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capslocked · 7 months ago

Text

PROXIMITY

male reader x chou tzuyu

25k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And her collarbone is out too. Ouch.

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

The problem is, you’ve recognized her immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* Avoid unnecessary physical contact

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

* Do not offer opinions/advice unless specifically asked

* Minimize speaking, just to be safe

* Do not exchange gifts, especially personal ones

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

* Adjust and reframe

* Reinforce

* Remind yourself

* To just fucking think about literally anything else

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh yeah, for the ambience."

"For the ambience," she nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe in, slow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fire pops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm. Sure."

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

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

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

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

"Did I get it?"

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

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

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

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

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

"There," you say, smiling, naive.

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

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

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

But everything starts to sink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, christ-

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

You breathe, shaking your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds like a you problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Swallow," you tell her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu lets herself go slack against your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that is - a vision.

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

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

"A shirt?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right."

"Your favorite past-time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The power goes out early in the morning.

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu opens the sliding glass door to the balcony.

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

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

"Maybe."

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

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

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

"Want to look for it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meaning?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

"My cocksleeve, my good girl, shit-"

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

"Is that what my girl wants?

She smiles, again, so prettily.

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

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

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

Her hips come up off the granite, desperately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have no business thinking about babies.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

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

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

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

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

"My benefit, really?"

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

"Not making this easier, babe."

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

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

Tzuyu nods.

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

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

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

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

"Then you get your turn," you offer.

"Deal," she nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," is all you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes?" you prompt.

"Is it working?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No comment."

"So shy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put your hands on her hips.

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

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

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

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

The days bleed together after the snow.

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

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

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

"I have my limits, princess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's what makes her heart beat. )

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

You continue combing.

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

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

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

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

"If you don't take that back-"

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

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

Tzuyu shudders slightly under your touch.

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

"Sir, don't pretend."

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

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

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

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

"Too bad."

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

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

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

This doesn't have to end, no?

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

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

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

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

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

"Crazy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her legs snap to you quick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you ask:

"What now, doll?"

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

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

"Was the screaming really that necessary."

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

"I," is the immediate reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were right. "This is hell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mnph.” Tzu chokes down a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, fuck, fuck- need to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're not a bad person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

She's at the doorway.

“Us. Being here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gloomy," you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And our usual antics?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A girl like her, kissing so eager for you-

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

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

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

“How is that fair?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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starbuckie · 3 years ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐭

pairing: modern!remus lupin x reader

words: 2k words

warnings: a small injury, stress, tiniest bit of angst (if you can even call it that), just a whole lot of fluff, also remus’ sweaters alone are a warning (they’re so warm and cozy they’ll give you a heart attack!!)

summary: y/n shouldn’t have promised to make holiday dinner for the whole goddamn friend group.

a/n: my first remus fic!! (YAY, yay) im so happy that i finally chose to do this with my moony, because he’d just be the sweet supportive bf as i fucked up christmas dinner for all out friends. also pls im gonna write a headcanon ab thrifting with modern!remus. it’s been so long since i wrote for the harry potter cinematic/literary universe. but please, please do enjoy, and leave a reblog or comment if you do <33

main masterlist || harry potter masterlist

Y/N loved Christmas. She really did, but it was times like these that she wished the damn holiday never existed. Cooking for all the Marauders, especially with their ginormous appetites and their typed out, two page list of dishes they wanted to eat, was a chore itself and she had been friends with them long enough to know that she’d be working in the kitchen for days. Maybe she should’ve started a few hours earlier, because trying to finish fourteen cooked meals in six hours was not faring well for her mental health nor for her body. Two pumpkin pies sat in the oven, a turkey sitting on the counter waiting to go in, with pots of split pea soup slowly boiled on the stove. There were bowls of caesar salad in the fridge, five bowls, to be exact, and platters upon platters of cookies were by the opening of the dining room so her friends could take cookies just in case cooking took much longer than she expected, and by the looks of her roasted parsnips in the clay colander, those cookies would come in handy. The kitchen smelled amazing but Y/N knew for sure she didn’t, feeling the sweat seeping through the thin cotton shirt she wore while cooking.

“Don’t worry, Mary, I can make it myself! I swear, I can cook fourteen different dishes all by myself, starting just hours before!” She mocked her previous words to one of her closest friends, promising her that Christmas dinner was just Christmas dinner and the tired uni student and mother of an infant had nothing to work about.

She didn’t want to be ungrateful. Y/N was so happy to be making dinner for them, her family that she had found after so many years without one, but it was her first Christmas that she had had with anyone outside of her own self in nearly fifteen years. It had to be absolutely perfect, and in its current state, it was anything but.

“Hello, lovie, things are smelling quite good in here- woah, uh, you’re aware that that pot is boiling over right?”

Y/N looked up from the potatoes she was peeling to the voice from the door. Remus stood there, dressed cozy in a patterned, forest green jumper and loose fitting jeans that they had bought on a thrifting date the weekend before. His hands were shoved into his pockets, nose and cheeks dusted in a pretty pink blush from the cold of a London winter.

No matter how long they had been dating, she would never stop admiring Remus. When they first got together she would always call him pretty and gorgeous, and when he asked her why he wasn’t handsome or hot she said, “of course you’re both of those things, pretty, but you’re gorgeous inside and out”. He’d flushed red right after Y/N told him and she knew right then that she’d never get sick of seeing that face.

“Y/N? Darling, the pot is boiling over!” Remus insisted more urgently. Y/N shook herself out of her trance and glanced at the stove, where surely enough, one of the pots full of split pea soup was boiling and spilling over the sides of the metal and into the fire.

“Shit!” Grabbing a towel she tried to wipe down the pot and in her haste forgot the stove was still on. Tears filled her eyes, spilling out freely as if they had been waiting there for a while. A small whimper left her lips and Remus immediately rushed to turn the fire off and returned to her face her burnt finger.

“Are you okay, lovebug?” He inspected the burnt skin, his hand cool under her warm flesh. A few sniffles managed to escape Y/N and he pulled her into his arms, cooing, “It’s alright, darling, just let it out. I can tell this isn’t just about the burn ‘cus I’ve seen you take on Sirius in his stupid wrestling matches while have the fuckin’ audacity to smile.” She giggled a little at that and he mirrored her expression, glad he was able to get his girl laughing again. “What’s really bothering you, my little chef?”

Y/N sniffled and laid on the floor, Remus’ arms situated around her hips as he leaned up against the counter. Her mind told her that there was no time to be dawdling, laying on the floor and lazing. But her boyfriend’s arms felt so good around her, warmth radiating off him like he was a damn furnace heater and she found it nearly magical the way he was so warm all the time.

She could spare herself this one moment with him..

“Remember the last time Mary came over with Dorcas and the kid?” Remus hummed, picturing the small baby girl he’d had to sit with for an hour as the three women caught up on life after highschool. Ever since the crying infant was born, the group had barely had time to get together. Everyone was sort of heading off. “Well, Mary mentioned how Lily said James was getting the whole gang back together for Christmas, and how she was going to have to do so much cooking for the holidays this year because she’s Mary and she always is the best cook and the best host,” Remus agreed with a quick nod, still strumming his fingers up and down his distressed girlfriend’s body gently, “so I stepped in and told her I’d do it so she could have a break for once.”

He nodded and smoothed down her hair as she talked. “And that’s not going so well for you, is it?”

Y/N surveyed the barely half finished Christmas dinner laid out, the soup spilled over the pan and countertop. There were at least several more dishes to be finished, and it was already six o’clock which meant that everyone would be arriving within the next two hours. “No, it’s not,” she admitted with a pout.

“Do you want me to help you, lovie?” Remus knew his girlfriend was stubborn. This was the woman that refused to let him help her with biology homework in year two and would not accept defeat in Monopoly until everyone had counted over their properties and money at least three times. He would not put it past her to insist on finishing the Christmas dinner by herself despite the fact that she had been cooking all day and was clearly exhausted.

But with the smallest voice that he could barely just hear, she asked, “Please?”

So with her little plea of help, that he’d never mention again if he wanted to live, Remus lifted her up by her armpits and together they slowly started to fix up the kitchen. He wiped up the spilled soup while she took the pies out carefully, under his supervision of course, and put the turkey in the oven for three and a half hours. It wouldn’t be perfect timing for the guests, but he reassured Y/N that it would be okay.

He insisted that she take a shower and get ready for dinner about an hour of starting anew.

And, oh, she couldn’t be more grateful for her boyfriend as the hot stream of water felt so good on her tired muscles, finally being able to release the tension in her body after hours of working in the kitchen. There was no doubt in her mind that her feet would be sore from standing so long later, but she let herself relax, not thinking about Christmas dinner, or the cooking, or the fact that the new uni semester would start in less than two weeks. Ooh, she still had to schedule her classes for that as well.

Finally forcing herself from under the hot spray of water, Y/N dried off and prepared herself to look somewhat presentable. The closet in her and Remus’ shared room was large, large enough that it should have held all of their clothes equally, but his sweaters took up a solid half of the space. She couldn’t be that upset though, she’d let the man have as many cashmere sweaters as he wanted, and it didn’t hurt that he looked damn good in them too.

Y/N finally decided on a crushed red velvet skater dress, with bell sleeves covering her forearms in the cold December chill. A dainty gold necklace, a gift from Lily for her birthday the year before, sat on her collarbones, the small jade pendant resting in the center. Slowly, she danced over to the bathroom, humming her favorite Christmas songs as she applied her makeup. Some bold red lip and neutral eyeshadow later, the time showed to be seven-thirty already, and she dashed out of the room in a haste, her heart already racing. She was an hour and a half late to her own damn Christmas get-together.

What she hadn’t been expecting to see however, was every single one of her friends, clapping as she entered the living room, adorning happy smiles and shouting praises at her. Her eyes swept over the small crowd, all ten of her guests, all faces of the ones she loved most, all looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world. It felt good, having this family.

She made her way through the group of Marauders and her dear loved ones, faintly making out Mary’s words of gratitude and James’ yelling of how good the food smelled. The little ones, the infants Harry and Mary and Dorcas’ bratty little girl, enjoyed slobbering and teething at the snickerdoodle cookies, to her satisfaction, but a cry of relief nearly left her lips when she saw the dinner table. All the food was finished, laid out under a holiday table runner that stretched along the oak wood. Mashed potatoes, salads, green beans, and bowls of soup set up neatly with utensils next to it. It was a food fantasy straight out of her mum’s cookbook, the aroma of Christmas dinner seeming to fit in perfectly with the dimly lit room.

Remus wrapped an arm around her waist as she admired the setting. He too had cleaned up, looking like he walked out right out of one of her vintage Vogue magazines, with his fluffy chestnut hair combed to the side and gelled there with a formal yet warm-looking tweed suit. To say he was looking sharp was selling it short.

“You look good, lovebug.” Y/N placed a kiss on his lips, trying her hardest to not make it more than chaste when he looked so damn pretty.

“When did you even have time to change? I didn’t notice you coming into the bedroom.” She noted.

Remus’ cheeks tinted a light pink and he looked down sheepishly. “I had to ring up Sirius for some nicer clothes, I realized halfway through my search that all I have are jumpers and old jeans.”

Resting her hands on his suit-covered biceps, which she felt suited his arms rather nicely, she squeezed making him blush more furiously, a pinky-red flush taking over his cheeks and nose in pretty contrast to his umber eyes. “Really? I couldn’t even tell.”

He laughed at the sarcastic, teasing tone, pecking her forehead. “I hope I did okay with dinner, I was just following out of your mum’s recipe book.”

His arms encased her frame, his head coming to rest comfortably in the crook of her neck. “Oh, my Moony,” she sighed, “it’s just absolutely perfect. This dinner itself has to be the best Christmas gift ever.”

Well, if she thought this was the best gift, then Remus couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when he took out the little black box in his coat pocket.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #modern!remus lupin #modern marauders #the marauders #harry potter fanfiction #𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐭

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hwrryscherry · 4 years ago

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The one where Anne teaches Model Y/N how to make gingerbread cookies.

blurb: Model Y/N never baked gingerbread cookies before and she has no idea how to do it, so as Anne is teaching her Harry realizes how good the relationship of his girl and his mother is and also, he gives model Y/N her first mistletoe kiss later at night.

warning: fluff, smut and more fluff Harry because we love it.

word count: 7.2K

author's note: DAY 2 of Christmas Special is here!!!! What are you guys thinking so far? I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am. Also, I must admit I’m a little nervous to post this because it’s the first smut I ever posted so yep, i’m a little nervous and I apologize if that’s the worst smut you’ve ever read lol, I just wanted to try. Anyway make sure you find the holiday spirits and start celebrating, I hope this helps♥️♥️

christmas song of the day: Like It's Christmas by Jonas Brothers.

December 21st, 2020.

After sleeping for a good number of hours from basically 7 AM until the current time that was 12:19 PM, you'd feel a sharp cold air running through your skin making you wake up, not fully, but enough to see that Harry had took all the blanket to his body leaving you uncovered. Neither of you actually had taken a shower or changed clothes when you arrived because the urge of laying in a bed was all you really wanted to do after traveling for 20 hours straight and the jeans were probably the one thing that kept you from waking up some hours earlier.

Anne noticed that you both were home when she woke up and saw that all brownies were gone. She walked her way carefully to the only room that wasn’t occupied when she arrived and came across you and Harry sleeping on the king-sized bed under that heavy white blanket extremely appropriate for the weather outside. Harry had his body very close to yours, by the way. The older woman admired the scene a little, she thought to herself that after some complicated relationships that generated the boy's music and also three Grammy nominations, he had finally found someone like you. Someone who brought him nothing but peace. She could see in the boy's eyes, in his voice and even in his appearance that he was genuinely happy. That he was excited about what life would bring him. Harry was Anne's little boy. It had always been like this and it always will be, he called her every day and they usually spend hours talking about how things were going. Harry asked about Gemma, asked about his family in general and she informed him with all the details, and then when she asked how you were, he’d spent a long time talking about you to her. And she adored you, she adored you for knowing that you loved and cared for her little boy but she also loved you for being an incredible person. And two Christmases ago when you met her you were so nervous, terrified would be the right word. Harry told you that you had nothing to worry about and that she already liked you, but how can you not worry? It was Anne. But being nervous about meeting new people was something yours. The first time you had met Gemma, which was on the New Year's trip to Ibizain 2017 that you and Harry had before you started dating, in fact Gemma told you that he was not being "just" friendly’’on that trip. Anyway, when Christmas 2018 came and you had to go to Holmes Chapel you were nervous to meet Gemma again. You previously knew her as your friend's sister, now you’d know her as your boyfriend's sister and that was a big thing.

