#one eyed retribution

[capslocked]

PROXIMITY

male reader x chou tzuyu

25k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And her collarbone is out too. Ouch.

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

The problem is, you’ve recognized her immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

* Avoid unnecessary physical contact

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

* Do not offer opinions/advice unless specifically asked

* Minimize speaking, just to be safe

* Do not exchange gifts, especially personal ones

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

* Adjust and reframe

* Reinforce

* Remind yourself

* To just fucking think about literally anything else

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh yeah, for the ambience."

"For the ambience," she nods.

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe in, slow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

The fire pops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm. Sure."

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

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

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

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

"Did I get it?"

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

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

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

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

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

"There," you say, smiling, naive.

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

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

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

But everything starts to sink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, christ-

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

You breathe, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds like a you problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Swallow," you tell her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu lets herself go slack against your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

And that is - a vision.

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

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

"A shirt?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right."

"Your favorite past-time."

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

The power goes out early in the morning.

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu opens the sliding glass door to the balcony.

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

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

"Maybe."

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

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

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

"Want to look for it?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meaning?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

"My cocksleeve, my good girl, shit-"

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

"Is that what my girl wants? 

She smiles, again, so prettily.

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

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

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

Her hips come up off the granite, desperately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“You have no business thinking about babies.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

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

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

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

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

"My benefit, really?"

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

"Not making this easier, babe."

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

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

Tzuyu nods.

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

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

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

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

"Then you get your turn," you offer.

"Deal," she nods.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," is all you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

-

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

"Yes?" you prompt.

"Is it working?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No comment."

"So shy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put your hands on her hips.

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

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

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

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

-

The days bleed together after the snow.

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

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

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

"I have my limits, princess."

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

It's what makes her heart beat. )

-

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

You continue combing.

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

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

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

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

"If you don't take that back-"

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

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

Tzuyu shudders slightly under your touch.

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

"Sir, don't pretend."

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

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

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

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

"Too bad."

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

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

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

This doesn't have to end, no?

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

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

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

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

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

"Crazy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her legs snap to you quick.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you ask:

"What now, doll?"

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

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

"Was the screaming really that necessary."

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

"I," is the immediate reply.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were right. "This is hell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mnph.” Tzu chokes down a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, fuck, fuck- need to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You're not a bad person. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

She's at the doorway.

“Us. Being here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gloomy," you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And our usual antics?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

A girl like her, kissing so eager for you-

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

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

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

“How is that fair?”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

The creator had a :

star eyed child

+ a quick sketch

Wc: 500

Cw: birth process but it's glossed over

With lips tight as a tomb the archons could only stand beside you as your stomach swole and the child kicked you awake during the last month.

“Should I fetch you your tea? The doctor said it would help with the birth” Raiden signals at Nahida to get it from the side table as furina rubs the top of your stomach.

“The doctor should be here soon,” Nahida grabs the freshly brewed tea, the dark liquid swirling around as she urges you to drink.

“Barbatos should be close” and as if zhongli predicted it venti barges in with a bunch of white dressed people.

None of the five archons had any knowledge or experience with birthing or newborn reception; they stayed quiet and still on the seat, a nurse even having to rip furina away from your side.

Now fed up one of the nurses hurries them out, archons be damned if they hinder the patient's attention.

“won't you bunch go for fruit or juice? Yep? Thanks” and without missing a beat she slams the door closed leaving them outside.

14 hours pass by and the doctor and a nurse come out.

“Everything checks good, both of them are healthy and stable so I will take a last look while the nurses finish cleaning the little boy”

Now breathing calmly the five minutes pass quickly until they are allowed in, you are seated on the bed drinking a sugary drink from a straw with the newborn on your chest.

“Want to meet the baby? I'm still unsure about the name” the baby was snuggling to your chest and dressed in a simple long shirt with a few tufts of hair poking out.

“he is very cute” furina exclaims hunched besides the bed, her finger pressing on his cheeks causing the baby to open his eyes, an upset look on them

You laugh a bit at the side eye he was giving them “He is quite grumpy, isn't he?” but nobody else was laughing as they were focused on his deep blue eyes.

Star pupils. How interesting

“Didn't the tsaritsa have a harbingers who had star eyes?” Venti suddenly jumps up, nervous about recognizing those eyes

“And why are you jumping so quickly? Only guilty criminals jump when they see evidence”

“didn't one of your civilians have similar eyes? I think I remember one from the tavern you forced me in”

“No, I don't think so” Venti gulps as all the archon's eyes are on him. Why did he even open his mouth

“Every time you open your mouth you incriminate yourself deeper, you must be gifted there”

He believed in you Kaeya when you told him you were only flirting and nothing more.

“What do you mean I'm an uncle?”

“Oops?”

“Where are they now? Don't tell me you are a deadbeat”

“Sumeru, they left almost a year ago”

“you would never dare…”

“...yes”

“Retribution!”

“What do you think about naming him ‘aster’ because of his star eyes?” Nahida plays with the baby who only wants to sleep, he is so grumpy he reminds her of someone

“I don't think it's a boys name”

“Then what about Zappu? It means star of stars”

“Aww that is cute, I might think about it”

[make-me-imagine]

Something Better

Plot: When you return to an island you used to call home, you run into an old flame. Zoro takes matters into his own hands to get some long-awaited retribution for you.

Requested By: Anonymous

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to cheating and toxic relationships. Mentions of violence (past-tense). Brief description of injuries.

Words: 2,375

As the once familiar shore grew closer, you felt a pit in your stomach deepening. The island approaching had been a home for you for some years, but by the time you left, you had been certain you would never want to return. All of those fond memories of a new adventure on a once unknown island, were tainted by the same person who had brought you there in the first place.

Feeling eyes on you from the crew you let out a soft sigh.

"I thought you used to live here, why do you look so miserable? I thought you would be glad to be back."

You glanced at Nami as she spoke before you shook your head softly, "I left for a reason."

"What reason?"

You looked over at Zoro as he spoke, your heart palpitating. How would he react if you told the story? Would he care at all?

He studied your eyes and you remained silent, as you debated if you should tell the story now, later, or never.

"Did you get in trouble?" Sanji asked with curiosity.

"Did you get kicked out?" Usopp asked with a mouth full of popcorn.

Before you could answer Luffy stood up and smelled the air, "Do you smell that?"

You finally looked away from the others before you nodded, "Seafood gumbo, the islands most famous dish."

Stepping away from the railing you left the previous asked questions unanswered as you prepared to dock the ship. You reminded yourself you were only stopping for supplies, you'd only be here for a day or two. You might not even see the reason you left the island in the first place.

Or so you hoped. Surely fate wouldn't be so cruel, right?

The familiar sights and smells engulfed you as you walked through the market with Zoro. The others had wandered off looking for various supplies. Why Zoro stuck by your side, you weren't sure, not that you were complaining. You and the broody swordsman had grown close recently.

A few people even recognized you as you passed stalls. It felt good in a weird way, if it weren't for the lingering pit in your stomach.

"Well, you aren't hiding, and people aren't exactly trying to chase you off or arrest you. So I would assume you didn't leave the island because you did something bad."

"Good observation skills." You said with a hint of sarcasm, earning a soft smile from Zoro.

You knew he was asking what happened, without actually asking what happened. You let out a soft breath.

"I moved here with someone. We were young and wanted an adventure. I thought he was my future, but to him, I was just one option of many. He cheated on me, lied to me, used me and embarrassed me, so I left. "

Zoro's hand softly twisted around the hilt of his sword. "Sounds like a catch."

You scoffed before stopping at a stall with the islands local fruit. You gently held one in your palm, reminiscing of the flavor you once loved. Zoro watched you closely, wondering if the pain you felt here still lingered, or if it was strictly resentment.

Hearing your name called from nearby, you and Zoro turned to see a tall man headed towards you, surprise in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. Zoro eyed him as your stomach twisted.

"Speak of the Devil." You muttered, just loud enough for Zoro to hear, causing his grip to tighten around his sword.

"Well, well, well, look who came back." The man grinned as he stopped just in front of you. His eyes raked over you and Zoro felt his jaw clench in anger.

"Well, well, well, look who never left." You countered, in a similar condescending tone.

He continued to smile, but you saw a small twinge of the eye you knew as a familiar sign of annoyance.

"To what do we owe the honor of your return?"

"You don't need to know." Zoro broke in, causing your ex to finally look over at the swordsman.

He looked Zoro up and down with a soft smirk. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't notice your bodyguard here."

Zoro took a small step closer, his eyes piercing. "Well now you do."

You saw your ex swallow hard, as he tried to keep his composure, not used to anyone not backing down from him. You couldn't help the smile that graced your face as you saw Zoro's actions.

Reaching out, you gently grabbed Zoro's arm before giving your ex a hard look.

"Like he said, you don't need to know why I'm here."

Leaving the fruit stall behind, you walked away, Zoro kept an eye on your ex before moving to follow you.

After a few moments you side-eyed Zoro, "So, you're my bodyguard now?"

Zoro's lip curled slightly, "I guess I am."

Zoro sighed with contentment as he set down his half empty glass. The people in the bar chattered and laughed around him.

His mind kept wandering to you and the story you felt you couldn't share. The thought of how your ex had treated you caused his gut to twist. He couldn't help but wish he had known you before, he could have saved you the pain of being with someone like your ex. And instead, been with someone like him. Whisked you off on a better adventure and all that. He couldn't help but wonder if you would have gone with him.

Hearing an obnoxious laugh come from across the bar, he did a double take as he spotted your ex.

"Speak of the devil." He muttered, repeating your words from earlier.

As if your ex felt Zoro's eyes burning into him, he noticed Zoro and smirked. Zoro smiled softly to himself as he tapped his fingers on the table, watching your ex saunter across the bar towards him, clearly having had more than one drink beforehand.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Y/n's body guard."

Zoro rolled his eyes as your ex sat down across from him. "So where are they?"

"Where's who?" Zoro asked, voice low, as if daring him to say your name.

He smirked, taking the challenge. "Y/n. I'd love to see them again. We have a lot we could reminisce about. Hell, maybe we'd even strike up that old flame again."

Zoro clenched his jaw as he leaned forward, palm wrapping around his sword, "Not gonna happen."

As Zoro stood up, your ex scoffed, "What, not even over your dead body?"

Zoro quickly finished off his drink and slammed the glass down before he looked at him, dead-panned, "No. But maybe over yours."

As your ex froze for a moment, Zoro began to walk away, but his chest burned with the need for more gratification. But how would you react?

"Sure you don't want to know all of Y/n's dirty little secrets?" Your ex said with a sing song voice as he stood up as well.

Zoro stopped in his tracks before turning back to your ex and smirking softly.

The cold sea breeze blew over you as you sat on the edge of the ship, staring out at the island. A weird sense of nostalgia sat over you as you both wished to stay longer, and to leave immedietely.

Hearing footsteps, you glanced back to see Zoro boarding the ship. His eyes were already on you and your heart fluttered momentarily. You looked back out at the city, hearing Zoro approach you before climbing over the bannister and sitting beside you.

"The bar still as lively as ever?"

He nodded, "Seemed like half the island was there."

You nodded with a soft smile your eyes moving to Zoro's hand as he held out something in front of you. Your heart jolted as you saw the familiar fruit you had been looking at earlier in the day.

You took it from him and smiled.

"It seemed like you wanted to get one earlier." He said softly.

You looked over at him but he avoided your eyes, staring straight off to the city. You smiled as you began peeling the fruit, before your eyes caught on fresh scrapes on the back of Zoro's hands.

"...Did you...steal this from someone?"

"What?"

You motioned towards his hand and he scoffed, "Would that make you feel better or worse about the fruit?"

