#brakes. she steps on its head.

[the-acid-pear]

The thing about the painter analog that people don't get and makes them hate it is that at heart this isn't a serious horror story. This is pure gore not only for the sake of gore but for the sake of camp. Once I was talking of to my dad laughing at the guy who had his face sanded off and he was like yeah not new they did that in Jason already 🙄 which was later reinforced by UrbanSpook admitting this is inspired by those old 80s slasher which should tell you everything.

I'm saying this bc i saw a video pairing it with Playground and the incest game and while I don't know the second I watched a video on playground once and the difference is that that book is trying to tell a story and say something on top of the gore but the later makes it hard to care. Which is kind of the issue another "gone too far" piece of media my beloved A Serbian Film runs into where you cannot take yourself too seriously if you also want to show over the top violence or you'll lose the audience.

OF COURSE there are exceptions like Hostel, Saw and 😏 the human centipede ☺️ (cocksucker for that movie and it's more serious points, though it barely counts bc the gore is very tame save for in 2) and I couldn't exactly tell you what's the difference between what makes them work and what doesn't but still.

But I'm getting off topic I'm not here to say which media is good or not I'm here to point out the painter is not a serious story that asks you to care for the characters it's a over the top schlocky gore that asks you to go GROOOOSS or laugh at the over the top brutality it presents. Which is very standard in horror.

[capslocked]

PROXIMITY

male reader x chou tzuyu

25k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And her collarbone is out too. Ouch.

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

The problem is, you’ve recognized her immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

* Avoid unnecessary physical contact

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

* Do not offer opinions/advice unless specifically asked

* Minimize speaking, just to be safe

* Do not exchange gifts, especially personal ones

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

* Adjust and reframe

* Reinforce

* Remind yourself

* To just fucking think about literally anything else

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh yeah, for the ambience."

"For the ambience," she nods.

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe in, slow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

The fire pops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm. Sure."

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

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

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

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

"Did I get it?"

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

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

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

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

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

"There," you say, smiling, naive.

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

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

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

But everything starts to sink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, christ-

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

You breathe, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds like a you problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Swallow," you tell her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu lets herself go slack against your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

And that is - a vision.

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

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

"A shirt?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right."

"Your favorite past-time."

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

The power goes out early in the morning.

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu opens the sliding glass door to the balcony.

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

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

"Maybe."

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

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

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

"Want to look for it?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meaning?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

"My cocksleeve, my good girl, shit-"

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

"Is that what my girl wants? 

She smiles, again, so prettily.

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

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

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

Her hips come up off the granite, desperately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“You have no business thinking about babies.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

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

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

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

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

"My benefit, really?"

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

"Not making this easier, babe."

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

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

Tzuyu nods.

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

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

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

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

"Then you get your turn," you offer.

"Deal," she nods.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," is all you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

-

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

"Yes?" you prompt.

"Is it working?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No comment."

"So shy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put your hands on her hips.

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

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

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

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

-

The days bleed together after the snow.

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

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

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

"I have my limits, princess."

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

It's what makes her heart beat. )

-

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

You continue combing.

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

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

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

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

"If you don't take that back-"

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

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

Tzuyu shudders slightly under your touch.

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

"Sir, don't pretend."

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

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

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

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

"Too bad."

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

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

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

This doesn't have to end, no?

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

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

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

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

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

"Crazy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her legs snap to you quick.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you ask:

"What now, doll?"

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

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

"Was the screaming really that necessary."

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

"I," is the immediate reply.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were right. "This is hell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mnph.” Tzu chokes down a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, fuck, fuck- need to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You're not a bad person. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

She's at the doorway.

“Us. Being here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gloomy," you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And our usual antics?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

A girl like her, kissing so eager for you-

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

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

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

“How is that fair?”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part four)

Previous | Master Post | Next

Danny slowed his car down, staring at the black iron gate coming into view; Bats and ivy welded on in an elegant pattern, obviously more thought-out than The Drake's ducks had been. He had to give it to Tim, the kid had been right about how stupid the ducks looked.

Glancing around, Danny found he was completely alone on the dirt road. The gray sky slowly brightened as the sun climbed higher in the distance, trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and birds chirped.

If it hadn't been for his experiences at Vlad's place, he would have found the scenery comforting, maybe even inviting. But the knowledge that this was the home of a billionaire, one that went out at night to fight crime like a furry on crack nonetheless, ruined it.

Maybe he should just head back to the motel...

...

