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capslocked · 1 month

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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.)

#tzuyu smut #twice smut #tzuyu #twice tzuyu smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 2 years

Text

Wild Horses

Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Doctor!Reader

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

A/N: Just a little idea I had after seeing all the TikToks and now I am yanked onto the Ghost train. I used to watch my brother play the game but that was a while ago so bear with me here. (advice or little pointers are much appreciated). I also might make this into a short story or add another part to it, let me know y’all. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings: language, fluff, angst

You were assigned to the team as their personal physician, as requested by the higher ups in order to make sure the soldiers stayed in best health, both physically and mentally. You used to work at your local hospital before you were offered the position.

You knew the dangers and the risks involved, but you were in debt and had student loans that needed to paid. So after much hesitation, you accepted the offer, eventually being convinced by the fat paycheck.

You remembered the day you were first introduced to the team, the way everyone's eyes glued to you like a hawk, their large forms towering over your small frame in the room while you picked at the skin around your nails in nervous habit.

They were curious to say the least, wondering what the hell someone like you was doing in a place like this. And since when did they get the chance to have a full on doctor to treat them, usually they were offered combat medics. You had guts, that's for sure.

You on the other hand were nervous, frightened even, with the thought of living in the same quarters of men wrapped up within the tumults and afflictions of war without a single clue as to their current psychological state. You had seen the worst of men and humanity growing up and you no idea who these soldiers were, what they were capable of, or what their intentions might be. Maybe you should have requested that briefing before you hopped on that plane.

Amongst all of their gazes, you had failed to notice a certain masked individual in the far back of the room, his form shrouded amongst the others as he studied you. His eyes, hidden underneath the grooves of his mask that only seemed to be darkened by where he stood blocked by the only source of light, watched your every movement, from every gesture of your perfectly manicured fingers to every smoothing of the lint-free fabric of your sweater to the way you kept shifting your weight from one foot to another.

One thing was apparent; during the entire length the high ranking officer next to you introduced you and debriefed the men on what was expected and such, you had not uttered a single word, minus the small polite and somewhat strained smile on your face while your eyes told another story. Why the military truly hired you, he may never know.

After being shown your little office and workspace including your room, you were quick to settle in, decorating the area to the best of your abilities with what you had taken with you from back home in order to bring some life into the dull and two-dimensional area. If anyone questioned you on it you would just say that your own sanity is extremely vital in order to ensure quality treatment for your patients.

Once everything in your office was set up, you threw on your white coat and retreated yourself to your office space, sitting at your desk and hastily going over the files that you had completely forgotten about that were given to you regarding the soldiers' previous health before they come pouring in reporting symptoms of god knows what. Best be prepared. Jesus how many bullet wounds can a single individual have.

The soldiers were advised to do their routine physical examinations with you so the first one to come waltzing in through your office door was none other than Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, a cheeky grin plastered on his face and much too excited for his own good. That boy's got a crush on you I swear. To be honest I'd be lying if I said the whole team didn't have a schoolboy crush on you.

The men were quick to warm up to you, relieved to have a gentle soul in their midst after all the shit that goes down outside, you were like breath of fresh air. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to bring a doctor on board, as quiet and reserved as you were. They speculated you were just shy, the reason why you never spoke much, not knowing that you just couldn't hold a conversation if your life depended on it, especially around those you weren't close with. At first they couldn't tell because of your major rbf.

During their routine check-ups or whatever issue they had going on, they would do most of the talking, which was a good thing on your end because it helped you to piece together their temperaments. Thank the lord no one is a psycho murderer. Oh wait.

Soap is the most chattiest of them all. Boy wouldn't shut his mouth when he sat in your office. He's super flirty. But not as flirty as Alejandro.

Ghost on the other hand was reluctant to step into your office for his check-ups. After all he was usually the one to tend to his own wounds or just push through whatever it is that is going on, so he did not know what all the fuss was about in having to get his health checked. So when you call out his last name more than once might I add, clipboard in hand and scanning the area for whoever looks to be headed in your direction, he can't help but heave out a sigh, trudging over to where you stood, your clean white coat a stark contrast to the rest of the environment as you leaned against your door to hold it open.

You muttered out a small hello to which he let out a small huff as you moved aside to let the man enter, watching him walk into your office and seat himself down. That man intimidated you a bit not gonna lie. Not only could you not see his face but he had also not said a single word to you. And not to mention he was absolutely huge as compared to you, even more so in person. You also had heard a lot of stories from the other guys.

"How is your day?" You ask, shutting the door behind you as you briefly read over his previous but extremely short records on your clipboard. There's barely anything on this man. Does he not get ill?

Ghost is quiet at first, watching your eyes scan over the clipboard and curious to know just what is on those papers before your eyes flit up to meet his and catch him off guard, which causes him to answer abruptly. "Fine."

"Okey dokes." You give a quick smile.

Did you just say okey dokes.

Clearing your throat, you go over to where he sat and set the clipboard down on the table next to you beside your laptop. You didn’t have to read his body language to know he did not want to be here at all. So you were going to do him a favor and make the appointment as quick as possible.

"So do you have any allergies to any medications, any allergies I need to know of?" Your fingers hover over the keyboard of your laptop as you turn to face him, only to be met with an expressionless skull of a mask and the expressionless eyes beneath. Oh boy this session was going to be something. You had heard of how he had never shown his face, so you made sure not to question on it.

"No ma'am."

"Are you currently taking any medication?" You ask the same standard set of questions you have asked every single patient of yours, typing as you go.

"No ma'am."

Any previous illness? Disease?"

"No."

The more you ask him questions, the more he strangely finds it easier to answer. Your voice is surprisingly soft, warm even, like the start of autumn, and he finds it comforting to listen to. Or maybe it's just some technique doctors learn during training in order to relax their patients.

"Do you have any history of smoking, alcohol, or illicit drug use?"

".......sometimes I'll have a smoke, and a glass of bourbon." He's almost waiting for you to hand him a pamphlet about the dangers of smoking.

"How many times would you say?" You ask for details, your eyes still glued to the screen of your laptop as you await his answer.

Ghost is a bit confused by the amount of questions you ask, but he also has not been to the doctor's so how would he know. "Um I don't know."

"A rough estimate is fine."

"Not much, maybe 2-3 times a week or so when I'm not on duty."

"How many times a week do you exercise?" You feel silly for asking this question to a man like him but it's all part of the procedure and you almost pray he doesn't hate you for it.

"Every day." So no pamphlet?

Jesus this man has more discipline than you. You can barely get up in the morning.

"Okayyy." You mutter out, more to yourself as you enter in his responses.

Ghost finds himself watching you from his seat on the chair, his eyes tracing over and studying your features as you type away on your laptop. He thinks you're really pretty but either doesn't want to admit it or just flat out does not know that he finds you attractive.

There are certain details about you that he can't help but find himself intrigued by, like the small black outline flower tattoo on your hand that was located near the area of your thumb, running along the curve to meet the knuckle of your forefinger. He's curious as to the meaning behind it, if there was one. He wanted to ask what type of flower it was, perhaps it was your favorite? It would give him an idea as to what flowers to get you.

"Have you ever been hospitalized, had any surgical procedures done or been treated for any chronic conditions?"

"No." Ghost shakes his head before remembering his wounds from combat, wondering if that is something you should know. "Just the bullet and knife wounds from combat. Nothing too serious."

Jesus fucking christ. You were willing to bet he treated those wounds himself.

Ghost is not a fan of hospitals. Pretty sure this dude just looks up YouTube tutorials on how to fix himself instead of just going to the doctor like a normal human being.

"When was the last time you visited your general practitioner.......or just any doctor in general?" You ask the last question, willing to bet it never.

There was silence on his end as you looked towards him waiting for an answer, the clicking of your keyboard coming to a stop and only loudening the silence. Ghost could not remember the last time he had been to a hospital or even scheduled a visit. And as you looked at him, your eyes almost staring into his soul, still waiting for a response, he could not help but feel a tad bit embarrassed, as if you were judging him for not being a responsible adult. Also it didn't help that you were goddamn pretty.

"I'm gonna take that as a very long time, the last time being the prehistoric ages, correct?" There's the slightest hint of a tease in your voice.

"Uh.......yes ma'am." Ghost squints his eyes at you as you go back to typing on your keyboard. Did you just.............did you just call him…..He does not know how to feel about that. Did you just try to crack a joke? He always thought doctors were the serious type.

"Okay then." You straighten up, grabbing your sphygmomanometer off the table and turning yourself to face him. "Is it okay if I check your blood pressure?"

The man is stunned. No one has ever asked his permission for anything before. He's so used to either taking orders or giving orders that he doesn't know how to respond and stares at you for a moment, forcing his brain to process what to do next before eventually giving a nod.

"Is it okay if you take your jacket off so I can get a clearer reading?"

He nods again, still in shock as he takes off his jacket, leaving him in his black long sleeve thermal. He's almost thankful he wasn't in his full tactical gear, having to imagine you standing there waiting for him as he removes every single piece of equipment off his torso.

"Thank you." You give him a short smile, placing your hand under his tricep and gently lifting his arm in order to wrap the inflatable cuff around his bicep. You almost blush at the mere size of this man's arms. "Now you're just going to feel a slight pressure okay."

Ghost can't help but feel a slight warmth spread to his cheeks at the way you handle him with such care, as if he were the small delicate thing and not you. Now he knows why the others were so giddy after leaving your office.

As you place your stethoscope on his forearm near his elbow to listen to his blood pumping through the artery, your other hand pumping air into the cuff using the inflation bulb with your eyes glued to the numbers on the gauge, he can't help but to notice the old Donald Duck watch that sat at your wrist, the ones with the moving arms and the vintage style black leather straps.

And as he further investigated your attire, he noticed a few other details, like the colorful glittery badge reel in the shape of a pill container with the words "licensed drug dealer" printed on it that was attached to your scrub top, the glitter sticker with the words "I'm nicer than my face looks" as well a few Disney character stickers and the little frog looking keychain that hung off of your badge. He was wondering what the hell that thing was. Your accessories were awfully colorful for a general doctor. Something was telling him you either used to work with families or children. Whatever the hell managed to bring you to such a drastic change.

You brought him out of his thoughts as you shifted from your position, unwrapping the inflatable cuff from around his bicep and placing it back on the table before typing the results into your laptop. "Okay," You adjust the ear pieces of your stethoscope back into your ears as you turn back to him, "I'm going to perform some auscultations, which is just listening to the sounds of your heart and your lungs so if you could just sit up straight and relax that would be wonderful."

Simon straightens up his posture as you place your free hand on his shoulder, at this point you're not sure if you're steadying him or yourself, your fingertips just barely grazing across the bottom of his neck. He doesn't know why but, it's as if your fingers are directly touching the skin underneath, despite the fabric of his mask that separated your fingers from his skin. Your hands feels hot, like really hot and he has no clue why.

The soldier only feels his cheeks warm up even more so now as you inch closer to carefully place the diaphragm of your stethoscope on his chest, your head tilted and your eyes lowered to the floor as you listen for his heart beat. He gets a whiff of your perfume and he finds himself drawn to it. You smell like something along the lines of jasmine petals, geranium, myrrh, frankincense, and a hint of sandalwood. Now he definitely knows why the others are fawning over you. Poor Simon is praying you don't hear how his heart is nearly racing. He does not know why he is feeling this way and it slightly bothers him in the way that he has no clue what it is he is feeling.

He catches how your brows slightly furrow at the center and his heart skips a beat. Now he's fucking embarrassed and this man rarely ever is embarrassed. Maybe he's even starting to panic. Can you tell? Do you know? You open your mouth to say something but he quickly interrupts he just got back from a run so you dismiss it with a shrug, placing the diaphragm on his back now and asking him to give you a couple of deep breaths.

"Okay. Take a deep breathe in, breathe it out. Breathe in, and out."

He complies with your instructions, breathing in slow and deep breaths as you go from one side of his back to another.

"Good job." You remove the earpieces and let your stethoscope hang around your neck as you go back to your table, recording in more info. Hang on did you just, did you just tell a grown 6'4" man good job.

Even Simon is confused. Like bitch.

"Okay, so we're all done with that." You inform him, before going over to one of the drawers and sliding it open. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to have some blood work done on you, just to make sure there are no underlying issues that need to be taken care of."

Simon is silent so you turn to him. "Is that okay, Ghost, is that what the others call you? Would you like me to call you Ghost?"

Goddamn you're too polite. "That's fine by me ma'am."

"Perfect. Now is it okay if I take your blood sample?"

Ghost nods, so you grab the tools necessary and place them on the table next to you.

"Could you please roll your sleeve up and make a fist for me? Thank you." You ask him once you sanitize your hands and throw on a pair of fresh gloves. You grab the tourniquet and catch sight of the tattoos that cover his forearm as you tie the tourniquet around his arm above the elbow. You're curious to know the story behind them but you have a feeling he's not one for storytelling or just talking in general so you remain silent. You tear open the small packet of the alcohol wipe and apply it to the area. The chemical is cool against his skin as you sanitize the area before letting it air dry. Simon can't help but notice how small your hands are.

Simon watches you intently as you work, the way you are so focused and so precise with each step, and yet so gentle. It's almost cute.

"You're just going to feel a little pinch." You tell him in a soft tone, a tone you were used to using on all your little patients before inserting the needle into his vein. As if the man hasn't been shot or stabbed and god knows what multiple times before.

At this point Simon doesn't even notice the needle in his arm, he's too focused on the details of your face. He can sense that you're nervous around him and he feels bad. Even though he's just met you, the last thing he wants is for you to feel scared or unsafe around him. And even though this whole situation is awkward for him since he never was a fan of visiting the hospital, you're their physician, and at the end of the day you're there to patch them up. So he comments on your dark circles, thinking you haven't gotten any rest since you arrived here. "You look tired."

"............that's just my face." You give him that distinct smile, the same smile you have given anyone who ever commented on them as you connect the vacutainers to the needle to draw his blood, your eyes glued to the dark red liquid seeping through the thin clear tube before pouring into the sample tube.

If you thought it was quiet before, well you are most definitely wrong because the silence is absolutely deafening now.

Simon nearly punches himself for his stupidity. Why in the bloody hell did he say that of all things. He wanted to tell you he liked your dark circles but decided to bite his tongue instead. Now he's definitely not going to say another word. Better yet, once he leaves your office, he's not coming back. He's just going to avoid you at all costs in order to save both you and himself the embarrassment. He's willing to bet the others handled this way better than him.

"But I suppose I am a bit jet-lagged though. Haven't really gotten any rest since I got on that plane." You add. "I appreciate your concern."

You most definitely said that to make him feel better about himself, Simon thinks to himself as he stares at the wall and avoids your face. There was no other reason.

Once your done drawing his blood you ask him to hold the piece of cotton pad down onto where the needle was punctured as you open up the drawer where the gauze is located. "Do you have a favorite color?"

Did you just ask him his favorite color? Simon stares at you blankly. Were all doctors this odd?

"I'm guessing you like black?" You pull out the roll of black gauze, displaying it in front of you with the most deadpanned expression possible.

You've got jokes. Simon thinks to himself. If he had looked a little closer he would have noticed the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

"You should see the colors the others picked." You tease as you wrap the gauze around his arm at the elbow, making sure it isn't too tight but also not loose enough to the point where the cotton pad underneath slips out.

Simon narrows his eyes at you. Bloody fucking hell. The others picked a color?

You're pretty sure Gaz requested you get an Elmo print one he saw online once somewhere. Soap asked if there a print of the Scotland flag available. The look of hurt on his face when you said there wasn't so you improvised and gave him both the blue and white gauze. You gave him a Dum-Dum lollipop to make him feel better. The others may have also gotten a lollipop as they left your office, especially after seeing the special treatment that Soap received. Were they jealous? Maybe.

Once you tell the man he is all good to go and that you will call him once you're done getting the results from his blood sample, he nearly jumps out of the chair and bolts out of your office. He prays some unknown miracle happens and that his blood sample magically disappears so that he doesn't have to face you, firmly believing he insulted you and that you thought he called you ugly when that is not what he intended. I am telling you this man does not know how to compliment. They should make a guidebook for dummies specialized just for him.

You watch him disappear out your door with a quirked brow. Well that was fucking weird.

When Simon leaves the area he finds Soap lounging about on a chair with a sucker in his mouth.

"The hell is that?" Simon squints at the sergeant.

"Mph mph." Soap's voice comes out muffled.

"What?"

Soap pauses and turns to see Ghost looming over him. "It's a Dum-Dum."

"A fuckin what?"

"Y/n said they're called Dum-Dums." Soap pulls it out of his mouth, twisting the stick of the lollipop around in his fingers as if he were inspecting it. "This one's a cotton candy flavor."

"She gave you a fuckin lollie?"

"It's pure dead brilliant I tell ya. Why, did she not give ya one?"

More silence. Simon would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a tad bit butthurt.

"Maybe you scared her." Soap jokes.

Simon lets out a grumbled incoherent huff and walks away.

Soap just shrugs and pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

Simon has a feeling he is going to go to bed thinking about his actions.

Part 2

7K notes · View notes

stillmonsterz · 2 months

Text

brave it together

pairing: jay x reader, jake x reader genre: smut, angst, slight humor summary: ever since you started your first year at sadame university three months ago, jay has been bothering you. you try to keep your head bowed down, but you're finding it harder and harder to keep to yourself. an approaching storm, a party, and your job at the university's library inadvertently lead to you being entangled in the clandestine world of the karma club. you're starting to discover that there's more to jay, and more to yourself, than you could have imagined. contains: unprotected sex, rape, noncon, drug usage, alcohol mention, manipulation, suicide, murder, death threats, infidelity, exhibitionism, physical violence, piss. word count: 24.6k

taglist: @moon7jay @ui11iane @belowbun

Sometimes you wished you could be someone else. You wished you could have been like the other girls at your university, the ones that crowd in groups, that go to the bathroom together to make sure that they’re all safe. Girls that talk about everything with each other, who share common interests and talk to each other about their own interests. Friends who would listen.

You wished that you could know what to say. You wished that you knew the right way to act, to speak, the right way to think to make people care. You wished you didn’t repel others.

You only wished for this sometimes.

You’re stocking the shelves of the university’s library. It’s an easy campus job, one that pays decently. You’re here on a partial scholarship, so you tried to save money however you could. The library was one of the reasons why you applied here in the first place; it was well-stocked, had vaulted ceilings in the main room, and, to your delight, had physical copies of rare books.

All you wished for right now was for the day to end so you could go home, watch an awful 60s giallo with vibrant paint for blood and eye candy to ogle, and avoid an encounter from Jay. You weren’t in the mood today.

Isa, a girl two years above yours, pushed the metal cart replete with books and occasionally pointed out where they should go. She had been doing this since last year, so she had a far better idea of you about the layout of the library.

You crouched down to the carpeted floor, scouring the bottom-most shelf for the appropriate spot. “Next to the copy of ‘Neuroscience for Dummies’,” Isa said idly, pointing with a well-manicured finger. Isa was red-headed and gorgeous, and had an impeccable sense of fashion; she was wearing a white cashmere sweater with a thick, plaid skirt, knee-high black socks, and leather shoes. On top of that, she was intelligent, friendly, and incredibly personable. You wondered why she wouldn’t go somewhere else and leave the library to losers such as yourself.

“Thanks,” you muttered, placing the book in its proper place.

“You know,” Isa began. You lifted your head up to meet her eyes, which were sparkling with a mischievous glint. “You’d look pretty with some makeup.”

You blinked, uncertain of how to respond. “I’m not pretty right now?”

Isa waved her hands contritely and shook her head. “No, no, not at all. I mean, you are pretty, it’s just…you’d look even better with makeup.”

“Oh…” Grasping for another book, you avoided Isa’s gaze. Not only did you not believe her, but you wondered why she was telling you this. She was probably just messing with you. Even a saint would take one look at you and tell you to kill yourself. For whatever reason, people seemed to dislike you, as though you emitted a repelling odor. “Look better?”

“Yeah,” Isa said cheerfully. “If you look better, you’ll feel better, too.”

“Maybe,” you said, shoving another book onto the shelf.

“Seriously,” Isa continued, and you wished she would just drop it. “You could probably pull a Karma Club member if you tried.”

Now she was definitely just fucking with you. She of all people should know that guys like that would have very little interest in you; Isa was popular, and you had seen her and her friends hanging around some of the KC members. Whenever you saw her and Jay in the same place, you’d walk the other way. Thankfully, Jay tended to spare you the humiliation of being mocked in front of others. He preferred to do it when no one was looking. “I’d rather not,” you replied, feeling around for another book from the cart. Isa handed you one, and you shuffled away to shelve it.

“Aw, why not?”

“They’re…weird,” you said simply.

“They’re not all bad,” Isa said, and you slowly turned your head to glance up at her. Isa’s face was sheepish, and she was toying with her bracelet. Jesus. She liked one of them? Having a crush on a Karma Club member was practically a form of hybristophilia. You wondered which one she liked. Probably Jake, the nice one.

Isa started to speak again, but some male student came up to her. “The printer’s busted again,” he said with an eye roll.

“Annoying,” Isa muttered. “I’ll be back. Try not to have too much fun without me.” You gave her a curt nod and she gave you a thumbs-up before scampering off to save the day. You watched her retreating figure, then looked down at your hands.

You reached up to grab another book from the cart, but someone’s hand rested on yours. First, your eyes traced the shoes (balenciaga sneakers) then up to his jeans (Levi’s, black, distressed), his Joy Division t-shirt, and finally, reluctantly, they settled on his face. Penetrating dark eyes framed by thick eyebrows, one of which was adorned by a silver eyebrow piercing looked down at you. His lips were fixed into their habitual crooked smirk. The heady scent of Tom Ford wafted from his body.

“Yeah, you could be really pretty,” Jay said, batting his eyelashes. He grabbed your hand and jerked you upright, your chest hitting the metal cart as you staggered to your feet. “You could be a model, honestly.”

As always, you just stared at Jay blankly. What else could you do? The idea of begging him to stop or making some quippy little remark just made you cringe at yourself. Jay dropped your arm and walked behind you, rubbing your shoulders with a strong grip. You managed to avoid flinching, something you considered a small victory.

“Don’t know why Isa lied to you,” Jay whispered into your ear. “If you put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a pig. If you put some makeup on a prude, it’s still a frigid little bitch, wouldn’t you say?”

Clenched teeth, pursed lips, fixed gaze. That was how you dealt with Jay. You stared at the books directly in front of you, rearranging them in your head by height.

Jay made a low noise at the back of his throat. “You know,” he began, and his thumbs dug into your shoulder blades, “I’m getting really sick of this mute shit. I know you can talk, prude. Say it. Say that you’re a bitch.”

The Secret History of the Moon Landing is the tallest, from your direct line of sight. You could put it with Mars and its Mysteries: The Red Planet Uncovered, and then Pluto as a Planet.

Jay’s fingers clenched around your shoulders painfully. “I told you to talk. Come on.”

You and Jay were obscured by the tall bookshelf in front of you, so when Isa’s sleek oxfords came into view, Jay slid his arms around your neck in what could be mistaken for an embrace. “Hey, Isa,” Jay said amicably, his chin resting on your shoulder. You finally looked away from the shelf.

“Hi, Jay,” Isa said, stopping just beside the book cart. Her gaze flicked from you to Jay to Jay’s arms around you. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

“Nah, her and I go way back,” Jay said, and you didn’t have to look at him to know that he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Been taking care of her since she got to Sad.” The school’s name was Sadame University, but everyone just called it Sad U or just Sad.

Isa’s eyes kept flashing between you and Jay, and the genuine smile she normally wore had been replaced by a far less sanguine expression. “Oh, wow,” she said softly, fiddling with her charm bracelet again.

Jay nodded, his black hair tickling your chin. “Mhm. I was just inviting her to come to the KC party with me, but she doesn’t want to come.” He tilted your chin towards him, so that you were forced to look at him. “You should go out more,” he said lightly, but his eyes betrayed him.

You didn’t say a word.

His hand dropped back down to your shoulder. “Doesn’t go out and doesn’t talk. How do you put up with her?” Jay’s voice was jovial, almost like you were really friends.

Isa laughed, almost too enthusiastically. “I know, right? These are the best years of our life, you know? Can’t waste ‘em inside all the time.” Does she seriously believe that shit?

“Yeah, you should listen to your cute friend more often,” Jay said, shaking you once before clapping you on the back and letting go of you. He nodded at Isa, who was preening in front of Jay. “You should come to the party, Isa. The storm party on Friday, at Yeonjun’s. You know where his place is?”

“No, I don’t,” Isa said, tilting her head. Her glossy lips were pursed, and she admittedly looked really cute. If you didn’t know what kind of person Jay really was, you would think that they would make a good couple based on looks alone. Studious and playful Isa with pierced, crude Jay. A bunny with a wolf.

“I’ll take you,” Jay said, striding towards her. “You got my number?”

“I have your Snap, I think.”

They exchanged numbers. You went back to stocking books.

After a lengthy conversation that you had tuned out, you felt Jay ruffle your hair. “See you around, prude,” he whispered before walking away. His hands were shoved in his pockets.

Isa stared after him before turning to you and biting her lip. “I didn’t know you knew Jay,” Isa said, her tone playfully accusatory. “You sly vixen.”

“You know him?”

Isa paused. “You could say that. He’s cute.”

“I didn’t know he was your type,” you said simply. “I thought you’d be into, uh, Jake.”

Isa snorted. “Nah, didn’t you hear?”

“No, what?”

Isa giggled before leaning in, as though she was telling a trade secret. “I heard that Jake is kind of a dick.”

–

You had become disillusioned with the Karma Club mere hours into your first day at Sadame University. During an idle walk around the campus after your first class, you had ended up near a warehouse next to the facility where the sporting equipment was kept. There, you had seen a tanned, lean man standing in front of an equally tall person who was caged against the wall of the warehouse. You lingered in the parking lot facing the warehouse, hiding yourself behind one of the staff’s pick-up trucks.

The tanned one, clad in all black, was goading the other one. A third person, an almost eerily-pale man wearing a brown blazer with a turtleneck and black slacks, was watching from a safe distance.

“Go on,” the one in all black said. “Hit me. Unless you’re too pussy.”

Finally, the one pressed against the wall landed a feeble punch on his assailant’s cheek. The two other men looked at each other before bursting out into laughter.

“At least pretend to be hurt, Jay,” the pale one had said, clapping his friend on the back. “You’re making him look bad.”

“You’re right,” Jay had said, clearing his throat. He pretended to be blown backwards, and his friend laughed even harder. Jay righted himself. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, but his body language seemed so tense, reminiscent of a dog with raised hackles. The guy who had thrown the punch at Jay looked confused and embarrassed, almost meek.

“Hey. You hit me first,” Jay had said. “Didn’t he, Sunghoon?”

“He did,” Sunghoon had said, nodding sagely. “He…I think he bruised you, Jay.”

“Bruised me,” Jay said, cracking his knuckles. “So this is a fight now.” With that, Jay had released an onslaught of punches onto the guy’s body. You were a fair distance away from the fight, if you could call it that, but you could still hear the thump of skin on skin. As Jay continued to wail on him, the guy slowly crumpled to his feet and shielded himself from the hits, covering his face with his arms. Sunghoon just watched, still laughing to himself.

Jay had spit on the dirt. He had said something you couldn’t hear before digging his hands into his pockets. As he surveyed the school grounds, maybe for witnesses, his eyes landed directly on you. You stared back at him, your stomach dropping. You really hadn’t wanted to be involved in whatever hazing ritual this was. You hid yourself behind the truck again, to no avail. Jay stalked towards you, putting his hand up so that Sunghoon wouldn’t follow.

You leaned against the trunk of the pick-up truck, and Jay stood in front of you. He assessed you for a nearly unbearably long time, taking in your appearance from your toes to your head. He crossed his arms and caught your gaze. An unexpected smile graced his lips, revealing a deep dimple on his cheek. He was unmistakably handsome.

“Hey. No need to be scared. That was just something between friends,” Jay had said, his voice devoid of the haughtiness you’d heard earlier. “We were just playing.”

You nodded, your hands clutching the straps of your backpack. Like you were a kid.

Jay had frowned, scratching the back of his head. Then he stuck his hand out, regaining his smile. “I’m Jay, Jay Park. I’m a business major. Third year.”

You could see where his knuckles had split because of how hard he had hit that guy, and you were so captured by the sight that you didn’t shake his hand or talk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Sometimes you just forgot to talk.

“Hey,” Jay said, and your eyes flickered back up to his face. HIs smile had completely disappeared, and you wondered if it had been very difficult for him to maintain a veneer of civility. “Don’t be rude. What’s your name?”

You told him your name, withholding your major.

“Never heard of you,” he had said with a sniff, withdrawing his hand. “Are you new?”

You nodded again.

“Jesus.” Jay stepped closer to you, and somehow the frustration dripping from his voice and painted on his face was familiar. “Do you talk?”

“If I know someone,” you said.

Jay had laughed mirthlessly. “Aren’t you special? ‘I’m too good to talk to other people, I’m so mysterious, look at me!’ Anyone ever tell you that that shit isn’t cute?”

Plenty of times, you had thought. Instead of saying that, you just shrugged.

“Fucking weirdo,” Jay had muttered. “Look, don’t say anything to anyone about this, okay? Or else I’ll…”

“Or else what?”

Jay scoffed and slammed one hand next to your head, his rings scraping the exterior truck. His face had craned towards your own, and his eyes flickered with a cold, sadistic gleam. “Or else…” Jay had leaned in towards your ear, whispering, “Or else I’ll do something really, really bad.”

With that, he hit the truck once more for good measure and strode away. His friend Sunghoon had followed behind him, casting a withering glance at you as he crossed the parking lot.

You didn’t look back at the person Jay had beat up. You just walked to your next lecture hall, sat down, and tried to focus.

You hadn’t known it then, but that had been your first encounter with two of the members of the Karma Club. Through sheer social osmosis over the past three months, you had learnt about them - more than you had ever wanted to, really. The Karma Club was an exclusive society that had been founded at Sadame some time in the 60s. The idea was to round up the richest, most powerful students -or, alternatively, the students who wanted to have a “lot of fucking fun”- and give them carte blanche to do whatever they wanted.

Students is a broad term for them. There’s never been a female member of Karma Club to date. The closest a woman could get to being punched is to date one of the members, although you don’t see why anyone would want that. They’re attractive, sure, but between the stories you’ve heard, the things you’ve seen, and what you’ve experienced, you’d rather toss yourself off of the roof than date a member of that stupid fucking club.

There were seven members: Heeseung Lee, Sunghoon Park, Jake Sim, Sunoo Kim, Jungwon Yang, Nishimura Riki, and Jay Park. Generally, people either tried to avoid the members, or they did everything they could to get their attention. Apparently last year Sunoo had gotten pissed off at the Sad U cheerleading team and put laxatives in their pre-game protein shakes, but they all showed up to his birthday party the following month anyways. There was another rumour, that Heeseung had vandalized the interior of an upscale restaurant in the city because his girlfriend didn’t like the hors d’oeuvres.

You figured that Jay Park fit squarely into the “richest and most powerful” student category, because you had never witnessed him have fun, at least in the traditional sense. When he smiled, it was generally because someone else was in pain. The only smile you’d seen him wear was that self-satisfied smirk.

At any rate, there it was. Your first introduction to the Karma Club, your first meeting with Jay, and the last time a man had voluntarily spoken to you at school. Go figure.

–

After your unfortunate encounter with Jay in the library, you needed a pick-me-up, and fast. You made a beeline for the smoothie shop in the Stopkewich dorms. Your university had four colleges: Stopkewich, where the liberal arts majors tended to stay, Fawcett, where most of the dorm parties took place, Nakashima, the unofficial home of the STEM majors, and Stoker college, where the most affluent students lived. It was there that the Karma Club resided, in a tall, red brick building surrounded by oak trees marked by a large, multi-tiered fountain.

Stopkewich was more conservative, a simple light brick college with a stone path leading into one of the entrances. Groups of people milled about under copses of trees or rested on the plush, well-maintained grass. It was a dreary day, but the weather was mild. As you walked through the door, you wished that you had chosen this college instead. You had decided to be practical and chose the college whose classes were closest to your own dorm, so you had chosen Fawcett. Without any knowledge of the intricate culture behind the colleges, you had ended up in the loudest one. Worse yet, you couldn’t switch out of it.

Every college had their own restaurants. Stopkewich’s smoothie shop was situated right next to their vegan and gluten-free place, staffed by two enthusiastic, perky goths. To your delight, your favourite worker was there, refilling the bucket of biodegradable straws.

“Hi, Lily,” you said, walking to the counter. A girl with pink hair, large eyes, and a wide smile turned to look at you.

“Hey,” she said brightly. “You want to try my newest concoction?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“It’s going to be passionfruit, mango, strawberry…”

You shrugged. “Sounds standard so far.”

“And maca root,” she added, holding up a tuberous plant with a wicked grin.

“Isn’t that…doesn’t that boost fertility?” you asked suspiciously.

Lily pulled out a bamboo cutting board and started chopping the root into tiny pieces. “No clue. I bought it because it sounded like macaroon. They never should have let my goofy ass buy the ingredients.”

“I see.”

Lily tossed the root into the blender and started heaping fruits inside of it. “Have you heard about that storm that’s coming?”

You sat down on one of the bright red stools while you waited. “No.”

“It’s supposed to be bad,” she said, turning on the blender. She raised her voice so she could be heard over the noise. “They’re saying we might lose power.”

“When?” you yelled.

“This Friday.” Lily turned off the blender and poured the smoothie into a glass jar. If you brought ten glass jars to the smoothie shop, they’d give you a free smoothie. You were gunning for a free smoothie by the end of the week.

You paid for the drink with your campus card and took a sip. “Well?” she asked expectantly, leaning over the counter.

“It’s good,” you said, staring down at the vibrantly-coloured smoothie. “Can’t even taste the fertility.”

“Another win for me,” she said, wiping down the counter.

“Thanks, Lily.”

Lily shot a finger gun at you and winked. “That’s what I’m here for.”

You continued to drink your smoothie, swinging your feet as you sat on the colourful stool. Normally, you didn’t like to linger in public spaces, but Jay never came to Stopkewich. Lily was so calm and friendly, and she didn’t pressure you to talk, so you weren’t in a rush to leave.

“You know, you’re my favourite customer,” Lily said.

You smiled softly. “Really?”

“Mhm. The other day, one of those stupid Kum Club members came here and asked for something that wasn’t on the menu. I said I don’t do remix smoothies, and he got so mad.”

You didn’t have trouble picturing which one that could be.

“Those guys are freaks,” Lily said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I swear I remember hearing that they tried to straight up murder someone in the bathroom over something silly.”

“That sounds a little far-fetched.” Jay was a dick, but you couldn’t imagine him killing someone in cold blood.

Lily pointed at you. “You’ve only been here for a few months, so you don’t know. The Karma Club is far-fetched. That’s how they get away with it.”