Anne didn't stay long at the bedroom door, of course. And a few hours later when that cold wind ran through your skin and you woke up, you used your hand to try to pull the blanket over your body again but your tall and heavy boyfriend was completely wrapped around it like a cocoon.

— Harry! — You whined with your eyes closed as you tried to pull it, but the man didn't move, not even a muscle. At this moment, you already knew that you were wide awake and wouldn’t sleep anymore, so you decided to get up. You then put your two feet covered by cozy socks on that dark wooden floor and got up from the bed slowly. You passed both of your hands over your face as you approached the big glass window and could see the sky extremely clean and blue and all that white snow everywhere. On the ground, in the mountains completely covered with snow, on top of the roofs of other houses and even on top of cars that were left on the street and not in the garage. You really felt like you were in winter wonderland.

You took a deep breath and started walking to the suite bathroom and were amazed at how beautiful it really was. Like the rest of the house, it had the floor and walls made of wood but it also had some parts of the wall painted white. There was a long mirror on the wall of the sink that spanned the entire length of the counter, which there was a grayish blue color. It had a bathtub that was in by a window and in front of a painted picture of the mountains in the fall.

You walked back to the bedroom approaching your handbag where you took your toiletry bag and walked again to the bathroom. You placed the small bag over the sink and opened it instantly taking a hair clip inside it and then using your hands to join your strands of hair to be able to pin them with the clip. So you immediately brushed your teeth deciding that you would go into the shower and take a long and hot shower actually.

You had already undressed, but cover your body with a white cotton robe that you had brought for after showering. You were looking through your suitcase that was on top of the dresser next to the bathroom door open in front of you while you chose the clothes you would wear today for after you actually shower. As you took one of the baggy jeans, you had put in the suitcase. You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders, as you looked at them to see the little cross tattoo on his hand, you felt his hot breath close to your neck as he used his other hand to move your hair to the other side of your neck to give you a peck in it.

— Good morning, I can see you're rested — You'd say feeling the boy's warm lips slowing moving against your jaw and the spot under your ear that gave you goosebumps towards all of your body causing Harry to open up a smirk, which you could feel perfectly over your skin. He just knew, he knew your body so well at this point to know all of your sweet spots but he still is quite determined to find new ones.

— I am, but ye' look tired! — Harry whispered next to your ear as he started using his hands to slowly move the robe off your shoulders so he could see the skin of your neck, shoulders and collarbone exposed in front of him. You'd frown your eyebrows at his words trying to understand what he was trying to say and just when you were going to talk, you'd feel Harry's rough fingertips slide softly over your collarbone — And as I'm such a good boyfriend, I should relax ye', shouldn't I? — Harry would say, his voice deep and rough as he took his right hand up to your neck so he could hold your jaw to move your head to the side just a little to give him more space to kiss your neck again. Now moving his lips lightly as he used his tongue to suck on the sensitive skin, being careful to not leave any marks, even though he wanted to so much. He wanted to mark that pretty neck of yours, so everyone knew that you were his, and only his.

You'd roll your eyes at the feeling of your whole body becoming hot from the sensation he was gifting you to. You'd move your head a little as a successful try to free yourself from Harry's grip so you could turn around to face him. You'd kiss the boy's tempting lips immediately as you put your body closer to his feeling the boy use one of his hands to cup your face and the other one to your waist squeezing it as he brought your body even closer to his.

Once both of you accepted the heat of the moment, Harry would slide his hands to the back of your thighs lifting you up and carrying you to walk to the huge bed you had in your room. You'd cross your legs on his waist to hold you from falling as now disconnecting your lips to start kissing his jaw and then going down his neck feeling the small growing hair tickle your face a little because even thought he had shaved his beard two days ago it was already making its way back.

Harry’d put you lying in bed, just getting on top of you while he felt the wonderful feeling of your tongue sucking on his neck, maybe you weren't being as careful as him about the "no leaving marks" rule but at this moment Harry didn’t care, and he knew that if the mark shows up he would smirking show it around the house so everybody could know what you guys were doing earlier in the room.

You used your body to switch positions and now stay on top. Harry’s back was now on the mattress, while he took his hands to the band that held your robe, well, it held more or less since because of all the action it was almost out of your body now. He pulled the fabric and slid the robe out of your body, leaving you completely exposed in front of him. He would be stunned for a moment because it doesn't matter how many times he saw you naked. It feels like the first time, every time. He’d still admire any stain, any stretch mark, any cellulite, any part of skin that was present on your body because he finds you perfect just the way you are. Anyway, your knees would rest on either side of his hips, and your butt would be specifically on top of his now, growing boner that was covered on his jeans from yesterday. You'd feel him swallow hard when you'd pass your delicate lips over his throat and slid your hands to pull his goddamn shirt out of his body getting a perfect vision of his tattooed chest and arms. You'd softly run your fingertips through his butterfly tattoo to the two tattoos a little up the beginning of his jeans feeling his skin get chills under your fingers and feeling the urge between your legs get higher as you'd feel his boner getting harder under you and his big hands sliding through your naked back.

Harry would kiss your lips again, moving his tongue with yours feeling how your mouth tastes. He would suck and bite your lips as he teased you delicately moving through our body touching it slowly, as he caressed the sides of your body, the whole length of your back and hips feeling how incredibly hot you were now. Your body was on fire. He'd hold the back of your head's hair with one hand as his tongue would slowly circle on your skin as he dowered his lips from your neck, to your collarbone, your chest, until he'd get to your breasts where he’d kiss carefully the extension of your breast before sucking on your nipple putting it entirely on his mouth. You'd throw your head behind to let out a grasp and a low moan of his name as you felt his hot tongue around your sensitive nipple. "Harry", he likes it. He likes the way his name leaves your mouth, specially on situations like this when he could feel your breathing and your heart beating faster. Where he could feel the intimacy of being this close to you and to know that he’s the one who’s been touching you in places that nobody could and he planned that nobody else would ever do. Only him. He planned on being the only one to give you all this sensation, to be the only one to make you rolls your eyes of pleasure and shake under his body into yours. He’d wouldn’t give this intimacy away for anyone.

Harry's fingers would squeeze your hips harshly as he felt you unconsciously starting to move it against his boner. You’d hear a groan leave the boy's lips at the feeling of himself getting so turned on that his jeans were starting to tighten. He’d slid his hand down your stomach to your bare core, feeling how soaked you were for him so he’d take a finger and starts rubbing it slowly against your clit making you let out a confederative quite loud moan at the friction of his finger at your swollen clit, you needed more. You wanted more. Harry would look up to your red blushed face with closed eyes right before you’d lay your head on his shoulder to drown out the slightly pornografics sounds that left your throat.

— I can see ye' getting more relaxed, darlin' — He'd promiscuously comment with a smirk on his face feeling your hot breath on his exposed neck — You gotta be quiet, petal! D' ye' want everyone to know how good you're being on your relaxing moment? I'd think you'd rather keep it private. I'm very surprised — Harry would joke, then you'd guide your delicate hands to the buttons of his pants, unbuttoning as fastly as you could — Rushing, aren’t we? — Harry would say feeling a relief as you unbuttoned his pants and released its length. You'd stand up in the moment Harry'd say this indicating to him to take of his pants, and he did, throwing it at some corner of the room as you'd get back over the guy putting both of your hands on each side of his cheeks cupping them.

— I think you'll be the next one to be rushing! — You'd whisper as a smirk formed on your lips when you approached Harry's face kissing his lips roughly, full of passion and desire. You'd move one of your hands down the man's body playing for a while with the edges of his underwear until you took it completely off to see his hard length chilling on his lower belly. You'd carefully grab it with your hand with slow grinding twists, your thumb moving on his tip, and it’s Harry moaning your name lowly now as his head fell back on the pillow with closed eyes and parted lips over the pleasure you were giving him. He'd positioned his palms on either side of your hips trying to bring it down to give him any kind of friction that he desperately needed.

— Rushing, aren't we? — You'd now joke positioning yourself by the tip of his length letting out a grasp at the feeling. Harry'd chuckle at your words that was previously his. You'd slowly dig your hips into his length making your lips part at the huge pleasure.

He would use his hand to help you move your hips against him. And he’s not sure what he should focus on, if it's the feeling of your wet core moving against him, or how pretty you looked with blushed cheeks and sweat over your forehead.

Harry'd wrap both his arms around your exposed back and changes your position making himself be on top of you as he started to move his hips against yours at a quick pace washing your body in complete pleasure. His thrusts were deep and harsh as he continually hits your spot making it 10 times harder for you to keep it low. He positioned his one hand on gripping her right wrist above your head tightens it’s hold and he slid his other hand to your leg taking it to pull it higher to get a new angle. His grip on your legs tightens as he feels his abdomen starts clenching with the new sensation.

— Tell me… tell me how much you want this… — Harry would say as you let out low moans to the sensation washing all over your body. He can feel it. He feels your muscles shaking from pleasure under him, and he could feel you tighten around his length as the knot in your stomach continued to grow. Harry lets go of your wrist and moves his hand to your core to use his finger to stimulate your swollen clit increasing your pleasure.

— Harry — You'd whine taking your hand to the boys hair pulling it softly as you leaned ahead a little to distribute kisses through his broad shoulders — Pl..please — As you said that, sounding so desperate for him, his jaw locked as his eyes clenched tight making his entire body goes rigid, and his mouth to fall open while a deep moan left his throat as you felt Harry’s body to fall over yours as you tried to catch your breath and so did him.

— Did so good for me, darlin'. — He'd kiss your collarbone right before removing himself from you and you'd stay this way for a while. Just catching your breath as you reminiscing the moment, you both had until you sat on the bed making Harry see the view of your naked back to him covered by your long strands of hair, he would take his hand to your lower back and caress it gently.

— I'm going to take a shower, your mother must already be thinking that we died in here! — You said letting out a chuckle while getting up from the bed looking for your robe on the bedroom floor. When you found it closer to the big window next to the bed, you bent down to pick it up and hold it in your hands while you made your way to the bathroom leaving the door open.

— Look... I hope her room isn’t next door, if it is she certainly knows that we are alive. — Harry said with a playful tone also standing up from the bed walking to where you were in the bathroom.

— God, don't even joke about it — You’d say with wide eyes, and then looking at the sight of you in the big bathroom mirror seeing how sweaty your hair had gotten — I'll have to wash my hair again — You opened the glass door of the shower cabin by turning the hot water valve on the shower, walking back to the sink where you had left your belongings to get the shampoo and conditioner.

— Don't worry, I'll happily wash it for you! — Harry said placing a quick kiss on the top of your head with a smirk on his lips and soon after walking into the shower feeling the hot water fall down his back releasing any remaining tension from his muscles.

You would smile a little at the sight of it before agreeing and going into the shower with him. You would feel completely relaxed now after feeling the hot water fall on you, wetting your hair and your face. You would extend the big bottle of your shampoo to Harry, who’d pick it up by opening the lid and take the bottle closer to his nose to feel the relaxing and sweet smell of lavender invading his nostrils. He would pour some shampoo on his wide hands by rubbing them together and then on your scalp, later unintentionally pulling your hair a little causing you to gasp as you’d take your hand to touch his on your head.

— Oh my god, I said you could wash it and not get it out of my head! — You said with a playful tone making Harry chuckle and whisper a slight "sorry''. You turned around with the boy's hands still in your hair so you could face him. You could see that Harry was focused on your hair with his eyebrows drawn together and his lips squeezed into a line. You, on the other hand, ran your fingertips gently over his chest. Drawing the shape of his tattoos and then seeing the bonus nipples that he has.

— You know what, I think it's really cute that you have four nipples! — You said causing Harry to laugh out loud and you look at the boy's face focusing on his dimples appearing — What? — You’d say with a smile on your face, and then entering again with your head under the water after the boy's signal that you could rinse your hair now.

— Nothing, it's just not cute! It's weird actually! — Harry'd say putting a little of shampoo on his hair as well. His gorgeous hair, you could look at it all day long actually. When the Golden music video came out you freaked so much about how gorgeous his hair looked in it.

— It's just that I have peculiar tastes. You wouldn't understand. — You said with your eyebrows raised in the most sassy tone of voice you could do. That’s not true, not at all. It’s just that you loved everything about Harry, there wasn’t a universe or a time when you wouldn’t think he looks completely stunning.

— Oh yes, forgive my small brain for being unable to understand your deepest thoughts — Harry said returning your sass while he approached you to also rinse his hair now.

In general, you were grateful to have had many moments together this year. Moments where you could talk without interruption, where you could play and laugh without feeling that the world was watching your every step. Being a public figure and dating another public figure could be difficult at times but you and Harry have always managed to get through all the difficulties together. And let's agree that getting out of the shower wrapped in towels, with wet skin and hair, selecting the song Don't Stop me now by Queen in your Spotify app and dancing in front of the mirror was a moment to definitely cherish and never forget.

You prefered to keep yourselves comfortable when choosing which clothes to wear and you’d chose the baggy jeans you had chosen earlier, a white dress shirt and a red sweater over the shirt along with your white sneakers that you take everywhere with you just like Harry does with his vans. When you put your hand on the door handle, you’d feel Harry pull your other hand to get you closer to him. He cupped your cheeks as he leaned to give you a sweet kiss before you'd go out. It's not that he doesn't want to go out and see his family. He did; he missed those people and spending time with them would be more than he needed, but he was also reluctant to open that door and leave the comfortable and private space that you both created in that room. When he had moved your faces away, he’d sigh and remove his hands from your cheeks and collect them for himself.

— Okay, now I'm ready! — He’d say softly making you smile tenderly at him and open the door leaving the room. You both could notice that there was no one in the halls which made you deduce that they were all downstairs.

You and Harry would go down the dark wooden stairs paying attention to the details of the house that was extremely decorated for Christmas. Honestly, it looked like Santa's own workshop. Harry had an arm around your shoulders and you kept your arm around his waist. Like you, Harry was wearing a wine red oversized sweater, which was actually quite cozy and you could feel it just by touching the fabric.

