#[ Quirk; Absolute Truth ]

[icewindandboringhorror]

I have a big google doc thing where I keep track of media and stuff (putting everything in loosely ranked categories), which is mostly just for my own reference so I know what tv shows I've already seen before, etc. and I never really look back through it, typically just a quick "okay, watched two movie in the past 8 months, need to quickly slap them somewhere in the lists. okay. done. save document. exit". But today I was actually reading through some of the old notes and there are like... MULTIPLE places where my comment is basically "It would have been good if it were about elves" or "I wish there was a fantasy show made in this same style" or "It's well made, but I just keep thinking about how I would like it more if everyone was an elf or was in old 1700s costumes" or etc like...... lol.... Most biased media ranking system on earth blatantly made by someone with an extremely hyperspecific range of narrow interests. It'd be like if a food reviewer only had 5 foods they actually liked, so they'd just go to a pizza place and be like "eh, the pizza was okay, but I just think it would be better if it was cereal instead. :/ ...2 out of 10"

[kikyoupdates]

Rivalry | Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader 

katsuki catches feelings for his new rival

Bakugou Katsuki has a crush, and he refuses to admit it. 

There’s a girl in his class who drives him absolutely insane. All throughout middle school, he’s had the top grades. His attitude, foul mouth, and appearance may fool people into believing he’s a delinquent—and to some extent, he is—but the truth is that he has a rigid, early bedtime, he does all his homework diligently, he studies at great length for tests, and he’s never missed a single day of class. 

He’s the best student there is. Or rather—he’s just the best in general. 

But this year, everything changed. 

There’s something about you that seems to catch everyone’s eye. You showed up at the beginning of the school year, a new transfer student, and from that moment onward, Katsuki swears his life got flipped upside down. 

You’re gifted. You’ve got the best grades not only in the class, but out of everyone in the whole school. Every time exam scores are posted for others to see, Katsuki is forced to grit his teeth at the sight of your name at the very top, time and time again.

It’s not just your grades, though. You’ve got a powerful Quirk, too. It’s some kind of energy control that allows you to levitate objects, enhance your physical strength, and also defend against attacks. It’s strong and versatile. Perfect for becoming a hero—which is exactly what you plan to be. 

The final nail in the coffin is that you’re also popular. 

Katsuki is used to being the center of attention wherever he goes. He’s used to being complimented for his intellect, his talent, his strength, and the sheer magnitude of his presence. Thanks to everyone praising him to high heaven, ever since he was a kid, his ego has become massively inflated. 

So, when he realizes that people are paying more attention to you than they are to him, he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to handle it. 

Katsuki finds himself glaring at you just about constantly. You’ve always got a group of students gathered around you. You’re always smiling and laughing, looking carefree as can be. You’re also the only person in the whole class who doesn’t treat Izuku like dirt—which just pisses him off even more. 

One day, you stop in front of his desk with a bright smile. 

“Here you go, Bakugou,” you say, handing him a cookie. “This is for you.” 

Katsuki looks up at you in disbelief. “Why would I ever want this shit?” 

“I dunno. It was my birthday recently, so I baked cookies to hand out to the class. Don’t you want one? I thought everyone likes cookies.” 

“I would rather die than eat that,” he snarls, and he angrily shoves the cookie back into your hands. 

He’s dramatic as all hell, of course, and that kind of vicious remark would have been more than enough to make anyone feel self-conscious. It was needlessly harsh. He obviously didn’t mean it. Given the option of eating your cookie or dying, he would definitely eat the cookie. 

Not that it really matters, though.

You’re completely unfazed. 

“Damn, I didn’t know you were deathly afraid of cookies,” you muse. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time. What about cupcakes? Are cupcakes safe for you to eat?” 

Katsuki’s entire face turns red. “That’s obviously not what I meant, asshole!” 

“I know,” you giggle, and for some reason, the sound makes Katsuki’s heart skip a beat. “Sorry for teasing. You’re really funny, Bakugou. I like you.” 

He parts his lips to respond, but he’s incapable of forming any words. It feels like whatever he was about to say just died in the back of his throat. All of a sudden, he’s frozen in place, brain running haywire. 

“I like you.” 

You’re making fun of him. You have to be. And why should he even care whether you actually like him or not? He doesn’t give a shit about you. He can’t stand you. You’re the bane of his goddamn existence. 

…fuck. 

That’s what he keeps telling himself, but given how red his face is, it’s sounding harder and harder to believe. 

“I’ll make something else next time,” you beam. “I’m sure one day, I’ll figure out something you like. I’ve noticed you eat spicy food a lot. Maybe I should try making a curry. Ah, but if it’s good, you have to be honest with me, okay? You’re not allowed to lie.” 

Katsuki’s heart does another flip. It’s so stupid. He can’t believe his mind even bothered to read into it, but…

The fact that you know what kind of food he likes means you’ve at least been paying some attention to him, right? 

“I’m going to beat you,” Katsuki blurts. His voice wavers slightly, and he grinds his teeth together in embarrassment, but still, he persists. “On the next round of exams… I’m going to place first. Just you watch.”

Normally, Katsuki can’t stand to lose. He can’t stand the feeling of inferiority. The idea that someone else might be better than him.

And yet, despite his frustration, despite how much he claims you drive him up the wall, he actually doesn’t mind the challenge. It’s exciting. It makes him respect you that much more. 

“We’ll see about that,” you grin—and he’s convinced you have to be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

No doubt about it. 

Something about you just gets his heart racing.

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[capslocked]

PROXIMITY

male reader x chou tzuyu

25k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And her collarbone is out too. Ouch.

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

The problem is, you’ve recognized her immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

* Avoid unnecessary physical contact

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

* Do not offer opinions/advice unless specifically asked

* Minimize speaking, just to be safe

* Do not exchange gifts, especially personal ones

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

* Adjust and reframe

* Reinforce

* Remind yourself

* To just fucking think about literally anything else

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh yeah, for the ambience."

"For the ambience," she nods.

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe in, slow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

The fire pops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm. Sure."

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

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

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

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

"Did I get it?"

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

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

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

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

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

"There," you say, smiling, naive.

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

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

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

But everything starts to sink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, christ-

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

You breathe, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds like a you problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Swallow," you tell her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu lets herself go slack against your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

And that is - a vision.

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

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

"A shirt?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right."

"Your favorite past-time."

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

The power goes out early in the morning.

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu opens the sliding glass door to the balcony.

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

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

"Maybe."

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

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

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

"Want to look for it?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meaning?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

"My cocksleeve, my good girl, shit-"

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

"Is that what my girl wants? 

She smiles, again, so prettily.

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

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

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

Her hips come up off the granite, desperately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“You have no business thinking about babies.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

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

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

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

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

"My benefit, really?"

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

"Not making this easier, babe."

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

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

Tzuyu nods.

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

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

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

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

"Then you get your turn," you offer.

"Deal," she nods.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," is all you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

-

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

"Yes?" you prompt.

"Is it working?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No comment."

"So shy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put your hands on her hips.

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

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

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

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

-

The days bleed together after the snow.

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

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

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

"I have my limits, princess."

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

It's what makes her heart beat. )

-

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

You continue combing.

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

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

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

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

"If you don't take that back-"

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

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

Tzuyu shudders slightly under your touch.

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

"Sir, don't pretend."

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

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

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

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

"Too bad."

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

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

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

This doesn't have to end, no?

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

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

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

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

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

"Crazy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her legs snap to you quick.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you ask:

"What now, doll?"

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

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

"Was the screaming really that necessary."

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

"I," is the immediate reply.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were right. "This is hell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mnph.” Tzu chokes down a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, fuck, fuck- need to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You're not a bad person. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

She's at the doorway.

“Us. Being here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gloomy," you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And our usual antics?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

A girl like her, kissing so eager for you-

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

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

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

“How is that fair?”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mapis-putellas]

𝑫𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔

Pairing: Alexia putellas x reader

Words: 2264

Warnings: alcohol

Summary: You’re drunk, and therefore very curious as to whether or not Alexia would still love you if you were a worm.

[prompt list]

"Amor? I have ordered dinner. Is there-" Alexia cuts herself off mid sentence as she pauses in the threshold of the living room, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You were standing just by the front door tucking your keys into the small purse you had hooked over your shoulder, dressed in a way that suggests it was evident you were heading out and not ready for the movie night Alexia had been planning.

"Where are you going?" She asks, lips slipping into a small frown.

You look up at the sound of her voice, your lips quirking up into a small smile as you walk over to her. "Out with Mapi, remember? I told you when you got home." You reach to take the hands she'd folded against her chest.

Alexia frowns, momentarily thinking back to when she'd gotten home a little over an hour ago before adamantly shaking her head. "No, you didn't." She insists.

"Baby, I did. I promise," you laugh softly, knowing just how scatterbrained she sometimes got after a long day of training and media duties. "Mapi and I have had this planned for a few weeks. Drinks and dinner. You were invited too but you said no." You attempt to jog her memory.

Alexia desperately wracks her mind in hopes to remember said conversation she can't remember taking place, but inevitably she comes up empty.

"You don't remember, do you?" You tease softy, letting go of one of her hands and playfully poking her nose, Alexia batting away your hand away with a quiet huff.

"No." She grumbles, her lips forming a pout that you were quick to kiss away. Her arms circle your shoulders, your own looping around her waist and squeezing softly in return.

"How long will you be?" She murmurs, the tips of her fingers trailing through the ends of your hair.

You purse your lips for a second in thought. "I'm not sure babe," you shrug. "A few hours? Maybe more?"

With Mapi in charge of drinks, it was highly likely you'll be out till at least midnight. When you say that girl could drink, you mean it with everything in you.

Alexia nods with a soft exhale. "Vale. I will save you dinner. Just in case." She murmurs, both looking and sounding a little disappointed over the fact you wouldn't be staying in with her.

Truth be told, you were too, though probably not as much.

Of course you absolutely adored Alexia, and given the chance you would spend every single night and day with her for the rest of your life. But Mapi was your best friend. Your best friend who you hadn't hung out with in months and had already rejected numerous invitations from before agreeing to this one a few weeks ago, so it would be extremely unfair to cancel on her now, and plus, you had been looking forward to it.

"You can come with us, you know." You say as you play idly with the waistband of her sweats, not wanting her to feel left out.

Alexia scrunches up her nose before shaking her head, the very answer you'd expected. She never liked to drink during the season, and when forced out with her team for celebrations, she would always stick to water. No matter how much Mapi tries and convinces her otherwise.

"No, amor. It is okay. I will stay here. Watch a game, maybe." She murmurs as she cups your cheeks, trailing her thumbs over the soft skin just briefly before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Are you sure?" You ask as she pulls away, tilting your head to the side.

Alexia smiles. "Sí. I am sure. I will see you later, vale? Be safe."

You lean up on your tiptoes and peck her lips before pulling away and making your way over to the front door. "I will. Promise. I love you." You smile.

"Te amo, bebé."

Alexia watches you go before collapsing onto the couch with a quiet sigh. She felt pathetic for missing you already, having every intention prior to spending the night with you curled up on this very couch.

It was just one night, she reminds herself. Get over it.

*

It was way past midnight when Alexia finally hears the front door open and close, the muffled voices of you and Mapi filling her ears as she pulls out her headphones and sets both them and her phone onto her nightstand.

"Amor?" Alexia calls as she slides out of bed, crossing her bare arms against her chest as she makes her way out of the room. She finds you both still in the entryway of your shared apartment, talking loudly between yourselves as you lean on one another to futilely attempt to kick off your shoes. Neither one of you were particularly successful.

"Amor?" She tries again.

Your head whips round at the sound of her voice, eyes lighting up as you stumble over to her and all but throw your arms around her shoulders. Alexia catches you with no more than a soft grunt as your chest collides none too gently with her own, her arms instinctively looping around your waist.

"Hi baby, I missed you!" You slur, lips upturned into a crooked grin as you stare up at her. Alexia can't help but smile back as she loosely tucks a damp strand of hair out of your face.

"I missed you too bebé. Did you have fun?" She questions, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from you. Her eyes seem to instinctively flicker over to Mapi as you ramble animatedly about your night, the Spaniard still struggling to kick off her shoes as she stumbles and lets out quiet curses beneath her breath.

"-so much fun!" You finish off your drunk ramble as your head flops dramatically against her chest, Alexia humming response as she leans forward and brushes her lips against your forehead in a gentle kiss.

"Oh!" You cry suddenly as you whip your head up from her chest, Alexia's eyes widening in surprise as she stares down at you. You let out a quiet hiccup as you pat her face softly, Alexia grimacing subtly at the clamminess of your fingers.

"Mapi is sleeping here." You tell her 'sternly'.

Alexia's eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Mapi has her own house, no?"

"Yes but-" you hiccup. "But we want a sleepover, and Ingrid isn't home."

Alexia goes to speak again, but was promptly cut off by Mapi who now successfully had her shoes off and was stumbling to her feet.

"Sleepover!" She suddenly yells, Alexia visibly startling at the sound is she glances between the two of you unsurely.

"Sleepover!" You mimic, yanking yourself out of Alexia's hold. The blonde tries not to pout at the loss as she instinctively crosses her arms against her chest.

"Sleepover?" She repeats unsurely.

"Mhhh," you nod, sounding determined. "I am sleeping in bed with Mapi." 

"Qué?" Alexia frowns. You were choosing to sleep in bed with Mapi as opposed to her?

"Me and-" another hiccup. "Me and Mapi are going to have a sleepover, together."

Alexia's eyebrows furrow. "Why?"

"Because she'll be lonely by herself." You say, sounding genuinely annoyed that she didn't already know the answer to your question. It makes Alexia pause unsurely before she dares to speak again.

"But then I will be lonely." She futilely attempts to convince.

"It is-" you hiccup. "okay." You attempt to reassure though Alexia didn't find much comfort in your words.

She knows it wasn't rational to argue with you when you were the drunk. You were stubborn. So much so it was sometimes concerning. But Alexia had been by herself all night. She'd missed you, more so than she was willing to admit out loud and she couldn't quite find it in her to admit defeat just yet. 

"Please?" She finds herself pleading, sounding so unlike herself it makes her feel sick.

You hesitate, looking visibly unsure on what your next move should be. It was like deep down you knew something was wrong, but you were way too intoxicated to really figure it out.

Eventually, it appears as though your drunkenness wins out anyway, Alexia letting out a quiet exhale as she watches you tighten your grasp around Mapi's hand. "It's just for one night." You slur, sounding more convinced than Alexia feels.

She nods anyway, no longer willing to try and convince you otherwise when it was clear you had already made up your mind. Both you and Mapi soon disappear down the hall and into the guest room, the door slamming behind you a little harder than Alexia deems necessary. Swallowing yet another wince, she heads towards the front door and makes quick work of locking up for the night.

A night alone it was.

*

Alexia has no idea what time it is when the bedroom door of your shared room slowly creaks open, the hallway light shining in and illuminating the left side of the large bed she'd been left to sleep in alone. She sits up on her elbow, lips quirking up into a hopeful smile when she see's you tentatively peek your head through the gap the partially open door had created.

"Ale?" You murmur, not quite sounding fully sober but definitely not as intoxicated as you once had been.

"I'm here." Alexia assures quietly.

You step properly into the room before quietly closing the door behind you. "Mapi snores," you grumble as you stumble over to her and climb into bed, Alexia immediately bombarded by your body collapsing down onto her own forcing her head back onto its pillow. She loosely secures her arms around your waist as you continue talking.

"And she kicks." You nestle your head into her chest, your exhale of content seeping through the material of her shirt and hitting her skin. "You're much more comfortable."

Alexia raises an eyebrow. "I am?" She murmurs into the top of your head, her hand slipping beneath your shirt and resting on the bare skin of your back.

"Mhhh," You murmur, heavy lids fluttering closed. "It's sleepy time now."

"Okay." Alexia accepts with ease. You were still in the shirt you'd gone out in, and it was clear you hadn't brushed your teeth either, but she figures convincing you to get properly ready for bed now would only be pointless considering it appears as though you were only moments away from falling asleep. With the knowledge she had no choice other than to deal with it, she presses one last kiss to the top of your head before allowing her own eyes to close.

"Alexia?" Your quiet voice fills the room just as Alexia was on the brink of sleep.

"Mhh?"

"I love you."

Alexia smiles as she absentmindedly begins trailing the palm of her hand over the length of your back. "I love you too, bebé." She murmurs.

A few moments pass.

“Alexia?"

The blonde just about manages to refrain from groaning. "Sí, mi amor?"

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?" You ask with genuine curiosity.

Alexia's eyes whip open as she lifts her head off of her pillow. "Qué?"

You lift your head up off of her chest. It was too dark to see your face fully, but she could just about make out the outline of your features.

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?" You ask again, your voice becoming more insistent.

Alexia groans quietly as she drops her head back onto her pillow. "What does that even mean?" She grumbles, lifting one of her hands to rub at her eye.

"It means," you scoot up her body slightly as you clumsily cup her cheeks. Her lips pucker at the action, and she can't help but smile when you lean in and press a somewhat uncoordinated kiss to them. "If I was a worm, would you still love me?" You repeat yourself for the third time as you pull away.

"Amor, I-"

"Would you?"

"I don't-"

You sit up suddenly, legs straddling her hips as you cross your arms over your chest. "You wouldn't, would you?"

Alexia is baffled at the sudden anger in your voice. She forces herself to sit up too, arms winding around your waist effectively holding your chest flush against her own. "I never said that." She defends herself as she presses her lips against your cheek.

"But you didn't not say that either." You grumble, the pout audible in your words.

Alexia sighs heavily as she glances at the clock. Three thirty in the morning was not the time to be having this conversation.

"Amor, I would love you no matter what." She explains, hoping to end this conversation here so she could finally get some sleep.

Your arms uncross as you lean properly against her and rest your head on her shoulder. "Even if I was  worm?" You ask quietly.

Alexia nods as she cups the back of your head and grazes the pad of her thumb over your scalp, smiling at the deep sigh of content that falls from your lips. "Sí. Even if you were a worm." She placates, and you hum in satisfaction as you clutch tightly to the back of her grey tank top.