–

It was always a bit bittersweet, leaving Stopkewich. Here, you almost blended in. There were quite a few moody girls who dressed in long skirts and baggy sweaters, who kept their heads low and wore bulky over-ear headphones. They milled about, smoking joints wrapped with rose petals and sage, sitting in corners drawing.

The short trek to Fawcett gave way to girls wearing trendy, cute crop tops with curve-fitting jeans and guys wearing the ugliest fucking outfits imaginable. You wondered what the point of being cute was when all you had to show for it were idiots wearing Nike techs?

Navigating the halls of your college was always a task. Somehow, there was always a throng of people cluttering the halls. Isa lived in this college too, and would wave every time she saw you. Thankfully, you didn’t see her today, so you could safely slip inside of your dorm room.

You threw yourself onto your bed and sighed deeply, allowing yourself to decompress. Soon, you would do your homework, blasting music to drown out the noises of young adult debauchery. Then, like every other night when the weather was good, you would sneak over to the library, use the entrance to the roof located on the third floor, and sit on the roof and smoke. It was one of your few acts of rebellion, although you doubted that willingly poisoning yourself could be considered an act of rebellion against anything besides good health.

For now, you rested.

–

The next day was more of the same. Long, tiresome classes, stint at the library, brief reprieve with Lily, then to your dorm room. Strangely enough, Jay hadn’t spoken to you. Over the past three months, you had grown accustomed to at least a “prude bitch” being tossed at you, or even more.

He had been getting worse. Lately, just like yesterday, he’s been touching you. You don’t know how you feel about it, nor do you know why his behavior has been escalating.

When you walked into Fawcett again and headed left to get to your dorm room, you saw Jay and Jake Sim hovering near a bulletin-board. You’d be lying if you didn’t find Jake a little cute, despite the unsavoury things you had heard about him. He had tousled, dark brown hair and a wide smile. He was wearing the navy blue Sad U sweatshirt with a baggy pair of grey sweatpants. Seeing Jay standing next to him with a scowl on his face ruined the picture, however.

“He’s always fucking late,” you heard Jay mutter. You figured that he was talking about Anton, one of the only Karma Club affiliates you knew that didn’t live in Stoker. He was rich enough, popular enough, and snarky enough, but maybe being around the Karma Club that often would drive you insane. Jay had accosted you a few times while he was waiting for Anton, but he had never had Jake in tow. In fact, you rarely saw Jake and Jay hang out.

This didn’t concern you. You were about to turn on your heels and head back outside when you heard Jay call your name mockingly. When you looked up, he was beckoning you with his fingers lazily.

That little motion pissed you off, so you decided to leave, clutching your little glass jar. As soon as you opened the heavy wooden doors, you felt hands grab you back. Jay was sneering at you. “Mute and blind, huh?” His grip on your sweater tightened. “You’re like a less fuckable Helen Keller.”

“Jesus.” Jake had sidled over to Jay and was looking at him with annoyance. “Leave her alone, Jay. Hasn’t it gotten old by now?”

Jay let go of your sweater, but his eyes still smoldered. “Didn’t see you wearing a cape.”

Jake crossed his arms. “Huh?”

“Look,” Jay said, shoving his bejeweled hands into his pockets, “I just didn’t know you still liked to stick your dick in crazy. That’s cool. I actually have a few exes you could hit u-,”

“I don’t have to want to fuck a girl to know when you’re being shitty to her for no reason,” Jake said, and his eyes rested on your face. You hated how gentle his gaze was. You couldn’t trust it.

Jay developed a sly little smirk. “So you don’t want to fuck her?”

“No way,” Jake said hastily. His gaze snapped to your face and he laughed nervously, scratching the nape of his neck. “I mean, you know, not in like, a bad way, just that, like…”

You’d rather have Jay call you a frigid whore for ten hours than hear anymore of this. When you tried to push past Jay to go to your dorm room, he grabbed your shoulders so harshly that the glass jar in your hand went flying. It shattered on the floor in the middle of the hallway, and bright red splatters of smoothie splattered onto the walls like a crude Jackson Pollock painting.

You heard laughter behind you, and you pulled yourself away from Jay. He let you go, surprisingly. Sinking to your knees, you used your bare hands to pluck the worst shards of glass from the linoleum. “Leave it,” a voice whispered, and when you turned you saw Jake shaking his head. “Someone else will clean it up. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Someone might step on the glass,” you said quietly, still crouched on the floor.

“Oh, boo-hoo, someone might step on the glass,” Jay said derisively.

“Fuck’s sake, shut up,” Jake muttered. He gently pulled the glass out of your hands and set it on the floor. “I’ll go get a janitor, okay?”

“What do you want?” you whispered.

Jake scrunched his nose in confusion. “What?”

You shook your head. “Never mind.”

“Hey,” Jake said softly. Belatedly, you realized that he had crouched to your level. “Tomorrow, Jay said he’s gonna visit Isa at the library. Do you want me to come along, to be kind of a buffer? I know he’s a dick to you.”

“Do whatever you want.”

Jake just chuckled. “You’re not the friendliest, are you?”

You shrugged.

“I probably deserve it,” Jake said with a smile so good-natured, you almost smiled too. Thankfully, you caught a hold of yourself and stood upright. This wasn’t the first time that Jake had extended a modicum of kindness towards you. Two weeks ago, when Jay had “accidentally” spilled his energy drink all over your sweater, Jake had fished money out of his pocket and tucked it into your hand before catching up to Jay. Since then, Jake had been hanging around Jay more than Sunghoon did. You figured that Sunghoon was busy, or maybe they didn’t like each other anymore. Who knew? Who cared?

Jay sniffed. “So what?” he said, looking you up and down. “You only pull the selective mutism shit with me? I’m really hurt.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and walked away with your head bent, so you didn’t have to see the people who were invariably staring at you. Normally, Jay didn’t bother you in front of other people, just in crowded hallways, when he caught you going in-between classes, or in the library.

As you were doing your schoolwork, a question began to form in your head, making itself wide, unavoidable, and encompassing. Why didn’t Jay just meet Isa in her dorm tomorrow? Why go to the library when she’ll be busy? He couldn’t even harass you in front of her, or at least as overtly as he normally did, so what was the point?

That was always the question with Jay: what was the point?

–

After your classes on Wednesday was your job at the library. As you walked over to the main desk to check your tasks for the day, you spotted Jake, Jay, and Isa all talking. So Jake had shown up anyways. They were huddled by the desk, as though they were all co-conspirators. You noticed that Isa was wearing a black pleated skirt with a baggy t-shirt, a stark difference from her usual, more preppy style. As you approached, Isa turned to you and smiled.

“Hey,” she said, waving you towards her. You walked over to the desk, where she made a space for you to stand. You awkwardly positioned yourself between Isa and Jake, trying to avoid Jay’s eyes. “Let’s see. Today, we’re on shelving duty, we have to catalogue the newest shipment of books-,” Isa nodded at a sizable stack of pristine books, “and we have to load them into the online filing system.”

You nodded your understanding and grabbed the book list from the top of the book pile.

“Hey,” Jake said. He grinned at you, his shaggy hair getting in his eyes. He flicked it out with the casual, unselfconscious ease of a surfer who had spent all morning riding waves.

“Hi,” you said quietly. Jay was being unusually quiet, his arm slung around Isa’s shoulders. He looked directly at her, ignoring you for once. How lovely.

“So, uh…” Jake scratched the nape of his neck again. “ Yesterday, I noticed you had that smoothie…looked pretty good.”

“It was,” you replied, and Jake laughed a little.

“Where’d you get it from? There aren’t any smoothie places on campus.”

“There is,” you said, pointing west. “Stopkewich has one.”

“Oh, damn. I had no clue. I don’t really go to Stopkewich that much.”

“You should go sometime,” Jay piped up, his voice as arrogant and snarky as usual. “There’s plenty of girls with daddy issues who’d let you do all sorts of weird, depraved shit to them.”

“You would know,” Jake retorted, and you couldn’t help but smile.

Isa gasped. “Oh, wow. Jake, she’s actually smiling.” When the grin dropped off of your face, Isa pouted. “Aw, no. Your smile was actually so pretty. Wasn’t it, Jay?”

Jay looked at you and pursed his lips. “Yours is prettier, Isa,” he said, staring directly at you. You felt something stir in you, some foreign emotion, but you weren’t entirely sure what it was.

Isa smacked Jay playfully on his chest. “Don’t pit us girls against each other,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I’m a girl’s girl, you know.”

You turned away from them and started to go around the desk. “I’ll start loading these into the computer now,” you said quietly.

Jake reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Hey, wait,” he said, lowering his voice. “Did you want an invite to the party on Friday? The one at Yeonjun’s?”

You stared at his hand. “Why would I want one?”

Jake hesitated before letting go of you, shoving his hand into his pocket. “I dunno. So you can go and maybe have fun?”

“She doesn’t have fun,” Jay said. So much venom leaked into his voice that even Isa looked caught off guard. His eyes were still trained on you. “She just sits inside all the time, doing her homework, knitting scarves, listening to fucking Mazzy Star.”

“What’s wrong with Mazzy Star?” Isa asked.

“Whiny, plebeian indie shit,” Jay said disdainfully, picking up one of the books on the desk with his spare hand before setting it down.

Isa pouted again. “I like Mazzy Star.”

Jay didn’t even look at her. “Great.”

Jake turned back to look at you. “Just think about it, okay? I can give you a formal invite. I know you aren’t the party type. I’m not really, either. Haven’t been for a while.”

You hesitated before saying, “I’ll think about it.” You turned your back to them and set about cataloging the new books, hefting the pile in your arms. You didn’t have to look behind you to know that Jay’s gaze was burning a hole in your back.

–

Later that night, you received a text from Isa as you lounged in bed knitting. Normally, you two only corresponded to discuss your job, so this was a surprise. You set down your needle and yarn and unlocked your phone.

“could u come to the library rq?” she had texted. It reeked. What could possibly be happening there that would require your presence. As you were putting your phone back down, you got another text.

“it’s jay” followed by “he’s acting really weird rn…”

Right. Isa thought that you and Jay were somehow friends, and she was probably too shy to ask Jake for help. So her boyfriend finally reared his ugly head, and now she was calling on you for help. Clearly, she couldn’t be in that much trouble if she could text you.

You shrugged a jacket over your nightgown, tugged your shoes on, pocketed a Swiss Army knife, and headed outside. You had no intentions of hurting anyone, but it made you feel sort of cool.

It was raining heavily, a prelude to the oncoming storm. You ran across campus with your hood up and headed to the library. It was its own building, nearly as big as one of the dorm buildings, which is why stocking the shelves was a two-person job. You pulled your keys from your pocket, opened the doors, and stepped inside.

Your shoes squelched on the welcome mat, so you took them off along with your wet socks. Isa hadn’t said what part of the library she was in. It was a tall, distinguished three story building - one floor for non-fiction books, one floor for fiction, and one floor with a little student-run cafe and a sprawling arrangement of tables and computers. You didn’t text her, in case she had covertly sent the message. She might actually be in trouble, and then where would you be?

Your Swiss Army knife burnt a hole into your pocket as you walked around the dark library. The rain drummed on the windows, making it difficult to hear anything. The only light came from the moonlight streaming through the skylight and the lamps affixed to every wall that turned on automatically after 8 pm.

Soon, you heard a strange noise coming from one of the aisles. Straining over the pitter-patter echoing from outside, you followed the noise to the back of the library.

You shoved your hand into your pocket and approached cautiously, moving lightly so as not to alert Jay. When you approached the aisle from whence the noise originated, you only peeked your head. You were promptly greeted with the sight of Isa and Jay, but not in any way you could have imagined.

Isa was on her knees, her head in between Jay’s legs. His pants pooled around his ankles, and his long, thin fingers were threaded through her red hair. The silver rings adorning his hands caught the moonlight and reflected it, so it looked like glittering teardrops through her long locks. Jay lazily bobbed her head back and forth, controlling the pace. The moonlight created a chiaroscuro effect on them both, painting Jay in darkness.

He stared straight at you with an unreadable expression. His teeth were gritted, and his lips were parted slightly. He made Isa go agonizingly slow, and she made an awful choking sound at the back of her throat as she took him in her mouth.

You knew you should walk away, but something about it was so absurd that it was hard to look away. You had come here, partially expecting a crude prank from Jay, partially expecting Isa to surprise you with a makeover, and partially expecting Isa to join Jay in tormenting you, but not this.

Jay’s eyes were cold and sharp as he parted his lips, licked them, then said, “Fuck, that’s so good.” He jerked her head forward onto his length, tugging at her hair roughly, and she choked again. You winced at the violent sound.

Why wouldn’t he look away? It was like he expected something from you, and you didn’t want to know what it was.

You left without another word, rubbing your eyes as you stepped away from the garish scene. He didn’t move, and Isa didn’t hear you. You shoved your socks and shoes back on and ran back out of the library, back into the spray.

As you sprinted through the cold chill, the water seeping into your skin, you wondered why you had even shown up. How uncharacteristic of you, to get involved in the affairs of others. Why didn’t you just tell Isa that you would help her the next day? Why had you come?

And why had Isa, or Jay, known that you would come?

When you got into bed, you tried to sleep, but the image of Isa on her knees and Jay’s eyes boring into your own wouldn’t leave your head. You tossed and turned, and that same unfamiliar feeling began to eat at your viscera. Gastric acid spilling out of your stomach, scorching your skin.

Heat licking you in your most sensitive area.

–

When you came into the library the next afternoon, Isa looked at you and smiled as usual. “Hey,” she said brightly. “Didn’t get much sleep last night?”

You shook your head and sat down beside her; on Thursdays, you went through the list of those with late fees and sent them emails through the computer on the library’s main desk. “You?”

Isa gave you a mischievous look. “Mm…you could say someone kept me up last night. But I don’t kiss and tell.”

So she really had no clue. Meaning that either Jay had texted you through her phone so you could witness her giving him a blowjob, or you had made the entire thing up.

“Um, Isa,” you said awkwardly. “Is it true that on iPhones, if you text someone Congratulations, your screen lights up with confetti? I have an Android, so…”

Isa nodded. “Yeah, it’s so cool!”

“Can you send me a text? I wanna see it.”

She pulled out her phone and quickly tapped out a text. Her screen showed that she hadn’t sent a text message to you since last week. You chose to interpret this as proof of the events of last night being completely fabricated, the result of an overactive imagination, a lack of social interaction, and sexual frustration.

“So cute,” you said as the confetti popped up on the screen. You figured you should say something.

“Isn’t it?” Isa said, sending more words. “There’s one for birthdays, and New Year’s Eve…”

As she spoke, you saw Jake and Jay walking towards you. Jay’s lips were screwed into a self-satisfied smirk, and Jake trailed him. Jay’s neck was littered with red and purple bruises, so you figured that that was why Isa was wearing a white turtleneck today.

Isa blushed as soon as she saw Jay, and she leaned across the counter to give him a kiss. Jay’s smirk faltered as she did so, and he glanced between you and Isa.

“You didn’t say anything?” he blurted out.

Isa frowned. “Say what?”

Jay gaped at you. “Crazy fucking freak,” he muttered, and Isa lurched back as though she had been the one insulted.

“Don’t be so mean,” she chided, and you felt a sudden warmth in your heart towards Isa.

“Quit taking your shit out on her,” Jake added.

Jay looked at Jake and Isa, his head whipping around. He laughed once before stalking out of the library, creating a path through all of the students who jumped out of the way to avoid him.

“I’m worried about him,” Isa said worriedly. “He’s been acting so strangely…”

Jake sighed and rested his hands on the desk. “Don’t know. He’s going through some stuff with his parents, so he’s been acting weirdly. He’s like this at the dorm, too. Him and Riki got into it the other night and now Riki is sleeping at Fawcett with some friend of his. It’s such a mess.”

“Sounds like a mess,” Isa said, folding her hands together and resting her head on them. “Poor Jay. I wish he would just talk to me. He must be hurting a lot.”

Christ.

–

After your shift at the library, you decided to eat at the Fawcett restaurant. Why not? The weather was disgusting, and you needed something substantial, something warm. You ordered something, some rice dish, and you listlessly ate alone at one of the heavy oaken tables in the dining hall. As you ate, someone you don’t recognize slid into the seat in front of you. He had a shaved eyebrow, calculating eyes, and short black hair with blond highlights.

“You’re her, right?” He said your name the same snide way that Jay always says it. You nodded. “I’m Riki. Riki Nishimura,” he said, holding out his hand. Unlike Jay, his hand was free from any jewelry. You stared at it, unsure of what his game was. He was the only freshman in the Karma Club, meaning that his hazing must have been particularly brutal. Even though he was young, in the same year as you, he was a Karma Club member just like the rest.

Riki pulled his hand away and smiled at you wryly. “Jay was right about you. You really are cold.”

Jay talked about you? You didn’t think you existed to anyone outside of your direct interactions with them. How odd.

“Look,” Riki continued, zipping his sweater up as he spoke, “I just wanted to warn you.”

“About?”

Riki glanced around furtively, then stared at you. He craned his head towards you, so you leaned in as well. “He’s gotten worse recently,” Riki said in a low voice. “So they tell me, anyways. I’m a new punch, so I never got to see him ‘normal’.” He made quotation marks in the air when he said normal. “They say he was bad, but never this bad, and he won’t talk to anyone. Not even Heeseung, and they’ve been friends since they were kids.” Riki had developed eyebags, his hair was messy, and he played with his fingers as he spoke.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Riki sighed, looking away from you. “I figure I owe it to you, I don’t know. For whatever reason, Jay hates you. No one can even understand why he dislikes you so much, but…he just keeps talking about you, saying weird shit, so I really think he might do something just…stupid, and dumb, and I don’t want that on my conscience. If he does do something… bad.”

He already has, but judging by Riki’s expression, you figured that he meant something much worse. “What should I do?”

Riki shrugged. “Don’t know. Watch out, I guess?”

“Thanks,” you said, shoveling in another bite of food.

Riki watched you eat for a few seconds before he spoke again. “Don’t swing first.”

“What?”

“No matter what you do,” Riki said, getting out of his seat with surprising grace, “don’t buy into his bullshit. You never do anyways, and I think that that’s why he hates you so much. Everyone else indulges his dumbass ‘I’m so hard’ act…even we do, but you don’t.”

You took in his words carefully. “Thanks,” you said again, but you meant it that time.

“No problem,” Riki said. “One last thing.”

You took another bite of food and looked into his eyes.

“If you want to come to Yeonjun’s party this Friday,” Riki said, leaning in once more (did all the Karma Club members have such little regard for personal space?), “the password is ‘fate’ to get in. It’s like an unofficial KC party. I’ll be there, so will Jake.”

Fate. What an interesting concept. “Party during a storm?”

“No school,” Riki said simply. “And, you know, it’ll be cool. I’m just gonna head there earlier with Sunghoon, but Jake is planning some stupid way to get there.”

“I’ll bet.”

Riki snorted. “You really should come. Maybe things will get interesting.”

“I hope not.”

He leaned away from you and fixed his hair. “I don’t think you’ll get a choice.”

–

After you did your homework, you took a nap and dreamt about the scarf.

When you had been naive enough to linger outside, when Jay hadn’t yet made harassing you a daily habit, you had liked to knit outside. It was still September, and the weather was mild. You sat on the bleachers after your shift at the library and brought your yarn out with you.

As you knitted, you heard footsteps behind you, crunching on the grass. Now, you could recognize those sure, solid footsteps from a mile away, but at the time you hadn’t. Generally, people didn’t approach you, so it hadn’t registered that someone was coming towards you.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Jay hadn’t waited for an answer, plucking the scarf out of your hands just as you had finished another row. The skein of yarn tumbled to the grass and rolled at his feet. “Is it for someone?”

You didn’t reply, your lips pursed into a thin line. “Right,” Jay had said, examining the scarf, “no one wants you, that’s right. No one wants a buzzkill that sits around, doing fuckall. Have you tried actually living? Experiencing things? Anything except wasting fucking oxygen?”

You had looked all over for that specific colour, and now he was sullying your scarf with his filthy touch.

In real life, he had used your scissors and cut the scarf free from the yarn and walked away, laughing. But in your dream, the yarn tumbled away from you both. Winding itself around the trees, yarn strewn along the branches, choking the leaves.

You woke up covered in sweat to the sound of knocking on your door. Your bedside clock said that it was 11:00 pm. Some fucking nap.

You opened your door just a crack, trying to see what lunatic it could be. Jay stood in the hallway, grimacing at you. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, and his skin was beginning to take on a sickly pallor. The stark overhead lighting did him no favours, only highlighting his worsening appearance.

He grabbed you by your sweater’s sleeve and pulled you out so quickly you barely registered it. “Come along,” he said, dragging you down the hallway. “We’re going to take a little trip, you and me.”

Fighting him was futile, so you allowed yourself to be pulled away. As usual, everyone in Facwett was hanging out in someone else’s dorm, so no one saw you and Jay. He pushed the door open with one hand, the other holding onto your arm.

Jay plunged the two of you into the rain. The deluge chilled you to the bone, and the sky was clotted with menacing nimbostratus clouds. Despite the darkness, you knew where he was taking you. It was a path you had trodden many times, the way to the Sad U library.

“Why didn’t you do anything?” Jay asked, his voice carrying over the steady rainfall. “When you saw me and Isa?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t fucking know. You could have asked questions? You could have had an actual reaction? Why’d you just stare like a freak?”

“Why’d you do it?” That was the closest you had ever come to defying him in any way, and it even surprised you.

“Don’t fucking worry about why I did it,” he replied. Lightning flashed, and for a brief moment you could see Jay clearly. His eyebrow piercing glinted, and his eyes were completely black. “What are you looking at?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued tugging you along the grass.

Jay hauled you up the stone steps and into the library. You didn’t know how he had gotten the doors open without a set of spare keys, until you remembered that he could have easily filched them from Isa. Maybe she gave them to him. Once you were inside, he let go of you. The two of you left large, wet puddles everywhere you stepped. “Upstairs,” he barked, pointing at the glass staircase. “We’re going to the roof.”

Treading lightly, for your shoes were wet, you walked up all three floors. The entrance to the roof was located in a small supply closet on the leftmost side of the area. You obediently walked towards the closet, flicking the light on to find the hatch. With shaking hands, you pulled down the hatch, which unfurled the ladder leading up to the roof. “Ladies first,” Jay said, so you hiked your skirt up with one hand and climbed with the other.

Once you got onto the roof, you lingered by the entrance, underneath the small awning. Jay crawled up, shut the door, and jerked you into the open. You hadn’t noticed the intensity of the rain, so shocked you had been by Jay’s intrusion, but it was terrible. It beat at your face with the intensity of hail, and from just a few seconds you were already soaked. If you had brought your phone outside, it would have been destroyed,

Jay’s hands were on you again, pulling you close to him. His eyes were wild- even in the darkness, they flashed with a primal ferocity. “We’re going to play a game,” he said, his voice loud and raggedy. The rain drowned out noise, so he leaned even closer to your ear.

“What’s the game?”

“The game,” he said, and his fingers dug into your arms, “is very simple. You give me reasons why I shouldn’t push your prude ass off the roof, and I’ll decide if they’re good enough.”

You pulled away from him to assess his expression, to see if he was joking. Nothing on his grim face suggested humour. “You’ll go to jail,” you said.

“Jail? I can’t go to jail,” Jay said, his breath unbearably hot on your ear. “None of us can. So come on, give it a shot.”

Lily’s words rang in your head: “They straight up tried to murder a girl in the bathroom.” The library was three stories off of the ground. If he threw you off the roof, it was unlikely that you would die from the impact. It was more probable that you would be grievously injured. Paralyzed, brain damage, a slow death from your wounds, a slow death either way. Jay was the only person stopping you from reaching an infinite unknown. He held your life in his hands.

You felt your lip tremble before you spoke. “No.”

“What?”

“No,” you said, raising your voice for the first time in ages. “I won’t beg you for anything.”

Your life flashed before your eyes in a dismal montage. Your childhood, lonely and miserable, high school a near mirror image. A life marred by solitude, harshness, and alienation, with the promise of more of the same to come.

Jay snapped you out of your reverie with another hard shake. “What are you, fucking suicidal? You’re really ruining any potential enjoyment I could be getting out of this, you know.”

The only friends you had ever had, a group of girls in middle school, had teased you and mocked you behind your back, then to your face. Thrift shop clothes, a shy demeanor, and an inability to read the room had marked you as other long ago. An other, someone unlovable, someone born wrong, a bird with a supernumerary wing. Even if you ducked your head down, didn’t provoke anyone, the scent clung to you.

“Try. Come on. Convince me. Try!” Jay yelled now, his voice carrying over the torrent.

Getting picked last, asked out as a joke, your only “date” having been cutting worms apart with a kid back in the second grade. You were a complete virgin. Hell, you had never even had your first kiss.

“Do something!”

Your sleeves hung from how much water they had soaked up, and your hands were slippery. You cupped Jay’s cheeks, leaned in, and kissed him gently on the lips. It was just a peck, but in your books it counted. Your hands fell away from his face, lingering at your sides.

When you pulled away, Jay was staring at you with the same unreadable expression he had had yesterday night. “I’ve never had my first kiss,” you explained, “So…” Feeling embarrassed, you looked towards the edge of the roof. From here, you could see the four separate dorms and the main campus buildings, as well as the bustling city that housed Sad U. You hadn’t explored it much, and now you never would. Tumble to the bottom, hope for death on impact.

Jay’s voice was incredulous. “So you kissed me?”

Still averting your gaze, you shrugged. “You didn’t give me a wealth of options.”

Silence hung between the two of you like a noose. The rain poured ceaselessly, completely penetrating your clothes.

“Look at me,” Jay whispered, but you were still gazing at the city below. Cars glittered on the streets, even this late at night. Where were they going?

“I said look at me,” he said, and his hand grabbed your chin and jerked it towards his face. “And don’t look away.”

You stared into his dark eyes; you were so close now that you could smell his breath. It smelled like bourbon and cigarettes.

“I hate you,” he said, his thumb and index finger still holding your chin in place. “It’s beyond hatred sometimes.”

“I know,” you said.

“I think you’re pathetic. I think you’re weak.”

“I know.”

“So stop making it hard for me,” Jay said, his breathing growing uneven and erratic.

“Making what hard for you?”

“Oh, don’t fucking play dumb,” he snapped. “You’re always doing it. You’re doing it right now.”

“I don’t do anything,” you said.

“That’s your problem,” Jay said, “you never do anything. You’re always so fucking calm, and passive, and it pisses me off. You just can’t let anything get to you, right? Nothing ever matters to you. Nothing can ever hurt you, right?” He swallowed audibly.

Your eyes drifted to the entrance to the roof. Thankfully, Jay had closed it after he had followed you up. You would have hated it if water had gotten inside.

“I said, look at me,” Jay growled, so you did.

Then he jerked your chin upwards and kissed you harshly. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly against him, your chest flush against his own. Two wet bodies pressed together.

You didn’t know what to do, or how to kiss back. You tried to mimic his actions, but it was impossible to keep up with him. Jay kissed you like he was punishing you for daring to touch him. Jay’s tongue worked its way into your mouth and swirled around your own tongue, dragged itself along your teeth, shoved itself down your throat. His hands gripped you as if he thought you would tumble off of the roof on your own accord if he didn’t hold onto you. One clutched your upper back, the other hand wound its way to your waist.

Jay pulled away briefly, sucking in rapid breaths, before pressing his lips firmly against yours again. He forced you down to the ground, so that you both sank to the floor of the roof. Rain had slipped into your mouths as you had caught your breath. Saliva and rainwater dribbled out of your mouths, onto your chins. You were on your knees, being consumed by Jay. One of his hands pressed against the back of your head, holding you in place.

Thunder crashed, but Jay was relentless. You wondered if he kissed everyone like this. You wondered if he kissed Isa like this.

Once more, he broke the kiss, panting heavily. His arms slid away from your body, leaving you with a phantom weight. Jay shakily stood up, rainwater dripping off of him as though he were one of storm clouds hovering above you. “Congratulations,” he said, “I don’t feel like killing you today.”

He left you there, looking back at him, soaked in the torrential downpour. When you touched your lips, you found that they were already starting to swell.

–

On Friday, classes were canceled because of the weather. It was for the best. You stared at the ceiling listlessly, your hands folded over your stomach. You hadn’t remembered going to the communal showers, or getting dressed in a nightgown, but you had done it. Your throat was sore and you were sneezing on and off.

The sound of an incoming text broke the silence, and you reached over to your nightstand to read it. It was Isa, asking you to come over to her dorm room. You weren’t in the mood, so you texted her that you were sick. It wasn’t a lie either; pressure was building behind your skull, and you just wanted to sleep.

Unfortunately, no one at Sad U knew how to take a hint. Ten minutes later, you heard timid rapping at your door. You groaned, shuffled to your feet, and opened the door.

Isa was standing outside, wearing a worn Judas Priest t-shirt with purple and pink bear pajama pants. Her face was free from makeup, and her fiery hair was tugged into a loose bun. “You look bad,” she said, then winced. “Sorry.”

“I’m sick.”

“I thought you were lying just to get rid of me,” she said sheepishly. “I’ll come back some other time.”

You shook your head and beckoned her inside. All of a sudden, you didn’t want to be alone right now. You figured you might as well get this over with now, anyways. You sat down on your bed and patted the space next to you.

Isa sat down and looked around your room, trying to find something to compliment. “It’s very…cozy in here. It’s very you,” she said finally, turning to face you.

“Thank you,” you said, stretching out your neck. “What’s up?”

Isa sighed and tugged at the hem of Jay’s shirt. “It’s Jay,” she said finally. Of course. It was always Jay. “No one’s seen him since last night.”

“Maybe he’s on campus somewhere, like Ri-,”

“No, no one has seen him.” Isa screwed her face up in frustration. “He just disappeared.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Isa said bitterly. “Oh. So, I was wondering…if you had, I dunno, seen him? I know that you guys…know each other, so I was wondering if maybe he had said something.”

“No,” you said immediately. “No, he didn’t.” What could you say? Yeah, your pseudo-boyfriend threatened to kill me, we made out on the rooftop, and then he disappeared?

“Oh, okay,” Isa said, her voice faltering. She sniffled, but before you could make a feeble attempt at comforting her, she smiled. “Gosh. It’s such an ugly day, and all my friends are over at Stoker right now with their boyfriends. I’d go over there, but the rain is so bad…”

It was clear that Isa wanted someone to hang around, so maybe you could help each other. Just once. “I saved some movies on my laptop before the storm, if you wanted to, you know…”

Isa wiped her eyes. “What? You want to watch a movie with me?”

What were you doing? “If you want.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, what movies?”

“Uh, Oldboy and Lady Vengeance…”

Isa brightened and clapped her hands. “Oh, no way. I loved Lady Vengeance. I haven’t seen Oldboy, though.”

You smiled slowly. “I haven’t seen either of them. Which should we watch first?”

“Oldboy came out first, I think,” Isa said, taking her hair out of her bun and fluffing it out. “So we should watch that…then Lady Vengeance.”

Watching a movie with someone had seemed tedious to you, an unneeded distraction. Why would you want to hear someone else talk while you were trying to focus? But for some reason, Isa pointing at your small laptop screen, making idle comments, and at one point going on a snack run and coming back with a small bounty of treats was actually enjoyable. The storm wailed outside, pounding at your window.

At one point, halfway through Lady Vengeance, Isa put her head on your shoulder. Awkwardly, you patted her smooth hair and she nuzzled into you.

So this was what it was like to have a friend.

“Hey,” you said quietly, “are you going to the party at Yeonjun’s?”

Isa nodded, her cheek rubbing against your shoulder. “I think I might, yeah. Yeah, my friends have been trying to get invited, but it’s pretty hard. And apparently there’s like a list of invitees, so you can’t just…go. Jay was supposed to take me, but…” her voice trailed off.

“I got invited. Formally,” you said, “so maybe we could go together?”

Isa lifted her cheek off of your shoulder so she could look at you directly, a smile slowly spreading across her pretty face. “Really?”

“Yeah, and…” you swallowed thickly. “You could maybe…help me get ready?”

The sheer ferocity of the squeal that Isa had emitted could have powered the school in case the bad weather wrecked the back-up generators. “I’ll call Jake so he can pick us up,” Isa said, pulling her phone out. “He’s staying behind, so we can meet him in a few hours…”

“He’ll drive us?”

Isa looked at you slyly. “Not quite.”

–

“It’s perfectly safe,” Jake reassured you. He was behind the wheel of a golf cart, his teeth gleaming in the dark. had parked outside of Fawcett, positioned under a large tree to evade the worst of the rain.

“Won’t the rain wreck the cart?” you asked. At Isa’s behest, you were wearing a plastic poncho that covered you from head to toe, speaking through a small mouth flap. She had bought them in anticipation for the awful weather, and she would not have you wreck the makeup she had meticulously painted on your face. The dress you were wearing was one she had chosen from your closet. She had wanted to do raw hem the dress to make it look “grunge”, but Jake had pounded on your door, yelling for you guys to get out. So she had hurried you out, and you hadn’t even had the chance to grab your phone. Strange how eager she was to please him, even though they seemed to be on equal footing.

Jake waved away your concerns. “It’ll make it to Yeonjun’s. Probably.” He could scarcely be heard amidst the thunder crashing in the distance.

“How come you didn’t leave earlier? I heard the others went to Yeonjun’s a few hours earlier,” Isa said, adjusting her own poncho.

Jake hesitated, then whispered, “I thought Jay would come back. Wanted to be at Stoker in case he showed.”

Isa’s face crumpled for a few seconds, before she took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Come on,” she yelled, grabbing your hand and leading you into the golf cart. “Aw, man, my ass is wet.”

“That’s a hurricane party for you,” Jake said. With a whoop, he started the golf cart and sped away from Fawcett.

The main entrance to Sad U was closed off by a large, ostentatious black gate, but there were other ways to get off campus. Namely, there was a winding path that led from the warehouse into the woods surrounding the university that led outside. Jake maneuvered the golf cart through the powerful winds, hollering as he did so.

“You drive like shit,” Isa screamed, clinging to you.

“You try driving a golf cart through a hurricane,” Jake yelled, entering the forest. There was a brief reprieve from the winds, but branches, twigs, and pebbles still whipped around your head. You had to dodge constantly to avoid a barrage of debris.

Somehow, Jake had wheeled the golf cart onto a side road. “Do you know where you’re going?” Isa asked warily.

“Yeah,” Jake said, “obviously. I’ve been to Yeonjun’s a bunch of times.”

“Are you sure?” The golf cart squeaked miserably as it rumbled down the concrete.

“Yes, I’m sure! Get off my ass!”

“We’re in a golf cart in a Category 5 hurricane, someone needs to be on your ass.”

“This isn’t even a Category 2 hurricane. This is nothing. You know what we get in Australia? We get willy-willies. You wouldn’t know shit about that, would you?”

You started laughing. You couldn’t remember the last time you had done so, but it felt amazing. Clutching your stomach, you rested your head on Isa’s shoulder. Isa looked at you, then glanced at Jake, and they joined in too. A merry band of lunatics, cackling in the middle of a storm.