Upon reaching the floor below, you could see Gemma and Michal sitting on the sofa in the living room doing nothing more than that thing where you put popcorn and some other candies on the string. Why were they doing this? You had no idea, but it was what they were doing for some reason. You quickly looked away at the clock over the fireplace trying to see the time, but you couldn't, it's very difficult to be a myopic.

Gemma would look away from the string to the two of you right after stepping on the first floor as she felt your presence in the room. She opened a huge smile on her face at the sight of both of you because you happened to not meet each other earlier.

— Look, the lovebirds woke up! — She’d say in a loud and lively tone with her strong and cute british accent as she got up from the sofa leaving her piece of string on the coffee table with Michal. You also saw the figures of your mothers leaving the kitchen with big smiles on their faces. Your mother and Anne got along very well and you even think that your mother's english improved a lot after they met, even though the two of you never spoke in English with each other. You’d remember that when she came to US with you, she could barerly say ‘’hello’’ and look at her now having full conversations.

Gemma would accelerate her step as she got closer to you and instantly wrap you in a strong hug.

— Hi! — You'd say hugging her back tightlyand then you and Harry would alternate hugging and greeting everyone. When you hugged Anne, she hugged you so tight, like she was showing all of her love for you in that hug. She would be stroking your hair and inhaling the perfume that Harry bought for you yesterday in New York. When you’d step back, you would basically run into your mother's arms that was shorter than you, wrapping her tightly in your arms while you heard Anne hug Harry calling him "mommy's little boy", which he was.

— We apologize for being late, there were technical problems! — You’d say referring to the situation where you and Harry overslept and missed the flight without specifically explaining why you missed it.

— Exactly! — Harry said, holding his laugh because only you both knew the despair you felt that morning when you realized that you were extremely late, but it was quite an adventure. Harry’d take a deep breath, running his ringed hand through his strands of hair, throwing that stubborn streak of hair away from his forehead — We’ll tell you the details later, now explain to me what this is all about! — Harry said turning around pointing to all that popcorn that Gemma and Michal were giving their attention to a few minutes ago, causing Anne to laugh briefly.

— We’re cooking now, we didn't want to go out and do things without you! — Anne said taking a few steps back and pointing to the kitchen, which made the curious asses of you and Harry to walk next to her seeing the kitchen yourselved. You could notice that they were cooking from the dishes on the sink and from the ver pleasent scent that you could smell coming from the oven. You’d put a lock of your hair behind your ear and then look at the group of people again.

— Uh, and what are you cooking? Can we help or is it an activity only for those who arrive on time? — You asked ironically making fun of yourself.

— It is an activity only for those who arrived early! — Gemma'd say with her raised eyebrows, mocking you and Harry, which made the girl's brother look at her with the most falsely offended look he could peform now.

— She’s joking. Gemma! — Anne would say scolding her daughter even though she was joking and she knew it because Gemma loved you, and you two had a great relationship. You always called each other and exchanged messages and when you were in person together you’d always go out to do something fun and have a girls' night which even made Harry a little jealous sometimes but in general he was very pleased knowing that his sister loved his girlfriend — Well, your mom was teaching me how to make brazilian chicken pie and then we were going to make Christmas gingerbread cookies. You both should come with us!

— Sure, but I have no idea on know how to bake gingerbread cookies! — You’d say softly looking at the shorter woman and then at Harry as he’d say that he also didn’t know how to. The woman looked shocked, not about you, she understood your case because baking gingerbread cookies aren’t a thing in Brazil but Harry? She felt offended. She was quite sure she'd taught the boy before even though he claims that she didn't.

And after some minutes of argumentations on wether she taught him or not, you'd finally make your way to the kitchen. And you'd confess it was one of the prettiest kitchens you'd ever seen, and you could actually say it because the kitchen is your favorite place in every house so you've seen plenty of them. And yes, you and Harry were there in the morning but you couldn't actually pay attention to the details because all you could think about was a long sleep on a comfy bed. You'd pay attention to the big glass window now. The window that reflected the sun's light on the large navy blue island and stone based wall. It was stunning, completely stunning. You would slide your right hand to the stone on top of the island and then lean in on Harry's chest as you felt the taller guy standing behind you. He'd wrap his arms around your waist resting his head on top of your head as you both watched his mother getting all the ingredients herself and Gemma and Michal entering the kitchen.

— I wouldn't mind not helping... — Harry'd whisper as he leaned his lips next to your ear as you felt his hot breath against your skin — I wanted to watch all Home Alone movies and then pretend like it's the first time! — He'd complement making you let out a low chuckle over the boy's argument. The thing is, you and Harry created a tradition for christmas, and thinking now, you'd have a lot of traditions for a lot of things, but anyway, you both have the tradition of chosing one day of christmas week to watch all three Home Alone movies laid on the couch wrapped on cozy blankets, eating some snacks and actually reacting to the movie as it was the first time you'd watch it because I mean, we can all agree that Home Alone is the best christmas movies and it should be treated as its prize, and honestly, every year when you'd watch it, you'd probably notice something new that you haven't noticed on the past times.

— We can watch it after the cookies! — You'd move your head a little to the side as you whispered to him back to him. You’d positionate your hands over his to play with his big cold rings on his fingers.

— No, love. You're not getting it — Harry would say with a very straight face as you tried to control yourself over your boyfriend's drama. It's not like you won't watch the movies, you'll just postpone it but he loved the drama — I wanted to be in the couch now. It's cold in here — He'd say fake shrugging a bit from cold making you give him a big smile while shaking your head

— It's not cold in here, there's a heater in the house! It's just you — You'd argue looking directly at his emerald green eyes that looked extremely green today by the way. It’s the little details for you.

— Exactly! — Harry’d whisper a little bit louder now with his eyebrows raised as he tried to expose his point — If we were in the couch now, I wouldn't be cold because we would be cuddling, please understand my point.

— You're such a drama queen. I promise we'll watch it. We can even watch it with everyone on the living room, but I want to eat the cookies and I’ll feel bad to not help your mom — You'd say moving your head to the side a little so you could peck the boy on his lips. His sweet, small and cute lips that you loved to admire whenever he talked.

— Alright kids so... — Anne would start saying as she turned around finishing to put all of the ingredients on the island being interrupted by Gemma when she’d notice both of you actions.

— HEY! — Gemma would shout at you and Harry making both of you to immediately part your lips and look at her — No kissing on the kitchen, focus on the cookies...Jeez, get a room! — She'd tease both of you. She's probably you guys biggest shipper in the world and her heart melted when she'd see moments like this where she could feel the love and happiness in the air. — I want the cookies to be done in a few hours and this will distract you guys.

— You know what they say, right? Bake with love! — Harry'd say with a smirk on his lips as he loosened his arms around you so you could walk to be beside Anne’s now, looking at all the ingridients on the counter thinking to yourself that even though you both are great bakers this could go really wrong.

— Yes, bake with love not bake while making love — Gemma’d say with a sweet smile on her face as she winked an eye at you both when she’d hear you laugh. It was mostly a nervous laugh. Is her room beside yours? Honestly, you didn’t even want to think about this now because you’d blush and wouldn’t focus on learning how to make the cookies.

Anne grabbed her glasses and a small paper from her recipe book as you

you gathered all your hair on the top of your head and with the help of a hair tie tied it in a ponytail. Anne had a specific notebook full of loose leaves with some amazing recipes that you loved and would often ask her for a picture of some recipe that you wanted to try and then you guys would probably face time each other as she’d give you instructions on the recipe and it’d usually be really nice to spend this time together.

It was 1:55 PM now and you saw it this time when you took your phone off your pocket and gave Harry asking him to put it the big dinner table that it has in the kitchen. In the recipe, it said that it would take around four hours and thirty minutes to complete the recipe so the cookies would be ready by the sunset probably. You walked to the sink, where you rolled up your sweater sleeves and washed yourr hands while looking at the view of the snow-covered mountains through the window in front of you. When you’d turn around, you’d see Harry sit on the table with Gemma and Michal scrolling through his phone as he asnwered some texts in it.

— What the hell? You’re not helping? — You’d ask him placing your palms on the bench bringing Harry's attention to you as he immediately stopped typing. He’d be silent for a few minutes trying to find a good excuse as to why he was too lazy to help.

— Well, no — Harry would say calmly while looking at your face — But see, I won’t help because I think that not having my help will help you to have a nice moment with your favorite mother-in-law.

— Do I have another mother-in-law that I’m not aware about? — You’d ask after letting a chuckle out causing Anne to laugh and ask her son if he had any other lost mother walking around.

— Y/N, focus on the cookie and the nice time with your mother in law! — Harry’d say laughing at himself and turning his attention to his phone again while Anne handed you an extremely cute personalized Christmas apron that she had brought from London and helped you tie it to your body.

— We should put some christmas songs to give that christmas spirit — Gemma said as she fiddled with her own phone.

— Wow yes! Michal, can ye’ please take the Alexa I brought from my room? — Harry asked his sister's boyfriend who agreed and got up from the table asking him where the device was — Oh, it's in Y/N’s bag, the bag that is on top of the dresser, other than the suitcase — Harry would give him the instructions and then focus on his phone again as the man left. It didn't take long for Michal to return with the small device though, and then Harry asked Alexa to play his christmas playlist that started with ''Santa Claus is Comin 'to Town' 'by Frank Sinatra.

— Alright my dear, let’s start! Take that small bowl over there for me please — Anne would ask, and you’d start to make it. In a small bowl, she’d tell you to whisk together the perfect amount of flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, ginger, cinnamon, and then cloves until well blended. Later, you’d take a large bowl and add the beat butter that she made while you were whisking the dry ingredients together. You’d add brown sugar and egg on medium speed until well blended. While you continued to blend it, she’d add molasses, vanilla, and lemon zest and continue to mix until well blended. Gradually, you’d stir in dry ingredients until blended and smooth. She would let you divide the dough in half and wrap each half in plastic and then tell you that you’d have to wait at least two hours so the dough could be ready.

While you were waiting for the dough, Gemma took the UNO cards she had brought and you all started to play together. Of all the things you did to kill time, your favorite would probably be playing UNO. Even if there was a lot of shouting when someone forgot to say '' UNO '' when it was just holding a card left, or when someone told the other person to add four more cards to its deck. The point is that probably with the number of times that you played this game, you added thirty more new rules that were not in the original rules of the game but it was these new rules that were fun and made you laugh out loud while playing. You were very good though, and you always finished your cards first which made Harry faithfully believe that you cheat in the game in some way and that would make him indignant.

You would play faithfully for two hours without even noticing that time has passed and then when Anne returned to the kitchen saying that the two hours had passed, you put your cards on the table and went back to the counter while they continued to play, but Harry didn't pay as much attention to the game as he did when you played alongside him.

Anne would preheat the oven to 375 deg while you’d prepare the baking sheets by lining with parchment paper. She would place one portion of the dough on a lightly floured surface and sprinkle flour over dough and the rolling pin as she’d give the rolling pin to you. As you rolled the dough, Harry paid attention to the way his mother carefully taught you and how you’d take her advices so openly to learn, if he didn’t know both of you, he would tell that you were mother and daughter because he’d never had any of his girlfriends to get along so well with his family before as you did and that’d honestly warm his heart. With so many years on the public eye, Harry learned the importance of his family and how important it was for him to receive their support in everything he decided to do and he’d in moments like this where he can see how his family loves you, the sensation that you were the one for him only grew more on his chest. He would smile openly at you when you show him the cute gingerbread man that you just cut with the dough. He’d appreciate your smile and how such little things actually made you the happiest.

In the past months in quarantine, Harry has been thinking about taking the next step in your relationship. You both would celebrate your 3rd anniversary on January 8th of 2021, and he’d feel like it’s the right time to do it because even though he knows that you don’t really believe that a piece of paper saying that you were married would change your relationship, he wanted that. He wanted to go around town being able to call you his wife. He couldn’t wait for a time when this would be a thing for both of you and that’s why later on that night when you’d finish baking the cookies and probably eaten way too many cookies and completely fall asleep on his chest while you all were watching Home Alone in the couch, he’d talk to his mom about how he’s been feeling and he’d be very content about the support she’d give him. ‘’She’s the one, my love! Do what your heart tells you to do’’, she’d tell him.

You’d wake up a few minutes later, though, when he tried to take you to your room. This time, when you turned the corridor out of the stairs to walk to your room, you would notice nothing more and nothing less than a mistletoe hanging from the wooden beam above your head and would stop walking immediately while Harry continued, and then he stopped and looked at you with a curious look on his face.

— What you’re doing? — He'd ask by releasing the door handle and walking closer to you.

— It's a mistletoe! — You said pointing upwards without taking your eyes off the mistletoe above your heads.

— Oh, it is! I hadn't noticed! — Harry said raising his head so that he could see the mistletoe you pointed with your finger.

— Did you know that I had never kissed under the mistletoe? — You would ask, now looking at him with a smirk on your face and he would then look at you with a wide smile and raising his eyebrows understanding exactly what you were saying.

— Oh, really? But that has to change. The mistletoe is magic of Christmas! — Harry said as he cupped your cheeks with his palms and approached you giving a tender kiss on your lips that had a smile formed in it. And at that moment Harry decided he wanted to kiss you for the rest of his life, whether you were under the mistletoe or not.

#harry and y/n #harry styles and y/n #HARRYxMODELY/N #HARRYxMODELY/NxCHRISTMAS #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine

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johnkrrasinski · 4 years ago

Text

Into It;

full masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 1,485

Warning: SMUT. sexy times, cuss words, fluff.

Summary: a casual sunday afternoon spent with your favorite super soldier who just couldn’t resist you no matter how hard he tries.

a/n: another sexy bucky fanfic that i thought about whilst trying to take a nap on a sunday afternoon. please leave a like & comment. enjoy!

The midafternoon sun permeated through the drawn curtains of your room in the Avenger’s compound on another archetypal Sunday. It was a day where everyone in the team could just sleep in until noon, lounge around in the common and do their own thing without care.

