip ahead!!

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 5.2k

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3

The party is bright, bursting with light and color and art. You can feel Hongjoong’s presence everywhere from the moment you step through the doors and you almost feel underdressed. You selected your outfit for him, something a little bolder than you’d normally do, but something that truly suits the occasion and the honored guest. You adjust the top of your black trousers and glance down to ensure the cream white blouse that is parted open is still firmly secured with the hidden tape you painstakingly applied.  You hope your lipstick is staying put. 

The listening party for New World’s new mini album is in full swing, but the night is about more than just that. Their tour has ended, everyone back on Korean soil, and it will be the first time anyone will hear the album from start to finish and the first time you’ll be face to face with them again.

Three months of nothing, no contact except the letter. The letter you’ve read about a hundred times. 

You texted Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa of course, and they mentioned Yunho and Mingi occasionally, but always in the broader context of what they were doing on tour. You saw them in pictures, travel shots on Instagram or Snapchat stories of their nights out, but otherwise nothing. For three months you let it marinate, and your feelings haven’t changed in the slightest. All you have to do now is find them in this crowd and clear the air. 

It’s no surprise you’re as late as you are, your stomach was in knots getting ready and leaving your apartment had you practically coming apart at the seams. The idea of talking to them is simple, but you’ve rehearsed what you want to say over and over and you can’t imagine how they’ll respond. You take a glass of sparkling wine from one of the caterers and realize there are far more people here than you thought there would be. When you pictured a listening party you expected an intimate crowd, but the gallery space KQ rented is full of faces, some you know and some you don’t. You’re pretty sure you’ve missed the album playthrough at this point, you just hope no one’s noticed your absence. 

“You look so good!” A voice from behind you makes you turn, and you smile when you see Dahan in her sparkly wrap dress. 

“So do you,” You give her a quick, friendly hug. 

“This is your first one, right?” She asks, looking past you to find a drink tray. 

“Listening party?” You clarify, “Yeah,” 

“This is definitely the nicest one so far,” She all but whispers to you, “New World is pulling in that tour money now,” 

“Ah,” You nod. 

“Usually it’s at a nice restaurant or something, not quite so many people,” She explains, snagging a drink, “not that I’m complaining, dressing up is fun,” 

“Do you see Hongjoong at all?” You crane your neck and look through some of the bodies, but you can’t really see anyone else you know closely. 

“Mm,” She joins you, “no, but Yujin and some of the others are over there,” 

You follow her gaze, “Perfect,” 

She starts weaving through and you follow, keeping close to her and protecting your drink as you side step around and behind people. 

When you make it to the little circle of BB Trippin dancers, you slot right in alongside Dahan and give everyone a smile, “Hey,” 

Everyone greets you warmly, but you wonder absently where your little pocket of close friends are hiding. Yujin draws your attention though when she says, “Jaemin’s here,” 

“He is?” Your eyes widen. You barely ever see him, but it does make sense that he would attend an opportunity to bump elbows with people in the industry. 

“Mhm,” She nods, “I saw him talking to Yunho earlier.” 

Butterflies curl in your stomach, “Yunho’s here?” 

“Mhm,” She takes a sip of her drink, “somewhere,” 

“You look really nice,” Minseok interrupts, stepping a little closer so you can hear him better, “I like the whole, you know,” he gestures up and down to indicate he means your outfit and you nod. 

“Thanks,” You nod, “you clean up nice too,” 

“Oh yeah?” He shrugs, “Thanks,” 

You start to turn back to Yujin who looks like she has something more to say, but Minseok keeps going, “Have you met Hongjoong?” 

“Oh,” You start. 

“He’s a nice guy,” He continues, “you’d like his vibe, or at least, I think you would,” 

“Actually,” 

“I’m not sure if you know this or not, but it’s his voice that’s on a lot of the initial guide tracks we get,”

You do know that, but you nod and take a long sip of your drink, ice slipping down and connecting with your lip as you tip it back a little further. 

“He’s a bit eccentric,” Minseok continues. 

“Who’s a bit eccentric?” Seonghwa cuts in, stepping into the circle and cutting smoothly between you and Minseok, another drink for you ready in his hands. 

Minseok’s lips close. 

“Hi, Hwa,” You smile, “that for me?” 

“Of course,” He trades your nearly empty glass for the full one and leans in to press a fast kiss on your cheek, “you look beautiful,” 

“Stop,” You resist the urge to actually nudge him in front of too many people and give off the wrong idea about how close the two of you are, but you give him the best withering look you can. 

He ignores you though, “Who’s eccentric?” 

“Oh,” You do your best to keep the smile off your lips, “Minseok was just telling me about Hongjoong,” 

“Mm,” Seonghwa glances to the side at him, “is he?” 

“Artistic might be the right word,” Minseok corrects himself. 

“Well, that’s true,” You nod. 

“Oh,” Minseok blinks, “so you know him?” 

“Well, yes, I,” You start to say but Seonghwa cuts you off. 

“Speak of the devil,” He nods and when you turn you catch sight of Hongjoong heading right for you both. He’s dressed in the most decadent dark blue velvet suit you’ve ever seen, and the combination of that and his freshly dyed blue hair makes him look like more of an idol, not a producer. 

“My ears were burning,” Hongjoong says wryly, and then his eyes flick over you, “I love this,” 

“I thought you might,” You grin, moving forwards to greet him with a hug, “congratulations, Hongjoong, this is all beautiful,” 

“Thank you so much for coming,” He gives you a squeeze, “we keep missing each other for dinner,” 

“I know, I’ve been so busy lately,” You tell him, “but let’s plan something soon,” 

He nods and smiles and then turns his attention to the group, “Thank you all so much for coming,” he says. 

Minseok looks a little put out next to Seonghwa, and you hope you didn’t embarrass him, but he and everyone else greets Hongjoong and they loop through the congratulations on the finished album. Once pleasantries are done, he focuses his attention back on you, “I have someone I want you to meet,” he says. 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm,” His hand settles on your back as he turns to the group, “can I steal these two for a bit?” He nods his head towards you and Seonghwa. 

He doesn’t really wait for permission, he’s just being polite, and he steers you out of the circle and starts walking you back through the crowd closer to the stage area. 

“When did you get in?” Hongjoong asks Seonghwa as you walk. 

“This morning,” He says, “we were supposed to land last night but our flight was so delayed leaving LA,” 

“Thank you for coming anyways,” Hongjoong smiles, “I’m sure you’re exhausted,” 

“It’s fine,” He shrugs it off, “we’ll get back on timezone soon, I’m sure,” 

“Flight was okay otherwise?” You ask, but Seonghwa catches your eye and gives you a knowing smile. 

“Mhm,” He nods, “We’re all home safe and sound, I’m sure everyone else is here somewhere,” 

“Good,” Your throat feels tight, the idea that around one of these corners you’ll find Yunho and Mingi, “that’s good,” 

After three months without any contact, you’re going to have to physically restrain yourself from blurting out how you feel the second you see them. The last time they saw you was awkward at best, and considering the way you left things after the fight, the quickest way to confuse them would be to tell them you want them back with no apology, no preamble. But either way the words still form on your tongue in your imagination, and you’re mid internal monologue when Hongjoong stops walking and brings you back to reality. 

“y/n,” He says, gesturing to the couple across from you, “Seonghwa, I’d like you to meet Choi Jongho and his fiance Kim Eunji,” 

“Oh!” You can’t help the surprised sound that leaves you, “You’re the vocalist Hongjoong has told me so much about!”