“We’re so fucked, Wednesday Addams is laughing,” Jake said, letting out a wheezing laugh.

“It’s a good omen,” Isa suggested, “like a black cat walking under ladders.”

“13 mirrors in a funhouse breaking,” you said, unable to stop giggling. Maybe you were delirious.

Jake snickered and continued driving. The storm hadn’t let up, but he managed to navigate the golf cart onto the sidewalk of a residential area - quite the upscale neighborhood at that. The houses looked more like dorm buildings with how large and decadent they were.

“I thought it’d be a gated community,” Isa said, still holding onto you.

“Yeonjun’s going through this weird Twitter socialist phase,” Jake said, “so he’s like, ‘gated communities are for the bourgeoise’, but he owns a shit ton of Rick.”

You glanced at Isa. “Rick?”

“Rick Owens,” she explained.

Just then, you heard a distinct gurgling noise coming from the back of the golf cart. “You guys hear that?”

“I can’t hear anything in this weather,” Isa said, and as the words left her mouth the golf cart made a loud hissing noise.

“Get out!” Jake yelled. “The battery is waterlogged!” Isa helped to pull you out of the cart, and the three of you watched the golf cart smoke before the rain snuffed any remaining heat.

“Jake,” Isa began, her words punctuated by a thunder-clap, “why would you even take a golf cart to Yeonjun’s in the middle of a storm?”

Jake spread his arms angrily, but all he could offer was a meager, “The vibes?”

“The vibes,” she said, exasperated. “The vibes.”

“How far is Yeonjun’s?” you asked, still wired from the strange euphoria you had felt earlier.

Jake shrugged, running his hands through his wet locks. “Like…five minutes away?”

“We should run,” you suggested. “What else can we do?”

Jake opened his mouth, but with another loud thunderclap, he turned on his heel and started sprinting. Expletives spilled out of his mouth as quickly as he moved. Isa took your hand and you ran in a madcap sprint to Yeonjun’s house. It was almost surreal; every minute, there was a bright flash of lightning, and you could see everything in complete clarity.

Your lower half was completely wet, you were holding hands with the “girlfriend” of the guy who had tormented you for months, and you were running towards a party with some of the most obnoxious people at your university, including his best friend.

“Fate,” you murmured.

“What?” Isa yelled, pulling her poncho tightly around herself.

“Fate,” you said, a little louder.

“Yeah, that’s the password,” Jake said, running a little ahead of you and Isa. “Who told you?”

“Riki.”

Isa let out a slight laugh. “You know Riki, too? You don’t tell me anything.”

You laughed, too. A few minutes later, you were in front of Yeonjun’s sprawling mansion. From what you could tell, it was around three stories. Lights shone from all of the windows besides the ones on the highest floor. No cars in the driveway, but the ten car garage probably fit all of them neatly. The wind could batter this fortress all it wanted, but the brick and stucco building would probably hold up in a flood. You didn’t want to know how someone who had graduated university not two years prior had been able to afford such a nice place. He was an ex-Karma Club member- the president, in fact - so Lord knows what he was capable of.

You could hear loud trap music with rapid 808s playing from inside, accompanied by frenzied screams. The yard, which was currently being pummeled by a torrent of water, was understandably empty as well. Jake walked up to the door and rapped three quick knocks using the brass knocker. Someone opened it, a young man with a cat-like smile. He looked at Jake, then at you and Isa.

“Password?”

Jake groaned. “Jungwon, you little shit. Don’t be annoying.”

“That’s crazy,” Jungwon said, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his bright orange hoodie. “None of those words sounded like the password.”

Jake groaned again, leaned in, and whispered the password into Jungwon’s ear.

“Enter,” Jungwon said, gesturing Jake inside with a flourish. Jake gave Jungwon the finger and walked inside, calling, “I’ll be in the living room” behind his shoulder.

Isa walked up next. She gave Jungwon a little kiss on the cheek and said the password. She turned towards you and pointed at the right, presumably at the living room. Then she disappeared inside as well, already taking off her poncho.

Jungwon looked at you expectantly, so you walked down the stone path, up the steps, and stood in the doorway. “Fate,” you said.

Jungwon nodded at you, jutting his bottom lip out slightly. “Nice to finally meet you,” he said appreciatively. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Anything good?”

You both stared at each other blankly. “You’d better get inside,” Jungwon said, gesturing you in. “In, in. It’s raining cats and dogs and Jakes. Get it? Because he’s an animal.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you heard Jake call from up the stairs and Jungwon wandered over to him, still laughing. Your eyes adjusted to the sudden light.

The scene was something out of a music video. To your right was a winding, wooden staircase with ornate iron balusters. Clusters of people crowded on it, passing around a tired joint or just talking. To your left, you could see a small room that had been stripped of its furniture so people could have space to dance. Directly beside it was a small bar, replete with various bottles of alcohol along with a small cooler that rested on the counter. Riki was standing near the bar, and when he caught your eyes he stalked over to you.

Riki grinned at you as you peeled off your sopping wet poncho and jacket, resting them on a nearby coat hook. “You came,” he said quietly.

“I did,” you said.

He walked back to the bar, and after a moment’s hesitation you followed him. “Do you drink?” he asked, pawing through the open cooler.

“Not often,” you said, leaning against the counter, careful to avoid touching an odd puddle of liquid.

“Didn’t think so,” Riki said. He pulled a blue Calypso lemonade out of the cooler and cracked it open, handing it to you. You received it reluctantly, swirling the liquid around. “Don’t worry, I didn’t spike it. That’s more of a Sunoo thing.”

You took a small, tentative sip. “Is it?

“Nothing serious,” Riki said, gulping his own Monster and wiping his mouth. “Just know that if you ever see a group of people mysteriously getting the shits at once, it’s Sunoo.”

“Is he here?”

“Yeah. Why do you think they have me watching the drinks? When he gets bored at a party he gets antsy.”

“Hm.” You continued drinking and surveyed the area. It was almost claustrophobic, seeing so many people dancing and writhing around. Thanks to Isa, you didn’t stand out, although you wondered if anyone would have even cared.

Riki nudged your arm with his elbow lightly. “First party?”

You nodded, clutching your small glass bottle like a lifeline. “A lot of people.”

Riki snorted. “Nah, wait till you see upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Riki said, jerking his thumb towards the steps. “That’s where the living room is.”

You gaped at him, glancing at the large, open space beside you two. “That isn’t the living room?”

A laugh escaped Riki’s lips and he nudged you again. “This is so fun. Come on.” Riki abandoned his post at the bar and jostled you. You got to your feet and looked at him warily. As he pushed you up the stairs, helping you wind past the dazed partygoers sitting on the steps, he said, “You’re wet.”

“Jake drove us here in a golf cart.”

Riki laughed loudly, his voice echoing over the music coming from upstairs. “He was serious about that? What the fuck? We could have driven you guys in Yeonjun’s all-terrain truck.”

You got to the top of the steps and pulled at your wet dress. “He said he did it for the-,”

“Vibes,” Riki finished, swallowing the last of his Monster. He crushed the can and tossed it on the floor, where it clattered unceremoniously. “He’s an idiot sometimes.”

“So I’m learning,” you said.

The red LED lights blaring from the expansive living room on the far left painted Riki’s face with a devilish glow. He put his arm around your shoulder and laughed again. “We should be friends. You’re funny.”

“You’d be my first one,” you said, walking towards the party with some apprehension.

“Your first? What about Jay?” Riki asked innocently. “I thought you guys were best friends.” You glared at him and he snickered.

“Come on, let’s dance.”

“Wait,” you said, tugging on his sleeve.

“What?”

You looked at the throng of people dancing freely. You could see Isa’s flowing mass of red hair in the middle of the room, and Jungwon’s bright orange hoodie led you to Jake doing some trendy little dance. You could see the other members of the Karma Club interspersed throughout the room - Sunghoon and Sunoo were in a corner, half-dancing and half gossiping. You didn’t see Heeseung, or anyone who matched his description. Everyone there, regardless of what they were doing, looked like they were having fun. They were shouting the lyrics to a song you didn’t know.

“I can’t dance,” you said finally.

Riki stared at you. “You think any of them can dance? Look at Jake.”

“Well, I-,”

Riki put both of his hands on your shoulders and looked you in the eyes. “You need to stop thinking.”

“Stop thinking?”

“Yes. Stop thinking. Just do what feels right.”

“I won’t know any songs.”

“Doesn’t matter. Every song has a beat, you just follow it.”

“But …”

“I’m about done with this conversation,” Riki said, and he pulled you inside of the living room. Someone with lanky hair was manning a turntable, holding up his red solo cup as he fiddled with dials. Bodies were pressed together, and the room smelled like sweat and weed and perfume.

Riki started to move to the beat, so you decided to follow him, still holding your Calypso. He looked at you and laughed. “Just like that,” he said. The two of you danced at the edge of the party together, and it was comforting realizing that no one was paying attention. You closed your eyes and tried to feel the beat; the music was so loud that the floors seemed to reverberate.

You heard someone call your name, and when you opened your eyes you saw Isa running towards you. Her smile was lopsided and she was laughing a little too hard. “I’m about to start rolling,” she said giddily. “Took like 150 mg. Come dance!”

Isa suddenly possessed the strength of an ox, because she was able to yank you into the center of the room.

Jake yelled your name and hit a dance move you didn’t recognize. You copied him, the same way you did Riki. “Aye,” Jake said approvingly, “Wednesday’s got moves.”

“I taught her everything she knows,” Riki said. He embraced Jake in a half-hug and Jake ruffled his hair.

“I’m gonna teach her how to twerk,” Isa said, tugging your arm. “Come here…”

You tried to pry her hand off of you. “No, no, no…”

“Teach me, Isa,” Jake said playfully, and he dropped into a squat and rattled his bones. Isa made a retching noise and looked away.

An unfamiliar voice gasped, and you whirled your head to see who it was.“Oh, God. Who got Jake popping his pussy?” It was a girl wearing a black beanie with a cross on it, a thin tank top, and baggy camo pants.

Isa smiled. “Gigi!”

“Gigi” and Isa kissed each other on the cheeks. “Girl,” Gigi said, rolling her eyes, “someone gave my man an edible and said that it was only 10 mg. Tell me why he’s in the bathroom right now talking about ‘they’re after me’?”

Riki’s eyes lit up. “Heeseung is vulnerable?”

“Don’t scare him too bad,” Gigi said, but Riki was already speeding away. She sighed and bit the inside of her cheek. “That boy is evil, Isa.”

“You say that like every Karma Club member isn’t insane,” Isa said, pulling her hair out of her face and whipping it backwards.

Jake finally got up and frowned, standing beside Isa. You lingered on her other side; Gigi’s sudden appearance had made you feel a bit nervous. “I’m not that bad,” Jake said with a slight pout.

“Please.” Gigi scoffed and adjusted her beanie. “That Mina shit was pretty bad.”

For the first time since you had known him, Jake’s face was completely serious. The air had become fraught with tension, and you realized that the three of them had completely stopped dancing.

“Oops,” she said, holding her hand up to her lips. “Did I say something?”

Isa was chewing on her bottom lip, and Jake was staring at Gigi the same way that Jay looked at other people. Like he could kill them.

“Let’s not talk about that,” Jake mumbled, looking away from Gigi. He glanced at you, then back at the ground.

Gigi followed his gaze to you, and she gave you a clinical, detached once-over. “Who’s this?”

“This is our Wednesday,” Isa said, rubbing your shoulder. She told Gigi your name, and a hint of recognition flickered on her face.

“Oh, that’s you,” Gigi said, nodding slowly. “I’m Giselle. Heeseung’s brought you up.”

What was there even to talk about? “Oh.”

“Based on what Heeseung said, I didn’t think you’d show up to one of these,” Gigi said coolly.

“Jake said he’d buy me smoothies for a week if I came,” you replied drily.

“No, I didn’t,” Jake protested, but his wide, puppy-like smile returned. “Quit lying on me.”

“No, you definitely did,” Isa said, lightly pushing him. “I heard you say it. You said you’d get me a wrap from Stoker’s caf, too.”

“Fine, fine,” Jake said, holding his hands up. “Smoothies for a week for Wednesday and a wrap for her friend Ariel.”

The song switched, some rap song you didn’t know, but Giselle shrieked, clutching Isa. “Girl, this is my song,” she screamed. “Just got some top from a stripper bitch, she from Kankakee…”

Giselle and Isa started dancing, with Giselle gesturing at Isa passionately. You looked at Jake, who moved his arms in a ridiculous, exaggerated way. You smiled and followed his movements, to his amusement.

“You been getting close to Riki?” he asked, tousling his hair.

“I guess,” you replied, trying to mimic a dance you had seen in a music video. “I’ve only known him for two days, though.”

Jake nodded. “He seems like he likes you.”

“He’s nice.”

“Yeah, he’s a good kid,” Jake said, and you became aware of how close he had gotten to you. When had that happened?

“You say kid like Riki and I aren’t the same age.”

Jake stopped moving momentarily, and a shy smile spread across his face. You felt a blush creep over your cheeks, and you were thankful for the cover of darkness. “Well, you don’t seem like you’re the same age as Riki,” he said softly. “You seem a lot more…mature?”

“I don’t feel mature,” you admit and you wonder why you even said it.

“You are,” Jake said, and you saw his hand reaching out towards you, towards your face. Before he could touch you, you felt someone push you.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Riki said, giggling. “You guys look like losers.” He patted your back and went over to Jake, shaking him. Jake playfully wrestled Riki, and as you looked on you swayed your hips ever-so-slightly. Now that you were a little more comfortable, you were starting to have fun.

“Okay, get it,” Gigi said. You turned and she was giving you a strange smile. Isa stretched her hand towards you, and without a moment of delay, you took it.

Even though you didn’t know the words, even though you didn’t know anyone, you still danced. Jake was on your right, Isa was on your left, and the six of you were in a group, letting loose. Isa let her head hang back and excitedly moved her body to the beat. Riki was a surprisingly good dancer, freestyling along with every song that came on. Jake wasn’t far behind him, either. Last week, you couldn’t have imagined yourself doing this, not with these people.

“Let’s go,” Jake yelled before a beat drop, and Riki pushed your head down so you would headbang. You smacked his arm, a gesture you had witnessed girls do to guys. It felt good to do something normal like that, to express your familiarity with someone.

You didn’t know how long you had spent in the living room, but eventually you grew tired. You tapped Jake on the shoulder. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Shit,” Jake said apologetically. “They’re probably all occupied right now. You really need to go?”

You shook your head. “Just need to rest for a little. I’m tired.”

“Sure,” he said. “You wanna go to a bedroom?”

Resting on a soft, plush bed and nuzzling into goose-down pillows sounded like a great plan to you. You nodded your assent. As you left, Isa got a hold of your jacket’s sleeve. “You okay?”

“Not used to this many people,” you explained, and you could have sworn you heard Giselle scoff. Whatever. Isa nodded sympathetically and gave you a long hug. You tapped her back awkwardly before pulling away. “Have fun,” you said softly.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Isa said, playfully hitting your arm before turning back around.

Jake winded his way out of the crowd with you in tow. He took you up another flight of spiral stairs, then down a hallway decorated with tasteful, if not somewhat generic, artwork. He knocked on a door at the end of the hall, and when he didn’t hear anything, he opened the door. Jake flicked the light on, surveying the room. It was a simple, spacious bedroom; the bed had a red and gold quilt, the floor was dark hardwood, and the curtains were drawn shut. “This place is so big,” Jake said admiringly. “If the apocalypse were to happen, I’d come here and just hide out.”

“You’d get looted,” you said, entering the bedroom. You took your shoes off at the door and walked over to the bed. Putting your calypso down on the nightstand, you laid down on top of the sheets. “Yeonjun won’t mind if I sleep in one of his beds?”

Jake scoffed and sat down on the edge of the bed, beside you. “Sleeping is probably the tamest thing people are going to do in his bedrooms,” Jake said, looking down at you. “You’re fine.”

“Oh.” With that, you crawled under the covers, which were deliciously soft. The pillows were cold and crisp, and you breathed out a contented sigh.

“You must be tired,” Jake said. “First college party, right?”

“First party,” you replied, suddenly feeling embarrassment over your lackluster social life.

Jake shook his head in disbelief. “You’re so chill, I don’t get why you weren’t popular in high school.”

“Ask Jay,” you deadpanned. “He could give you a few reasons.”

“Jay’s a fucking…” Jake seemed to catch himself, and he looked at the ceiling before staring back down at you. “I love him, but I don’t understand him. I don’t know why he treats you like that.”

Why do you let him treat me like that? The words clogged in your throat. You were being unfair. Jake had been telling Jay to stop recently, had been trying to help you. It wasn’t like he could stop Jay, anyways. Jay always did what he wanted.

You must have looked strange, because Jake bit his lip in worry. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I caught a little cold yesterday,” you said. Jake touched the back of his hand to your forehead, and you were surprised by how chilly his touch was.

“How’d you manage that?” Jake said in a low murmur. He moved his hand to your neck, just under your chin.

“Went outside.”

“And why did you go outside?”

You gave him a small smile. “The vibes.”

Jake chuckled. “You can be so funny,” he said. “You can be so…”

You never got to hear what else Jake thought you were, because he had leaned down and planted his plush lips onto yours, kissing you softly. A dulcet sweet kiss, as gentle as dandelion fluff. When he pulled away, his eyes lingered on your lips. “Sorry,” Jake said quietly, moving his hand from your neck.

You didn’t say anything, and you felt as though you had reverted back to the you from Monday.

“Sorry,” Jake said again, “I don’t know why I did that.” He hesitated, then whispered, “Do you want me to go?”

You bobbed your head up and down, almost imperceptibly. Jake drew a sharp intake of breath, nodded, then stood up. “I hope you feel better,” he muttered before leaving the bedroom.

You didn’t. You couldn’t even fall asleep. You laid there, listening to the sounds of the rain and the bass kicks coming from the living room. Your eyes were closed, but your mind was racing.

Bringing your fingers to your lips, you traced the soft skin. Jake had kissed you like you were something fragile, something that needed special care. He was attractive, friendly, and treated you far better than any other man in your life ever had.

So why were you thinking about Jay?

It was only a seven minute drive to Yeonjun’s from Sad U, which would be a nearly two hour long walk. Even if the weather cleared up, it would be an arduous trek, and without your phone, you would probably get lost.

There was no point in trying to rest, but you didn’t want to see Jake right now. You didn’t want to confront his feelings, your feelings, or your lack thereof. Maybe you should go downstairs, see if you could scrounge up some alcohol. Drink yourself into a stupor and black out.

So you got out of bed, shoved your shoes on, and headed out the door. As you walked down the hallway, you bumped into Riki, who was carrying a bottle of something with two red solo cups. “Jake wants to drink all of a sudden,” he explained. “But he’s too much of a fair maiden to get it himself. Annoying. It’s a crime for me to even be touching this shit.”

“I want to leave,” you blurted out.

Riki stared at you. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.”

Shifting the items in his hands, he sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He checked the time, then looked at you gravely. “Weather’s supposed to clear up in 3 hours,” Riki said finally. “I can take someone’s car.”

“They wouldn’t mind?”

“If they minded, then they shouldn’t have put me on key duty,” Riki said, shaking his flannel’s pocket. You heard the sound of keys jangling together.

“You really are evil,” you said approvingly.

“How do you think I got into the club?” Riki smiled, then sighed. “I’m gonna go take care of Jake. You gonna come dance again?”

“Don’t think so.”

“All right,” Riki said. “Which room are you in?”

“Up the stairs…down the hall, the leftmost room.”

“I’ll meet you there in a few hours, then,” Riki said, and he prepared to leave.

“Wait.” When Riki turned to face you, crading the bottle of alcohol under his arms, you swallowed.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

Riki snorted. “Don’t say depressing, orphan ass shit like that. You piss Jay off, you don’t suck his dick, you don’t get into dumbass slapfights, and you’re funny. That’s all I need.”

“I thought Karma Club members would sort of…hate the same people.”

“Yeah, a lot of people make assumptions about us,” Riki said, irritation clear on his face. “They don’t know shit.” When you remain quiet, he heads over to the living room.

–

Three hours pass by, trickling like molasses. You go in and out of sleep, dreams intermingling with daydreams. You think about the scarf, about Jay, the smoothies Jake promised you, about your classes, about how five days could culminate into something like this. Lying in a stranger’s bed. You think about how, if Jay hadn’t fiercely kissed you on the rooftop, Jake would have been your first kiss. But if Jay hadn’t kissed you, would you have accepted Isa’s invitation to hang out? Would you have come to this party?

Riki knocked on your door. “It’s open,” you said, and he stepped inside.

“Jake’s acting stupid,” Riki said, gesturing for you to get up. “Fighting with Gigi because she brought up the Mina thing.”

You shuffled over to his side, and together you descended the winding staircase.

“I take it you don’t know what the Mina thing is?” Riki asked.

You shook your head.

“Jake would probably hate it if I told you,” Riki began, holding the door open for you, “so I’ll tell you.

You slipped through the door; the wind was weaker, and the rain came in a light shower instead of the downpour through which you had traversed. “What’s with you?”

Riki laughed, striding over to the massive garage. He pressed a button and it folded itself into the wall. “I like starting shit.”

“Fair.”

The two of you got into someone’s car, with heated leather seats and fuzzy dice in the mirror. “So, the Mina thing was pretty straightforward,” he began, pulling out of the driveway. “From what I understand, Jake hooked up with a girl when she was drunk. Really drunk. She said it was assault, he said that it was consensual.”

You were surprised by the blase nature with which he relayed this information, but you figured being in the Karma Club took a lot of grit.

“She tried to take him to court, but Jake…well, he’s rich. Really rich. She never got a rape kit, apparently didn’t know they existed, so she had no evidence. The only thing was…” Riki squinted at the road. “Fuck, I missed a turn…doesn’t matter. Anyways, the only thing was that her back was fucked up.”

“Fucked up?”

“Scratches, bruises and shit. Jake said that she liked it rough, and I never got to see it myself, but one of her old friends did. She didn’t believe that Jake raped her, but it looked ugly. Anyways, then she got known as the girl that cried rape. Everyone sort of just ran with it. Then she tried to kill herself.”

Riki said it so casually, you nearly didn’t register that he had said it. “Pardon me?”

“She tried to overdose on something, I don’t know what. It didn’t work, she got her stomach pumped. And then she left the school. It was the middle of last semester, so I have no clue how she completed her exams. Probably didn’t. No one knows where she is now. No one knew about the attempt, except for the KC members at the time.”

“How is that possible?”

“Well,” Riki said, turning onto Decelis Street, where Sadame University was located. “She had lost all of her friends, so it’s not like they would have cared. Sorry if that sounds like a dick thing to say, but it’s true. And the people who did find her, well…they weren’t going to tell anyone.”

“Why? Who found her?”

Riki was silent as he pulled up in front of the tall, imposing gate. “You can get in, right? There’s a few entrances that lead inside, or you could climb over.”

“Yeah,” you said, unbuckling your seatbelt. “I should be fine.”

“Good.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“It was Jay,” he said quietly. “Jay found her. She was from Fawcett, and he found her in the girls’ bathroom.”

–

Staggering through the halls of Fawcett, which were eerily quiet (quite a few students had gone home for the weekend, anticipating the storm. The rest were probably in Stoker, enjoying the proximity to the KC without stirring their ire.

It was too much to think about, too much to figure out. Jake had either committed a crime, or he was being unfairly framed. Either way, the girl had tried to kill herself, and Jay had found her. Why would he be in the Fawcett bathroom? None of it made sense, and you were so worn out, you could hardly bring yourself to think about it.

You jammed your key into the lock, but you realized that the door was already open. That’s right. Isa had rushed you outside, so you hadn’t had the chance to lock your door. When you cracked the door ajar, you saw someone lying on your bed, reading one of your books.

Jay.

This was the longest Friday night of your life.

The door made a creaking noise as you pushed it all the way open, and he turned to you and smiled. It was a Duchenne smile, devoid of any joy. His hair, which was normally styled, fell limply into his eyes. He set the book down on your nightstand, got to his feet, and pulled you inside lightly. As he let you go, he closed the door and locked it with an unpropitious click.

“Where were you?” Jay asked, leaning against the door. He crossed his arms over his loose black button-up and tilted his head.

“Yeonjun’s,” you said. You still felt weak from the last 6 hours, so you rested your hand on your nightstand for support as you stood in front of him.

“Oh, Yeonjun’s,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “How was it? Fun?”

The benign nature of his questioning only made you feel more perturbed. “It was okay,” you said. “Loud. Not as many people as I thought.”

“You know how it is,” Jay continued. “KC parties are always exclusive.” His voice didn’t have its usual arrogant, loud tone, the one that commanded attention. Now he spoke in a slow, borderline sensual drawl.

“Why didn’t you go?”

Jay shrugged and kicked himself off of the door, standing upright. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You may not know this because you don’t have any friends, but hanging around the same people for so long gets boring. I got sick of it, all their bullshit. Besides, KC parties are all the same. You go there, you listen to the shittiest house music, you smoke cat piss because it’s Heeseung’s favourite, you grind on some sluts, you fuck one or two of them, you have to kick their drunk asses out, you go home, then you fight the urge to kill yourself, pen in your jugular.”

“Sounds like a great time.”

Jay laughed humourlessly. “I didn’t know you could make jokes. You’re just full of surprises. Going to parties - KC parties, no less! - wearing makeup…you fuck anyone?”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Did you fuck anyone? Seems like you were looking to get fucked tonight.” Jay took a small step towards you.

“No,” you said, thinking about the kiss. Both of them.

“Really?” Jay stepped even closer. “Not even Jake? He has a weird thing for you, you know. Probably thinks he can dick the mute out of you. I’m surprised he didn’t try anything. But then, he’s always been kind of a pussy, though.”

You stayed silent, backing up. He wasn’t wearing his usual cologne today, so his natural scent wafted into your nose. It was woodsy and a little spicy.

“Back to the silent treatment? You’re killing me.”

Your hand brushed against the book he had been reading. “Why are you here, Jay?”

“I missed you,” Jay said sarcastically. “I just had to come see you. Why, you didn’t want to see me? Are you scared of me now?”

You shook your head, stepping back again. Your calves hit the cool wrought iron frame of your bed, and you realize that there’s nowhere left to go.

Jay advanced upon you, until he was hovering over you like a specter. “Of course you aren’t. Nothing I can do can frighten you, right?”

“No.”

Anger contorted his features into a vicious snarl, and he pushed you onto the bed. Yourlegs hit the edge of the bed, and you winced from the impact. Furious hands groped all over the front of your body, as if he were attempting to touch every part of you at once. Jay’s lips pressed onto yours, his teeth clashing against yours. This kiss lacked the desperation and hopelessness of last time. Now, his kisses were vicious attacks, wet and hot. His hips rutted against your crotch, like he was trying to fuck you through the layers of clothing.

Jay pulled away, gasping. His lips were covered in his own slick saliva. “Why aren’t you fighting back? Why do you let me do whatever I want to you?”

He’s pinned your arms against your sides, so all you can do is look into his eyes. Your voice came out more strongly than you had intended. “You’ll do it if I fight back or not. You always do whatever you want. I’m not strong enough to stop you, so why bother?”

Jay growled with indignation. “You’re pathetic. You’re weak.” He kissed you again, as if trying to devour you. One of his rough hands slid up your dress, the other kneading your breasts through the thin fabric.

You didn’t kiss him back. You didn’t squirm. You laid there, pressed into your bed. Jay forced his tongue into your mouth and let you choke on it. The hand had disappeared up your dress was now sliding your panties down, down your legs. Pushing your dress up to reveal your naked pussy, Jay broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips. He looked into your eyes.

“You’re mine,” he said, unbuckling his belt. “You know that?”

The words sent a flurry of goosebumps across your body. “What?”

“I said, you’re mine.” Jay held his belt in his hands and glanced at your wrists, then your face. He tossed the belt to the side and pushed your dress even further up your body, giving him access to your tummy. He spread his hand across it, rubbing it in a circular motion.

“You hate me.”

“I despise you.”

“Why would you want to have someone you hate? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Jay said before spitting into his right hand. His other hand yanked his zipper down and took his cock out. It was almost scary to look at: long and angry with a reddened tip and a slight curve. He pushed your legs apart harshly. As if it were a chore, Jay stroked his cock a few times as he lined himself up with your pussy.

With a grunt, he plunged himself inside of you, piercing through your thin membrane ruthlessly. You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying out, but it was painful. It was a searing heat that licked at your walls, down to your core. Jay didn’t bottom out, thankfully, but he was already lingering dangerously close to your cervix. He was already panting, his hands gripping your hips as he tried to catch himself. His silver cross necklace dangled in your face, so close you could twirl it around your finger.

Just as soon as you were getting used to the strange feeling of having a cock jammed in your cunt, you heard Jay’s husky voice. “Fight back,” he whispered before pulling out and slamming back inside of you. Your eyes were trained on Jay’s, and he captured and held your gaze. He thrusted again, harshly, and the slick noise made you realize that you were wet. “You’re just letting me do this,” Jay continued, starting to develop a deep, irregular pace. Quarter notes of hard snaps of his hips, allegrisimo sixteenth-notes of incessant pounding. “Letting me take this pussy. Come on, struggle or I’ll think you want it.”

Jay continued slamming into you, leaving little half moons on your hips from his fingernails. His head dipped down to your neck, and he bit and sucked on a small spot near its base. A hickey. Jay licked a stripe up to the right of your neck and marked you there as well.

You felt wildly conflicted. You didn’t want this, you didn’t ask for this, and it felt odd. Yet at the same time, you felt so full. Every time he drove his cock into you, you felt like you would tear apart. Pain and pleasure coalesced into something you couldn’t comprehend.

Jay’s words devolved into grunting as he thrusted faster and faster. Somehow, the look on his face didn’t seem to display pleasure, or even schadenfreude. He stared at you through darkened eyes and his nose was scrunched.

“You’d let me do anything to you,” Jay said, almost accusingly. “Anything.” With another thrust, you feel something hot and fluid fill your womb, and soon the acrid smell of urine floats into your nostrils.

Jay stares into your face, waiting for a reaction, searching your face for any weakness. When he finds none, he lets out a strangled groan of frustration and begins slamming into you wildly. He lifts your legs up, gripping them by your thighs, and takes your pussy with the aggression of an animal. “I made you a piss-whore, a dirty fucking piss whore. Aren’t you mad? Aren’t you angry? Are you a fucking robot?” He punctuated his insults with angry thrusts; you could hear the sticky amalgamation of piss and your own cum making squelching noises. You reach for the sheets beneath your hands and search for any purchase.

Jay let out one final, irate grunt and spilled inside of you, shooting his cum all the way to your cervix. He dropped your legs back onto the bed and rested on top of you, your head between his arms. You had seen a lot of expressions on Jay’s face: anger, frustration, pride, sadistic glee, but this was something else. Something you couldn’t read. You made eye contact with him again, and he pulled out of you, staggering to his feet. He shoved his cock into his boxers and started to dress again.

Jay opened your door, but before he did he cast one last lingering look at you as you laid on your bed. You looked a sight:forehead shining with sweat, two bright, stinging hickeys on your neck, and a pool of piss, cum, and blood oozing from your pussy onto your bed. Hurriedly, as if someone had ordered him to do so, Jay pulled out his wallet and tossed a flurry of bills on your nightstand. “Get something to eat,” he muttered before leaving, slamming your door.

Your fingers crawled down your stomach and dipped your fingers into your vaginal entrance, mimicking the stretch that Jay had given you.

As you rested there, staring at the ceiling, you decided to determine what had happened. The simple answer was that you had been raped. Could you enjoy rape? You didn’t feel like a victim. You didn’t feel like something horrible had happened to you. If you were being honest, this had been the most interesting thing that had occurred in your life. No one had ever felt so strongly about you in any capacity, and it thrilled you. Jay’s hatred invigorated you, made you feel warm.

It filled you.

You plunged your fingers into your vacant pussy and allowed yourself to moan.

You woke up with a heavy body and a foggy mind. For some reason, you thought that you had woken up at Yeonjun’s party, surrounded by a pile of bodies. Instead, you woke up alone, wearing a clean nightgown. A nightgown? Hadn’t you been covered in bodily fluids last night, dressed in an outfit that Isa had picked for you? And your sheets, they were pristine. You smoothed them down as if trying to find remnants of the night before. Had you made all of that up? And if so, from where? It all sounded unreal. Riding a golf cart in the middle of a storm, partying with the Karma Club, and losing your virginity to Jay…

That’s right. You weren’t a virgin anymore. Your first kiss, your first fuck, they were both Jay’s. You glanced at your nightstand, and you the smattering of bills laying on top of your book. You picked one of the bills up, a one hundred dollar bill. You didn’t even think most stores accepted one hundred dollar bills these days. Christ.

The next thing to do was to check your phone. A dismal sight greeted you: the time was 4:52, you had nine missed calls and 32 messages to parse through. First, the missed calls. Five from Isa, two from Jake, and one from an unknown phone number. You called that one first, and it picked up on the third ring.

“You’re alive,” Riki said through the phone. “Jesus. Everyone thought you died.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? You’ve been asleep for over 12 hours,” he said. “Your room door was locked. Isa’s been driving herself crazy, and Jay isn’t helping- oh, yeah, Jay is back.”

Yeah, no shit. “That’s crazy.”

“It is crazy. Been a stupid ass night. Jay won’t tell us where he went. And Jake’s been tweaking since the party.”

“Jake?”

Riki heaved a sigh. “Yup. He’s been pacing around and he has the temper of a chihuahua right now. He’s in Won’s room right now losing his shit. Swear to God, it almost isn’t worth it being KC sometimes.”

“Stressful night,” you commented blithely.

“Isn’t it? I’m on my way to the Stoker caf right now. I’m gonna fuck up a samosa."

“Enjoy it.”

“Oh, I shall.”

You hung up on Riki and groaned. With a degree of annoyance, you flicked through your texts.

The ones from Isa were about what you had expected. Concerned “where are you” messages that made up the bulk of the 32 texts. Clearly, she got antsy when she was on molly. It was nice to have someone care, though. You didn’t text her back yet, lest she try to come see you. If you saw anyone right now, you thought that you’d explode.

The texts you were truly apprehensive about opening were the ones from an unknown number. The message started with “hey, it’s jake”, which boded poorly. You steeled yourself and clicked on the text.

hey, it’s jake. wanted to let you know that i had a lot of fun partying with you last night :) we gotta get you to the club sometime soon. you me isa and riki so isa won’t be third-wheeling

i hope i didn’t make things weird last night. i didn’t mean to rush you or anything. i tend to think with my heart first instead of my brain, which makes me do stupid shit

not that kissing you was stupid

it was actually really nice

but i know that there’s been this longstanding situation between you and jay, and you probably don’t have the best opinion of us. i can’t blame you for that. and i know i probably haven’t done a very good job of expressing it, but i’m starting to have genuine feelings for you. been that way for a while, but it’s only now that i’ve gotten the chance to show it

so i got carried away

maybe it’s too soon idk but there’s something about you that’s different. i wanna get closer to you, and even if you don’t wanna pursue anything, i’d like to remain your friend

Hastily, you texted him: Let’s talk in person, later.