Well, not too careless though, since you were still The Avengers after all, and the world doesn’t believe in the concept of ‘weekends are days off’ when miscreants have made up their minds about committing their evil plan and living in a building designed to keep all the on-watch heroes together so they’d be ready whenever the alarm of emergency goes off, you constantly had to sleep with one eye open at night.

Even if when you were simply taking forty winks.

But not today. Today, you only left the coziness of your bed to shower, eat some breakfast and fetch a few snacks and occasionally used the loo. The rest was spent with you cuddled up with Bucky in nothing but your underwear separating your skin from each other. Bucky would regularly go for his early morning run but not on Sundays. Sundays were for him and you. And he wasn’t going to waste a goddamn second with you when the chaos strikes once more tomorrow. Sundays were too precious.

You had been watching sitcoms all day that you hadn’t had the chance to finish it due to incessant missions and paperwork. The superhero life doesn’t exactly reward you a protracted repose despite the number of lives you had saved. So when you were granted the opportunity to watch Brooklyn 99 with the love of your life who was just as fatigued as you were, you were going to savour every second of it.

Things were going languid up until you turned on another side as Bucky spooned you from behind. Bucky’s hunger for you wouldn't allow him to stay still for a second without him getting an erection. What can you say? He just really had a thing for your ass. When your eyes were fixated on the screen, Bucky began peppering your neck and your shoulder with kisses.

Since you were only clad in nothing but your underwear, it didn’t make it difficult for him to graze his fingers along your waistline to your hip, and then he moved his hand to between your thighs as you part them slightly to permit him more access to your most sensitive part.

He inserted his fingers into your panties as he collected the wetness that was already gathering there since the moment he pressed his lips to your neck. You threw your head back to his shoulder as he carried on his pampers on your neck to your shoulder. He motioned his fingers in a circle on your clit, causing your head to spin. His touch always left you breathless and you always ended up craving for more.

“Oh, Bucky…” You bit your lip.

“So wet for me, baby.”

His motion grew hastier to get you off as he sensed your impending climax. You shut your eyes trying to relish the pleasure as you moaned for his name. You were so damn close and with a few more circles, you crumbled. Your release soaked your cotton underwear along with Bucky’s fingers that were still on your clit until you were thoroughly spent.

He retrieved his hand out of your panties and sucked on his fingers that you made a mess off. He tasted you as if he was licking his favourite sweetened cocoa spread sticking on them. You were still panting when you felt him pulling down your underwear and threw them onto the floor. You were still lying on your side when you felt the nudge of his head on your entrance as he quickly penetrated you.

It knocked the breath off your lungs when he was fully seated. His grip on your hip was riveted as he stayed still to let you adjust to his girth inside you. When you ground your arse against him, he instantly got the clue that you wanted him to move. He then complied, fulfilling your desire as he began rutting his into you steadily. He took his time, pleasuring you at a settled pace. It wasn’t lust-driven or a poignant need, it was simply you and him, making love on a dawdling day off; there’s no rush, there’s no agony, it was just you and him exploring each other’s body.

You turned your head to the side to gaze at his handsome face. The short strands of his hair and the neat stubble covering his entire jaw made him look more dashing under the faint afternoon glow. You were always so charmed by Bucky’s looks even before he cut his hair and trimmed his beard. You were allured by his gentle demeanour and his mysterious haze.

It wasn’t long until you felt your second release coming. Bucky accelerated his tempo as you felt the tightening coil in your belly. With only a few more thrusts and the bubble inside you erupted. It was more intense than the previous one and you were drowned in bliss. Bucky extended his thrusts, prolonging your orgasm until he reached his own.

He growled as he was lost in his own euphoria. He rested his head on the side of yours as he held you close in the same position whilst still being inside you until every drop of his cum was stored. He’d never admit it out loud but he loved it when he released deep inside you. He loved the sight of a part of him dripping on your thighs.

You turned your head once more to look at him as he kissed you deeply, the fervour on his lips was palpable. Your tongues tangled with each other’s as his hand that was grappling to your hip moved to your jaw to guide your mouth to have more control over it. You kept devouring each other until you were running out of air.

Bucky’s breath felt like a breeze on your face as he lovingly gazed into your striking eyes, as he once declared. For a moment there, there wasn’t a single word exchanged, it was simply the abounding love that you had for each other and it was more than any word could express.

“You never fail to amaze me, doll.”

You bit your lip at his praise. “I could say the same, soldier.”

“Think we should go back to the show. Captain Holt’s going to start with his boring facts again.” He withdrew himself away from you and laid back on his side of the bed. His eyes were now on the screen presenting Jake Peralta’s comical personality that contrasted with Captain Holt’s deadpan face. It always elicited a chuckle from Bucky.

You sat up and budged to Bucky’s hip, making yourself a comfortable seat. “…or we can go back to our own festive. It’s a lot more fun than listening to Captain Holt’s boring facts.” You repeated his words to playfully tease him while also trying to seduce him.

“Hmm… I don’t know, I kinda like Captain Holt’s boring facts and it’s interesting to hear him talk about the population rate of Philadelphia.”

“Oh really? So it’s more interesting than this, huh?” You climbed down his body to lay on your front between his legs and you began stroking his shaft then proceeded to swirling your tongue around it like a goddamn chocolate chip ice cream on a sizzling summer day. You loved the look on his face when he lost himself in pleasure. The pleasure that you bestowed on him.

“Fuck yeah, baby, just like that.” You kept sucking him up and down until he was zoned out enough in eroticism and you retrieved. The shift on his face nearly cracked you up, to say he was disappointed was an understatement. It was unmistakable that he wanted you to keep going.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Well, you said that Captain Holt’s facts were more interesting than our copulation so maybe you should go back to the show and just let me be.”

“Fuck no baby, I didn’t mean that.”

“You gotta do better than that, Barnes.”

“Please, baby? I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Any-fucking-thing. What wouldn’t I do for you, doll?”

His pleading face was too adorable to resist and you were planning to return the favour before he begged anyway, so you returned to your previous spot as you pushed him down the bed. He was looking at you with so much eagerness and you couldn’t wait to watch the look on his face when he was about to ejaculate deep within your mouth, quenching your thirst of him.

The day was still long and you were keen to spend the rest of it stimulating one another, defiling the immaculacy of your pristine white sheets.

Man, you really did love Sundays.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan one shot #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan

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alarriefantasy · 4 years ago

Text

Hi, all! So it seems that the wonderful AO3 user - objectlesson - aka on tumblr as - horsegirlharry - has sadly deleted their fics. I have only a few saved in my files, but there are some I would really love to possess, if anyone has them? I would really appreciate it if you would message me and let me know! :)

Also, I am posting the whole list of amazing stories they shared for our fandom, and I am marking (with an asterisk*) the ones that I have myself, in case anyone else would like them too! <3

Silver White Winters

by objectlesson

In which Louis catches a cloud and pins it down.

Words: 5106, Chapters: 2/2, Language: English

I Must Confess (I Still Believe)

by objectlesson

Louis shrugs, eyes on the road. “You look cute in the blazer, too,” she says nonchalantly, and what the fucking fuck, what is Harry supposed to think?

“You probably do, too, but I wouldn’t know because I don’t even think you own one? Do you ever actually wear the entire uniform?” she asks, deflecting.

“Not since freshman year!” Louis boasts proudly. “They stopped giving me demerits because it’s, like, a lost cause. I literally haven’t seen my blazer in three years, I just borrow Veronica’s when I walk into Mass.” Her grin is very cheeky and bright, and she’s squinting in the sun, aviators pushed up into the overgrown auburn shag of her hair. The horizon is hazy and pink-orange as dark sneaks up on them, the air smelling of sprinkler water and BBQ smoke from people leaching the last warmth of October before summer’s gone for good. Harry feels alive with possibility, eyes watering as she smiles at Louis, unable to stop. She wrinkles her nose like it’ll somehow hide the way it looks on her face to be in love.

Or, Harry is the new girl at an all girl Catholic Girl’s School, and Louis is the unattainable, dashing senior who changes her forever.

Words: 44304, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Powerless (and I Don’t Care It’s Obvious)

by objectlesson

“Oh no, Lou, don’t make me laugh,” he whimpers. His Ribena-purple mouth twists into a glorious, breakable shape, and Louis’s heart stops. He should not be getting turned on by Harry’s full-bladder discomfort, his little twitches, his hips-stuttering. And yet.

Words: 4090, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

The Pink Ghost of Princess Park

by objectlesson

The thought of the vibrator does not go away. It’s sitting there collecting dust all through January, and every time Harry and Louis have to leave town for a press event or a show or to record or what have you, they come back home, and it’s still there, the Pink Ghost of Princess Park, the fucking glittery haunting that Harry cannot stop thinking of Louis stuffing up his arse.

Words: 7556, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

*Life Saver

by objectlesson

Nerd Boy’s giant, dorky, adorable hand shoots into the air. Louis notices he has chipped red polish on a few of his nails and some tattered friendship-looking bracelets, like the sort you make in camp, and he might hear the distant chime of wedding bells. He thought he didn’t even believe in marriage because it’s, like, oppressive and heteronormative or whatever, but that was before Styles, Harry (Harry Styles!!! What an absurd, wonderful name! What a perfect thing to scrawl in the margins of all his notebooks surrounded in hearts!) appeared in the bio lab at his new school and ruined all his principles forever.

or, Louis is a sweetheart punk with a theater background and a heart of gold, Harry is an inexperienced nerd who plays by the rules. Classmates, lab partners, and eventually friends, what happens when Louis knows he’s in love, but doesn’t know how tell Harry?

Words: 14809, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Even Your Honey Dew

by objectlesson

It probably says something about Harry that he’s so obsessed with another omega’s arse.

Words: 9512, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

What a Heavenly Way To Die

by objectlesson

She’s thought about it a lot, and two big things seem to be holding her back, aside from the uncontrollable paralysis that overtakes her body every time she so much as tries to sneak a hand under the waistband of Harry’s knickers.

Or, Louis is afraid to do stuff to Harry, who has done a lot of stuff to her.

Words: 8052, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

A Firm Believer and a Warm Receiver

by objectlesson

a few months ago, Louis had his first heat. It was no big deal, aside from it being awkward and weird and all the other things it was supposed to be. He figured he would present as an omega, so he wasn’t exactly surprised or anything.

But then, last week, Harry had his first heat, too.

Or, the omega/omega sleepover fic no one asked for but y'all really, really need.

Words: 10895, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

You’ll Know What Makes The World Turn

by objectlesson

Sometimes, when things are messy and they have more than a few weeks apart, they need the reminder. It’s comforting to have stars to map your course by.

or, Harry’s blue bandana is a day collar.

Words: 4624, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Sing You Butterflies

by objectlesson

Louis stares for a moment before some primal sympathetic force in him activates. He has to help this boy. He can hardly walk, and he seems so young (yet ageless, beyond age, like a sea turtle or a parrot or a tree or something else odd and magical), and on top of all that, he has body glitter clinging to his skin, like that roll-on stuff his sisters used to use as preteens, only pink-gold and twice as thick. It’s, like, professional grade. He’s also wearing grass- and dirt-stained pink silk women’s underwear, so maybe he’s from London. Maybe he’s a drag queen who crawled all the way from a nightclub in Soho just to save Louis from his horribly mundane and woefully heterosexual neighbours out here in the middle of nowhere.

or, Harry’s a clumsy unicorn who accidentally stomps on a witch’s garden and is turned into a human as punishment, so he wanders into a nearby village covered in glitter, still figuring out how to walk on two feet, and meets the fairy-tale-fine Louis, who has to teach him how to live as a human and stop him from eating soap.

Words: 22701, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Holy

by objectlesson

She deserves not to be so goddamned put together all the time. Being in the world’s biggest and highest exposure girlband means she’s never seen without a flat stomach, a spray tan, contouring, eyelash extensions, the whole of her body inescapably toned and plucked and waxed so frequently she genuinely forgot what fucking color her own pubes are. Louis wants to eat burgers and smoke weed and be twenty three. She wants to wake up with Harry and spend the whole day in bed fingering each other because they finally don’t have to have goddamn acrylic nails for once. She wants to grow her pubes out. She wants to lounge around in a posh, red-velvet High Hefner robe.

Or, Louis is dressed like a fucking queen, Harry’s begging please.

Words: 6608, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Only One I Dream Of: A Drabble Collection

by objectlesson

A collection of all the m/m One Direction drabbles and timestamps I’ve written on tumblr, so my readers on here aren’t missing out!

Words: 5164, Chapters: 5/13, Language: English

Diamonds in the Moonlight

by objectlesson

The 70s au where Harry is a rich girl stuck in the suburbs who thinks she loves Shaun Cassidy, and Louis is the skater who breaks into her backyard and changes everything forever.

Words: 16136, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

In the Heat of the Night

by objectlesson

“You’re sleeping with me, obviously,” Harry says then, pausing to regard Louis with a funny expression, nose wrinkled and brows drawn tight. “Don’t tell me you thought that I’d let you freeze out here!? Absolutely not! C’mon, the bedroom’s cozy, I dragged a space heater out.”

Louis wants to protest about as badly as she wants to sleep next to Harry Styles, which is a lot. Too much.

Or, Louis is the only butch in London with a truck and Harry needs to move a couch.

Words: 7726, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Once Upon a Dream

by objectlesson

“M’not gonna half-ass our fake relationship,” Louis almost snaps, voice sharp with a defensive edge, like Harry wandered too close to a bruise with needy fingers. “Now kiss me again. We’re gonna make every shitty tourist here wish they had stayed in the Midwest. We’re gonna burn Disneyland down with our gay. ”

Harry shuts his eyes and opens his mouth, because he can’t fucking say no to Louis.

Or, a fake dating AU where everyone is lying and they happen to be at the Happiest Place on Earth.

Words: 16643, Chapters: ½, Language: English

From Now Until Forever

by objectlesson

The girls go to Britney Nite and Louis wears Juicy track pants and Harry is not ok.

Niall takes the pint glass back from Harry and takes a swig, regarding her over the rim knowingly. “You’re nervous,” she observes with a grin. “Because you’re gonna get drunk at a gay bar with Louis, and you haven’t told her yet that you wanna marry her.”

“Oh, my god, stop,” Harry scolds, hiding her face in her hands, everything suddenly hot and shivery. “It’s not that,” she adds, even though it most definitely is.