You eyed him closely before shrugging as you continued to peel the fruit. "I'm grateful either way"

He smiled at this, but took in a deep breath, knowing you would press for more.

"So, what really happened?"

He looked down at his knuckles with a smile before clearing his throat. "There was a situation, but I handled it."

"Hmm. You tend to find yourself in a lot of situations."

He chuckled, "It's kind of my thing."

You nodded, "Can't find the trail of breadcrumbs you left behind, but you can always find a fight."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you have a terrible sense of direction"

"I do not."

You pursed your lips with a soft glare and he sighed, before shaking his head, fighting a smile.

After a moment of silence, you hand him a piece of the fruit. He took it slowly before eating it, enjoying the sweet yet fresh taste. He nodded, showing that he enjoyed it and you smiled.

"This is one of the only things I missed about this island."

"One of?"

You hummed, "I admit, I had some good memories here."

"How many of them were with him?"

You could sense the hint of venom in his tone and you repressed a smile. "None that come to mind." You said softly, noticing the way Zoro's jaw seemed to relax, yet his hands clenched.

"Zoro?"

He slowly looked over at you and almost froze at the soft look on your face.

"Yeah?"

"What happened to your hand?"

He swallowed, "I hit it on something."

"On what?"

"Your exes face."

There was a moment of still silence before you pressed your lips together, biting them, as you clearly repressed a laugh.

Zoro felt relief and amusement wash over him as you let out the soft giggle that you could no longer repress.

"Your not mad then?"

You thought for a moment before you shrugged, "I am mad but not because you hit him."

He frowned, "Then why?"

You looked over at him with a straight face. "I'm mad because you didn't hit him while I was there to see it."

Zoro stared at you for a second before both of you broke into grins. He chuckled as you giggled before letting out a sigh.

Zoro shrugged his head. "I mean...I could go pick him up off the bar floor and bring him over here if you want. "

You laughed again and Zoro grinned, relishing in the sounds as they made his heart pound proudly.

Handing him a slice of the fruit you grinned, "Tempting."

He smiled softly as he ate it, "You know it doesn't matter what you left behind here right?"

You tilted your head slightly in question. "Why not?"

He cleared his throat briefly, "Because what you have now is more important. It's better."

Your eyes locked and you could feel the tension growing.

You smiled softly as you nodded. "Yeah, it is."

He gazed at you softly, his mind running wild with a thousand things he wanted to say. His thoughts were silenced when Sanji came sauntering from the kitchen to announce that dinner was ready.

Looking back to see the others quickly heading in, you began to rise. But before you did you quickly pressed a kiss to Zoro's cheek, causing him to freeze.

"Thank you."

Your whispered voice echoed in his mind as his cheeks burned from the brief kiss. His heart was pounding as he looked behind him seeing your back disappear into the ship.

Getting a hold of himself, he rose and headed inside. Not so subtly kicking Usopp out of his seat beside you. Sharing a brief yet knowing look with you as he did.

As Zoro and Sanji loaded on a few more boxes of supplies you took one more look at the island in front of you. You were glad you were leaving, but at the same time, you wondered when you would be back next.

Your eyes caught onto a figure walking towards you and you let out a sigh, just loud enough for Zoro to glance over at you. He spotted the same thing and rose with a huff of air.

As Zoro appeared beside you, his arm pressing against yours, you felt your tense shoulders relax as your ex sneered at the two of you.

His lip was busted, and he had to matching bruises under each eye.

"New look? It suits you."

"I was thinking the same thing." Zoro mused.

Your ex looked between you and Zoro before his eyes paused on you. You shook your head softly.

"Nothing you could say is a good idea, trust me."

He hesitated a few times before giving in with a huff of air and a roll of his eyes as he turned and sauntered back down the dock.

"Who was that guy?" Usopp asked.

"No one important." You said softly.

Feeling Zoro's eyes on you, you glanced over at him. "Still regret coming here?"

You hummed softly as you looked back at the village seeing your exes head disappear into the crowd.

"No, not really. Besides, I got a good memory to leave with."

"Just one?"

You smiled softy as your eyes locked, "A couple."

He smirked as he scanned your face, "We'll make a lot more."

"We?" You mused your heart fluttering.

"Yeah. We."

Feeling someone sling their arms over your shoulders, you looked back to see Luffy's grinning face. "Yes we will!"

You paused for a second as you locked eyes with Zoro before letting out a laugh, and Zoro chuckled before shaking his head.

As Luffy began talking animatedly about the next stop, you felt Zoro's hand brush yours at your side, before he gently squeezed it.

No matter where you came from or left some heartbreak behind. Your next adventure would make it all worth it.

xx End xx

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @rexit-mo, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

OPLA Taglist: @fangirlextraordinaire

-Taglist Form-

[drakaripykiros130ac]

“Poor Helaena…to lose a child like that”

“Poor Aegon…a father’s rage is justified”

Not hearing a whole lot of poor Rhaenyra who lost her father, her son, her throne and her unborn daughter in a short span of time.

According to TG stans, a child’s death is absolutely horrible (unless it’s Rhaenyra’s. If it’s Rhaenyra’s child, it’s fun, let’s celebrate).

I fail to see why Helaena’s grief is more important than Rhaenyra’s. She lost one son, said “bye bye world” and shut down (and I don’t see anyone pointing fingers at her and calling her useless in this war even though she was. She had a dragon she could use, but chose to remain locked up in her room and in depression).

Rhaenyra lost a whole lot more, and she had to stay on her feet and fight to take back what rightfully belongs to her.

Why is Jaehaerys’ death more tragic than Lucerys’?

Lucerys was murdered in cold blood, just like that boy of Helaena’s who’s barely relevant throughout the whole story.

Lucerys was a boy too.

Now there’s the question of who shed first blood.

The Greens did.

Actions call for reactions, and this is war.

Daemon wanted Aegon the Usurper to lose a son, just like the Greens forced Rhaenyra to suffer the loss of one of her own. He called for retribution. A life for a life. He could have arranged to have everyone in that tower killed that night. He could have demanded Aegon’s daughter, Jaehaera, be killed in exchange for the life of the daughter the Greens made him lose (Visenya). But he didn’t.

I’ve seen comments cheering on Aegon for wanting vengeance for his dead son, but apparently Rhaenyra is not allowed to demand retribution for the death of hers.

Misogyny runs high in the 21st century, doesn’t it? A woman who is not perfect is a monster, and a man with vices is just “misunderstood”.

And then you all have the nerve to point fingers at people who don’t care about the consequences of B&C. No, I don’t care that Aegon’s child is going to be murdered. Because I didn’t see that sympathy from stans when Lucerys was murdered. All I saw were jokes made at a child ripped apart by the biggest and most dangerous dragon alive because her rider is a twisted one-eyed psychopath.

The Blacks are entitled to vengeance.

Lucerys’ death is on Aemond’s head. And so is Jaehaerys’. He’s 100% responsible. If anyone is to blame for B&C, it’s Aemond the Kinslayer.

[trancylovecraft]

Ok. But Kokushibo if s/o hugged or kissed him for the first time? Can be yandere or not. I don't mind.

(KNY) YANDERE! KOKUSHIBO x READER: Sandalwood (DRABBLE)

RECEIPT ✂- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

BARISTA'S NOTE: i love this man and his stupid six eyes and his stupid sword that could kill me and his long ahh hair and his- FANDOM: Demon Slayer

Thank you for ordering!

Come again soon!

How long had it been?

[F/N]'s head lay against the admittedly comfortable pillow, The long dejected solace being finally let in, Nuzzling the cold of her cheek further into it. How long had it been since he had taken her hostage?

Days? Weeks? Months? Years? [F/N] didn't know how long it had been since she had been siphoned under the moons eye, Taken away in the cover of night and dragged into her own personal hell and called the unwilling wife of a monstrous man?

Now she stared at him blankly from across their shared bedroom, Him, The six-eyed beast that was fixing up his kimono and settling the wisps of ebony black hair in a much more pleasing way.

[F/N] recalled him saying something about a meeting of sorts, Where or why was unknown to her and she didn't dare ask. She only stared at him from behind, Looking at all the curves and the creases she had grown unfortunately accustomed to.

[F/N] remembered how horrid it was for her at first, Dragged away with his reptilian claws trying to grasp at whatever he could of her. His entrapping, Twisted and vile mockeries of affection he tried to show to his newfound 'wife'

The way his body forced itself to entwine with hers, His hands caging her waist. It had never went that far, But it had gone just far enough to satiate the beast. The man who she so desperately hated with every inch of her being.

But even so.. She yearned for him.

Actually.. Not him exactly, No, But what he could provide. She had been so isolated for so long, Siphoned just long enough to desire for that human touch. So much so that it didn't have to be human anymore, Monstrous, But all the more comforting.

[F/N] hated herself for it, How could she, The once respectable daughter of a wealthy clan sink so low to crave a demons love? Kokushibo, The demonic samurai of the night. Her "Husband".

She had tried so long to keep herself away, To keep some part of her dignity yet..

Hands snaked around his waist. Kokushibo's shoulders instantly raised as if to lunge for the hilt of his sword, Not even lowering once his mechanical head tilted to the side, Burning golden eyes staring down at his wife starting to hug him.

"..What.. What are you doing?"

His voice was demanding and gravelly, Coming deep from within his throat. [F/N]'s arms only coiled around him tighter, Despite everything telling her no, She had found comfort in the reverberation of his song.

She pressed her face into the dip of his back, Hips pressing into his just a little lower. [F/N] took in the scent of sandalwood drifting amongst the fibres of his kimono, Shutting her eyes just to emphasise that more.

"I.. I wanted to say my farewells to my Husband before he left for his meeting, I'm sorry.." She whispered into his back, Head pressing against him like the pillow she rested on. Even though she had apologised, She didn't relent her grip.

Though his shoulders depressed, Golden hues of his eyes staring back at her, Almost widening. [F/N] didn't dare to look back at him, What punishment or retribution could come from this..

But she felt the cold palms of the demon lay upon the ones situated around his waist, [F/N] opened her eyes. She was almost terrified once they gripped hers, Pried them from his waist before swiftly turning around on his heels.

[F/N]'s eyes widened, Stepping back. She was stupid-! She shouldn't of tried touching him- Is he going to hurt her?! Lock her in the closet again or would he finally bite the bullet and slice her ne-

The cold press of his lips touched the surface of her forehead.

[F/N]'s eyes widened as she finally realised the cold hand cupping her cheek, Rough yet loving. Tough palms yet they caressed her so gently as the coarse surface of his lips remained firm on her forehead.

She should of hated this, She should've detested it-!

"..Once I have returned from my meeting, I expect you to be ready with dinner.. Afterwards, Make sure to clean up.. Be prepared.." He breathed, Husky and demanding as he finally pulled away from her.

And as soon as his lips had met her forehead, He was gone. Disappearing into thin air, Assumedly summoned to wherever he had business being. The scent of sandalwood still lingered in the air, Leaving [F/N] star-crossed and dazed.

But she loved it all the same..

[ghostlynachopanda]

Marks pt 2

a/n: 43 assignments, 3 exams, and 2 lab reports later she lives. barely lol. Grammarly called it mid, it's a chonker lowkey. here's this one pals.