Not five minutes had passed before Jake texted you: sure, whenever you want. are you okay?

You: Yeah, you?

Jake: been better. did you just get up?

You: Yeah.

Jake: you sleep like a rock

You: It’s been a long night.

–

You surveyed the damage Jay had done to you in your full-length mirror. Two red hickeys staining your neck, fingerprint-shaped bruises on your stomach, a bruise on your hips, and scars like crescent moons littering your arm near your elbow from his nails digging into you. You found it pretty.

Shrugging your nightgown on, you glanced at the money that was still on the nightstand. You hadn’t actually eaten anything since you had snacked with Isa. When you left your room, a hoodie covering your nightgown, you checked to see if the Fawcett restaurant was open. It was, but to your dismay Isa was sitting with a group of her friends. She looked exhausted. You remembered that you hadn’t spoken to her or responded to her texts, and you just couldn’t bear to face her right now.

You took the back exit out of the Fawcett building. Hazily, you remembered that Riki had talked about getting a samosa. You called him, and he picked up, making loud chewing noises.

“Hey.”

“I’m coming to get a samosa. Is the coast clear?”

“Do you mean, is Jay in the cafeteria?”

“...Yeah.”

“Nah.”

“On my way.”

You hung up the phone and, for the first time, walked towards the Stoker dorms. To get there, you had to pass the library, and you made a note to get on the roof and smoke there. It had been nearly a week since the last time you had been able to puff away on a cigarette while you brooded.

Upon entering, its opulence in comparison to the more modest dormitories was apparent. Why did a college dorm need marble tiles, a chandelier in the dining hall, and a plus red carpet lining the hallway? Unlike the other dorms, which were two story buildings, Stoker had three stories. This was despite being the dorm with the least amount of residents. The foyer faced a staircase that split into two, ultimately leading to the same area. To your right were the glass doors that led to the restaurant.

As you walked towards the dining area, you looked for Riki. He should have been easy to find, considering his uncommon hairstyle and large stature, but you didn’t see him.

The dining area was, thankfully, fairly sparse. You shuffled towards the short line for their restaurant, which was a sleek, modern eatery that sold a wide variety of dishes. As you scoured the menu, you heard thudding footsteps behind you. You didn’t bother turning around.

“Riki tricked me,” you muttered, fingering the bills you had shoved into your hoodie’s pocket.

“It’s what he’s best at,” Jay said, his breath tickling your neck. “Getting something to eat?”

You would have thought that such close proximity to him would have made you anxious. Instead, smelling his cologne brought a sense of familiarity. Jay teased you, you were the victim. The nature of the universe. “Yeah.”

“With my money?”

“Yeah.”

Jay chuckled. “Well, look at this. I fucked you, you’re using my money…it’s like you’re my girlfriend.”

You turned to look at Jay. He retained his cocksure attitude, but something was different about him. “Don’t you already have a girlfriend?”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “Who?”

Was he an amnesiac? “Isa.”

“Isa?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah?”

“Isa,” Jay repeated with a scoff. “No. No, I’m not dating Isa.”

“Tell her that,” you replied.

“I should. Bitch stole my Jane’s Addiction t-shirt,” he muttered.

“So take it back.” One of the people working beyond the counter politely told you to order, so you turned around and ordered a vegetable samosa, just like Riki.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Jay said, flashing his card and tapping it onto the reader.

Things were too amicable. You looked at the card reader, then at Jay, who was grinning at you wickedly. “What, no one’s ever bought you food before?”

“No.”

“Jesus fuck, you really are pathetic,” Jay said, his grin faltering. You walked over to the waiting area, next to the straws and condiments, and Jay followed you over. For a while, you fiddled with a packet of ketchup while Jay stood by, hands in his pockets. You had a million questions you wanted to ask him, but none of them felt suitable for a spot like this, out in the open.

“Did you tell Riki?” you asked finally.

“Tell him what?” You stared at him pointedly. “What, that we fucked? No. Haven’t told anyone. Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Not even Isa?”

Jay sighed, resting his head on the wall. “No, I’m not going to tell Isa.”

You nodded, feeling a sudden chill. In hindsight, you should have worn a jacket, but you weren’t thinking straight at all.

“You cold?”

“A little,” you said.

“It’s November, you should have worn a jacket,” Jay said, shaking his head. “Pathetic and dumb…”

When your samosas were ready, Jay got them from the counter. He handed yours to you without a word, so you accepted it quietly. You walked over to an empty table. Like everything else in Stoker, it was needlessly ostentatious. White tablecloths for a college dorm cafeteria?

Jay sat next to you without prompting. You didn’t know why he was acting so chummy, but you decided to take advantage of it. You decided to ask him one more question.

“Why’d you do it?” you asked quietly.

Jay waited until he had finished his bite of food before speaking. “Jesus, you’re talkative today,” he grumbled. “I almost miss when you were mute.”

You sat there and ate your samosa, flicking the crumbs off of the tablecloth.

“Because I wanted to,” Jay said. He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but a shadow hovered over both of you. When you turned to look at the source of the obstruction, you saw Jake, dressed in his Sad U sweatshirt. His hair was messy, as usual, and he looked exhausted. You chewed your samosa and stared at him.

“Hey,” Jake said, mustering a small smile. “Riki said you were over here.”

Of course he did. “Yeah, Fawcett’s caf is closed,” you said.

Jake nodded, his hair bouncing. “Wanted to what, Jay?”

Jay looked at Jake inquisitively. “What?”

“You said ‘because you wanted to’,” Jake said, and he began pressing his knuckles against the table. “Wanted to what?”

“Oh, that,” Jay said jovially. “I was talking about last night. I fucked her until she bled and she liked it. Didn’t you, sweetie?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jake said; his knuckles turned white and his voice was low.

“She was so wet,” Jay continued, putting his samosa on a paper towel. “And she purred like a kitten. The only problem was that she was tight as a bitch. I couldn’t even get my dick out of her.”

Jake slammed his hand on the table. “Fucking stop!”

Jay turned to you, his voice becoming polite. “See, Jakey here is having flashbacks. He hasn’t gotten laid in a long time. The last time he fucked a girl, was, well…”

Jay’s head snapped back as Jake landed a punch squarely on his cheek. You caught the smile burgeoning on Jay’s face before he stood up.

“Look at Jakey, trying to be a real man in front of a girl,” Jay said, dodging Jake’s wild punches. “You weren’t so brave last year.”

Jake lunged for Jay’s throat and they tumbled to the ground. This was fun and all, but you didn’t really sign up for this. “Jake, stop,” you said, mainly because you felt like you had to.

“He’s always saying vile shit about you,” Jake said, holding Jay’s arms above his head. “This isn’t the first time he’s said gross, fucked up shit like that.”

Jay kneed Jake in the ribs with a gleeful smile, causing Jake to momentarily let go of Jay’s hands. The thought of getting in there and trying to pry them apart seemed funny, but it also repulsed you greatly. You got to your feet, took your samosa, and walked away from the dining hall. Whatever history Jay and Jake had, it went beyond you. You felt like you were a pawn in someone else’s game.

When you got to the doors of the dining hall, Riki was posed in front of them, recording the fight with his phone. He smiled at you, shut his phone off, and pocketed it. “Pretty cool, right?”

“You tricked me,” you said, pointing at him with your samosa.

Riki took a bite out of your meal. “I told you,” he said through a garbled mouthful, “I love starting shit.”

You couldn’t deny that he was an honest liar. You tucked yourself into a corner and watched Jay and Jak attempt to maul each other.

You ate your samosa while Riki spoke. “You didn’t try to break up the fight?”

“Why bother?”

Riki craned his head towards your pastry again, so you held it up to him. “They say that indifference is the greatest form of contempt.”

“Thanks for the life lesson, Girl Meets World,” you deadpanned.

He snorted and wiped crumbs from his mouth. “I think I’m starting to understand why Jay is so obsessed with you.”

“Yeah? Why?”

Riki looked down at you and gave you an odd, almost solemn smile. “I think you’re the only person who cares less about life than him.”

–

You needed a smoke. Badly. Ideally, you’d like to be put into a 3-day medically induced coma, but a smoke would suffice for now.

Unfortunately, life wouldn’t award you that kindness. As you sat in your room, debating on just opening the window and having a sneaky cigarette inside, you heard a knock on the door. A groan slipped from your lips before you opened it.

There stood a battered Jake. Split lip, one puffy, red cheek, and an eye that was swelling. “Jay looks worse,” Jake said with a small laugh. You knew that wasn’t true. “Can I come in?”

You nodded and gestured for him to sit down. He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hands on his jeans as he gathered his thoughts. You locked the door and sat next to him.

“I wanted to apologize,” Jake said, licking the fresh wound on his lip. “I acted…I wasn’t acting like myself. I was just so angry that he said those things about you, and it just…”

“It’s fine,” you said, looking down at your hands.

“Thanks,” he said, sounding relieved. Then he frowned again as he glanced around your room. “Listen, uh…you heard Giselle talk about the Mina thing, right?”

“Yeah,” you said carefully. “I don’t know what it is, though.”

“Wow. Riki kept his mouth shut for once? Impressive. Well…I figure, if we’re going to be friends, I should be honest with you. This is gonna be kind of heavy, so you know, we can save this for another time, or something…”

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “Go ahead.”

Jake cleared his throat and stared at the ceiling. “Well, last year I had a thing with this girl, Mina. She was…she was really shy. Cute. Artsy. She sort of reminds me of you, in some ways, but she wasn’t as mature as you are. Mina was kind of flighty, you know? She always did whatever she wanted.

“We had the same philosophy class, which is how we met. We sat next to each other, and we would talk during class. So we started hooking up, and you could say that we got pretty close. So, earlier this year, in April, I took her to this KC party. Mina wasn’t the biggest party girl, but she liked to take dabs and chill. The others didn’t mind me taking her, so she came with me.” Jake swallowed and glanced at you before returning his attention to the ceiling.

“We had both had a bit too much to drink, so I took her upstairs to my dorm room. And then…I suggested that we fool around a little. And, well, I got a little…I’m pretty rough. It’s not anything bad, it’s just how I like it. She liked it too. It was one of the reasons why we got along so well back then. So I was rough that night, but she liked it. She was definitely acting like she liked it. I don’t know what happened. The morning after, she was freaking out. She was pointing at all the bruises and calling me…she said that I…” Jake rubbed his chin harshly. “It was all bullshit. I don’t know why she didn’t just break up with me instead of trying to ruin my life like that. She spread that shit over the school, she tried…she tried to sue me. All because I wanted to have fun with my girlfriend.”

You waited for him to mention the suicide attempt, but he never did. Instead, Jake let the silence linger, and it was suffocating.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said, and to drive your point home, you gently touched his arm. Jake looked down at your hand and smiled.

“I thought you should know,” he said softly. “I wanted you to know.” Jake leaned back on his hands and sighed. “Feels so great to get that off my chest.”

You nodded, rubbing his arm gently, mentally reviewing all of the information you knew.

“You know what I love about you?” Jake said. “You’re such a good listener. I feel like I can talk to you about anything.”

“I’m glad,” you said.

“Hey.” Jake grasped the hand on his arm and squeezed it tightly. “I meant it, you know. I do like you, but I’m willing to wait, or even just be your friend. It’s all up to you.”

Jesus. How did regular people deal with this? You looked at your conjoined hands as you tried to come up with something to say. “I’ve never even had a friend,” you said slowly, “so this will take a while.”

“I’ll wait,” Jake said earnestly, his eyes glittering.

“I’ll need those free smoothies first.”

He laughed. “Yeah, of course. Of course, I’ll hook you up. Let’s head to Stopkewich on Monday, yeah? After the library?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jake reluctantly let go of your hand and stood up. “I’m gonna go to the health clinic,” he said, jerking his thumb at his eye. “Can’t have this ruining the masterpiece.”

“Be careful,” you said, walking him the short distance to the door.

“Will do,” Jake said with a wide grin. “See you, Wednesday.”

As soon as he left, you pulled out your phone and texted Riki.

You: I need Jay’s number.

Riki: why lol

You: It’ll be interesting. I might plant more seeds of strife between your two friends.

Riki: be careful w that

Riki: there’s a delicate balance to shit-stirring

Riki: u can’t do too much of KC will be ruined

Riki: *or

Riki: like u can’t tell jay some shit that’ll make him hate jake

Riki: they should hate each other but ntm yk?

You: You’re full of sage advice.

Riki: ikr

Riki gave you Jay’s number, and you texted him: We need to talk.

Fifteen minutes later, he responded.

Jay: ask nicely.

You didn’t know why you bothered.

You: Never mind.

Jay: you need to learn how to swallow your pride sometime, you know that?

Jay: thought you would have gotten humbled last night.

You: It wasn’t nearly that transformative an experience.

Jay: god, you’re a cunt.

Jay: i hope you aren’t getting clingy on me

Jay: hate it when girls do that

You: You don’t have to talk to me again after this.

Jay: now you’re being dramatic

Jay: where did you want to meet? your room again?

You: Rooftop of the library at 11.

Jay: you text like a hitman

Jay: see you then

–

You were on the rooftop at 10:50, finally enjoying your cigarette. You breathed in the smoke, enjoying the subtle burn, and sighed. The rooftop was damp, so you bunched your coat under your butt and sat on it. The air was chilly, but you didn’t mind. You were focused on getting answers.

Shortly after you had finished your first cigarette, Jay sat down next to you, under the awning of the rooftop. It was hard to see his face in the darkness, the only light source being the full, luminous moon. Judging from the little you could see, you could tell that Jay had gotten the upper hand in the fight. “I didn’t know you smoked,” Jay said.

You stubbed your cigarette out on the roof and shrugged.

“I could use a smoke,” Jay said. “What do you smoke?”

You pulled another cigarette out of the pack and placed it between your lips. “Marlboro Lights.”

“You smoke lights? You’re as pussy as your boyfriend,” he said, holding his hand out. “What are you staring at? Give me one.”

You handed him a cigarette and lit your own. Jay leaned towards you, cigarette hanging from his lips, so you lit his own as well.

The both of you sat there, taking long, peaceful drags. You closed your eyes as you smoked, relishing in the quiet. Jay’s presence didn’t bother you, either.

“I take it you didn’t bring me here to smoke with you,” he said after a while.

“No,” you said. “I want to know about Mina.”

Jay coughed before barking out a sarcastic laugh. “Mina?”

“Giselle mentioned her at the party last night,” you said, taking another drag. “Jake got weird when Giselle said her name…”

“Giselle has such a big mouth,” Jay said. “Don’t know why Heeseung keeps her around.” He took another hit from his cigarette and looked out at the skyline. “You wanna know what happened with Mina? I’ll tell you what happened with Mina.

“Jake doesn’t know how to pick a decent girl to fuck, that’s his problem. He’s obsessed with finding some girl with mental problems and rehabilitating her using the healing power of his 2 incher. So if you thought he liked you for your stunning personality, then I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. He likes you because he thinks you’re weak. Mina was even worse, though. She thought she was special because she liked listening to indie music and smoking weed and having crystals and taking Seroquel. Jake loved that shit, though.

“So we had this party in Sunoo’s room. His room is on the top floor, so everyone kind of just spreads out anyways, out into the halls…you don’t care about any of this. Anyways, it was a small party and Jake brought Mina. They fucked in his room and the next day she was saying that Jake raped her.”

“Did he?”

Jay scoffed. “Who knows? The point is that he freaked out at her. Jakey is really conscious about his image. He likes being ‘the nice one’, so he’s always pretending like he’s not as fucked as the rest of us. So he lost his shit, started spreading rumours, dragging her name through the mud. It was pretty funny, but like I said, she was already fucked in the head.

“So she called Jake one night, like a month after the party, and she’s hollering, saying all kinds of crazy shit. She said…” Jay took a long drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out. “That she was in the bathroom at her dorm, Fawcett. That she was going to take a shit ton of pills and kill herself and put him in her note, yada yada. I thought it was the usual borderline personality ‘please give me attention’ routine, so I was laughing about it, but Jake was tearing himself up. He was too pussy to go over there, so I had to do it.

“You ever seen someone overdose? Mina’s body was twitching and she was literally foaming at the mouth. I had to make sure that she didn’t knock her head against a sink and crack her skull open. I had to sit there and wait while Jake sat in his room with his thumbs stuck up his ass. She stopped breathing at one point, so I had to give her CPR. After that, she left the school.”

You looked down at your hands. “What’d she overdose on?”

Jay stared at you. “What, why does that matter? A girl almost died in front of me. Fuck, I was there when they had to give her naloxone. She probably overdosed on her stupid antipsychotics, who gives a shit?” He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Were you scared?”

“Scared? No, I wasn’t scared. I was just…pissed. Pissed that Jake sent me to clean up after his problem.”

You let out a long trail of smoke, and the two of you fell silent again. The air felt thick now, heavy with tension.

“You know, I didn’t even like it,” Jay said after a while.

“Like what?” You stubbed out your own cigarette and pulled another one out of your pack. You didn’t normally smoke this much, but you felt as though you were making up for the nights you had missed.

“Pass me another cig?” Jay opened your mouth, so you put the cigarette in and lit it for him. “I didn’t like fucking you.” He let out a long trail of smoke and leaned his head against the wall. “Physically, it felt good, but I didn’t get what I wanted from it.”

“What did you want?”

Jay chuckled. “What did I want? What I wanted…I wanted to feel something different, besides the way I feel every single day.”

You blew smoke out of the corner of your mouth. “And how do you feel?”

“Nothing. I don’t feel a damn thing.”

“Maybe,” you began drolly, “you should try having sex with someone you like.”

“Won’t happen,” he said. “I don’t like anyone.”

“So what about Is-,”

Jake groaned and pointed his cigarette at you. “Isa, Isa, Isa. You know what her problem is? She thinks she can change me. I don’t get it. She gets with me, and then she’s like, ‘Jay, hold my hand in public!’ ‘Jay, can you text me good morning?’ ‘Jay, can you take me to Nobu?’ I hate that. All those bullshit romantic gestures. They’re not me, and I don’t know why she thinks I would change for her. I can’t change, and I won’t change for anyone.”

You didn’t speak, so Jay continued talking. “I don’t think people can change, you know. I think whatever you show is who you are. When people ‘change’ because they get a little money, that’s just them expressing what they couldn’t before. It’s not that rich guys are all pedophiles. Every poor family has an uncle that likes touching kids. It’s already in you, and it’s just a matter of whether or not you have the means to express it.”

“I don’t think so,” you said quietly.

“No? Please, enlighten me with your personal philosophy, Ms. ‘I’ll Let My Boyfriend Get beat Up Cause I’m So Aloof.’”

You sucked in a breath of smoke and blew it out slowly, watching the delicate tendrils evaporate into the night air. “I think if a person no longer believes a fundamental truth, then they change. If a child no longer thinks that they’re safe in their house, then they’ll change their behavior.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, “but they still have the capacity to do so. It’s still in their ability to change.”

“Well, change is a conscious decision. You’re saying that people can’t change, I think they can.”

“Quite an optimistic take from the gloomiest bitch in Sad.”

You shrugged. “I never said people always changed for the better.”

“I guess not.” Jay smoked his cigarette quietly for a minute before saying, “You think your boyfriend changed, or do you think he always had it in him to drive a woman to suicide?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said.

“Ooh,” Jay said mockingly, “what are you going to do if I call him your boyfriend?”

You held your cigarette up, grinning. “I’ll put this out on you.”

Only the faintest of Jay’s features were visible in the darkness, but you could see his lips contort into a slight smile. “I dare you.” He took his jacket off, tossing it to the side, and rolled up his thin long-sleeve. “Do it.”

“It’s too dark,” you said.

In response, Jay took your hand and pressed it on a spot near his elbow. “Right here,” he whispered. “Right here.”

When had you ever denied Jay of a request? You took your dying cigarette from your mouth and ground it into his arm. At first, you did it slowly, but as he hissed, you twisted the cigarette in. If you listened closely, you could hear the flesh searing. A quiet moan escaped Jay’s lips, a sound that made you feel a familiar warmth. When the cigarette was all but ash, you flicked the remaining butt away.

“My turn,” Jay whispered. Cigarette clamped between his lips, he reached out and zipped your jacket all the way down. You pulled it off yourself, placing it near his own. Jay gently pushed you onto the roof, so that you were staring up into the sky. With warm hands, he pulled your sweater up, exposing a strip of your bare, tender skin. You lifted your head up so you could see his movements. One hand held your stomach, his thumb idly swiping at it. The other hand was lowering the cigarette onto your flesh.

It stung and burnt. You felt no shame in letting out a yelp of pain, but Jay kept going. Good. You wanted him to burn you completely, to leave a scar. You felt that heat grow within you, spreading from your core to your heart to your neck. Jay dug the cigarette into your skin the same way you had done to him. He tossed the butt aside. Then he licked the wound, his cool tongue acting as a balm against the searing pain. Jay swirled his tongue around the circular scar, and you whimpered.

“You like that?” Jay whispered, both hands running up and down the side of your body.

You hated to lie. “Yeah.”

“Then get to work.” He sat up, so that he was on his knees. You lifted yourself off of the ground as well. Your lips met his expectant mouth, and he tasted like ashes. Jay’s hands remained on your waist, stroking you lightly. It was the first real kiss you had ever initiated, and you weren’t entirely sure where to put your hands. Jay picked up on your apprehension and guided your hands down to his belt.

It was difficult, getting his belt off in the darkness, but you managed to figure it out. “Touch me,” Jay said.

“How?”

“Just…” Jay sighed. He placed one of his hands over yours and showed you how to rub him over his pants. “Like that. You don’t have to touch it directly right now.” With that, he resumed kissing you, leaving you to palm his crotch. It was fascinating, feeling his cock harden under your hand like that. You applied a little more pressure, and Jay groaned into your mouth. “Yeah, like that.”

You felt his fingers dance over your knees, along your thighs, and pause by your panties. “No one’s ever touched you here, right?” he asked, whispering against your ear. “Like this?”

“Just me,” you said quietly.

“I didn’t think you fucked yourself,” Jay said quietly. “How often?”

“Depends…” As you talked, Jay had started to rub your engorged clit through your underwear.

“Mm. What do you think about?”

“I don’t know,” you said. Your head felt like it was filled with cotton.

“Keep rubbing me,” Jay whispered. “Don’t slack off, now. Tell me what you think about when you’re cumming your pretty little head off.”

“I read…erotica,” you admitted quietly.

Jay laughed, but it didn’t sound as cruel as it usually did. “Of course you do. You read those bodice-rippers where the innocent little maiden gets pounded by some asshole while she cries, ‘No, no!’, right?”

You bit your lip, and he stroked your clit faster. “Don’t get shy on me now,” Jay said, “we were really getting somewhere. So you fuck yourself to books like that? Do you imagine yourself as the innocent little maiden, is that it? Hoping someone will just push your legs apart and fuck you? Is that what the prude thinks about?”

You didn’t speak, so Jay removed his fingers. “Tell me,” he muttered. “Tell me and I’ll let you cum. Tell me the truth.”

Rationality had left you long ago. You used to look down upon people who would throw away their lives and relationships for quick pleasure, but now all you wanted was for Jay to drive you to the edge, make you cum. “If you’re really good,” Jay whispered, “I’ll fuck you slow this time. I’ll be real gentle.”

“I do,” you said, wincing at your own weakness. “I do imagine myself as her. I want someone to…”

Jay kissed your lips once, twice, three times. “Say it,” he said, two of his fingers stroking your clit at an excruciatingly close pace.

“I want someone to fuck me,” you said finally.

“Of course you do,” Jay said, still teasing you. “You liked it when I fucked you, right? You liked that I took what I wanted from you. Admit it.”

If Jay was right regarding his fatalistic theory about humanity’s inability to change, then you were fucked. You hated to believe that this simpering desperation had been inside of you the entire time. “I liked it,” you said, head bowed.”

Jay removed his fingers again, and you looked at him with wide, confused eyes. “You said you’d let me cum.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, lowering his jeans, “you’re going to cum on my dick, and you’ll like it. You loved it last time.”

You tugged your panties down, wincing at the wet, shlicking noise they made. “Just let me do everything,” he said. His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

Once more, your back hit the cool cement of the rooftop. Jay pulled your panties off completely, tossed them aside, and parted your legs. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

His cock teased your entrance before he plunged himself inside. Jay fucked your pussy shallowly this time, allowing himself to enjoy it. “Fuck, fuck, that’s good.” It was so much better now that you were wet. Instead of a harsh intrusion, it was more like a pleasant, warm fullness. You ached for him to go deeper.

“More,” you murmured, and you heard Jay laugh.

“More? You don’t want me to be gentle? You don’t want me to treat you with kid gloves?” Jay pulled his dick out of you completely, and you shook your head.

“No, no, I want more, I want it…please.”

“Please,” Jay said, like it was the first time he’d ever heard the word. “Please. You’re killing me.”

Jay slammed his cock inside of you, hitting you at an angle that made you see stars. He gathered your wrists in one hand and held them above your head; the other hand braced itself beside you. Every thrust made you gasp with pleasure.

“Jake would fucking…kill himself…if he saw this shit,” Jay grunted, rutting his hips against yours. He was rough, just like the first time. He could hardly talk, speaking through gritted teeth. “If he saw his little crush in a fucking, fucking mating press…fuck…”

Your gasps had turned into moans as he thrusted inside of you. You wished you could cover your mouth, but Jay still had your wrists pressed against the concrete. You bit your lip instead, trembling as you felt Jay tease the hard muscle of your cervix. You had never managed to get a good look at his cock, but you figured it had to be big. From the way he made Isa choke, to the way he was close to bottoming out.

Jay used his other hand to squeeze your face. “No, you don’t,” he heaved. “You’re gonna moan for me. Moan like…like a whore. Like a good fucking whore.”

The second you opened your mouth, you let out another desperate cry. “You love this,” Jay said, under your sweater. He groped your tits painfully, squeezing them like they were inanimate objects. “You love being treated like this, don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasped out. “I like it, Jay.”

“You love it.” He let go of your wrists, grabbed your hips, and moved you up and down his cock himself. With your free hands, you braced yourself on the ground. You could barely take it, but you loved the feeling of being pushed to the edge.

“Close,” you panted out.

“Fuck,” Jay said. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

Jay paused, ever so briefly, before laughing. It was the first time you had ever heard him genuinely laugh; he tossed his head back and let loose as he held your hips. “You goofy bitch,” he said, pulling out of you. “Nearly made me lose my orgasm.” You let out a nervous laugh, unsure of what to do next.

He sank deeply inside of you again, but he couldn’t stop giggling. “Where,” Jay muttered. You couldn’t bear to have him tease you anymore, so you kissed him. He reciprocated, slipping his tongue into your mouth. Soon, Jay had built up the same speed, and his kisses moved to your neck.

“Gonna cum,” he warned, “where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you said, reaching down to play with your clit.

“Right answer,” Jay said. He drove his cock to the hilt, frantically chasing his orgasm. You weren’t far behind, chills dancing all over your body. “Fuck, fuck, yes, fuck, yes, yes, fuck!”

You came mere seconds after he did, your pussy gripping him tightly. Your back arched as you let out a series of moans. They echoed into the night sky; everyone in Stoker could probably hear you. You shuddered as you felt yourself clench around his girth over and over again. His hot cum painted your walls, and when you opened your eyes you saw Jay jerking himself off inside you, draining his balls.

Jay rolled away from you, gasping. “Jesus fuck. I haven’t had a nut like that in…months.”

You crawled over to your jacket and collapsed on top of it. Jay joined you soon after, lying down on his own coat. If you spoke, you felt like you would make everything real. You shivered, both from the lingering aftershocks and from the chill outside. You realized that you had spent the last 4 nights running around storms and hurricanes. It was a wonder you hadn’t come down with hypothermia.

“Cold?” Jay asked. You nodded, and Jay put his arm around you loosely. He rubbed your arm noncommittally before simply resting his hand on your skin.

You stared at the night sky; Sadame wasn’t in the country, but it was far enough from the major cities that you could see a decent amount of stars.

“There’s the North Star,” Jay said, pointing. “And that’s the big Dipper.”

You shifted to look at him. “You like stargazing?”

“Used to,” he said, facing you. “When my parents would fight, I would leave the house….head to the park near my house and lie on a hill. I’d lie on the grass there and just stare at the stars for hours.”

“You never got scared?”

“Nah,” Jay said. “They were scarier than whatever was out there.”

“When my parents fought, I would just read books,” you said. “I got good at blocking them out.”

“Hm. Where are your cigs?”

“One second.” You rummaged through your jacket’s pocket and procured your cigarettes and lighter. Jay took a cigarette, put one in his mouth and one in yours. He took your lighter and gestured for you to lean in. Jay lit both of your cigarettes at once and tossed you the lighter.

Jay took a long drag and blew the smoke into the air. “What kinds of books did you read?”

You didn't have to think. “Mm…I liked fantasy books. Sci-fi. Anything different from reality. I liked Animorphs, too, actually.”

Jay chuckled. “Really? Those books with the covers of the kids turning into antelopes and shit?”

“Yeah,” you said. “They were pretty good. I was so envious of them, especially Rachel. Imagine how cathartic it would be to be able to turn into an elephant and stomp around.”

“Was that a very common power fantasy for you?”

“It was.” You imitated the sound of an elephant, and Jay snorted.

“You’re doing it again,” he said quietly.

The smile dropped off of your face. “Doing what?”

“Quit playing dumb,” Jay said. As if he had been shocked, Jay rose to his feet and hurriedly put his coat on. You couldn’t help the wave of disappointment that washed over you. So he was going to leave you alone again, even after that.

“It’s cold as hell out here,” he said in an irritated voice. “Put your coat on. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“My room,” Jay said, jerking his head in the direction of Stoker. “I have a bottle of jack in there, if you aren’t tired.” He held his hand out, waving it impatiently. “Hurry up.”

Tomorrow, you would have to text Isa back. Tomorrow, you’d have to talk to Jake. Maybe you’d see Lily, get a smoothie. You’d go do your homework.

Tomorrow, you’d have to reconcile with Mina’s story and how that would affect your burgeoning friendship with Jake. You'd have to figure out if Riki could be trusted in any capacity. You’d have to figure out what you were to Jay, and who Jay was to you. If you should be something to each other at all.

For today, you simply took Jay’s hand.

#jay x reader #jay smut #jay park smut #park jongseong smut #enha smut #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enha hard hours #enha hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen ff

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doukeshi-kun · 6 months

Note

imagine visiting stalker!Kolya before a show, staying with him inside his campervan. Could it be painting his nails, trying makeup on him or just playing with his hair as reader and him cuddle?

I love domestic scenarios ☹️🤍 (plus, I developed an obsession for stalker!Kolya)

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙚𝙧!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙘𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙨

replies ⨳ nikolai is supposed to be obsessed with us, not the other way around ( ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ) btw thanks for pulling me out of writers block lmao enjoy this short drabble gshdjsh

notes ⨳ stalker!nikolai series

contents ⨳ fluff, obsessive thoughts, fem!reader

Nikolai is nervous.

His brain is short-circuited and he cannot stop staring at you. He has around five more hours before he has to leave for a show, though he still has some paperwork to review. And yet here he is, on the bed, with his girl lying against his body, carefully painting baby blue nail polish on his nails.

He found out—through... interesting method—about your sudden interest in nail arts. He even bought a complete set of manicures for you, intended to surprise you with the set once he visited you. But you came to visit him instead, and thus he decided to just give you straight away.

“Do you want a small flower?” your question snaps him out as he glances at his blue nails. Your hand is holding his, checking whether his thumbnail is dried or not. Nikolai swallows hard. His skin flares when he realises how close you two are, how he could smell you, how he could feel you. His finger twitches when he sees your skin is touching his.

Too much. Too much. You're too much.

Even after so many months, you're still too much for his poor heart.

“I-I do,” Nikolai says, smiling softly at you. You turn your face towards him and he almost gasps by how close your faces are—I could kiss you right now. I really want to kiss you. Please, I really want to kiss you. May I, love? I'll be good. Just a kiss, please, little dove.

“You okay? You seem to be... out of it,” you ask, reaching for a small packet of nail ornaments.

“Can I kiss you?”

You raise your eyebrow. It's rare for Nikolai to ask permission to kiss. He doesn't even ask permission to invade your house while you're sleeping and yet here he is, with puppy eyes, baby blue nails and a beige sweater, asking if he can kiss you. You nod slowly and Nikolai giggles happily before he leans forward, kissing your lips. shortly.

“Haha! I'm happy!” he exclaims before he kisses you again. You cannot help for a smile crook on your lips at his childish reaction.

“Ooh! You smile! How adorable!” Nikolai cups your face with his hands, pulling both your cheeks together so that they pucker your lips. “I'm gonna fucking eat you, I swear to God,” he whispers.

Whatever he means by 'eat' —whether literally or sexually, you do not really want to know.

“F-Funny....” you mutter before you tap his arm. “Let me go or you won't get a flower on your thumb,” and Nikolai is quick to obey you, pulling his hands away and offering his painted thumbnail. You glance at him for a second—noticing his gaze is darkened. You decide to ignore it for now. You may have an idea of what Nikolai might be thinking, but he is one unexpected guy. Everything he does seems spontaneous even when he has planned for it long beforehand.

As you're sticking the daisy charm on his nail carefully, your phone rings. You reach it and Nikolai leans forward, trying to listen to your conversation just because he can. You shoo him, pushing him by his chest to give yourself a personal space because he is invading almost every one of your spaces. Pouting, Nikolai huffs and stays on his spot as you answer the phone.

But Nikolai is not giving up. He leans just slightly, enough to see the name on the screen. A common name for men. And he finds his heart races faster when he hears a faint masculine voice talking to you on the other side. Nikolai frowns—well, this enthusiasm doesn't seem nice.

He could barely hear what's the man babbling about, so he depends on your facial expression to figure out what's happening. He could hear muffled, jumbled words like 'work', 'rejected', 'apply', 'coffee', 'out', 'free time', 'help', 'together'—

No.

“That would be wonderful. Thanks. Yeah! Okay, see you there. Thank you so much.”

You end the call, finally looking at Nikolai who is now quiet. You sigh, knowing he probably listened to chunks of your conversation with the hiring man. “Kolya...” you call softly as you scoot closer again to him. Your hands tangle themselves in his fluffy hair, caressing his soft white strands.

“You goin' on a date?” Nikolai pouts.

“It's for work, Kolya... He'd help me to secure another position I've applied for. It's not a date.” you explain carefully. It's not that your current job at the cafe is bad, but you need a more stable financial source. Though Nikolai has offered to take care of you fully, you still want to work for yourself.

"Hm~ I know." Nikolai leans closer, exhaling softly at the way your hand caresses his head. He finds himself getting more possessive and easy to get jealous when it comes to you. He needs more time to think rationally when it comes to keeping you around with him.