Fuck it, when had Phantom ever backed down? That's right! Never! Danny was going to stick to his metaphorical guns and follow through with his admittedly stupid plan.

Taking his foot off the brake; Danny activated his intangibility, shared it with the car, and drove through the gate. (look, what were his powers for if not to make his life convenient? He deserved it after literally dying for them. AND the gate was probably locked. There was no way he could convince someone to let him in at this time in the morning, so...)

Danny kept an eye on his surroundings as he drove, he doubted Bruce Wayne would have ghost vultures working for him, but that doesn't mean Danny wouldn't be prepared if he did.

Eventually, a large building came into view. Its gothic architecture and obvious timely design set it apart from Vlad's modern monstrosity of a castle. Danny could just tell this was a home for a family with old money; the weathered roof and aged water fountain told stories of the people who used to live there. This was a home, not just a house.

Pulling his car over and parking, Danny quickly sent a mental prayer to the home's ancestors. He hoped they could forgive him for what he was about to do.

Grabbing his backup phone and his keys, Danny tossed the car door open and stepped out. Immediately his senses were clouded with grief and anger. It was so strong he almost lost his footing. The house was just drenched in the emotions, tendrils reaching out and wrapping around anything and everything.

Closing his eyes, Danny held his breath so he could focus on blocking the emotions out. (flashes of someone else's memories rushed past his mind; a glimpse of a young boy sitting in a library reading a book. An older man sitting next to him silently. In another flash, the two were now in a dark cave, the light of a computer the only thing illuminating them as the older man draped a blanket across the boy's back. whispered words of sincere promises echoed in his head.)

He had believed Tim, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. Ancients, this was worse than when he had to deal with Spectra.

Batman definitely needed therapy.

...

Maybe Jazz should be Robin instead, she'd know how to handle this properly. but Jazz wasn't here right now, she was in Sweden learning all about mental health. Which meant Danny would have to do this himself.

yay.

He had two options; One, he sits down with the man and they have a sincere and very emotional conversation. Or two, he beats it into the guy's head that he needs to stop going out and trying to get himself killed. Based on everything he knows about Batman? It was going to be number two that was going to get results... Well, at least Danny had experience punching things until he got what he wanted. (even if it didn't always work.)

Shaking himself out of his mind, Danny started making his way to the front door. It was past five in the morning, Bruce should be home now. Whether he was sleeping like Danny would assume he usually did, was a different question altogether.

Glancing around the door, Danny found there was a large rope hanging to the left. Vlad had the same thing at his place, it was an old-fashioned doorbell.

shrugging, Danny pulled on the rope and waited.

and waited.

and waited.

After a minute or two, Danny pulled the rope again. Suddenly the door swung open to reveal an older man dressed in a nice waistcoat and trousers.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, a British accent completing the look.

Danny blinked for a second before quickly focusing back on his task. "My name's Danny. Bruce is being a dumbass who needs to take a chill pill and take a step back from hospitalizing criminals. Can I come in?"

It was the old man's turn to stare and blink at him. After a minute, the man stepped back and opened the door, his eyebrow raised. "I would like to see how you plan to tell this to Master Bruce. His office is this way, young man."

"May I ask what exactly you're doing here?" the man asked, closing the door behind Danny.

Danny shrugged, "I'm here to beat some sense into him. He's going to get himself killed and no one wants to see what happens when he does."

The butler, because the rich fruitloop would obviously have one, hummed as he nodded his head in agreement. "I see. Maybe this is what he needs then. he won't listen to me, no matter how much I nag him."

Nothing else was said as he guided Danny through the manor, eventually stopping at a fancy dark wooden door. "Master Bruce, you appear to have a visitor." Then He opened the door and gestured for Danny to enter.

He only had a moment to ponder how he should do this before he entered the room. He should keep his powers hidden, for now at least.

He was greeted with the sight of an exhausted man in a bathrobe sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He was clutching a very worn and loved book in his hands, his brows slightly furrowed. (Danny noted that it was the same book the kid had been reading, The Hero and the Crown... or something like that, Danny hadn't really gotten a good look at the title.)

The butler stepped back, closing the door, and stood next to it to maybe await his new orders. Ones he probably wouldn't get any time soon, if the way Bruce hadn't moved or responded meant anything.

Well, if the old man wanted to see this then who was Danny to stop him?