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

words: 2.3k

part one

~~~

Wednesday had not been able to initiate any kisses for 9 days, 18 hours, and 36 minutes — not that she was counting. At first, watching you cringe at any look was amusing. Unfortunately, the marks she gave you were starting to fade. Wednesday craved to give you more, but you stuck to your word.

You had tried so hard to hide to hickeys on your neck. At first, you pulled the hood over your head, making it near impossible to see your face. Watching you cower behind the hood of the jacket she let you borrow was comical. The sight made a smirk pull at her lips.

It took more effort to keep a neutral face when a teacher told you to take the hood off. Your classmates took notice immediately, forcing your efforts to be in vain. Some sent you looks of concern and others wore a knowing look. However, no one was brave enough to say anything.

For once, Wednesday wondered what it looked like from everyone else's perspective. To have their object of affection be so obviously claimed by someone else. She briefly wondered if it inflamed jealousy in her classmates, but that thought quickly morphed into pride. You are hers.

Any amusement she felt was washed away when you moved your hand away from hers under the table. She immediately sent you a look mixed with concern and confusion. You answered with a raised eyebrow and gesture towards your neck. Her features instantly fell. She didn't think you'd actually follow through with the punishment.  

You shook your head and tried to focus on class. The disappointment Wednesday was feeling was palpable — at least it was for you. You could see her out of the corner of your eye. She kept a hand under the table as she went turned her attention back to her notes.

You huffed quietly, annoyed by how guilty she was making you feel. You eyed the hand in her lap, sitting there tauntingly. You could feel your resolve crack the longer you looked at it. You gingerly reached out to grasp it. Noticing how Wednesday was snapped out of her foul mood.

You decided then that having no contact was practically impossible. Wednesday sought contact almost as much as you did. You weren't entirely sure you could go without any contact from Wednesday for long. When she brushed her thumb over your knuckles you're resolved broke.

You realized shortly after that not kissing Wednesday was also an impossible task. Not only were her lips captivating in every way imaginable, but having the sweet aftertaste of her was something you desperately craved every moment of the day. Your resolve broke once again. You fleetingly thought about withdrawing the punishment altogether but decided against it. Settling for not letting her initiate any kisses for the time being.

However, Wednesday wasn't satisfied; even when she knew your resolve broke. She itched to have her lips on yours of her own volition — to leave more of her marks on your skin. The only way she could get what she wanted was through retaliation. 

Her retaliation was something she'd normally be ashamed of. She wanted to break your resolve entirely. She wanted you to be the one to end the punishment early so her dignity came out intact. You didn't need to know about her internal torment. Not when this whole situation was your fault.

Wednesday started to take her frustrations out in the kisses you shared — kissing you ardently. She had no reservations in holding back, letting her hands wander in place of her lips. Purposefully leaving your clothes rumpled, your chest heaving, and your lips swollen.

Wednesday had watched your resolve crack each time she kissed you. Unfortunately, her own resolve was cracking with each kiss. She needed you to extract the punishment. Her invitation to review notes was a cover. She was going to get you to drop the retribution before anything else.

Wednesday had a plan in place, and multiple backup plans were included. She went through her routine of tidying the room before your arrival, going through every possible scenario as she waited. She was so preoccupied she didn’t hear the knock on the door. Only taking notice when Enid opened the door.

"Hey! I didn’t know you were coming, what's up?" Enid inquired, opening the door wider for you to step inside.

"Wednesday invited me over to go over some of the notes from this week. Are you studying with us too?" you asked in return. Unintentionally inviting Enid to stay.

You busied yourself with taking out the necessary materials, not noticing the glare and shake of Wednesday's head. Enid gulps before going to her side of the room to grab her school bag.

"Nah, I think I'm gonna head out. I told Yoko I would gossip with her tonight anyway," Enid said, lying through her teeth.

"Oh okay. Have fun and stay safe," you replied cordially, finally looking up at the two.

"Sure! Text me if you want me to bring anything back," Enid easily responded. Bouncing over to give you a hug, ignoring the deadly look Wednesday sent her. "I'll be back later! Try not to hurt your brain too much, love you!"

You sent a friendly wave towards the already shut door, hoping she didn’t feel obligated to leave. You turn to look at Wednesday, who already rid her face of any murderous traces. She looked you over, noticing how you are wearing a hoodie — something that will get in her way later.

She silently takes calculated steps in your direction, cautious not to step on your things. When she reaches her desired distance, she reaches for your hand. "I've missed you," she whispered.

She watched your breath hitch and your eyes scan her face. Your lips parted and quivered with unspoken words. She let you take a moment to gather yourself, knowing your response will guide her plan.

"I've missed you too," you replied breathlessly.

Wednesday knew you were so close to breaking your resolve. She was also aware she was just as close to breaking her resolve too. Your warmth was tantalizing. Your eyes swirled with nothing but love, it was affecting her train of thought. Her brain was slowly starting to become single-minded. Her thoughts want to think of nothing but you.

She knew what would have to happen for your resolve to break, to fall into a million pieces. It was the same intimate act that would collapse her own. She knew she stood there for too long and needed to move on to her first backup plan.

Wednesday cleared her throat and took a step back, keeping your hands connected. "Let's go ahead and-"

"Can I kiss you?" you asked quietly, cutting her off. She hadn't expected that, but she could make it work. It had nothing to do with the fact she wanted to kiss you. More than anything.

Instead of verbally answering, she pulled you in by your hand. Putting her free hand on the back of your head to pull you to her. She stopped when you were only a hair's breadth away.

Your eyes were closed, your cheeks were red, and you just looked completely at her mercy. It was utterly satisfying, knowing she had all the power in this situation. Knowing she had won. With that, she closed the distance and gently brushed her lips against yours.

You put your hands on her waist, pulling her as close as possible. Her, now, freed hand moved to your neck, gently tracing the almost faded marks she memorized. A shiver ran wracked your body, causing Wednesday to smile into the kiss.

She had always thoroughly enjoyed how responsive you were. Even if the responses were small or insignificant.

Once again, Wednesday let her emotions poor into the kiss. Easily forcing it to become heavy. This time, you equally responded to her. You reciprocated all of her actions in your own way.

When you pulled away, your breaths were heavy, mingling in the short distance between your lips. You press your forehead on hers, trying to catch your breath.  

Wednesday slowly and gently guided you to her bed. Sitting you down before settling over your lap, legs on either side of your own. Naturally, you put your hands on her waist to steady her. Her eyes swam with adoration and desire.

You can't help but lean up to connect your lips once more. You let yourself get lost in the feeling of her lips and her taste. Your fingers graze the skin of her stomach, hesitant on moving upwards.

She moved one hand to one of yours, softly moving it toward the expanse of her skin. Your hands are cold against her torso, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin. She nips at your bottom lip at the feeling, making you release a quiet groan. Eager to hear that sound again, she tilts her head to bite your lip more forcefully.

The feeling have you tightening your grip on her waist, pulling her flush against you. Disconnecting your lips to trail them to her jaw, she tilts her head to give you more space. Leaving open mouth kisses in your wake, slowly working your way up to leaving your own marks.

You trail your hands higher, gently playing with the fabric of her bra. You use her soft sounds and reactions to guide you, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. You lightly move your hands under her bra and graze the underside of her breasts as you bite down on her neck. You gently run your tongue over the rapidly reddening spot to soothe it.

Wednesday's breathing is loud and uneven. Breathless moans leave her lips every time your teeth graze her neck. She pushes herself against you and grinds down on your lap. You pull away, the absence of your warmth pains her.

"Wednesday, take it off," you breathlessly pant before returning to her neck.

She understands straight away and rushes to remove the jacket she's wearing. She carelessly tosses it somewhere behind her, moving to get your jacket off next. It proves more difficult, as you refuse to detach yourself from her.

When maneuvers it off she forces her lips onto yours. Teeth accidentally clacking against each other. Your hands move back under her shirt, moving to rub the skin of her back. You drag your lips to her neck, once again leaving trails of color. You find the juncture between her neck and shoulder and bite down just as you drag your nails down her back. Her breath hitches and then she lets out a long quiet moan.

 She pushes you onto your back, forcing you to bring your hands from under her shirt. You lean on your elbows and try to catch your breath as she looks at you. You can see the hickeys you left and feel proud.

"My turn," she stated.

Just as your lips met you both hear the loud sound of keys outside the door. The sound of the key sliding in and out of the lock snapped you and Wednesday into action. You both rush to put your jackets back on, hoping it wasn’t obvious.

The loud thud outside the door startles you both, "Oh no! I dropped my book!" Enid exclaims, voice muffled by the door.

The absurdity of her action makes you laugh. Wednesday can't help but smile at how lovely your laugh sounds. Though that smile is replaced with a glare when Enid walks through the door.

Enid scans the room, immediately noticing the marks on Wednesday's neck, and smirks. You finally got your revenge, Enid notes. The blonde notices you laughing with tears collecting in your eyes and asks, "Why are you laughing?"

"You’re hilarious Enid, thank you," you reply between giggles.

"Well thank you, ma'am," Enid says bowing.

You feel the threatening aura Wednesday is emitting. Clearly upset you two were interrupted, again. You turn to look at her, "Wednesday, let's go to my room. My roommate said they won't be coming home tonight."

It's silent for a moment, "Fine,"

You stand in the middle of the room, hoping to stop Wednesday from attacking Enid. You gather your stuff quickly before bidding goodnight to Enid as you and Wednesday walk out the door.

"I almost killed her," Wednesday says.

"I know," you answer.

---

Wednesday shakes you awake in the morning. You blink owlishly at her, "Are you alright?" you ask hurridly. 

"This," she gestures to her neck, "This isn't funny." 

You blink a couple of times, "I don't know what you're referring to, Wednesday. I'm going back to sleep."

"Help me hide them," she demands

"You reap what you sow, Wednesday"

Running on basically no sleep 😙✌️

tags: @alexkolax @rainbow-love4ever @o638 @tundra1029 @greyscxle-is-taken @the-lazy-turtle

[quinnyundertow]

Ahhhhh the commission I ordered for “When I catch you Gege” Chapter 6 was just completed! So excited! Yuta and Junpei ❤️❤️ Art done by the amazing @elsartzz

Excerpt from Chapter 6

It took every fiber of your being to not follow him the last twenty feet to the shed. You doubled over gasping heavily trying to catch your breath from the long sprint. You could hear the sounds of Junpei being beaten as the door to the shed was ripped from the sliding track it was on. Your eyes were wide in shock as the metal doorway was thrown through the air like a scrap of paper in the wind. The weight of it only showed when it crashed to the ground and impaled itself into the mud of the grass field.

Various yells of surprise were heard at the dramatic opening of the supply building before the sheer chaos of hell itself devolved in front of you. Hellish screams escaped through the now gaping maw of the open entry. Pure unbridled fear escaped the men who had beat Junpei as Rika laughed hysterically. You heard the crunch of bones and the squelch of flesh being pounded into the ground. One of the men tried to make a break for it. He appeared from the shed in an attempt to escape retribution. He had almost made it into the light of the outside world when a massive white hand reached out of the dark and clasped itself around the man's leg. Black nails punctured into the fat of the bully’s calves as the special grade curse Rika dragged him back into the interior darkness screaming. His face twisted in terror as his hands scrabbled against the dirt uselessly before he disappeared back into the shed.

A moment later, from the darkness emerged another form. Junpei came flying out of the pitch black, his outfit damaged and his face bloodied from the beat down the bullies had given him before Rika and Yuta emerged into the dark. Upon seeing him you started crying, calling out his name. His eyes met yours as he startled at you being here. You rushed into him throwing your arms around his neck before burying your face into his shoulder. He looked down at you. The fear he felt mixing with new concern and confusion, “Y/n? What are you doing here?! We need to get out of here!”