"I would love you if you were a worm too." You murmur sleepily, and Alexia huffs out a breath of amusement as she settles back against her pillow. 

"I am glad, amor."

"Alexia?"

Alexia groans. "Bebé, it's late. Go to sleep."

"But I'm hungry!" You complain loudly.

Alexia sighs. Of course you were.

**

Tags:

@girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @marysfics @helen-with-an-a @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @goldenempyrean

[6esiree]

Getting Dared to Call Them Daddy Pt. 2

Summary: You get dared to call Vox and Adam daddy.

Warnings: Swearing, slightly NSFW, angst, canon death. Beware of Adam’s part. Idk how I wrote all that out of a game of truth of dare, but I did and I don’t feel like rewriting it </3. Anywho, MINORS DO NOT READ!!!

Vox:

You had a life outside of the Hazbin Hotel, working at the entertainment district in Pentagram City. The casino you were employed by wasn’t exclusive, per se, but it might as well have been as it was a hot spot for overlords and other high-profile individuals. That’s how you became acquainted with the Vees, even though your shifts didn’t coincide with their visits half of the time. Tonight was an exception, however, and Velvette was in a particularly good mood.

Well, it actually took a few cocktails to get her there, but you weren’t complaining. She took a seat at the bar and mindlessly scrolled on her phone, only opening up when the alcohol settled in—nothing unusual. You were mentally prepared to have her talk your ear off about shit you couldn’t care less about, but she proceeded to surprise you by asking if you’d like to play a game.

Truth or Dare, Velvette suggested, leaving you wondering if you’d heard her correctly. It was easy to forget that everyone in this damned afterlife was normal to some extent, even an overlord like her. When she quirked a brow at you, motioning ‘Well?’ with her hand, you shrugged and said yes, never anticipating that she’d take the game further than most people did.

Velvette asked you to go first, so you did, glad that she settled for truth. You sucked at this game, and the last thing you wanted to do was frustrate her as you pondered endlessly over a dare. Anyway, as you whipped up an old-fashioned cocktail for a patron, you hummed, asking her to tell you something interesting about Vox. The man was a mystery to you, only ever uttering pleasentries instead of engaging in an actual conversation with you.

Velvette sipped at her drink, rubbing her chin in contemplation before shrugging and ultimately telling you that he wasn’t who he appeared to be on the surface. Vox was charismatic, yeah, but he was also weak. Blinking, you slid the cocktail to the patron, taking your money and shooing them away. Everyone knew that Vox valued his image, Velvette continued, and that he’d do anything to preserve the persona he had meticulously crafted since he manifested in Hell, but there were some things that were simply out of his control.

“What? Look, I’m not trying to call you a liar, but that’s kinda hard to believe,” You responded honestly, “What do you mean, ‘Out of his control’?”

“Trust me, he’s absolutely pathetic,” Velvette said, leaning over the counter to whisper to you, “Regarding the rest, you can find out yourself—that’s if you aren’t a pussycat, of course.”

You peered down at Velvette, knowing damn well that if you chose truth, she’d never let you live it down. Her fingers tapped expectantly against the counter, waiting for your response as you bided your time by cleaning the dirty glasses you had neglected earlier. Truthfully, you were afraid of what she’d make you do, but you eventually sighed and muttered dare.

“I knew you had it in you!” Velvette praised you before adding the next part. “Go and call him daddy, I dare you. You’ll see how he’ll crumble like that,” She snapped her fingers, “When a babe like you calls him daddy.”

You dropped your head and carded your hand through your hair, immediately regretting your decision. How the Hell would you get around to calling one of the most influential and powerful overlords daddy, exactly? As you raised your head to look at Velvette, you hoped that she had your back if he reacted poorly.

“What if he—“ You started, but then you were interrupted by one of your coworkers.

Velvette sat back down, annoyed, but also too drunk to complain. Anyway, they asked you to whip up some cocktails for the other two Vees, practically begging you to deliver it to them, too. When you quirked a brow at them, asking them why you should do their job as a waiter, they started to ramble on about how they had accidentally pissed off Valentino. Ah, fuck. Not like you’d say no anyway, especially considering what Velvette dared you to do.

Instead of giving them a verbal response, you waved your hand in dismissal, letting your coworker know that you had them covered. They thanked you profusely before scurrying off to tend to another table nearby, leaving you scowling as you got to work. Velvette watched you work your magic, assuring you that everything would be ‘Fiiineee,’ giggling when you rolled your eyes.

“Look, if I’m wrong—which I’m not—I got you covered,” Velvette added, watching you step out from your post behind the bar, drinks in hand. “Oh, wow! I’ve never seen the other half of you,” She gasped, but you ignored her.

You were so fucked—that’s the only thought that circulated your mind as you leisurely made your way to the VIP section. The bouncer at the entrance, a friend of yours, regarded you with curiosity when you stopped in front of him. ‘What’re you doing here?’ He inquired as he stepped aside to allow you access into the area, but you told him that you’d tell him later, feeling slightly anxious upon spotting Vox and Valentino.

The two overlords were lounging around on opposite ends of their booth, Valentino characteristically flocked by attractive sinners as pink smoke wafted around them, while Vox sat entirely alone, an annoyed look on his face as one claw tapped incessantly at the empty glass in his hand. As you approached them, you made sure to straighten your back and put on a friendly face.

“Hey! Uh, I got a Sazerac and a Lemon Drop here—whose is what?” You announced, holding out the drinks as you tried not to dissolve under everyone’s stares.

“Ah, I didn’t know you waited!” Valentino tilted his head, practically undressing you with his eyes, “The Lemon Drop es mío, cariño.”

Typical Valentino, but you couldn’t be bothered to feel uncomfortable by him. Unfortunately, you got used to his advances, the only one who could instill some semblance of uneasiness within you being Vox. He interacted with you the least out of the Vees, after all, but you never bothered wondering why until now.

“Apparently someone pissed you off?” You said, huffing as he enveloped your hand in his while handing him his cocktail.

“Don’t even remind me,” Valentino scoffed theatrically, “This establishment is full of idiotas—aside from you, of course. Say, you should wait for us from now on.”

Goosebumps littered your skin as you turned around to hand Vox his drink, realizing that he had been watching you the entire time, his eyes unashamedly following your every move. He didn’t shy away when you met his stare, either, which made you doubt Velvette’s words even more. Fucking Hell, why did you agree to play such a stupid game?

“Well, you’d have to talk to my boss about that, you know,” You continued the conversation, trying to quell the anxiety in your stomach. “The last thing anyone wants to do is pay someone two salaries.”

“Oh, cariño, I can easily arrange that,” Valentino chuckled, taking a sip from his cocktail, “Mm, yeah. I’ll definitely be talking to your boss tonight.”

And that was the end of your conversation with the moth, especially as his attention was stolen by one of the sinner’s next to him. Now that you had to face Vox, you never wanted to cease to exist more than ever. In fact, you hoped the next extermination would take you if things went wrong as you handed the man his Sazerac, his signature smile consuming most of his screen as he accepted it.

“Is everything alright with you?” Vox asked as his claws brushed against your knuckles, savoring the way you jumped at his touch, “You seem nervous, sweetheart.”

Your face flushed in embarrassment, watching how he took a sip from his drink. You would have recovered quickly if he hadn’t thrown a pet name at you, the way he uttered sweetheart with that voice of his making you feel slightly pathetic. But you had to get over yourself, especially because you could feel Velvette watching you from afar, waiting for you to do something.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine!” You said, shaking your head with a smile. “What about you?”

Vox blinked, confused. It was now or never, you guessed, taking a seat on his thigh and draping your legs over him. His body tensed underneath you, never anticipating that you’d do something so bold, but he didn’t push you off.

“Uh, why wouldn’t I be alright?” Vox asked after a few seconds had passed by.

When he didn’t protest to you being on his lap, you placed your hand on his chest, but it was mostly just to steady yourself. However, you couldn’t help but notice how solid he felt under your palm.

“I don’t know—you look sort of pissed off, I guess?” You said, feeling how he tried to steady the rise and fall of his chest, the act fruitless as his heart rate gave him away. “Velvette’s at the bar, Val is…being Val, and you? Well,” You gestured to the free space around him, “Do I even have to say anything?”

Vox rolled his eyes, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he slithered one of his arms around your waist, holding you against him as he leaned forward to place his drink on the table in the center of the booth. A gasp escaped your throat—you couldn’t remember the last time someone held you against them like this. He was making it challenging to maintain your composure, especially as his hold remained on you as he sunk back into his seat.

“Look, I’m usually here outside of my own volition, alright?” Vox finally said, his free hand moving along with his mouth.

You hummed, making sure that he heard you. His response was total bullshit, you thought. There was nobody paying enough attention to him to ensure that he stayed.

“How? You can come and go as you please.” You said, speaking without thinking, “Everyone is too busy doing their own thing to even care that you’re still here.”

Vox’s eyes widened as you said that, and for a moment, you feared that you had overstepped. You were never so openly blunt, not even with Velvette, and you got along with her quite decently. On the other hand, this was your first real interaction with the man, so you dearly hoped you hadn’t upset him.

“I—shit—I’m sorry,” You quickly said, “I didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just—“

“Oh, sweetheart, if I’m upset, it’s only because you’re correct,” Vox interrupted you, his eyes relaxing as he gazed at you. “Now, it’s my turn to give you a hard pill to swallow—how can you apologize for being so blunt when you sat on my lap without my permission?”

You paled at his question.

“Hey, I asked you something first,” You quickly countered, which made Vox chuckle.

“You know, I’m starting to believe that we’re both here for the same reason,” Vox said, his free hand settling on your knee. “What do you think?”

If you had understood what Vox was implying, he was here for you. He tagged along with Velvette and Valentino to admire you from afar, and that baffled you, especially as he always appeared so confident, so eager to get what he wanted. Maybe that’s what Velvette meant when she told you that Vox wasn’t who he appeared to be on the surface, however, you still had yet to figure out how that made him weak.

Anyway, while Vox was correct, it was only to a certain extent. You had never thought about the man in any other way besides superficially, only sticking around him because of what Velvette dared you to do; but now that Vox had you in his embrace, his claws flexing against your hipbone, you decided that he was starting to grow on you.

“Hm, I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of admitting that you’re right,” You replied slyly, leaning in so you were chest to chest with him.

Vox stared at you with a large, toothy grin, pleased by your words. As you peered down at him, all you could think about was how perfect of an opportunity this was to turn the tables on him.

“But you’re correct…daddy,” You whispered, reaching up to trail your finger across his screen.

As soon as you called him daddy, you felt Vox’s screen warm up under your touch—so that’s what made him weak, you thought as you observed the way his face fell at such a simple word. Truthfully, it was satisfying to witness such a powerful man dissolve underneath you, but the feeling was short-lived. You blinked, noticing the way Vox sat insanely still. You snapped your fingers in front of him to see if he would respond, but he didn’t. Ah, fuck.

“Uh, Vox?” You said, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hi? Hey? Helloooo? Vox!”

Again, he didn’t respond. But you only started to grow concerned when the rest of his body began to warm up. Vox had a TV for a head, so maybe you had caused him to overheat? Your suspicions were confirmed when his screen suddenly turned blue, the phrase, ‘A problem has been detected and Vox has been shut down to prevent damage to his systems,’ on his screen, ‘The problem seems to be caused by the following file: Daddy.exe.’ Nothing could have prepared you for the way his length poked your leg, though.

And to make matters worse, the power went out. Great. Fucking great. Vox was hard and also temporarily out of order. At least Velvette was having fun, you thought as she howled in the background, somehow drowning out everyone else as they complained. You sighed, realizing that you couldn’t just get up off of his lap, not when you were shielding whatever dignity he had left.

So, you swiped the hat off of his head and fanned him to cool him down, even though your efforts were hardly making a difference. Meanwhile, you could hear your boss yelling in the background, ‘What the fuck happened to the power!?’ spotting her using the flashlight from the other end of the casino.

“The fuck is going on?” Valentino asked, standing up as he illuminated the area around you with his phone. “Vox, what the fuck? What’s wrong with you?”

“One moment he was normal,” You said, still trying to cool him down, “And the next he blue screened.”

Valentino took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke over his shoulder before leaning down to look at Vox. You’d heard through the grapevine that his vision was shit, and it was apparent in the way he took his time reading one simple sentence with narrowed eyes.

“The…problem…seems…to be…caused…by the…following…file…Daddy.exe,” Valentino slowly read aloud. 

You tried not to shrink under his gaze as he turned his attention to you.

“Well?” Valentino asked, quirking a brow at you as the power suddenly returned. 

“I didn’t know he’d…do all that when I called him daddy,” You muttered, hoping you hadn’t pissed off the moth. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done it—I swear.”

Instead, Valentino tossed his head back, a hand on his chest as he laughed. “I can’t be mad at una cosita linda like you,” He said, petting your head.

Thank God, you mentally sighed.

Suddenly, you heard a ‘zzt!’ your head snapping to Vox. As his body jolted upwards and his face replaced the blue screen, you stilled your ministrations. Blinking, he looked at you with an undecipherable expression, seemingly recalling what happened. You quickly put his hat back on his head, opening your mouth to apologize; but then Velvette ran up to the booth, showing all of you how she got everything on video.

If you weren’t fucked before, you certainly were now, the way Vox turned to you and grabbed your jaw after she left communicating that. “As soon as your shift is over, you’re leaving with me,” He said, leaving no room for you to refuse. “Understood, sweetheart?” You nodded your head obediently, unaware of how he was going to destroy your insides later that night, forcing you to chant the word daddy as he did so.

Adam:

Ah, Adam. The first man alive. You had the displeasure of meeting him your first Extermination Day, and God, was he full of himself. It was satisfying dodging and escaping him, hearing how he cried out in disappointment when you sought refuge in the darkest crevices of Hell’s infrastructure. “Yeah, run away you fucking coward!” You heard his voice bounce off the brick walls, your hand over your mouth as you stifled your laughter. What a loser.

You continued to fuck around with Adam, though, taking advantage of his reckless fighting style. He hated how slinky you were, the way you effortlessly slipped away from his grasp when he thought he finally had you frustrating him. By the third extermination, you started to tease him, relishing in his poorly disguised groans—a meager ‘Fuck you’—as you brushed against him or touched his wings.

Adam could have killed you a long time ago, the first time you escaped his clutches being sheer luck; but he kept searching for you, locating you with ease despite the fact that you never lingered in one specific area. You were well aware of this, so when you, Angel Dust, and Cherri Bomb were drunkenly playing Truth or Dare the night before the Exorcists attacked the Hazbin Hotel, you let them in on your history with Adam.

Big mistake on your part, especially as Angel took advantage of this information to dare you to do something insanely stupid. “Dare ya to call him daddy,” he slurred, Cherri smacking her chest as she choked on her beer. “Are you trying to get them killed?” She asked between coughs. Your friendship with her was relatively new, but she liked you too much to see you go so quickly.

“Let’s see if you’ll remember tomorrow,” You rolled your eyes, but Angel was adamant that he would. “Hey, maybe we might be able to take him down if ya distract him.”

Angel didn’t forget, and for the first time since you arrived in Hell, you were afraid of what might happen. You couldn’t care less about the dare—the people you grew to love and care for were being directly targeted, and you didn’t want to lose them. If anything, the idea of calling Adam daddy only served to spur you on, even if it would ensure your death. 

You stood alongside everybody else as the Exorcists poured into Hell from above, visibly gratified by the sight of so many sinners in one place. When Adam and Lute finally came into view, you made sure to wave at them with a smile. Lute was completely unaware of your past interactions, the scowl on her face a testament of that. Adam, on the other hand, looked oddly horrified. 

You would only face him after Alastor’s shield was broken, having slain several Exorcists by then, the evidence plain all over your clothes. Adam was strangely unfazed by this, however, seemingly too busy being pissed off by your presence when he found you behind the hotel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Adam said as he spun you around, his grip on you piercing.

You heard the moment Adam landed near you, but you gave him the satisfaction of believing he had caught you unaware. Huffing, you shook his hand off of you, pushing him back with your foot. That pissed him off. It was easy dodging his attacks, though—too easy, you realized. You quirked a brow at him as the two of you practically danced around each other, creating the illusion that you were fighting.

“Fucking hello? Are you deaf?” Adam asked, swinging at you but completely missing.

“You might as well fight with the air,” You said, but then he knocked your spear out of your grip. No big deal, your hands would do. “Seriously, what do they teach you up in Heaven?”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Adam said, lunging towards you in frustration. “Come over here, bitch—gotcha! Fucking finally!”

Never anticipating that he would pull such a stunt, Adam managed to tackle you to the ground. Fuck, he was heavy, but you’d find a way to escape his grasp. This is what you thought until he pinned your arms above your head, placing his legs on either side of you and caging your body underneath him. For the first time since he met you, you looked at him with fear. You were stuck.

“Shit, as hot as this is, it’s time for you to die, babe,” Adam said, but you knew he didn’t mean it—the second part, precisely.

“Why now?” You panted, your heart beating violently against your ribcage.

“What? What are you talking about?” Adam asked, his eyes widening as you bent your fingers to touch his hand, which were holding your wrists together. “Hey—what are you doing? Fucking stop that—“

“You could have killed me a long time ago, you know,” You interrupted him, forcing your body to relax in his grip in an attempt to appear genuine. 

Adam had a big mouth—everybody knew that. He would curse at every opportunity, the words, ‘Fuck,’ ‘Shit,’ and ‘Bitch,’ consisting of most of his vocabulary. But as he looked down at you, completely at his mercy, he had nothing to say. Not even a meager insult.

“I—“ Adam said, but that was all he had to offer.

You closed your eyes and exhaled, opening them after a few seconds. Angel’s dare echoed in the back of your mind, and you knew that you could weaponize it, but you needed to wear Adam down a bit more, his body too tense for your liking.

“Before I die, can I at least…see how you look like?” You asked, hoping it would work.

“You’re already looking at me right now, what?” Adam shook his head.

Of course he misunderstood you. 

“Behind the mask, I mean,” You specified, trying hard to be patient. 