Stepping forward, Danny leaned over the desk and slapped the back of Bruce's head. The man swiftly turned and stared at him, raising one of his hands to touch his head in shock. Danny heard the butler choke in surprise but ignored him. He could only pray to Clockwork that Bruce didn't kill him for this.

"You are being absolutely idiotic, dude." Danny declared. "Do you think Jason would have wanted you to act like this?" Bruce stood up, his chair slamming into the wall, his eyes burning in anger. "No? Then get your shit together and be the man he would be proud of."

Bruce lunged over the desk, his fist pulled back to hit Danny. It was just like Danny expected, just like Tim had told him, the man was letting his emotions control his actions. Dodging to the side, Danny continued talking, "This going out every night, fighting more and more dangerous and outlandish people all by yourself? It's going to get you killed."

Bruce gave up on trying to punch him, instead, he threw himself forward and body-slammed Danny to the floor. Danny coughed, quickly blocking his face as Bruce took a swing at him. Using the man's blind anger to his advantage, Danny kicked Bruce in the chest and sent him flying into his desk. "Jason's dead. It sucks. and it hurts. It's probably the worst pain you've ever experienced, but there's nothing you can do about it."

Danny glared at the man as he scrambled into a crouch, waiting to see what Bruce did next. "Shut up," the man growled, shoving himself up and away from his desk. He picked up his stapler; he was probably either going to use it as a blunt weapon or throw it at Danny. Widening his stance, Danny got ready to dodge or lunge.

He remembered reading about him, online when he first became Phantom. He remembered reading about Robin and Batman and how they worked together to protect Gotham. How they tirelessly worked day and night to put their rogues away every time they got out again.

He remembered seeing pictures of Batman standing next to little Robin, a proud smile on his face as the police took the criminals away. Pictures of the man helping and protecting Robin whenever the boy couldn't handle whatever mess he had gotten into. There was even a memorable one of Batman scolding an obviously sheepish Robin, a knocked-out Riddler slumped behind him.

He had wished so badly for someone to help him back them, for someone to be his Batman when times got hard. He remembered how devastated he was when it turned out the only person like him was Vlad. Vlad, who had wanted to murder his father and marry his mother. Vlad, who had overshadowed people to gain more wealth and power. Vlad, who hadn't seen how wrong it was to try and clone him.

He remembered the comments and videos from the citizens of Gotham, cheering for their heroes when they succeeded in capturing the rogues. How they still supported them when they failed. It was nothing like Amity's reaction to him.

He remembered how Gothom reacted when Robin was pronounced dead. How the city had cried and raged. He felt it all the way over in Amity, the grief and anger. The whole city had come together to mourn the boy who protected them. Even two years later, Danny could still feel the echoes.

"Jason's dead. He's dead and gone and you're letting yourself get consumed with your grief. but you made a promise Bruce."

Danny knew he had, it was the same promise Danny had made just four years ago.

Bruce's eyes widened and the anger that was surging in his eyes froze for just a moment. His hand loosened around the stapler but didn't let it go. The butler looked concerned, unsure if he should interfere or not.

"You made a promise all those years ago when you first dawned that stupid bat suit. You promised to do everything in your power to help your city. To protect it. Robin made the same promise. When he took up his suit. They both did."

Bruce's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. Danny lowered his body, still ready to dodge at a moment's notice.

"You made a promise to your son, Bruce. Even if he didn't know it. One that you couldn't keep."

Bruce threw the stapler, making Danny jump to the side to dodge it. His mistake was not keeping an eye on what Bruce did after throwing it. The man quickly rushed up to him, eyes blazing in anger. "You don't know anything!" he cried, his fist slamming into Danny's jaw. Danny staggered back but ducked under the next punch.

"I lost my son! I wasn't there!" Bruce shouted, kicking Danny's legs out from under him. Danny's back hit the floor, knocking the breath out of him. Bruce followed him down, breaking his nose with another punch to the face. "I promised I would protect him and I wasn't there!"

Danny growled, catching Bruce's fist in his hand and sending a punch at the side of Bruce's head. Bruce tried to lean back, Danny's fist clipping his forehead. Bruce grunted, reaching up to grab Danny's fist to keep him from punching him again.

"You couldn't protect him! I get it, it sucks!" Danny shouted back, flashes of Dani's melting form grasping at his shirt in panic pulled to the front of his mind. "It leaves a black hole in the center of your chest! It sucks all the warmth out of you, leaving only the cold bitter knowledge that you couldn't save him!" (that he couldn't save her)

Bruce pulled his fist out of Danny's hand, slamming his elbow down into Danny's chest and twisting Danny's right arm sharply in an attempt to break it. Danny kept talking though, ignoring the pain as he pulled his arm out of Bruce's grasp, "But Jason made a promise! and you're doing nothing to keep it!"