Junpei’s arms wrapped tight around you as you sobbed into him, “It’s okay Junpei, that’s my friend Yuta. I’m so sorry we were late, I almost failed you again.” Junpei froze his face in an expression of awe as he looked back towards the small shack.

Only silence was heard from the shed now. It was broken by Yuta in a cold and remorseless tone, “If you or anyone else so much as looks at Junpei the wrong way again you won’t escape with your lives.” There were some noises of understanding in the form of moans before Yuta emerged from the shed back into the light. A smattering of blood was on his white school shirt and on his cheek, his clothing only slightly ruffled.

Junpei stared wide eyed at the newcomer as you turned your crying face from where it hid in Junpei’s shoulder to look where Yuta stood. “That’s…your friend?” Junpei asked speechlessly.

You nodded into his chest, your arms letting go from around his neck to wrap around Junpei’s middle tightly. “Junpei, are you okay? I was so scared, did they hurt you badly?”

You and Junpei had your eyes on Yuta who stood somewhat awkwardly in the background. Yuta tried to make his expression disarming with a small smile, his eyes closed. It didn’t really work considering the blood covering him and Rika’s ominous presence; but Yuta couldn’t look more beautiful to you than he did in this moment.

Junpei returned his gaze to your tear stained face. He flushed hard at the concern for him he saw there. A heat went through him as your body pressed tightly up against his own. “Y/n, listen, don’t cry, I'm okay. They’ve done way worse before. Besides, your friend made sure that won’t happen again…”

You nodded, sniffling, letting Junpei go reluctantly before you moved towards where Yuta stood. Rika lurked behind him a wide grin on her face as she examined her claws sprayed with blood. You looked at Rika first knowing she had done the brute force of the job, “Thank you Rika.” You bowed to her in gratitude. You turned to Yuta now, fresh tears starting to fall at his kind expression, “Thank you Yuta.”

He smiled down at you before putting a hand on the top of your head, “Hey, everything is okay now. Please don’t cry.” He lifted his other hand to your cheek to use his thumb to wipe the remaining tears off your face. “You did a great job Y/n we made it just in time.” the hand on your head stroked your hair lightly in reassurance.

You nodded, turning slightly to include Junpei, “Junpei this is Yuta, the friend I wanted you to meet.”

Junpei nodded behind you before bowing in gratitude as well, “Thanks..”, the fear from earlier was no longer in his expression, just a deep curiosity. This shouldn’t surprise you given Junpei had a similar reaction to Mahito killing his bullies in the theater in a much more violent way. Junpei looked down at his feet before continuing, “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Yuta blinked in surprise, shocked that the new boy wasn’t terrified of him. He barked out a laugh in response before saying, “No clue, but I guess we can find out together.”

[phoenixlionme]

NOTE: I know that Charlie is looking at her father in the gif, I tried to find a pic or gif of her looking the other way but couldn't find it. So, I decided to use this given this is in the same song/scene.

I love this brief Chaggie moment in "More Than Anything" because of how Vaggie's shot in the song is so distinct from the others - Angel Dust, Husk, and Sir Pentious are in the darkness and even though Alastor and Niffty show up after Vaggie's turn, they are also in the shadows of the song. But Vaggie? She is entirely surrounded by the bright light. While Charlie does care and love everyone in the Hotel, Vaggie holds a special place in her heart. And I like to discuss the importance of this shot in three separate forms:

Foreshadowing - Given that it's revealed that Vaggie is a Fallen Angel, her being bather in light serves as a subtle bit of foreshadowing. Angels are often attributed to light and brightness.

Symbolism - As stated in the above paragraph, Vaggie is the one of the main cast featured most prominently in the light for this song; and from Charlie's POV, given the most focus as well. This all makes sense because it has been Vaggie who has always supported and believed in Charlie's dreams and ideas; while also being honest and realistic. Initially, the ONLY one in all of Hell to believe in her. While we don't know their full story about their relationship (aside from their first meeting), I hope (and feel) it'll get explored in Season 2. I think Charlie was in a dark place when she found Vaggie - mother gone, estranged from father, treated like a joke from her citizens, and it's implied she doesn't have any close friends aside from her parents and Razzle and Dazzle; not having a proper support system can wear on one's soul. Then, she rescues an injured Sinner (Angel); they start off as friends then girlfriends, and at some point Vaggie hears Charlie's dream' and maybe the Princess is once again expecting her newfound friend/crush to say it's impossible. But it doesn't happen; instead, Vaggie supports the idea. And Charlie is most likely blown away and falls a more in love with the one-eyed protector. I know given Vaggie's subtle moth theme, people say that she's drawn to Charlie's light, which is true, but so is the opposite - Charlie was drawn by Vaggie's light - not in the literal sense given her Angel heritage but in the symbolic light of hope.

Future Predictions?- I like to think that the aftermath of Season 1 which included Sir Pentious' death (until she learns of his ascension), stress from the Hotel, Lute's possible retribution, Lilith's possible chaotic return, the Vees' aggression, etc. It's all going to take a toll on Charlie, possibly pushing her optimism. Maybe leading to an emotional breakdown like she had in Season 1, but this time? Much worse. But it'll be Vaggie that guides her towards the light - another subtle possible foreshadowing was in the More Than Anything reprise where Vaggie pulls Charlie from the dark side of the hallway to the light.

[wint3r-h3art]

Suit & Tie | S.S

Summary: A lovers’ quarrel turned into something quite (un)expected.

Word count: 3.8K (ahahaha! Ooops!!)

Warning: Just a minor spoiler with the wedding!! Established relationship, possessive behavior, subtle passive aggressiveness, jealous sex, exhibitionism, fingering, praise kink, unprotected p in v sex, suit kink (the suit stays on), inappropriate used of mirror dimension, brat taming, mild dom behavior, face slapping, creampied

A/N: are we surprised I wrote this at all? Honestly, it’s just filth. A long ass explicit filth! Grab yourself some water. Maybe shower afterward.  No beta, so if missed anything, I apologize. If you enjoyed this, please comment or reblog. It means so much! If you like to get update on my future fic, please follow @wint3r-library​

If there was one thing you learned from this was to never tease Strange.

You knew you were treading on dangerous ground when you decided to openly flirt with one of the men there. He hasn’t spoken to you or even acknowledged you, and you were his date–his current lover. You couldn’t help but feel jealous when you knew the type of history they shared. Not to mention that your doctor was looking extra sinful today with that suit after all. It took a lot out of you to just not jump his bone while you two were on your way here. 

You could feel him eying you across the room with that piercing gaze of his, trying to take a sip of that martini calmly as possible when he was feeling all sorts of primal urges to drag you back here and showed everyone who you belong to. He knew it was partially his fault for asking you to come here with him just because he couldn’t face Christine himself. He knew it was unfair for you, yet he still insisted on you coming to this wedding as his plus-one. He just didn’t realize you were going to torture him like this. That sort of miscalculation was the reason that he now had to watch his woman talking to another man.

You let out another laugh, which drew his attention away from his own thoughts. This time, he noticed the young man’s hand was getting a bit too friendly on your waist. A brow quirked as he noticed the way you subtly removed his hand away from you with a polite smile, but he didn’t take the hint. Something inside him clicked. He didn’t mind the harmless flirting. What he did mind was the touching part.

No one touched what’s his.

Stephen chugged the rest of his drink and set it on an empty table before he made his way to you. Jealousy was practically seeping out of his pores as he inched closer to you that you couldn’t help but look his way.

“Doctor,” you breathed, welcoming his solace despite the intense gaze burning right through you. As much as you enjoyed teasing Strange, this little game of yours was becoming too nuisance. You were fine until your silly little pawn decided to touch you without your permission. Strange has made it clear to you many times that he doesn’t like anyone touching you, and you were quite aware of the consequences.

Strange would want retribution.

“Darling,” he forced a smile, the kind where his lips pressed together into a straight line and gave you that knowing look. You noticed the way his jaw clenched tightly that the muscles flickered and strained. His strong arm snaked around your waist possessively as he fiercely pulled you to his side. Warmness radiated off his large body and made your body tingle. The smell of his woodsy cologne filled your nostrils, making your head spin. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

His voice was polite, but there was an edge to it that made your body shudder by the way his voice dropped an octave lower. Your body ached and throbbed.

“Well, I haven’t gone anywhere. Just here. Talking to a friend while you were busy chatting with Christine,” you replied with a smile. 

“I was just catching up with an old friend, that’s all,” he replied back quickly. Stephen narrowed his eyes at the man before him. There was nothing special about him, yet somehow you picked him. The choice itself offended Strange. Surely, if you decided to make him jealous, you could at least pick someone better looking. 

The young man was more than thrilled to meet Stephen, but both of you were too busy engaging in the battle of the will to bother to listen to him. Stephen suddenly took you by the hand before the young had time to finish talking. You tried to pull away, but his grip was stronger. You quickly apologized to the young man for your boyfriend's rudeness. Stephen rolled his eyes at that when he heard him calling after the two of you. With a flick of his fingers, the young man’s drink spilled all over himself, which caused a commotion. 

“You’re being an ass right now, Stephen,” you hissed as he calmly escorted you out of the crowded room and into the quiet hall. He was walking too fast, taking long strides that made it impossible for you to keep up. The murmuring of the wedding guests in the main hall could be heard even if you and Strange were this far away.

“Oh you love it,” Strange muttered back. His grip tightened around your wrist, practically dragging you at this point. His clear sapphire eyes darkened like a raging storm waiting to unleash. With a wave of his hand, Strange opened up the mirror dimension. Reality cracked, shattered like glass as he dragged you inside. If the two of you were going to lash it out here, he’d rather no one heard about it. The perk of being a sorcerer.

You were still fuming to be aware that you were no longer in your world. “You’re being mean,” you whined as you pulled back, but Strange was stronger. With a quick turn, Strange stopped and pushed you against the stone rail. You hissed at the sharp coldness that pressed against your lower back. He caged you in with both arms on either side of you, trapping you there. 

“Said the woman who abandoned her boyfriend.”

“Said the man who can’t get over his ex!” You bit back. You knew how to push his buttons, and right at this moment, you were practically slamming all of them. 

You watched his nostrils flare as he inched closer. The smell of alcohol lingered on his breath as the heat of his body radiated off of him, warming you to your bone. You couldn’t tell if you were scared or aroused at this point. He was looking devilishly handsome, and the fierceness in his eyes was more than enough to get you wet. 

“Choose your words wisely, darling,” he said in a slow and deliberate voice. A shiver rolled down your spine, and your pussy tingled. 

“Or what?” you challenged. The simmering hurt you’ve been feeling all afternoon finally boiled over. “You started this, Stephen. You brought me here so I can watch you gawked over your ex-girlfriend.”

His hand reached out to cup your chin, watching you with half hooded eyes. His expression was unreadable, but whatever he was thinking, you continued anyway. 

“So what if I was a bitch for trying to make you jealous? At least I don’t lie to myself, Stephen.” You were mumbling at the last part as angry tears threatened to fall, but you were better than that. 

He remained silent but his fingers trained down till he reached the column of your neck. Instinctively, your head tipped back slightly, welcoming his touch. His callus fingers grazed just beneath your jawline, leaving your skin with goosebumps in its wake. Your breath shuddered as your rage slowly dissipated into a longing. You wanted–no you were wishing Stephen to curl those long, slender fingers of his around you. The anticipation made you ache terribly that a whine slipped right out of you. 

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, darling,” he finally said. The gray storm in his eyes still swirling. He was still fuming–still angry at your audacity to humiliate him like that.

“And neither does it look good on you,” you retorted back. Your voice came out no more than a breathless whisper. “But here we are.”

“I will not apologize for the way I acted in front of that man,” he said firmly, his hand trailing down. You let in a sharp intake as he laid his palm flatly against your chest. Your heart beat rapidly, practically bursting out of your chest as you glared up at him. “But, I will apologize for making you feel like I valued Christine more than you…”