“Then…you’re excited to see Louis in a schoolgirl skirt and bra? Covered in that body glitter that smells like cotton candy?” Niall presses, waggling her eyebrows, making Harry blush at the mere thought of Louis’s golden skin shimmering and sticky under club lights.

Words: 9223, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Hello, Heaven (you are tunnel-lined with yellow lights

by objectlesson

“Oh, yeah?” Harry asks, playing dumb as he helps Louis out of his coat before hanging it up. “A new phone charger? Mine’s still broken, the electrical tape didn’t work.”

Louis makes a face at him, all arched brows and tongue pressed into cheek. “Oh a phone charger? Is that what you need?” he quips lightly, voice high and lilting in this sing-song way that’s so, so high and gentle that it’s scary. He’s putting on a show for Harry, and Harry’s thrilled with it, already shivery and hot-cheeked because Louis got him something naughty, and they’re talking about it without really talking about it, wrapping it up in layers of mundanity and domesticity, still so excited to play the role of two Adults living in their new Adult flat in London that they bought with their own money from the X Factor. Harry’s living an unimaginably glamourous life so suddenly, and Louis and his gifts are right in the middle of it, the heart of his every dream.

Or, Louis buys Harry things sometimes.

Words: 2988, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Dream About That Casual Touch

by objectlesson

And that was the first thing Louis noticed about her. Not her nipples, or not only her nipples, anyway, but the fact that she was so confident with her body and didn’t seem to care that her tits were sort of soft and floppy and uneven or that she had a little roll of pudge around her hips that poked over the top of her jeans when she wore crop tops. She wore what she wanted to wear whether or not it was in fashion or technically even flattering; her hair was always messy, she only wore makeup half the time, and she seemed to like heeled boots even if she was already fairly tall and they made her tower over the boys. Louis always thought it was so fucking sexy how unconcerned Harry seemed with what people thought of her, how comfortable she was in her own skin. That by itself seemed like a sort-of gay thing, so Louis kept a remote, careful eye on her, hoping to one day see something else that blipped her radar.

Or, Louis and Harry fuck up two dates before they finally get it right.

Words: 7678, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

*Smoke Dreams from Smoke Rings

by objectlesson

“When I get a craving?” Louis says, “You have to help me chase it away. Distract me”

Oh. Harry can think of about one hundred different ways to distract Louis Tomlinson. One hundred better uses for his mouth, for example. “Erm,” he squeaks, well aware of the fact that he’s grinning and dimpling and blushing all at once, his whole face a suddenly mortifying warzone of transparent emotion. “How?”

“By hitting my arm as hard as you can,” Louis announces, holding out the arm in question. It bridges the gap between them, stiff and expectant, and Harry stares, not entirely sure if Louis’s being serious, if this is some prank that he isn’t clever enough to understand, or if the promise of touching Louis under any circumstances is so titillating that he just can’t process it. Louis rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie then, revealing his pale inner arm in maddening increments, pushing Harry somewhere between drooling and vomiting, he isn’t sure which. He just knows that his mouth is flooded, and the barely-there ghost of Louis’s veins through his skin is the prettiest thing that he’s ever seen. “Go on, hit me,” Louis orders. “Don’t be shy,”

or, Louis enlists Harry to help him with his bad habit.

Words: 18116, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Black Stars and Endless Seas

by objectlesson

Or, A Star Trek Original Series AU where Lt. Styles is a young science officer on his first away mission, and Louis is the headstrong ensign assigned to his security detail, and maybe they would be able to function together professionally in a normal setting, but not when their shuttlecraft crash-lands and they end up marooned together on an improbably and unfairly beautiful planet.

Words: 32246, Chapters: 3/3, Language: English

Rose Garden Dreams

by objectlesson

Harry thinks it’s a fever-induced delirium, at first. After all, she’s been sick in bed for a full forty-eight hours following the Best and Most Important beach trip of her entire life because fate is a cruel and jealous bitch who doesn’t want Harry to go on a date with the girl of her dreams.

or, Harry is sick and Louis comes to visit her.

Words: 9464, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Palms Reflecting in Your Eyes

by objectlesson

Harry visits Louis at his campus and finds a crop on the wall.

Words: 6496, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Wrap You Up in Daisy Chains

by objectlesson

Ten minutes later, an awkward, long-legged, curly-haired, so pale she’s reflective, and so obviously gay-looking Harry Styles is sitting shotgun next to Louis in a bikini, denim cut-offs, and heart-framed sunnies.

Or, Harry and Louis and a too-small bathing suit.

Words: 10613, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

To Keep the Night From Ending

by objectlesson

It doesn’t always feel real to kiss in the dark, Harry guesses. He wants it to feel real. He wants it to be the realest thing, burnt indelibly into his skin.

Or, Harry and Louis take a night swim.

Words: 5036, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Good Enough to Eat

by objectlesson

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, shuffling. “You won’t give me shit for it? It’s sorta weird.”

“No,” Louis breathes. “Promise.”

“Okay. I just…fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Harry whimpers, and he must be blushing because Louis can feel waves of heat coming off him, his embarrassment a hot, palpable thing. “So, like…I love rimming videos. Nothing makes me come harder,” he admits, covering his face with his hands so his voice comes out muffled and strangled.

It takes Louis a few seconds to process, to mentally rifle through his Pornhub search history and remember what rimming even is; Harry has him so stupid he can’t keep stuff straight. His ears ring, and then it hits him, and, oh, fuck. His stomach turns and tightens so quickly he’s gasping, an audible and shameful scrape of air in the dark. “You…really?” he chokes out.

Or, Harry is convinced he’s never gonna be able to try his favorite porn fantasy on a real boy, and Louis offers to remedy this.

Words: 6722, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Grenadine Sunshine

by objectlesson

Harry’s only sixteen, it shows right now, and Louis wants…he wants so many things. He wants to taste the faint, sugary ghost of lip gloss, he wants to cup Harry’s face between his palms and swipe the shimmery wet shadows from beneath his eyes. He wants to show him everything he knows, even though he doesn’t know anything about this, about kissing boys or flirting with them or doing their makeup or even showing them it’s okay to want to wear makeup in the first place. Still, Louis just wants, wants and wants and wants. It’s what Harry does to him.

Words: 18067, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Only Angel

by objectlesson

Louis pops his hip out, looking down at Harry from beneath the cut of his fringe sassily. “How do I look?”

Harry…Harry doesn’t have words, not really. He sits there on the floor with a half-hard cock, gazing up at this taller, scarier version of Louis with wide eyes. “Like I want you to spin-kick me in the face,” he admits after a moment, shakily inhaling. “You look…really good.”

Or, Louis finds a pair of heels that fit, and Harry wants to be ruined, as per usual.

Words: 6599, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Someone Who Knows How To Ride

by objectlesson

Harry gives Louis a lap dance. Or, at least, he tries to.

Words: 5114, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Copper Kiss

by objectlesson

Harry’s not allowed to fly back to the UK without marks to remember Louis by.

Words: 4604, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

You Drive Me Crazy ( I Just Can’t Sleep)

by objectlesson

The first time Louis ends up in Harry’s bed is a total accident.

Words: 18520, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Christmas Without You

by objectlesson

It’s Christmas Eve and Harry misses Louis so badly he might be going little crazy.

Words: 5639, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Vinyl and Lace

by objectlesson

Harry tries on a skirt in the X Factor dressing room as a joke. Louis doesn’t think it’s very funny.

Words: 7541, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Touch of My Hand

by objectlesson

Words: 3104, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Tour Bus Sex, Bus Sex, PWP, Up All Night Tour, Uan era, Canon Compliant, baby boyfriends in love, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Established Relationship

Born to Make You Happy

by objectlesson

Harry makes a quiet vow to himself that he will be the very best girlfriend Louis has ever had, even if he never actually gets to be Louis’s girlfriend.

Words: 25662, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Taste of a Poison Paradise

by objectlesson

Louis notices Harry’s mouth right away.

Words: 9894, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

A Little Love (is better than none)

by objectlesson

It’s supposed to be no strings attached sex, but Harry’s in love with beauty and tragedy and Louis Tomlinson so there might actually a few strings they’re not talking about.

Or, alternately, the four times they fuck and don’t kiss, and one time they fuck and do (with a few more times thrown in because I’m a mess and know how to write short fics).

Words: 15074, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

*Take Me Under the Blue

by objectlesson

Louis hasn’t even seen his legs yet. He doesn’t know how they work or how long they’ll be. Maybe they won’t suit the rest of Harry at all, and he’ll have to grow into them or something. It doesn’t matter; Louis has loved Harry for a year with scales, so he can’t imagine wonky legs putting a damper on his attraction.

He supposes he’ll just have to find out. In the meantime, he wonders how the fuck he got here, in his squelching wellies about to save the love of his life from the sea and take him to bed and bang him for the very first time.

It’s sort of a long story.

Words: 19011, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

#deleted fics #objectlesson #horsegirlharry #larry fics #larry stylinson #larry fic rec

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prepsterlibrarian · 5 years ago

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Dior, Darlings

So I’m not even getting paid to say this (which is a crying shame), but if anyone finds themselves even REMOTELY near Texas before September 1st, you simply must visit the Dallas Museum of Art to check out Dior: From Paris to the World. It’s absolutely incredible. My sister and I met up this weekend to go and I’ll be honest, I’m surprised they even let me in considering all the drooling I was doing.

And y’all, I tried. I really did. I was gonna historian the bejeezus out of this and study the context of Dior’s rise as a fashion designer from like, books and stuff. But here is an actual quote from The History of International Fashion by Didier Grumbach, which I’d got at the library: “The 1973 numbers included what Dior called indirect turnover, or revenues generated by the sale of licensed goods: couture creation 18 per cent, men’s ready-to-wear 5 per cent, women’s secondary diffusion lines and ready-made men’s collections 3 per cent, accessories 36 per cent.” And the whole book is like that (or at least, the ten or so chapters I got through before I gave up). I’m not a numbers girl, friends. The historian-ing was a bust. I decided to wing it.

Y’all. Y’ALL. I couldn’t. I can’t. As something of a brand-whore, I was in heaven, surrounded by some of the most luxurious history modern Western society has to offer.

And so, my dears, follow me as I recreate my journey with studiously average photos from the exhibition. Do try to keep up.

So I’m a bad fashion historian, fueled by social anxiety. There was a line of folks behind me and I panicked and rushed on without getting a picture of only the most iconic and original Dior look. But my sister did (kind of), and it’s that one in the bottom left hand corner with the white jacket and strange bucket hat, known as the Bar Suit. The 1920’s-30’s had seen women in relatively shapeless dresses, those favored by the infamous flappers. Later, out of necessity during the Great Depression, people had bigger things to worry about than spending a bazillion hours fitting and hand stitching a stylish dress for the thirties equivalent of brunch. They were literally wearing burlap sacks.

In the late 1940’s, Dior decided a return to a celebration of femininity was in order because, duh. His designs, dubbed “The New Look,” featured understated shoulder pads to accentuate thin, tailored waists, and full skirts. The overall effect was a subtly exaggerated tracing of the female form, emphasizing the areas that are categorically lady-esque. And people went nutso for it.

Dior famously called his studio the “Office of Dreams.” (And let’s be real, if anyone NOT famous called their office that, we’d all think it was stupid and self-indulgent. You know you would.) Once he had completed a design, it would be mocked up in cotton muslin. Because, y’know, it’s less expensive to mess up cotton than silks and furs. Anywho, this pic shows those mock ups and it was super tight.

So then we started getting into the progression of the house under it’s different directors. Remember that whole bad fashion historian thing where it’s me? Yeah, I didn’t take pictures of the first two designers, including the goddamn founder himself, and his immediate successor, the little known and widely unnoticed YVES SAINT LAURENT. I warned y’all there would be a learning curve.

BUT it’s whatever because check out this absolutely glorious skirt suit! I died. It was designed in the eighties by Marc Bohan, who took over after Laurent, and can you just imagine walking into a board meeting wearing that? This is what a power suit looks like, ladies.

Okay, so next up to bat was Gianfranco Ferré, and everyone was mad shook because he was an Italian heading up one of the most venerable French haute couture fashion houses. And boy, was he Italian. This fella brought the extra to Dior. Just look at that red dress. It looks like the 1600’s exploded all over an unsuspecting modern gown.

Look, I know John Galliano is a dick of the highest order. Anti-Semitism is never acceptable. And for those in the back, ANTI-SEMITISM IS NEVER ACCEPTABLE. But boy howdy, could that man make drama look classy. He had this crazy ability to blend elegance and tradition with just the right amount of excess. So your first reaction is, “Calm down, sir!” But your second reaction is, “…actually, I’d totally wear that.”

I wasn’t super into Raf Simons, the guy who followed Galliano. Like he was fine, but not really my jam, and the only pics I got of his stuff are grainy because I zoomed in too much. So, moving on to the current head of Dior, Maria Grazia Chiuri. The first woman to head the house and dear God, it’s about time. She’s definitely not afraid to be provocative, utilizing Dior as a platform for her activism. And I’m here for it.

This post is already way too damn long, so the rest of my photos are just below in a gallery-style thing with my timeless witticisms as captions.

Enjoy the fashion feast, my doves.

I get it, I know, I understand that this has Handmaids Tale written all over it. But also, doesn’t it look so cozy? I’d wear that to HEB in a heartbeat.

Okay, let’s take a moment to process what we have here. Traditional, original Dior, moving onto Molly Ringwald-esque I’m-not-actually-trying-to-look-good-I’m-wearing-a-sweatshirt-around-the-waist-of-this-beautiful-dress-because-I’m-not-like-other-girls, and then just THIS. IS. DIOR. And then some courier from a different house is forced into a Walmart dress. Or some other awful haute couture punishment.

If you put a gun to my head and told me I had to articulate why I love that awful, Neapolitan ice cream, Eiffel Tower coat at the very top, you would have to shoot me. I don’t know why. I just do.

I mean, I dunno. Sure, I guess.

Now this one is insanely impressive to me. All of that stuff on the dress that looks like fabric? Wrong. It’s beads. Millions and millions of tiny beads. I tried to get a close up for y’all, but it came out all blurry and the ladies behind us were getting pushy.