Choi Jongho smiles politely, eyes flicking to Hongjoong, but then he nods, “That’s me,” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” You dip your head in quick acknowledgement. 

“So, you’re y/n?” Eunji says before Jongho can finish out the polite greetings and confusion runs through you. 

She’s looking at you with warmth and kindness, and it’s not often that omegas meeting each other for the first time are quite so positive and open. You’re used to a little hesitation, especially when alphas are around, everyone becoming a little territorial in mixed company, but Eunji seems unphased. 

“I am,” You nod as your brain starts to catch up. 

“Hongjoong mentioned you,” She explains at your confused expression, “I was hoping I’d get a chance to say hello,” 

“He did?” 

“Sorry, let me explain,” She smiles, “my little sister is debuting with your company soon,” 

“Oh!” Your brows shoot up and you run through the girls you’ve worked with to realize the common surname, “you’re Jiwoo’s sister?” 

“Yes!” She nods excitedly, “We’re very proud of her,” 

“That’s so nice,” You smile, relaxed now that you understand her abrupt familiarity, “she’s a very good dancer,” 

Eunji beams. 

“She’ll be debuting as main dancer,” Seonghwa nods, “for good reason,” 

Jongho smiles, his hand sweeping a warm line up and down his wife’s back, “Jiwoo says you and the others have been very kind during their preparations,” 

“Well,” You nod, “they’re working very hard, and I’m sure debut must be scary enough, there’s no need to add extra pressure,” 

“It is,” Jongho hums knowingly, and you recall Hongjoong mentioning he was from another idol group that had disbanded. You wonder idly in the back of your mind how difficult it really was for him judging by the brief expression on his face. 

“Exactly,” Hongjoong offers, “I thought you’d all like to meet considering the mutual acquaintance,” 

“Absolutely,” You say, “it’s been lovely,” 

Eunji is about to say something more, but Seonghwa’s hand brushes your upper arm and he leans into your ear, “At the bar,” 

“What?” You glance up at him and he nods past Jongho and Eunji. Your eyes follow his.  

The air leaves your lungs, but you feel Seonghwa’s thumb brush a comforting line over your skin, “Go,” 

“Hwa,”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Seonghwa interrupts you and gives a dazzling smile to your party, “her partners just arrived and it’s been a few months with the tour,” 

You’ll have to have a word with him about his word choice later, you notice the way Hongjoong’s eyes widen, but Jongho and Eunji just nod with understanding. The bond between alphas and their omega isn’t something to be taken lightly, and they take a step back to clear your path. 

You recover just enough to leave with normal pleasantries, “Thank you, sorry to run,” 

“No, no, of course,” Jongho nods, “it was nice to meet you.” 

“If I ever drop by the studio to see Jiwoo,” Eunji adds, “I’ll make sure to say hello,” 

“That would be nice, I look forward to it,” Your body is all but screaming at you to move now. 

“Well,” Seonghwa pushes you forwards, “I’m sure we’ll see each other later on in the evening,” 

Hongjoong says something more but you don’t quite hear it, and suddenly you’re being propelled forwards. Seonghwa dips his head towards you ear, “Good luck, be braver than I would be,” 

And then you’re alone, surrounded by bodies but alone nevertheless. 

You’re not exactly prepared for how you’re going to feel when you see them again. It’s been months, and the first thought that strikes you is how much they’ve changed in such a short time. Mingi looks broader somehow, but his face looks a little thinner and more angular, like he’s lost weight from all the performances and training and travel. Yunho’s hair is a little longer, the back a shaggier against his neck, but intentionally so, and the cut of his jacket makes his shoulders look wider. You want to barrel into their chests and tug them as close to you as you can, but instead you take a steadying breath and just give yourself a second to drink them in. 

You can’t stop yourself from smiling at the way they stand side by side as they wait for their drinks at the bar, and butterflies ripple through you, but despite everything you felt while they were gone there’s no fear. You just missed them, really and truly missed them. 

You’re moving before you consciously think it through and you watch their eyes widen when they see you coming, but it only spurns you on faster until you’re all but crashing into their sides at the bar. 

“Hey,” You’re just so happy to see them you can’t get the grin off your face, “you��re back,” 

“We’re back,” Mingi nods, and you can see the hesitation in his face. 

“I’m,” A million words run through your mind, but you settle on the truth, “so happy to see you,” 

“You are?” Yunho’s brows go high. 

“Yeah,” You step a little closer, letting the words you’ve been holding finally roll off your tongue, “this isn’t the place to talk, but yes, I’m happy to see you, I missed you both.”

Mingi exhales heavily and his lips quirk up. 

Lowering your voice a little more, you hold Mingi’s gaze, “I got your letter,” 

Yunho’s head twists to the side, confusion all over his face as he looks to Mingi for clarity. 

“We should talk,” You want to reach out so badly, but you hold it back for now, “but I wanted you both to know I’m sorry too, and I’m really glad you’re home now,” 

“Me too,” Mingi nods. 

“Good,” You sigh, “that’s good,”

“Are we okay?” Mingi glances between both of you. 

“Yes,” You nod, “I still think we should talk, we left things badly before, but I thought a lot about everything and I don’t want things to be uncomfortable anymore.” 

In the background you hear the speakers cut off the ambient music, and someone taps on a microphone to check that it’s connected. You glance towards the stage and see someone preparing to introduce Hongjoong. 

“Should we go somewhere?” Yunho asks, “Now?” 

The man on stage clears his throat into the microphone. 

You shake your head, “Not tonight, I want to be here for Hongjoong,” 

“Of course,” He backtracks. 

You reach for him this time, resting your hand on his forearm, “But maybe later this week when you’re settled we can just clear the air. I have some things I want to tell you,” 

He swallows tightly, and you can feel that he’s a little nervous but he nods, “Sure,” 

“I just,” You step back and look between them both, “I didn’t want you to stress about coming back to the studio,” 

The relief is palpable between all three of you as Hongjoong takes the stage, and Mingi says, “For a second I was worried you weren’t going to be here,” 

“No, I was just running so late,” You admit. 

“You’ve been okay?” He asks. 

“I am,” You nod, “you both are?”

“Good,” Mingi says. 

“Tired,” Yunho shrugs, and you suppose you can see a little of that in his eyes. 

“Seonghwa said your flights were delayed,” 

“Something like ten hours,” He sighs. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to come back tomorrow already?” You press them, “You’ll be jet lagged,” 

“We’ll be fine,” Yunho smiles a little at your concern, “don’t worry,” 

There’s a pause, a bubbling lull between you, but you can’t keep yourself from saying it, “I really am so glad to see you,” 

“Me too,” Yunho says. 

Mingi nods, but then his eyes flick up and he gestures behind you, “Someone’s looking for you,” 

You check over your shoulder and see Wooyoung lingering nearby and when he catches your eyes he points to his glass and then to you, checking to see if you need another and giving you a smooth out if you need one. You shake your head and turn back to Yunho and Mingi, “I should go,” 

“Okay,” Mingi says. 

You think suddenly if you walk away without making a plan you’ll think of nothing else all night until you can’t sleep, “Saturday,” you blurt out, “are you free?” 

“Yeah,” Yunho says and Mingi nods. 

“Let’s get dinner,” You say it before you can panic and take it back, “you can tell me about tour and I can… I have things I want to tell you,” 

“Just say when and where,” Mingi says, “we’re there.” 

“Okay,” You sigh, “good, perfect,”

You can practically feel Wooyoung hovering at your back and you take a deep breath as you step away, but part of you wishes you could just take Yunho up on his offer to get out of here. 