“I trust you. You won't—” he hugs you tighter, closer. “—leave me, right?”

Your bodies are embracing one another. You bury your face in his chest as your hands caress his hair and face and neck and shoulder and chest.

“Don't you leave me,” he warns. He makes a large step forward and grabs your arm tightly. “You do not leave me. I love you so much. I love you to the Hell and Heaven. I will not let you leave. We are meant to be together, love, we are meant to be! I need you in my life. I need you, to be my freedom. You and I, we complete each other, little dove.” his mouth is forming a deranged smile as he begins to get impatient.

A distant memory rushes past your mind. You stay still before a soft nudge of his knee against your stabbed thigh pulls you out of that lane of memory. You tug on him tighter and look up at him. You hold his face, kissing his lips slowly, once again making sure of yourself. He moans lowly and smirks against your lips. His hand holds the back of your head as he returns your kiss.

Words aren't enough to describe your declaration to him. It's enough to just—I won't leave you.

©doukeshi-kun 2023 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

#道化師-jest❃ུ۪ #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai x reader #bsd x reader #bsd imagines #bsd nikolai gogol #nikolai imagines #bsd nikolai x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

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seulgiwifeee · 3 months

Note

craving irene fluff where she gets mad at you for switching your fabric softener because she loved the smell of your original one (cuz yk the girl knows her scents)

ugh just the idea of irene being so cute is bugging me

♡ Member: Irene x Femreader

♡ Theme: Fluff

♡ Warnings: None

Word count: 1.8k

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Irene happily arrived at your apartment complex early that Friday morning, coming over as quickly as she possibly could, not wanting to spare any more seconds that she could've been using to spend with you—the girl who she loved the most in the whole world!

"Princesss!" you yelled out gleefully, definitely loud enough to have pissed off your sleeping neighbors, as you stood highly on your patio, leaning over the railing and frantically waved down at the approaching Irene. Irene heard your calls and looked up, her eyes lighting up in an instant once she spotted you up there and flailed her arms while wildly hopping all around childishly as she cheered out your name.

A smile never left her face, her contagious laughter echoing throughout the complex when she jogged up those two-story stairs like nothing within a matter of seconds. The moment she turned to corner to your apartment number, just barely a few feet from your door, you ran up to her, immediately greeting the small girl in with your strong embrace.

Irene hugged you back just as tight, snuggling her head deeply into the coziness of your fluffy sweater—the one you had purposefully slipped on last minute while you were in the middle of folding laundry, remembering it was one of her favorite items of yours when spotting it out in the clutter of clothes.

This was one of your very few free weekends rather than your usual hectic schedule—no work, classes, or special events you needed to go to—so of course the only logical thing you had to do was invite your girl to stay over for the weekend!

You and Irene were, unfortunately, dating long distance due to studying at different colleges that were hours away from each other, so that meant you two normally didn't get to see each other in person for any more than two times, if a miracle struck you, maybe three times, every two weeks, and for this particular time, the last she'd seen you was close to around four weeks, almost a month! So there wasn't a thing that could describe how happy you two were to finally be in each other's arms again.

"I've missed you so much, Y/N, you don't understand! I think I was actually about to go insane if I wasn't able to see you anytime sooner!" Irene stressed to you, her voice growing muffled speaking into your chest and dug her newly manicured nails into your lower back as she held on to you tighter. You chuckled, smiling warmly looking down at her and ran your fingers through the silkiness of her dark hair. "I've missed you so much too!"

Irene lifted her head back, gazing up at you with those pretty doll-like brown eyes and shone her signature half-toothy smile, but all of a sudden, her once soft expression contorted into a grimace, frowning and flaring her nostrils up at you. Your brows furrowed in confusion, also frowning at the girl. "What's wrong?"

Irene continued to flare her nose, leaning her head back into you and sniffing at your sweater. "Nothing."

"Are you sure? Do I smell bad or something?" you asked teasingly, though quickly reconsidered your question the longer it took her to deny it. "No.." Irene trailed off, not sounding convincing in any way, and slowly backed away from you, reaching down to pick up her bag.

"Alright then.." You tilted your head at her with a confused smile, looking side to side unsurely while scratching your neck, now feeling the abrupt change of atmosphere weigh down on you.

"I'm just going to put my stuff up now," Irene said and began to walk away down the hall, but you were quick to stop her. "No! I got it, let me do it for you, your highness!" You grabbed her duffel bag and gestured your hand towards the living room. "Please, sit! And when I come back I'll make you lunch."

"Okay," Irene smiled. "But just know I'm going to be making it."

Your lips pursed, pausing in your tracks and turned over to face her again. "But you cook each time you're here, though! Just let me do it!" you whined, but Irene shook her head, continuing to go back and forth with you until she got her final ‘no’ out. "I said NO!"

"Okay fine, sheesh! But seriously next time you're going to let me cook for you," you said finally in defeat, knowing you weren't going to win this dispute and walked into your room while Irene smirked widely at you from the couch, trying to hold in a giggle. "I can't promise that."

You brushed her off with a hidden smile, knowing it was all just out of love since you knew that one of her many love languages was cooking for you, and entered your room, unzipping her bag and laid out her clothes. Some relaxing music that was playing on your speaker beforehand continued to run as you organized her items with a peaceful mind, sitting without a thought or worry until..

"—Y/N-AHH!" Your eyes went wide and you jumped, startled from hearing the screeching voice of Irene shouting demandingly through the closed door, dragging out your name in her oh-too-familiar whiny voice. Just by that tone you already knew she found something to be upset at you with, so you quickly stopped your actions and hurried up out of your room, running to the living room where you had expected her to be, though was met with no sign of her presence.

You curled your expression, turning your head towards a door leading to a room that you knew wasn't opened before—the laundry room. Taking that as an obvious sign, you quickly ran over there and flung open the cracked door, instantly locking your eyes on Irene's crotched-down figure sitting in front of the dryer messing with your clean laundry, a shirt held in each of her hands while she deeply sniffed at one of them.

Your brain didn't even get a chance to question the sight in front of you because within seconds of you being upon the doorway—once she had turned around after hearing the footsteps of you nearing the room—she gave you no time to think, charging towards you with heavy steps and shoved the warm t-shirt right into your face. "What is this?!"

You stumbled back, blindly taking hold of the shirt and removed it from your face. You narrowed your eyes down, scanning over the print on the graphic tee and shook your head slow and unsurely, furrowing your eyebrows even more in confusion as you wondered why your lover was so worked up. "A.. t-shirt?.." you muttered, not exactly sure as to what other answer Irene was expecting to hear.

Irene sharply rolled her eyes, snatching the shirt from you and forced it back deeper into your face, slightly suffocating you with the soft cotton. "Not that! The smell! What's with the smell?!" Irene demanded, placing her hands on her hips and speedily tapped her foot on the marble floor.

When she was forcing the shirt in your face, you were given no choice but to smell it as you aired in a dramatic inhale trying to gasp out for air, letting the pungent scent of sweet roses flow throughout your mouth and nose. The shirt fell onto the floor and instead of picking it up, you left it there, shooting Irene a look with so much confusion; it was literally the definition of what a series of question marks would look like if it was put into a facial expression. "What do you mean, baby?! It doesn't smell bad..or at least not to me.. it's just roses. You don't like roses now?"

"Not when they replace the lavender scent you always have! You knew that was my favorite scent! Why would you get rid of it?!" Irene pouted, crossing her arms and turned her back to you with a tiny "hmph," too upset to look even at you.

A few seconds went by and suddenly the static in your brain cleared up once everything clicked to you, realizing all of this attitude and bickering was only because you for once decided to be different and changed up your fabric softener; which you, by the way, weren't even planning on doing in the first place, but since the store was sold out of your usual scent, which wasn't a big deal for you, you just simply bought the next container your eyes spotted. You didn't even think she was going to notice something as little as that! But you should've known better than to underestimate the Bae Joohyun.

You couldn't even take her anger seriously anymore, chortling a loud cackle at her bratty attitude and threw your shirt into the laundry basket. Looking at an angry Irene is like someone drawing slanted eyebrows on a bunny, it only made her cuter.

You crept up a few steps behind Irene, snaking your arms around your girlfriend's waist and pulled her into your chest. "Joohyun, seriously?" you snickered into her ear, "are you seriously this mad that I changed up my laundry detergent to another stupid scent?"

"It's not stupid!" Irene retorted, keeping her chin up high, "How am I supposed to cuddle with you at night if can't even seek comfort in the thing that makes me smile, brings me joy, helps put me to sleep! I can't, Y/N. You know, this is really serious for me."

You laughed some more, your body ticked from her cuteness and rolled your eyes with a smile while Irene only frowned deeper at you. "Oh, Joohyun. You really are something.." you sighed, shaking your head and leaned your face into her neck.

"Do you want me to rebuy that scent? Will that cheer you up?"

Irene's eyes flashed open. "What kind of question is that?! Obviously!" Irene turned around and took a hold of your wrist, dragging you two out of the room, towards the front door. "Matter of fact, we're getting it right now," Irene insisted with every bit of determination and seriousness, not caring one bit that you were still in your house clothes.

But you didn't care either, as long as you were going to make Irene happy in the end. You'll do anything to please your princess, even when it's for things as petty as this.. "Right now?" you asked with a sigh and Irene nodded firmly, squeezing onto your wrist tighter and used her other hand to grab her keys from the counter as she walked by.

You sucked your teeth, looking up and biting back a smile once the winter breeze swirled past you as you felt yourself continuing to get dragged out of the apartment. "Alright, princess."

I kinda don't like how I wrote this :(.. but I hope this was cute and funny enough for you,, also can you guys tell that I love writing the princess pet name? hehe

— Seulgiwifee ໒꒰ྀི♡˵ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ꒱ྀི১

#red velvet #irene red velvet #kpop imagines #red velvet imagines #kpop #wlw #fem reader #irene #bae joohyun #bae joohyun x reader #irene imagines #irene x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #fluff #request

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janisbuggybones · 5 months

Text

Rent-a-yandere!....please, we're begging you take them off our hands.

Janis Foster (my oc) × gn!reader

Cw: yandere, rent a partner situation, trans girl yandere, poly relationship kinda, pretty short idk what else I could say, pretty boring tbh (only realizing this as I got to the elevator part :( )

Og idea is from @moyazaika on this post that I kinda spit balled off of and then got the motivation to write again.

You can't believe you found yourself coming to this. One too many late night browsing sessions led you to get overwhelmed with adverts about this new fad in the dating scene. Rent-a-yandere, the hottest site online where you could find a devoted lover for cheap.99 per hour. In all honesty, it did seem appealing when compared to the heartbreak and trauma you've expierienced prior, but you dare stoop so low?

"Hello darling, are you (y/n) (l/n)?" A tall girl said from behind you. She had beautiful pearly paper white skin and matching hair put in one long braid. She had piercing red eyes and dare you mention her height? She was at least nearly twice your height, but her body wasn't well built. She couldn't have been living very healthily If she was that skinny. She had a large chest, despite her skinny body, well in her description it had said she had some cosmetic surgery done before. It didn't look fake or anything and it's not like she showed it off. She wore a modest black turtle neck with small embroidered hearts on the cuffs and chest of the sweater. The sweater was paired with some baggy black jeans and simple black work boots.

Fuck yes

"Oh, yeah that's me...you're Janis Foster, right?" You found yourself asking after getting over the height difference. Shit, were you being rude? She's really pretty, come on, don't fuck it up.

"Yep, the one and only. Honestly I'd be surprised if anyone got me confused for someone else." She smiled softly, her soft pink lips looked tantalizing. "Well, let's be on our way then. I've arranged a breakfast date for us before a big day of fun" She said as she grabbed your hand with her own cold and large hand. Her nails lacked any polish and were neatly manicured.

You remembered you picked the option for her to come up with the itinerary. You hoped it wouldn't be too exhausting, the public can be a bit overwhelming. "A-ah okay!" You find yourself smiling slightly as you went along with her.

She took you to an animal themed Cafe nearby, themed after your favorite pet animal. "I thought you'd like this, darling" She giggled as she checked you both in, having made a reservation. You recall mentioning your favorite animal in the description of yourself they required you to give them.

"Nice and quiet, and they limit it to 10 customers in here at any given time, so I won't have to worry" She giggled innocently but you read between the lines. It made you blush at the thought of such an attractive woman getting jealous of you.

You two were taken to your seat, a seat in the back where one of the animals sat on the table. You promptly gave your order and she gave hers before you were left alone with her.

"Honestly I'm not much of an animal person..I feel like it's a good bit of upkeep that i couldn't keep up with. But I do have a little lavender bunny at home. His name is Geo" She said, starting a conversation as she looked around.

"Oh? Is he purple? I didn't know bunnies could be purple" you said, interested as you looked at the calm animal on the table before it left, instead taking the window sill beside your table as its resting place.

"Oh they do, it's a bit rarer than your average bunny so he cost a good bit, but he's Oh so adorable" She smiled, her bluish eyes landing on you. "I'd say nearly as much as you, cutie" She teased, which left you blushing slightly as you avoided her eye contact for a second.

"O-oh yeah?" You smiled slightly, you never were able to take compliments well.

"Mhm, oh look, food's here" She smiled as the waitress brought your orders. Janis had ordered a simple cup of juice, a bagel, and small bowl of a variety of fruits.

"Thank you for coming here today" the waitress said with a smile as she walked to serve another table.

Janis stared at her for a second with an unreadable expression before turning to you. "In my opinion, breakfast isn't that good. Lunch and dinner foods are far superior" She said with a sip of her juice.

That statement had ignited a conversation that then strayed to your favorite foods and then on to other topics as you ate and enjoyed her company. She wasn't too overwhelming and was sweet up until you two had been finished for a good bit and were asked to leave because her reservation had ended.

She pouted but complied, leaving with you to her next planned activity.

"You had mentioned you liked anime and movies, so I thought we could see that new studio ghibli movie together?" She said with a contagious smile. "You know the guy who writes them and all, Hayao Miyazaki? He keeps announcing his retirement but then goes back to the studio with a new script each time, it's pretty funny when in the interviews with employees they complain about that." She giggled.

"Oh? I can imagine the frustration they must feel" you smiled slightly as you two entered the theater. You then realized, shit, this place is gonna be crowded. Fuck, you hoped it wouldn't be too overwhelming. She then promptly paid for your tickets and some snacks to accompany your movie viewing.

You two passed the many movie posters on the halls as you walked to the movie screening. Dread hit you as you opened the door and you two went in, only to crumble away when the theater had been empty. Did she really book this entire theater room for you?

"Yeah I'm not too good in a crowd either, I'm a walking distraction" She smiled slightly as she led you two to a good pair of seats in the middle of the theater.

"U-uhm I don't know what to say-t-thank you, this is crazy. How did you get your company to pay for something like this?" You found yourself asking. "W-wait sorry I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry..." you apologize a second later after seeing how that could be offensive.

"Oh? They'd never pay for something this expensive. While their other services are much more profitable, my section doesn't get nearly as many sponsored activities like this. I paid out of pocket so you wouldn't feel wierd in the crowd, darling" She smiled. God that smile, how she acted, you swore you'd fall for her before she fell for you.

Her explanation left you blushing and wordless as adverts started rolling on the big projector screen. You unintentionally just ended up staying quiet and watching the movie with her. At around the halfway point of the movie, when you both finished your snacks, she had began holding your hand. It shocked you at first, before you relaxed, discretely returning the gesture.

The rest of the movie went along swimmingly. The plot was heart wrenching and hadn't made you cry, but did arise sadness in you.

As you two walked out the theater and you winced at the bright light, she prosed a question.

"So darling, my place or yours?" She asked "for our next little activity I have planned, a baking sesh" She added with a smile. "I had cute mochi and cookies in mind" She smiled "though mochi isn't baking, it's versatility as something you can shape into a cute thing is almost unmatched" She said

"O-oh-um" you said, taken aback by the idea. You had liked cooking to an extent and mentioned that, but wow. She really planned this out and it left you blushing again....wait...wasn't it in the terms and conditions that neither of you could go to the others house?.....maybe it was for their other service, rent-a-darling? You couldn’t recall and your place was a mess. "My place doesn't look the best...is yours okay?" You asked shyly

Janis giggled "of course! Anything you want is okay with me darling" She smiled as she held your hand and went with you in the direction of her apartment.

Surprisingly based on her ability to buy out a whole theater for you, her apartment was relatively average, though it ran a bit on the pricier side because of the economy lately. The inside looked clean and nice, and the elevator ride was relaxed as she started a conversation about her apartment complex.

"I dont mean to show off where i live, but i hope you like it. When I started living here, it was actually way cheaper than it is now, I'm glad they never raised the price for my rent though. I'm kind of friends with the owner. Not in a wierd way, but we hang out like once a month. They're in my friend group I've had since middle school" She said as she watched the numbers on the small screen above the door go up.

"Oh, that's interesting. I wish I had something like that with my landlord. I've recently been trying to save up for something I want, and it's not going too good in all honesty..... Damn gacha games, am I right?" You smiled, feeling comfortable, but then suddenly worrying you overshared.

"Oh don't get me started! I started playing this gacha game that recently came out and ahhh! The skins look so good, but two are locked behind a pay wall each update" She huffed slightly. "And all the characters have such diverse designs and tons of different ethnicities, how could I not pull for them all and be absoloutely broke in unilogs?" She laughed softly before the elevator stopped, the 6th floor. "Alright now to 603" She said as she held your hand and walked to her apartment.

Nothing was out of the ordinary about her apartment, it was pretty plain actually. Apart from the squishimallows instead of pillows on the couch of her living room. The kitchen was lightly messy, a bowl and cup in her sink with a few pieces of silverware and a stray rag just on the counter.

"It's not much, but it's comfortable for me" She said "well, settle in, I have to go check on geo real quick, I'm sorry darling" She said, excusing herself before leaving to the other room.

"It's fine" you find yourself saying quietly, overwhelmed by the events of today. This was all crazy....how were you now in a crazy hot girl's apartment?! The one chronically bitchless person of the high-school friend group, in this stunning woman's house? It was unbelievable...until you considered this was a paid date. Then reality sunk in. Shit...should you ask her out for real? Would that be okay? Would she be okay with that? She wasn't much of a yandere...it'd be okay, right?

"He was such a hungry little boy, he ate down all his celery in a minute" She giggled happily as she came back and saw you still had your bag with your outing necessities on.

"Oh want me to take that for you?" She offered and you obliged.

"Oh thank you...I feel like I haven't properly thanked you enough today" you said as you looked around.

"Oh don't worry, the pleasure is mine, darling" She smiled "now, shall we get cooking?" She smiled as she put on a pink frilly apron. Shit...you didn't know how to feel.

"Alright" you offered in response with a fake smile as you took the apron She handed you. It was your favorite color and had a lap pocket and chest pocket shaped in hearts of a slightly brighter color.

You two then spent the next couple hours baking cookies and making mochi, before settling down on her couch and watching the news, because nothing else was on, as you enjoyed the fruits of your labor.

"It's not too sweet is it darling? I heard cookies need some salty aspect to balance out all the flavors" She smiled softly as a missing persons report came on over the tv.

Geo Archviste, a 5'4" man with black and white naturally colored hair and blue freckles. Missing since this day 3 years ago, he would have been 21 by now.

That was terrible, his family must be haunted by their missing son...wait-

"Darling?" She asked, as you kinda ignored her prompt for conversation. "Everything okay?" She asked.

"Uhm yeah- that missing persons case...just seems sad." You found yourself saying as you swallowed the crumbly cookie.

"Oh...yeah...that boy was actually my ex...we broke up a year before he went missing but we were still on good terms" She said sadly. "I miss him...I named my little bunny after him" Janis said as she looked down.

"Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't know......I hope he gets found" was all you could find yourself saying, but something didn't seem right. Not that what she said had any contradictions, but you just had this uneasy feeling. "Um restroom?" You asked

"By the door with heart decals on the left down the hall, darling" She smiled sadly and you excused yourself.

You walked down the hall and found the room, but the heart decorated room piqued your interest. She wouldn't mind...right? You opened the door and were met with darkness until you cut on the light and saw a figure sitting on Janis' bed, restrained on his feet and hands heavily.

All you could really see was their perfectly trimmed black and white locks that hid their sleeping face...matching the picture of the man on the missing persons report.

Chills ran down your spine as you went to grab your phone but it wasn't in your pocket. Shit you must have left it behind....how could you sneak out with the missing boy?

You struggled with yourself over this until you heard Janis coming and ducked into a open closet after turning off the light, shutting it behind you.

"Geo darling, I'm back" She smiled as she cut the light on and walked up to him. He looked at her tiredly and sniffled quietly.

"Remember my side gig to try and find you a buddy we can both love?" She asked "I think I found the one, they're so cute! And we baked some things, you could probably smell it" She giggled "I'll give you some when they leave...if they get to. I haven't decided if I wanna reel them in or just go in all at once and kidnap them like I did you" She said happily

"I'd say just kidnap them, two minds are better than one" he sighed, implying you could help him escape her.

"Come on now, I love you...you love me, i know it" She huffed

"Yeah true..which is why I want you to get help instead of doing this to me...." he sighed

"Stop it, i don't need help" She mumbled

"Yes you do. I love you and want to be with you, but you did this and refuse to get therapy. I only broke up with you because you killed my friend, remember. Get your head out of the past and live with me now. I'll stay and all like I've said repeatedly- just come-" he said before she interrupted him.

"Shut up! I don't need help! I'm perfectly fine and you need to shut up. You're only still tied up because you tried to escape the other month!" She shouted, less sad and more angrily.

"That was last year! I've been good for you so I can do normal couple things with you and we could have found our third lover together!" He shouted back, making her tear up.

"Shut up! I'm going back to (y/n)....I promise you'll love them as much as I do" She said shakily before you backed up a bit too far and bumped against the wall.

She looked dead at the closet in shock before walking up to it and opening it.

"Darling?"

#yandere #janis foster #original character #trans yandere #trans #yandere oc #tw yandere #date-a-yandere #Rent-a-yandere

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haunting-venus · 7 months

Text

green with desire ↳ rafael barba x fem!reader

content warnings | smut ( minors dni ), canonical svu violence, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy/anxiety ( so, light angst ), dirty talk, fem!dom if you squint really hard, some begging

word count: 6241

Of all of the terrible ideas you’d had in your life, debating punching a police officer in a crowded bar was definitely top three on the list. Your rational mind knew that it would end with split knuckles and an assault charge, while the emotional side of your brain told you to throw rationale to the wind and throw your knuckles across that brown-haired bitch’s temple.

You tried to focus your gaze on anything but the woman inciting your rage, your nails biting into your thigh. Soft light flickered off of the vintage art prints hanging on the wall, reflecting the black-and-white images of famous figures in the history of New York. Pop music sounded against the walls, just loud enough that you could feel the bump in the music at the bottom of your chest. The venue was moderately sized but felt claustrophobic with the amount of casually dressed NYPD officers that teemed at all corners, sipping a variety of beers and leaning against the polished mahogany countertop of the bar.

Leaning against that mahogany bar was a tall, slender woman with tumbling brown hair and doe eyes squinted in delight at the man in front of her. A manicured, unpolished finger circled the rim of her mojito while her other hand rested closer and closer to the man’s rested elbow. Below her fitted purple top rested a gleaming gold badge, saddled on a shapely hip. Her teeth glinted just as brightly as her badge when she giggled, lightly swatting the man’s arm. None of this would necessarily be a problem, if the man the officer was inching towards was not your boyfriend.

Instead of letting your fist connect where it was itching to, your grip tightened on your margarita glass and took a heavy gulp of the sour drink. You were a guest at an unofficial NYPD get-together, surrounded by acquaintances celebrating the recent closing of a corruption case in tandem with an officer’s birthday. Somewhere in the crowd, Detective Sonny Carisi strolled with a beer in his hand and a ‘Happy Birthday Big Boy’ pin gleaming on his breast. Tensions had run so high within the precinct the last few weeks that the need to let loose was nearly oozing off of every civil servant in the bar. The last thing anyone here needed was a librarian they barely knew from Queens assaulting a police officer and disrupting a perfectly civil get-together.

You’d met Rafael Barba while waiting in a ridiculously long line for the new coffee shop that opened down the street from the library you worked at. Caught in your own world listening to a podcast, eyes downcast to adjust a seam on your cable-knit sweater, you had collided head on with the rushing attorney resulting in black coffee tipping onto each of you. The pale blue shirt under his pin-checked brown vest and jacket had suffered the most, thoroughly drenched in hot coffee with a mottled brown stain right across his chest. You’d made a horrified, choked noise and tried to apologize as you rushed across the room in search of napkins, mumbling apologies as you dabbed at his wet suit in vain.

His annoyed gaze had softened slightly as he watched you flit around the shop with pink cheeks and wild eyes, completely ignoring the mess on your own shirt in favor of making amends to a complete stranger. He had eventually chuckled, pushing your hand away from his chest and declaring the suit a lost cause. You’d finally been able to get a good luck at him as you lowered your hands, trying to reassemble some sense of pride as the patrons of the shop gazed after your neurotic display. He was hispanic, not too tall but with broad shoulders outlined pristinely by his tailored jacket, brown hair coiffed and barely out of place even with all of your fretting. His green eyes shone with a hint of amusement even behind his mostly serious expression.

You had insisted on paying for the dry-cleaning of his suit, to which he brushed off the offer with a chuckle, promising that no grudges would be held in exchange for a new cup of coffee. He had been intrigued with your kindhearted (if strange) behavior and the way your cheeks flushed cutely when he smiled at you, prompting him to ask if you’d have time to meet for a real sit-down coffee the following week. You’d been delighted and tense at once, not one to go out on a limb with strangers, especially such handsome and well-spoken ones.

When you had met Rafael for coffee the following Thursday, the two of you had thankfully been able to avoid spilling your drinks on one another, to which Rafael had given a quick joke about in order to break the ice. You’d found yourself easily falling into conversation with Rafael, who you had learned was a prosecutor that worked nearby for the District Attorney’s office. Your nerves were quickly comforted by his easy ability to joke and his unhidden interest in getting to know you, his soft green eyes never leaving your smiling face. It didn’t take long to discover that you shared a love for historical fiction literature and high-end coffee, and you had ended the lunch with entwined fingers as he walked you to the large double doors of the library you worked at.

A few lunches quickly turned into dinners on the rare nights when Rafael was able to escape his office, where he showered you with compliments and wine expensive enough that it made you nervous to drink it. You’d quickly become accustomed to the strong feel of his hands gripping your waist as he kissed you in the entrance of his oak-furnished apartment entryway, heat rushing through your veins at the heated whispers he hissed into your neck. You treasured the quiet mornings in his kitchen almost more than the extravagant dinners. Scrambled eggs and espresso in his brightly-lit kitchen overlooking the city, his hair soft and unstyled as he swayed with you on the tile floor, that peek into this more relaxed version of your usually nothing-less-than-proper partner felt more precious than gold.

You’d never been the type of person that flaunted their relationship, especially since Rafael was such a prominent figure in the New York legal system. There was a prickling fear in the early days of your relationship that you were too plain to publicly be seen with a man associated with such prestige and power, that you would look like nothing more than a sweater-clad bookworm feigning at being worthy of a man much above her standing. When Rafael had discovered this, he’d been quick to quiet your concerns with his fingers in your hair and his head between your legs until you could think of nothing else.

After his many reassurances that he would love to show you off at any time possible, including to his coworkers, you’d become more self-confident. You’d begun to surprise Rafael at work with bagel sandwiches from an artisan bakery in between your workplaces, toting coffee and paper bags through the looming hallways of Hogan Place and barely paying attention to those who spared you a second glance for planting a kiss on the primly dressed ADA. Soon afterward, you had joined the squad of the Special Victims Unit and Rafael for the celebration of the conviction of a serial rapist. You were proud of the progress you had made with Rafael’s coworkers, forming timid friendships with the detectives that he worked so closely with on a daily basis. You were glad that you’d gained enough confidence to hold your own without using Rafael as a fallback in social situations with his coworkers, but it all felt bittersweet now that he’d been approached by another woman as soon as you had gone to chat with Detective Rollins with celebratory tequila shots.

You had gathered vaguely from Amanda that the brunette ogling your boyfriend at the bar was a recent witness in a major police corruption case that Rafael had been handling, Detective Sandra Allen from the Narcotics division. She was a hero and a villain at the same time in the eyes of her fellow cops; a snitch who ratted on her fellow officers who were spending their county-paid salary hours manipulating prostitutes into sexual favors in exchange for staying out of prison. The case made you sick, and the fact that you could feel nothing but disdain for this woman who bravely stood up and testified on behalf of those sex workers made shame burn deep in your stomach.

You didn’t need to be a police officer to notice Amanda’s sly looks between you and the scene going on at the bar, or that she was trying to hold back her laughter from the growing redness in your face that you tried to blame on the alcohol. You had hardly been listening to Fin’s rambling story about how his grandson had been inexplicably angry at the balloons he’s seen in the park because they would not stop floating, no matter how much he asked. On any other day, you would have loved to look at Fin half-drunkenly showing off his adorable lump of a grandson with a grinning smile. Right now, though, you could only hear the deep cadence of Rafael’s laugh as he finished off his scotch, and only see Detective Allen’s beautiful and flirtatious smile directed toward the man you had spent the last several months building a life with.

You were worried that the glass in your hand would shatter under your grip as you set it forcefully on the table. You knew there was no reason for you to be acting this way, feeling so scorned and bubbling with jealousy over the easy way that Allen fawned over your partner. You knew more than anyone the easy charm that Rafael brought to conversations, even when he was being a sarcastic bastard. You knew you weren’t the only woman who admired his passion and his good-looks, but having it shoved in your face like this felt much worse than just knowing it in the back of your mind.

Amanda’s mischievous expression quickly morphed to shielded concern when she noticed just how much you were bothered by the scene in front of you. Her demeanor took on the protective edge that came so easily to all the detectives you had met at the SVU, poised to talk someone down or to throw an elbow into someone’s teeth. “Hey, you want me to go do some crowd control over at the bar? I’m sure the Counselor is just waiting for the best opportunity to get out of there.”

You knew that you should just go over there and put a stop to it. You wanted so badly to have the conviction to strut over to Rafael, straddle his lap and make him moan in front of that woman, to show her just how he crumbled under your touch, how you were the one to bring him to his knees, to receive his hardships and his worship, not her. That display of power, of claim over a man that so many people wanted, would no doubt make her back off. But that wasn’t who you were. You were not the sultry-smiled woman who captured the eyes of every room she walked into, the one who could bite at a woman to back off of what was hers. So, instead, you threw back the rest of your drink, taking a moment to relish in the burn of tequila and the acidity of the lime that buzzed through your veins, and sent a tight-lipped smile to Amanda and Fin.

“I think I’m actually gonna turn in for the night. Too much tequila makes me stupid, you know.” You gave an unconvincing chuckle as you set some bills on the table to cover your drinks and a tip. Amanda opened her mouth to protest, hoping to keep you from leaving, but you were already pulling your peacoat onto your shoulders.

You had only gotten halfway down the street, heaving heavy breaths to lighten your heart rate and the burn behind your eyes, when Rafael called out your name from the direction of the bar. The street was relatively quiet for a Wednesday night, with only a few stragglers walking between the handful of establishments on the block. You steadied your expression before turning on your heel towards him with a shaky smile.

He stepped toward you with a soft look so often reserved only for you, his brows furrowed in slight worry. His black trenchcoat fell beautifully against his broad chest, green eyes accented by the specks of emerald in his patterned tie. Even after months, you still felt yourself melt a little at the kindness behind his eyes. “You ran out so quickly with no goodbye, is everything alright?”

“I’m just tired, and you seemed like you were having a good time talking to Detective Allan. Didn’t want to take you away from the fun.”

His eyebrows rose in question at the unexpected bite in your tone. You had tried to hide your rising feelings with the shit poor excuse, but Rafael hadn’t become a successful ADA by not being able to read people. It was one of the things you loved and hated about him, how he could peel back the layers of what you were feeling to gaze at the very core of you. It made you feel cared for and probed at the same time.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I was only being cordial with a witness who put a lot on the line to testify in our case.” He stepped into your space, running a thumb across your cold and flushed cheeks. His voice was steady, his eyes honest but confused. You scoffed lightly, still feeling your anger simmering but being calmed by his steadying touch. His hand dropped from your cheek at your exclamation, steadying a solid look at you. “Look, you know I am not exactly the DA’s office favorite person, much less the police department. She was worried about how her colleagues were going to see her, she wanted advice on how to deal with interoffice conflict.”

“Oh, don’t pull that. The only thing she was worried about was how quickly she could get your hands up her skirt.” The words burned your throat, emerging into the air before you could stop yourself. You knew Rafael wasn’t a stupid man, and you didn’t want him to treat you like you were either.

“Excuse me?” Rafael’s eyes hardened, a muscle in his jaw twitching as you took a step back from him. Your outburst had gained the attention of a passerby who gave the two of you a quick once over, and it only stoked your anger and shame. Rafael guided you with the motion of his hand towards the side of the sidewalk. “Look, I didn’t mean to abandon you, I’m sorry. I was only being polite to a woman who is going through what might be the worst time of her life. She needed someone to reassure her, to ask about her options-”

“So she had to wait until your girlfriend left to ask you about all of that? I’m not naive, you know. I see how women look at you, the looks they have when they realize you’re with me, like you’re settling for something that’s so beneath you. That they could give you something hotter, younger-”

“Stop! Just stop!” He ran a hand across his face, his expression softening as he saw the hurt on your face, the insecurity he thought the two of you had quelled long ago. “We’ve talked about this, I thought we had dealt with this. You are the only one I want to be with. The only one that I want to see in my bed in the mornings or bringing me coffee for lunch or watching tv in my old t-shirts. It’s only you.”

Shame and anxiety still burned deep in your blood as you felt burning behind your eyes. The anger had fizzled like a campfire under rain, replaced with humiliation settling deep into your stomach. A few tears wet the side of your face, and you avoided what you hoped wasn’t pity on Rafael’s face. “I’m sorry, I know that. I just- I just lost my temper and-”

“Look, I only want you. I want you to know that I only want you.” He brushed away the wetness from your cheekbone with a reassuring smile. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the side of your head as he pulled you into his chest, stroking a heavy hand between your shoulder blades. His woody cologne mingled with the salt of your tears, wrapping around you in comfort.“Let’s take a cab, forget about this bar. If you’re still doubting the way I feel about you, I clearly didn’t get my point across last time.”

You pulled back with a surprised laugh, tightening your grip on the sides of Rafael’s neck. A new heat flushed to your face with the intrigue in Rafael’s eyes, your ego stoked that he still found you desirable in the messy state that you were in. You leaned up, capturing his lips in an impassioned kiss, letting the feel of his stubble and the grip of his fingers wash over you like a wave. A shiver ran through your limbs to your fingertips, goosebumps rising as you felt the edge of his teeth against your lips. A heated gasp went through you as your back hit the nearby wall, feeling the solid line of Rafael’s body slot between your legs and against your chest.