I was kinda annoyed (in the most first world problems ever, kind of way) that they would occasionally put the really dramatic and elaborate dresses near the back. But I took a pic anyway, because damn. Look at that glorious hot mess.

I had to include this pic for you guys. My mandate demanded it.

“The Dior Gauntlet” as my sister dubbed it.

Bonus art photo!

I loved this statue. This lady is mood. “Excuse you?”

Until next time, mes amis.

Bises,

Moi

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umaspirateship · 5 years ago

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“All Was Quiet”

@descendantssecretsanta gift for @malicebertha

After Christmas, Mal thought, it was like the whole castle had fallen into a deep sleep. The decorations were still up, the fires still roaring in the fireplaces, the snow still settling on the ground. Even the lake was silent, the water rushing soundlessly beneath a thick layer of ice. She’d made the trek out there, wrapped up in a thick coat, scarf, and hand-knit hat, after lunch, and watched as the sun, from where it peaked out behind the clouds, threw sparkles over the ground.

It was too quiet.

Mal wondered how her mother bore the endless quiet of the kingdom for a hundred years, how she wanted it to last a hundred more.

She’d gone to the Enchanted Lake again hoping that she’d be able to get her head back on the right way. Instead, she’d worked herself into a state, and soon found herself walking back to the dorms, furious.

There wasn’t anyone around, even, to appreciate her sharp and burning glares! They’d all left, to home, for the holidays. Which Mal hadn’t minded, at first. Ben had stuck around, after all, and had organized all the typical Christmas activities for them. They’d decorated the tree, drank hot cocoa, had snowball fights, and gathered around the fire to open presents. But now, in the silent hallways of Auradon Prep, it was almost like Mal could hear all of the voices of the people who had left.

Lonnie had taken off almost as soon as the final bell rang, hoping to catch the first train out in time to make it home before the blizzard hit. She’d stopped just long enough to give Mal a hug, and a small gift. “A token,” she’d said, “from my family.” Mal had turned it over in her hands a few times, trying to work out the details. “It’s supposed to give you good dreams,” Lonnie said as they walked together towards the front doors. “But it works as an ornament, too, if you tie a ribbon on the top.”

Mal had placed it on her nightstand, lying snugly on top of her spellbook, and wished for it to work. She kept it there, even after the tree went up, and looked at it when she couldn’t sleep.

She missed Jane, too, despite all the trouble she’d caused. Well. It had saved Mal from a lot of trouble, in the end, anyway. Jane had given her the chance to choose Good, and anything could be forgiven in Auradon. Besides, they’d grown close, and, by the end of the semester, found themselves studying together in the library to prepare for their Introductory History of Auradon final. Jane had even stayed a little after term ended, fluttering around the castle and wrapping things up before the holidays before Ben had rather passive-aggressively peer pressured her into going home to celebrate with her mom. Jane’s gift had come in the mail two days before Christmas and had come out of the plain brown mailing box bright blue with a giant bow.

“I’m not really artsy like you, or like Evie,” read Jane’s card, “But I hope you like it. It’s always best to be cozy during the holidays, and I hope I can help with that a little!” It was a pillow with cross-stitching splashed tastefully on the front cover. Little blue snowflakes fell in a white cotton sky, and little versions of Mal, Evie, Jay, and Carlos, were standing in the snow, making a snowman. On the back, in smaller text, read For Good Friends, Merry Christmas, Jane, 2015. She’d carefully handstitched the message on a small red cloth, and sewn it on the back. Mal liked the art, but almost liked the message even more. “For good friends.” She wished Jane had been there to give it to her in person, so she could thank her for real. Mal had never been good at communicating through letters, and even on the Isle would prefer to go in person than send a message through a middleman. And, now that she was feeling more confident about herself, Jane had a smile that could light up the room and could give hugs so comforting they were becoming famous among their friends. There were lots of things about a person, Mal thought, that you couldn’t really experience when they weren’t there.

Mal even, to her horror, missed Audrey. Audrey was bossy, and selfish, and thought everyone else was beneath her. But, then again, so was Uma, and Mal had been friends with her for a while before the ruthlessness of the Isle had torn them apart. Or, well. Before Mal had self-sabotaged their friendship. Even Mal herself was bossy, and selfish, a lot of the time. She’d keep things to herself, hide her plans, and always expected her orders to be followed, without explanation. She cared about her friends, but everyone else she mistrusted. She still wasn’t sure there wasn’t some secret con or scheme behind every dazzling bright Auradon smile. She respected Audrey for that, at least, that she was upfront about who she was. She was royalty, Audrey always snapped, and that meant making and using connections, to her own benefit. “You wouldn’t understand,” she’d tell Mal, whenever asked about some new element of Auradon court life. But Mal did understand and thought it fascinating. Mal had been top in her Evil Schemes class at Serpent Prep, thank you very much. Eventually, Audrey had given up shoving Mal away every time she bothered her in the hall. “You may not have manners,” Audrey would humph, obviously still mad, “But I do.”

It did get easier, being friends, after Mal and Ben had broken up. Mal wished it hadn’t happened. Or that it hadn’t impacted her friendship with Audrey so much. But suddenly, Audrey found that Mal wasn’t so different from her after all, since she wasn’t wearing her Ben-tinted glasses. Well. Mal said “friends,” because that’s what you called everyone in Auradon you talked to. But she still saw Audrey as her rival (and Audrey still saw her as a nuisance). It was thrilling and hilarious and exciting. Mal loved it. So it wasn’t that much of a surprise when, rather than give her a present, Audrey said, “You would just steal anything you wanted, anyway, so there’s no point in buying you a gift.” Mal replied, “And if you wanted something, you would have already convinced someone to buy it for you.” Audrey had rolled her eyes and stalked off, calling over her shoulder, “I’m leaving because I’m late for Calculus, so don’t think you’ve won!” Mal wished she was here, because then, at least, she’d have some way to release all this pent-up anger.

And Mal WAS angry. She was angry that her friends were far away, that she was alone. She was mad that it was so quiet, it put her off, and mad her feel like something was awfully wrong. She was furious that she’d never been able to experience an Auradon Christmas before and now, just after her first one was finished, she was spending time thinking about her mother of all people. Her mother who was still a lizard trapped in her room. Mal thought about going back to their dorm, but thinking about the little lizard lounging about in its cage next to her bed just made her spiral even further into frustration.

Mal didn’t know what to do.

“Woah,” came a voice from the floor lounge. “Where are you going so fast? You sure you don’t want to try out for the team?”

“No Jay,” Mal said, coming to a stop in front of the couch where he was sitting. “I don’t want to play tourney. It’s bad enough having to listen to you and Carlos and Ben blabber on about it all the time.”

“Hey, no need to be rude,” Jay said, grinning, “You love coming to our games, and you know it.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Mal said. She flopped down on the couch and sighed.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jay asked. “I can always go watch Carlos play that videogame he made me buy him.”

“Isn’t that a singleplayer game?”

“Yeah, well I said I was just going to watch, didn’t I? Plenty of people watch gaming videos on the internet.”

Mal rolled her eyes. “As exciting as that sounds, Carlos probably doesn’t want to be bothered right now. You know how he gets with new tech.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jay said. He fell silent, watching her thoughtfully as she glared at the wall.

“Got anything I can punch?” Mal asked after a while.

“Isn’t the holiday season supposed to be about goodwill and cheer?” Jay said, laying his head on her shoulder. “Who pissed you off this time?”

“No one. The air. My mom. I don’t know.” Mal laid her head against his and frowned. “Why is Auradon so goddamn confusing? I don’t even know what I’m angry about anymore.”

“Didn’t you like the holidays?” Jay asked. “I thought you had fun. At least a little.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“But?”

“What happens now, Jay?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jay said, lifting his head from underneath hers so he could look her in the eyes properly.

“Now that it’s over,” Mal said. “I mean. Haven’t you noticed how quiet it is around here?”

“Yeah, I suppose. It’s weird being at school when there’s no one else here.”

Mal stood up and waved her hands around, “That’s it! That’s it exactly! Everyone kept going on and on about being home for the holidays, and it was fine, when we were busy, distracted, whatever. But now that the celebrations are over, everyone’s still gone, and we’re not home! We’re at school! It’s weird Jay!”

“Well, yeah. We’ll always be different. We’re villain kids, it makes us who we are.”

“But I just want to spend a holiday where things make sense,” said Mal. “I guess Maleficent ruined that for me, forever.”

“Not entirely,” Jay said. “Look, Mal. We’re at school, yeah, but we’re home, just as much as we’ve ever been. We have each other’s backs, that’s why we’re family. Do you want something to punch? Then I’ll find you something to punch. But personally? I think we should find Evie and Carlos first. Come on.” Jay stood and started heading down the hall. “I think Evie’s in her room, messing with her new serger.”

Jay and Mal found themselves dragging Evie and Carlos out of their rooms, away from their shiny new toys, and into one of the classrooms at the back of the library.

“Why are we here?” asked Carlos looking around.

“I wanted to pick someplace that wasn’t covered in Christmas decorations,” said Jay. “This is the closest place I could find.”

“Aren’t there still Christmas lights on the windows?” Evie asked, pointing.

“Like I said, somewhere that isn’t covered in decorations.”

“Okay, whatever man,” said Carlos, “But why are we here? I was almost to level nine!”

Mal sat on one of the desks and crossed her arms when Jay sent her a look. Evie, glancing quickly between the two of them, hummed. Carlos threw his hands up, “Well? What’s going on?”

Evie spoke first. “You know, I never thought winter break could be so lonely. We’ve all sort of grown to be independent people, I guess, since we don’t need to stay so close here. But, now that everyone’s gone, it just means I spend a lot of time stuck in my own head. I’ve made four dresses since Christmas, four, and they’ve all turned out a mess!”

“I keep feeling like I should be studying,” Carlos let out a little laugh as he spoke, “And I’m even starting to miss playing tourney if you can believe it.”

Mal smiled a little and said, “I’m starting to hear Audrey’s voice nagging me when I’m alone. You don’t think I’m going nuts?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works,” Jay said, “I’m pretty sure that’s just a sign you care about her.”

“You jerk!” Mal said, leaning over farther so she could shove him a little. “You didn’t tell us why we’re here, anyway. Stop dragging on and get to the point.”

“I thought, maybe,” he said, “We could make this place feel a bit more like home? I know we’re still at school. Like, I literally brought us to a classroom. But. Any place can be home if we add the right touch.”

“Oh my gods,” Evie said, putting her head in her hands. “You’re going to make us play Villainous.”

“Yessssss,” Carlos pumped his hands up and down, “I’m going to win!”

“Remember rule one!” Jay said, grinning, as they chanted in unison, “Mal always wins.”

Mal smiled and pushed up her sleeves. This was better than punching something. It was better than stalking around the Enchanted Lake in the snow.

“It’s a good thing we’re in this classroom,” Mal said, “Because you’re all about to get schooled!”

Christmas traditions were nice and all, Mal thought as they raced around the classroom, (Jay nearly tackling Carlos when he won the crown for the second time) but in the lonely and quiet hours after the holidays, and before school was back in session, there was no place like being here, with her friends. Being home.

#descendantssecretsanta #repost #mal

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monkey-network · 6 years ago

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Good Stuff ~ Stray Thoughts: School Raze {MLP}

*sigh* Well, it’s the end of season 8 *loading gun shells* had some bad episodes here and there but it wasn’t that bad. But now, it’ll be a bit sad that I gotta say goodbye for now... *cocks shotgun* Roll it.

That’s Close enough

PART 1 (Tartarus’ Door)

Derpy! Aww, it’s a wonderful thing that you’re the first pony we get to see. Man I can’t see this going wrong in any-- *sees Cozy Glow*....I think I’m gonna hurl.

Ooh, I like the new rainbow haired background pony. Having some muted colors for her mane with a nice pink for the body. Easy, yet unique pony design I’ve seen in a bit

“Friendship Assistant“ Short for “Pastor’s kiss ass”

Silver Stream likes crosswords? That... doesn’t feel out of place for her

Wait, how do you keep saddle bags on as a pegasus? Wouldn’t they be blocking their... ability to fly?

Rainbow’s loyalty is as bold as how she dresses in style

One look into Cloudsdale and I’m seeing fake news. Storm clouds can’t survive in altitudes higher than the regular clouds. We gotta drain the swamp in the Rainbow factory

Glim Glam being the rock as usual. Though it begs the question, if you’re standing on something and you don’t have wings, will you still fall?

Not scared to immediately being proven wrong. That’s the warrior’s way

And why is Yona falling to her death the scene before the intro? Not COOL, show!

Also, it’s a wonder, right? A character’s gonna die? Turn on the happy music.

How Ocellus was able to catch the admittedly heavy yak is something else

Man, characters can get over trauma pretty easy

OH NO, magical erectile dysfunction

Nothing to worry about? One (best yak) nearly became a pancake, Twilight, you taking this pretty easily.

I agree with Glimmy’s memeface, that was uncalled for, Twily

Snap, Ms. Glimmer

Yeesh, Rarity, you did that to yourself

Tirek? My my, best villain making a return?

That was gross. Thank you, Spike.

Why do potions need magic? It’s juice mixing.

3 DAYS?!

Wait, why do the others wanna go? Why not-- nevermind, it’s safe

Friends, pack your bags. We’re going to hell!

Surviving Discord’s shit is a bar you really gotta cross to challenge anything

Cozy, go dry yourself off

I smell a sabotage, and I’m glad the student 6 pick up on the child’s bullshit

That was casually speciest, Cozy

YONAAAAA! Standing up for her fellow dragon! Though, I gotta agree with Gallus. Who protests with homework?!

Cozy, I had enough of your shit

Huh, they’re already regretting the trip to hell. Wimps

So is the school an all day school? There’s a night school, so what?

Head Mare? More like Head Ass

Wow, ponies can be a-holes

Uhhh, Darla, why’d you leave the villainy open?

That was certainly a convenient yet useless artifact

Ah good, Pinkie was gonna sacrifice herself for the greater good

Okay, I want a book cataloging these animals of Tartarus

OH NO, racist allegory pony is back!

Cerberus!! Oh, I always wanted one.

TIREK! Good seeing ya

rerorerorerorerorerorerorerorerorerorero~

Oh, you didn’t think of this, did you ponies?