Danny grabbed onto Bruce's bathrobe and flipped them so Bruce was the one on the floor now. Quickly reaching up, Danny grabbed both of Bruce's hands and held them as still as he could. Bruce was strong, but Danny had years of fighting Skulker and the other super-strong ghosts under his belt. "He made that promise knowing that you had made the same one!"

Bruce growled, throwing his head up in an attempt to hit Danny with it. Danny leaned back, accidentally loosening his grip just enough for Bruce to break out of it. Bruce shoved him off of him, making Danny slide back and hit a chair.

Grunting, Danny stood up and lunged at Bruce. Bruce dodged to the side, dropping down to pick the stapler back up. "I can't claim to know what Jason would have wanted," Danny spat, backing up to give himself more space as Bruce stepped toward him. "but I know as someone who made the same promise, I wouldn't have wanted you to change into what you are now!"

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Danny, "Yeah, and what's that?" he growled.

"A careless, suicidal, moron," Danny growled back.

Bruce froze, stopping in place as he stared at Danny.

Danny took his chance to drive his point home; standing up straight, he raised his hands up in surrender. "He was your son. He looked up to you for protection. For guidance. And sure, maybe you weren't the best dad, and maybe you made mistakes. But you were his dad."

Danny stepped forward, watching as the butler stepped forward to reach out to the man. "and what kind of son would want his dad to kill himself?"

Bruce dropped his stapler, his eyes falling to the ground and catching onto the book he had dropped earlier. It was opened to the front page, written words in messy writing covering it.

"You need to stop, Bruce," Danny said, slowly crouching down and reaching out for the book. Bruce watched him as he stood up, the book still open to the front page in his hands. Jason's writing visible to all of them.

"you couldn't keep your promise to protect him. It sucks and it hurts. but you can keep his promise. The same promise you made all those years ago."

Bruce looked up at him, his blue eyes filling with tears, the butler's hand resting on his shoulder. Danny stepped forward again, holding the book out for Bruce to take.

"You can't protect Gotham if you're dead."

Jason's handwritten note stared up at them, the ink messy and smudged.

'to the best dad in the world and the many adventures we'll go on!'

and Bruce? Bruce crumbled to the floor with a sob, leaving Danny to stand in front of him. Blood running down his face, staining his hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pants, the book still held out with steady hands.

Next

[theonottsbxtch]

FOREVER AND ALWAYS | MV1

an: military au go reeeee, my friend is currently talking to a marine so it makes this funnier, anyway this is a request and be prepared for how much im about to post, im posting all my wips so i can start a new

wc: 3.8k

THE LAST MORNING MAX spent in town was unseasonably warm for late September, but she still wore his old hoodie over her dress. It swallowed her, the cuffs rolled up clumsily so her fingers could peek through. Max liked seeing her in it; she made it look softer than it ever felt to him. They sat on the hood of his truck by the edge of the lake, the same spot they always went to when something big needed to be said.

“You’ll write, right?” she asked, her voice steadier than the fingers twisting the hem of his sleeve.

Max didn’t answer right away. He hated promises. He hated making them and breaking them even more. But he wasn’t going to break this one. “Every day,” he said, his voice a little rough. “I mean it, okay? You’ll be sick of me by Christmas.”

“I could never,” she said, and the words felt too small for how much she meant them.

The sun caught in her hair, and Max felt the ache of leaving settle deeper in his chest. He should’ve been relieved—one last night in this town, in that house—but all he could think about was how hard it was going to be to drive away from her in the morning.

“I’ll write back every time,” she promised, her eyes locked on his like she could hold him here through sheer willpower. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“I won’t.”

It was the closest thing to forever they’d ever said to each other, and Max wanted to believe it could be.

He didn’t sleep much that night. Max stayed parked outside her house long after walking her to the door, watching the glow of her bedroom light until it finally went dark. He told himself he’d leave when she was asleep, but his hands stayed glued to the steering wheel, his heart beating louder than the crickets outside.

Morning came too fast. He stood on her porch in his pressed uniform, his duffel slung over his shoulder. Her dad answered the door, grunted something about “too early for this,” and disappeared back into the house. Max heard her footsteps upstairs, quick and light, and then there she was, rushing down to meet him, already wearing a smile he didn’t deserve.