“Oh.”

“Please?”

Adam looked over his shoulder, clearly hesitant. The fact that he was considering your request was a good sign, however, excitement blooming in your chest. After a minute or so, he turned back to you, sighing in defeat.

“I, uh—fuck, fine!” Adam stuttered, readjusting his grip on your wrists so he could remove his mask with one hand. “Don’t move, or I’ll, uh, kill you! Yeah.”

You nodded obediently, secretly curious as to how he looked like. As he held your wrists together with one hand now, Adam looked over his shoulder again, making sure that nobody was paying attention to you two. When he was satisfied, he tentatively reached up to grab his mask, his stare never leaving you.

You couldn’t help but notice how Adam’s fingers trembled. He looked so vulnerable, and that made your stomach feel a bit funny. You wanted to call him pathetic, but the way he slowly revealed himself to you squashed that urge. As much as he sucked, he was still a person, you realized, especially when his mask landed next to your head.

Your eyes darted across his face, taking in each and every one of his features. If anybody asked you to guess what Adam, the first man alive, looked like, you would have replied with ethereal. But as you took in the sight before you, he was…average, with pale skin, hazel eyes, ash brown hair, and stubble decorating his chin. Still, he somehow managed to mesmerize you.

“Are you done, uh, looking?” Adam stammered, turning away from you.

He was growing self-conscious under your gaze, and that made you feel…bad? Oh no, why did you feel bad? You noticed the funny feeling in your stomach was only growing stronger, making you nauseous. You had no idea what it was, but if you remained underneath Adam for a second longer, you feared that you’d discover what it was.

But before you could shut down whatever this was, you had to indulge yourself first, being the sinner you were. You also justified it by convincing yourself that he hadn’t been worn down enough yet.

“Kiss me,” You said.

“What?” Adam blinked, completely caught off guard.

“I said kiss me—are you deaf?” You said, throwing back his insult from earlier.

“Now why the fuck would I—I don’t want to—that’s crazy—“ Adam struggled to form a coherent sentence, nervously laughing in between his words.

“Kiss me, daddy.”

His grip on your wrists immediately loosened, shocked. You had him right where you wanted him, retracting your arms from above your head with a practiced speed, seizing his collar and bringing him in for a kiss. Adam gasped against your lips, but that was the only form of protest he gave you. Before you knew it, he had one hand buried in your hair, the other on the small of your back with the sole purpose of joining your bodies.

It was supposed to be a quick kiss, but you allowed it to progress, enjoying the feeling of Adam’s hands desperately clawing at you. Meanwhile, all he could think about was how he couldn’t kill you anymore. He was addicted to the way your lips wetly smacked against one another, your hands glued to his face and his face only.

Your body was starting to heat up, and so was Adam’s, you realized. “Fuck,” You whimpered, feeling his length poking at your thigh. When he took the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, his hand cupping the space between your thighs, your mind instantly went ‘Nope.’ You were in the middle of a battle, for fuck’s sake.

“Adam, we need to—“ You said, separating from the kiss, but he just dived right back in.

You grabbed his face, forcefully pulling him away from you. Adam peered down at you with rosy cheeks and bruised lips, his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to catch his breath. He looked absolutely blissed out, even as his hand remained in between your thighs, your head falling back with a moan as he started to massage you through your pants.

“Stop!” You cried, grabbing his wrist and squeezing him harder than you should have.

“Ow—what the fuck!” Adam whined, retracting his arm. 

When he looked at you like a kicked puppy, you rolled your eyes and sat up. 

“We are not going to fuck in the middle of…this! It’s not right,” You said, trying to snap him back to reality. “Look around you, Adam!” You gestured wildly, regret immediately replacing the arousal you previously felt.

“Fuck, I’m so selfish. What if my friends are dead? And I could have saved them if I weren’t so busy—“ You stopped rambling when you noticed the expression on Adam’s face.

He looked everything but apologetic, and God, did that piss you off. You quickly collected your spear from the ground and moved behind him, holding the weapon against his neck.

“Woah! Hey, babe! You don’t gotta do all that!” Adam panicked, his hands landing over yours, albeit putting no effort in pulling the spear away from his neck. “I’m sorry—you’re right—this is wrong and you—“

“Get up,” You demanded, kicking at his feet when he didn’t listen. “I said get up!”

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it!” Adam said, but he had to stop halfway into his ascent.

The man was taller than you, so there was no way he could stand up at his full height without risking getting choked. 

“Hey, genius, I can’t get up without your fucking spear—“ He started, but then he felt the weapon abandon his throat.

“Get the fuck out of here,” You said, grabbing his arm and spinning him around.

“What?” Adam asked, his brows furrowed as he processed your question. “No, I’m not gonna leave. Do you have any fucking idea what just happened?”

You turned away from Adam, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You really hated yourself for what you were about to do, but it was the only way to get him to understand.

“So? Who cares,” You said.

“The fuck? I do, you stupid—ah, sorry, I’m not good at this kinda stuff,” Adam shook his head, frustrated. “But I…care, about you and whatever just happened.”

“I was only trying to save myself,” You said, but Adam wasn’t having any of it.

“Well, shit, you have a funny way of doing it,” Adam said, rounding you as he gauged your reaction. “Do you make googly eyes at every fucker who’s about to kill you, huh? Let them kiss you and touch you the way I just did?”

Screams pierced the sky, a reminder of everyone fighting right around the corner. You didn’t have the time to argue, especially as you thought about your friends, who were out there risking their lives while you were fucking around with Adam.

“I don’t want you, Adam. Okay? Get it through your fucking skull,” You lied through your teeth, seizing his collar and forcing him to look at you. “Look at what you and your dumbass army are doing! You’re slaughtering innocent souls that are fighting for a chance at redemption.” 

Adam stuttered, a look of disbelief upon his face. While it pained you to see him that way, your words were exactly what he needed to hear. If you allowed anything else to happen between you two, you’d never be able to forgive yourself.

“But what right do you have when you’re here in Hell—“ Adam tried to counter, but you didn’t let him finish his sentence. 

“I’m sorry, but you spared me out of your own goddamn selfishness, mercilessly killing other sinners because they weren’t me. I’m not special, and honestly, neither are you!” You continued, trying not to acquiesce as you heard his breath hitch in his throat. “You’re the Adam—so fucking what? I could never be with you, and you should’ve known that when all of your wives have left you.”

You bit your cheek as you pushed Adam away, trying not to apologize as his heart shattered into a million pieces before you. He could have killed you, but he didn’t, instead opting to watch you as you turned your back on him—just like everybody else he had ever loved. Little did you know that that would be the last time you saw Adam alive. “Did ya do it?” Angel joked as you observed his lifeless body, his face falling when you didn’t laugh. “Cause ya didn’t have to, but if ya did, uh, good job?” You eventually offered him a half-hearted nod. Hell had won, and Extermination Day had been cancelled, but you felt hollow as everyone brought you in for a celebratory hug.

[simpee9000]

Not Just Friends - 8 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Words 2.6k

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

"It's been two weeks," you pointed out, telling yourself and him.

"That doesn't mean you have to be okay already," Katsuki huffed at you, crossing his arms as he leaned against the makeup table in front of you.

You were going on for the interview that you promised that night. Truth quirk and all. They were prepping you right now for it, covering the dark circles under your eyes as they made sure to add highlights.

"I go back to work tomorrow, I want everything to be dealt with before hand," you dismissed. You wanted your plate clean so you could throw yourself fully back into work, you were itching to use the equipment. "Besides, Aizawa is here. He'll make sure to turn off the truth quirk if needed."

He grumbled, watching you intently as you got up, makeup finished and TV ready. "I don't like this." He didn't want you to go back to step one, even if you claimed to be fine.

"I know," you patted his arm, he's been trying to convince you not to. But his PR manager advise you to do it, knowing if you switched up that the public would think the worst.

An assistant knocked on the door, peeking through when you told them it was okay. "You're on in five," and with that, they left.

You swallowed nervously. "It's not to late," Katsuki offered.

"I said I'd do it, so I will," you looked yourself over in the mirror one last time, brushing your clothes smooth before you walked to the door. Katsuki following behind as you waited behind the curtain, ready for your cue. You made eye contact with Aizawa who was on the other side, next to the interviewer with a truth quirk. You gave a small wave and gained a nod back.

"Remember that you can dodge the question, it's not considered lying," Katsuki informed you for the millionth time, going down his prep list, "I studied them, they make you say the truth but not blurt it, so you have time to form your words."

"And now we have Dynamight's girlfriend," the talk show host called your name, greeting you on stage. "She'll be giving us all the details of her juicy relationship with our number two hero! All under a truth quirk." You walked onto the stage, giving Katsuki a nervous smile before turning to wave at the crowd.

It wasn't your first interview but it was the first major one. A huge live audience that filled the room. You shook hands with Gossip, the hostess nickname for the public. Shaking hands with the truth quirk interviewer as well before sitting down. Aizawa stayed off stage, ready to cancel things if needed.

"Nell, here," Gossip called attention to the truth quirk, "Known as 'Spills' will activate her quirk and ask questions about her secret relationship with Dynamight." Nell waved at her introduction, smiling brightly. "We've opened questions to the audience as well, so let's get started," Gossip grabbed a stack of cards from her desk, nodding to Nell to start.

You crossed your legs, hands clasped in your lap as you waited for the effect.

Gossip handed Nell the cards to read out. "You were the one on the phone with Dynamight two weeks ago, correct?"

"Yes, called me while I was making dinner," you laughed trying to add anything you could to the questions because you wanted good press.

"How long have you been dating?"

"Three years," you answered easily, feeling the small buzz of the truth quirk in your mind, "Since second year of high school, even though I liked him way before that." Well, you haven't meant to say that, the truth quirk making the small bit of information slip out.

Gossip grinned at what you were saying. "And you've never liked Deku? No romantic feelings there?"

"He's like my younger brother, absolutely no feelings there," you confirmed.

"You don't even find him attractive?"

"I do, just not like that. I only have eyes for Katsuki really," you didn't even know why you were anxious at this point. Part of you was worried it'd make you slip up, say something in the wrong way and make it seem like you wanted him.

"How cute!" Gossip gushed to the crowd. "Well now that we have that settled, lets get to the nitty gritty." You paled at that.

Opening your mouth the protest before Nell interrupted you, "What about Dynamight annoys you the most?"

You rolled your eyes, "He leaves his socks everywhere. Literally only his socks, everything else he is a neat freak about."

"Anything else?" they pushed for something more.

"He literally argues with himself while getting ready, calling his teeth stupid for getting dirty," you ranted, glad you had no real issue with him.

Nell and Gossip shared a look, unsure of where to go. "What do you love most about him?" the decided to switch from negatives to positives, trying to feed his fan base.

"Oh," you paused, mind swirling with too many truths, "He remembers all the small things," you settled on, talking fondly, "He bought an extra chair for his office because he knew I hated the ones he had. He might not talk a lot but he does so much."

The crowd swooned at how fondly you talked of him.

"Why are you with him?"

"Cause I love him?" you questioned back confused, paleing when you realized you haven't directly said it yet. You've been together for three years and knew you loved each other, it was just hardly, if ever, spoken.

"How about we open questions to the fans?" Gossip turned from you and pointed at someone who raised their hand.

"What's Dynamight's biggest weakness?" the crowd called out, Nell immediately asking you the question.

You froze, Aizawa was being distracted and couldn't save you. You faintly heard Katsuki's loud foot steps coming up, trying to save you.

"He loves his back being popped," you answered, truthfully, the interviews losing the spark in their eye as you didn't give good enough gossip. "Seriously, he loves it. Practically melts afterwards."

Katsuki stood next to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to stand. "This shit is done."

"Dynamight," Nell called out as Katsuki dragged you away. The truth quirk likely making him stop. "Do you seriously love her?" She spit those words out in a manner that reminded you of the break in.

"Yeah, so fuck off," he barked over his shoulder, pulling you off stage.

---

In just the drive home, your phone was blowing up entirely. You were trending on Twitter, Tiktok, and any social media already. All they needed was an hour. You scrolled through TikTok as you curled in on the couch, swiping from one video of you to another video of you. People were gushing over your relationship, loving how he protected you and how you talked about him.

It turned the fan girls more on your side, having gotten a glimpse of your life with him. They concluded that you were one of them. You even saw videos of how you cheered him on during the first-year sports festival. They took any social media post with the two of you and over-analyzed it. Talking about how you looked at each other.

"Still looking at that shit?" Katsuki called from the kitchen. Currently packing up the leftovers of dinner.

"It's cute," you defended, "They found a photo of us during graduation," you lifted your phone over the couch for him to look, hearing him shuffle over to look.

It was a photo of you two hugging after the ceremony, probably seconds after he asked you to move in with you. "This is horrible for my image," he complained as he saw the caption, "Makes me look fuckin' soft."

You rolled your eyes, looking up at him from where he leaned over the couch, "You are soft."

He scoffed, "Sure."

Humming, you got up from the couch, moving to head to your room, wanting to grab a book from a box. You hardly unpacked, your room still empty as you've been spending the past few nights in Katsuki's room.

"Hey Kats," you called from your doorway, seeing more boxes in your room than before. Probably and entire third of boxes that you didn't put there, you were at work all day, busy with meetings while Katsuki got home early.

"What?" he asked when he met you in your doorway, looking over your room.

You stepped in, glancing into an open box and seeing Katsuki's stuff filling it. "What's all this?"

"Figured with you sleepin' in my room all the time we might as well share," he crossed his arms as he shrugged, leaning into the doorframe.

"Really?" you looked up at him, taking your eyes of the open box, lighting up inside as you looked at him.

"Why not?"

You've been waiting for this since he first asked you to move, but you knew that if you freaked out he would back out. You bit back a huge smile, joy seeping through your expression regardless. "Want to set things up then?" you offered, answering his unasked question of it was okay.

He didn't give an answer before he moved in the room fully, grabbing a box of his clothes and going into the walk in closet. You stepped out of your room, seeing how his old room was empty minus a bed. Smiling, you moved back into your room, grabbing another box of his clothes and placing it beside him before grabbing your own clothes and finally unpacking. You took two of the walls of the closet, him taking the last wall, having less clothes.

Cycling through each box until they were all unpacked, your room looking like a mixture of the two of you. His comforter but your sheets on the bed, pillows stacked the way you loved and his limited edition All Might alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. The dresser being spilt for the two of you with small touches of each of you adding to the room. Giving it personality.

It made you giddy, to see everything done up as a combined. You let a bright smile grace your features as you changed for bed, Katsuki showering in the connected bathroom while you slid under the covers. You grabbed a book from your nightstand and flipped to the bookmark.

Reading through the rest of the chapter before Katsuki came out of the bathroom, ruffling his hair under a towel as he walked in. Hanging the towel up and shaking his head like a wet dog to fluff it back up. He stayed shirtless, how he's been sleeping the past few nights, and only wore his boxers.

You eyed him over your book, watching his arms flex with any simple motion he made. Eyeing him as he walked to his side of the bed, slipping under the covers fully before wrapping his arms around your waist.

The motion was surprising, filling your stomach with butterflies as you accepted his hug. You were propped up on pillows, making it easier to read with the posture, his arm slipped easily under you, his other going under your book. He squeezed light, wearily of the wound that was still present on your left side.

"Your shower is so much better than the one in the hall," he grumbled, digging his face into your shoulder. His shampoo scenting the air as you leaned your head onto his.

"Our shower," you couldn't help but correct him.

"Do we want the old room to be your office? The other mine?" he questioned.

You closed your book, setting it on the nightstand as you held onto his arm. "Maybe one can be a guest room? Your mom called and said she wants to visit," you suggested.

"That hag been callin' you often?"

You slapped his arm for how he addressed his mom, "She's worried."

"Hm," he dismissed, "I don't care."

"The interview wasn't that bad," you changed topics, "Just made me say softer versions of the truth."

He took his head off you, moving to sit up so he could look at you, "They asked you about my weakness? Do you know how bad that coulda been?"

"But it wasn't, I did what I said and nothing bad happened," you matched his glare.

He rolled his eyes, falling back onto you.

"I surprised how cuddly you are," you said, not to tease but point out.

"Fuck off," he scoffed, moving to flip away from you. You hooked your arms over his shoulders, trying to pull him back but just got flipped back over with him, letting out a squeal of surprised. Situated right on his lap, close to his face. His hands held your thighs as you straddled him unintentionally. "'m not cuddly," he pinched your thigh.

"Sure," you teased now, "That's why you've been all over me."

"I can finally touch you, think I'm not going to take advantage of it?"

You pulled back, sitting up right on his lap as you looked down at him. Brows furrowed, "Is your watch always on?"

He shrugged, "Not always, but most of the time, 'round you."

Your stomach dropped, you moved to grab his hand and saw that it was on. Turning his quirk off. "You can't use it that often," you told him, worried.

"I turn it off before I sleep," he brushed off, moving his hand away from yours.

"When was the last time it was off around me?"

"When I was asleep last night," he answered easily.

"Katsuki," you frowned, "That's not good for you, you need to turn it off." You reached for his hand again.

He snatched it out of your hand, "The fuck's your problem?"

"I don't want every time you touch me you need that stupid watch on," you complained. It made you feel disconnected from him, like he had to hide his true self.

"It's not on all the fuckin' time," he argued.

"Then you should have no problem turning it off right now," you challenged. His face was all scrunched in distaste as he looked at you.

"I don't have shit to prove."

"You're using it as a crutch," you dug, "I shoulda never built it for you."

"So you would of prefered staying how it was? Don't want me to touch you?" he argued, getting frustrated that you were upset. Defaulting into anger.

"I'd prefer you," you clarified, "The actual you that doesn't need to suppress his fucking quirk."

"I don't need anything," he hissed, "I was doing it to make you fuckin' happy but now you're all bitchy about nothing."

You widdened your eyes, pushing yourself off his lap finally and moving to your side of the bed. "You'll kill yourself," you commented, "Not having access to your quirk is deadly."

"No I won't," he huffed, not moving from where he laided.

"You're right, cause you can turn it off," you decided, "I'm not going to touch you until I know it's off."