“Let me bring you home, show you exactly how much I want you. Please, hermosa, let me.” His voice was thick and had an edge of desperation that shot heat through your entire body, igniting every edge of your nerves with the brush of his lips to your neck.The lick of power that ran through you at having this man, so powerful and beautiful and respected, begging for the opportunity to bed you sent you reeling. With a nod, you pulled Rafael to the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, his hand gripping your waist.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You’d spent the majority of the cab ride from the bar stroking your thumb on the inside of Rafael’s knee, taking long moments to let your eyes linger on the clenching of his strong hands, the swell of his powerful chest beneath his vest, the slow darkening of his eyes with arousal as you raked your eyes over him. In the elevator ride up to your loft, his fingers trailed teasingly along the bottom of your sweater, sneaking underneath to rub at the skin of your hip with fleeting touches that ran heat up your spine and between your legs. You felt yourself wanting to push him back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, to go down to your knees and to hear your name echoing from his lips as you sucked him, but kept your face falsely neutral. This was part of the game, of him letting you know how much he wanted you, how he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You felt your face flush with the intimacy of the touches, his eyes glinting at your suppressed smile.

By the time you’d reached the entrance of your studio apartment, the buzz of your earlier tequila drinks had worn off in favor of the thrill of Rafael’s touch skating up under your shirt, fingers trailing beneath your clothed breast. As quickly as your jacket slid to the floor, your back was pressed solidly against the entryway wall, your hair pushed to the side to let your boyfriend suck slow kisses into the column of your throat. The nick of his teeth against the cord of your throat let a soft sound rise from your chest, your head falling back to knock against the wall.

Stepping away to remove his trenchcoat, Rafael took a brief moment to admire your panting frame, your cheeks flushed high with want and warmth. His tone was breathy, but serious as he hung up his jacket and vest.“You’re sure that you’re in the mood? I can always bring out some wine, put on that Bermuda Triangle documentary you’ve been wanting to watch.”

His words were sweet, but you could still see the heat burning in his eyes, even as he stood carefully away from you as he awaited your answer. You smiled as you stepped forward, fingers stroking the bulge in his black trousers, a rush of confidence coming from the deep groan he let into the air. “As lovely as that sounds, I think I’ll save that for after I ride you until the neighbors complain about the noise.”

“Your noises or mine, cariño?” He taunted as he pulled your sweater over your head, his hands finding your breasts with a delicate squeeze as you pulled him by the tie towards your bed in the further corner of your studio. His thumbs rubbed against the ridge of your nipple through the thin bra, your bitten lip barely containing your groan. His lips found yours again quickly, swallowing up the breathy noises you made.

“Why don’t we see who makes them come knocking first?” You grinned as pulled firmly at the back of his hair, letting a groan rumble against the seam of your lips. A swell of pride rose in your chest as you pushed Rafael back against the mattress, making quick work of his buttons as you let your ass fall firmly onto the bulge in his pants. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, his fingers indenting your pants with their firm hold. He brought his left hand between your thighs, letting his thumb rub idly against you through your pants as your movements on his buttons stuttered.

You steadied yourself against Rafael with a hand on his shoulder, rushing to remove your bra with the other hand to feel your skin against him. Your fingers stuttered over the clasp repeatedly, your head falling back at the pleasure that pooled between your legs. An easy smirk graced his handsome features at the stuttered breath you let in at the work of his fingers, sitting up at the waist to pull your breasts against his chest and rub between your legs more firmly. “Getting distracted over there, hermosa?”

The pet name brought a groan from your throat, wetness pooling in your cunt from his deep voice laced with arousal. Rafael’s pressed white button-up hung loosely off his shoulders, and you pushed the rest off with a renewed need to get your hands on his bare chest. His tan skin stretched over a strong chest and corded shoulders that held you firmly, dark chest hair brushed across your skin. You ran your hands down his pecs to run your nails across his stomach near the buckle of his belt, relishing in the shiver that ran through him.

Your tongue licked into his mouth with a moan, bringing one hand to the back of his head to thread your fingers through his salt and peppered hair while your hips moved against his covered cock. The hand over your pants faltered as he pulled away from your kiss, letting you get a look at his wide-blown pupils before he took his teeth to your neck with a moan.“Who’s distracted now, huh?”

You rolled to the side to shimmy out of your cotton pants, taking care to stretch your back to give Rafael a view of the curve of your ass as you turned. He pulled himself to the head of the bed, one hand stroking firmly against his hard cock over his trousers while he held the other near his kiss-swollen mouth. You felt a pang of wetness between your thighs at his lidded gaze, his eyes following each curve of your body like it was a melody he yearned to play. You leaned forward toward Rafael, your hair tumbling over the swell of your breasts as you climbed on top of him. His hands quickly moved back to slide along your body, one pinching your nipple while the other slid underneath the purple lace between your legs, dipping his fingers into the wetness there.

Rafael groaned as you ground your cunt against his hand, letting you seek your pleasure from his steady hand. The hand at your breast lowered to unbutton his trousers, his cock peeking from the edges of his dark briefs. “God, cariño, you're always so wet for me. You like my fingers on you?”

You stuttered out a breath as Rafael’s fingers dipped inside you, the palm of his hand rubbing gently against your clit as he stroked inside of you. The rolling pleasure from both areas of contact had sweat building on your chest, a moan coming high in your throat when you tried to answer. “F-fuck, yes, Raf, just like that. God…so good.”

Your breathy words spurred him on, adding another finger to your pussy. You gathered some composure, gripping your nails into Rafael’s shoulder with pleasure while your other hand went to stroke his thick cock. His rewarding moan was well worth the effort it took to keep a clear head as his fingers massaged inside you, bringing you rapidly to a crest of rising pleasure. Your legs shook even as you brought your hand up in a stroke, tightening your grip around the head in the way you knew made his eyes roll back. Precum dripped from the tip of his cock, slicking the way for your fingers to work faster, to make him feel as good as he was making you feel.

“Fuck, if you keep doing that, I’ll be gone before I even get to fuck you.”

He groaned out your name as he flipped you onto your back, moving your hand from his cock as he moved his thumb to rub firm circles against your clit.You threw your head back in pleasure from his show of strength, his forearms and biceps flexing enticingly each time he drove his fingers into you. The fingers of Rafael’s other hand gripped your ass, bringing your hips up to his hand as he kissed his way down your neck and breasts. He murmured praises of ‘beautiful’ and ‘mine’ that made your blood soar, pleasure cresting low in your stomach as your breath quickened. Your moans pitched, your nails digging into Rafael’s shoulder letting him know you were close. He breathed out a few words of Spanish, letting his teeth sink hard into the junction of your neck as you reached your high. His name slipped loudly from your lips before you bit down on your lip, shaking in his arms as he continued to stroke you through your orgasm.

Your gaze was blurry with pleasurable tears when you faced Rafael, bringing his lips to yours in a messy kiss before sneaking off to the washroom for a glass of water. When you re-emerged from the bathroom with a half-drunk glass of water, Rafael was on his back with a hand wrapped lazily around himself, his cock jumping when he caught sight of your flushed face and the growing bruise on your neck. You crawled atop your boyfriend, letting the wetness of your release drag teasingly over the length of his cock. Rafael’s hair was tousled, strands hanging enticingly in front of his eyes as he gazed hungrily at your body. He looked delectable, sweat edging along the edges of his brow and his cock glistening when it peaked above his fingers. He looked at you like a parched man drinking in the sight of an oasis, like you were anything and everything he needed at that moment. You wanted to see just how far he would go to have you.

Testing your luck, you edged your fingers along the edges of Rafael’s arms, guiding them above his head. His eyes were curious as he followed your lead, raising his muscled arms above his head for you to wrap a hand around his wrists. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he readjusted himself as he raised a teasing eyebrow at you “Want to have me at your mercy, hermosa?”

What had started as a fleeting idea now struck a new wave of arousal over you as you gazed down at the powerful man underneath you, his eyes soft and filled with hot desire. God, he was everything you’d ever wanted presented beautifully between your legs, gazing at you like he wanted to devour you. An idea picked at the corner of your mind, sending a coy smile across your face as you draped your body over Rafael’s chest.

“Tell me.” Rafael looked at you with confusion now, readjusting his hands above his head. His tongue came out to wet his lips. He was usually the one making demands in bed, bending you to his will for both your pleasure. You felt it might be time to turn the tables. “Keep your hands there, and tell me you want to fuck me, only me.”

Your words were shakier than you’d wanted them to be, revealing your anxieties about taking control in this way for the first time. However, Rafael quickly relaxed under your touch, a new degree of interest entering his gaze at this undiscovered side of you. He looked you in the eyes as he groaned what you had asked. “God, I want to fuck you, more than anything.”

“I think you can do better than that.” You teased, licking a long stripe along the side of his neck up to his ear. The words felt foreign in your mouth, but you were encouraged by the twitch of his cock against you as he gasped lightly. He looked up at you with a playful glimmer in his eye, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you asking me to beg?”

The words sent a blazing heat to your cunt, swallowing heavily at his words. Rafael’s eyes lit up in a similar way as when he was cross-examining someone in court, when they gave him the inch of leverage that he could stretch a mile. The proud look he got when he had someone exactly where he wanted them.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you cariño. Me, begging for your pussy like it’s the only thing I’ve ever needed in my life.” it was a statement more than a question, and fuck, the confidence he exuded even when he was under you like this had your head spinning with heady arousal. His words rumbled in your chest, urging another movement of your hips against his cock.

“Only if you want your cock inside me at any point tonight.” The words sounded hollow in your throat, undermined by the breathiness of your voice, you pressed against him again to quell off any embarrassment you felt. He grinned like he knew exactly what his words were doing to you, but let himself play the role you’d assigned him for now. If part of you wanted to try something, all of him wanted to comply, to fulfill your every desire.

“God, you look so beautiful like this. Please, please let me inside you. Let me get you off how I know you like hermosa. Please.” Even though you had a feeling he intentionally raised the whininess in his voice, the breathy tones still sent pangs of pleasure to your cunt. You gasped as the words left his mouth, pressing a desperate kiss to Rafael’s lips as you lined up his cock.

Your eyes slipped shut as you eased onto Rafael’s cock, the ridges of the head stroking the sweetest places inside of you that caused stuttered moans to fall from your lips. You ran the flat of your palm up Rafael’s chest, cupping the side of his cheek as you drove his cock into you. Rafael cursed as you seated yourself on his lap, your head thrown back in ecstasy at being filled, at being fucked. His hands shook above his head with the desire to touch you. He keened as you shifted his full length inside you, circling your hips to adjust to him.

You looked down at him between your thighs, flushed high on his cheeks with nothing capturing his attention but your body moving above him on his cock. Each swivel of your hips pushed his cock firmly into that spot that made you see stars and pushed deep, moaning praises from his throat. You reveled in the fact that no one else could see him like this, could make him moan and beg under them like this.

“God, everyone wants you like this and it’s just me that can have you. Just me that makes you feel this good, right baby? They all wish they could have your cock stretching them like this.” You babbled as your thoughts were overwhelmed with pleasure. You knew you sounded half mad, but you were too far gone to notice, relishing in the pleasure deep in your cunt.

“Fuck!” Rafael, moaned your name, finally moving his hands from above his head to bruisingly grab your hips. He raised his knees behind your back to gain leverage to roll his hips into you deep and steady, moans stuttering from your throat with every thrust that sent his cock deep inside you.

“So sexy, keep making those pretty noises for me, please.” Rafael’s words were near ravenous and you were glad you weren’t the only one overwhelmed with pleasure, desperately voicing every dirty thought that came to your mind when you looked at the man in front of you. Rafae’s grip along the curve of your waist allowed him to get the leverage to pull you down hard onto his cock

“Aah, fuck, please, Rafael, I-I’m gonna—d-don’t stop.” You didn’t know if you meant him pulling you down hard onto his cock or the filthy words that sent heat reeling through your body.

“God,” one of Rafael’s hands slid up to grasp your breast tightly, your nipple brushing the calloused skin of his fingers and had fire licking up your spine. His eyes were wild as he drank in the sight of you crying out on his cock, your fingers reaching to circle your clit as he pulled you against him. His tone was pinched and loud, ragged with his heavy breathing.“I want you to come, on my cock, right now. Please, cariño, give it to me.”

“Raf, God, you’re making me-fuck, yes” You felt tears brim the edge of your eyes as your pleasure climbed to something primal, each rub of your clit, every brush of Rafael’s hands against you setting you aflame until you felt yourself collapsing around him with a cry of his name. He slowed, but never stopped, his movements as he rocked you against him through your orgasm, soothing the shivers of your body with his warm hands. You panted as he came down from your second high of the night, your legs shook with the effort to remain upright.

“God, you’re killing me. Please, let me come inside you, fill you, I need-” you cracked your eyes to capture Rafael’s expression, lips parted around a moan when you moved your hands to grip at his hair. Hardly trusting your words, you nodded in your agreement with a whispered plea to ‘do it, please, come for me’. Rafael’s body went taut for a heartbeat, driving himself hard into a last few times as he came. His eyes clenched shut, his hands gripping your hips as he mumbled out praise.

Catching your breath, you rolled off of the bed to grab a towel, taking a moment to wipe yourself off before jumping back onto the moderately clean sheets, taking a moment to admire your boyfriend in his post-sex haze. This could be one of your favorite versions of Rafael, limbless and content, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as you regained your breath together. You pressed a kiss to his chest as you wrapped your arm around him, whatever insecurities you had been feeling before was long extinguished by the solidness of Rafael underneath you, his ragged breathing and the ache between your legs as proof of your mutual want.

You lay in silence for a few moments, his fingers carding through your hair before he spoke. He pulled his head back to look you in the eyes, stroking a soft hand across the back of your head. “Will you promise me that, next time you are feeling the way you did at the bar, you’ll let me know instead of storming off. That way, we can talk it through and maybe have a repeat of this, instead of you feeling awful because your mind likes to tell you lies.”

You gave a chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth with your smiling lips. “Sounds like we’ve reached a deal, Counselor.”

He let out a rueful groan, pulling you tighter into his chest as you giggled. “Call me that again and I’ll be rescinding my offer.”

“Understood…Counselor.” you whispered, avoiding his playfully stern gaze by heading to the kitchen to get that wine he had promised you.

#law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #raul esparza #venus writes

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lambtotheslaughterr · 3 months

Text

When The Bough Breaks : Epilogue

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 2.3k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

FINALE | MASTERLIST

You felt far away, Rose’s voice a distant mumble in the background. She prattled on beside you to the employee behind the counter. She picked out a couple onesies & insisted on getting them customized with the name of your unborn child, a feature the maternity store offered. But you felt nothing, could feel nothing. Only time you did is when the baby kicked or hiccupped. You wanted to feel ecstatic, lose yourself in the memories & joy from your first pregnancy. But the man who kissed your nearly full term belly at night & whispered to it good morning was far from who you would’ve picked to be a father.

Rafe had spent the last nine months of your pregnancy being the doting husband & affectionate father he prided himself to be. You couldn’t believe how seemed to be completely removed from the reality of the situation—that from the beginning you were an unwilling party. Yet there you were. Shopping for more baby clothes with Rose. You had plenty already, enough to clothe the children of America, but Rose never took no for an answer.

The only relief your pregnancy brought you was that Rafe stopped trying to sleep with you. One night, in the midst of your second trimester, you had woken to blood soaking the sheets. Rafe panicked, sure that the baby had been lost. But the doctor was happy to announce to the both of you that the baby was fine & healthy. However, she did say that sexual activity should be reduced to a minimum, if at all, to prevent any more scares. That’s how often Rafe fucked you.

You dreaded having the baby, not only because it would forever tie you to Rafe, but it meant Rafe would have at you as much as he pleased. You feared another pregnancy. Never before had you prayed for menopause to come early.

“_____.” Rose gently shook your shoulder, her manicured nails piercing you through your sweater. “Have you two decided on a name?”

You mean has Rafe decided on a name, you wanted to say, wanting absolutely nothing to do with this pregnancy. You bit your lip & shook your head. The employee behind the counter frowned, but it wasn’t a hard one. It was almost like she sensed your misery. Rose chuckled awkwardly, “I suppose I’ll ask the father.”

“Ask me what?” Rafe appeared behind you, an arm wrapping around your middle. His hand placed at the center of your swollen belly. He kissed the side of your head.

“The name!” Rose chirped, “I want to get a couple onesies customized.”

“It’ll outgrow them fast, Rose, really it’s not necessary.” You responded, feeling caged in by Rafe & Rose.

“’It’?” Rose sneered but kept the same bright, forced smile on her face, “You two are still insisting on not knowing the gender, I don’t understand.”

It was Rafe who spoke for you, “It’s a surprise. For the both of us.” He brought you into his chest, as if you had a say. You didn’t care what it was. It’d be a monster like it’s father.

“Charlie.” Rafe announced jovially. You glanced back up at him, your brows creased.

“Charlotte if it’s a girl, Charles for a boy.” Rafe held your stomach, “Charlie.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” Rose turned to the employee, “Charlie it is.”

Rafe pulled you away then, wanting you to join him as he browsed. You didn’t understand why you had to be here. You never suggested any ideas: clothing, names, the nursery theme. It was all Rafe & Rose. Even the outfit you wore was courtesy of Rose. She had said that she never had a pregnancy & wanted to spoil you with maternity clothes. You were positive it was just a way to humiliate you, she dressed you like a Floridian grandmother.

“How much longer?” You questioned once you were a decent distance from Rose.

“Why, are you feeling sick?” Rafe asked but there was no amount of concern in his voice.

“Sick of all of this, yes.” You glared at him. He only smirked in return.

Then he cupped your face, bringing his face in to kiss you. To anyone, you may look the happily married couple, sharing in the enjoyment of their little bundle of joy, but it was all an illusion. Rafe stayed closed to you as he whispered, “You’re stuck with me, _____. Or did you forget our wedding?”

You tried, often, to forget that day. It was a beach wedding. Less than 100 people were in attendance but none of them your friends or allies. It was a day for Rafe to lay claim to his property, not to profess your undying devotion to one another. The whole day was a blur. It’s how you preferred to keep it. Because Rafe was right, you were stuck with him. For better or for worse.

“Now smile.” Rafe dragged a finger under your chin, “You’re too beautiful to frown.”

Rose joined the two of you then, holding up three onesies, “What do we think?”

Charlie Cameron, Daddy’s Little Girl, & Mommy’s Little Boy.

“They’re great, thank you, Rose.” Rafe spoke for the both of you. You ignored the onesies.

“My pleasure.” She grinned, stuffing them into a bag & handing it to you.

You reluctantly took it.

“Now, we must be off.” Rose checked the time on her phone, “We’re meeting your father for lunch remember.”

Ward. If getting pregnant & marrying into the Cameron family was the deepest pits of hell, Ward Cameron was the devil himself. He was the only one that wasn’t trying to fake anything, at least in front of family. In public, he was proud to show you off—the mother of his first grandchild. But in private, he made it no secret that he held you to a certain standard, to remember a certain threat.

Leaving the maternity store, the outlet mall was bustling. It was peak tourism season. Rafe kept a hand on your lower back as he walked at your pace. This pregnancy was incredibly more uncomfortable than your first. With Jesse, you were in bliss & your body responded well to the changes. This one however, your feet were swollen beyond recognition, you suffered indigestion, & your post-partem depression was already settling deep into your bones. The thought & feel of it all made you break into a sweat. You were beginning to feel dizzy.

“I need to sit.” You announced quietly, moving towards a nearby bench. Rose appeared mildly annoyed but gave a tight smile, “Oh, alright.”

“Do you need anything?” Rafe sat beside you, his hand holding yours.

A glass of wine & bottle of pills, but you pushed the quip away, “Water, please. Cucumber water.”

The cucumber was an excuse to send him away, hopefully both of them. Rose sighed but pulled out her phone, “Well go on, Rafe. I’ll call Ward, let him know we’re running late.”

She stepped a few feet away to make the call. Rafe glared at her back before facing you, “God, she’s annoying.”

It was the first time you managed a genuine smile, even if it was small & short-lived.

“I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Like I’d get far.” You mumbled. Rafe cocked his head but smirked, “I’ll chase you down. Always.”

That was a promise, you knew. But thankfully, Rafe left you. For the first time in what felt like weeks you breathed a sigh of relief. Cracking your neck, you ghosted your fingers across your belly, feeling for any movement. It was sleeping. It liked to sleep most often during the daytime, choosing to keep you awake at night. You had a nagging feeling that once it was born sleeping habits would remain the same.

You had your eyes closed, focused on your breathing when you heard footfalls approach you. Initially, you assumed it was Rose, but she had a discernable stomp in her heels. Slowly, you pried your eyes open, perhaps expecting to see a friend of the Cameron’s. But who you saw made you gasp.

“Moses.”

It was really him. He was wearing a powder blue button down tucked into a pair of jeans. His face was clean-shaven, a look unlike him. You stared at one another, though his clearly exhausted eyes were aimed directly at your belly.

“So, it’s true.” The sound of his voice brought tears to your eyes. It was really him! After the divorce was finalized, you never saw or heard from him—only in your dreams. His eyes shifted to the ring on your finger, “That’s not the one I gave you.”

Instinctively, you covered your hand. You wish you could hide your belly but there was no attempting that at the size you were.

“No, I—” But words failed you. What could you say? There was nothing.

“What are you doing here?” You changed focus.

Moses finally looked you in the eyes & your heart ached. It was the same heartbroken expression he carried the night you told him you wanted a divorce. You recalled he had asked you if there was someone else. You had lied. But your lie was on full display now.

“You look…” He started. You finished the sentence in your mind. I look horrid, ghastly, monstrous, an infidel, a whore.

“Beautiful.”

Tears spilled from your eyes as he looked you over. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t angry. You knew him well enough to know. He was simply sad. Deeply sad.

“Moses, I. I don’t know what to say.” Your voice shook.

He gave a half-hearted smile, “Are you happy?”

No! You wanted to scream it, to beg him to whisk you away. In a second, you imagined a life with Moses with another man’s baby. Maybe you could love your unborn baby then, if Moses was the one to raise it alongside you.

But you said nothing in response. Moses nodded in minor understanding, “That was rude of me. It’s not my business.”

“No, it’s okay.” You went to stand but he threw out his hand to steady you as you wobbled, adrenaline coursing your veins. “What are you doing here?”

Moses frowned but faked a courtesy smile, “Had some last minute business to finish before moving to my next location.”

“Oh? Where to now? Back home?” You imagined him back in the city, amongst friends & family, all the people there to support him.

“There is no home.” It was an instinctual response, one that you knew wasn’t meant to be said out loud, but you winced still.

“I mean, I am taking a couple years off. Going to travel. See the world.”

A dream the two of you shared. With Jesse.

“That’s…” Awful. “..amazing.” You gulped, “Where are you off to first?”

“Amsterdam.” Moses said faintly, but his eyes could only take you all in as you stood before him.

“Moses, that’s—”

“_____!” You jumped at the sound of your name. Spinning around, it was Rafe, holding a plastic coffee cup with water & floating cucumbers.

“No.” You whispered it so lowly, only you could hear it.

Rafe looked murderous. His eyes strained directly on your ex-husband. But Rafe hid his animosity as best as he could, joining the two of you, his arm draped across your shoulders. Moses pressed his lips together, a deep frown forming.

“Rafe, this is—”

“I know who it is.” Rafe smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He held out his hand, “The ex-husband. We’ve actually never met before.”

“Only once, actually.” Moses replied, the same feigned kindness in his voice, “You were flirting with my wife in the backyard when we came over for dinner long ago.”

They shook hands. You watched as Rafe tightened his hold on Moses’ hand, “My wife now.”

Moses half-scoffed, half-chuckled, lowering his hand, “She’s an excellent one.”

“I know.” Rafe’s voice hardened, likely annoyed that Moses was unfazed by his attempt to assert dominance.

“I’m sure you do.” Moses peered at him suspiciously but finally looked to you, “It was nice seeing you, _____.”

“You, as well.” It took everything in you to not spill the truth about everything. But picturing him behind bars stopped you. It always did. Now you were only strangers.

“You’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

An inaudible sob escaped you. You brought your hand to your mouth to keep from crying uncontrollably.

“Thank you.” Rafe answered for you, his eyes never leaving Moses. But Moses didn’t give him any more attention.

“Well, goodbye.” Moses took a step back. You went to mirror him, follow him, but Rafe tightened his hold on you.

“Goodbye, Moses.”

Tears skipped down your cheeks as you watched Moses walked away from you.

Rafe exhaled loudly, heavily. He stepped into your line of sight, cutting out Moses entirely.

“That was…eventful.” His hands smoothed your hair before wiping at the tears on your cheeks, “But it’s time you move on. We have our own adventure waiting for us.” A hand fell to your belly. Rafe smiled proudly.

“Whatever you say.” You mumbled.

Rafe kissed you on your cheek before bringing his lips to your ear, “Smile, _____.”

He pulled back to look you in your eyes. Your stomach kicked.

“It’s the beginning of the rest of your life. And I will always be by your side.”

And you knew it to be true.

But you decided then, in that exact moment, that you were going to be everything Moses said you were. You were going to be a wonderful mother. If not for yourself, but for the sake of the life inside you. The baby couldn’t help who it’s father was, but it could benefit from having you as their mother. You swore, you promised.

Rafe had won. You couldn’t be saved. But your baby could. And you’d dedicate your life to protecting & loving the life within you.

and that is the end. WTBB is officially over. this is by far my proudest work to date, & it's a major thank you to all my readers & supporters who have given me so much feedback to this series. so thank you to all of you!

as always, comment, reblog w reviews, talk to me. i'm excited to hear everyone's thoughts!

thank you for reading

oona<3

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#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #dark!fic #non con fic #dark!fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #dark!outer banks #wtbb epilogue

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iamasaddie · 7 months

Note

Never Have I Ever read a Librarian! Marcus P fic. 🥰 I’m not really a Marcus P kinda girl, more of a Dave York (iykyk) girl BUT as someone who works at a library, Marcus P would be the best guy to get lost in the book shelves with 🤭😏

Hi, birdie <3 This is actually such a sweet idea! I haven't seen fics like this either! At first, I was just gonna send this ask out sending writers that see this your idea for a fic. But then I thought about it and something hit me, so here's my take on librarian!Marcus Pike. I gave it my own twist, but I hope you can still enjoy it <3

you're such a heavenly view

paring: Marcus Pike x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI) word count: 2.1k~ summary: He wants to be in love again. He's just not really sure how. a/n: This was written on a whim. Thank you to the amazing anon for planting the thought of librarian Marcus in my head <3 Not beta-ed, all mistakes are my own so pls don't plagiarize them. warnings: pining, Marcus Pike is shy and horny, male masturbation; no use of y/n MY MASTERLIST

Marcus loved the quiet.

He loved the whisper of turning pages and scribbling pens being the only noise in the spacious library he worked at. A humdrum nine-to-five that most people tried to escape became his salvation. He felt calm, at peace, a feeling that wasn’t prominent in his life before.

When he came here over two years ago just to help his old friend out, with his heart ripped to shreds and falling apart, the walls of this place held it together. And then you and your gentle smiles as you checked out books put bandaids all over it, so it started healing.

Marcus first saw you a year ago, by that time he was already comfortably moving along the labyrinths of the abode of books, knowing every section almost by heart. He still remembered your tiny manicured fingers nervously tapping the reception table as he looked through the computer base for the availability of Giorgio Vasari’s "Lives of the Artists". Before you, art section was one he never frequented for two reasons: first, he didn’t need the reminder of the past that he tried to separate from his present; and second, he knew pretty much every book there by heart.

As his eyes bore into the screen, looking for the right title, with his peripheral vision he saw you burning a hole in the side of his face. Marcus couldn’t help but chuckle, it was a while since a beautiful woman had been interested in him. Or since he noticed. You hurried to stray your gaze away, and his smile became bigger, now showing his teeth. You saw him noticing you and got flustered, that only meant that you staring was intentional. Marcus confirmed that the book you needed was available, but since it was a rare edition you couldn’t leave with it. The library was surprisingly empty for the first month of autumn, but at least you wouldn’t have any problems with staying and doing your research there. You nodded, agreeing with him. The place was quite cozy, you thought that to yourself the moment you entered from the windy autumn street.

"Let me show you to the art section, it’s pretty difficult to navigate these corridors the first time you’re here." Marcus left the librarian desk he had been occupying for the last year and motioned his hand to the right direction.

"Only the first?" You raised your eyebrows and smiled. Damn, you were beautiful in your flared jeans and a big white t-shirt with a warm-looking sweater on top. Your hair in a messy bun, either it was messy because of the wind or because you wanted it to be. Anyway, you looked fantastic like that, so Marcus smiled back automatically.

"Well, the first fifty."

You laughed, and he stumbled at the sound. Marcus felt his cheeks burn with pride, he forgot how pleasant it was to make a pretty girl laugh.

It was over a year ago, and still he remembered that beautiful sound you let out. One of the beautiful moments you shared that he kept sealed in his mind. Even though all your interactions were friendly, and sometimes borderline flirtatious, something always stopped Pike, and he got used to seeing you leaving with a nod and a tight-lipped smile, now almost never lifting your eyes up to meet his as you sat studying behind one of the many similar wooden tables.

He cursed himself, cursed his cowardice and the fact that he got panic attacks any time he tried to tell you a compliment. He hated that he became tongue-tied whenever you asked his opinion on one of the books you checked out. And when his brain was swarming with knowledge, the influences the author had, or the way the work was transcending the time it was written in; his mouth only said ‘it’s a good book’ or worse ‘it’s not bad’. He wanted to punch himself, but that would mean lifting his arms that were numb and limp on both sides of his body.

Today was not an exception, unfortunately. Marcus was sitting behind his desk, pristine, clean and occupied only by his work computer and a book he had been reading during the quiet times. You came over less than half an hour ago, saying your usual hello and asking about yet another book on art. You’d almost read them all, and Marcus was frantically thinking what would happen when you check out the last book from the art section, a place in the library that no one else went to. He told you where to find a copy of "Janson’s History of Art" and you nodded, going in the right direction without needing his help anymore. You didn't look up at him when you took your usual place near the window and placed the book on the table.

Marcus sighed, looking as you brows furrowed when you read something and started rewriting it in your notebook. Art section was your place. Yours and his. It was special, at least for him. He had walked you there exactly forty nine times. Not because you couldn’t remember where to go, no, you were confident in your stride the third time; but because it became a sort of a joke between the two of you. Sometimes you’d just come over and ask him to show you where the art section was, telling him that it was only your 21st, 33rd, 45th time in the library and you didn’t have the opportunity to learn all the right turns yet. He laughed, but always walked you there. Sometimes you were silent, sometimes you’d ask him silly questions (‘What is the rarest book here?’ 'First edition of Oscar Wilde's "The Happy Prince and Other Tales" with the author's inscription.’; ‘What is the worst thing a person did in the library?’ ‘Tried to rip a page out of the first edition of Oscar Wilde's "The Happy Prince and Other Tales"’; ‘Did you stop them?’ ‘Kind of.’; ‘Is the horror section haunted?’ ‘Yes.’). You hadn’t asked him to walk you to the art section for a month now. Marcus even wanted to suggest it himself, but his tongue felt too heavy and big for his mouth whenever he tried.

So he was left with watching. Just like dozens of times before. As he quietly observed from a distance, Marcus couldn't help but lose himself in the beauty of your presence amidst the mundane decorations of his workplace.He thought that he knew you face better than his own by now. The structure of your cheekbones, the curve of your lip, the depth of your cupid’s bow. He could close his eyes and draw you in his sleep. You were engrossed in the book when another wave of hot air from the AC above you tousled your hair. Winter this year was abnormally cold, so to keep the building warm Marcus had to turn up the temperature on the AC pretty high. Maybe he overdid it today. He saw you wiping a lonely droplet of sweat running from your temple. Yes, he definitely overdid it today.

He reached to stand up and go to the temperature controller when you started tugging up your usual bulky green sweater, and dropped back into his chair as the material of your sweater and t-shirt stuck together, so you almost took both items off. Marcus choked on his saliva seeing so much of you that he never saw before. Sure, you wore knee-length shorts and oversized t-shirts during summer, sometimes you even put on a dress when it was too hot for anything else, but this was different. The swell of your naked stomach, the almost-not-there lacy edge of your black bra, fuck, it felt so intimate.

Marcus squeezed his thighs under the table, his cock getting hard with every thought his brain provides. Fuck, it was really not a time or a place for a boner, but you looked so… He pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes and trying to relax, but instead of that he saw images of your naked skin over and over again, followed by fake scenarios where he ripped the shirt off you, kissing your willing body with his greedy mouth. Marcus could almost feel the softness of your skin under his palms, and he bit his lower lip at the phantom feeling, trying to suppress a moan.

He didn’t notice how his legs brought him to the secluded area of the art section, his hands hysterically pulling out his stiff cock from the confines of his pants, while his mind completely shut off.

It was almost primal, the incandescent feeling inside him that made him spit in the palm of his hand before wrapping it around his shaft.

"Fuck," his whisper was quiet, even though it was unlikely that anyone could hear him anyway. There were less than eight patrons when he left the main hall, all of them engrossed in their literature of choice, and he still had an hour before he had to close.

His spit-slicked hand tightened around his cock as he moved it up and down, circling the weeping head every time. Goddamn, he was sick. Fucked up. Getting hard after seeing the stomach of the girl he had been swooning over for almost a year. What in the teenage hormones was this bullshit?

Your skin, the swelling of your stomach, the tiny dip of your belly button. Fuck, he wanted to dip his tongue in the little canyon of your body and hear you suffocating on giggles.

Up, down, up, down.

He looked down, watching his hand methodically moving around his fat cock. As he got closer to his orgasm, the veins that led from the base to the tip of his cock became more pronounced, the head getting darker with every stroke. "God-fucking-dammit, baby," he dropped his head back, punching a wall but barely noticing any pain as he got succumbed by his pleasure. "So fucking gorgeous. Mine. Mine. Only mine."

If anyone heard Marcus, they’d consider him a psycho, his hoarse whisper feverishly calling someone his when he was the only one in the room. He didn’t give a single fuck. In his little fantasy, right now, you were his. Only for him to touch, only for him to love. He tripped over the edge, as his mind flooded by the memory when you first laughed at his joke, and he came all over his fist moaning your name as quietly as possible, as four thick ropes of cum painted his skin pearly white.

Marcus didn’t hear the footsteps, orgasm claiming every sense in his body until he heard a quiet ‘oh’, the voice too familiar to mistake its’ owner.

"Fuck, fuck, oh God, sorry, this is not what you think it is." His eyes went wide at the sight of you. You were pressing your copy of "Janson’s History of Art" to your chest, face curious and almost… amused? He pulled his boxers up, trying not to wince when the thick rubber band scratched the sensitive skin of his spent cock.

"Isn’t it?" You raised your eyebrows at Marcus, and he remembered that he was still standing in front of you with his pants fully undone and his boxers stained with the cum he wiped on them in a hurry.