“You’re really doing it,” she said, her voice tight with something caught between pride and fear.

“I am.”

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing the crisp fabric of his sleeve. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

Max didn’t know how to answer that. He could handle the yelling, the rules, the miles of running. But leaving her? That felt like the first real battle.

“You’re the toughest guy I know,” she added softly, filling the silence.

“Tough’s not the same as okay,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Then I’ll be okay for both of us.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, wrapping around something fragile in his chest. He leaned down and kissed her, quick and desperate, like he could steal a little of her steadiness to take with him.

When they finally broke apart, she laughed softly, her forehead still resting against his. “You’re coming back, Max. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” he said.

He didn’t know if it was a promise or a prayer.

The bus station was quiet that early in the morning, just a couple of strangers milling around with their heads down and coffee in hand. Max stood off to the side with her, his duffel at his feet and his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep from grabbing hers. She said she couldn’t come, but watching him walk back to the truck made her call in sick for work and follow him in. 

“You should go sit,” he said, nodding toward the bench near the car park.

She gave him a look, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “I’m not leaving this spot until you’re on that bus.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. Of course she wouldn’t. She was stubborn like that, always had been. He loved her for it, even if it made saying goodbye harder.

The bus pulled up, its brakes hissing as it rolled to a stop. Max felt the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders, heavier than the duffel. This was it.

He turned to her, unsure of what to say. Every word that came to mind felt too big or too small.

“Write me first,” she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but her eyes burned with determination. “As soon as you get there. Don’t wait for me to start.”

“I will,” he said, nodding. “Every day, remember?”

She smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding on so tightly it felt like she was trying to anchor him there.

He let himself hold her back, burying his face in her hair for just a moment. He wasn’t going to cry. He wouldn’t let himself.

“I’ll see you after training,” she whispered against his chest, her voice shaking just a little. “I’ll be there, Max.”

He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

The driver called for boarding, and Max grabbed his bag. He didn’t look back as he stepped onto the bus. He couldn’t. If he did, he might not get on at all.

But as the bus pulled away, he glanced out the window. She was still standing there, exactly where he left her, her hand raised in a wave he couldn’t return.

He pressed his forehead against the glass, the weight of her promise settling in his chest. She would be there. He had to believe it.

Training was relentless.

The early mornings were the worst—before the sun even thought about rising, before his body remembered how to move. They ran until their legs felt like they’d snap beneath them, did push-ups until their arms gave out, and marched under the weight of packs that felt heavier with every mile. The shouting never stopped, every mistake earning a punishment meant to break them down and rebuild them into something sharper, stronger.

But it was nothing compared to what Max had already endured.

At home, the yelling was never meant to make him stronger. The bruises weren’t badges of discipline—they were reminders of how small he was made to feel. Every time he hit the ground during training, his drill sergeant barking at him to get up, Max thought of how often he’d done the same thing in that house. He got up then, and he got up now.

The other guys complained at night, lying on their bunks and licking their wounds, but Max didn’t join in. They didn’t know how lucky they were—how much easier it was to run ten miles when there wasn’t a door slamming behind you or fists flying to match.

And then there were the letters.

Her first one came the day after he arrived, folded neatly into an envelope with her handwriting scrawled across the front. The sight of it made his chest ache, and he didn’t even wait to get back to the barracks to read it.

Hey, tough guy. I hope this gets to you quick. Are they making you run as much as I think they are? Do you miss me? I miss you. It’s been one day and this town already feels different without you. Keep writing, okay? I’ll keep writing too. Just don’t let them make you forget who you are, Max. I love you.

The letters became his lifeline. Every night, after lights-out, he’d sit on the edge of his bunk with a flashlight and write her back. He told her about the blisters on his feet, the meals that barely qualified as food, the drill sergeant who could make a grown man cry with a single word. But he also told her how he was getting stronger, faster, better—how he thought about her every time things got too hard.

She didn’t just write about missing him. Her letters were full of details—what their friends were up to, how the leaves were starting to change by the lake, what songs were playing on the radio. She made him feel like he wasn’t missing everything. Like she was keeping his place for him.

The days blurred together after a while, a constant cycle of exhaustion and repetition. But then, one morning, everything felt different.

It was the last day of training.

Max stood in formation with the others, the sun rising behind them as their drill sergeant paced in front of the line. They’d been through hell together—guys who had started as strangers now felt like brothers. But Max wasn’t thinking about them.