He sat up right, "Really?" he looked down at you.

"Yep," you popped the 'p', "I only made the watch for work training, not sex training like how you're using it."

"That's ridiculous," he tried to reason.

"Well, I'm going to be 'bitchy' about something that'll kill you," you crossed your arms, standing your ground.

He shifted, "So we're going back to square one? That what you fuckin' want?"

"Sure," your chest felt tight, hating how frustrated he was. But your side made sense. "I want you alive."

"I'm not going to die."

"Yep, cause I'm not encouraging you to turn it off anymore."

"Can't kiss you or anything then," he tried to threaten, failing to change your mind.

"Okay," you shrugged. Internally mourning the loss of it already.

"Seriously?" he was in disbelief.

"Goodnight Katsuki," you turned onto your side, making him unable to look at you anymore.

When he huffed and turned away you were worried he'd leave. Go back on sharing a room. Truly test how far you were willing to go.

But all he did was adjust onto his side of the bed, angrily turning his lamp off, darkness coating the room.

At least you had that, but who knows how long you would. You clutched at your chest as you sunk in on yourself. It would suck to go back to how it was two months ago. Not being able to kiss him, or hug him freely.

You've gotten so far and had to throw it away. But it was necessary. The nitroglycerin made his heart run slowly, he needed to have his quirk flowing or you didn't know what would happen. You weren't trying to risk it so you could feel him up.

---

-Next Part-

In them m.list of this fic comment if you want to be added into a tag list <3

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[moonstruckme]

absolutely begging for a part 2 of the sirius angst blurb with reader being more distant during sex and sirius notices. obviously take your time and take care of yourself!! mwah mwah mwah. thank you for EVEN reading this request.

Thank you for requesting my love!

cw: smut mdni, p in v, miscommunication trope

part 1

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You think you’ve been doing a fairly decent job of staying out of your own head. You’re keeping intentionally focussed on Sirius’ body and the things it does to you. His tattooed biceps flexing, hands clutching your hips to guide your movements, pretty, perfect mouth forming your name. 

He says it again, getting your attention. Reluctantly, you meet his eyes. Sirius grins wickedly.

“Someone’s quiet today. You with me, gorgeous?” 

“Mhm.” You lay a hand over his chest and lean forward to drive him deeper inside you. 

He curses at the new fit, and you grin in a way you hope looks normal, clenching your walls around him. 

“Fuck,” Sirius hisses. “That’s my girl.” 

It’s like someone’s thrown a bucket of water on the heat in your core. Your stomach drops embarrassingly, because you’re not his girl. He’d made the restrictions of your arrangement very clear when he’d spoken to Remus last week. Why would Sirius call you that when you both know it’s not true? 

“Hey.” The boy beneath you catches on to your shift in mood quicker than you would have expected. He looks up at you bemusedly, his grip on your hips turning from possessive to conscientious. “You okay? Wanna stop?” 

You shake your head before you can think. “No, let’s keep going.” 

You try to find your rhythm again, but Sirius doesn’t match you. Dark brows descend over stormcloud eyes. 

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not into, dollface.” 

“You’re not,” you huff. 

He looks at you for a second, gaze unabashedly scrutinizing. “You’re upset,” he deduces. 

You laugh, incredulous. “I am not.” 

But Sirius has made his decision. His grasp on your hips strengthens again as he lifts you enough to pull out, slipping from underneath you and sitting up by your pillows. You purse your lips but put your underwear—a thong you hope he doesn’t think was for his benefit—back on when he does, taking the shirt he tosses you and tugging it over your head. 

Sirius sprawls out on his side, propping his chin on a hand. “Why the pout, hm?” 

“I’m not pouting.” 

He grins. “Yeah, you are.” 

And fine, you are, but not because of him. Because you’re still pissed at yourself for being hurt. For thinking, foolishly, that you would be fine with having Sirius over when he’d texted you that he was in the mood despite still nursing your wound from just a week before. Mortified at yourself for ever having cared, and worse for caring still. 

Sirius’ eyes soften as if he’s seen something in your expression. His grip is gentle beneath the teasing as he tugs you down by your arm, encouraging you to lay beside him. 

“Wanna tell me why?” he asks.

You do, actually. It makes frustration prickle over your skin to think about how much you’d love to tell him about this. You’d fallen into the habit, stupidly, of spilling your guts to Sirius about most things. He was already one of your closest friends, but with this new level of intimacy between you…you’d lost sight of boundaries that had existed for a reason. 

The last thing either of you need is for you to burden him with your emotions about this. 

“I’m not pouting,” you say again, obstinately. 

Sirius frowns. His hand crosses the short distance to your hip, one finger running absentmindedly over the hem of his shirt you’ve thrown on. 

“Something’s upset you,” he muses. “Is it me?” 

“No,” you say. 

Something flickers in Sirius’ eyes. “Liar.” 

Your lips part to argue, but it’s no use. He looks too certain. “How do you do that?” 

His lips quirk, but there’s not much humor in his expression. “It’s a gift. Gonna tell me how I fucked up, pretty girl?” 

You shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

It’s the truth this time, and Sirius can see it. His brow creases in puzzlement. 

“M’sure I did at some point,” he says softly. His fingers push the cotton of his t-shirt up your side, toying with your underwear. “You’re just too nice to blame me for it.” 

His knuckle brushes your hip as he runs his finger along the thin, silken fabric of your thong, and you don’t stop your eyes from going to the motion. You whisper, “Why do you touch me like this?” 

For a moment, Sirius’ expression shutters. “I thought this was what we did.” His voice is quiet, not quite question and not quite answer. “Do you not want me to touch you?” 

You do, too much. But for different reasons. Not just because you’re friends with this extra element to your relationship. You want him to touch you with something more. You want to touch him back in the same way, uninhibited. 

“It’s fine,” you say. 

“No, hey.” Sirius slips his finger from your thong. The fabric snaps back into place without much bite. “Don’t say that.” 

“What do you want me to say?” 

He looks hurt you would ask. “Say what you’re thinking.” 

You blow out a breath, rolling onto your back. You don’t want to look at him, but you can still feel his gaze on you, searching and worried. 

“It’s my fault,” you say, “okay? It’s really nothing to do with you, I just…got a bit caught up in all this and started feeling things I know we agreed not to.” You sneak a glance at him, eyes shooting back to the ceiling when they accidentally meet his. “I couldn’t help it, but I’m trying to get past it.” 

You hear Sirius’ hand whisper against the sheets as it inches towards you. It stops partway. “That’s alright,” he says, a gentleness you can’t bear in his voice. “Why would you think that’s something you had to hide from me? It’s bound to happen with these things.” 

You smile wryly. “Oh, because you’re so irresistible?” 

“I mean, for one thing.” You can feel the tingling of his grin directed at you, but it fades as he sobers. “But also just because it’s natural, you know? I think we were both a bit too sure of ourselves when we started doing this. It’s not so easy to separate out as we thought.” 

You turn your head to look at him. “You don’t seem to have any trouble.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows rise. “Why would you think that?” 

“Because…” You gesture flippantly with a hand. “Because of what you said to Remus last week. We’re just friends, no?” 

Sirius stills for a moment, and then the breath goes out of him in a single, long exhale. He lets his chin drop from his hand, resting his head on a curled arm. “You were privy to that conversation, were you?” 

You shrug. “James’ bathroom door isn’t as soundproofed as we thought.” 

He chuckles. “Guess we should have been more quiet.” 

You smile halfheartedly, and Sirius’ humor fades. He looks at you carefully. If you didn’t know him better, you’d think he was attempting the odd and unconventional practice of thinking before he speaks. 

“I’m not sure I said anything to Moony about what I was thinking,” he says after a minute. “I spoke about the terms of our arrangement, but I sort of avoided…putting my own feelings in the mix.” 

You’re not so careful with your words. After a week of stewing, you don’t have the patience. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Sirius laughs through his nose like he can sense your agitation. “Just that I was more so making presumptions about how you felt than volunteering information on my own situation.” His hand creeps closer, making shushing noises against the sheets, until his fingertips are teasing your own. It sends zaps of energy all the way up your arm to the tips of your toes. You curl your legs in closer to you. “I didn’t want to embarrass myself,” Sirius says. “I was some pining twit who’d started having sex with a friend and then couldn’t keep my own feelings under control. What kind of idiot does that?” 

You feel your lips twitch. Sirius’ grin slashes across his face. “Yeah, I don’t know anyone that daft,” you say. 

His laugh is low and belly-deep. “Can I hug you, please?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, feigning reluctance despite the commotion in your stomach that’s getting harder to ignore. 

You start to sit up, but Sirius rolls right on top of you, pressing you into the bed and needling his arms underneath your shoulders. He smushes his cheek to yours. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, dollface,” he says, words breezing over your ear. “I could have saved us both a lot of time if I’d manned up and spoken to you about it.” 

You cross your wrists over his back and bring your knees up so they’re squeezing his sides. Sirius makes a ridiculously pleased humming sound. “It’s okay. I wasn’t planning on talking to you either.” 

He laughs, turning his face into yours so the sound vibrates against your temple. “One of us is going to have to pick up some emotional intelligence, else we’ll need James to referee our every interaction.” 

You squeeze him tight, happiness like a bubble close to bursting in your chest. “I dunno,” you say, and Sirius is clearly chuffed at the audible smile in your voice. He stamps a firm kiss of approval to your hairline. “I think we’ve done alright.” 

Contentment oozes from his tone, too. “Yeah, I suppose so.” 

[lightseoul]

hi! please could you do number 7 with the mc having a ghost-related quirk??

decided to quickly write this one just in time for halloween! i hope y'all enjoy this little piece amidst the boop war we all find ourselves in right now lol. thank you for playing n have a nice day <3

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

7. "THE GHOSTS WOULD DISAGREE WITH YOU." (1.3k)

“you’re a fucking weirdo, you know that?”

you don’t even look up from the churro you’re munching on, opting to ignore the ash-blonde sitting right next to your left.

“what,” he continues, and if you didn’t know any better, he’s starting to sound a little annoyed. “you’re not even gonna defend yourself?”

what you’re not about to do is tell him you’ve heard that taunt over and over again growing up, lest you end up seeming pitiful, which you aren’t.

so you merely shrug. “i don’t see the point. i know it’s not true.”

at that, you finally glance at the man, who’s looking nothing short of speechless under the dim light of the lounge that’s decked out with ‘spooky’ embellishments.

cute is the first thing that comes to mind.

he just fucking insulted you is the next.

still, you can’t help the smile that takes over your features. “you’re the weird one, anyway. why would you say that to your date?”

bakugou promptly breaks eye contact, choosing to stare at the human skeleton that’s conveniently parked at the corner of the room. you follow his line of vision, and you have to stop yourself from snorting at the sight.

the people manning this haunted house-themed attraction sure took budget decorating to the next level.

beside you, the pro-hero huffs. “i’m only saying that because this is your idea of a good first date,” he gestures vaguely to your surroundings, an incredulous expression on his face as he tosses you a pointed look. “a horror escape room? really?”

“what?” you say, trying to sound the slightest bit defensive for the sake of it. “it gives us plenty of excuses to get closer.”

whatever bakugou expected you to say in response, it surely wasn’t that.

the man only splutters, quickly diverting his gaze and plopping back against his seat with his muscled arms folded across his broad chest like a petulant child.

he then mutters something that you wouldn’t have caught for the life of you if it weren’t for the thing.

you grin.

“you wanted me to latch onto you for safety? you could’ve just said so.”

almost instantaneously, bakugou whips to stare at you, an absolutely horrified expression etched all over his face.

“what the fuck?”

you flash him the most innocent look you can muster. “what?”

he’s now glaring at you, but there’s no missing the redness that has crept up the high planes of his cheeks. he opens his mouth as if to say something but hesitates. he tries again, gaze fixated on you for a couple more seconds until he shakes his head in disbelief.

“…there’s no fucking way.”

you shrug again, but bakugou only stares at you, eyes squinting in suspicion. “unless…”

and, in a blink of an eye you almost could’ve missed it if you weren’t staring at him yourself, you see profound realization dawn on his features.

you gulp despite yourself.

“you have a fucking quirk?”

the truth must have been written all over your exterior, because the man leans back in slow motion like the way one would when faced with a relatively shocking revelation.

you rub at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling too self-conscious. this was the part that always made you feel uncomfortable, no matter what the context.

but especially during a first date.

“i never said i was quirkless…”

“yeah, no shit,” he retorts, not missing a single bit. “what is it, superior hearing or something?”

you shake your head slowly, “no, but it does make me privy to things that i don’t perceive with my own senses.”

bakugou’s eyebrows furrow in what you think is confusion. “what else?”

“uh—” you pause, eyes drifting down to your fiddling fingers, “—i can also levitate, be invisible, and permeate through things.”

when he doesn’t say anything for a moment, you finally chance a glance at the man, and he’s looking honest-to-god gagged.

pro-hero dynamight is fucking gagged and it’s because of you.

before he can get a word in, though, you quickly follow it up with: “but they make me so nauseous that i can barely pull them off. they’re useless, really.”

when you’re met with nothing but silence, you continue.

“i know,” you chuckle, although it comes out awkward and stilted. “it’s weird. you’re right, after all. i was just messing with you.”

more silence.

not knowing what else to do or say, you take a huge bite of your pastry, although you’re far from hungry, stomach now churning in embarrassment.

you’re in the middle of chewing the remnants of your last bite when bakugou finally speaks up.

now, you’ve heard about how the #9 pro-hero, despite his aggression and temper and generally unpleasant personality, is exceptionally intelligent, perceptive, and intuitive, but you never really thought much about it.

not even when you found out a few hours earlier that the blind date your friends set you up with was your distant superior dynamight himself.

and while you always had a thing for capable men, you didn’t want to fall early and hard lest you hurt yourself in the process. so you merely pushed back against the prejudices and expectations you had of him, and decided to just observe the person who was actually in front of you for the rest of your date.

but when he says the next thing, everything you’ve heard about him suddenly makes sense.

“…so it’s a ghost quirk.”

you don’t even get the opportunity to choke on your churro or gape at him because bakugou shakes his head so fervently, before: “that’s such a fucking waste.”

“e-excuse me?”

at your query, he locks eyes with you. “you have a strong-ass quirk, yet you’re working in admin for us. you could be doing more.”

a thousand questions fight to escape your lips, but what manages to emerge victorious is: “how’d you know i’m working admin for ground riot?”

bakugou scowls at you, but again, there’s that scarlet on his cheeks. he doesn’t answer your question, though, instead going for: “that’s your fucking takeaway?”

you shrug, not knowing what else to say. “i know my quirk is strong. but i was always made to feel like i was weird and creepy for it growing up—and until now, actually, which is why i don’t really talk about it—so i just learned not to use it.”

“well, most of it,” you add, and bakugou cocks his head to the side in question.

you take a shaky inhale.

“…ghosts still choose to talk to me.”

“that how you pick up on things beyond your five senses?”

you try not to gawk at him and at how fast he put two and two together. “…yeah.”

neither of you says anything for a few moments before bakugou finally shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders back.

as he does so, he pipes up with: “well, i guess they’re not always accurate, though.”

you frown. although you rarely use your quirk, you still pride yourself in your capacity. “what do you mean?”

at that, bakugou turns to regard you, an unidentifiable expression on his face. “i did not want you to latch onto me.”

this time, you really can’t help it. you snort, and that grants you a glower from the pro-hero. you take it in stride, though, waving him off.

“sure, big guy.”

“don’t—” he sits up, “fucking—i’m serious—”

“yeah, but the ghosts—” he throws you a punch, which you dodge, “would disagree—” you dodge another, “ with you—” he barely misses you, “—though,” you finally finish.

and really, you don’t even need your trusty ghosts to know that—the blush that’s taken over the entirety of his face is all the proof you need.

[desperate-gay]

LEAH WILLIAMSON SMUT WHERE YOURE DATING ANOTHER FAMOUS MALE FOOTBALLER BUT HES CHEATING ON YOU SO YOU CHEAT WITH HER AND YOU SEND HIM THE TAPE. Is that too much😳😳😳

Sharing Is Caring

Leah Williamson x fem!reader

SMUT 18+

summary: maybe your boyfriend cheated on you and flaunted it all over social media, but you get back at him in the best way with the help of your best friend

Mason Mount spotted kissing new girl down the streets of Manchester

Once Leah saw the photos surfacing on every social media app, she immediately began to text you. Asking if you were okay or needed anything, but you didn’t respond. You still haven’t and it’s already been a day which worries Leah, so she immediately goes to the store, grabs all of your favorite snacks and beverages, and races down to your apartment.

You scoop another spoonful of brownie ice cream and shove it in your mouth, not caring about the coldness on your sensitive teeth, too busy sulking and spacing out at the trashy reality show playing on the TV. Soon you hear someone crash in from the front door, making you turn your head swiftly.

A flustered Leah stands by the doorway with a basket full of items you can’t see from where you’re sitting. You send her a weak smile and turn your attention back to the television. Footsteps begin approaching you and the couch sinks downwards next to you.

“I saw the photos, how are you holding up?” Her tone stays soft but cautious, testing the waters to see how your emotions are at the moment.

All you do is shrug in response while stirring your spoon around in your ice cream, placing your gaze anywhere else but the blonde’s pitiful look. Leah just nods in understanding before sitting back on the sofa, allowing you to talk whenever you’re comfortable.

“I’m not even that brokenhearted about it. Mason’s been pulling away for a while so it was only time until he found someone new” You say, breaking the comfortable silence after a few minutes. The girl beside you moves closer, placing her hand on your criss crossed legs.

“That doesn’t give him any reason to cheat. If he knew it was going nowhere, he should’ve ended it, not find some rando in a crowd who is not even half as pretty as you.” Leah getting slightly irritated at the man for doing something as vile to you. Once again, you just shrug at her truthful statement and compliment.

“I’m kind of happy he did it.” Leah’s eyebrow quirks at your whisper while you let out a shaky sigh before finally looking at the blonde. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely pissed he did and is parading it all over the internet, but I’m not upset he’s not mine anymore.” Your tone slightly shifts from quiet to angry in a millisecond.