“y/n,” Yunho smiles a little, stopping you in your tracks, “you look happy,” 

“I am happy,” You tell him honestly. 

“That’s good,” He breathes. 

“Saturday,” You nod, “I’ll catch you both up on Saturday,” 

You see a flicker of something in Mingi’s expression, but then he smiles, “Wouldn’t miss it,” 

You turn before you lose your nerve and run straight into Wooyoung carrying two full glasses of champagne. 

“Everything okay?” He asks, pushing a glass into your hands, some of the bubbling liquid spilling over the sides and over your fingers. 

“Good,” You assure him, tugging him away from the bar and towards the back wall where you can talk to him unobserved. 

“I wasn’t sure if you needed rescuing,” 

“I didn’t,” You tell him, “I was doing fine,” 

“Shit,” He grimaces, “did I fuck up your moment?” 

“No, no,” You shake your head, “we’re meeting on Saturday, I’m going to talk to them then,” 

Something’s a little hurried in his face though, his eyes glancing past you again and again, and you can feel that he’s not exactly present. 

“Woo,” You start but he locks his eyes with yours and cuts you off. 

“I think I just met the love of my life,” He stammers, “I might fucking faint,” 

“What?” You hush him, pressing him back into the wall behind you, “Are you serious?” 

“I’m not going to faint for real,” He swats your hands away, “but I don’t know, y/n, I can’t breathe. My fucking chest is tight,” 

“Holy shit,” You manage. 

“I know,” He nods, “I know,” 

“You’re not close to your heat are you?” You probe him, wondering if you need to make a break for San and Seonghwa. 

“No,” He shakes his head, laying a cool hand on his flushed cheeks, “it’s nothing like that,” 

You nod relieved, “Well, then what happened?” 

“Okay,” He takes a long steadying breath, “you see that guy on stage? The one to the left of Hongjoong?” 

“Choi Jongho?” Your voice spikes up and he shushes you frantically. 

“No, oh my god,” He waves his hand to get your volume down, “he’s engaged, y/n, no, the other one,” 

You look to the left of Jongho and take in the third man on stage. He’s the one who introduced Hongjoong, his voice low and velvety soft. He has long blonde hair that brushes his collar bones, the top half gathered into a messy but chic bun. You can tell from here he’s handsome, devastatingly so, with a cool expression and his lips parted just enough to make you wonder how he kisses. 

“Oh,” You nod, “got it,” 

“Exactly,” He runs a panicked hand through his own hair. 

“He’s an alpha?” You surmise, “Did you catch his scent or,” 

Wooyoung’s shaking his head frantically before he can finish his words, “He’s a beta,” 

You can’t control the surprise in your expression, Wooyoung’s only ever really gone for alphas. It makes sense, most omegas do, considering the hindbrain of it all, but Wooyoung’s looking about as wrecked as you’ve ever seen someone. 

On stage, Hongjoong gestures towards the two men on his left and you switch your focus from Wooyoung’s whining panic to the man addressing the crowd, “I have one more announcement to make tonight,” he says, “something that would not have been possible to announce without Choi Jongho. I don’t think I need to tell you what a talent he is and how lucky we are at KQ to have brought him on. We have a preview of something we’d like to share, once again, something I felt very creatively supported in by Kang Yeosang,”

“That’s him,” Wooyoung hisses next to your ear and you refocus, “Kang Yeosang,” 

“Shh!” You hush him, but by the time you can hear Hongjoong again, he’s moved on to announcing that he’s going to preview Jongho’s new single, and you roll your eyes to refocus on Wooyoung, “So who’s this guy?” 

“Creative director,” He explains quickly, “album art, concepts, the works.” 

“Damn,” You manage. 

“He’s so fucking smart, y/n, you have no idea,” He breathes. 

“So you actually talked to him?”

“Talked to him?” He laughs, “I had his cock down my throat like thirty minutes ago,” 

“Jesus Christ, Wooyoung, that’s too much information,” You smack his arm. 

He rolls his eyes and continues, “We bumped into each other in the hall, like physically bumped into each other. I spilled my drink all down his nice white shirt,” 

The shirt Yeosang is wearing is still crisp white, so you assume there’s more to this story before he even keeps going. 

“I felt like an idiot,” He admits, “pulled him into the bathroom and told him I could fix it right up with a little club soda,” 

“Okay,” 

“He barely said anything at first,” Wooyoung continues, “I was just rinsing his shirt out while he stood there half naked looking like Michalangelo or something,” 

“I don’t think Michaelangelo was very cut,” You smirk. 

“The statute,” He swats you, “you know the one, don’t fuck with me,” 

“Okay, fine, go on,” 

“Anyway,” He sighs, “I was just talking, keeping the conversation going, fucking babbling while I washed out his shirt and then before I knew it he had me pressed up against the mirror with his tongue down my throat,” 

“Wow,” 

“One thing led to another,” He blushes again, “and then we just talked while I finished drying his button down,” 

“Wow, again,” You breathe. 

“I know,” He breathes, “I’ve never felt like this,” 

“Okay,” You squeeze his hand, “but, Woo, this is a good thing,” 

“I know, but I’m kind of fucking terrified,” He admits, “is this how you felt?”

“Pretty much,” 

“It’s awful,” He admits. 

“Tell me about it,” 

The crowd around you starts clapping, the speeches are over, and the men on stage start to head down the side steps to rejoin the crowd as the single begins to play. Everyone in the room is listening attentively to the music except you and Wooyoung. 

“What are you going to do?” You ask him, your voice low. 

“Go home with him,” Wooyoung checks his watch and then presses his untouched glass of champagne into your hands, “I’ve got to go,”

“Whoa,” You shake your head, “are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“I’m a big boy,” He rolls his eyes again. 

“Text me his number, and his address,” You insist, “and check in with me tomorrow. If you don’t, I’m calling Seonghwa and San.” 

“Oh my god, please don’t do that.” He grimaces, texting you Yeosang’s contact information anyways. 

“Don’t make me,” You tell him. 

“Fine,” 

“Have fun, please be safe,” You’d take his hand, but yours are full of champagne. You hope the genuineness of your expression gets your point across to him. 

“I will,” he promises, “and I’ll call you. We’ll talk all about Saturday too, I just,” 

“I get it,” You nod, “honestly, I do,” 

“Thank you,” His eyes soften, “and please, don’t tell San and Seonghwa. Not yet,” 

“I won’t,” You assure him, “just go, be happy,” 

“You too, okay?” He smiles, “Whatever it is, you do it. You deserve it after all this,” 

Your stomach warms at that, and you know he’s right, you just want to do this the right way for once. Over Wooyoung’s shoulder you see the blonde man in question smoothly cutting his way through the crowd, and you nod towards him, “Get out of here, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” 

He’s gone without another word, just a rushed smile as he weaves his way towards Yeosang, a bright and beaming grin now on his face. He’s a goner, you can see it clear as day. A brief flickering question passes through your mind of how this might affect his dynamic with Seonghwa and San, but given the way your best friend is lit up from the inside it doesn’t even matter. If you deserve to be happy like that, so does he, however it happens. 

With Wooyoung gone, you take a moment to survey the room, but you can’t find your group anymore. You see people from KQ you recognize, but your normal BB Trippin group is nowhere in sight and Yunho and Mingi are no longer towering over everyone at the end of the bar. You listen to the rest of the new single, something soulful and rooted in R&B just like Hongjoong had described to you all those months ago. 