You stopped breathing for a moment as your gaze softened. Strange continued, this thumb gently rubbed at your collar bone, eliciting a shaky breath out of you. “Christine will always be a presence in my life, but…she is my past. You on the other hand are my present.” my future.

You swallowed at his admission, realizing how much you have longed to hear those words out loud. How foolish of you to ever doubt him. 

Stephen cradled your face in his hands. “Now do you understand why your little game has become a problem?” You couldn’t answer him. “I always thought you are my good girl, but you wounded me, darling. You wounded me and humiliated me. Whatever shall I do to you?”

His deep baritone voice was smooth like velvet. Each word melted off his tongue with a silent promise. You shuddered at what was to come. 

“Are you going to break up with me?” 

A smirk etched on his lips, cracking his sharp marbled features. His hand was now on the nape of your neck. A sharp exhale left your lips as his lips were only inches away from yours.

“You? Never. You'll always be mine, sweetheart.” 

With that, his lips crushed yours, silencing whatever words you were about to say. Electricity flowed in your veins, buzzing and humming as his tongue danced with you. A low moan reverberated from deep within his chest as he pressed his hard body against your, trapping you there. His name fell from your lips like a breathless incantation as his hand roamed your body. His fingertips dug at your side. 

Strange was kissing you along the jawline now, nipping and licking you without a thought. A surprised gasp tore from your lips while he hiked your leg up, ripping your dress slightly as he pressed his growing bulge right into your core. 

“Stephen…” you managed to mutter before your eyes bulged out when you noticed the waitstaff starting pouring from the reception hall. “Stephen, please they are going to see us.”

He only replied with a grunt before slipping the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and beginning to kiss his way down to your chest. Another shaky breath left your lips as you pleaded with him, afraid to be seen in such a compromising position. 

“Stephen…” you breathed when his lips found your mound. His tongue flickered and licked at the stiff bud. “They’re going to see us.”

“Then let them,” he grunted before he continued to suckle on your breast. 

You whimper at his onslaught upon your senses, and your knees almost gave out when you noticed one of the staff  was walking your way. You clenched your eyes shut as if you could hide your shameless display between your lover. You expected to hear a gasp or a scream, but none. 

As you peered your eyes open, that person simply walked past the two of you as if you weren’t there. Confusion painted your expression as you looked down to find Stephen eyeing you with a knowing smirk but your attention was drawn away when he dropped to his knees, pulling your dress off of you till it pooled at your feet.

The cold air chilled your skin as you stood there feeling exposed. His long slender fingers grazed over the back of your thigh, allowing his short nails to drag into your skin slightly. A soft hiss escaped from you as his lips ghosted over your inner thigh. His hot breath fanned over your skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in its wake. Your pussy was pulsating to your quickening heartbeat, dampening the small flimsy fabric that shields you away from his piercing gaze.

“You’re soaking through your panty,” his voice was no more than a soft tremor as he kissed his way up. It was barely a few inches away from your aching core. His fingers probed and pressed against the clothed slit. You sucked in your breath as he grazed his fingers back and forth, and occasionally, he would push them inside you. It took everything in you to not whimper out loud from his torturous touch.

“Stephen, please. Someone will see us,” you pleaded pathetically. 

A smile curved at the corner of his mouth before he stood up so abruptly. His hands slide to the curve of your ass. “No, they won’t. We’re in the mirror dimension, sweetheart. I control everything here.” 

With a wave of his hand, the scenery before you folded and unfolded, changing the landscape like a kaleidoscope. The stone rail behind you turned into a large panel of a solid wall of glass. You could see cars and buses, even people walking. Yet, they were unaware of the naughty things you and Strange, their beloved sorcerer, were about to do. 

“Then—”

“No one will see us here…Unless you want them to. In that case, I can arrange that as well.”

“No! don’t do that, Stephen!” you protested, trying to push him away, but fail.

A surge of excitement coursed through you when he pushed you backward till your back pressed against the cold hard glass. “Hold on to me,” he said before he lifted you up, causing you to yelp out loud. He hoisted you up higher, his hands slid underneath your ass to hold you as your legs wrapped around his taut waist. His lips found yours once again, kissing with a fervor that made your head spin. His straining erection was distinct, pressing against your pulsating core with a euphoric promise. 

Your body was practically humming and buzzing at this point. The need to have him take you was the only thing you could think of. 

Your attention was pulled back at the soft rumbling. The landscape changed once again as the glass wall slowly turned and folded into what resembled a flat, horizontal surface. Leaning over, Strange laid you there against the see-through floor. The image below was no more than black, moving dots.

The moment you let go of him, Strange quickly tried to shake off his jacket, but you stopped him. 

“The suit stays on,” you bit your lips. You didn’t have to say it twice because his mouth was on yours, and he was hungrier than before. 

His kiss was tongue and teeth. His fingers dug into your arms, making you wince slightly. You laid there with your head slightly dizzy, clearly drunk from his onslaught upon your senses. His hand was now cupping your breast, holding and squeezing it till you let out a muffled whine. 

Tearing his lips away from yours, his mouth lowered to suck on one nipple. You moaned and quivered beneath him. Your hand clenched tightly around his arm. Your head tossed back as a throaty moan ripped right out of your lips. His tongue twirled and flicked over your sensitive bud. Occasionally, he would bite down hard enough to make you hiss before he ran his tongue over it. He repeated this a couple of times until both peaks were erected and straining outward before he moved to press his lips against the space between the valley of your breast.

He released his hold on your breast as he ran his fingers down your rib cage, then lower to your stomach. Further his fingers would go until they reached the juncture of your thighs. A breathless gasp left your lips as he slipped underneath your panty and delved into your welcoming heat. His thumb pressed over your clit, and your body tightened in response.

His lips pulled back into a snarl at the way your wetness coated his fingers. 

“So wet and so needy for me, sweetie. I barely do anything to you,” he teased. His was no more than a rumble that set your nerve ablaze. You whispered out his name again as his fingers entered your warm, silken entrance while his thumb continued to press and circle against that swollen small bundle of nerves.  

It took all of you to pull yourself together to watch him. His mouth was on your breast, sucking and licking your nipple while his fingers worked you, stroking your deeper and closer toward your ecstasy. You cradled his head there as your fingers combed through that perfectly combed salt and pepper hair. 

A low moan rumbled in his chest, sending a soft vibration through you. Your body started to tighten as the coil that sat at the pit of your stomach threatened to snap.

“Baby, I’m very close,” you pleaded in a breathless panting. Stephen growled as he slid his fingers deeper till he was knuckled deep. He was pressing against the spongy spot that made you gasp. He curled his fingers here and there when he withdrew them out of you, eliciting delicious friction that surely pushed you further into the edge. It wasn’t long until you came, straining and spasming beneath him.

Stephen slowly withdrew his hand and watched you with a smirk on his face. He knew he shouldn’t give you the pleasure of cumming, but he couldn’t help the feeling of satisfaction of being the only person that can make you cum without sticking his cock in you. It was an arrogant thought, but he knew he had ruined you for anyone else at this point by the way he spoiled you. 

“You’re a brat, Y/N,” he commented as he sucked on the fingers that were fucking you a few seconds ago. “You’re a spoiled, bratty, little cock slut, you know that?”

You whined as you cracked your eyes open. “I shouldn’t even let you cum. I should have just left you here high and dry, but because I'm feeling generous today, I let you cum. And what do I get in return? Humiliation. Do you think I deserved that humiliation?”

You shook your head frantically.

Strange hand suddenly flew to your cheek with a soft smack. You hissed but the suddenness of it. It didn’t hurt. It was more of a surprise that slowly melted into something more primal. 

“I’m going to ask you again, do I deserve that humiliation?”

“No, doctor,” you whispered, biting your lower lips. You could feel your slick leaking out and rolled down till he gathered beneath you. 

“And what do I deserve?” His pupils were practically blown wide as he stared at you. 

“Me.”

Slap. “Wrong answer, sweetheart. What do I deserve–what do I get from you?”

“My tight little pussy,” you said bashfully. You could feel your face getting hotter at that admission. You weren’t good at dirty talking, but somehow with Strange, it was different. Somehow his authoritative demeanor just made you feel the need to please him any way he wanted.

“Good girl,” he praised and you could feel your heart flutter and soared. He pressed his forward head against yours while he took your hand in his. You sucked in your breath when he pressed your palm against his straining erection. 

His eyes clenched tightly, mouth hung agape as he was rubbing himself against your palm. His breath shuddered here and there when you squeezed him slightly. His eyes flew open when you began to unfasten his pants and slide them down his hips. He was hard and heavy, ready to fuck all the attitude right out of you.

Grasping his shaft with your shaky hand, you gave him a few tugs first before lining himself at your entrance. Your pussy was practically quaking at the anticipation of being filled by him. You let out a unison moan when you pushed the head of his cock inside your swollen pussy. Strange stopped himself for a brief second, muscles strained slightly at the welcoming heat before he surged forward until he was fully sheathed inside you.

Your gasp mingled with his. You almost went over the edge by the way he stretched you out so deliciously, tormenting you with that desirous friction. He was overwhelming you in the best way possible, and you couldn’t wait for him to rail you to another dimension and back. 

His fingers dug into your hips as he began to move. Your eyes widened at the ferocity and the urgency in his pace. His eyes narrowed as a low growl rumbled in his chest. His hands went flat against the space beside her face before he leaned down, pushing himself deeper inside you. 

He withdrew himself all the way back and thrust forward, jolting your body slightly with each re-entry. His gaze burned into yours as your body was preparing for another rapture. Stephen leaned back before he reached down and grasped your legs and draped them over his shoulders. He was so much deeper now that every time he thrust forward, he pushed all the air right out of your lungs.

And just when you thought this was it, Strange slid his hands down underneath your ass and he began to really push into you, hard and forceful, sending waves upon waves of onslaught pleasure soaring through your body.

“Yes, yes, yes. Use me, doctor,” you mumbled in between your breathless panting. You came with a quick shout as he continued to pound into you again and again. Your eyes clenched tightly as your body rode out the orgasmic wave.

His nostrils flared, teeth bared as you squeezed him. Strange’s movement became erratic as he continued to withdraw and surge forward while his hands tightened against your hips. He was so impossibly deep, so far inside you that all you could feel is his pulsating cock driving in and out of your quivering heat.

Then he grunted as his body went rigid above you. Every muscle in his body flexed and tightened. His fingers dug into your flesh as he was practically flushed where your body joined.

“Mine,” he grunted almost animalistic as he came into you. Strange continued to thrust, spurting his cum deep inside you. His release seemed endless. You could feel him seeping out of you with every movement. 

Then he was out of you. 

You winched at the way he was spilling out of you. He was panting as he rolled onto his back. Perspiration painted his forehead. His salt and pepper hair stuck out in various directions.

“I lied,” you mumbled with your forearm over your eyes. “Jealousy does look good on you, doctor.”

Stephen only replied with a groan before he gave your nipple a gentle tug. “Try me again, and I'll have you strung above a building.”

You shivered at that, but you let out a soft chuckle anyway. You knew it wasn’t a threat. You knew what’s capable and willing to do to make his point known, and you fucking love it.

[zepskies]

Okay, I loved the reader smacking Ben's ass, so can we do an uno reverse of the situation, but lmao it would probably not end well because knowing Ben it probably would've been done during a terribly inappropriate time like a meeting or something, also I know that you didn't explicitly say it was BMD ben and reader but I did read it as such, lmao - salvadoreña anon (lmao it feels a little weird to call myself that because Im also desi lol)

Hello my Latina Lovely! 😘 (Wow! Love that you're also Desi. ❤️)