He was thinking about her.

He scanned the crowd of families waiting just beyond the training field, his heart pounding harder than it ever had during a run. She had said she’d be here. She promised.

And then he saw her.

She was standing near the back, craning her neck to see over the heads of taller people in front of her. When their eyes met, she smiled so brightly that for a second, everything else—the noise, the exhaustion, the fear—fell away.

Max’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to focus. One last task. One last push. He would finish this, and then he’d go to her.

And this time, he wouldn’t have to leave too soon.

Max’s heart hammered as the ceremony came to a close. The drill sergeant dismissed them with a sharp bark, and the tension that had held the recruits in place finally broke. Families surged forward, cheers and hugs filling the air. Max stood frozen for a moment, scanning the crowd again until he saw her pushing through the mass of people, her face a mix of determination and joy.

She was exactly how he remembered her, but somehow even better. Her hair bounced as she hurried toward him, and the familiar tilt of her smile made his chest ache. And yet, as soon as she stopped a few feet in front of him, she planted her hands on her hips like she had all the time in the world.

“Well, well,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey there, tough guy.”

Max swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. But her teasing grin made the corner of his mouth twitch, threatening to break into a smile he wasn’t supposed to give just yet.

From behind her, one of his barrack mates, Danny came up and watched her as she eyed up Max. When she noticed him, he nodded at her. “Ma’am.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me, I’m only young.” She stepped closer, looking at Max once more, her expression shifting to exaggerated awe. “That’s a whole lot of muscles you’ve got there now. What’ve they been feeding you?”

Max tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t stop his lips from curving upward.

“You’re not supposed to touch the recruits until they’ve been tapped out,” Danny said, his voice low, playful.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Max’s attempt at staying serious. “Is that so? Guess I’ll have to keep my hands to myself for a minute longer, huh?”

He held her gaze, the tension building between them until it was almost unbearable. She took another step forward, her smile softening into something sweeter, something he’d missed so much it hurt.

“Max,” she said quietly, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise around them.

And then, finally, she reached out and tapped his shoulder.

That was all it took. Max didn’t hesitate—he dropped his duffel to the ground and swept her into his arms, lifting her clean off the ground. She laughed, but it broke halfway through, and then she was crying, her face buried in his shoulder.

“I missed you,” she said, her voice muffled against his uniform.

Max held her tighter, his eyes stinging as he pressed his cheek against her hair. “I missed you too,” he murmured, his voice thick.

For a moment, neither of them moved. She clung to him like she was afraid he might disappear, and Max let himself soak in the feel of her in his arms—the warmth, the softness, the familiarity he’d craved every single day he was gone.

When she finally pulled back, her hands stayed on his shoulders, her fingers brushing against the hard muscle beneath his uniform. She tilted her head, a teasing smile breaking through her tears. “Seriously, Max. What’s with these muscles? You didn’t look like this when you left.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rough, and shook his head. “Had to give you something to brag about, didn’t I?”

She laughed, swiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh, I’m definitely bragging. You’re not going anywhere without me showing you off first.”

“Not going anywhere without you at all,” Max said softly.

Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes filling again. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

He cupped her face gently, leaning in until their foreheads touched. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Always,” she said, and for the first time in months, Max felt like he was finally home.

As they were about to kiss, a cough disrupted them. Danny. “Are you done?”

“Leave me alone Danny, I’ve seen enough of you.” Max laughed, pulling her in closer. 

“I’m heading out, my girl’s at the car but I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Danny asked, taking off his hat and running his hand through it.

“Yeah you will. See you soon Dan.”

The desert heat was unrelenting, the sun beating down on Max and Danny as they sat outside their barracks during a rare moment of downtime. Max leaned against a wall, his cap pulled low over his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to shield him from Danny’s relentless teasing.

“You’ve been staring at that box for five minutes, man,” Danny said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “You sure you don’t want me to take it off your hands? I’d do a solid job proposing to her, you know.”

Max shot him a look, his jaw tightening, though there was no real heat behind it. “Touch it, and I’ll bury you in the sand.”

Danny snorted, tossing a rock lazily across the dusty ground. “Relax, lover boy. I’m just saying—you’ve had that ring for months. You’ve got the whole speech planned, don’t you? ‘I’ve loved you since we were kids, you’re my whole world,’ blah, blah, blah. Bet you even practiced in the mirror.”

Max rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box, flipping it open to reveal the simple but elegant ring inside. He didn’t need anything flashy—she wouldn’t want that. The ring was perfect: timeless, just like her.