As you listen to the crooning love song, your mind loops through the encounter with Yunho and Mingi, of every microexpression and you get lost in your plans for Saturday yet again. How you’ll tell them you’re sorry, how you’re ready to move on and to be honest with one another. How much you still want them, that you might love them. 

You don’t know how long you’re standing there by the back wall, thoughts tumbling over what-ifs when you’re brought back to reality. 

“Tough night?” A voice makes you jump, a little more champagne dipping out of your glasses as you turn to the side. 

“Hey, Minseok,” You laugh a little, “you scared me,” 

“Sorry,” He smiles, begging off, “I just meant the two drinks, and you know, hiding in the corner,” 

“Oh,” You shake your head, “no, Wooyoung ran off and stuck me with his glass. Do you want?” You offer it to him. 

“Sure,” He nods, smoothly taking the glass from your hands. 

You take a quick sip from yours and clear your throat softly, “So, enjoying the party?” 

He nods, “It’s nice, but honestly I was just about to get out of here and call it a night,” 

“Me too,” You nod. You’d try to say goodbye to Hongjoong, but he’s been tied up all evening mingling, and without any of your friends in sight it seems as good a time as any to slip out. 

“Let me walk you out,” He offers, plucking the champagne from your fingertips and placing both glasses on one of the nearby side service tables. 

You probably would have finished it, and a flicker of annoyance passes through you, but you let it pass and nod, “Sure,” 

You’re not far from the door, and he organizes grabbing both of your checked jackets as he makes small talk, “Are you taking the train or,” 

“I’ll probably order a car,” You usually do when it’s late like this and you’ve had a few drinks despite the extra cost. 

“Me too,” He nods, passing your jacket over. 

You shrug it on and search for something to say, but Minseok isn’t as forthcoming and chatty as some of the other dancers, “Do you live closeby?” 

“More towards Itaewon,” He zips his jacket and gestures towards the exit doors that will lead you out onto the street. 

“Mm,” You nod, pushing through the doors. 

“You know, we could,” Minseok starts to say, but the minute you step aside you finally see some familiar faces. 

“There you are!” You smile, and your familiar group of dancers turns at your voice. 

Minseok says something else, but you don’t quite catch it and you spin to apologize quickly over your shoulder before rejoining your friends. 

“I thought you left,” San ushers you over to their group. 

“Good timing,” Seonghwa adds, “my car’s not far, you want a ride?” 

“Sure,” You nod, you’ll never turn down a less expensive rideshare. 

Yunho and Mingi are talking with Jaemin at the edge of the group, but you catch Mingi’s glancing eye and give him a smile. It’s impossible to just smooth over your last real conversation with them, but you’re trying to signal in every little way that you want to move past it, that his letter meant something. You’ll lay out the rest for them as soon as you get them alone. 

He smiles back, quickly catching that you’re about to leave and you can see that he wants to step away from the conversation he’s having about some missteps from the tour. 

“Have you seen Wooyoung?” San asks, bringing your attention back. 

“For a second,” You nod, but look away from quickly as you try to tell a vague white lie, “I think he already split,” 

He hums, but then Seonghwa gently taps your back, “Car,” 

“Oh, perfect,” You step with him and turn to the group, “goodnight everyone, see you in the morning!” 

Dahan and San both give quick, small waves. 

“Goodnight,” Mingi says, his conversation stuttering to a pause so he can address you, “see you,” 

“See you tomorrow,” Yunho adds, nodding. 

Your stomach feels like it might flutter right out of your body. 

“I’ll have him drop you first,” Seonghwa says as he helps you into the car, jogging to the opposite side to get in himself. 

As the car pulls away you feel lighter than you have in months, and seeing them again makes everything feel so much more sure. They’re real, they’re back, and they want to see you too. Everything else falls to the side, for once the path forwards is crystal clear. 

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄYou Get Meꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Reader Until The Others Turn Yandere Au

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Japanese language is red

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

You Get Me

“Shit, shit, shit!” Y/n paces back and forth in her basement, her hands rubbing her arms viciously as she bites her lip.

“What do I do now?” She hisses, tears of frustration almost falling as she stares at the unconscious men with their arms and legs bound by rope, leaning against the wall. Her hands move to the back of her neck, sweat running down her skin as she hyperventilates. She whines as she crouches and bends over, covering her face before hitting her head as she curses herself.

“Y/n, what the fuck is wrong with you?” She growls. “They’re either gonna kill you or you’re going to jail you dumbass!”

She just couldn’t take it any longer. When she first set eyes on each of them, she couldn’t help but fall in love. She knew, since the beginning as she stalked them and observed everything about them, that they belonged together. So that’s why it really hurt when she got rejected by each of them for not being their type, seemingly the reasons not being physical but more so they thought she was boring, some saying it nicer than others.

She even followed them to their favorite spots a few times to show that she could have a good time as well though none of them seemed to notice her. It became so frustrating. So excruciatingly painful that they just couldn’t see her the way she wanted them to. It was even more terrible when she watched their hookups and the romantic partners they went through, even going as far as vomiting when she saw the sex. It’s as if they were mocking her, shoving it in her face even though she was the one invading their privacy.

“I’m so stupid.” She groans as she sits in a chair at an old desk, her fingers holding her forehead up as she closes her eyes and rubs her temples.

“What the hell is this?” The sound of Mikey’s voice waking up caused her to look up at all of them. She could only stare in awe as they all came to the surface, eyes slowly opening as they took in their surroundings.

“You again.” Sanzu says as they make eye contact.

“U-uh yeah, haha me again. So, I know this is a little unexpected for you guys, and trust me it really wasn’t planned, but…!”

“So, you did this on a whim?” Kazutora questions.

“Not necessarily, but…”

“Someone can’t handle rejection.” Ran eyes her with the same bored expression he used when he rejected her.

“How pathetic.” Rin says with the same expression. Her eyebrows furrowed, everyone looking over when her fist hit the table, dust flying everywhere.

“Shut the fuck…! Okay, look. I know that this is bad, okay. I just… I…”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what to do, Y/n.” Sanzu rolls his eyes.

“That’s what it looks like. Maybe you should’ve planned better.” Rin replies.

“Come on guys, clearly this is the best she could do.” Kazutora chuckles.

“Can you hurry up so I can get Dorayaki? This is boring.” Mikey huffs.

“Awe. Look, she’s getting embarrassed.” Ran laughs.

She could only look at them with a warm face, tears building up, not just because of their words, but because they think of her as a measly joke. The more they talk, the more she questions her own relation to them. Doubting herself and her feelings as the stupidity lingers, causing her to walk out of the basement to get some fresh air.

“Holy fuck they’re mean.” She sniffs as she wipes her eyes, walking in to the bathroom.

What did you expect? You kidnapped them after they made it clear they don’t fuck with you. Now you’ve made a fool of yourself.

“I knoooow.” She whines, as she stares in the mirror.

“Okay, get it together, Y/n! Let’s just knock them out and then we’ll let them go. This really isn’t you, anyway.” She whispers, lightly smacking her face.

She walks out of the bathroom towards the basement, opening the door and walking down the stairs.

“Okay, guys. I’m gonna let you go but I have to…”

Her eyes widen as the hairs on her body stand up, goosebumps forming as anxiety shoots her, eyeing the empty space with the ropes scattered. Her hands began trembling as she looked around the room. She begins to hyperventilate, standing in the same spot as she continues to stare at the space they used to sit at.

“Boo.” She hears before she could turn to face the culprit, a force on her head causes her to immediately fall into darkness.