"No." He shook his head frantically, tugging on the zipper and trying to quickly zip it up when the hem of his shirt stuck in it and he cursed, almost tearing it out.

"So you weren’t just masturbating thinking of me, and the fact that you moaned my name as you came was just a coincidence?"

'How long had you been standing there?' Marcus thought. He heard your steps closing in on him, but didn’t dare to raise his eyes to see the disgust on your face. Instead, he continued fighting with the zipper.

"Yes," he nodded, and then immediately shook his head. "No. Look, I can explain." Marcus searched his brain for the right answer, for something that could fix all of this mess, but coming up empty. His sigh was deep, almost hurting his lungs as he gave up. "Okay, I maybe can’t explain, I’m just… Sorry."

"I’m not."

He snapped his head up so fast that the sides of his vision went black for half of a second. "What?"

You were close. Very close. If you reached your arm out you could help him with a zipper he abandoned in stupor.

"I was planning to come over at the last moment tomorrow and ask you to walk me here," you stepped even closer, placing your hand on his chest and feeling the rapid fire of Marcus’ heartbeat. "You know, for our last time."

He just nodded, the blood pumping in his ears made it almost impossible to understand what you were saying, so he just stared at your lips, unconsciously licking his.

"And then," both your hands circled his neck, burrowing in the slightly damp hair at his nape, "I was going to blow you right against the rare editions shelf."

"Wha..—"

Marcus wasn’t able to finish when your lips crushed into his, tasting each other for the first time. Suddenly, he wasn’t so tongue-tied anymore.

PLEASE WRITE A COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED THE STORY ♥︎

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #iamasaddie fic #pedro pascal fic #the mentalist fic

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charincharge · 2 months

Text

I Don't Want To Wait, sixty-eight

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: I said I was back, and I meant it! Anyway, if you haven't read the last update, this is the second update this week. That's right. New Chapters 67 and 68. NSFW-ish warning.

Aelin was exactly seven minutes early to her interview. She’d spent the last week emptying her closet and putting together the perfect outfit – a sweater dress, tights, and boots that were just the right level of put together – and mapping out exactly how long it would take to get to Xavier’s house, so she could feel the most prepared walking in. She would not be late to the most important meeting of her life. No way.

She slid out of the jeep and waved goodbye to Rowan, who promised to be waiting at the closest coffee shop until she was ready to be picked up. She assumed it’d be around thirty minutes, but she honestly had no idea how long this interview would take. It wasn’t like she had any experience. Looking around, Aelin took a deep breath and took her first step down the long driveway and toward her future. She gained confidence with each step, feeling her stride lengthen and solidify as her chunky boot heel crunched the gravel beneath it.

They were definitely in the wealthier part of Orynth, closer to where Lysandra’s family lived. Sprawling lawns and expertly manicured greenery dotted her winding path. It felt so different than her own tiny street with closely stacked duplexes and shared family homes that she felt a small tug of insecurity before reminding herself that she was prepared for this. Both her dad and Rowan would attest to that. She’d put them through their paces, going over the “best answers” to potential questions that ranged from her favorite book (The Secret Garden — to lead into her thoughts on why lack of autonomy within the disabled communities is a problem) to what she planned to study (an interest in biology and pre-med with flexibility to also take liberal arts classes) all the way to challenges she’d had to overcome and how she’d personally be an excellent addition to the Wendlyn community. Those were too complicated to boil down into small snippets. But she had the bullet pointed lists laid out in her head, ready to be explained and fully ready for engagement. Honestly, as nervewracking as this whole situation was, she felt prepared. She reassured herself one more time, scrolling through her list of answers over and over, until she reached the oversized front door. In the middle of it all was a door-knocker so large and cumbersome she hoped she could lift it.

Another deep breath. She could do this. No matter how rich and fancy this person was. Whatever laid on the other side of that door, she was ready and prepared for.

She inhaled, filling up her lungs with extra reassurance, but as she lifted her hand to raise what was surely a heavily weighted solid brass knocker, the wind was completely knocked from her chest. Of all the things she had prepared herself for, she had not anticipated this one single thing that could fully derail her.

Before Aelin knew what was even happening, she could feel herself shrinking at the sight before her. She’d know that perfectly coiffed hair and polite smile anywhere.

“Mom?”

“Aelin,” Evalin said, leaning in to kiss her on both her cheeks, surely leaving behind smudges of her burgundy lipstick on Aelin’s pale cheek.

She leaned back and looked Aelin up and down, her crystal eyes pausing and practically flinching at the tiny snag in Aelin’s tights. She’d only had that one pair and even went over it with clear nail polish to make sure it wouldn’t pull or run more, fully assured that Xavier wouldn’t be looking at the side of her shin where her boot met the tights. But she hadn’t anticipated Evalin’s eagle eyes pulling apart every slight detail, searching for anything out of place to berate her for. “Don’t you look lovely,” Evalin continued, though the downturn of her lips as she touched Aelin’s sweater dress gave her real feelings away. Evalin chuckled as she stepped aside, letting Aelin enter into the large dark foyer.

“Why don’t you take off your coat, darling?” Evalin said, reaching her hand out.

Aelin cleared her throat, trying not to let the slight choking feeling overtake her and draw in a steady breath as she finally got out a soft, “Mom, what are you doing here?”

If Evalin was fazed in the slightest, she didn’t show it at all. But Aelin had never felt so small. She had worked so hard to put together this outfit, and now that her mom was looking at it, she knew it was all wrong. The sweater dress had been put through the wash one too many times, tiny pills forming in its most worn spots. Evalin would have shaved them off. Or bought Aelin a new dress. She’d make sure that Aelin had a fresh haircut, none of her desperately-in need-of-trimming dead ends left unevenly past her shoulders. She tugged at the sleeve of her sweater dress as her coat disappeared from her shoulders, suddenly feeling naked without it. There was a tiny thread coming undone from the hem of the sleeve, and she knew that without a doubt Evalin would clock it. The woman missed nothing. She should have tugged it and tried to remove it immediately, but all she could feel was shock and horror. Needing something to do, she untucked her hair from behind her ear, letting it tumble forward, but of course that was the wrong thing to do. Aelin could never do the right thing. Be the right way. Be good enough to keep her mom happy. To keep her around, even.

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat as Evalin frowned and straightened her shoulders back, warning Aelin silently to do the same. As she retucked the thick gold wave behind Aelin’s ear, her furrowed brow melted away, replaced by a smile only reserved for others.

“Xavier, please meet my beautiful daughter, Aelin,” she said with a sweep of her hand. It took everything in Aelin not to flinch as the hand gestured toward her. Instead, she donned her most polite smile — ruing the way it felt like an Evalin reproduction — and bowed her head and curtsied, instinctively.

Xavier chuckled. “Oh, my. Look at that,” he said as his elbow nudged into the air by Evalin’s side. “Impeccable manners, of course. I would expect nothing less from an Ashryver,” he continued, his tone light as he ushered Aelin further into the cavernous foyer.

Xavier was everything she should have expected but was somehow unprepared for. He was Evalin in male form. His thick blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, swooping gently over his forehead in a way that told Aelin is had taken hours of work and product to get it to look so natural. He was tall but reedy, like someone who spent a lot of time mixing up green smoothies, per his personal trainer’s request. His navy suit was clean and pressed, sharp with creases that told the world he was someone with something important to say. Shiny cufflinks glinted in the mid-afternoon sun, and Aelin knew if she looked close enough they’d be monogrammed with a flourished script.

“But no need for formalities,” he continued, oblivious to Aelin’s turmoil. “Your mother and I go way back. In fact, our parents’ parents go way back. Evie and I were friends long before our time together at Wendlyn.”

Aelin nearly choked at the use of the nickname for her mother. She’d never heard anyone address her as anything other as her full name, and it took Aelin aback that this man was not only allowed to use this familiarity but received a smile in return for it.

“We were bred in the same kennel, as my father used to say,” Xavier said scratching at his too clean-shaven chin. It was red and shiny and Aelin wished she could stop staring at it and listen to him again. “I can’t remember a holiday I didn’t spend with the Ashryvers,” he droned on. But Aelin’s mouth was faster than her filter.

“But I’m not an Ashryver. I’m a Galathynius,” she said. Two pairs of eyes widened but melted quickly back into an amused gaze.

“Hi, ho. A spitfire, just like her mom. That’s the Ashryver spark for sure,” Xavier said, ignoring Aelin’s growing discomfort.

Because she wasn’t an Ashryver. She was a Galathynius.

“Who, me?” Evalin batted her lashes and giggled, feigning innocence. Flirting. Aelin’s mom was flirting with this man. This alum. Right in front of her. She swallowed again, biting down the ire rising in her throat. She hated it here. She would do anything to send a fire signal to Rowan to come and pick her up immediately, but, no. She had an interview to complete still. An alum to impress. Aelin could feel her heartbeat quickening as she realized that she still had an interview to complete. That her mom would bear witness to this whole thing. She just wanted to get it overwith and be out of her presence as quickly as possible.

“Can we get started?” Aelin cut off the man, who was clearly surprised.

“Ah yes,” he fumbled with his thumbs and shoved them into his pocket before taking one back out and gesturing down a long dark hallway. “The study is right this way.”

Study. So formal.

She looked down the long hallway and tried her best to grasp at any of the tendrils of her waning confidence, but it was fruitless. Aelin had never felt so out of place, like such a fraud. Here she was, pretending to be Wendlyn material, but that wasn’t her; that was Evalin.

Evalin, who had grown up with this man, knowing that her future held the glowing promise of a Wendlyn future. Evalin walked through this home as if she belonged there, looking completely at home. But as Aelin traversed the dark portrait-lined hallway down to the study, she could feel the sharp stares of the painted faces judging her with every cautious step. You don’t belong here, they seemed to mock, their pinched noses and haughty smirks watching as Aelin’s chunky boot heel step on the delicate mosaic tile beneath her feet. She didn’t want to think about how expensive these fancy floors were, and the fact that her $20 boots were most likely leaving black rubber smudges against them.

While Lysandra’s family home was fancy, it was nothing like this – whereas her house was bright and wide and open and modern, this expansive home was dark and crowded with ornate moldings and décor that felt like it could close in on Aelin at any second. She managed to keep her feet steady, despite the long walk down the seemingly never-ending hallway. She could hear Xavier maintaining casual conversation with Evalin, but Aelin stayed quiet, fully focusing on maintaining her stride and praying that she wouldn’t stumble and fall or accidentally break something. Foreboding crept up Aelin’s spine as Evalin fell into pace beside her and smoothed out the fabric of her sweater dress against her back. She could feel her picking off an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder just so she could dig her fingers into her bicep and pull her close.

“Behave, please,” Evalin whispered through clenched teeth, causing Aelin to stumble, just as she’d feared she would. “Careful, darling,” Evalin drawled in a much lighter tone. “These floors are priceless.”

“You break it, you bought it,” her mother and Xavier said in unison as he pushed open the door to his study. They both laughed as it was something hilarious from their youth, but all Aelin heard was – You’re not one of us. Again and again and again.

Aelin blinked at the harsh expanse of daylight that filtered through the floor to ceiling windows lining the wall of the study. Thick burgundy drapes were pulled back to allowing a shock of grey-white sky to cast its milky pallor over the dark wood room, somehow leeching it of any warmth, despite the burgundy and mahogany color scheme.

“Ah yes, it’s quite the view, isn’t it?” Xavier chuckled as he gestured to the frost-laden yard that seemed to go on for miles and miles. “You can see the mountains in the distance on a clear day. When we first bought this place, the neighbors behind us were trying to plant trees in our view, which turned into a bit of a legal battle. But it ended up alright. We bought them out, and now we have a perfect view.” His voice was haughty with pride at the notion of buying someone out of their home. Aelin’s stomach curled at the notion that one person could be so selfish. But still, she put on her best smile and nodded politely. Evelyn would tolerate no less.

Still smiling smugly, Xavier waved Aelin over to the large leather loveseat where Evalin was already perched. But Aelin didn’t want to sit next to Evelyn. She couldn’t think with her hovering so close — all her well-prepared answers had floated to the recesses of her memories, blocked by the constant perusal of her mother’s perfectly controlled facial expressions. But as Xavier slid into the arm chair across from them, Aelin was at a loss. There was nowhere else to sit. She’d have to sit next to her mother.

As she slid onto the stiff couch, the skirt of her dress rode up slightly, catching on the leather. But before she could even it out, Evalin was there, doing it for her. Always hovering. Always watching. Aelin didn’t even realize that Xavier had asked her a question, until she heard her mother’s sharp whisper. “Don’t be rude, Aelin. Answer.”

“Hm?” Aelin’s head whipped up, watching Xavier face lips tug downward into a slight frown.

“Xavier was just asking what you’re interested in studying?” Evalin repeated, her blue-grey eyes staring a hole into Aelin.

Aelin knew she had an answer for this. She’d talked about the phrasing with Rowan over and over about why it was actually a benefit that she wasn’t completely sure what she wanted to study yet. That it allowed for… curiousity? Flexibility? No, that wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. The words were completely mixed up in her head, and she couldn’t make heads or tales of them. With every flash of her mom’s eyes, Aelin’s rehearsed answers disappeared further and further until all that was left was a gaping black hole of confusion in her anxiety-addled brain. What was she supposed to say? She had no idea. Literally none. She couldn’t do this. Oh god. She couldn’t do this.

Aelin swallowed back the threat of tears as she croaked out a quiet, “I don’t know.”

“Aelin has many interests,” Evalin jumped in, placing her perfectly polished nails on Aelin’s knee. “She’s trained in ballet and is extremely creative.”

She should have said something about how she had just joined Orynth’s Dance Company. About her time spent teaching last fall, how dancing was for fun and she wasn’t sure she’d want to pursue it professionally but she loved that Wendlyn had recreational dance teams she could participate in. That was the answer she’d rehearsed. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth and brain work together.

“Ah, so perhaps a performing arts major?” Xavier asked. “I myself studied the bard and was in a play or two back in my day. Wendlyn has a thriving theater department. We even have quite a few celebrity alums,” he continued, oblivious to Aelin’s complete mental shutdown.

“No,” Aelin said. Apparently she couldn’t even explain more than that. She could see the corners of Xavier’s eyes tightening uncomfortably as he watched Evalin’s hand grasp Aelin’s knee – the edges of her dark red gel tips sinking into Aelin’s tights, as the conversation plummeted into a dead silence.

“Right,” Xavier cleared his throat, clearly at a loss. Aelin could feel her stress welling as he continued, hopeful, knowing that her next answer was sure to be another disappointment. Just like her entire being. “Well... perhaps you’d like to tell me about why you’re interested in Wendlyn?” he asked.

And though Aelin knew she had a full essay response for that exact question, she simply shrugged and let him continue his list of questions, each one said with less curiosity as Xavier realized what Aelin had feared: she wasn’t Wendlyn material. And with each question and answer, Aelin knew her chances of getting into college with Rowan were quickly disappearing.

. . .

Aelin had been in a mood in the days following her interview with Xavier and she who shall not be named. But, she was trying her very hardest to keep a smile on her face and pretend like she was totally fine. Mostly because today was Rowan’s first lacrosse game of the season, and he needed her in the stands cheering him on, not sulking about her botched interview. It wasn’tthat she wasn’t a fully supportive girlfriend, but she wasn’t feeling particularly into lacrosse — the sport that was fully responsible for handing Rowan a future that she so clearly wasn’t going to be a part of. She wanted him to do well, but an uncomfortable feeling of panic was pressing against her chest, and it was taking everything in her to put a smile on her face. And Aelin was a lot of things, but a spectacular actress was not one of them.

To Rowan’s credit, he was letting her feel her feelings without pushing. He’d asked how the interview went upon picking her up, and Aelin had simply snapped and said, “Bad.” When he pushed for any more information, she shut him down completely and she could feel a thick wall of armor rising. She’d been furious, practically shaking with anger, but for some reason, hadn’t want to share her mom’s surprise appearance with him. She’d told him that she’d talk when she was ready, and even though she knew he wanted to push, he accepted what she’d asked for. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. She had other things to think about. Like figuring out any other plan for her future that still included Rowan.

Which is why that Friday morning, she donned her green and gold best, tied her long braided pigtails with the #47 ribbons she’d decorated in puffy paints last year, and woke up early to grab a few special treats for her boyfriend on his big day. Before this whole debacle, she’d asked Maeve if she could make a batch of Rowan’s favorite peanut butter cookies, decorated like his jersey, and sure enough, they were waiting on the counter with two coffees when she let herself into their townhouse. She could hear the shower running upstairs, along with a loud blaring bass of one of Rowan’s pump-up playlists, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and push aside any traces of residual insecurity and focus on Rowan. It was his big day, and she knew he was nervous. He always was.

Within minutes, she heard his heavy step skipping every other stairs as he descended into the kitchen where she was waiting, and his smile upon seeing her there temporarily melted away her bad mood entirely. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get over receiving that look from him.

“Happy game day, Captain,” Aelin said, smiling widely.

His arms surrounded her, sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, as he leaned in and pulled her against his chest. He smelled warm from his shower, and she took a moment to inhale the comforting scent of his pine body wash combined with something just innately Rowan.

“Coffee?”

She held out the cup in his direction, but he ignored it in favor of kissing her. Who was she to disagree? She let herself melt into it, letting her anxieties disappear for the moments his mouth was on hers.

“Missed you,” he mumbled, and she couldn’t help but laugh against his lips.

“You saw me less than nine hours ago.”

“Too long.” He pulled her even closer and went back in for another kiss, this time with more fervor. His tongue slid between her lips, and she could feel herself getting slightly carried away as their bodies pressed together even tighter. Her grasp on the coffee cup in her hand was getting dangerously loose when he finally pulled away, resting his head against her forehead and bringing the coffee to his lips.

“Mmmm. Delicious.”

“Me or the coffee?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

“Both.” He leaned in and kissed her one more time. “I wish we had time to go upstairs, but…”

“Someone has a game to kick ass in today, and missing first period is probably a bad way to start that off, huh?”

He nodded sadly, but the mischief didn’t completely leave his green eyes as he looked her up and down. “But maybe during lunch?”

Aelin couldn’t control the burst of laughter that bubbled up her throat. “A pre-game warm up?” she teased.

“Always.” He let his hand fall to the swell of her butt, pinching it lightly and causing Aelin to yelp in surprise.

“Be nice or I’m not giving you your cookies.”

Rowan raised his brow. “You baked?” he asked, rightfully skeptical. After all, he spent most of his time with Aelin and he would have definitely noticed if she’d disappeared to Maeve’s for a few hours without him.

“I had help,” Aelin said, procuring the tray of decorated cookies.

His excitement couldn’t be contained as he leaned back in for yet another kiss, but Aelin knew that if they kept this up they definitely would be late for school.

“Later,” she promised, hoping that would keep her spirits afloat.

But as soon as she waved goodbye to Rowan in the hallway, all her doubts came flooding back. She parsed through every second of her time with Xavier and her mom, wondering if there was any world in which that interview could have been construed as positive, but she knew in her heart the truth. She had bombed. Big time. Not just a minor bomb. That whole afternoon had been a full nuclear wipeout with no survivors left standing. She’d killed her own opportunity, and she’d never forgive herself for it.

By the time lunch came around, Aelin was so deep into her self-pitying wallowing that she felt like she was being suffocated by negativity. She’d hoped that seeing Rowan would brighten her spirits, as it had this morning, but apparently that’d been a fluke. She was just as prickly as ever, barely even smiling when he greeted her with a giant bear hug, spinning her around the hall in an exuberant whirlwind. In fact, her mood was made even worse by the flurry of cheerleaders who giggled in his presence, blushing as they wished him luck in tonight’s game. She practically hissed as one got too close, flashing her canines in feral warning.

“Ease up, Ace,” Rowan chuckled as he led her out to the far side of the parking lot where the jeep was parked.

“Stupid fucking cheerleaders,” she grumbled as she slid into the back seat. She was so in her head that she barely even noticed Rowan driving to their special secluded spot — a nearby parking lot that was midway through some sort of construction when it had been fully abandoned. She was sure the crews would come back one day, but for now, it was perfect for their, uh… needs.

Rowan joined her in the back seat and pulled her onto his lap with skilled ease, as if they’d been doing this for years, rather than merely weeks. But it was good. She was on full autopilot. Aelin’s body knew exactly what to do without being in her brain at all. Her hips rolled against his lap as his fingers tangled in her hair, clashing their teeth together in a harsh mingling of breaths and low groans. She didn’t wait for him as she pulled her top off, and allowed her head to fall back as his mouth trailed down her neck and to the bare expanse of her cleavage. Gods, she loved him so much. What was she ever going to do without this? She tried to imagine a world where she didn’t get to be this close to Rowan, but all she saw was a gaping painful hole in her hear heart. She felt her throat closing slightly and swallowed down the threat of emotion she’d careful kept walled up all week.

“Ace?” Rowan looked up at her with concern, clocking the change in her breathing, but she forged forward. She would not lose any time with him. She’d take advantage of every second they had together. Clothed and unclothed.

“I’m good,” she reassured him,

But she knew he could feel the slight waver in her touch as she reached down to his waist to unbutton his pants. His green eyes flashed in warning, but she ignored it, pulling him into her hand and tightening her grasp exactly as she knew he liked it. Autopilot.

Her hands regained their surety as she continued, lulling Rowan into a state of blissful arousal. She leaned in and bit his exposed throat as he leaned further into the seat, moving his hips into her hand. Her mouth opened and sucked at his skin. Hard. She wanted anyone who saw him to know that he was spoken for. That he was claimed. That he was hers. No matter what. She never wanted anyone else to know him like this, and she could feel her pulse stutter as she even considered the possibility of that. No.

She needed to refocus. Without removing her mouth, she reached for the condom he’d placed beside them on the seat and opened it. She leaned back just barely enough to make room to place it on him, not wanting to give him any space. That was the opposite of what she wanted. She could hear him groan a loud expletive as she slid on top of him and started to move. He fit so perfectly. No one else would ever fit like this. And when it was gone, she’d miss it so, so, so much.

“Oh, Ace.” She thought he was moaning her name in pleasure, but it wasn’t until he said, “Aelin, baby, stop,” that she clocked the tone was actually of concern. His face was blurry, and as she blinked, she felt that her cheeks were fully wet. Unbeknownst to her, silent tears had welled and dripped from the corners of her eyes in full, hot streams. “Baby, stop,” he said again, his hands going to her hips to still her, but her autopilot refused.

“No, it’s okay,” she said thickly. “I’m okay.”

“Aelin, you are not okay. You’re crying.”

She tried to keep her legs in a vice grip around his hips, but he was fully in control as he pulled her off of him and tucked himself back into his pants.

“No, no,” she croaked, her tears pouring out in earnest now. “We can keep going.”

“Ace, we’re not going to have sex while you’re crying.”

“I’m not crying,” she sniffed as his hands came up to her cheeks, wiping his thumbs against them. That seemed to be the thing that cracked her open, a full sob releasing from her mouth as her shoulders shook with the weight of the past few days. Rowan shushed her gently as he pulled her against him, rubbing comforting circles into her back. But she barely felt a thing. All she could feel was the hot sting of embarrassment and shame.

“Do you want to talk about it finally?�� Rowan asked, but Aelin shook her head into his shoulder.

“N-no.”

“Okay.”

And she knew that he meant it. He’d sit there, erection still throbbing in his pants as she cried it out silently. That only made her cry harder. She owed it to him to tell him what had happened. She didn’t even know why she’d kept it to herself. Maybe she’d just wanted to pretend for a little longer that the future she’d imagined for them could happen.

“I blew it,” she finally said.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Rowan said. Her body was suddenly exhausted, and she couldn’t sit upright anymore. Or maybe she just couldn’t look at his face during this conversation. Instead, she slid until she was slumped across his lap and cuddling into the soft fabric of his pants. She struggled to calm her breath as he ran his dexterous fingers down her back and up again.

“You may as well break up with me now,” she sniffed.

Rowan’s hand paused on her back and tilted her ruddy face to look up at his concerned gaze. “Ace, I thought we talked about this. No matter what happens, we’re not breaking up.”

“That’s what you say now, but…” Another wave of tears took over as she sobbed. “What if you meet someone else? Some pretty and smart Wendlyn girl who fits into your world?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Rowan asked, seeming genuinely perplexed as his finger pushed aside the stream of tears on her hot cheek. “You fit in my world perfectly.”

“But all those girls at Wendlyn are going to be from upstanding families with two parents whose names are on libraries, and I bet they wear real pearls and have perfectly painted nails that are never chipped, and—”

“Aelin, what the fuck are you going on about? Why would I care about any of that?”

She bit her lip, sniffing back another round of tears as she finally told Rowan about Evalin’s surprise appearance and how of course she couldn’t have gotten that interview without Evalin’s help, tugging on those elite strings. And how clear it became that she was anything but that.

Rowan scratched at her scalp, and she leaned into his comforting touch.

“I don’t use the word hate lightly, but I fucking hate Evalin. What she did to you, surprising you like that with no warning was completely fucked up. She should have told you she was going to be there. Leaving you unprepared like that wasn’t going to help your chances, even if she thought being there would. You deserved a heads up. And the fact that she didn’t think you did just shows how little she understands about life. And you.” He took a deep breath. “And it’s okay to feel fucked up about what she did. But, Ace, it’s not okay to think I’m just going to suddenly disappear from your life if you end up at another college. That’s not going to happen. Never. Ever ever. I’m going to be in love with you for the rest of my life. Forever.”

“But—”

He held up a finger to her lips, shushing her. “But also, one person’s review of you isn’t going to make or break your college admission. You don’t know what anyone thinks of this Xavier dude. He could be hated! They could have him interview people as a barometer for who not to accept.”

“That feels highly doubtful, Ro,” Aelin laughed through the remnants of her tears. “But I appreciate your optimism.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s not over until the school year starts. And even then, it’s not over. Best case scenario, you get in with me for the fall. But there are a hundred other things that could happen before then. You could get waitlisted and get in, you could apply to transfer after a semester or a year, if you wanted. Or, other best case scenario, you love wherever you end up, and we still make this work with phone calls and video calls and weekend visits. Because I’m going to love you for the rest of your gods damned life, so stop trying to get rid of me,” he said, poking her cheek with each pointed word. “It’s insulting.” He paused, looking her over thoroughly, and it felt like he could really see through her in that moment, and she could hear his words before he even said them. “I’m not your mom.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” he asked. “Because I definitely don’t have my last name on any libraries. And I couldn’t tell you what a real pearl looks like if a million dollars were at stake. And guess what? I bite my nails, and the only reason Evalin even came around to the idea of me is because Wendlyn became interested in me. You think that I feel like I’m going to magically fit in there, but I doubt many students were raised by their single aunt and grew up working in her restaurant. I don’t have a trust. That’s why I needed this scholarship.” He paused. “If we’re weighing which one of us belongs at Wendlyn more than the other, only one of us is a legacy there, you know?”

“Okay,” she whispered, but the hurt was still so raw, and she felt ragged from her marathon of crying. She could feel Rowan still hard in his pants, and she felt awful. She went to reach for him, but he sternly put her hand back by her side.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“But—”

“We’ll celebrate after I win the game tonight,” he said.

And true to his word, they did.

#idwtw au #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #tog fic #rowaelin fic #throne of glass

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earlgreydream · 2 years

Note

SPEAKING OF DRACO I just found out my friend met tom felton after his show and she said he was super lovely I'm so shaken, anw love the idea of draco scoffing at you when you show up to class all haggard-looking bc you've been up all night but the next day you just find someone's left you things like sleep masks, comfy PJs, hot cocoa, etc and when you confront him he plays it off like "you were an eyesore, I don't want to have to look at that 🙄"

wait, how cute, making this a little blurb because I miss writing for draco 🥺🤍

—

No amount of makeup was covering the pure exhaustion in your eyes. You’d been kept up to all hours the night before, trying to study with the other slytherins for OWLS, but you couldn’t keep up with them as they went late into the hours of the morning.

You were near tears in your bathroom, trying to make yourself look presentable to avoid being teased by your relentless peers.

“Hurry up, or Snape will kill us!” Pansy shouted through the door, raising an eyebrow when you threw it open.

Of course, Pansy looked as perfect as always, her manicured nails tapping on the doorframe.

“Merlin, you look a mess.”

“Shut up!” You whined, following her to your potions class, just trying to keep your head down to avoid attention.

“What the hell happened to you?” Draco whispered as you took your seat beside him.

“I was up studying for OWLS, and I just…” you began, eyes filming with tears. His silvery gaze softened, troubled that he’d made you cry.

“Hey—”

“Turn to page 394,” Snape interrupted, before Draco could console you.

You shook your head, rubbing your eyes with the wrists of your sweater. You were exhausted, but threw your focus into potions, ignoring the feeling of everyone staring at you.

“Wait.”

You ignored Draco when he tried to stop you after class, weaving through the crowded hallways to avoid his snarky comments. You made your way to the greenhouse, quietly tending to herbology for the rest of the afternoon.

Exhaustion finally got the best of you, sending you dragging yourself back to your dorm, just wanting some serenity.

On your bed, a basket with new pyjamas, fuzzy socks, hot chocolate, and eye masks sat on top of the blanket.

“Pansy? Who are these from?” Your eyes widened, nearly crying.

“Malfoy.”

“Draco?” you whispered, sticking your head out into the common room.

Usually he was up far earlier than everyone else, reading by the fire and having a cup of tea. You were still in your pyjamas he had given you, silently searching for the generous blonde.

“Hey, it’s early?” He spoke, nearly making you jump as he appeared beside you.

“I just wanted to thank you, for these, and the rest of it.”

He smiled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead, his fingers in your hair.

“Couldn’t let you keep looking like the walking dead,” he teased, gently bumping his nose against yours as you curled up under his arm.

#Draco #Draco malfoy #Draco fluff #draco malfoy fluff #draco x reader fluff #draco malfoy x reader #Draco x reader #Harry Potter #Draco imagine #Draco blurb

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deonideatta · 1 year

Note

Twilight discovers Yor kept the grenade pin.

Ok so this is kinda late slkdsjlf but it's here!!! Im gonna write all of these prompts lol not even my degree can stop me

But yea it was a bit hard to come up with a narrative concept for this one, but I hope you enjoy it!!

------------------------

Twilight notices details. It's an important skill for a spy, and one that he’s spent years honing.

It's for that reason and that reason alone that he spends so much time studying Yor. She’s the person in closest proximity to him these days, it’s only natural that he’d make sure he knows her well enough to be able to play whatever character she would respond best to.

At first it’s really just that. Analysis, information gathering. But after a while Twilight finds himself lingering on things that have no bearing on Yor’s involvement with the mission. Like the gentle red of her eyes, or the dip of her exposed shoulders framed by that red sweater.

Or her hands, well manicured and slender. He knows what strength they hold, but you’d never be able to tell from just looking at the delicate planes of her fingers. Planes that are unexpectedly calloused and rough, an uneven topography relating a story Twilight has no idea how to read.

Sometimes he lets his eyes linger on her hands, following the shadow of a path he distantly wants to trace with his fingers.

The path sometimes focuses its route on her ring finger, empty despite their arrangement. He never got her a ring. It's oddly fitting - no rings for a couple who aren't really married. To the outsider, it could be seen as suspicious.

That's the only reason he lets himself dwell on the thought of buying Yor a ring. She'd never brought it up, but he's sure she'd be on board with the idea. For the aim of enhancing their appearance as an actual couple, of course. From a mission standpoint. Yor isn’t his real wife, there is no reason for him to find the concept of it being clear that he’s hers and she’s his appealing.

When he hears the neighbours whispering about their relationship again a few days later, he takes it as a sign to breach the topic with Yor. It'd be stupid to risk the mission over something that’s so easily fixable.

He brings it up that evening, as they sit in the living room together.

“Yor,” he starts, and Yor turns to look at him inquiringly. “How would you feel about getting rings?”

“Rings?” Yor echoes, seemingly pondering the idea. “Like wedding rings?” He nods.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she says, smiling. “But you already gave me a ring?”

It’s Twilight’s turn to look at her questioningly. Yor doesn’t answer his silent question, getting up and hurrying into her room. She returns a moment later with a small cloth bag. Reaching into it, she pulls out a small silver loop.

Twilight recognizes it instantly, a grenade pin. But why…?

“I know it isn’t actually a ring,” Yor says, holding the pin like it’s something precious. “But you proposed to me with it, so I felt it’d be a shame to just throw it out.”

Ah yes. That grenade pin. Twilight stares at her for a moment, dumbfounded. Half of him questions his reasoning for proposing with a grenade pin in the first place. The other half is oddly touched that Yor felt it was valuable enough to keep.

He fends off that half and gives Yor a gentle smile.

"I'm sorry about the circumstances of that proposal," he says wryly. "It wasn't ideal, and I should have at least gotten you a proper ring."

"There's no need to be sorry," Yor says earnestly. "It's my fault for asking you about marriage in a situation like that." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, sheepish.

"Besides, it was a very memorable moment," she says, quietly. "And it marked the start of a new chapter in our lives, even though this isn't a real marriage."

Twilight recognizes distantly that the fondness that seeps into the smile he’s giving Yor is not intentional or scripted.

“I’m touched it meant that much to you,” he says, smiling. “It was certainly an explosive night.”

Yor laughs at that, and Twilight loves the sound.

“I still think I should get you a proper ring though,” he says, and Yor loops the grenade pin onto her finger.

“Perhaps,” she says, laughter lingering in her voice. “This one is a bit big.”

----

Yor beats him to it. A few days later, she presents Twilight with a small velvet box, her eyes shining with excitement. When he opens it, there’s a simple gold ring inlaid with a few small red stones nestled in its cushioned interior. For a moment he’s at a loss for words, looking between the ring and Yor.

“Even though it’s not really a ring, you’ve already given me the pin,” Yor explains when he fails to organize anything to say after a few moments. “So I thought I’d get you something as well.”

She looks a little nervous, watching him for a reaction. Twilight knows which one he should give. Loid Forger should thank his wife, insist that she didn’t have to, and gratefully take the ring. Maybe hug her.

The small but pleased smile he gives her is not a facade.

“Thank you,” he says, and his voice is full of a warmth he didn’t choose to fill it with. “It’s a lovely ring.”

Yor’s eyes curve into happy crescents, and for a split second Twilight wishes he could freeze the moment in time.

He goes out the next day and buys Yor a matching ring, inlaid with blue stones.

----

When Mr and Mrs Forger have a renewing of vows a few years later the beaming bride wears a grenade pin carefully hung from a necklace.

---------------------------------------

The bit with Yor giving Loid the ring is inspired by this post. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

#if you sent in a request rest assured that i did see it and i will write it #term has started back up for me so im kinda busy nowadays but i will write all of them!!! will take a while tho sldfjsldf #10 fast 10 twiyor #my writing #sxf fanfic #my fics #sxf fics #sxf fic #spy x family #twiyor #twiyor fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #spyxfamily #spy x family fanfiction #2 down a bunch more to go lol

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straightupsickfics · 3 months

Note

“You’ve been shivering since we got home - are you feeling okay?” is just pure 🥺🥺🥺 i'd love to see this for ed/stede or aziraphale/crowley, if it sparks any ideas. ty 💜

maybe some domestic ineffable wives in their little cottage for this one bc ... 🥹

****

“You’ve been shivering since we got home, are you sure you’re feeling alright, angel?” Crowley asks when another set of shivers curls Aziraphale into herself.