“Good because you deserve someone who can cherish you, appreciate you, and show you how beautiful you truly are.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be up for that challenge.” You joke, laughing quietly to yourself but stopping when you don’t hear anything from the girl next to you. As you look up, you see Leah with a stunned look on her face which soon turns into a smug smile.

“The real challenge would be if you could keep up with me or not.” Now it’s your turn to look shocked, noticing the cocky smirk on the woman’s face. She shifts closer to you, placing her hand on your knee while rubbing her thumb against you. “C’mon, baby. Do you think you can handle me?” She teases, moving her face closer to yours, making your eyes switch between her eyes and lips.

Right as Leah's mouth opens to say another taunting comment, you wrap your hand behind her neck and slam your lips against hers. The kiss quickly turns heated when Leah’s tongue enters your mouth, warmth flooding your body in seconds. Her hands grip at your waist and tug you into her lap without breaking the kiss. The sound of your lips colliding together is enough for a pool of arousal to make its way between your legs.

“Are you sure about this?” She mumbles against your lips, holding herself back from jumping right back in.

“I’ve always liked Arsenal more than Manchester United.” You snicker which in turn makes the blonde grin before diving back in.

The show in the background becomes muffled, your focus solely on the girl beneath you. Her hands are placed on the small of your back slightly pushing in to make your back arch and chest push into her. They soon begin to slowly slide down to your bottom as your tongues stroke against each other’s.

“Let’s go to the room, yeah?” Leah insists, breaking the kiss. Her eyes trail your face, admiring your lips swollen and red, eyes hooded, and hair messy.

“Yes.” You pant out, breaking the girl from thought and causing her to smile in anticipation. She hooks her hands under your thighs, easily picking you up as if you only weigh a pound, and hurrying into your now one-person bedroom.

Just as she’s about to drop you, she decides against it and topples down on top of your body. You both giggle at her antics before eagerly connecting your lips again. Leah’s right forearm holds herself up by your head while her other hand roams under your shirt, rubbing and scratching as she trails further up.

“No bra?”

“You wouldn’t be wearing one either if you were lounging around, sulking while eating ice cream.” You huff, impatiently pulling the blonde back in an attempt to reconnect your lips. Leah swiftly sits up on her knees, looking at your disheveled form on the bed.

“You look so pretty for me, love.” Your heart thumps against your chest at the new term of endearment. The blood rushing to your cheeks felt abnormal, never having been this flustered by someone’s gaze.

Leah’s eyes continue to roam your figure while her hand traces absentmindedly. She notices your breath hitch when it sits on your collarbone, inches away from your neck. She rotates her hand so her fingers lie against it, wanting to see your reaction. You squeeze your eyes shut while your fist grips against the sheets.

“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun, angel.” Leah chuckles, leaning down and pressing her lips onto your neck, sucking at your sweet spot. Little whimpers leave your mouth before you tilt your head to the side, allowing her to have more access.

“Lee, please do something.” You whine, feeling her hand under your shirt, palming at your breast.

“Such an impatient girl. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you to behave.” She rasps against your ear, tugging it down with her teeth. Your thighs squeeze together, trying to relieve some tension between your legs.

Leah finally lifts your shirt over your head and throws it mindlessly somewhere in the room. Usually, you’d feel embarrassed as your whole body would cower away but with Leah, it felt different. It felt good. It felt right.

Her head leans down, kissing around your chest before latching onto your nipple. The tension in your body quickly disappears as you sigh in relief. While her warm tongue swirls around you, her free hand trails down your stomach and beneath your shorts and underwear.

Your breath hitches when the pads of her fingers swipe through your folds, collecting all of your arousal and spreading it. Her mouth leaves your chest with a loud plop before she attacks your lips again, swallowing all the little noises you’re making as she rubs tight circles around your clit.

Right as you try to tug off your shorts, Leah’s hand grabs your wrist, restricting any movement. “What do you think you’re doing, love?” She rasps against your neck, continuing to scatter little hickeys around.

“Please.”

“You gotta be more specific on what you’re pleading for, baby.” The defender taunts with a wicked grin, shifting her head over yours so she can witness your pleading.

“Please take off my clothes and fuck me.”

Something in her shifts when she hears those words come out of your mouth. Suddenly she doesn’t want to make you wait because if she makes you, she’ll also have to hold herself back.

Both of her hands grip on each side of your shorts and yank them down aggressively, wanting to waste no time even if there isn’t a limit. You gasp at her change in demeanor but it overall excites you further.

“God you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Leah rasps, getting worked up by just the sight of you underneath her, naked and squirming. She moves towards the lower end of the bed, lying down so her face is close to your core.

“Leah, I need you.” You pant, feeling her warm breath against your wetness. Right when you think she’s going to dive in, she tilts her head and begins to kiss your thighs, leaving light bite marks behind. You shake your thighs with a whine which makes the blonde chuckle against your skin.

But soon your whines are replaced by moans when she latches onto your pussy with no warning. She knows exactly what she’s doing and how to do it. Her mouth switches from sucking and flicking your clit with her tongue to dipping her tongue in and out of your dripping hole.

Subconsciously your hips slowly grind against her face for more friction which she figures out quickly. She wraps her arms around your thighs and places both hands down on your pubic bone, pushing you more into the mattress to restrict any movement.

With the amount of people you have been with, no one has eaten you out this good before. She knows exactly when to loosen or tighten her tongue, where you need her, and at what pace makes it more pleasurable.

Moans spew out of your mouth consistently as your hands grip so hard against the sheets your knuckles are white. The blissful sensation shoots through your whole body like a lightning bolt, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Lee, baby. I’m close, so close.”

Leah unwraps one of her arms and reaches up to grasp your neck with her hand, choking you with very little pressure but enough to heighten your senses. While she continues to abuse your clit, she notices your eyes squeeze shut and your hips move up more slowly against her mouth.

When you finally let out a loud squeak and a string of curse words, she knows you’re cumming. Her tongue doesn’t stop lapping around until you twitch away from her touch. She lets go of your neck and kisses her way up your body until she’s face to face with you to which you pull her down, smashing your lips against hers, moaning when her tongue invades your mouth.

“That was so good.” You breathe out with a giddy smile. She sends back a dashing grin before nuzzling her face in your neck and pecking around.

“We’re not done yet. I’m just getting started with you.” Leah smirks, making your eyes widen. Her right-hand drags around your skin, fingertips brushing so lightly it’s almost ticklish. “I want you to squirt all over my fingers, baby.”

“I c-can’t do that-“

“You will, and we will show your little cheating boy toy just how good I make you feel. I bet he’s never made you squirt before, has he?” She tilts her head, eyes never leaving yours.

“No one has.” You whisper from both embarrassment and shock.

“Mmm, even better.”

She makes no other movement besides her hand continuing to wander around your body, confusing you with the sudden silence. You’re also in your head about how she means you’re going to show him.

Your thoughts are quickly interrupted by two fingers plunging into you. A whine shoots out from your mouth without even trying. Leah is so enticed by how your pussy swallows her fingers so well, almost sucking them in. She isn’t going fast, almost purposefully going so slow to torture you.

You whimper at your body feeling full but not any improvement towards an orgasm. The defender’s thumbs remain against your clit so with each thrust of her hand, she rubs it slowly.

“I thought the point of squirting was also to cum.” You huff impatiently which makes the girl chuckle at your needy state.

“See, baby. I’m going to edge you which will make you more sensitive and make you feel more built up. It might feel like torture for a bit but it will all be worth it.”

Before you can protest, her lips latch onto yours as she speeds up her fingers, causing you to moan into her mouth, allowing her to just swallow them. Her fingers are only halfway in but they move fast along with her thumb rubbing against your bundle of nerves.

She knows immediately when you’re about to come so right when you’re about to tilt off the edge, she pulls away leaving you whining in discomfort. Only after a minute or two, does she dip her fingers back into you and do exactly what she did before.

This repeats 3 or 4 more times, ending with you sobbing in overstimulation and want. You were so so so close each time but she pulled away before you could even realize it.

“Awe, baby, you did so good. Now it’s time to show that jerk what he’s missing, don’t ya think?” Leah tilts her head in fake question before reaching over your head to grab her phone she must have set by you at some time.

Your head finally wraps around what she has been talking about. She wants to record her fucking you and send it to Mason. It’s a very risky move. It’s crazy. It turns you on.

Showing off that you’re getting so deliciously fucked by the English captain. He parades on the internet him kissing some other girl, you parade to him having sex with a very familiar girl.

“Are you okay with this? I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do.” Her dominant persona fades a little into concern. Of course, it would be fun for her to show the idiot what he lost and what she has gained, but she needs you to want to do it too.

“Yes.”

“Yes? Are you sure?”

“Leah, I need you with your fingers inside of me, pounding into me, recording, then making me cum so hard I see stars. I want to show him I upgraded.” You purr against her ear, having sit up slightly to reach her. The defender’s eyes flutter shut with a quiet moan, showing you how much your words have an effect on her.

“Lie down.”

When you don’t comply right away, she shoves you down on the bed, her dominant demeanor returning. Her free hand reaches down, slowly rubbing your clit while her other presses record on her phone. You coincidentally moan right when it starts.

From your nose and lower, your whole body is on display on the camera, showing off the fresh red hickeys scattered around, your very swollen clit under the blonde’s thumb, and your extremely wet pussy.

Without wasting any time, Leah slips her middle and ring finger into you. Unlike before, she goes knuckles deep into you. Your mouth lets out a high-pitched noise along with a string of moans as she drags her fingers in and out, her thumb never leaving your clit.

Once a few seconds have passed she immediately fastens her thrusts, curling her fingers up to brush against your g-spot. Your moans get louder and never stop the faster she goes, and from the constant edging, it’s not going to take much to push you over the edge.

This orgasm feels different though. It feels bigger and more intense coming up. Usually, it approaches and disappears fast, but the pleasure right now leading up to it feels amazing. More amazing than your normal ones.

“Baby, I think I’m getting close.” You gasp before moaning again.

“Say my name.”

You look up at her in confusion only to see her eyes full of lust and her phone held up right next to her. Realizing that it’s to show who she is you don’t complain.

“Leah, please make me cum.”

“Again.”

“Leah.”

“Again.”

She knows you’re extremely close. Each time her fingers thrust into you, your walls squeeze tighter and tighter around her digits. And by the way your nails are digging into her bicep and your eyes are squeezed shut, you’re holding it as much as you can.

“Leah! You’re making me feel so good, Lee. Please let me cum.” You’re basically sobbing at this point so when she mumbles the next words you crumble.

“Cum for me, baby.”

As you let go, you feel liquid run down your thighs along with louder wet noises as Leah’s hand continues to pound into you. Your mouth is wide open in silent pleasure while she carries on pushing you to the end of your orgasm.

Once a pornographic moan finally escapes your lips along with your body spasming, she pulls her fingers out and gently rubs along your clit. Your body jerks away with each swipe of her thumb so she finally stops altogether.

“Such a good girl. My good girl.” Leah praises before ending the recording and lying down next to you.

She wraps her arms around your naked form and pulls you into her. Your head finds its place in her neck while she rubs her hand up and down your arm, soothing you after the very intense moment.

“I didn’t think I could do that and you proved me wrong. You are one of many talents, Miss Leah Williamson.” You jab your finger into her chest teasingly. The defender tilts her head back with a laugh before leaning down and kissing your forehead.

Both of you lay there in comfortable silence, embracing each other’s warmth.

“Should we send it?”

“I will never say no to showing that dweeb what I can do to you and he can’t.”

[scary-grace]

hands-off, hands-on - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

This was inspired by this art and a comment left on it about the risks of trying to jerk off with a quirk like Decay. It was also inspired by @obsessedtomone and @scarlettcryptid, who encouraged me to write it and then to post it. The pun in the title was my idea and not their fault.

Shigaraki's quirk makes life difficult in a lot of ways, but there's only one he can't find a way around, and since you joined the League of Villains, it's gotten even worse. When the truth comes out at last, he's expecting it to be a disaster and nothing else. He definitely isn't expecting you to offer to help. (cross-posted to Ao3) Canonverse, one-shot, smut.

Shigaraki Tomura’s quirk is everything to him. It’s how he found himself alone in the world as a five-year-old, even if he can’t remember the details. It’s why Sensei took an interest in him, why Sensei took him in, why Sensei chose him to carry on his work. It’s the perfect tool for someone like Shigaraki, who hates everything, who wants nothing more than to destroy everything he doesn’t like. Decay is the best thing that’s ever happened to Shigaraki. And at the same time, it absolutely, categorically sucks.

Shigaraki might hate everything, but he doesn’t hate it all the time, and the times when he doesn’t hate it are times when he’d love to be able to just have whatever it is without being one wrong move away from ruining it. Name a thing he likes, and his quirk is ready and waiting to fuck it up – gaming, eating, sleeping, even reading the fucking newspaper. He can do all those things four-fingered, if he stays focused. It’s the stuff he can’t stay focused on that’s impossible.

He can’t stay focused when he’s horny, at least not enough to keep from potentially Decaying his dick off. Shigaraki doesn’t actually know if his quirk works on himself, and he’s not interested in finding out. And that means that no matter how horny Shigaraki gets or how many poorly timed boners he pops, jerking off is permanently off the table.

That’s not to say Shigaraki’s never finished. He has. He’s spent so much time humping pillows that he had to learn to do his own laundry. But there’s something really pathetic about being twenty years old with two working hands and still be stuck grinding on a pillow to make himself come, and it always takes so stupidly long. Now that Shigaraki’s got the League of Villains, now that he’s got plans to make and Sensei’s legacy to fulfill, he doesn’t have that kind of time. When he wakes up with the world’s worst morning wood after a dream he doesn’t remember clearly, there’s nothing he can do but wait for it to go away.

It fades – enough – but the feeling doesn’t, and eventually Shigaraki doesn’t have a choice but to drag himself out of bed. He slinks from his room to the bar, hoping it’ll be empty, with the rest of the League out and about preparing for the mission and Kurogiri somewhere nearby if Shigaraki needs him but not actually right there to ask him what’s bothering him. Shigaraki can pour his own drinks. Maybe he can get out of this if he gives himself whiskey dick on purpose. Kurogiri’s not in the bar, just like he was hoping, but it’s not empty, either. You’re there, sprawled out over the bar with a sweating glass of water on a coaster in front of you.

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches at the sight. “What are you doing here?” he demands, and you look up. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“I did it already.” You yawn. “Using my quirk tires me out.”

“Really?” Shigaraki can’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “Making people stupid is that exhausting?”

Your quirk is a weird one. It lets you increase or decrease a target’s ability to plan, reason, problem-solve, remember things, and learn – in other words, their intelligence. “From this distance, for as many people as you need me to hit?” You yawn again and drop your head back down to the bar. “Yeah. Remember, I have to keep them all being stupid the same way, right up until it’s too late. Or your plan won’t work.”

Shigaraki had the pieces of the plan before he made you use your quirk on him, but once you used the quirk on him, he did some fine-tuning on the strategy, and he came up with the idea of using your quirk the opposite way, too. While the rest of the League is planning to make the attack on UA’s summer training camp a success, you’re using your quirk every day on the heroes in charge of planning the camp itself. Shigaraki’s not actually going to know if it works until after the attack, and that pisses him off. “Go nap somewhere else, then.”

“I’m not going to bother you,” you say. “Where else am I supposed to go, anyway? Your room?”

Shigaraki’s this close to saying yes, just to get you to leave, before he remembers what his room looks like – and remembers that he spent a while trying to see if grinding one out would work this time. He can’t kick you out of the hideout. You look like shit, and you’ll attract a lot of attention. “Fine. Shut up.”

“Yep.” You fold your arms on the bar and rest your head on them, shutting your eyes.

Even when you aren’t looking at him or talking, your presence bothers Shigaraki. It’s bothered him since the beginning – as much as he’s bothered by the others, in a different way than he’s bothered by the others. While the others can at least manage to avoid pissing Shigaraki off, there’s nothing you do that doesn’t cause some kind of problem. If you’re talking to him too much, he’s annoyed because he doesn’t know why you’re talking to him. If you’re not talking to him, he’s pissed about that, too. If you’re not around, he’s mad that you’re avoiding him, and if you are around, he wishes you weren’t. The fact that you’re here was a big problem for him even before he started having the dreams.

Shigaraki can’t remember the details of last night’s dream, but he knows you were in it. He pours himself a drink, takes the bottle with him, and sits down at the far end of the bar from you. You don’t look up again, and Shigaraki finishes his first drink, then half of his second, with no improvement on the situation. He shifts on the barstool, trying to get more comfortable. He needs to find something else to do. Something that will distract him from how stupidly horny he is.

You’re right there, and being irritated with you for doing anything at all is as good a distraction as anything else. “If all you’re doing is making a couple of heroes slightly dumber, you’re not really pulling your weight, are you?”

You don’t stir, but Shigaraki sees your shoulders stiffen. “What else should I be doing?”

“More,” Shigaraki says. You lift your head to look at him dead on, and Shigaraki hates that so much that he loses his train of thought for a second. “I don’t want them slightly dumber. I want them so stupid they can’t walk in a straight line. You have to get closer to them for that? So get closer. Get out of here and –”

“If I make them that stupid, the heroes will know that something’s wrong,” you interrupt. “My quirk’s in the government databases. If I do anything too obvious, they’ll know I’m working with you, and they’ll change their plans. Or they’ll change who they’re using to execute those plans. For my quirk to work on someone, I need to know who they are.”

Shigaraki knows how your quirk works. He’s not stupid. “I could do what you want me to do, but it would ruin your plans,” you say. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I wanted to take a nap,” you say. You sit up straight on your stool, get to your feet and start towards Shigaraki. “Now I want to know what I did to piss you off.”

You’re coming closer. Shigaraki feels a surge of panic. “Get away from me.”

“No.” You sit down one barstool away from Shigaraki, but still way too close for comfort. Shigaraki’s skin feels hot, and in spite of the fact that he left his room wearing sweatpants, they’re getting tight. “You let me join the League, but ever since I got here, I can’t do anything right. You’re mad at me all the time, and today you’re even madder than usual.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you say. You keep staring. Shigaraki looks away, and you say the first thing he’s ever heard you say that makes you sound like a villain. “Either you can tell me the truth, or I’ll use my quirk on myself and figure it out.”