Come on, I’ve seen Kiwi farms eavesdrop better

Actually, nature would’ve killed off ponies if the other animals had their way

They’re college students, racist allegory pony, what the fuck would they want with magic?

Glad you’re standing for your fellow pony, Sandbar,

We got a “What in Tarnation?” folks. Giddyup

Wait, what revenge? You literally have no part in this.

Also, Pen pals with a demon. I think there’s an anime for that.

Cozy Glow was pen pals with Tirek? Gasp.

My god, Glim Glam! Wait, would that mean she’s gonna die in that orb or absorb the magic of that orb?

What realm? Why not just absorb the magic? You’ll practically have the infinity stones’ power in your hooves

Also, I like the 3D scene they did here. That is the best scene of this show period

“Friendship is Power“ Well... I mean-- you’re not THAT wrong.

For a future Empress of Friendship, you sure picked the right tape for making that crown, you cheeky ass clod

TO BE CONTINUED (after a commercial break)

Part 2 (Infinpony Crisis)

I just love when all shit is about to go down, then HAPPY INTRO TIME

Come on, Spike, this is no time for semantics

So that was the plan? Draining the magic to give Tirek some company? There’s GOT to be more to this plan.

Good job, Rainbow, you did them proud

Twilight, I know it’s not gonna work, but I am intrigued

We need to build a wall around Equestria, and make the dragons pay for it

Well you have a point, racist allegory pony, Twilight has caught the idiot flu over this season

JESUS CHRIST, it’s the hands of the damned!

You just now remembered your other friends, Sandbar?

Nice hostage room. Oh yeah, have ya’ll tried the window?

Also, have I mentioned Yona being the best? (MANY TIMES) Well it’s true. I’m glad she has undoubted trust in her friends

Okay, you get a brownie point for that line, Mayo pony

Also, nice crowbar

Also, 3rd best moment from Yona. Though I do not ship her and Sandbar. Gross.

Honestly, racist allegory pony is the most annoying part of this story

Alright, Cozy. I’ll cut ya some slack for shutting him down like that.

Oh no, they’re gonna throw him in the hot box

I’m glad ponies are easily impressionable enough to agree to chain bondage

This little girl has a fucking skull. What?

So... let me get this straight Cozy, you cotton candy headed nut, your plan is to run the school to get more friends. More friends equaling more power over Equestria, I suppose by having influence over the public for being such a kiss ass? When there is a goddamn castle right next to the school with everything a pony might want, need, in taking over the world. In addition to dropping all magic to another realm to keep the mane six in hell with Tirek, because you can’t think of owning the magic yourself?

Holy shit, this is the most unnecessarily convoluted plan in the history of the show. I thought Starlight did worse, but no.

Gloating wouldn’t ease that L of yours, racist allegory pony

Yona, never change. You are a highlight of this episode

Also, consider yourself redeemed, racist allegory pony

Good job, Tirek. You now have prison mates.

Wow, who knew Pinkie was more of a villain than a literal demon?

Okay, that was funny. You get another point, Cozy

*shudders* Finals.

Wait, how did you get all those pony down there, Darla?

Open the door, get on the floor, pony up on the dinosaur

How would they know it was the third day?

Tell her off, Gallus! Second best character

As much as this is quite a climax, I am not liking those ghost hands

The tree of EHARMONY, back at it again with the deus ex machina!

Okay, so Yona is honesty, Silver’s laughter, Smolder’s loyalty, Gallus is generosity, Sandbar’s kindness, and Ocellus is magic? Makes a bit of sense.

And that’s why Yona is best. She’s everything Applejack isn’t

Everybody duck, it’s explosion time

By the tools of Equestria... WE HAVE THE POWERRRRRRRR!

Pretty lights

Haha, and Tirek failed

Come on, Glim Glam, nothing wrong with a Yak hug

Ah, Cozy *rubs hands* you survived.

Alright, real talk.... Cozy, you fucking clod. Not only were you never convincing, not only was your plan remarkably crazier than Starlight’s of all ponies, not only was your motive behind this the 3rd dumbest I’ve ever heard from this series, but my god, you have failed to realize that what you tried to do was never gonna work in any fashion soon as the public thought for themselves. At least Starlight had her magic and charm to fool her town before the jig was up, YOU relied on sheer ignorance to hopefully get whatever it was you wanted. *chuckles* You make Frank Underwood look like a saint, you curly headed nutcase.

And you think you were gonna make friends somewhere else after you literally threatened to wipe away all magic? Bravo, show, you made me chortle harder than I imagined.

“Oh no, my tiny wings can’t outrun the law”

Well you say that, Neighsay, but Twilight really isn’t suitable for running a school. I think the season proved that pretty well.

It’s only been one semest- fuck off, show, it should’ve been well over a semester!

Though this might mean more student 6, which means more Yona. I’m down with that!! *BANG BANG*

What does he think friendship is, a currency? Who wrote this?

Thank you, CMC, you did your part

“Oh my god, they put a child in hell?“ Well, she did try to erase magic, as well as send 7 characters to their potential deaths and trap 7 more characters in the same hell. Compared to the other villains we’ve had, she genuinely pulled worse. So really, I’m indifferent about it, especially when I don’t... like her or care about her.

But she’ll be back?! *deep groan* I guess with Yona being around, there has to be an equivalent exchange somewhat. Plus we don’t know her origins so I guess it’s reasonable. Bad way to end the season, show.

But you know what? This was all fun. Won’t deny that.

So, woof, moral of the story? Well, just because you have friends, doesn’t mean you’ll have power because of it. The same way having followers, subscribers, whatever, doesn’t mean you're a permanent influence over them. Real friends give you power, power that you can use for the good of yourself as well as others. Your real friends give you the wholeness that you might’ve never been able to discover yourself, whether it be with wisdom or with laughter. “The more the merrier” is not a wrong idea to have, but quality should come before quantity, if that make sense.

MY LITTLE PONY: Friendship is Strengthening Your Pact

~See Ya Next Season~

#school raze #my little pony #mlp #friendship is magic #mlp season 8 #cartoons #thoughts #Good Stuff #great finale

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adscititious-cacoethes · 7 years ago

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Accidentally On Purpose (What Happens in Vegas?)

Pairing: Michael J./Reader Warnings: Swearing, hangovers, varying states of undress, nothing bad or explicit, there’s some confusion and wtf??? but it’s all good and happy in the end I promise (PG-13? I guess? How do I determine ratings) Word Count: 4,925 A/N: Aaaaaand now for something completely different. Hi everyone! This is a Vegas trip AU, and, like everything else I do, is 100% because of @chefgeofframsay. Also, it features “I don’t know how to title things and Petrichor was a mistake because typically I’m super fucking bad at titling things” so I apologize for the title. If you have an idea for a better one, pls let me know I take prompts/requests now! (see here for details). Feedback is appreciated! Enjoy!

You woke up slowly, to a pounding headache.

Your bladder felt like it was about to burst, your mouth felt like cotton, and your eyes were so sticky and dry that as you came to consciousness, it was a struggle to get them to open at all.

The first thing you noticed past your head and your bladder was the warmth on your face. When you finally blinked your eyes open enough to see what was going on, there was just the smallest bit of light streaming through the window next to your bed. You had a brief moment of panic where you had no idea where you were, your bedroom having no windows that faced the bed that way, but then you sighed and sank into the bed a little more when you remembered – you were in Vegas for the weekend with some friends. A reunion.

Could’ve sworn I picked a bed that didn’t face a window, though…

You struggled for a few minutes about whether you should go back to sleep or not, feeling awfully warm and cozy in this bed, a row of very comfortable pillows against your back, but your bladder was screaming at you and so you resigned yourself to working up the nerve to drag your hungover, sorry ass out of bed.

When you reached down to gingerly push back the covers (that were only half-on you to begin with), your hand brushed against something that was definitely skin and absolutely not yours.

Oh.

Oh no.

What you had assumed was a nice, comfy line of pillows was actually a man, and as your fingers brushed against his forearm he stirred. You went stiff as a board as he sighed into your hair (a rather pleasant feeling, actually). His arm tightened against your body for a moment before relaxing and becoming dead weight, his breathing heavy and even.

You curbed your panic, staying ridged and still for another few moments while making sure that he had actually fallen asleep, or more asleep (you weren’t sure whether or not you touching him woke him up at all).

Bladder temporarily forgotten, you focused on trying to figure out what was going on. You could tell you were wearing a shirt, but it felt like it was big on you, the collar being looser than the shirts you normally wear. You were assuming that it was his shirt, considering you were pretty sure that you hadn’t actually brought any on your trip. You could tell you were still wearing both your bra and underwear, which implied that maybe drunk [Y/N] didn’t put out. It was especially weird that you still had your bra on, because typically you don’t sleep with one on, regardless of your escapades.

Besides being extremely hungover, you felt pretty okay. You ignored the way your stomach twisted at this whole situation. Although you’re not necessarily a stranger to one-night stands and the like, you didn’t make it a habit, and this was the first time that you had drank enough to not remember it.

Maybe I just couldn’t find my way home so this dude let me stay with him out of the goodness of his heart. You tried to convince yourself but it was no use. That seemed like the least likely course of events, and convincing yourself of anything was much more difficult than usual with your head pounding like a drum. You let your eyes slide shut for a moment before blinking against the light once more. Looking around, this was definitely not the hotel suite you and your girlfriends had checked into yesterday afternoon, but the layout was similar.

Same hotel, different room? You guessed, looking around to try to figure out what direction you’d need to go in to get to the bathroom, and if it was close to the exit. Maybe you could find your stuff, pee, and leave without this guy waking up. Something else, however, caught your eye and made your stomach drop. Peeking out from underneath your pillow is the stretched out left hand of One-Night-Stand guy. And the glimmer of sunshine that brought your gaze up to your hand was the soft sunlight reflecting off of a wedding ring.

At least, you were assuming it was a wedding ring, it was on his fucking ring finger of his left hand and unless you ended up in bed with someone from one of those countries who do it the other way around, that meant he was fucking married.

You were in bed with a married man.

You’re a homewrecker, now, fuck. You wanted to scream and freak out, but you were still painfully aware of the heavy arm draped over your midsection and the soft breathing in your ear and you curbed the urge, instead just clenching the hand not under your pillow into a fist, relishing in the way your fingernails digging into your skin brought some sort of control into the situation.

Okay, [Y/N], be rational. You’re super hungover. That means he’s probably super hungover. Maybe it’s like a Parent Trap sort of thing, but with fully grown adult humans. Unlikely, but beer goggles are a thing.

Rationalizing did very little to help the situation, and as the sun got a little brighter through the window shades, you quickly realized that you were running out of time before your (probably married) partner woke up, and you were not about to subject yourself to that extraordinarily awkward conversation.

Now or never. You told yourself, and you went to wiggle your left arm out from underneath the pillow, careful to not touch your bedmate’s arm. Something on your hand gets caught on the sheet, tugging at your finger, but you eventually slip your hand free. You raise your hand to your face to see what it was that got caught (you were pretty sure you hadn’t put any rings on your left hand when you had dressed to go out) and had to squint your eyes even more to shield them from the light reflecting off of –

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Sitting there, on your left ring finger, was a motherfucking diamond ring.

You immediately brought your hand to your face, biting down on the meat of your thumb to stop yourself from screaming. A ring. A fucking ring. You looked down at it, a little cross-eyed. It was small and simple and had a silver band but it was still a goddamn ring and you had no idea where it came from. Once your initial panic subsided, you realized that if you had a ring, and he had a ring, then perhaps you weren’t actually a homewrecker and the two of you were just super drunk and bought rings or something. Yeah. That’s it. Completely normal. Two bros being dudes, complete strangers, buying each other rings while blackout drunk and then sleeping together (you still weren’t sure if you had sex or not. You didn’t tender or sore or whatever in any way, but there was still the possibility that his dick was just so incredibly small that it wasn’t enough to make you feel anything in the morning. Or he had a strap-on. Or, again, could’ve just not had sex. Jury was out on that one).

You took as deep of a breath as you dared, and, with your bladder beginning to protest again, you gingerly lifted the arm off of your waist and slid out of the bed, quickly replacing where your body was with a pillow that had been thrown on the floor. He immediately reached out and curled around it, burying his face into the pillow, and you mentally cheered. Typically, you were really bad at getting out of bed without waking others up.

Looking at him, he was actually pretty cute. He had curly brown hair that looked chestnut-y where the sun hit it, you could sort of see freckles on the sliver of face that he had exposed, and his nicely toned arm had what looked like what you thought was some sort of Zelda tattoo, at a glance. You gave a thoughtful frown and shrugged to yourself.

At least drunk [Y/N] found someone that’s your type.

You turned away from the sleeping man in the bed and quietly tip-toed your way to the bathroom, picking up your discarded dress off the back of a chair and your phone off the TV stand on the way. You slipped inside and closed the door over – without shutting it all the way, that would make a click and maybe wake him up – and checked your phone while you (finally) peed.

To your surprise, it was only about eight in the morning, and while none of your friends had texted you yet (probably still asleep), there was a slew of photos from last night in your phone. You and your friends at the bar, a bunch of shots of your friends with a group of guys that you don’t recognize (including the boy in the bed in the next room), and then a series of increasingly blurry shots of what looked like you and Mystery Man in a…drive-thru? Maybe? You could make out a window and a car and some neon lights. It was extremely difficult to even figure out anything in the photos, they were so shaky, like someone was laughing or moving (or drunk…probably drunk). Scrolling through, you tried to remember any of the night. Your group had gone down to the casino in your hotel, but quickly just set yourselves up at the bar. You remembered your best friend nudging you and pointing out a group of guys at the other end of the bar before she headed over there. You remembered being dragged by your friends to go talk to this group of strangers, them introducing themselves too fast for you to keep track but nodding anyway, taking some shots, and then –

Nope, nothing. Even with the super-blurry photos, you still remember absolutely nothing.

You sighed and finish doing “bathroom things” (not flushing, even though it grosses you out to leave your pee there in the toilet, it’s just pee, and the sounds that flushing toilets make were certainly going to wake up Mystery Man), pulling his shirt over your head and folding it neatly on the sink counter, slipping into your dress, and creeping back into the main room. You didn’t need to find any jewelry or your shoes, you decided. The décor of the place definitely meant you were still in the same hotel, and the shit was all cheap stuff you bought for the trip, anyway. All you had to find was your handbag with your key card and then you could slip out unnoticed.