Aw, hell, you done uno-reversed me…

See this imagine for context: Repaying Soldier Boy for a job well done.

(And yes, I had Break Me Down-verse SB x Reader in my head writing that one as well lol. They're ingrained in me. 😂)

Word Count: 350

Imagine: Ben gets a little payback.  

Your heels clacked on the tile floor brusquely as you made your way back to your office, over in Surveillance. You carried a stack of paperwork that had to be sorted through—and on Grace Mallory’s desk by end of day today.

Your hair was falling out of its loosening bun, and you tried in vain to blow a piece of it out of your face. The elevator on the opposite end of the hall dinged. The doors opened, and out came your boyfriend, strutting into the hall in his supe suit.

You smiled. “Wow, that was quick. You caught Metallo?”

“Being booked with bendy straws for arms as we speak,” Ben replied with a cocky smile. He headed toward you down the hall. “Gonna grab a bite to eat. Care to join?”

You raised a brow at bendy straws for arms. He really needed to work on how badly he roughed up these supes when bringing them into custody.

“Can’t right now,” you said, gesturing with your eyes to your workload. “But I’ll let you know when I’m ready to head home, if you want to wait for me.”

While you spoke, Ben was busy taking in your white blouse, the dark red lipstick, the pencil skirt, the sexy little heels. It was straight out of one of his fantasies…

Maybe you’d be down for a round of sexcretary after work. His lips curved at the thought.

But then, he remembered how you’d got him to accidentally shatter a nice crystal wine glass the other night, and it got him contemplating some retribution.

“All right. See you then, baby doll,” he said mildly.

When he finally reached you, he gave you a nice smack on the ass as he passed by.

You jolted with a wide-eyed yelp. Ben smirked at the sound.

He’d gotten you with a little more force than he thought though, as it made you lose your grip on your files. They flew from your hands and scattered onto the floor.

You twisted back to meet him with a glare. Ben’s hand clenched and curled back…

Then he gave you a sly grin.

“Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”  

AN: So I don't typically post two new fics within the same day (sorry for the spam), but this one was short and essentially a sequel to the other imagine lol. (And my weird brain doesn't like a packed drafts folder. 😉)

I have at least one more SB imagine coming this week. I got a ton of requests this weekend, so thank you all! I really am so flattered. 🥰🥰

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[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - A John Shelby/Vampire OFC Story.

Well, guys. It's happening. Kinda happening. Testing the waters, yep. We'll go with that. I'm not convinced it's any good despite my best efforts, so I thought I'd see what you thought by sharing the prologue. Who knows? You might love it and then I could feel a little much-needed cheer when I'm going through a bit of a black spot at present, but if not then I know I have to go away and work harder on it. Either way, your feedback matters to me, and I thank in advance those kind enough to leave it.

The story will differ slightly from canon here and there, as you will notice, but not so much that's unrecognisable. Slightly AU, shall we say!

Here we go!

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 1,956

Warnings - Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

Prologue

He stumbled, muttering cusses that fluttered off to permeate the silence of the night, rooting his feet as he straightened, pulling his overcoat around himself more. The cobbles underfoot already twinkled with a smattering of frost, the air thick with winter mist and pungent coal smoke, John feeling his pale skin tremble. The bitter December cold greeted him with her usual sting upon that night.  

“Don’t get so pie-eyed that you don’t know what’s what, John. That goes for all of us.” 

John Shelby wasn’t always the most proficient at following orders, especially when a bad business day had led to his arrival at The Garrison, a decision to sink nine whiskies one after the other and six pints, thus leading to him sitting there sloshed and grinning.  

His troubles had been far behind him as he’d revelled in merriment, loudly championing to his cohorts exactly what he would like to do to Clara Bow, for instance, should he have the screen siren within his lustful clutches for long enough. He’d heeded Tommy’s advice to begin with, but on that day, the loss of over a grand thanks to a horse who should have lost, and a jockey with other ideas, his elder brother’s words of warning had fallen on deaf ears.  

“Fucking Rasmussen’s,” he muttered, sniffing as he at least attempted to walk up Watery Lane in a straight-ish line. “Bastards can fucking try and ‘ave me, but they won’t. Fucking Geordie cunts.”  

The Rasmussen’s, of the family Rasmussen, were a definite thorn in the side of anyone with the surname Shelby at that moment, the Newcastle criminal outfit currently making their presence known, and loudly. Barges that moved through the canal systems anywhere close to their areas within the north had been firebombed, their cargo sunk, Shelby bookmaking stands ransacked at the races, and threats to the family delivered with malicious intent; stay out of the north, or else.  

The Shelby’s were not the type to simply back off, though. They were the type to be on their guard against any reprisal attacks, vengeance against the kind of Shelby retribution the likes of which had - after quite the bloodied brawl - sent the Rasmussen’s scarpering from a race meet in Derby two weekend’s past.  

The family would not simply roll over and take the threat lying down, and neither would the Rasmussen’s. They were great in number, and where hand to hand strength lay, perhaps the most formidable in force that the Shelby’s had ever encountered. That strength did not seem normal, more deity gifted than naturally arising.  

They bred ‘em hard as nails in the north, apparently.  

As he staggered, lying down was exactly what John wished to be doing, once again standing to root his feet upon the slippery cobbles, looking up at a streetlamp which had begun to flicker slightly, the bulb then suddenly popping with an audible bang.  

First assuming a stray bullet had been responsible, it was just the sobering shock he needed to quickly take stock, his sky-blue eyes scanning the darkened street for any kind of movement through the thick fog, drawing himself up taller as his hand automatically hovered over the gun nestled within his ever-present holster. Bang, bang, bang, another three streetlamp bulbs all shattered, plunging the lane into darkness, John feeling the effects of the whiskey diminish as his senses prickled on high alert.  

He stood statuesque, his ears pricked, eyes still darting from left to right while his hand curled around the thick handle of the gun, primed, ready. They wouldn’t get the better of him, oh fuck no. He blinked, and a figure finally came into view a couple of hundred yards ahead, seemingly appearing from nowhere. He blinked again and saw that the woman dressed in white and stained with blood had moved again, John shaking his head in confusion.  

It must have been the drink. People did not move from one side of the street to the other at such a speed, seemingly vanishing and appearing once more within a blink.  

She appeared to be on high alert, John watching as she sniffed the air, a deep, foreboding rumble sounding through the night. He wondered whose dog was out at that hour, until it hit him; the growl was coming from her. It was a noise neither of human nor beast, an eerie, echoless reverberation, his heartbeat amping up a notch as he watched.  

Another blink and she was once again moved, a tearing sound filling the air, followed by a shrill cry, gurgling noises, spluttering. Looking to his right, he witnessed the woman dragging a man who had been concealed within the shadows out into the street, her mouth clamped upon his neck. John stood motionless, his eyes widening as he viewed the scene, a cold snap of horror shocking his bones as he witnessed her yank the man’s head clean from his neck with frighteningly swift finesse.  

His jaw began to tremor, his grip upon the gun in his hand tight as she walked to him, her fingers tangled in the black hair of the severed head she carried, a shock of crimson painting her chin and neck from where she had gorged upon the blood of the now lifeless, headless body slumped upon the cobbles.  

“Who the...” he began as she halted before him, changing track. “What the fuck are you?” 

Her lips curled into a smirk, holding the severed head aloft, blood and sinew dripping onto the ground below. “I am the one who saved you from Samuel Rasmussen. He waited for you.” Her head jerked back a fraction in the direction of the darkened lane. “Same as his three friends.”  

The silken purr of her voice was so alluring, it almost overrode the fact that John stood so terrified, he honestly did not know what on earth to say next. Had he truly seen what he saw? Was this merely a whiskey hazed dream? Surely, he was about to wake with a start, a thumping headache accompanying the morning that followed such peculiar dreams, for this couldn’t be real. 

Could it? 

Dropping the head to the floor, her hand reached for him, John’s shaking grip upon the gun solidifying as he thrust his arm forth, attempting to press the barrel to her skull. He found himself disarmed faster than he could comprehend, the Webley revolver landing with a clatter upon the ground.  

“Shhh,” she soothed, her enchanting eyes flitting over him, her long nails gently trailing his cheeks as she viewed him intently. “I mean you no harm.”  

Studying her up close properly, it was then that he noticed them, the two long, pointed teeth in place of where her canines should have sat, the smooth white smudged with red. His heart pounded like a war drum, his entire body feeling light. The lithe muscles of his form pinched tightly in fear, yet a juxtaposing sense of calm seemed to swirl through him at her softly delivered words. 

“You can trust me. I wish nothing more than to instil that within you.” What on earth was that accent? He couldn’t place it at all. 

How exactly, he could trust a woman who had just decapitated a man with her bare hands after drinking his blood, he didn’t know, but he felt on an instinctual level that he could. Unless it was the whiskey. Whiskey, of course, had the power to lie.  

The woman, though, seemed to be earnest in what she had told him, her nails stroking her cheeks as she studied him, her blue eyes flitting, taking him in. Oh, how she approved of what she gazed upon. He was magnificently handsome. Her nails stroked a hail of goose bumps over his alabaster skin, reaching his neck as she leaned forward, sniffing him. A contented sigh fluttered over her lips. 

“Your blood smells like earth and fire, honey and dark orchids.”  

What?  

He frowned, perplexed, opening his mouth to speak. No words came forth. He was so overcome by her that speech was beyond him. It felt like she was pouring soothing waves of calm into him, and little did he realise, but he was correct. Her kind could transmit energies to humans in order to placate their fears. 

Staring down at her, it struck him sharply, how much she didn’t quite look like she belonged there. Striking she was, with her milky skin that matched his own, her throat and chest covered in tattoos, symbols and swirls he didn’t recognise whatsoever. He knew tattooed ladies existed, but he was yet to witness one up until then, the dark-haired, blue-eyed woman smiling, her nails like sensual daggers upon his neck. 

She was unlike anyone else he’d ever encountered, a woman of distinct enigma.  

There was something about her that didn’t fit, decapitation and blood drinking aside. She looked as if she’d come from another time, a different age. This yanked at his interest almost as much as her allure, her pale skin seeming to glow beneath the light of the moon, now unincumbered by clouds as it shone its rays down upon them.  

“You are perhaps the most beautiful creature I have seen in a long, long time.”  

No, it was not he who uttered those words. It was the woman, her statement one of parting, John blinking and finding her vanished once more into the night. She’d left him breathless, with every hair on his body feeling like it was standing on end.  

Vampires tended to have that effect on the living. 

While the third youngest of the Shelby men made his way into their abode, the vampire moved at speed, perching herself atop the roof of one of the opposing back-to-back houses. The dark slate tingled against her bare feet, but being a creature of zero body heat unless she was sitting close to a source of warmth, it was of no bother to her.  

She sharpened her senses to the night, listening intently to every noise, every rustle. A bottle rolled over and tinkled over the cobbles a few streets away, a gentleman a few further on than that regurgitated the many beers he’d sunk in a nearby pub into the gutter, too, but other than that, all was quiet.  

Well, mostly all.  

Within the homestead she had been watching over, she heard the brand-new object of her desire being berated by the woman named Polly, as she’d gathered. Closing her eyes, she saw the one she knew to be named John there in her mind, a throb reverberating through her. Goodness, how handsome he was close up, perhaps the most divine man she’d encountered in a while.  

He carried himself with such pride and confidence, being a member of a notable criminal outfit, of course he would. A vampire of her age could tell so much more about a person, though, just by studying them, as she had with him and his family from the shadows. For all his acts of violence and authority, of which she had witnessed a couple, she sensed a man a little less ruthless than his elder brothers, with a heart a touch softer.  

It was the softness within him that pulled her in the most.  