Just waking up, she hears a familiar voice say, “You know, I was almost scared you wouldn’t pass the test, Y/n.” When she fully awakens, she pulls at the restraints, cuffs tight around her wrists as they link to chains from a wall that isn’t hers. She glares at her culprits in surprise.

“Wh-what test? Wait! Please don’t kill me, I was gonna let you go!” Honestly, she should want to die. Who gets abducted by the people they abducted in the first place?

She flinches when Kazutora crouches in front of her to pat her head.

“We knew the whole time that we were being watched.” He says before standing back.

“We just wanted to see how far you’d go.” Ran says with an amused smile.

“Pretty bold of you to kidnap us. Even though you had no idea what you were doing.” Rin smirks.

“That’s why we rejected you and let me tell you, you didn’t disappoint. We knew you’d go far but this is even better.” Sanzu says.

She stares at them in bewilderment.

So everything was planned to trigger me? The rejection, the hookups, the dating, the everything? They knew everything.

“S-so you played with me?”

“Well, not yet.” Mikey jokes, causing the rest to laugh. “But yes, we had to see if you were truly on our level.” He says as he crouches in front of her.

“Isn’t that why you feel the connection, Y/n? Because, we’re the same. You’re just as twisted as us.” Sanzu responds.

“No, no, no! I didn’t play with anyone’s feelings! I-I was honest about everything. We’re not the same! Not like I thought.” She says, voice shaky as the realization that she’s been infatuated with psychopaths seeps into her mind.

“Unfortunately, we thought you’d kill those girls, though you never did. That was disappointing so it was exciting when we let you drug and kidnap us.” Kazutora says with a content expression.

“Stop.”

“Or when we fucked them because we knew you were watching.” Rin adds.

“Stop it!” So they were taunting me? When they would look out the window, they knew I was there?! I was right?

“Your attempt was very cute.” Ran chuckles.

“What did you think was going to happen? We deal with this type of shit everyday.” Sanzu says.

“STOP! Just stop fucking talking!”

“What’s with the long face? Are you not happy that we’ve chosen you?” Mikey questions as he tilts his head.

“This… this was not how it was s-supposed to go, just let me go!”

“Oh, so it’s only okay when you make moves, huh? You’re not very fair are you?” Rin taunts.

“Yeah, I thought you loved us unconditionally. What’s with the change of heart?” Kazutora mocks.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s no longer your choice anymore.” Sanzu shrugs.

“You don’t have to do the big boy work anymore so you can relax, Princess.” Ran gives a closed eye smile.

“I… I want to go home! Please just let me go.” She pleads.

“That’s too bad. You’re not going anywhere.” Mikey states. “Sanzu, we’re done here.” After he announces their dismissal to the conversation, everyone steps back as they get comfortable on the scattered couches and chairs as Sanzu walks towards her.

“What’s happening? What are you gonna do?”

He kneels in front of her as he crawls in between her legs.

“I found you first so I get first dibs.”

She gasps as he pulls her bottoms down swiftly.

“W-wait! No, I’m not ready!”

“Relax.” He demands, moving back as he pulls her from her sitting position causing her to lean her back uncomfortably against the wall. She tries to squeeze them shut as she pulls on the restraints. She also tries to ignore the piercing gazes of the others who already have their erections out. In any other event she would’ve been excited if it weren’t for what has happened in the last few hours. His hands hold her thighs up as one of his fingers slither up her pussy through her underwear.

“You’re so wet. Of course you’d be turned on by this.”

“P-please don’t do this! Just give me some time, Sanzu!” He looks up at her mesmerized by how her voice sounded saying his name.

“I always knew that you’d be worth every life we took.” Her eyes widened.

“Your friends were taking up too much of your time and attention.” Mikey says. “That’s supposed to be ours.”

“Especially that clown you called a ‘boy best friend.’ Obviously you liked him, what were you thinking?” Kazutora laughs.

“You did what?! How… How could you do that? What the fuck is wrong with you people?! Let me out of here!”

“How else were you going to notice us?”

She shrieks as Sanzu enters her pussy, gripping her thighs as he thrusts all the way to her cervix. Holding it there as he wipes her tears.

“I only want those tears to be from me.”

He began to thrust as he pulled her against him each time his hips came forward, skin smacking skin as he went balls deep relentlessly. She cries as she couldn’t help the reflexed moans and whimpers falling out of her throat as his head repeatedly hits her g-spot. Her legs tense as the chains connected to her wrists rattle. His hand wraps around her waist as he pulls her closer onto his kneeling lap, fucking into her at a deeper angle as he rests his face on the crook of her neck. His heavy breathing and slight moaning hit her ears and neck causing tingles to run up her spine.

She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to keep seeing the others who are observing, jerking their own cocks as they glare at her with so much lust that it makes her have goosebumps.

“This feels so fucking good.” He whispers to himself, her pussy clenching as she prevents herself from enabling him by grinding back. She feels sick and disgusted at herself for the pleasure his cock is bringing. Her tears fall heavily as he continues to thrust his cock in and out of her hole, working them up to their release.

Each man, besides Sanzu, sat, stroking their cocks as occasional moans slipped, breathing heavily as they watched their woman getting plummeted by dick, the sounds of her moans and wet pussy turning them on to the highest points as they thrust their hips against their hand. Mikey gets up to unchain her as Sanzu places her on her hands and knees, pushing her upper back lower so her chest meets the floor, everyone getting a side view of him fucking her in doggy style.

She uses her arms to cover her face, her head forced to turn towards the guys by Mikey.

“If you move your head and don’t keep your eyes open, we’ll kill your family one by one.” He walks back to his spot on the couch and continues to fap his cock. She cries even harder at his threat, reminding her of the reason for her friend’s disappearances.

After a few minutes, Sanzu began to feel himself about to cum. She tenses as she looks back, “Wait, I’m not on birth control!”

“We’ll take care of it.” He begins to thrust harder.

“Ah fuck.” He moans as he pushes himself deeper inside, releasing the fluid as she orgasms, feeling the semen filling her being her last straw. The rest of the men shoot ropes of sperm as they give one last thrust. When he pulls out of her, her body falls to the ground as she lays out, exhausted and defeated.

“You’re not done yet, Y/n.”

“You wanted this, so you’re gonna take it all like a big girl, okay?”

[ccaramel-llow]

Can I request tadc reader where they're very sweet and nonchalant with people even when they're mean to them?

TADC! Cast x reader

Warnings ; Cussing, Bullying, Jax, Not proof read, Obsessive behavior, Death threats, Holding hands before marriage? smh.

Genre ; Fluff + Romance

Pairings ; Queenie/Reader, Kinger/Reader, Kaufmo/reader, Pomni/Reader, Ragatha/Reader, Zooble/Reader, Caine/Reader, Jax/Reader

Queenie

, The competitive x The sweetheart.

, She's overprotective of you and cusses out anyone who's rude to you.

, Beautiful scary guard dog x The kind sweetheart, Literally punches anyone if they made you cry

, She never does it in front of others although, She makes sure your distracted because she doesn't wanna lose you.

, Gets flustered as you boost up her ego if you complimented her when she finished one of caine's bullshitty challenges

, Always gives you a kiss on the forehead and tells you how proud she is of you and how much she loves you after finishing a challenge.

, She likes to hear you rant about stuff you like and nods her head whenever you make a statement

, She adores hugs, Hug her pretty pretty please :3

, Tries to teach you how to defend yourself but fails, And when she does that literally just makes her pull out a resting bitch face.

, She know's when something's up with you. So if your showing any signs of negative behavior, She tries to comfort you by telling you how strong you are.