Shigaraki’s stomach lurches. “I thought you were too tired to use your quirk.”

“Not on myself,” you say. Shigaraki glances back at you. You’re almost smiling. He’s seen you smile before, talking to Toga or Magne, but not like that. “You can tell me, or I’ll find out on my own. Your choice.”

You’re not screwing around. Shigaraki thinks fast. He could Decay you, but – Shigaraki writes off the thought before he can even complete it. He has to tell you something, and it has to be convincing. But he doesn’t have to tell you everything to keep you from using your quirk. It’s going to be humiliating, but nowhere close to as humiliating as the whole truth, and he opens his mouth and spits it out. “I’m horny.”

You blink. “So jerk off.”

“I can’t.” Shigaraki sees your eyebrows lift, skeptical as hell, and loses patience, even as his face heats up. “My quirk. Anything I touch with five fingers –”

“And you can’t jerk off without –” You break off mid-question, looking just as uncomfortable as Shigaraki feels. “So you’ve never –”

“No, I have, I just –” This is way more information than you need to know. Shigaraki grits his teeth. “You wanted an answer. There’s your answer. Leave me alone.”

You don’t leave Shigaraki alone. You actually move over onto the stool next to his. “So you’re just going to be a dick to me any time you’re horny.”

It’s your fault Shigaraki’s horny. Before you showed up, he could deal with things on his own, but now instead of videos and games to fixate on he has fantasies – because he can imagine about what you’d look like under him, what you’d sound like, what you’d feel like. All of which are the worst possible things for Shigaraki to be thinking about right now. He’s completely hard, again. Maybe you can tell, or maybe you’re using your quirk on him after all, because you’re making a really weird face. “If you’re going to be a dick any time you’re horny –”

You break off. Shigaraki thinks, fleetingly, about Decaying you. At this point he’d rather Decay himself, because if even he kills you, he’ll still have to remember that this happened. You take a deep breath, let it go. “Do you want help?”

Shigaraki’s mind blue-screens for a second. “What?”

“If this is why you’re like this, then it’s easy to fix,” you repeat. Your hands are clenched into fists on your thighs, and you slowly uncurl them. “Do you want me to help?”

“Help with what?”

“Jerking off,” you say. You make an awkward gesture, and every muscle in Shigaraki’s body goes tense as he imagines your hands around his cock. You have to be messing with him. There’s no way you’re actually offering – that. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Shigaraki finishes his drink and stands up before he can think any more about it. He grimaces as his cock strains against the fabric of his pants, and feels a surge of embarrassment when he realizes you’re looking at it – but it’ll be over soon. In the face of getting some, and getting it from you, nothing else matters. “Let’s go.”

Shigaraki’s nerves kick in on the walk back to his room. Not enough to make the hard-on he’s coping with fade even slightly, but enough to remind him that this is probably a bad idea. But you’re following him, and you haven’t changed your mind. Shigaraki’s not chickening out first. The nerves get worse when he opens the door to his room and realizes what a mess it is. “Uh –”

“Where do you usually sit?” You don’t look impressed – or disgusted, now that Shigaraki thinks about it. “On the bed?”

Shigaraki sits down on the bed – which he didn’t make, because he never makes it – and you sit down next to him. You don’t do anything. “I thought you were going to help me.”

“Show me what you do,” you say. Shigaraki stares at you. His heart is racing, his pulse hammering so hard that he feels it everywhere. “Go as far as you can, and then I’ll keep doing what you do.”

That makes sense, probably. Shigaraki’s mind is startling to scramble. He decides to think about it later and catches the hem of his shirt, hiking it up and out of the way. He knows from experience that it’ll slide back, so he pins it between his teeth and reaches down to his waistband, shoving at it until his pants are down around his thighs and his cock is free.

His hard-on looks like it feels. Uncomfortable, leaking, hot to the touch when he wraps three fingers and his thumb around his shaft. Shigaraki tries a few of the same insufficient strokes as always and feels the muscles in his abdomen and thighs clench. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. A frustrated sound edges out around the fabric in Shigaraki’s mouth. Aren’t you supposed to help him? He looks at you. You’re looking away.

“Hey,” Shigaraki says, the hem of the shirt falling from his mouth, and you look at him. “You wanted to help. Pay attention.”

Your face is flushed. You nod, and you reach out – but only so you can grasp the hem of Shigaraki’s shirt and pull it out of the way again, your knuckles brushing over his abdomen in a way that makes him twitch. You’re sitting closer to him now than you were before, close enough that he can almost feel the heat of your body, and imagine how it would feel to have you pressed against him. One of your hands is holding his shirt up. The other comes to rest on his lower abdomen, fingertips brushing through his hair, centimeters away from the base of his cock.

Shigaraki squirms involuntarily, trying to move your hand lower and jeopardizing his own strokes at the same time. Even when he lifts his hips to meet his own hand, he can’t lose control the way he wants to, can’t chase the feeling he needs. He needs it. He needs it and he’s never come even close to having it, until now. Shigaraki tries to focus. You’re only going to help once he’s gone as far as he can, so he’d better get there as fast as possible.

He shouldn’t have told you to pay attention. Now you’re watching everything, your face still flushed and your eyes glued to Shigaraki’s every move, taking everything in. Do you like this? Do you like watching Shigaraki’s pathetic attempts to get himself off? Whether you like it or not, you’re still touching him when you don’t have to. Shigaraki’s fingers tighten involuntarily around his cock, his fourth finger almost coming down, and he loosens up in a hurry. But that’s no good, either. He tries again.

It’s the same as always. Shigaraki makes it one or two strokes before it gets dangerous, enough to show him what he could have and not enough to get him there. He’s sweaty and his heart is beating too hard and the same frustrated tears as always are stinging his eyes. He curses, lets go – and a warm hand slides between his legs to replace his.

Shigaraki almost comes on the spot. It takes every ounce of willpower he has, and he almost blows it again as he watches you adjust your hold on him, shaping your hand more closely around his cock. You’re slow about it, but you sure as hell aren’t hesitant. Shigaraki can’t look for longer than a few strokes. It’s too humiliating to see the intensity of his own reaction, precum oozing from the tip of his cock and his hips jerking upwards into your hand. He clenches his jaw and shuts his eyes.

“Hey. Pay attention.” Are you making fun of him? Shigaraki opens his eyes and finds you looking at him. “I need to know if I’m doing it right.”

“What do you think?” Shigaraki forces the words out through gritted teeth. “Do you need me to tell you you’re doing a good job or something?”

“That might be nice,” you muse. Your hold on him loosens slightly – not enough to complain about, more than enough to read as a threat. “Since I can’t do anything else right around here, I at least want to be good at getting you off.”

Your grip tightens again, and you run your thumb lightly over the tip of Shigaraki’s cock at the end of the next stroke. Shigaraki couldn’t pull a move like that if his fucking life depended on it, which it would. He was going to tell you not to ask stupid questions, like if you’re good at getting him off when he’s two seconds away from blowing his load all over himself, but instead he moans, so loudly that people can probably hear it two streets away. You replay the same stroke, slower this time, pulling Shigaraki’s back into an arch to match the upward motion of your hand, and then you spend a few seconds just toying with his tip, barely touching him at all.

Are you trying to make him squirm? Shigaraki hates that it’s working, hates that you won’t just give him what he needs – but then you’re back to stroking his cock again, and Shigaraki relaxes, as much as it’s possible to relax. It feels good, even better than he thought it would. And even better than that, because he doesn’t have to do anything. All he has to do is sit back and enjoy it.

“Hold your shirt up,” you say, and Shigaraki grabs it clumsily. Your now-free hand traces quickly down Shigaraki’s chest, along his stomach, skidding sideways over his hip before sliding between his legs. There’s not room for both of your hands. Shigaraki spreads his legs without thinking twice.

You make a weird sound – maybe a gasp. “Stop that,” you say, but now you’re cradling his balls in addition to stroking his cock, so Shigaraki’s not interested in stopping much of anything. “It’s working.”

No shit it’s working. Shigaraki’s entire body is wound tight, so much that he can’t even twitch or thrust or squirm – all he can do is strain, agonizingly tense, every atom of his body focused on the motion of your hands. Shigaraki squeezes his eyes shut. His shirt crumbles away as he claws at it, the sheets on his bed going the same way a second later as he fights to ground himself. He needs more. Shigaraki needs to come right now, before he grabs onto something he can’t replace.

The word struggles out of his mouth sideways, twisted and strained just like the rest of him. “Please –”

You don’t answer him, but Shigaraki feels you shift closer to him. He opens his eyes and you’re right there, close enough that he can feel your breath against his skin. You’re watching him, head tilted, lips parted, so close. Shigaraki’s so close, and he needs more from you. He seizes the front of your shirt to pull you down to him, only for it to Decay when you’re halfway there. But Shigaraki gets lucky. You lean in the rest of the way and press your lips against his.

It’s not because of that. Shigaraki’s coming hard enough to see stars, hard enough that he blacks out for a second, but it’s not because you’re kissing him. His cum spills everywhere, onto his sweatpants and his stomach and over your fingers, and you keep stroking him with slick hands. You don’t pull away until Shigaraki’s whining against your mouth and you’ve drawn out every drop of cum he has to give.

And then you sit back, and let go, and look away. “I need a new shirt.”

You’re sitting next to him, on his bed, in just your bra. The sight would get Shigaraki hard again in an instant if you hadn’t just made him come hard enough to disconnect his spine. He raises a shaky hand and points to his hoodie, slung over the back of his computer chair, but you don’t go for it. Instead you get up and head to the bathroom to wash your hands.

Shigaraki needs to wash everything. His sweatpants, himself – the stupid mattress, since he was dumb enough to Decay the sheets off it right before he blew what feels like the biggest load in history. What else was he supposed to do, though? No way was he going to be able to control himself while you worked him over. No way is he going to be able to think about anything else the next time he sees you do anything with your hands. Or with your mouth.

It occurs to Shigaraki vaguely that while he’s solved the initial problem of being too horny to function, he’s set himself up for something even worse – more dreams, made all the more vivid because he’s got experience to back them up. He might be good to go for now. Probably for the rest of the day, since it’ll be a miracle if he can do anything other than clean up and take a nap. But he’ll be right back where he started the next time he wakes up from another dream about you.

The water from the sink shuts off, and a moment later you come back out, snagging Shigaraki’s hoodie off the chair and pulling it on over your bra. Shigaraki feels a faint twinge of foreboding at the sight, but it fades fast. Sure, he could wake up tomorrow morning with the boner from hell and it’ll be all your fault. But now he’s got a way out of it, and the way out of it is so good that what it takes to get there barely even matters. And he’s in a good enough mood to admit to himself that you do things right a lot more than you do things wrong.

Which reminds him – “Hey,” Shigaraki says, still humiliatingly breathless, and you pause in the act of pulling the hood up. “You did a good job.”

He might still be out of breath, but your face is still flushed. “Good,” you say, and you turn to leave. Shigaraki doesn’t hear you speak again until you’re already out the door. “Next time I’ll do better.”

Better might kill him. Next time. Shigaraki pulls up his sweatpants so his dick isn’t hanging out, makes no other effort at cleaning up, and falls asleep with something that feels like a smile on his face.

[simpjaes]

idk if u would like this but. idol!jake fingering idol!reader while he reads out loud what people online say about her when they sexualize her / write smut abt her😂

i don't typically do idol aus but i literally haven't stopped thinking about this for like...days. wc: 706

"look how tight they think you are." Jake coos in your ear from behind, arms that were once wrapped around you in a warm hug now holding you against him just so he can keep up the pace under your shorts with his fingers. "imagine if they knew they were right."

you can't help the warmth that fans your cheeks. you'll never get used to it when he does this with you, always eager to read and see what people have to say about you online, only to end up hard and touchy after looking a bit too into it.

you know what you signed up for regarding this career path. there would be smut, there would be comments, there would be all sorts of pornographic materials made about you. that's something you came to terms with before you even made this decision, but realizing that Jake, a man within this same career path, ignores his own smut just to read yours?

you'd argue he may be one of the anonymous accounts writing it in the first place given how he reacts. sometimes he's jealous, other times he's reminded that he's the one who gets to do these things to you.

just like right now, as he recites specific passages from some raunchy fan fiction he said you had to hear about. you were gonna ask him how he found it, and why he's already read it, but you didn't really have to.

considering that warm and endearing hug from earlier absolutely included his cock already hard and probably leaking in his pants.

"pretty skin, all swollen from the bites." Jake continues to read, whispering in your ear as he starts dragging his teeth down your neck. "tight cunt, dripping and needy." he continues, scissoring his fingers open to remind you of just how well these fans must know you.

"Oh, look babe," Jake smiles, angling his fingers just right to have you rolling your eyes. "how come you say all sorts of dirty shit here, but you're too shy to do it for me?"

you can't turn to look at him with a quirked brow like you wish you could, but you're aware that he probably knows the dumbfounded look on your face.

"tell me to fuck you." He dead-pans behind your neck with a breathy whispers, moving to the other side to nibble against your ear. "Be like her, tell me how deep you wish i could be in you right now." ah, the flush is back and your cheeks are on fire. You've never been much of a talker in bed, but having to live up to the half-truths some horny fan wrote is...well.

both hot and creepy. You'd never have paid these websites a single glance if it weren't for Jake consistently reading them out to you.

you can't bring yourself to be like that for him, as you dip your head against his arm and shake your head 'no.' jake smiles at how cute you truly are, sliding his fingers out to circle your clit, reminding himself that he's got the real girl right here. "just say it once baby, please." Jake says playfully, kissing your jawline as he feels your hips move up and against the pads of his fingers, aiming your clit right where you want it. "You'd sound so pretty- just like they said you would." something inside of you cringes, but another part of you ignites at how into every version of you Jake seems to be. You take in a breathe, releasing a slight moan from the pressure below as you sigh out for him. "fuck me, jake." ah, he's so proud to be the one to hear those words. So, so fucking proud to be the one to get to do it to you. And fuck, he'd give just about anything to rub it in those chronically online loser's faces. After all, that's his girlfriend they're writing about. No matter how hot, no matter how much Jake would love for you to be just like the version of you in some of these fics, he'll be fucking damned not to love you how you really are. So pretty, so sweet, so willing to indulge him.

[sixosix]

INFATUATED | AETHER

i. summary mutual pining but aether is a tease and you're an idiot

ii. tags 1.5k words, aether helplessly in love, reader being dumb and in denial, bff!yoimiya may be ooc and may embarrass you, set in inazuma, fluff & flirting

Aether’s always smiling whenever you see him.

At first, you thought it was because he’s just a happy little guy, always wearing a grin as bright as his hair. Like the sun, and you’re but a flower soaking in his light. But then you hear how people talk about him—

“He’s quite terrifying, isn’t he? Sometimes I get too scared to ask for help…”

“They weren't joking about what they said regarding the Traveler. He looks young and yet has the eyes of a seasoned warrior.”

“Scary. And a bit strange. His eyes are so… blank. It’s like he’s drifting out, and it’s why he has that pixie around to do all the talking.”

—and now, you’re not so sure. The Aether you’ve met is nowhere near the Traveler they keep raving about. Are they dealing with a doppelgänger?

Yoimiya mulls over your words with a thoughtful hum. She loudly sips on her drink. “Hmm, have you ever considered it might be because he’s just happy every time you’re there?”

You scoff, nestling into your chair with crossed arms—to protect yourself from Yoimiya’s wild imagination, no doubt. “That’d be absolutely presumptuous of me to even think about.” Aether? Happy to see you? Absurd.

She tilts her head as if she pities you. “I’m blessed to not have turned out this oblivious.”

“Hey!”

“Listen to me.” She sets her glass down; it rattles the table. The owner casts you both a stern look. “He’s really just infatuated with you. How hard is it to see that?”

Very hard. Yoimiya is reaching. This is one of the truths she’s trying to pursue—except there is no truth here, just plain fantasy. “It doesn’t make sense,” you insist, growing frustrated. “He’s the Traveler, I’m no one important.”

She hums. “I’ll admit no one in Teyvat can compare to the Traveler, but no one else seems to make him happier than you do. Which is why I’m saying that explains why he’s smiling whenever you—”

“Bold assumptions you’re making,” you interrupt quickly.

“Trust me! He liiiiikes you in that way.”

“Why? How do you know that?”

“‘cause,” Yoimiya grins, her eyes sparkling. She’s as excited as she usually is talking about fireworks. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I can ask him, if you wanna be sure about it.”

“Please don’t ask him anything weird,” you plead. “He’s met so many people, Yoimiya. Why me? What do I have to offer to the holder of the dragon-defeating, god-slaying, renowned fatui-slaughtering reputation? Nothing!”

“Does he have to be with someone who’s done all of that?” she asks, and your thoughts come to a halt. Does it? No, certainly not—unless that’s what he wants. And that might be what he wants!

“Well,” you clear your throat. “Perhaps, if that’s what makes him happy.” At Yoimiya’s quirked brow, you slouch in defeat, cheeks heating up at even thinking about what Aether’s type is. “You’re enjoying this,” you murmur at the sight of Yoimiya’s conspiratorial grin.

“I’m not, I’ve just never seen you act this shy and cute before! So this is what you’re like when you have a crush?” Over Yoimiya’s shoulder, you spot a familiar pixie and a mop of golden hair from afar, walking over.

Your eyes widen, “I am not acting shy and cute—”

“What’s this? Y/N has a crush!?” Paimon’s shrieky voice is unmistakable. It’s hard to mistake her even if you tried. They’re still a few feet away, but Yoimiya’s voice can be very loud.

“I don’t,” you want to snark, however meeting Aether’s eyes has your voice going quiet. Maybe Yoimiya’s right: you are acting very shy. “Hi, Aether, Paimon.”

“Ooh,” Paimon giggles, kicking her feet. “What were you two talking about, huh? Paimon heard Yoimiya talking about a crush.” Paimon notices your wide-eyed panic. “Oh, Paimon can kick Aether out!”