She had gone there that night with the view of a single-minded agenda, only to encounter John Shelby up close for the first time and realise that her plight was perhaps not going to be quite as polarised as she’d first envisioned. Confident that the family were safe from any further acts of violent subterfuge, the vampire took one last look at the house.  

“Until next time, beautiful creature.”  

She was gone into the darkness within a blink.  

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Holidays! More of wy as female mxy married to lz please!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Jingyi has gotten roped into tea with Clan Leader Lan and Jin Guangyao by Sizhui, which he grumbles about but doesn't actually mind because Jin Guangyao never gives him that mildly disappointed look that he gives other people when they break the rules. Sizhui says it's because Clan Leader Lan thinks he's funny, which is true. He is funny.

There's a frantic knock at the door and Jin Guangyao frowns but says, "Enter."

The door is shoved open and a pale disciple blurts, "Hanguang Jun has beat Madame Lan and now she's with the healers!"

Everyone freezes and Sizhui's eyes go liquid and huge in a way Jingyi hates.

"Don't lie!" Jingyi snaps.

"I saw it," he says urgently. "He just left her there and she had to be carried away!"

Sizhui doesn't ask to be dismissed or even take the time to bow to his uncle and his uncle's - er, whatever they're supposed to call Jin Guangyao since the betrothal didn't work out. Instead he just bolts.

Since Jingyi isn't the heir to the clan, he gives a hasty bow and a "Sorry" before chasing after his best friend. This is probably cosmic retribution for all the times Sizhui has been the one chasing after him.

There are several disciples stationed outside of the healers. Lan Biyu steps in front of the door. "Young Master Lan, now is not the best time to-"

Sizhui glares. "She's my mother. Move!"

She stares at him, wide eyed, and even Jingyi is taken aback. He's never heard him talk like that, but than again none of them would ever be foolish enough to try and get between Sizhui and Hanguang Jun. It's time for them to learn the same care should be extended for Madame Lan.

Lan Biyu steps aside, head bowed.

Jingyi follows Sizhui inside, terrified at what they might find.

Those fears instantly collapsed. Lady Xuanyu is upright and cheerfully talking to healers with glowing hands. Jingyi flushes bright red and looks to the side, because she's only wearing her inner robe with the shoulders pulled down so healing paste can be applied to several dark bruises, which is perhaps why Lan Biyu was trying to keep them out in the first place.

Her bright attitude doesn't change the fact she's covered in bruises and blood, though.

"Hi boys," she says cheerfully, completely unconcerned with her state of undress. Which is one thing with Sizhui being her step son, but she definitely should kick Jingyi out at least.

"What happened?" Sizhui asks. "Did my father do this?"

She shrugs, winces, and gets glared at by the healers for disrupting their movements. "It was a group effort."

Sizhui has gone dangerously pale. Jingyi demands, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hanguang Jun wouldn't really beat his wife, would he? He may not like her, but he doesn't even beat misbehaving disciples. He wouldn't hurt his weak wife who can't even defend herself. Right?

"We were sparring," she says. "He really gave me a workout!"

"It's not a spar if you can't fight back!" he insists.

One of the disciples along the wall snorts, sees everyone's eyes turn to her, and her cheeks flush.

Lady Xuanyu gives him a look, but says, "Unfortunately his core is strong enough that the bruises I gave him are probably already healed, but you'll just have to take my word for it."

"Was it really just a spar?" Sizhui asks quietly.

She blinks. "What else would it be?"

He doesn't answer.

"I ordered them to fight me," she continues, "so I can't really complain about your father joining it."

She what?

"Will someone please tell me what happened?" Jingyi asks plaintively.

Lan Fen does.

He stares, not even able to care about the impropriety of seeing her like this. "You're crazy."

"Jingyi!" several people shout while Sizhui finally seems to relax, his lips quirking up at the corners.

Lady Xuanyu erupts into peals of laughter, disrupting the healers work and causing several of them to send him an annoyed glare, since obviously they can't glare at Madame Lan.

[nataliawrites]

Thorn in My Side // Mick Schumacher

Request: enemies to lovers with Mick Schumacher and driver!Reader

By all means, you should have been friends. You both learned a heartbreaking lesson about the frailty of life far too soon. You both carried the double-edged sword of your respective last names. You both needed motorsport like it was air.

But friends was the furthest thing from what you were.

Since the first time you competed against Mick Schumacher in karts, you’ve had a mutual dislike for each other. It grew and festered with every race and competition, turning into outright hatred as you both entered Formula 1.

It was your first season racing for Ferrari, fulfilling the dream of your late brother, Jules Bianchi. You were racing under the Prancing Horse and alongside one of your best friends, Charles Leclerc. Everything should have been perfect … but Mick Schumacher was a constant thorn in your side. He pretended to be the perfect gentleman in public but never said a cordial word to you and you were convinced that his life goal was to run you off the track as recklessly as possible.

That all came to a head today when an easily avoidable collision between your cars caused both of you to DNF. You were each convinced the other was to blame.

The altercation between you was rapidly escalating to such a point that Sebastian Vettel had to rush over and physically pull you apart, directing you to your separate garages.

You hadn’t calmed down a bit by the time you undressed, just more and more tightly wound through all of the media questions.

Your phone chimed and you hesitated to look at it but gave in after seeing it was a message from Seb. It was a dinner invitation which you promptly accepted — he always knew the best local spots around the tracks and you were frankly famished.

You had time for a nice long shower before doing your hair and makeup and getting dressed. Seb has been a mentor to you for years and you didn’t feel the need to impress him but that didn’t mean that fans and paparazzi alike wouldn’t have their cameras trained on you and you had an image to maintain.

You pulled up to the restaurant in your team provided Ferrari and checked in with the hostess for a reservation under “Vettel.”

“Right this way, miss. Your partner is already seated,” the hostess led you towards a table in the back of the dining room.

Classic Seb, always early.

Except it wasn’t Sebastian Vettel waiting for you. Unless all Germans had the magical ability to switch bodies, you were pretty certain that you were staring straight at the face of Mick Schumacher.

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

The hostess awkwardly placed your menu on the table while you and Mick were trying to burn a hole through each other’s heads.

He gave in and sighed, “we’ve been set up.”

“That no good, meddling …”

“You might as well sit down. We might have been tricked into getting dinner together but that doesn’t mean we can’t rack up a bill and make Seb take care of it as retribution.”

The night continued rather oddly. Maybe it was just the expensive champagne you were going to make Seb pay for or the fact that this is the first time you and Mick had an actual conversation without being at each other’s throats but it was almost … nice.

When you both ended up at Mick’s hotel room after dinner, you swore each other to secrecy. You weren’t going to let Seb win this one.

But the next morning, when you shoved the crumpled bill into Seb’s hands, he just laughed and had the audacity to wink at you.

“Name your first kid after me, won’t you?”

You exchanged a wide eyed glance with Mick and broke into laughter — like that would ever happen!

Two years later, as you welcomed Seb into your hospital room to meet his newborn godson, Sebastian Jules Michael Schumacher, you knew that he would hold that fateful dinner over your heads for the rest of your lives.

It was worth it.

[jacevelaryonswife]

i was thinking how would Jacaerys and aemond be like their s/o having a sweet and addictive taste

ㅤㅤㅤㅤDōna (sweet, pleasant)

“A retribution for your earlier show of affection,” Aemond murmurs as he crawls between your legs, calmly lifting the white night shifts you wore until it pools at your waist. It will be the first time that the one-eyed prince has performed such a feat, but he is no layman, he knows what a man can do between a lady's thighs — much grudgingly, especially when Aegon told him. However, all knowledge has utility.

He holds your hips and kisses your inner thighs very close to where you need it, but not directly there, just to see your restless reaction. Eventually he stops teasing and plants a soft kiss in the center of your intimate area, bringing his lips to your pearl. Your hands cup his stupidly perfect face and guide him where you feel the most effect, then he starts experimentally kissing and licking your flower until you're moaning and the taste of your nectar invades his entire tongue. It's sweet and so addictive and he doesn't want to stop tasting it.

Aemond tightens your hips as he greedily eats your womanhood, licking your entrance and sucking your mound, delighting madly before pulling away to your utter displeasure.

“I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am, my love, because I don't intend to leave until you say so with conviction,” he said, lips wet with your arousal. “You’re completely delicious, fucking delicious. Dōna.” He is relentless in eating you. Fuck, nothing compares to the sweet taste between your legs and he knows right away that he needs to be between your legs every day.

Jace is anxious when he snakes between your legs for the first time. Like Aemond, Prince Jacaerys knows the activities a man can perform with his mouth, but knowing is different from performing, and if there's one thing Jacaerys Velaryon hates, it's being incapable/average at a job. He lifts your white night shift and breathes deeply against your skin, trailing kisses all the way from you belly to your loins. “Let me know if you don't like it, right?” Is all he says before plunging into your flower.

It's sloppy at first. He licks and kisses from the entrance to your pearl, gripping your hips and thighs as he satisfies you intensely. His mouth feels so good against your pearl, he feels so good against you. When you cup the sides of his face and your womanhood moistens, Jace tastes the sweet nectar of you and groans against your mound, pausing to look into your eyes. It's an obscene vision of you and him. His face is wet with your moisture and your face is an aroused mess wanting more. He'll give you more, he'll give you as much as you want because he needs the addictive taste in his mouth.

He eats you like a starving man and makes a mess between your thighs when he realizes that's what you want. “My love, you taste so good,” he says breathlessly, hardening at your moans and your sensitive body to him. “Dōna.” It's almost a sin that something can be this good, it just wants to make you relax and come strong as you luxuriate in the wet petals of your flower.

[elegantsplendour]

Fire and Storm

Summary: As the Seven Kingdoms hesitated between the Blacks and the Greens, Aemond stood ready to flip the script.

Dance of the Empire inspired one shot.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister! reader, mentioned Aegon II Targaryen x Lannister! reader

Note: Hi my dearies, I’m so sorry I haven’t been active in the last month. Transitioning from Montreal to Toronto has been a lot to handle. But the good news is that I got elected as student council vp in my new school🤪. Here is a one shot inspired by my first fic Dance of the Empire (a bit spoiler). I will be back writing all the three fics and will try to update weekly. Thank you all for sticking with me❤️❤️❤️

Warnings: major character death

Tagging my friends :) @qyburnsghost @lovelykhaleesiii @boundlessfantasy @vhagarswar @purple-writer8 @valeska-fics @lexi-anastasia @f4ll-for-you

Within the chilling walls of the seat of House Baratheon, the hearth held a flame that danced rebelliously, threatening to bite those misfortunate enough to find themselves in proximity. Torrential water poured mercilessly from the sky while the wind howled ruthlessly. Sealed by the solid bricks of the castle, the flames, fragile compared to the frightful storm yet unpredictable and dangerous in nature, continued to consume silently.

The silver haired prince sat calmly by the scorching heat, his long fingers brushing against each other. It had been two days since the Lord of Storm’s End pledged allegiance to the prince’s elder brother, called by some the Usurper, in return for a marriage pact between the prince and one of the lord’s daughters. Amidst the looming threat of a deadly civil war, every second counted, but his delay was calculated. Aemond had been waiting silently and patiently for his nephew's arrival, much like a flame waiting to devour its fuel.

A servant knocked by the door, bowed and announced the news. Without a word, he arose from the chair and paced through the solemn hall of the castle with stately ease. The effortless regality exuded from his presence was as if he was on his way of being coronated. A sharp curl appeared on the corner of his thin lips as he recalled his drunken and debauched brother , expecting the Conqueror’s Crown on his head like an infant. With each step Aemond took, he felt himself drawing nearer to his desires: power and her.

Aemond Targaryen wanted everything and was ready to steal, scheme and slaughter.

Unlike his half sister Rhaenyra, the named heir of the late King Viserys, or his brother Aegon, born with the title of the first born son, Aemond Targaryen's life was a battle, a relentless one against a seemingly inescapable destiny of becoming another insignificant Targaryen royal, riding an ordinary dragon, holding a hollow position in court, accompanied by a mediocre noble woman, doomed to be forgotten in history.