" You're trying Lovely, But I'm afraid you're also failing. But that's okay, You're perfect to me in all ways possible. Now may i please have a hug from you my dearest? "

Kinger

, He literally glares at anyone who makes fun of you, He feel's bad for your well being and tries to defend you but fails.

, Drags you to his impenetrable fortress just for him to distract you from negative thoughts when your sad, He distracts you by playing with your hair as he asks you what kind of stuff you like while cuddling

, Hold's your hand when Jax bullies you and when Jax is gone he attempts to try and comfort you.

, He doesn't understand why you're so nice. He always thinks you would get mad and start lashing out but you never do. You just reply with a soft, Kind compliment.

, Stares at you with lovey dovey eyes every time you're near him. He compliments you when you're next to him. He fiddles with his hands while looking at you too.

, Shy loser x Over sweet loser

, Death glare's at anyone who attempts to make fun of you until they go off, He's always pissed when someones mean to you and starts ranting on how you dont deserve such bull shitty treatment.

" (Name), You gotta learn how to fend for yourself!- Yeah you're right actually i suck at fending for myself too. BUT STILL!- You need to actually fight for yourself!... I give up never mind lets just go." drags you to his impenetrable fortress

Kaufmo

, Literally says an offensive joke about anyone who bullies you and then it starts a cat fight.

, He asks if your alright all the time after being yelled at, Bullied, Etc.

, Smooches your hand while cuddling in his room to comfort you if you say no.

, He paints you!! He gets flustered when you ask why he drew you. He uses "B-because you're super kind!" As an excuse with a wobbly smile because he knows he sucks shit at lying.

, When he found an exit, He got so excited because he could show you and you'd be so proud of him!! And you were. And you didn't even take it as a joke.

, He loves how you genuinely love his humor, Even if it's dark.

, Definitely doesn't dream about you both getting married.

, Whenever you laugh he starts to get sweaty and nervous, Because your laugh sounds so genuine that it truly makes him happy, It makes him even more in-love with you.

" Wait.... You... Love my humor? R-really? Uhm.... Of course i'll say more jokes!! F-for you!!"

Pomni

, She's so confused. But she finds you so beautiful.

, Why are you so kind? Are you even real? Are you perhaps an angel sent from heaven to guide her?

, She always freaks out around you and blushes a shit ton.

, Glares at anyone who disrespects you and harsh-fully insults them to the point where the bully bawls their eyes out.

, Asks if you're okay after being insulted and holds your hands as she tells you how great and sweet you are if you say you aren't to reassure you that you're an amazing person.

, She likes to bring you with her while she tries to find a way out the circus, You being her all-time favorite person.

, She drop kicks jax and runs away with you if jax tries to bully you.

, She nods at every statement you say, Not really caring about how stupid your idea is but following it anyways because she's so happy that she gets to be near you.

" (Name), (name)!! Would you like to uh.. Uh!-... COMPLete-! this challenge with me?"

Ragatha

, She's just like you! You're just like her!! You two are basically soulmates sent from heaven.

, Though, She gets mad often and you genuinely are a nonchalant person who's usually calm all the time.

, She defends you from jax and glares at anyone who dares to harshly pick on you.

, Drags you away from the toxic person and asks you whats on you're mind today to distract you from negative thoughts.

, Likes to smooch your cheek after you finish a challenge, Ranting about how proud she is of you.

, Ragatha tends to be passive aggressive when people are being rude to you, For example she says a comment that sounds nice but is extremely offensive to the victims ears.

, Likes to take you to her room so she can braid your hair.

Zooble

, This Ambiguous fuck attacks ANYBODY who messes wit you.

, They comfort you by ranting angrily at you by saying how pretty, Handsome, Sweet and cool you are.

, Will try to teach you how to fend for yourself. But then fails.

, They like to receive attention from you, For example compliments, Praise, Or hugs.

, Cheer's you on when you do something not giving a dog's ass about what others think of it.

, Shit talks the person who talked smack about you.

, Get's in trouble daily for you.

, They like to drag you to their room so they can rant about stuff as they slowly get flustered on how you look and listen to them so intently.

, They also get nervous around you, Pretending that you dont exist and usually pretends to cough to cover up a compliment, When you ask what they said they just said they coughed.

, Likes to rant about you while your listening.

" (Name), You let that little- you know what...? Come on sweetie were gonna do some defensive training. "

Jax

, He literally teases you alot.

, Bullies you but he knows when he goes too far so he stops.

, Bullies the person who talked bullshit about you as if he wanted them dead, because he does.

, Will say death threats to the person who bullied you. Not including himself.

. Can And will throw a fight just because someone criticized you.

, Calls you "Sugar" because of how sweet you are. And also calls you his saint for personal reasons.

, he likes to ask you for a lot of stuff, But plot twist, He asks for kisses, Praise, Etc.

"Hey toots, Mind kissing me right here?~"

Caine

, Bitch was confused on why you were so calmed when you first arrived, But soon later developed feelings for you after the first 2 year's you stayed.

, He honestly was surprised you lasted this long but then remembers he shouldn't because Hoo Hah exists.

, Is VERY chatty when your around him. He likes to rant about stuff while you're just there listening to him speak gibberish.

, Glares at anybody who shit talks you and sends them to the cellar with a sheer look of dissapointment.

, SPIN HUGS WHEN YOU FINISH A CHALLENGE AND YOU WERENT FEELING GOOD ABOUT YOURSELF. HE PRAISES YOU SO MUCH. RAHH.

, When your sad he takes you to your room and your both just cuddling while your sleeping and under big fat soft blankets and he plays with your hair.

" How dare you criticize my dearest you li-"

Likes + Reblogs are appreciated.

i spent 2 hours on this bitch smh

[allerask]

I think I've FINALLY got it.

I figured out a some-what definitive, sure-fire way to tell if someone is more of a Crowley, or more of an Aziraphale. Better than any B*zzf**d quiz could hope. (Especially for the girlies like me who are a heavily intertwined combo of both.)

So, after watching many reaction videos to the end of S2 E6 (don't judge me, we all cope in our own ways), I've determined that it all comes down one thing. That is, how you react to Crowley saying, "Right... And you told him just where he could stick it then?" etc. Basically, the initial moment of his rejection of Aziraphale.

Reactions I've seen to the scene had a fair number of confused faces at Crowley's response to Aziraphale's offer. Lots of furrowed brows and head tilts. If that was you, congrats! you're an Aziraphale!

"But wait!" you say. "I was just caught up in the moment. The possibility of it... For God's sake! The romance!!!" Umm.. yeah. Exactly.

Now if you, like me, reacted to Aziraphale's offer before Crowley even said anything. Well, I'm sure you already know where this is going. Said reactions include, but are not limited to, eye-rolling, face palming, repeatedly saying the word "no," and/ or yelling "Really?!" at your screen. If this was you... Congrats! You're a Crowley!

"That makes sense, though..." you say. "Why would anyone want to go back to somewhere with people that shunned them?" Too right you are!

Bonus points if you saw people being confused at how Crowley responded, and were then yourself, confused as to how they could be. That's what happened to me, and well, here we are!

If you're still not convinced - Crowley's and Aziraphale's - then think on this: How did you react to Crowley, yet again, pleading for Aziraphale to run away with him?

If you thought it was romantic and "Oh my god, why can't someone ask me that?!" You're Crowley baby!

If you thought it was insane and "Everything they love is here! They can't leave and give up on it!" You're Aziraphale my love.