Exasperated, Aether casts Paimon a look. “Who’s gonna pay for your order?”

Paimon deflates. “W-Well, Paimon can ask Yoimiya—”

“No can do; I spent all Mora on me already.”

“—Then, Paimon will—”

You arch an eyebrow. “I don’t think I can afford your usual orders. Don’t look at me. I’m a starving artist already.”

She huffs. “Fine! Paimon was trying to protect your secret but she guesses that no one’s appreciating it anyway!” Paimon, the only one who’s terrible at keeping secrets, says. She turns to her companion, hands clasped together. “Aether…”

“Alright, alright,” Aether sighs, pulling out his wallet. The poor thing.

You and Yoimiya share a look as Aether orders food for him and Paimon. You weren’t anticipating that the Traveler—the subject of your predicament—would end up here, out of all the corners and food stalls in Inazuma. Then again, that’s his thing: he’s everywhere, all at once, including the nook and cranny of your heart.

Aether turns to you, a smile blossoming across his face, which is nice, actually, despite the flutter of your heart that is starting to feel like horror. His side profile was driving you crazy, anyway. “Should we leave you two to talk about crushes?”

Just one word directed at you is enough to have you fidgeting uselessly in your seat. And this doesn’t go unacknowledged by Yoimiya, who springs up to save the day. “Don’t worry about it, Traveler! We were just talking about this—this novel that we started reading the other day.”

“Really?” Aether doesn’t sound like he believes it one bit. “Well, Paimon and I have been looking for reading material anyway. Would you mind if we borrowed it?” Said pixie is too busy stuffing her face with Dry-Braised Salted Fish to care about reading materials.

You turn to Yoimiya with a forced smile, then back to Aether, who seems so visibly amused by how you’re acting. You must look like a mess. You feel like it. “Well, I haven’t really finished it…but—but we can tell you about it!”

“Yeah, exactly!” Yoimiya looks like she’s having the time of her life. “Y/N has a big crush on the main character, which is why we were talking about him.”

Aether hums, chewing, “What’s he like?”

Yoimiya narrows her eyes, grinning as she tilts her head. “Why do you want to know?”

Aether levels her with a flat look. It’s a bit strange with you in the middle of them. “Because I want to read the story.”

“We never hear you talk about anything romantic, Y/N!” Paimon says, bits of fish spewing out while she talks. Aether reprimands her. “Whenever Paimon sees you, you’re always working!”

Is that how everyone sees you? “Are you saying you thought I was too boring to experience love?”

Paimon decides to tune out the conversation once again, wolfing down her next plate of food.

Aether’s still looking at you, a smile on his face. No, perhaps a slight smirk would be more accurate. You can feel yourself melting. Perhaps those people were right when they called Aether ‘terrifying’—the swarm of butterflies his gaze is leaving you is downright frightening.

He tilts his head, waiting.

You stammer, “W-Well, the main character’s nothing special. It’s like those things where they make the hero really likable, really…”

Yoimiya butts in, “You just have a thing for guys who have defeated dragons and faced gods head-on. Nothing special.”

“Yoimiya!”

Aether throws his head back laughing.

Yoimiya settles in her seat, looking mildly surprised. “I’ve never seen you this expressive, Traveler.”

You throw Yoimiya a warning look. Had it been anyone else, you would’ve brushed that off, but Yoimiya is clearly hinting at what started your crisis in the first place.

Paimon chugs her water like a madman dying of thirst. “He’s always like that whenever we’re around Y/N. Paimon already told him to stop bullying Y/N!”

Right. Bullying. If only the shared glances and longing stares were bullying. If only Aether lingering in your thoughts was because he’s bullying you, and not because you’re developing a massive crush on him. That would’ve been easier to explain and believe.

“Bullying?” Aether echoes in confusion.

“Flirting might be the more appropriate word for it, Paimon,” Yoimiya corrects with a gleeful grin. “So romantic. Reserving your lovesick and longing smiles to Y/N only,” she sings. “No wonder why you’ve been so happy recently.”

“Yoimiya,” you seethe, though it’s mostly desperate, humiliated. It seems that her name is your only vocabulary this evening.

Aether laughs, his eyes crinkling as he shares your gaze. And if you let yourself believe Yoimiya’s words, you might even call it fond. “You can’t blame me if I can’t help it. Surely that novel taught you what it’s like to have a crush on someone, right, Y/N?”

A/N i love aether so much im sobbing hope u liked reading!!1 bc i cried while writing this!!!! also thank u earthtooz for proofreading i love u big sibling.

[disaster-writer]

can I request a hawks in heat dubcon?

Thank you for the request!

Warnings: NSFW, Dubcon, breeding kink

_

When your pro-hero boyfriend of almost a year, the man that you had fallen absolutely head over heels for in just a month of dating, had sat you down to explain one of the side effects of his quirk, you didn’t know what to think.

Honestly, you thought he was joking.

You had stared at him blankly as he explained this odd biological instinct that took over every first week of Spring ever since he hit puberty.

Spring meant mating season.

”So… you’re going to go into heat or something? Like an animal?” You had asked skeptically, not quite knowing if this was some weird prank. 

But the uncharacteristic blush on his face when he looked away from you bashfully told you it was the truth, “Yes… like an animal.”

After that you had agreed to be there to help him through it. 

He had warned you that he’d be more aggressive than usual, which at the time hadn’t bothered you. You always liked when he treated you roughly in bed, manhandling you as if you weighed nothing and fucking you within a breadth of unconsciousness.

But not like this.

This Keigo was not the Keigo you came to love.

He fucked you like a stranger, reducing you down to your anatomy as he babbled nonsensically about knocking you up. He became more beast than man.

The heat or whatever you would call it had started in the early hours of the morning, waking you up to the painful stretch of his cock being shoved into your unprepared entrance and he had been relentless. His refractory period had become nonexistent, he hadn’t softened once no matter how much he had came that day.

Even now, into the late hours of the night where he had finally fallen asleep, he was still in you— still hard.

You trembled in the vice like grip he had on your body as he quietly snored behind you. Your vision was completely obstructed by one red wing that acted as a wall… a barricade.

You sniffled as the tears clung, sticky against your cheeks.

You couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle the painful way he fucked you with zero thought of your comfort or making sure you came at all. 

You didn’t want this man— this animal, touching you anymore.

You needed a break at the very least.

Ever so gently and slowly, you begun climbing out of his embrace, stilling at every hitch and change in his breath as you pulled his arm from around you and slipped under the red wing in front of you, his cock slipping out of you with a wet sound that made you cringe.

You almost collapsed the second your feet met the floor.

You wasted no time, grabbing a t-shirt from the floor and slipping it on as you limped out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the bathroom.  

With a soft ‘click’ you locked the door.

Flicking the lights on you came face to face with your own reflection. Your hair had become a knotted, tangled mess from how much he pulled on it throughout the day, your scalp still throbbing dully. 

The rest of you wasn’t much better. The skin of your throat and chest had been bitten and sucked raw, pulling up the t-shirt you now wore revealed little bruises scattered throughout from his fingertips. 

But the worst was the mess between your legs. He had cum so much and refused to let you clean it. The mess was mostly dried now, tinged a pinkish red with blood.

You felt disgusting and everything hurt.

Collapsing onto the toilet seat, you reached for a wet wipe and began to gingerly clean yourself up, fresh tears now making their way down your cheeks.

It had been only one day, you weren’t sure you could survive another, let alone a week.

It may be best to cut your losses, leave and go home or stay with a friend in case he decides to look for you. When this was all over you could apologize and explain you weren’t cut out for this mating season of his.

That’s what you wanted to do, it was what you were going to do if it wasn’t for the sound of the doorknob being tried.

Your eyes shot open, body seizing as you stared at the doorknob.

”Chickadee, what are you doing in there?” He asked, continuing to rattle the doorknob.

”Um— I just needed to pee!” You yelped.

”I was supposed to keep you all plugged up for the night, I’m gonna have to fill you up again— open the door.” His fist met the door with a loud bang.

You jumped as a chill ran down your spine— this was not Keigo.

”Jus’ gimme a second!” You called out, hurriedly cleaning up what you could before quickly tossing the dirtied wipes out.

You were just about to get up and answer the door when an audible ‘crack’ came from the doorknob.

He broke the lock.

He was barreling through the door, wings twitching behind him as they expanded once inside, nearly taking over the entire room.

He stood completely naked before you, cock standing stiffly, the head of his cock flushed a bright red as he leaked pre-cum. 

The look in his eyes was crazed. Black pupils completely swallowed up his golden irises as he stared at you.

Well… staring at you was an overstatement as his eyes were glued to the very place you covered with the t-shirt, shielding your battered cunt from his prying eyes.

An irritated flap of his wings had you staring at them in fear. His wings had only ever made you feel safe in the past but since this morning they seemed to have a mind of their own, stretching out and commanding as much space as they possibly could, twitching and flapping unpredictably.

You were terrified. 

You felt so small sitting there as your boyfriend stared down at you.

The silence dragged on for far too long, only being interrupted by the flaps of his wings.

The blood rushed in your ears.

“Come back to bed,” he commanded, eyes never leaving the space between your thighs.

”B-but—“

His wings flapped, seemingly to stretch out farther than you’ve ever seen. Red feathers blocked the light bulbs, drowning the room in red light.

Your heart thundered.

He stretched an open hand out towards you.

You stared at it warily, but another irritated twitch of his wings had you placing your hand in his.

He had your face shoved into a pillow less than five minutes later, hips snapping painfully against your ass as his cock kissed your cervix causing a paralyzing pain to wrack throughout your body as he continued his earlier babbles from today.

“Gonna—Gonna fill you up again— all nice and full, not gonna waste a single drop this time Chickadee. Pretty little cunt needs it, she needs my cum. Gotta make you all nice and round with my baby bird.”

You cried into the pillow, wetting it with your tears and drool, praying to whatever that was out there that you could make it out of this week in one piece.

[junicult]

contains ; suggestive conversation (pillow talk typa stuff). sappy sappy cheesy & corny fluff! just the way i like it! established relationship — dating. two ppl in love blah blah blah. gender non specified reader. he is all i ever think about.

note ; hello! didn’t wanna look at this in my drafts anymore. boo!

“what’s the wildest thing you’ve done in bed?” you ask, smiling over the rim of your near-empty glass of wine.

your lips are well past stained at this point, dazed eyes holding a curiously eager gaze with the man sitting similarly before you.

“the wildest thing?” harvey repeats, eyebrows raised, looking around as if to search for his answer.

“yeah, like, the craziest thing you’ve done while having sex.”

you’ve been playing this little question game for hours now, concept of time nothing but a distant thought after you both downed even more glasses of wine a single bottle could fill. it’s been a while since you’ve been able to relax like this, which is well in agreeance with your boyfriend.

you’re quite tipsy at this point. facing him on your living room couch, legs crossed and arm propping your head that’s perched against the back of the couch.

he purses his lips, shaking his head in deep thought. “i dunno…i guess um,” he presses a knuckle to the upper rim of his glasses, adjusting them, “i guess the kitchen—having sex in the kitchen, probably.”

you furrow your brows, giving him a long look. “in the kitchen?” it’s your turn to repeat, this time confused.

he shrugs and nods.

“with me?” you ask, more clarification than uncertainty in your tone.

“of course with you.”

“no, i’m speaking in general, like out of everyone you’ve ever had sex with—what was the craziest thing you did?”

“i know the question. i said have sex in the kitchen.”

you stare, unwavering eye contact glued to his. you know him, you know he’s definitely telling the truth, yet somehow you were shocked. “that was your craziest sexual experience?”

“i take it wasn’t yours, huh?” he snorts, giving the contents in his glass one small swirl before he leans over and places it on the coffee table.

you laugh airily, “i mean i…told you about the ferris wheel—“

“—ah,” he cuts you off, shivering, “yes, not my thing.”

“so let me get this straight,” you mimic his previous gesture—placing the glass on the table—, using both of your now-free hands to hold out in front of you. “your craziest, absolutely wildest sexual experience was on that kitchen table?”

he flicks his gaze past your head to where you’re pointing your thumb behind you. he suppresses a quirked up lip from the recollection.

“well, i didn’t say it was absolutely wild. but if i had to pick, that would be my answer.” he murmurs, and despite the topic, he’s managing his typical flushed cheeks and nervous lip-nibble well.

“wow,” you lean back with a light laugh. “i’m honored.”

“i’m glad.” he smiles.

he reaches back for the last sip of his wine, taking a short whiff of the glass before savoring the last drop. maybe he’s biased, but your wine will always be his favorite. he never allows it to go to waste.

it’s late. his eyelids rest heavily over his pupils, contrasting your wide-awake gaze. you’re eager to move around, emphasizing most of your words with hand gestures while he’s remained put for the last couple hours. despite his tiredness, he soaks every minute he has with you just as he does with your wine.

you clear your throat. “okay, so now i have a new question.”

“alright.” he nods, leaning into his hand.

“what was the best sex you’ve ever had? it’s okay if it wasn’t with me.”

he exhales from his nose at that, smile to accompany his cheeks.

“well, it was,” he confirms, once again looking off to the side. although, he doesn’t pause long, seemingly prepared with his answer. “i would say, after you told me you loved me.”

you beam immediately. “i knew it. you’re such a sentimentalist.” you tease, reaching over to pinch his thigh. but you soften, laying your hand flat and gently soothing your thumb over his pants. “that’s mine too.”

“really? even more than the ferris wheel?”

you scoff. “oh, absolutely. a million times better.” you wave a hand dismissively, and he tries not to let the comment go to his head. “that was purely just to say i’ve done it. at least you can make me finish.”

of course his cheeks set aflame, due to the ego boost and vulgarity. you smile as he purses his lips after murmuring an awkward thank you. it’s always so amusing to make him flustered, given such an easy task.

you sigh, rolling your head back against the couch. your fingers lightly tap at your t-shirt clad stomach, eyes wandering each crease and ridge in your ceiling during a moment of peaceful silence you’ll always relax into when you’re with harvey.

it’s only then do your eyes feel heavy, and it finally dawns on you just what time it is, and how early you have to wake up tomorrow.

“it’s late,” you conquer, staying put, “do you wanna stay—“

“i’ve got a question.” he hums. you turn your head, remaining relaxed against the cushions, to find him looking off towards the dimming fireplace in front of you.

“yeah?”

“who was the…if you had to rank everyone, uhm,” he presses his knuckles into the cushion beside his thighs, readjusting himself but not without a clear of his throat. “who’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

you allow a smile to creep onto your face. it seems purposeful he’s avoiding your eyes, the golden hue of the crackling fire causing his warm skin to glow. his lips look a little pinker due to the light—or maybe the wine—and from your angle you can see his dark brown eyelashes clearly from the space between his glasses.

you let out a faux sigh, almost taunting.

“hm, that’s a toughie.” you snicker, now readjusting to sit sideways on the cushion with one leg crossed and the other dangling over the couch. “out of the whopping four?”

he gives you a peek, subconsciously wiping his palms across his pants wordlessly.

you almost want to tease him a little longer—the shy purse of his lips making it just so easy. yet you give up quick, leaning in to snake your arm around his neck and press a hand to his cheek.

“without a doubt, it’s you. don’t even have to think about it.” you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his warm lips.

“really?” there he goes, yet again doubting himself.

“harvey, i’ve never been in love like i am with you. i’ve never been with someone and started picturing marriage after the second date.” you croon, so close you can nearly press your forehead against his. you look down at his lips. “it’s not just because of the sex—but believe me, that plays a good part. no one has known how to love me like you can.”

he swallows, mimicking your gaze and fixates on your lips as you continue, “you make me feel so comfortable, and so appreciated. you’re so sweet, and caring, and reliable. i can tell you anything.”

his fingers are warm from the fire, and he delicately uses them to push pieces of your hair that have fallen in front of your face, blocking his view of you.

just as you’re about to go on, he stops you. both of his hands finding purchase at the crevice of your neck, while his lips meet yours. not just a peck, a deep and meaningful kiss that forms all of your praises into the action. the same kind of kiss that takes your breath away, even before it started when you quietly gasp as he tugged you close. he ignores the way his nose bumps into yours, instead tilting his head to the side once you melt into him, pressing a flat hand against his chest for balance.

it’s deep and needy. the wine somehow tastes even better off your lips, his tongue selfishly stealing some of the sweetness. in some ways you think you could genuinely go stupid just from the way he kisses you.

he takes a moment to pull away, the exact way that has him sucking all of the air out of your lungs and leaves you chasing the feeling and making your brain grow fuzzy.

letting you go, he licks his lips and drops his quick gaze down to yours before looking back in your lidded eyes. he’s so impossibly skilled at taking your breath away, literally and figuratively.

“like a starved man,” you tease, masking your faint whimper with a chuckle.

“i know,” he swallows. “i love you.”

“i love you more.”

he shakes his head, padded thumb softly pressing against your bottom lip where his gaze sits.

“not possible.”

[nonuify]

Kissing him shut, svt reaction 💖🥰

Or accidentally drinking tea/coffee from the same side svt drink, their reaction 🤭✨

ᝰ.ᐟ 🐇 — SVT ; ! kissing him to shut up

sfw is included ! [ fluff ] ꩜.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL ;

okay so, imagine you & him arguing not full on, just innocent bickering, you’ve had enough of his bullshit but he looked so hot when he’s frustrated, so when he was gonna continue his rant you grabbed his neck & fully gave him a passionate kiss which led to you & him making up ;).

YOON JEONGHAN ;

he would be in a photoshoot asking if he looked good in the outfit that the stylist picked out, to which you answered of course. i mean he’s a greek god you would tell him he’d look gorgeous in a potato sack “please baby tell me the truth do I look go“ your lips landed on his, he widened his eyes then quickly responded by deepening the kiss, you could feel him smiling against your lips.

HONG JISOO ;

josh would be talking about his day, while you were here admiring his pretty pretty face, god you just wanted to kiss him badly. “and when I we-, baby are you listening?” he quirked his eyebrow then suddenly you gave him a peck “sorry couldn’t resist” you sheepishly said, he just smiled then pulled you in for another kiss but this time it was longer.