You shuffled around a little bit, pushing pillows and clothing around (either this man was very messy or one of you had tripped over his suitcase last night because man was there shit everywhere, you hoped it was the latter, because otherwise that meant drunk [Y/N] has lowered her standards. You hated a messy man…or a messy anyone, really), and eventually found your clutch underneath a pair of dress pants.

Triumphant, you snatched up the bag and picked your way to the door. You were just one lock and turn of a handle away from slipping out completely unnoticed. You turned the lock as slowly as you could, hoping and praying that the sound wouldn’t be too loud –

Click.

“Wha – Who the fuck are you?” A voice behind you half-yelled, still groggy with sleep. You practically jumped out of your skin, letting out a yelp and whirling around, hand flying up to cover your mouth.

Mystery Man was now sitting up in bed, staring at you rather menacingly, sheets pooled around his waist. If it weren’t for the bedhead and the shirtless-ness, he’d probably be downright terrifying.

“I – uh – um –” You stuttered, free hand still on the doorknob.

“Did I – did we – hold on.” He sighed and turned, groping blindly at the nightstand until he found a pair of glasses you hadn’t noticed before and slipped them on his face.

You didn’t realize you liked glasses so much until he put them on.

“Wait, [Y/N]? Right? We met you and your friends at the bar last night.” He sounded a lot calmer now, but despite the fact that there was no way he wasn’t hung over he was still very loud and there was an edge to his tone that you weren’t used to and you were still very frightened at getting caught. You swallowed thickly and nodded your head.

“Well Jesus, sit down, you look like you’re about to pass out.” He said, gesturing to the bed. You cautiously stepped forward until you reached the end of the bed before settling down onto it, doing your best to not look as uncomfortable as you felt – although, judging by the expression on his face, you weren’t doing a very good job of it.

“Now you look like you’re going to throw up, have you never fucking done this before or something?” He spat out, and you shook your head.

“No? As in no you have or no you haven’t? Use your fucking words!”

You took a deep breath and ran your hand through your hair, opening your mouth to explain, but Mystery Man cut you off.

“Wait, is that a fucking ring? Am I a homewrecker now? Holy fuck, that’s a first, oh my god, how didn’t I notice that last night? Did we even fuck at all? I don’t remember, but I’d’ve thought I’d look into things like potentially homewrecking before I took a girl home for the night, so to speak.” He blabbered, eyes wide as saucers.

“You have one, too.” You said, finally, cutting overtop of his rant. His jaw immediately snapped shut as he looked down at his hand in shock.

“Holy fuck. Did we get married?” He asked, voice going up and nearly cracking in disbelief as he leaned towards you.

You winced, “I don’t know?”

“Whaddaya mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t know! All I remember is [Y/F/N] dragging us over to you and your group you were with and everyone was talking over each other introducing themselves and then someone got a bunch of shots. And then waking up this morning, with a very large hangover, so if you could talk just a tiny bit softer, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Shit, you don’t remember my name even, do you? No wonder you were trying to sneak out.” He breathed, sounding no less urgent or astounded but with a thankfully quieter volume.

You felt your cheeks grow hot and you knew you were as red as a tomato as you shook your head and ducked your chin down toward your chest, covering your face with your hands.

“Hey, hey now, don’t fucking do that, we’re in this together, here, I don’t remember much either.” He told you, grabbing your wrist in a surprisingly gentle hold and then pulling your hands away from your face, one at a time. His fingers stayed wrapped around your wrist, now laying in your lap. You hadn’t noticed that he’d scooted closer to you.

“Hi, I’m Michael, it’s nice to meet you, [Y/N]. Want me to find you something for your head? I know I packed aspirin or something, and Jesus Christ I need it, too.” He ducked his head a little so he could look at you properly, and part of you couldn’t help but coo internally at the sudden sweetness he was capable of.

“Yeah, okay, thanks, Michael.” You said, looking him in the eye and smiling. He immediately brightened and pushed himself out of bed (groaning dramatically as he did so), and started shifting through his things all over the floor.

“I don’t know why the fuck my shit is everywhere, I hate this, I’ll have to clean it up – hey, do you want to borrow a shirt or something? I’m sure wearing that dress isn’t very comfortable, and I understand if you want to just like, leave and never see me ever again after this, but I think we should at least hang out until we can get to the bottom of this whole wedding ring business, because if we actually did accidentally, drunkenly get married we both have to be there to get a fucking annulment, I’m pretty sure.” He said as he started picking things up and folding them, creating piles next to you. It seemed like he was half-looking for aspirin and half cleaning up, which you weren’t as perturbed as you thought you’d be by the lack of immediate relief via medicine.

“I uh, already did. It’s in the bathroom, I was wearing it when I woke up.” You said sheepishly. Michael straightened up, paused and scrunched his face for a second, and then turned to you.

“Here, take this, too, then. They’ll be big, but you don’t seem like the kind of girl who wants just any random man seeing her in her undergarments,” Michael said with a smirk, handing you what looked like a pair of old gym shorts, “I promise they’re clean, I haven’t been to the gym yet since I got here.”

You nodded and took the shorts, ducking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. You grabbed the complimentary make-up wipes and cleaned your face, washing it in the sink and then taking a second to flush the toilet (you’re sort of glad that Michael caught you, now, because he’s nice and you knew you’d regret leaving a pee-toilet for a nice human). You slipped out of your dress and pulled on Michael’s clothes before rooting around in your handbag for a hair tie. Your chosen bag for the night wasn’t big enough to fit a brush, but at the very least you could get your still half-hairsprayed locks out of your face and into something that looked at least a little bit like “I planned this” and not as much “hello yes I just woke up in a stranger’s room and now have to do a walk of shame at some point today.”

You walked out of the bathroom and sat back on the bed just as Michael finished with the last of his clothes.

“Here,” He said, and turned towards you. He paused and stared at you for a moment, and you stared back in slightly awkward silence before he jolted himself back into action, handing you a small container and a water bottle, “take as many as you need.”

You cringed inwardly at the size of the pills (you weren’t the best at taking them, it freaked you out and made you gag a lot of the time), but took the amount you knew that you needed and downed them quickly, putting on a brave front for Michael – even though he wasn’t paying attention to you, instead typing away on his phone.

“I texted Gavin – the fucker probably got just as drunk as we did but he films everything, so he probably has footage of what exactly this is.” Michael told you once you handed back the pill container, waving his left hand as he said the word this.

“I have a bunch of pictures on my phone, but a lot of them seem to not have been taken by me and after like the fifth or sixth round of shots photos they’re too blurry to figure out much of what’s in them.” You said, opening up the photos app on your phone and holding it out for Michael to peruse.

You watched as he flicked through them for a few minutes before giving your phone back to you, “Yeah, I don’t see much either, except for we seemed to be together most of the night. I recognized a lot of those blurs as either your dress or my shirt.”

You nodded, giving a hum of affirmation, and the two of you lapsed into silence. As much as you wanted it to be awkward, it didn’t really feel that way, but you eventually spoke up.

“So, where’re you from?” You asked, and you and Michael spent the better part of the next couple hours just talking about yourselves. You found out that you and Michael actually had a fair bit in common, including the fact that you both lived in Austin, even though you had only just officially signed your lease and “moved in” to your apartment a few days before your Vegas trip.

Eventually, your aspirin slowly kicked in, and while you were actually, genuinely enjoying talking to and learning about Michael, you could feel yourself starting to get sleepy again. Damn Michael’s comfortable clothes.

To rectify this, you slid to the floor and plopped down, crisscross applesauce-style.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Michael asked, and although the edge in his voice came back, you were starting to learn (or maybe remember) the difference between what that meant for you as opposed to what that meant for Michael – aka he wasn’t actually angry about it, just sounded that way.

“Too comfy. Felt like I was going to fall asleep, so I had to fix it.” You explained, shrugging your shoulders. Michael muttered something inaudible, but he left you alone, so you assumed that he didn’t have anything else to say and so you decided to start scrolling through your friends’ twitters, trying to see if any of them published drunken tweets that could help fill in the gaps.

You, fortunately (or unfortunately, in this instance), have a tendency to log out of all of your social media apps when you know you’re going to either A) be drunk, or B) hang around drunk people. But your friends don’t hold the same policies as you do, and sure enough, your best friends’ twitter is littered with unintelligible tweets. You scroll through them, trying to decipher what the fuck she was trying to say, when you see something that made you nearly drop your phone.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

“What, what?” Michael is crouching next to you nearly instantly, looking urgently at you.

“Look at this.” You click on the tweet to isolate it and turn your phone to face him.

“Cym 2 th weedin!!! :D <323” is the tweet, and below it is a blurry picture of what is almost undoubtedly you and Michael standing in front of what looks like someone dressed as a priest.

“That’s us,” You pointed to the photo, “That’s a priest,” You moved your finger, “Did we get married?”

“Holy fuck. We got married.” Michael looked at you, then your phone, then you, then your phone, something beyond shock in his wide eyes and slack-jawed mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” You said, dropping your phone into your lap and raising your hands in a placating gesture, “I am so, so sorry I’m usually not that type of person, oh my god, one of my friends that’s here with me is a lawyer, as soon as we find the certificate – wherever that is – she can help us annul it like, right fucking now, oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You could tell you were rambling, but the way that Michael stood up stiffly and immediately scooped up his phone and held it to his ear scared you, you couldn’t see his face from where you were sitting, but his shoulders looked tight and his head was down like he was angry and fucking hell this was not what you were expecting to get out of this trip, no sir-ree.

Michael held up a finger without turning around and you immediately snapped your jaw shut with a click of teeth and covered both hands with your mouth.

“Gavin – Gavin, I know you’re fucking hung over but I don’t care, I need you to come over to my room right now and bring your phone…Gav you fuck it’s not something you can opt out of this is a demand…[Y/N] – no, idiot, one of the girls we met last night…no, [Y/F/C] dress – yes, that one – she’s in my room…I don’t know, Gavin! That’s why I need your phone, cause your stupid ass fucking films everything!...yes, I’ll unlock it, hurry the fuck up, asshole.” Michael pulled the phone away from his ear and strode to the door, opening it and sticking the lock bar over so that it was propped open a little bit for Gavin (whichever one he was).

“Okay, Gav’s on his way over, he just has to roll his sorry ass out of bed. Apparently, he ended up with one of your friends last night, too, so he’s very upset with me that I ruined his chances at a “morning romp.” But I figured this was more important.” He smiled at you and held out a hand, and the moment you took it he pulled you easily to your feet. You stumbled a little, falling into his chest, but he just laughed – a loud, kind of raucous but still really pleasant sound – and steadied you with hands on your hips.

The two of you sort of stood there for a bit, you staring up at him and him staring down at you, and Michael had this dopy-looking, one-dimpled smile on his face, but eventually, he pulled away and merely milliseconds later, a lanky man with a large nose and wild hair waltzed through the door.

“Michael!” He exclaimed, but it sounded more like “Mi-coo”, and you instantly remembered Gavin. He was English, and your best friend was a sucker for English men, so you had a feeling that it was [Y/F/N] that he left in his bed to come to Michael’s room, “Michael, you’ll never believe it, Michael!”

“Let me guess, [Y/N] and I got married at one of those twenty-four-hour drive-in places.” Michael deadpanned, and Gavin immediately shrunk a little, cocking his head to one side.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” He asked, and you and Michael held up your left hands simultaneously. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought that the two of you had planned that.

“Oh. Well, look at this, anyway!” Gavin said, bouncing over to Michael’s side and holding out his phone for everyone to see. The three of you watched as Gavin (with only mildly shakiness, you were impressed) filmed you and Michael exchanging vows at a drive-thru wedding chapel. You were impressed with the coherency of both your and Michaels’ voices, however you could hear [Y/F/N] cheering and slurring her way through congratulatory phrases just out of frame.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” You said again once the video ended, turning to Michael. He met your gaze with an intense look.

“Gavin, go see if you can find the marriage certificate in your room. I’m assuming you signed it as a witness, and it isn’t in here.” Michael said, not taking his eyes off you for a second. Gavin seemed to get the hint and left without protest, squawking “Okay, Michael!” as he flounced out the door.

Michael held your gaze for a little longer before speaking, “You have nothing to be sorry for, [Y/N]. I had just as much of a hand in this as you did.”

You ducked your head, and you could feel a hot pressure start to build on the backs of your eyes.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, “Yeah, but, like, still. I’ll pay the fee for the annulment, it’s the least I can do…”

Fuck, you’re crying, you piece of shit.

“Hey, now, stop that.” Michael lifted his hands to your face and wiped his thumbs under your eyes, catching the tears as they fell.

“Listen. [Y/N]. Not going to lie, I think you’re really attractive. Like, super pretty, and don’t even try to argue with me. And judging by the fact that I have the same amount of condoms in my bag as when I packed it back in Austin, – even Drunk Michael knows to use protection – all we did was get drunk, get married, probably kiss a little, and then pass out. So I have an alternative proposition. Why don’t we worry about annulments and legal shit like that tomorrow, and you let me take you on a date tonight, with 200% less alcohol, just us, none of your friends or any of my idiots, because that’s what I wanted to ask you when I first saw you sitting across the bar from us. And I’m really sorry that we both wound up blackout drunk and did stupid shit like getting married last night, but let’s fix that tonight. Let me take you on a real, proper date. Whaddaya say?” Michael looked at you expectantly, and you searched his face for a moment, trying to find any signs of him pulling the wool over your eyes. Finding none, you took a deep breath and nodded.

You were already married, and you were attracted to Michael, so what was the harm in a date?

“Okay. Yeah, I’d like that.” You said, and Michael beamed, pulling you into a tight hug and placing a kiss into your hair.

It was the best night of your entire life, and while you still got an annulment the next day, Michael told you to keep the ring (his bank account statements told you that he had bought it).

That date turned into two, which turned into three, and eventually –

Well, eventually your ring was replaced with a better, nicer one. Gavin was much less intoxicated when he filmed it the second time.

#ragehappy #rt reader insert #michael x reader #vegas au #spoilers in the tags incoming!#'i just woke up and you're a stranger in my bed and we might be married' au #happy fluff!

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