They’d gone out for breakfast this morning, pancakes, with coffee so sweet it made Crowley’s teeth ache, and bowls of fruit Aziraphale had called gorgeous. It had been a glorious morning, all told, until they got stuck in the rain on their walk home. Crowley had dried off and warmed up as soon as they got back to the cottage, but Aziraphale had spent the better part of the afternoon pulling her cardigan tight and close around her, and adding blankets to her lap while she attempted to read on the couch.

The shivering probably had more to do with the sniffles she’d been pressing into her handkerchief since last night than the rain, though. Not to mention the restless sleep she’d gotten, tossing and turning and waking up every few hours for water and to curl herself back into Crowley’s arms.

Not that you’d ever find Crowley complaining about that, but she knows what her wife looks like when she’s sick by now.

Aziraphale tugs at the sleeve of her sweater, tugging the sleeves down so they cover her hands. “Mm? Just chilly, I think…” She trails off and lets her eyes meet Crowley’s.

Crowley lifts a single, perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“A little tired,” Aziraphale admits. She’s pale, the usual pink tinge to her cheeks missing entirely.

Crowley abandons the crochet project she’s been holding without really working on and crosses the cozy living room to join Aziraphale on the couch. She’s ignoring the book in her lap, yet another sign she’s feeling properly ill, whether or not she realizes it just yet. Crowley crowds in close, all but sitting in Aziraphale’s lap.

“Hello,” Crowley says, nuzzling a warm kiss against Aziraphale’s neck.

“Hi,” Aziraphale says, smiling.

“Angel, you’re freezing,” Crowley tells her. She takes Aziraphale’s hands in her own, pushing the soft sleeves up, and rubs some warmth into them. The angel all but melts at the soft touch.

“Not anymore,” Azirphale argues.

“That’s just because I’m warm,” Crowley informs her. “Hot, even,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows until the angel laughs.

Before either of them can say anything else, Aziraphale tenses against her and Crowley can feel as much as hear the way her breath catches before her nose wrinkles up adorably and she muffles the sudden rush of sneezes against her elbow.

“Oh dea-hihh! EIISHh’hoo! h’dtTISHh! Hh’iessshiiew!”

“Think you’re getting sick, sweetheart,” Crowley murmurs, pressing a kiss to the soft, damp tip of Aziraphale’s nose once she recovers.

“Just a few sneezes,” Aziraphale protests, but there’s no real argument in her voice. Instead, she lets her head rest against Crowly’s shoulder, sniffling quietly while Crowley strokes her hair.

She’d come around soon enough, Crowley knows, requesting her favorite sick day soup but not wanting Crowley to leave her side, same as always.

“This wasn’t one of your elaborate plans, was it? Sudden rainstorm to give us a reason to stay in bed all weekend?” Aziraphale teases without lifting her head.

“Think we’re a bit past needing a reason for that, don’t you?” Crowley asks, tapping at the angel’s chin until she looks up and leans into the kiss she knows is waiting for her.

“Just a bit,” Aziraphale agrees, sniffling another few times and rubbing at her eyes, which have gone red-rimmed and tired over the course of the afternoon.

“Wouldn’t say no to getting in bed,” Crowley offers. “Can I tempt you into an afternoon nap? Then I can do soup... That lemon tea you like...”

“You’re fussing,” Aziraphale points out. “You don’t need to fuss.”

She doesn’t seem to realize she’s already in the process of getting up, shifting the blankets off of her and onto the couch.

“Hmm, maybe, but you like it,” Crowley reminds her. She stands and offers Aziraphale a hand.

“I like it,” she agrees, taking her hand.

#WIVES #they're in love #let them have a little home and a tiny cold crowley will also have in 3-5 business days #and someday #a cat #bc i say so #anyway #my fic #softersteve #good//omens #ineffable wives

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mxmmyprentiss · 2 months

Text

i wouldn't mind (if you ruin my life)

Summary: After a party, JJ tries to convince Emily to be with her. Even if it means people will talk. | Jemily High School AU. Genre: Fluff Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau Warnings: talks about homophobia Word count: 1.2K

A/N: I found this on my WIPs. This is just a short piece and also my first time to write about Jemily so I'm kinda nervous. Hope you enjoy reading it, anyway. :)

AO3

Emily knows this is a bad idea.

JJ is the captain of the soccer team. She has a boyfriend, who Emily hasn’t bothered to learn the name yet, and although she’s friendly, she doesn’t hang out with anyone outside her clique. And Emily is quite sure she doesn’t belong in that group, which is mostly made up of the school’s varsity players and other popular kids.

After all, Emily has a hard time fitting in and prefers being alone. She enjoys staying at the chemistry lab after classes and reads in the library until it’s closing time.

Yet, here she is, leaning against the door frame, waiting for Emily to come out of the chemistry lab. JJ’s eyes follow her every move as she packs her things and removes her lab coat.

“So you’re just going to ignore me, Prentiss?” JJ sighs in annoyance, checking out her freshly manicured fingernails.

“That’s the plan, yes.” Emily replies, nonchalant, as she starts to align the beakers carefully at the shelves. Emily nearly stumbles against a shelf when she turns around and JJ is only a few inches away from her. She can easily smell the lavender scent of her hair. “What are you doing?” Emily’s hand grips the shelf.

JJ continues to inch closer. “Why are you so afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Emily huffs, quickly detaching herself from the blonde and sprints back to her seat. “You’re small.”

JJ chuckles. She would normally be offended if she didn’t find her adorable. “You’re not that tall, Prentiss.”

“Still taller than you, Jareau.” Emily quips.

“I was taller last night when you were on your knees for me.” JJ shrugs, smiling smugly.

Emily shushes her and looks around if anyone heard JJ. “Shut up, please. I thought we’re not going to talk about that anymore. It’s a one time thing. We were drinking at the party.” Emily hisses, blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Oh, come on. You only had one iced tea.”

“How did you know?”

“I’ve been watching you like you ‘ve been watching me.”

Emily huffs. “I don’t watch you.”

“Sure you don’t look away every time I look at you in class. And you’re in all of my classes.” JJ rolls her eyes.

“You wouldn’t have caught me if you weren’t looking too, you know.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

JJ slides her fingertips on Emily’s forearm and Emily could feel shivers all over her body. It shouldn’t affect her this much. She hates that it does and she can’t do anything about it.

“Why is this so bad?” JJ asks seriously. She moves closer to Emily again and this time the blonde corners her and traps her between her body and the lab table. Emily doesn’t answer, too focused on JJ’s fingers fidgeting the end of her sweater. “You told me last night that it was. I want to know why.”

“Because you have a boyfriend.”

“So? I will dump him tonight.”

Emily’s brows furrow, skeptical about the statement. “You will?”

JJ nods. “You’re much prettier, anyway.”

The heat on Emily’s face makes JJ grin.

“My mother will have a stroke if she finds out.” Emily lies. She actually doesn’t care what her mother thinks. They’re already past the caring stage and into just tolerating each other.

JJ chuckles. “I’m sure the ambassador will live.”

“The entire school will talk.”

“Let them.”

“You’re not worried?”

“Why would I be?”

“I mean, we’re both girls.” Emily lets out a nervous chuckle. “It’s not exactly the safest idea.”

“I don’t want to be safe or normal.” JJ’s hand travels to Emily’s cheek. “I want to be myself. I want to be happy. I want you. And I want everyone to know that you’re the one I choose.”

Emily blinks, processing what JJ said.

“Fuck them, honestly.” JJ adds. “And what are you scared of? The school doesn’t care about Tara and her girlfriend and everyone knows about them.”

Sure, everyone doesn’t care about that but it would be different with her and JJ. She’s the popular kid, the varsity star. Everyone likes her. She’s most teachers’ favorite. The girls want in on her clique while the boys are lining up to get one chance with her.

And, honestly, who wouldn’t want Jennifer Jareau? She is athletic and in good shape. Her grades are above average and she’s quite the public speaker that people are convinced anxiety is afraid of her. Everyone envies JJ’s long blonde hair and fair skin. She never had a bad picture taken during games. And though her inner circle may be questionable, JJ is kind, compassionate, responsible and respectful to everyone.

But most of all, JJ has a captivating and infectious smile. When she smiles, it paints a ray of sunshine all over her face and Emily just feels fortunate to have seen the sun here on earth.

And Emily doesn’t want her to lose that smile when people become indifferent about their relationship (or whatever this is).

JJ draws closer to Emily, cupping her face. She almost wants to lean into her touch. “Stop thinking so much, Prentiss.”

“It’s hard thinking for two, you know.”

JJ lets out a short laugh. “You’re a dork.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Before Emily knows it, JJ brushes her lips against hers. It’s soft, delicate and just long enough for JJ’s lipstick to linger on Emily’s lips once it was done. Emily’s heart pounds in her chest. “You’re always welcome to give that back anytime.”

“Well,” Emily swallows hard. “Don’t count on it anytime soon.”

JJ raises her eyebrow, smirking. “But you will?”

Emily shrugs, suppressing a smile by biting her lower lip. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I’ll wait.” JJ smiles widely. “See you around, Emily.”

“See you around, JJ.”

As she walks away, JJ could feel her own heart ramming against her ribcage.

Damn, Emily Prentiss.

—

The biggest soccer game of the school year ends with a majestic victory that Friday night. And during the big celebration in the field, Emily manages to get through the crowd and to a triumphant and beaming JJ. She’s proudly wearing her gold medal and holding the team’s trophy.

“You’re here!” JJ exclaims, as if her smile couldn’t get any wider and brighter.

“I’m here to return something.”

“Wha -”

Emily surprisingly pulls JJ by the neck, catching the soccer captain off guard. She nearly bruises their lips with how intense and sudden this kiss is. But for JJ, this is infinitely better than the passionate yet frightened kisses - mostly due to being caught - that they shared at the party.

JJ could feel Emily pouring all the emotions in this kiss and she’s here to take it all in, to accept what she’s allowed to give her. It feels like an explosion of the best flavors coming altogether and creating the ultimate sensation that caused her body to float in another universe.

Suddenly aware of the crowd surrounding them, Emily is just about to pull away when JJ’s free hand pulls her by the waist and draws her closer, not wanting the moment to end just yet.

She will not let anyone take Emily from her. Not these people. And most definitely not fear.

#jennifer jareau x emily prentiss #jemily #jj x emily #jemily fic #jemily fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #jaye writes

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glaciertea · 1 month

Text

Masterlist here~

Tales the Songs Weave

Notes: The floodgates are opening. Also! There are some influences/inspirations from the amazing @politemenacephd fic, A Fortunate Mistake. I'm sure that's a house name by now, but it's such a good read. 12/10. Highly recommend!

CW/TW: Mentions of drug use, grief/mourning (in a way, yeah), anxiety

Chapter 9: I'm Going to Give All My Secrets Away

Word count: 5.1K

You rocked from side to side, anticipation sweeping over your body as you swished your head back and forth, your hair following with every pivot.

“I hope he didn't get lost.”

You pulled your phone out and reread the last texts you sent to each other. You planned to meet early, enough to beat the crowds despite it being a Thursday morning.

Taking one final inspection of your clothes, you sighed out. A frilly, floral lilac romper you took from your job, a white turtleneck, and some ankle boots you dug from underneath your bed.

“Is this too much? Am I overdressed?”

“I think it looks good on you.” A voice sprung out of nowhere, but you instantly recognized it.

“Miguel! You made it!”

You bounced on the balls of your feet before taking a glance over at him. “And my, you sure do clean up nicely. Maybe I'm underdressed.”

He donned a black pullover sweater that hugged every curve of his muscles, gray chinos, fancy leather black boots, and his shades. You bit your tongue to release yourself from daydreams dipping into treacherous territories.

“I believe we are both appropriately dressed. Ready to head through?”

You enthusiastically nodded your head as you made a beeline through the pergolas with different dangling flowers, welcoming you both in.

“So this is also your first visit?” Miguel trailed a bit behind, not wanting to overtake you with his steps due to his much longer legs.

“Mhm. I've been passing here so much during my commute to the shop. I know they allow a certain part to be free to the public, but I think you have to pay once you get to this pretty gate surrounded by hedges of animals. Or so that's what I've read on the website.”

Your eyes glimmered at the many hues of Mother Nature. The sky was blue with very few clouds, and the weather was perfect for a stroll.

Miguel couldn't help but observe your eagerness, a crack of a smile breaking in. You were so exquisite. So endearing.

And it afflicted him because of what he exactly wanted to disclose. But he shook them away as the day had just begun, and he had no desire to ruin what bit of chance he had left with you.

After making it out under the pergolas, they were greeted by several stone fountains, surrounded by bushes of azaleas, roses, and a few others. Manicured hedges and trees decorate the picnic tables and benches that line the gorgeous scenery.

“This is the part that is free to enter, but beyond that archway is the rest we have to pay for. And so far, I believe this will be worth every penny.”

“I agree.”

Wiping your hands on your romper, you spied one of the splatter-painted benches. “Would you like to sit and take in the environment for a bit before jumping into the big sections?”

“That'll be a good idea.” Miguel held his arm out, signaling for you to lead the way.

You ambled towards one in the middle that presented a view that oversaw the fountains and all. Settling down, you both inhaled the refreshing atmosphere.

The only noises that rang around were the water jetting and trickling, birds whistling whimsical melodies, and your boots occasionally crunching the perfectly cut grass.

“I hope it stays like this for the day. It said Thursdays are pretty slow, unless there's a school trip or rented-out event. And luckily, on the calendar, there's nothing going on today.” You crossed your legs, swaying them leisurely.

“You certainly did your research for this.”

“Of course! I want this hanging-out date to be decently fun.”

Miguel quirked a brow at that. “Hanging out date?”

You became flustered; your mouth managed to act faster than your mind. You did latch onto the idea of this being a date, as you secretly hoped for it to be. But you didn't want him to know because you were nervous about spooking him away.

“Well, I–uh, yes! Well, more so hanging out than the date part. I mean, I know I told you Monday that it could be whatever you want it to be, so if you want it to just be hanging out between two friends… a-are we friends?”

Miguel dipped his head down at you. He never personally put a label on what precisely your relationship is with each other.

He's undeniably sure he relishes your company and the equanimity you give him. How he's able to unwind with no hassle of being hounded whenever he's close to you.

“Yes, we are friends.”

You couldn't contain your giddiness as you did a little dance. “Oh my gosh! I've been meaning to ask but didn't know how! I mean, even though we do spend a lot of time with each other, I didn't want to assume and pressure you into a domain you weren't comfortable with.”

Miguel was going to miss those jabbers. Your tender temperament.

“Thank you. And I'm glad you're happy to be friends with me, of all people.”

“Hey! Why would I not? You are a very sweet, patient, loving, and caring gentleman who always manages to put a smile on my face… How you light up the days when you laugh, the fun we have, how we're able to converse about what goes on in our thoughts. How handsome you are…”

You gazed out over the man, getting lost in his features.

Miguel's heart raced at the adjectives you used to describe him. How depressing it'll be when you learn he's the opposite of all of it.

“Right! What I'm trying to say is to stop that. Don't speak so ill about yourself. You are a terrific person, and I want you to be able to take that with stride and pride.” You hoisted yourself up, holding your palm out.

“So shall we explore what Mother Earth has in store for us?”

Miguel was entirely speechless. He's so used to mostly negative connotations that hearing any favorable terms, especially from you, threw him off heavily. But it also stroked his ego, which had bubbled up earlier.

His enormously harsh and brawny hand engulfed your dainty one, but it seemed so right. “Si, I'm very excited to know as well.”

You battled to keep your composure, as you frankly didn't foresee him taking it. It was a fight you had to win.

Fingers entwined, you make your way to the gate, where Miguel paid for both of your entry tickets, despite your attempts to use your card.

“No. Guarda tu billetera. Remember, I'm supposed to be treating you.”

You promptly gave up when he whispered in your ear. You begin to reflect on how you simply fall from grace whenever you're near him. It was too easy.

Way too easy.

The garden was bountiful. There were different varieties of plants, ranging from shrubs, flora, trees, and more. An aesthetic kingdom of creations in harmony. Trails winding into split sections as they hugged a serenely large, sparkling crystal blue lake.

“This is magical. It's like I stepped inside a fantasy novel!” You waltzed in some more before doing a twirl with your arms wide out.

A wistful smile emerged from Miguel. He adored the terrain, as he hadn't encountered anything so naturally expansive. Well, besides the vast majority of colorful spiders at the HQ. But what molded this into a more unique case was your presence. It added more to an experience he hasn't sensed in forever.

And this will be another chapter closed when the sun sinks into the horizon’s line.

“Do you wanna see the map, Miguel? It looks big in person, but this place is decently tiny.”

You slid back over to him as you held out the map in front of both of you.

“Should we make our way towards the tulip clusters and go from there?”

“That sounds like a plan. Lead the way, and I'll follow suit.”

Bowing your head, you folded the paper and placed it in your bag. Journeying ahead, you were dazzled by the profusion of flowers decorated into numerous shapes and designs, or how they were authentically grown.

You both wandered towards a pathway until you looped back to the beginning before consulting the map and then headed in an entirely new direction.

And your conversations, just as plentiful as the wildflowers, were full of liveliness.

You discussed whatever popped up in your minds, ranging from tales of your younger days to just the everyday moments in life. You did most of the speaking, and when you detected that you prattled on a bit too much, you'd start to apologize excessively.

“Hey, you're fine. I enjoy hearing what you have to say. It lets me know you're having a good time.”

“But I also want you to be able to speak your mind as well. I love to know even a sliver of what you're feeling.”

Miguel sensed his spirit and heart crack. Damaging spider webs formed, threatening to destroy the security he fictitiously fabricated.

He was conflicted, but he knew. “I want to. I will; trust me. Just not right now.”

You tipped your head at the statement. “Whenever you are comfortable, Miguel.”

You grazed his arm before swiveling your head around the flowers bordering them.

“You know, as we were walking, I had a revelation. A form of interpretation, one can say.”

“And what would that be?” Miguel shadowed your gaze.

“If we were flowers, what would we be viewed as? Everyone would have a slew of choices for one another, but what would be the most common?”

“That's an interesting concept. If you were a flower, I could see you as a sunflower or a daisy. Maybe even a tulip.”

You folded your hands, placed them on your thighs, and looked up at him.

“Would you like to know why I chose those flowers?” Miguel angled himself so the sun could project off you just right, giving your skin that glow.

“Tell me one, and the other two can be a mystery.” Your fingers wiggled in a mystical sort of manner.

Miguel released a brisk waft out of his nose as a snicker merely snuck its way out. “Eres una mujer tonta que adoro mucho. The reason I chose daisies as one is because they're known to represent new beginnings. They bring joy, hope, and cheerfulness.”

Miguel clenched his hand as he prevented himself from stroking your cheek and hair. “And you certainly do yield those qualities.”

You were dazed when he expressed that, clearly drawn back from his response.

“O-oh. Thank you; that's very kind of you.” You tried to hide your giddy smile at his conception of you.

“Now my turn!” You clasped your hands near your chest.

“Alright. What do you perceive me as?” His eyes reflected curiosity as he locked onto you.

“I think you would be a red petunia and a purple hyacinth. Oh! And lavender and marigold.”

Miguel intently gathered your choices; a hint of astonishment poked its way through.

“That's fascinating, especially with… the marigold.” Miguel creased his heavy brows.

The flower that connects life after death.

He was thankful for shades so he could conceal his honest reactions.

“Should I also explain one, or do you want it all to be a secret and leave it up to interpretation?” You teased him as you secured a few inches towards him.

“Usually I would prefer to know everything, but for now, let's leave it in the air.” A smile tugged on his face.

“Deal. Now, shall we continue?”

“Si, sigamos adelante.”

“I'm gonna assume you're agreeing with me. Onwards!” You leapt a foot off the ground and did a quick spin, managing to stick the landing smoothly.

A full-on grin ultimately stumbled on Miguel as you made your way to another part.

As the day continued, more people filled the garden. It wasn't crowded, but a good couple of people passed by every several minutes. You stooped over, leaning into a bush of peonies as Miguel stood by.

“You know what I enjoy about flowers?” You leaned in to sniff one.

“What's that? How they can smell like a permanent perfume department?”

You couldn't help but snort as you nodded your head. “And they say you aren't funny. Yes, I love the fragrance each one gives, but there's more to it.

“How much life they give. These colorful, beautiful things bring so much to us. They give food to the bees, the butterflies, and more. How they grow to show us what the world graces us with.

“How emotions can be expressed within one. Many bring joy, love, and compassion. But some can even show sadness, sorrow, or anger. But I sometimes envy them.” You brushed over a peony with your thumb.

"Why is that?" Miguel squatted next to you.

“They aren't afraid to present vulnerability.”

Miguel's brows furrowed, and his face crinkled in puzzlement. “I don't think I understand.”

“When a flower wilts, it shows it by the petals falling and the colors losing their glowing hue. It could be saying I need more water or sunlight. Or maybe they just need someone to talk to. They aren't afraid to ask. And when given that love, even if it's just a cup of water, they are able to grow back. Brighter than ever.

“They show it's okay to drop those defenses if you truly need help. There will be someone who wants to see that radiating color spring. Oh! I'm sorry for rambling. Do you want to go this way? I don't think we've been into this section.” You adjusted your romper and idly stretched.

Miguel was stunned. It still never ceases to amaze him how you comprehend existence. Even as a mundane flower, you manage to observe more. And it stung his heart more. He didn't deserve someone with a soul like yours. His was dark compared to your light.

The further you traveled into the gardens, the more he learned how warm and gentle you were. The more it frightened him when he finally revealed what he was and what he did.

You rotated back when you noticed Miguel didn't budge. You head back, crouching next to him, concerned if you offended him.

“Miguel? You okay? Did I say something that hurt you?”

He suddenly snaps back from his inner torment.

“Huh?! Oh, no, no. No hiciste nada mal. You are fine, just lost in thought. What you said was very graceful and poetic. You know, I've been meaning to tell you that you have a very beautifully passionate heart.”

You squeaked as you flailed your wrists. “No, no! Thank you, but no! Just how I personally understand the world around me. Um, differentiating opinions and views, you know?”

“And my view and opinion of you won't change.”

You plastered a dumbfounded countenance. “Thank you, Miguel.”

Miguel sucked in a gulp of air before exhaling. “I think I'm ready to share more of how I'm feeling.”

“Are you sure, Miguel? I don't want to force you into something you're not-”

“Listen. This is what I want; this is what I want–need to get off my chest. You aren't forcing me into anything–no corner, nothing like that.”

You gnawed at your bottom lip and bobbed your head. “Here, let's go sit somewhere. I think I saw a resting area near the entrance.”

You made your way back, and the atmosphere brewed a high, rising strain, mostly from Miguel. Sinking onto the garden bench, you both observed a playground across the stony tracks and hedges.

A group of school kids were sprinting and climbing on the jungle gym excitedly. A scowl nearly surfaced on Miguel. It was as if the universe was purposely mocking him.

The shouting of children and trees whooshing in the breeze caught your ears before you emitted a breath of air.

“You okay? It seems you are a bit… lost?” Your voice faint as Miguel dazed at nothing in particular. He was fraught with anxiety about how to even begin foretelling his horrid misdeeds.

“My brain is foggy. I know I have to tell you, but I don't know where to exactly start.” His left leg began to jitter, restlessly bouncing as his nerves skyrocketed.

You hovered your hand over the knee, just as you did when you first hung out together. He watched you as the limb slightly decelerated, your fingers massaging in circular motions.

“And I'm afraid that if I do tell you, everything will fall out of place.”

You joined your legs, eyeing the children gleefully darting around playing, before twirling back to Miguel, eyes affixed on him as your hand proceeded its movements.

“You don't have to, Miguel. Remember, only when you're truly ready for something to be told is, of course, okay with me.”

Miguel was marginally drawn back by your reply.

“But I said that I would tell… are you not upset?”

You shrugged your shoulders. "Why would I be? Everyone is entitled to keep a few thoughts and sentiments to themselves."

His jaw clenched. He didn't have to force himself? He could go at a pace he desired?

But now that's not the case. He had to rip the abundance of bandages with no hesitation. He couldn't hamper it; he was conscious of his decision. He just wasn't prepared to lose you.

After one inhale and a long exhaust, his mouth opened.

“As you know, I'm Spider-Man. You know my purpose is to protect you and the citizens of Nueva York.”

You made sure to only listen. Holding onto every word he gave.

“But there's more to my position as Spider-Man than just that. Are you aware of the massive building that's been erected in the middle of the city?”

You incline your head.

“Do you know what it's for?”

Ashamed, you shook your head. You passed by it a couple times, never engaging enough to digest the purpose of the structure. You presumed it was another megacorporation.

“Inside those walls and structures lie hundreds of others. An elite strike force of spider-people dedicated to protecting the multiverse.”

Your head remained slightly sloping, but your face stayed the very same.

“Do you know of the theory that there are multiple alternate universes? That there’s a surplus of variations of you, but each exists slightly or drastically different from one another?”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“Well, that theory is true. And I lead varying types of Spider-Man who capture anomalies that don't belong in those worlds. To make sure a universe doesn't collapse within itself.”

“That's why you're always so tired…” You mumbled before clamping your hand to your mouth. “I'm so sorry; that was rude of me to say.”

Miguel chuckled at that. “No no. You're right. It's not a light job. I'm usually alert. I barely stray away as I have to command and distribute tasks. Well, minus the times when I stepped away for-”

He eyeballed you for a second, biting his cheek, before diverting back to the original topic. “I'm not just Spider-Man. I'm an operation. The day I learned I wasn't the only one was mind-boggling, to say the least. But I soon recognized how disparate I was.”

“How so?” You asked meekly.

“How the story is supposed to go is that Spider-Man gets bitten by a radioactive spider. Rather it be at a lab or a flower shop, they will always be punctured by one.”

Miguel focused on the cloudy sky before gazing back at you. That steady, composed face didn't falter once.

“I, on the other hand, was infused with one. Remember that night when I bit that woman and my body was in a frenzy?”

“I do; it was our first time meeting.” You both smiled at how far ago that encounter was.

“Well, I did some samples because I had to know what caused my body to berserk the way it did. The slew of stimulants that circulated within the woman was ridiculous. But there was one that caught my attention. The one I had personal history with.”

Miguel huffed a huge blow of air. “Rapture.”

He circled his neck, anticipating the judging leer of disgust from you. Yet he was greeted with two blinks, your hand still rubbing his knee.

“Take your time.” Your voice held that sincerity.

That baffled him. Why were you not sneering? Standing up and denouncing him before turning away, abandoning him forever?

“Before I became this figure, someone I knew drugged me with it, and I became highly addicted. The reason why my immune system reacted that way was to prevent any sort of damage to me. To battle it.” He grunted.

“Rapture messes with a human's DNA, and I for certain wasn't going to let this thing forcibly destroy me. So, I began to rewrite my own DNA. Everything seemed fine until a jealous coworker sabotaged my process, and then I became… this.”

Miguel held his claws up, his eyes glossing over the monster he became. A curse with no reverse or means of escape.

“I've done so many wrongs ever since I became this thing. Wrongs that I fear will hurt more and more people.”

You squeezed his knee as your eyes searched his face. Even though the shades concealed him, you felt the pain radiating off of him.

“It wasn't your fault, Miguel. You were forced into a situation that you attempted to escape from. I'm so sorry you went through something traumatic like that.”

You chewed your tongue as Miguel let you continue. “And there will be times where you may do something unpleasant, but it's how you go about resolving them. And Miguel, you are a good person.”

You removed your hand and stroked his arm. “You are keeping thousands of universes safe and the people of Nueva York. You may make mistakes, but you strive to do the right things.”

Miguel choked back a snort. “I'm not a good person. I did heinous things. I-”

A lump caught in his throat. He had to snatch this bandage off. The one that hardly contained the gaping wound. The one that was going to fade everything. The one that will unveil the fiend he truly is.

“I got my daughter killed. I-I killed my daughter.”

He envisioned the terror and revulsion from you this time. And yet, nothing changed. An extra state of peculiarity, but still the same. You waited for him. You perceived that there was a significant amount of context behind the words he blurted.

He couldn't drop the subject. He had to press on. “There was a world where I was happy–well, a version of me. I had a family, a beautiful daughter. And that copy of myself… was killed. So I went and replaced him because I didn't want her to be alone.”

His eyes glassed as the memories faded. “I thought what I did was safe, that I was just taking care of my daughter and being there for her. Just being so happy.”

Miguel held back the tears. “Then one day, during her football match, the world just started to glitch. It began to unravel.”

Miguel dug his claws into his scalp as you mindfully detached them, preventing him from doing any damage to himself.

“Did you know it was going to do that?”

He violently shook his head. “No, no, of course not. But it's my fault! She's gone because of me. She died in my arms because of me! And this is the bear I must burden! It is an endless tribulation. The clock that will never stop ticking, dangling the fault I caused!”

The wooden bench made an ear-wrenching din as Miguel's claws restlessly grated it. You withstood it as your concerns for him rang through.

“They say time mends all wounds, but it's sometimes hard to tell when it exactly begins. Does it happen naturally? Or does it begin with you? It's a scary thought because it can be unknown to some.”

Miguel held his breath as you spun your body to him, showing you were ready to understand.

“You hold this guilt as a constant reminder, but in a way, it's unfair to you. You couldn't have known something like that would come.” You rubbed your thumb across his knuckles.

“But I did–I did cause it.”

“You didn't, and I think that's the hardest part. When something around us is out of our control and falls, one of our usual instincts is to blame. And for many, it's ourselves.

“You're locked in this cage, having to grasp a constant reminder of a traumatic experience no one, no parent, should ever go through.”

“I-I…” Miguel didn't know what to say.

“I'm so sorry you went through that pain. I'm so sorry, Miguel. You both didn't deserve that pain. I may not be able to relate, though I can sympathize. You believe you're a bad father, but you're far from it.”

“But I got my daughter killed…”

“But you didn't mean for that to happen.” Your voice was soft.

Shuffling over some now, you glided both of your thumbs on all of his knuckles.

“You are still a good father; things like that will never change. You love and care for her, and I believe your daughter loved you with all her heart.”

Your eyes refused to give up their hold on him.

“Would you like to know why I chose those flowers for you?”

Miguel nodded his head slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Purple hyacinths are gorgeous as they stand tall and proud, but they hold so much sadness to them. Red petunias are striking, vivid, and vivacious, but they also represent the anger they keep. But underneath is that marigold and lavender." Your intent never changed.

“Those flowers that show tranquility and that beauty for life. The lavender brings peace and serenity as it fills the air with its loving scent, soothing the aching mind. Marigold is that lively golden yellow that can be spotted beyond the many reds and purples.

“I know underneath you hold that marigold and lavender buried deep within, they want to blossom out. To be free and seen.”

“La muerte no es el final, sino una continuación del viaje.”

He mumbled it so lowly and swiftly that you couldn't quite catch it.

You refrained from asking. When he was ready to tell, you would be by his side.

“¿Por qué estás haciendo esto? ¿Por qué no te enojas? Ay, you are too gentle.”

Miguel rested his back on the bench as the kids’ voices reverberated between the two. Full of hope, innocence, joy, and full of amazement.

The jubilation he craved. The memories he misses.

“I don't think it's because I'm gentle; I think it's because you just want someone to listen. You are facing so many things alone that it doesn't sound like there are many in your corner.”

You directed your finger towards his glasses. “May I?”

Miguel's breath hitched as he hesitantly bowed his head.

Removing the shades, you mindfully placed them in-between your thigh and his, and you gazed into his glossy eyes.

Under the shade, they remind you of wine red, smooth and sweet. But now, you could only see the red petunias. The purple hyacinths.

“Know that I'm here for you. I don't know how the ones at your job interact with you–besides Peter, of course. It sounds like he enjoys interacting with you a bit too much.”

A puff of laughter escapes from Miguel as a small smile appears on yours. “But I'll always be right here. Even if I were to move somewhere else, I'll still be right there, Miguel.”

You began to run your thumb against his cheekbone.

“I will be here until you discover that field that's blanketed with nothing but lavender and marigolds.”

Snap.

“Thank you. I'm so… Thank you.”

“Of course.” You beamed as your stomach rudely began to rumble.

“I think my stomach is trying to eat itself. I think they have a cute cafe here, a befitting choice for this place.” You carefully placed the shades back into his claw as Miguel glazed over them.

You stood up and stretched. “Lunch will be on me! I know it's supposed to be you paying me back, but I want to treat you as well.” You followed Miguel with your eyes as he stood up to his full height.

“I can still sense there's something on your mind. Well, there are many things, but a specific one. You can tell me if you'd like.” You nudge your hand against his, making an offer to hold it if he wanted.

“I'm scared in a way. I don't want to hurt you.” Miguel instinctively pulled back a bit, as you did as well, understanding.

You both began to trek over to the main gate as your eyes fixed on the lake.

“I don't believe you'll hurt me. If something were to arise, we'd find a way through it. Unless it was something super bad, but I have a strong gut feeling that things will be okay!”

You paused in front of an archway arrayed with an assortment of flowers. “And my view and opinion of you won't change.”

Miguel didn't utter a single word. Not a single sound escaped.

You gulped, wondering if you had done anything wrong, until you felt his fingers in your hair. The hues from the floral and sun made you only shine brighter.

Miguel had taken his sunglasses back off, his eyes straining in the sunlight, but he didn't care.

“Miguel?”

He leaned down. “Gracias, mi corazón.”

Your lips were soft, and Miguel tasted something sweet as he dipped his head down even more. Your eyes widened until they were heavily closed.

Your arms clumsily tried to wrap around his neck until you got it. He moved his hands to your hips, hearts beating against each other's chests. Miguel could hear yours.

He wondered if you could hear him too.

Pulling away, you both panted heavily. You grasped his face between your palms, carefully knocking your forehead against his.

“Are we still friends?” You cheekily grinned, receiving a hefty laugh from him.

“Yes, a tiny bit more, I would believe, but yes.” He stole one last kiss before your stomach snapped at you two, growling loudly. Miguel couldn't help but laugh even harder.

You lovingly captured every crease in his face and how beautifully he fits into the scene around him. How the gold from the sun really suits his tanned skin.

“Te adoro, corazón. Now let's get something to eat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hand in hand, you two amble to the cafe with no words, as your presence near each other tells it all.

Ch.8<< >>Ch.10

Note: I won't keep plugging it in, probably like every few chapters so it doesn't get annoying haha, but if you'll like to tagged when I update for the next chapters, you can click here💞

@ella-janehaven @prozacgooble

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #tales the songs weave #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #atsv #atsv miguel #miguel fanfic #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you

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