The crux of the Ineffable Divorce - as said by many - is that these two don't know what the other truly wants. Almost more importantly, though, is that Aziraphale doesn't consider what Crowley would never want. Going back to heaven would be number one on that list. Under no circumstances would that be a thing Crowley would want. Even if it meant having a blessed existence with Aziraphale.

On the other hand, Crowley knowing that Aziraphale would never want to go to hell is supposed to be a give-in. Just as Crowley himself not wanting to go back is a give-in to Aziraphale ("Of course...you're the bad guys"). Crowley doesn't realize that maybe his go-to quick-fix of running away together, though romantic, doesn't actually fix anything for Aziraphale.

No matter what, these characters are (canonically) two halves of a whole. Even as their separate halves they are incredibly complex, and therefore, hard to emotionally pin down without contradiction. Beautifully, much like real people.

Last, but not least, if you don't feel represented in your reaction to Crowley's rejection, I hate to break it to you, but you're Muriel.

You're the passive watcher outside the window, collecting data like a nature documentarian/ officer constable concerned with matters of the heart. And we love you for it!

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Jane the Killer,Ben Drowned,Homicidal Liu and Eyeless Jack with Filipina!Proxy!S/O Who Teach Them How to Speak Tagalog? also I Lived in Philippines(so Yeah But Don't Tell Anyone about my Country)

I love getting to write for Liu he's so underrated :(

Also, I am not from the Philippines nor do I know anyone who is so I'm gonna be basing this off of some light research so if I get anything wrong, let me know!

Thank you so much for requesting!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jane The Killer

Jane loves getting to learn about new cultures

She isn't super into learning new languages, but for you, she would love to!

When you start teaching her, she writes little notes in this vintage leather notebook she bought a while ago, she just didn't have a use for it

She also writes all her notes in sparkly purple ink <33

She's surprisingly a very fast learner, she is speaking simple sentences within two weeks

I think that once she is fluent enough in Tagalog, she would mainly use it to gossip about people without other's understanding

Or alternatively, she will whisper romantic things to you in Tagalog

Eventually she will build up enough confidence to send you special love letters when she is away on a long mission

All written in dark purple ink and sealed with a dark purple wax seal, of course

Not only is the sentiment sweet, but she knows that only you will be able to read it, making it even more special to you

In general, she uses her newfound Tagalog ability to fluster you and romance you like the hopeless romantic she is

Ben Drowned

Ben has never really had an interest in learning a new language, and is too lazy to put in that kind of effort

Yes, even for you, as sad as that sounds

BUT! He will ask you from time to time how to say certain things

"Hey babe, how do you say 'stupid cock sucking loser' In Tagalog?

That's kind of a joke

Kind of

Most of the time he will ask how to say things for you

For example

"How do you say 'can I kiss you' in Tagalog?"

He's so stupid, but its ok because he puts his little tiny bit of brain into being there for you

Homicidal Liu

Liu, being Columbian can speak a little bit of spanish himself

It's not much, because his mom only taught him a little bit, but he doesn't really mind

So when you come around, asking if it's alright to teach him your native language, he gets super excited!

A new way for you guys to bond and spend time together? And he gets to learn a new language while doing it? Hell yeah!

He is very enthusiastic about the whole thing

Once he gets enough to put simple sentences together, he tries out saying things in Tagalog just to surprise you

To which you get excited, even if he gets it a little wrong, because you know he's trying

And seeing you get excited gives him the motivation to keep learning the language

He eventually, like Jane, uses this to whisper sweet nothings into your ear that only you would be able to understand

He uses this new pond of knowledge mostly for romantic purposes tbh

He just loves you so much !!

Eyeless Jack

Jack, being the nerd he is, is always down to learn something new

He sat down and learned French once just because he could

He is very rusty now, but if he wanted to order a salad then he totally could

While you are teaching him, he barely talks

All you hear from his end is a bunch of scribbling in a notebook as he writes down every word you say

He also goes out and buys a bunch of books either on or in Tagalog, that way he can study more when you are sleeping, and so he can try out some of the words he's learned in an actual real world experience

Once learning about the language, this puts him down a rabbit hole

He then learns about the history of Tagalog, history of the Philippines, culture and traditions, folktale, food, etc

Which comes as a shock to you when he suddenly asks for you to make Lumpia, or if you can't make it, if you can go out together and get some

He insists that if you go to a resturaunt, that it be one that is actual authentic Philippine resturaunt that way he isn't getting some watered down version of traditional foods

He must know everything about everything

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Light of his life

Summary; When Eddie tells the Hellfire Club that he is going to confess his feelings to his dream girl, y/n is heartbroken assuming he means Chrissy.

Little does she know...

Warnings; You all know the drill ❤Angst, pining, heartache, fluff and sweetness.

Reblogs, comments, etc are always appreciated. I don't give anyone permission to copy my work.

💕❤

Eddie was quiet at lunch today. This in itself was unusual as he was always quite dramatic and according to Gareth never stopped talking most of the time.

So yeah, she was concerned. So was Dustin who nudged Eddie softly and Eddie looks up, he looks nervous. She can't remember the last time he was nervous.

"Uh, are you okay dude?". Dustin asks softly and Eddie nods suddenly growing determined.

"Couldn't be better Henderson. I am going to finally do it. I'm going to tell my dream girl how I feel about her".

Her heart sinks in her chest. It wasn't hard to know who he meant. She eyes the cheerleader table where Chrissy Cunningham sat. Queen of Hawkins high, pretty, cheerleader.

Of course, it would be Chrissy, she was Eddie's middle school crush.

It's what she always expected. Chrissy was a sweetheart to so it's not like y/n could hate her or anything. It's just Eddie had been her crush for year's and she always hoped for the day he could return her feelings.

Turns out that day wouldn't happen. Chrissy got to know Eddie through his dealings when she wanted some weed. Chrissy didn't do it anymore but she and Eddie had struck up a friendship now so she could feel the same way for him.

"That's great Eddie". She murmurs striving to be happy for him. Even if it was breaking her heart, he was her friend she had to get over her feelings.

"When are you going to tell her?". Jeff asks and he swallows.

"After school, got everything planned". He chats with Jeff a bit more and she tries to keep herself together.

"Why not just tell her now? She's here isn't she". Mike asks puzzled and Eddie rolls his eyes.

"It's called romance Wheeler. This isn't some random hook-up I met at the hideout. I'm in love with this woman".

In love. He was in love with this woman? She feels like she can't breathe and blinks away tears hoping no one notices her devastated expression.

❤

All through the day, she feels the sickness in her stomach grow. The dread at seeing Eddie in love with some beautiful girl, most likely Chrissy.

She's so lost in thought that she doesn't notice Chrissy talking to Eddie at his van. When she does her stomach bottoms out.

Eddie is talking to her and she is smiling sweetly, then she hugs him and Eddie looks so happy.

That's the moment her heart breaks and she rushes away from the scene teary and bumps into Robin.

"Hey, you okay? Oh my god, are the kids okay? Did something happen? Shit I'm panicking sorry. It isn't another monster thing is it".

Steve comes out of the car and gestures to her inside with a concerned look on his features.

"Come on, hey it's okay honey. What happened is it the kids?". She shakes her head.

"Can you take me home Steve?". He softens and nods and she gets into the back seat as tears fall down her cheeks.

Well, he did say he would tell the girl after school. She really hopes that he is going to be happy with Chrissy, despite how heartbroken she is all she wants is for Eddie be happy.

❤

Eddie calls her a little later that day, it's their movie night and he has something that he wants to tell her.

Most likely that Chrissy is now his girl she expects and she can't say no because he sounds so insistent to see her.