“I don’t need a speech,” Max said quietly, running his thumb along the edge of the box. “She already knows. She’s known since before I left the first time.”

Danny’s teasing grin softened into something more genuine. “She’s a lucky girl, you know. Not everyone would stick around through all this.”

“She’s not sticking around,” Max corrected, his voice firm. “She’s living her life—uni, friends, everything she’s always wanted. She’s just...waiting for me to come back, too.”

Danny whistled low. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess you’re the lucky one.”

Max didn’t argue. He thought about her every day—her laugh, the way she scribbled little doodles in the corners of her letters, the photo she’d sent him of her sitting on the quad with her textbooks spread out around her. She looked happy, and that was what mattered most to him.

But God, he missed her.

“I’ll ask her when we’re off duty,” Max said, snapping the box shut and tucking it safely back into his pocket. “The next time I get to see her, I’m not waiting. I’m not wasting another minute.”

Danny grinned, tipping his chair back on two legs. “You’re gonna make me cry, man. I’m just glad I’ll be there to see it.”

“You’re not invited.”

“Like hell I’m not.”

They both laughed, the kind of laugh that felt rare in a place like this. For a moment, the heaviness of deployment lifted, replaced by something lighter—hope.

But when the laughter faded, Max’s mind drifted back to her. He pictured her sitting in a lecture hall, twirling a pen between her fingers, her hair catching the sunlight. She’d promised him that first day he left that she’d always be there waiting for him, and she had never broken that promise.

And soon—so soon—he’d finally get to make one to her.

The cab pulled up to her apartment building, a modest brick complex tucked onto a quiet street just off campus. Max stared out the window, his heart thundering in his chest. It didn’t matter that he’d seen her a year ago on leave or that they’d talked just last week on a grainy video call. Being here, knowing she was just a flight of stairs away, made it all feel brand new.

Danny’s words echoed in his head as he grabbed his bag and climbed out. Don’t mess this up, man. She’s been waiting long enough.

The door to her unit opened before he could even knock. There she was, framed in the doorway, wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She broke into a smile so bright it felt like the sun had come out, and before he could say a word, she threw her arms around his neck.

“Max!” she breathed, holding onto him like she never wanted to let go.

He dropped his bag and wrapped her up, burying his face in her hair. She smelled like home, like everything he’d missed.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice catching.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands sliding to his shoulders. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

“I’m here.”

She laughed, the sound a little shaky, and grabbed his hand, tugging him inside. “Come on, I made dinner. It’s probably cold by now, but I didn’t want to risk leaving the kitchen in case—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Max stopped dead in the small kitchen, his eyes scanning the space—the mismatched dishes on the counter, the vase of sunflowers he recognised from her letters, the magnets on the fridge holding up her class schedule and pictures of them together. It was perfect.

And suddenly, he couldn’t wait.

“This wasn’t how I planned it,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“What?” She turned, confusion flickering in her eyes.

Max dropped to one knee right there in the middle of the kitchen, pulling the velvet box from his pocket. He saw her gasp, her hands flying to her mouth, but he was too focused to stop now.

“I wasn’t going to do it like this,” he said, the words tumbling out. “I had a whole plan—something big and romantic—but I don’t care about plans anymore. I just...I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, and I don’t want to wait another second to ask.” He opened the box, his hands steady despite the chaos in his chest. “Will you marry me?”

She froze, her wide eyes locked on his. The silence stretched, and Max felt a flicker of panic.

“So?” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

That broke her. She let out a choked laugh, tears spilling down her cheeks as she dropped to her knees in front of him. “I’m sorry! I’m just—yes! Of course, yes!”

Her arms went around his neck, and she kissed him fiercely, her tears wetting his face. Max held her close, the ring box forgotten on the floor as he kissed her back, pouring every bit of love and relief into the moment.

When they finally broke apart, she laughed through her tears, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You really couldn’t wait, huh?”

“Not for this,” he said, his voice low and raw.

She smiled and kissed him again, slower this time, her hands sliding down to rest against his chest. Max stood, lifting her with him effortlessly, and set her on the edge of the counter.

“Max,” she murmured, her hands slipping beneath the collar of his shirt.

“Yeah?” he said, his forehead resting against hers.

“Welcome home.”