However, when his mother suggested betrothing him to the eldest daughter of Tyland Lannister, he was taken aback. Could he, the overlooked second son, really be promised the "Beauty of Casterly Rock" and an alliance with the house guarding mountains of gold? Promises were a strange to the One-Eyed Prince, as he had always been a taker, much like he had claimed the largest dragon in the world. The fleeting memories of the golden lady of emerald eyes all appeared to him a cruel jest. The tender moments of her smiles were overshadowed by her anguished cries upon learning that she had been bartered off to Aemond’s elder brother Aegon, who would rather bury himself between the legs of harlots of the Flea Bottom.

Contained fury blazed in his chest as Aemond watched the young Lucerys Velaryon, his bastard nephew, who had taken his eye eight years ago.

Lucerys conveyed with a trembling voice Rhaenyra’s message to the Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond paid no attention to the words coming out of his mouth. His one violet eye burnt a hole in the quivering messenger. His throat throbbed with thirst for retribution as the flashes of scarlet and black that had blinded his eye when Lucerys’ blade had cut through his flesh.

This rage was tainted with despair, for what he truly desired was taken by his own kin and given to his brother. He soon realized he had nothing left to lose.

With that, as the Lord of Storm’s End dismissed the Velaryon impatiently, the prince’s shadowy figure also disappeared in the hall as he watched Lucerys mounting his pathetic and minuscule dragon Arrax while the storm still raged on.

Soon, the monstrous Vhagar hovered over the young dragon. The lightning tearing through the black sky and roaring of thunder were music to Aemond Targaryen’s ears, as if the gods were in awe of this spectacle of terror. In the face of raw power commanded by the largest dragon of the world, neither Lucerys, Rhaenyra, Aegon, nor even the games of thrones stood a chance. Aemond was the second son who inherits nothing he doesn’t seize for himself. Addicted to the intoxicating scent of the lioness of Casterly Rock and the adrenaline rushing in his veins from being on top of the world, Aemond whispered to the green beast, “Ipradagon.”

Eat

Scarlet blurs flashed before him, followed by a haunting dragon squeal echoed before him with no one but him to bear witness to the gruesome bloodshed. While others might see flesh and dragon bones plummeting from the sky, Aemond saw a vision of the Conqueror’s Crown landing on his head. While his mother, the Dowager Queen, sought to suppress the war, Aemond stroked the anger bubbling in Rhaenyra. And what better way than slaying her favourite son?

War were precisely what he craved; for war breeds to fear, fear spawns to chaos, and chaos is a ladder.

As the Seven Kingdoms hesitated between the Blacks and the Greens, Aemond stood ready to flip the script.

All his life, he had been but a sword wielded at another’s will. At that moment, Aemond Targaryen became the master of his own terror, and the realm would watch a second son rise to rule the continent.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The Dragon’s Spoil (Aemond Targaryen x Rivers! Reader) Part 2

Part 1   |   Part 2   |  Part 3   |   Part 4  

Summary: The baseborn daughter with little knowledge of who your Lord father was, your life is caught in the midst of war. The Riverlands are the base for the Greens and the Blacks, dragons loom in the skies, and men die daily, especially within the walls of the cursed Harrenhal. It’s only when a certain one-eyed dragon comes for his retribution. The year is 130 AC and war endures.

A/N: It was good to see people liked the first part, so I’m continuing with this. If you’re not aware, this series will be around 4 parts, sort of following what happens at the end of the dance of Dragons. 

I also changed the ending to the final part as initially, Vhagar was going to eat the corpses instead or burn them, but it made me think that Aemond wouldn’t do that. Despite killing pretty much all of House Strong, he will still respects their bodies to give them a respectful funeral rite similar to the cremations Targaryen family members get.

I also promise the next chapter is when it gets most spicy.

Tags: slight mention of threat, some gore at the end.

Wordcount: 1,817

The Dragon’s Ruin

It feels like an eternity when you next see the Prince.

Criston Cole has you dragged away into the kitchen of the castle, throwing a cleaner apron that is not stained in mud. “I’m sure one of the ladies has a spare gown for you to wear.”

There are no true ladies of Harrenhal, only those that were dragged to live here by the husbands if they were willing. You gritted your teeth, finding some reprieve when the Hand leaves the room, only to allow you a short moment to change.

You can’t do much apart from try and drag the mud out from the bottom of your gown, already was it stained and appropriately dirtied from days of labour around the castle. The castellan had made sure you were occupied in cleaning: especially in places that had little to no to see you.

You wipe at your brown kirtle with some water in a bucket close by, changing your previous apron with one that is just as messy as the previous one, except the stains seemed more appropriate for a cook. You tie your long black hair up in a bun, loose ringlets fall and frame around your face and fail to fall back behind your ear.

You’re appropriate when the Hand comes for you again, muttering along the lines of “the Prince wants to see you in his chambers” before you’re dragged by the arm again, through the corridors you’ve known all your life. 

It’s not hard to find him: he’s in the same apartment you had previously been cleaning, its fireplace still unlit and ash messily strewn in a manner that had looked to of been discarded. He would be displeased to have his room not the cleanliness of one in the Red Keep.

The One-eyed Prince is situated in a chair by the unlit fire, idly preoccupied in waiting for you as if he had been called to see you and not the other way around. For a moment when you both enter the room, he does not look to address either, and you see in the split second how he does not seem as calm as he usually is.

His hair is thrown forward past his shoulders, long and graceful, he is caught staring with a stare of longing and unknown thoughts. It makes you wonder just what he is thinking, whether he is proud of his doings, or if war has strengthened him into becoming the man he was meant to be.

He is playing at war. You think, staring at him. Boys as green as summer, they think they’re untouchable.

“My Prince,” Criston addresses and the split moment of being with his thoughts bring him back, his eye turning just enough to see you both in his peripheral, “the bastard you called for.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Aemond speaks calmly, though one hand is squeezing his thigh with might that you think he’ll rip the fabric. “You may leave us both.”

Cole obeys like the loyal dog he is, leaving through the doors and closing them shut, leaving you with the man who killed all in a minor House, and what he could do with a girl like yourself.

You could only imagine what Perra was feeling, how she had been lucky to escape with her life. If Aemond had found out that her uncle had been working alongside the Blacks, you were certain her head would have been sent over to him in a lavish box. 

She was the daughter of a knightly house. She escaped because her name was important, not yours. You think, and sadness spreads through your chest. If you had been born a lady of some house, you wouldn’t have to worry about the judgement, the hatred. It burnt in the back of your skull knowing they stared when you walked past, whispering the lies about you.

Witch. Sorcerer of Harrenhal. Killer of babes and men.

They had all been lies, though, if you had been a witch, you wished your stares could burn through a man’s skull. The part about killing babes was false when you had rarely seen children born in a place such as this. Harrenhal was not the place that would bring life but take it. 

You had been warned that bastards were sterile, never able to create life. It was “to curse them for their unfaithful parents.” Though you did know some bastards could reproduce, you dared think the rumour had been true just for yourself.

Though, you feel rather relieved that you wouldn’t be able to, the constant reminder is enough to make you believe so. You wished you were the witch people called you by, just so you could curse the Prince who had waltzed in and dug up everything root and stem. House Strong could never come back and if they could, the baseborn girl that came from the line could certainly not be legitimised to restrengthen its line.

Aemond is standing from his seat when you blink out of your thoughts, staring at his lips move when you realise he is asking you something. “Who was your father, my Lady?”

My Lady. It stings when you hear that come from him, and you almost laugh at the absurdity. You were everything but a lady. Witch. Sorcerer. You think he uses it to humble you, to remind you of what you were.

“I did not know who,” you answer coolly, “many whispered it had been Ser Simon or Lord Lyonel. Some even said Harwin or the Master of Whispers himself, though I would believe they would be similar in age to me the same way a sibling or cousin would be.”

“How old are you?”

“I am three-and-twenty, my Prince.” You grit your teeth when you say his title.

“And your mother?”

A sad smile appeared on your features, hoping that he did not see it appear before you look away from him. “My mother too, was a mystery I never got to know.”

Aemond hums at your word as he slowly stalks closer towards you. “It is not right for a child not to know their parent.” He speaks causally. “The Mother above can be cruel in most ways.”

“It is the sins of the parents that bring bastards into the world, my Prince, not the Mother.” You say, and when he turns his head to you sharply, you dart away to look elsewhere. 

You curse at yourself for overstepping and speaking when you shouldn’t have.

He stares you down with fascination, humming lightly in a singsong tone. “You’re familiar with the Seven, but you were never brought into the Faith?” 

“A novice life would not suit me well,” you shrugged, smiling to yourself. “I simply could never remember the prayers. Harrenhal is cold but I would rather prefer these walls than those of cold and dreary Oldtown.”

Aemond chuckles at that and it takes everything not to gawk at him when you hear it. It’s soft and subtle, but it sounds surprising and oddly nice to hear come from him. “I suppose you’re right. My mother always thought I would make a great knight, fighting in tourneys.”

“I suppose we were put here for greater purposes.” You speak, trying not to look as intimidated under his purple-eyed gaze.

He stares at you, not saying much, but his eye flicks through emotions as if flicking through a book. It’s unnerving but it draws you in ever the same as a moth to flame. You’re intimidated, but you’re intrigued to know more about him, even when you feel such conflicting feelings of wanting to see him and the entirety of the Greens burn.

You find your words come easier, and you ask the crucial question that had plagued your mind since the moment he landed in the courtyard. “If you aren’t going to kill me, my Prince, why am I here?” 

honestly to him before you find yourself lost in his gaze and you forget everything about hating him. 

 Aemond draws his hands behind his back to straighten his back and appear taller, towering over you with ease. It’s as if just staring at his features makes you feel lost in his Valyrian beauty, and you forget everything about hating him. 

“I need a handmaiden and someone who is most familiar with Harrenhal. You would fit both best, am I correct?” He speaks earnestly.

“That… would be correct.”

He is close enough that you can smell the oils on him, the smell of musk that any proud warrior would wear. It's powerful and overwhelming, but it’s almost as if the way he's standing so close to you is his ploy to make you subservient to him. “My brother will only ask that the prominent line of House Strong is destroyed, not of its baseborn. After all, he had taken… to creating some of his own.”

Oh. He was far from a faithful man, and certainly fit the role of a sloth and licentious King. “My condolences to the Queen.”

Aemond hums amusedly as he traces back to his seat, “I require a fire. I expect you know how to work one?”

“Indeed, my Prince.”

“Very well,” he spoke, his face turning just enough that you see his visible eye, burning with something that makes your heart flutter and your stomach twist, “you will have my undivided protection from all the men in this castle. I swear it on my life.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better to know that, rather you think of one thing that you wish you could ask him aloud, and what about you?

You curtsy rather clumsily, forgetting your footing but playing it off as you leave his chambers, hurrying past Cole who awaits just outside. You almost bump into him as you catch him scowling down at you.

You’re blinking away your confused thoughts, muddled in a worry of feelings and mixed emotions. You hate him, and you should hate him for everything, but his looks and charm were everything that made you feel lured to him. 

Standing back in the place you recalled not long before, the courtyard is a sore sight. Blood still cakes the ground, but the bodies are all replaced with a large pile of ash, some mixed with plates of metal and burnt articles of clothing.

Your stomach twists once again as you back away from the sight, turning back as your vision catches something perched on the walls above.

Thinking it was a raven at first, your heart drops when you recognise that no, they’re not birds, but the heads of every member of House Strong.

Your fists clench into your apron and you’re nearly quick to tears as you look away, remembering your job was to collect firewood for Aemond’s chambers.

Hurrying away, you think if there was any way Targaryens were immune to fire.