So she buries her feelings and heads to Eddie trying not to show how nervous she is about what he's about to say.

Once she gets to the trailer she knocks on the door and Eddie yells for her to come in. Bracing herself she heads inside and gasps.

Eddie has lit some candles and he's holding a bunch of her favourite flowers, interspersed with some wildflowers that she adores in a variety of colours.

"Eddie?". Okay. Now she's confused.

"Hi, princess". He walks over to her and he looks so nervous.

"They are beautiful Eddie thank you. All this for movie night?". She murmurs heart fluttering.

"No, not just movie night. I said earlier that I was going to tell my dream girl how I felt, wanted it to be romantic for you princess".

Tears roll down her cheeks, she feels so happy, elated at his words but a bit confused.

"I don't understand. I saw you with Chrissy, she hugged you. I assumed she would be here that she was your dream girl". He chuckles.

"What? No. I told her that I was telling you how I felt tonight. She's been badgering me for weeks to say to you princess. I don't want Chrissy like that, she's just a friend. I don't want anyone. Just you baby".

He strokes her cheek and she can't believe that this is real. That he feels the same way as she does.

"I'm in love with you princess. I love you so much. You're the love of my life. I want you to be mine always my queen".

In response, she kisses him, peppering butterfly kisses over his cheek his jaw and then back to his lips.

"I love you too Eddie, I'll gladly be yours always". His grin widens and the nerves leave him as he kisses her again.

"Jesus H Christ that was nerve-wracking beautiful, now shall we watch a movie and I can cook you a fine gourmet meal. We have uh spaghetti hoops?". She giggles.

"Let's order a pizza, ooh and some ice cream". She tugs his hand and takes him into his room and onto his bed.

Well they'll order after a lot of kissing has been done.

💕💫💕💫

[zizz-asdf-re-r-o-u]

Headcanon time: Who might be on the aroace spectrum in a sex game?

I missed arospec week by... a few weeks lol. And hey look i'm making a Nukani headcanon post instead of a questionable theorizing analysis for once! If you have contributions for characters I don't have enough info on (especially Quincy), please add on!

Disclaimer: I'm aromantic but allosexual. For me, this means I experience sexual attraction, but not romantic attraction. In my local kink scene, I actually personally know several community members + friends who are asexual or aromantic or both, and some engage in sex while some don't. And lastly for demographic proof only, I'm in an unofficial discord server where some unspecified members are asexual, but they still play this porn game, so yes not everyone who plays this game are into romance or sex.

TLDR: someone can be asexual or aromantic or on the aroace spectrum and still have sex but that varies for everyone!

Now that that's out of the way, here are my headcanon times! None of this is true or ever will be true due to the marketing of a porn harem game, but I think it's fun to headcanon! Feel free to disagree cause I know how people reacted to that "Is Aster trans" reddit post.

Speaking of Aster. I think he's also aroacespec! In his SR room 5, we got text narration ONE time that he gushed or orgasmed or something with a vague hot rod behind Eiden's back. But we've never seen Aster naked nor involve his genitals with another body in the 5 H scenes we have with him. And unlike EVERY other character, he’s only described to have orgasmed once. He also constantly talks down on morvay’s sexual habits, and while it’s a running gag that’s played for laughs, isn’t it possible Aster actually thinks this way? But is still willing to engage in sexy times with Morvay because they're essence creatures so that's how you exchange essence, and they’re basically an old married couple & deep down they do care about each other. And remember what I said about aromantic or asexual people who still engage in kink or sex.

Next, Karu my beloved chew toy. At the time I wrote Garu/Karu analysis part 1, I thought both of them were firmly allosexual but also presented some evidence someone could use to argue Karu might be demi or aroace or something else. But the more I think about it, the more I think yeah, he might be. Or he’s just a tsundere. I swear I'm not delusional and am a logical canon-based theory fan. (Btw, according to google searching, it is possible for different alters to have different sexualities, so this does not apply to Garu).

Quincy- I have never watched a Quincy intimacy room (including his SR & R cards that I have unlocked) but my vibes based off all the other story content with him makes me think he might be in the umbrella, so Grey-ace, Demi, etc. From what I’ve heard other people say, Quincy has had a lover in the past but currently only has sex if Eiden begs for it. This might fit into the definition of people who don't really care for sex themselves, but is interested in it for their partner. If anyone has Quincy cards and has more information, please let me know!

Huey: ok so we have almost no information on him. But he didn’t have sex with his clan members. He was definitely not romantically invested in any of his clan members nor do I recall him having hints of being sexually or romantically invested in anyone else, which does not equate aromantic or asexual but its still possible. And that’s all I got. Anyone got additional input?

Eiden: ah our beloved Eiden. Let’s ignore that in meta, he’s supposed to be the audience self insert (even though he’s the least self insert type MC ever) and therefore he is not going to “prioritize” one ship over another.

Anyways, so I am 100% sure he’s not asexual. BUUUUT he has not expressed romantic lovey dovey attraction to his clan members. More significantly, he does not seem to pick up MULTIPLE clan members’ romantic hints towards him. Yes in Fateful Aegis, Eiden says “I love you too” back to Yakumo, but it’s prefaced with something like Your grandparents love you and I love you too-ish, which to me indicates found family love. Kuya has said the Chinese/Japanese equivalent of “I love you” (“the moon is bright/the moonlight is beautiful tonight”) and that totally went over Eiden’s head. Dante & Edmond are also intensely crushing on Eiden… but they’re tsunderes so it’s probably gonna take forever to get across. The other members are different types of dedicated but open relationships rather than traditionally romantic relationships (except for Rei, who’s still getting there). And I think this is a great thing! All these varying relationship styles that are given the same weight & importance & Eiden has such appreciation & care for all of them, despite not providing traditionally romantic affection back.

Aromantic people can still love their friends & family! We’re not heartless emotionless creatures. We just may not experience or be able to comprehend romantic attraction. And i don’t think that’s a defect nor a bad thing.* And I think it’s especially cool when we compare Eiden’s bad hookup habits in the real world with how he has multiple regular partners that truly value him and a new found family in Klein. If he was aromantic this whole time, it’s kind of a positive perspective, isn’t it? Some aromantic people do experience “squishes”, which is a term for when we feel emotional desire for a platonic relationship. Obviously none of Eiden’s relationships are truly platonic due to the sexual element, but they all lack the romantic element from Eiden’s side.

(Anyways, Eiden won’t ever “reciprocate” romantic love because it’s a harem game, but shhhhh. Also to anyone who says it’s an Asian game and the characters aren’t going to say “I love you”…. Well in their newest intimacy rooms, both Kuya and Yakumo literally just did. Heck one of Forest Night Kuya’s sprite dialogues repeats that!)

So yeah, I hope you enjoyed this pointless headcanons!

*Speaking from my personal experience, I’ve have several sexual partners over time, but I never had the desire to date them or be romantically invested in them. And a weirdly telltale sign, that Jaidenanimation pointed out quite nicely, is that when she listened to romance songs she was like “wait that’s what people experience when they’re in love???” I’ve read a TON of romance and have heard a TON of love songs, but I cannot relate to any one of them. I literally have not felt any of those feelings. And when I have sexual partners, the horniness is definitely the forefront compared to any “falling in love” feelings. I did have what I now realize were several “squishes” in high school/college. What squishes feel like to me, are like “I wanna be your friend & you’re really cool & I cherish you! Like a lot! And also I don’t mind if you fucked me!” which emotionally feels different from “I’m in love with you!!!” (Which yeah i still don’t know what “in love” feels like, and I’m fine with not knowing!).