WEI JUNHUI ;

idk but it I have a vision of him calling the other members & like while he’s talking about the most random stuff on earth you’d just walk in & give him the sweetest pecks here & there, he would get flustered 100%, like my boy gets so shy when you kiss him infront the members.

KWON SOONYOUNG ;

craazy take but you & him in the practice room him getting frustrated about not getting the move right & starts blabbering his worries away, you wanting to comfort him went to kiss him lovingly then reassuring him that he’ll nail it in no time but he doesn’t need to beat himself up to it :((

JEON WONWOO ;

wonu :( ugh he would be a dummy not giving you attention because he was all caught up on a game on his phone & you just wanted his love & care, but of course he was too busy playing away, annoying him to give you attention he would say “y/nnn!!” whining then you’d kiss him & he’d forget why he was mad & just kiss you till infinity.

LEE JIHOON ;

you would be sitting on his lap playing with his hair & being all giggly to whatever he was saying then kissing him do shut up “did anyone tell you that you’re the prettiest person ever?” you said against his lips, he felt really shy about it then continued to kiss you, what can’t you just compliment your boyfriend??

LEE SEOKMIN ;

we all know how seokmin is a little ball of energy when he gets comfy with someone so imagine his partner hes excited about everything that has happened while he’s away, & you just stared adorning how he looks & the shimmer of excitement in his eyes while he was talking about something that happened in soundcheck you grabbed his cheeks & kissed him deep with a rush feel of love.

KIM MINGYU ;

I just vision you helping mingyu with shaving his stub, aaaa omg!! like you’re trying to shave him & he’s all squirmy & a gaunt it saying how he doesn’t want to do it just being an absolute brat about it & you just kiss him to shush, my man would be shut.

XU MINGHAO ;

minghao loves to paint right like he’s so artsy showing you his work, you’re amazed by his creativity & talent, he dares to utter that it isn’t good? how dare he! he’s literally better than picasso you said passionate about your statement, he felt doubt as he continued with his words, you came up not caring you’d be needed by the paint kissing him & reassuring him it’s amazing like him.

BOO SEUNGKWAN ;

okay so you & seungkwan out on a karaoke night him singing his heart out with you, looking at him so tenderly you just have the instinct to kiss him so much, like how can someone looks so attractive by just singing?? you were so lucky to have your boyfriend, he continued to sing suddenly he got cut off by your lips smashing on his, he was surprised at first but then welcomed your kiss by kissing you back & hugging you.

CHWE HANSOL ;

you & hansol would be out on a date to a museum or such, you would ask about a painting he took liking of, he would explain to you with full details!, you would be giddy about him being excited about telling you about all the details the painting had contained of, cutting him off by a small peck on his lips, you’d smile then say “continue” the smile widening by the second, he would be surprised & really flustered he’s at a loss of words when goes back to explaining

LEE CHAN ;

chan would be drunk & would be telling you how much loves & cares for you, now you being a little tipsy but sober, you understood everything he said & it made your heart warm up, “i love you so so so muchhhh~” he would pout saying how much love he has for you, grabbing him you kissed him on his lips then all over his face saying how much you love him too, he would get soo shy, cheeks burning up in a red-ish color

! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ thank you for reading >ᴗ< !! weewoo my first all fluff, I hope you like this anon !!

[purplecoffee13]

Nemesis with Benefits - Part 6

Summary: “Three weeks have passed, and the inevitable truth leads to some harsh conversations…”

Wc: 3.3k

Tropes: enemies-to-lovers

Warnings: ANGST big time, fighting, crying (my heart hurts)

A/N: hello… I finally finished the newest chapter and I immediately wanted to get it out so you can all read it. I am incredibly sorry that it took so long, and I am also sorry for the amount of sadness in this chapter… but it had to happen🥲

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It's been three weeks since you last saw Harry, and you feel terrible.

About what exactly? You're not sure. Dylan's sudden appearance. Harry just— walking out. What Harry and Dylan did to you. What you have been doing with Harry...

It seems that, just as the dust had started to settle, this tornado entirely threw you for a loop again. Finally getting to terms with your feelings and accepting the idea of a friendship with Harry, it all came crashing down the moment you spotted Dylan at that pool table.

You'd spent hours furiously scribbling in your notebook to understand the depths of this tricky situation you'd managed to work yourself into, but you haven't found a logical solution or explanation for any of it.

Only that Dylan is a total dick, that is.

You had to admit that you needed some time to come down from the shock and bottled up feelings that had exploded right in front of your face. But by the end of the week, you were ready to find Harry and talk about this. What that conversation would lead to, you had no idea, but speaking to him was vital.

And apparently impossible.

He wouldn’t respond to your texts, nor your calls when you eventually decided to give calling him a try. When you'd finally mustered up the courage to sneakily ask Benjamin about Harry's whereabouts, you were smacked in the face with the news that Harry had left.

He'd gone home to England to visit his family, Benjamin said. When you'd asked whether it had to do anything with the Dylan fiasco, Benjamin had shrugged and said that Harry did visit his family every single year. But he also mentioned he went a bit earlier than planned, so he thought the other night might have had a little bit to do with it.

Planned or not planned, it left you with a lot of confusion and doubt for the next two weeks, one of which you spent in your own hometown, trying to enjoy spring break as much as you could with a broken heart and an occupied mind.

You hadn't returned to your college town yet when Harry finally did, and you were bummed about not being able to talk to him. Rebecca and Benjamin were going to a party Harry was throwing so you guessed you'd hear about his state when you got back.

It would've be a bit embarrassing to admit, but it's one of the reasons you caught an earlier train this morning. You texted Rebecca, telling her you’d back sooner than planned. but you hadn't heard from her so far. While you'd thought it was a little weird, you figured you'd see her this evening anyway.

You didn't expect her to be at your front door.

A smile creeps onto your face as you neared her, leaving your luggage to the side as you open your arms for a hug, but Rebecca just stands there, arms crossed. Quirking up a brow, you ask:

"Hey, are you okay?"

A few seconds pass before she responds.

"We need to talk."

Absolute, utter dread fills your entire body as you nod, grabbing your suitcase. "What is it about? Do you want to go upstairs?"

Rebecca doesn't answer your question, she only nods in response to your second. You are quick to unlock my door and walk towards my apartment with her. The elevator ride is silent and excruciating, and when you've finally entered your living room, you're quick to ask away.

"Okay, what's going on?" Your question sounds almost irritated, which in hindsight doesn't seem very smart because it only seems to tick Rebecca off. What is going on with her?

"Harry threw a little get together yesterday," Your friend sighs, crossing her arms. "and I couldn't help but notice the familiarity of his home address when he sent it to us."

Your face pales. Oh my god, you are going to throw up. This cannot possibly be happening right now. Rebecca notices your instant change in the demeanor, her own growing angry. You take a few steps back and sit down on the couch.

"You slept with him, after what he did to you?! How could you do that?!"

You are at a loss of words, despite having thought about how you were going to break this news to her one day. "I— I don't know, I don't know..."

"What do you mean you don't know? You slept with the guy your boyfriend cheated on you with! God, have you no self-respect?!"

Her words hit you like a slap in the face, and as the tears roll down your cheeks, you begin to shake your head.

"Rebecca— I..."

"No, listen, Y/N. For months, Benjamin and I have been walking on eggshells, trying so hard to make sure you're comfortable. Benjamin even punched Harry, for Christ's sake. Do you even know that?"

You nod slowly, the guilt that has been tightening around your throat settling in your stomach as well.

"I'm sorry..." You peep, looking down at the floor. Meeting Rebecca's eyes is too terrifying at the moment. You can't handle that right now.

"God... why him? You don't even like him." Rebecca goes on, and the tears prickling in your eyes turn into full blown sobs as soon as the words have left her mouth. With your hands buried in your face, you don't see your friend sitting next to you, but you feel her rubbing your back.

"Shit... you like him, don't you?" She concludes, and your crying only increases at hearing that confession fall from another person's lips. This is the most complicated thing you have ever experienced. It takes a minute or so to finally manage to control your tears, and have calmed down enough to respond.

"I don't know how this happened." You confess between your sobs. "I didn't— I wasn't supposed to!"

"Hey, calm down." Rebecca pulls you closer to her, and you continue crying in her lap. "Everyone has at least one person they weren't— supposed to sleep with."

You pull yourself up, wiping away your tears as you shake your head. "I meant, I wasn't supposed to care about him. Sleeping with him was a choice I made, and I don't regret it because it was a distraction, and it worked. But it only worked because I hated him. I wasn't supposed to start... caring."

"Sweets, being that intimate with someone will leave you with no other option than to care for them, at least at some point." Rebecca reminds you. Your gaze is fixated on the ground, all these truths flying through your scrambled mind. You let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry." You finally say, and another tear slips down your cheek as Rebecca strokes your hair.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made that comment about self worth, that was uncalled for, and mean. I was just angry, but that's no excuse."

You look at your friend, whose eyes also seem to be blurry, and conjure a faint smile. "You're forgiven."

Rebecca pulls you into a tight hug, and it takes her a full minute before you finally get her to agree to let go. When she does, she immediately stands up and grabs a glass of water for the both of you while you wipe your smudged mascara away with a tissue.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" She asks when she sits down, handing you the glass. You shrug before taking a large gulp of the water before setting it back on the table.

"I have no idea."

Rebecca leans back into the couch, eyeing you for a couple of seconds before speaking up. "Can I be really honest here?"

You're careful to look your friend in the eyes, her bluntness scaring you sometimes, but you nod anyway.

"I think you two are a pretty good match— you know, if you wouldn't count all the shit that happened of course. I was actually surprised when you went out with Dylan instead of Harry in the beginning. I thought Harry was a much better fit for you.” She tells you, and your brow quirks up at her words. You didn't expect her to go down this route. “You're just... compatible, you know? Plus, I was convinced he liked you."

"Rebecca, he hated me from the start." You scoff, but she shakes her head intently.

"No I know, but I swear, he asked about you before that party where you met him and Dylan. I thought he was interested in you."

By now, you have your hands buried in your hair as you listen to all this new information that you are being fed by your friend. This is way too confusing and it's making your headache even worse.

"But then you told me he was being rude, so I just brushed it off as a lapse of judgment from my side. Of course now we know he was acting like an asshole to you because of Dylan—which I still think is a dick move, by the way." Rebecca rants on. The weight on your chest that had seemed to have subsided for a minute has grown in size again.

"My point is, your relationship with Harry has been a wreck from the start, and the main cause for that is Dylan. So if you can't get over the Dylan situation, it's probably going to be impossible to ever build a lasting relationship with Harry."

Rebecca's words ring in your ears. It's a revelation that has been looming in your mind for a bit now. There was a part of you that knew this was an extremely complicated situation and therefore didn't want to tackle it, as a possible solution seemed to be non-existent. You've hit a wall in your relationship—if it even can be called that—with Harry, and if you really want to move forward, you'll have to climb over that wall and hope Harry will take your hand and come along.

You sigh, your tired eyes meeting Rebecca's. "You're right."

************************************************

It's been about an hour since Rebecca left and you've been pacing your living room ever since, devising a plan on how to talk to Harry. What to say to him, how to say it, and with what outcome in mind.

A knock on the door relieves your from your taunting thoughts for a moment, but opening your door throws you for an entirely different loop as you find Harry standing across from you.

He looks worn out. The dark circles under his eyes aren't extremely prominent but the sole fact that they're there tells you enough. He also appears to be in gym clothes, which makes you wonder whether this trip to your apartment was planned or not.

"Hey." He croaks out, his eyes flicking up and down your face and body, calculating any reaction that might come from you.

"Hi." You respond breathlessly. Neither of you say another word—you spend most of the silent minute staring at him—until Harry finally clears his throat.

"Can I— uh..." his finger points towards your living room, and before you know it, you step aside. He enters your apartment, following you as you head for your couch.

Another dreadful silence follows as the both of you sit next to each other, waiting for the other one to break first. It's excruciating and it feels like it goes on forever. You don't realize you're picking at your nail beds until Harry's voice takes you out of your dissociative trance.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" You scan his face, squinting your eyes a bit. There is something unsettling about his demeanor. It's so passive, at least it seems.

"For just leaving like that." He meets your eyes, and you notice the guilt displayed in them. Not knowing what to say, you refrain from answering as you think of everything that has happened. When you finally do open your mouth, Harry's focus on you is so intense that it makes you a bit nervous, the weight of your words becoming much heavier now that you know Harry will be hanging onto your every single one.

"You really hated me, you know. And it wasn't just because of Dylan. You despised me, always did, and I never understood why."

You watch as his eyes turn glassy and he shakes his head, softly whispering 'no' over and over again. Your brows crease at his attempt at—what seems to you—denial. He can't oppose that he hated you. He has literally said it multiple times.

"Don't pretend that you didn't Harry, I know you did."

"No, that's not—" he protests.

"Then what is it?” The questions falls off your tongue in a hurry, the frustration that has been bottled up inside of you slowly beginning to unleash. "The other night, right before spring break, I really thought we were on our way to becoming friends. I felt like it was actually possible. And then you just— left. One glimpse of him and you were gone.”

You take a deep breath before continuing. “It's been eating at me for the past three weeks that you just walked out and began ignoring me. So please, Harry, clarify it for me because I don’t understand any of this.”

Harry hangs his head and sighs. “It's complicated. And stupid... and probably doesn't make any sense."

"Then make sense of it." You command, leaning forward so he is forced to meet your eyes. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then nods, a small frown on his face as he figures out what he wants to say. You try not to hold your breath as you wait for him to start, but you find yourself doing it anyway as soon as he starts speaking.

"I, uh— I'd liked Dylan for quite some time, and he knew that. He led me on for a long time, and I was trying to get over him, but it just felt like it was impossible, you know?" He explains, picking at the skin on his fingers out of nervous habit. You hum, telling him you understand without actually interrupting him. He continues.

"So, one day I was walking out of class and I ran into Rebecca. She was with you and some other girls, and you were all waiting for her while she was talking to me. I remember seeing you, and I thought you were very pretty, which was special to me because I hadn't felt so intrigued by someone in a long time."

Your heartbeat becomes more prominent, and suddenly you can feel it beating loudly as he speaks. You fiddle with your sweaty hands. He was intrigued by you? The nerves swerve through your stomach, not being able to make sense of what Harry is saying just yet. It’s contradicting everything you’ve known about Harry’s feelings towards you since you met him. But Rebecca’s words hang in the back of your head, and there is a wave of anticipation that almost overwhelms you: the anticipation that Rebecca might be right. Harry clears his throat.

“So anyways, I asked Rebecca about you and she told me you'd come to the party. Later, I was kind of— stalking you on Instagram, and Dylan saw. He teased me about it. Suddenly he started to give me loads of attention again. And I thought maybe he was jealous, and he had realized that he liked me, and this was finally the moment that it would all work out.” He says with a certain bitterness, not necessarily aimed at anyone but himself. As if he is mad at himself for those past rose-tinted thoughts he had regarding Dylan. “But then he got together with you at the party a couple days late, and I was just... so angry."

Harry’s eyes become glassy, and you feel your heart crack. After your break-up with Dylan it became clear how much effect he had on Harry. Now knowing the history, the constant push and pull, you don’t find it weird. Harry had allowed him inside his heart time and time again, all the while Dylan would just figure out how to play at his heartstrings. Just enough to keep him coming back everything single time, hoping something had changed.

“It felt like he wasn't allowing me to get over him. I had finally met someone who made me realize that maybe the first stages of like— love and dating shouldn't feel like your heart is constantly being ripped from your chest. That it could be innocent and fun. And it felt as if he was mocking me for it, by going after that hope and taking it away.”

He looks at you, and you give him a weak, sympathetic smile, swallowing away the physical pain you get from hearing about Harry’s emotional pain. Caring so deeply can be the most euphoric thing, but it’ll come back to bite you in the ass when the person you care about is hurting. You realize then, in that moment, how thin the line between a blessing and a curse is.

But when your hand finds his and you intertwine your fingers, you figure it’s more of a blessing anyway.

“And I just— I don't want to spin it as if you were a piece of meat, because Dylan cared about you. I saw that, and I hated it because I used to wish it was me. It made me be a dick to you, and I’m really fucking sorry about that, because you didn’t deserve that at all. If I could take all of that back then I would.”

He sighs as soon as all the ramblings of words have left his mouth, and you feel the weight of that sigh. His body tells you it as well: he’s relieved. Initially, you find yourself at a loss of words, and the only thing that your mind can generate as a response escapes before you can stop yourself.

“Well, if you take it all back then we bever would’ve have had such mind-blowing sex, right?” You blurt out, and Harry chuckles at your stupid joke. You laugh along as you try to scramble together a real answer, stroking his hand with your thumb.

“I’m sorry Dylan used you like that, I can only imagine how frustrating that is. And while I agree you should’ve never been so grumpy to me, I can’t say that I haven’t acted rude out of jealousy before.” You say earnestly, the thought of that night at the bar popping inside your head. You weren’t exactly nice to that girl Harry was talking to either. In fact, you didn’t acknowledge her at all.

“Rebecca said we need to get over the Dylan situation if we ever want to build any sort of relationship whatsoever. We need to forgive each other and move past it, otherwise we can never be— friends.” Your cheeks heat up at your quick save. It’s quiet between the two of you, but his grip on your hand doesn’t loosen the slightest bit. Harry is staring at his lap, making it difficult for you to read what he’s thinking. He raises his head to meet your eyes, and when you are met with the sight of a tear rolling down his cheek, your own vision blurs instantly.

"How can I forgive you for something you never did?"

The hopelessness of his question smashes your heart into a thousand pieces. You are quite sure you physically hear it crack. The broken pieces pierce into every part of your body, including your throat, that feels too heavy as you gather strength to answer him. Your breath hitches the first time you try to get some words out and fail, so your voice wavers when you manage to speak.

“I don’t know...”

Taglist: @hisparentsgaleryy @love-letters-to-uranus @moonwitttch19 @notmeherelol173 @fairytale07 @valuunit