He smiled against her lips, capturing them in another kiss, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Max let himself feel it all—the love, the relief, the joy of knowing he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Dinner had been a blur, both of them too giddy and caught up in the moment to care that the food was lukewarm and hastily reheated. They laughed, talked, and stole kisses between bites, the kind of easy affection that felt like they’d never been apart.

Now, hours later, they were tangled together in her bed. The room was dark save for the soft glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds. She lay draped across his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin, her eyes fixed on the ring now resting snugly on her finger.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked quietly, her voice thoughtful but tinged with uncertainty.

Max’s hand came up to stroke her back, his thumb brushing along her shoulder blade. He let out a soft sigh. “I leave in three months.”

She stilled for a moment, her finger pausing mid-trace.

“But,” he added, his voice warm and steady, “until then, we live the happy life. All of it. You, me, late-night takeout, bad movies, everything.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Three months isn’t that long, Max. And I’m still at uni. I’ve got two more years. How—”

“We’ve made it work for two years while I’m away,” he interrupted gently, cupping her cheek with one hand. “We can do two more. You’ve been with me through everything—every deployment, every letter, every call. This won’t be any different. Except now,” he added, his lips quirking into a small smile, “you’ll be my fiancée.”

Her lips trembled, and she leaned up to kiss him, slow and deliberate, her hand slipping over his to hold it against her cheek. When she finally pulled back, her eyes shone with determination.

“You’re really bad at letting me be dramatic, you know that?” she teased softly.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in check,” he said with a smirk.

She laughed quietly, settling back against his chest, and Max tightened his arms around her. They lay there in silence for a while, her fingers once again toying with the ring as if she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

He was engaged.

He was happy.

And he was going to marry the love of his life.

the end.

[drabblesandimagines]

Crash

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship

The sidewalk feels cold beneath your thighs as you stare blankly into your lap, your breaths heavy, struggling through a tight chest. You’re sat cross-legged, like a child - the nice, elderly lady had encouraged you to sit down, said you were looking pale. She’d definitely meant for you to take a seat on the bench a few steps away, but you’d just dropped, seemingly forgetting how to get from standing to sitting in any sort of graceful manner.

She’d smiled sympathetically then, offered you some candy from the bottom of her purse – kept a stash in there for her grandchildren - said you needed sugar for the shock. But you’d shook your head, feeling sick at the notion of eating anything. She asked if there was anyone she could call whilst waiting for the first responders.

You’d put your hand in your jacket pocket for your phone at her question – relieved it’s in one piece, not smashed up like the hunk of metal just out of eyeshot. You don’t remember calling Leon’s number, but you must have because now your phone’s up against your ear.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He answers after only four rings, though his voice is hushed - maybe ducked out of the room to answer. “Can I call you back in 20? Just wrapping up something here.”

“I-crashed-the-car.” You blurt out, the words running into one another. It’s not technically true, you were crashed into but this seems easier for now.

“What?” His volume amps way up and your stomach twists with the change, unsure of the implications – is he mad? Upset?

You were borrowing his car. Yours was in the garage, the brake discs needed replaced and would take a couple of days to get the parts in. You’d planned to take city transport but Leon insisted you take his car - arguing it was winter, that it gets dark so early and the idea of you walking to and from the bus stop on your own isn’t one he wants to entertain. You don’t live in a terrible neighbourhood, but you don’t have to be for monsters to be roaming the streets, after all. Plus, it made sense for him to ride his bike to HQ whilst you borrowed his SUV and he wouldn’t have to worry, have one less thing on his plate… ..or so had been the idea. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m so sorry,” you don’t even take in his questions, really. “They came out of nowhere and…“ Your breath hitches in your throat, a sob building up and threatening to overflow.

“Baby,” his tone is firm, “are you hurt?”

You can hear his shoes slapping against the floor as he begins to run, though it sounds too hard a sole for his boots... No, that’s right, he went out in a suit this morning – leather jacket on top, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, still made the whole ensemble look good albeit it being mismatched.

“No…” That’s not true - there’s blood, and it has to be yours, but you feel numb of any sort of pain. “I don’t know.“ Your voice cracks again. “That’s okay,” he soothes, barging through a door with his shoulder. “We’ll work it out.” Nearly takes a woman out the other side with how hard the door slams against the wall, mutters half an apology as he darts around her. “Are you still in the car?” You turn to look at Leon’s black SUV laying on its side, the under carriage on full display – not the way a car should be. The driver’s side is against the concrete. You’d climbed out the passenger side, somehow, having to fight gravity itself to get the door to open, clambered up and over the leather seats. Should you have done that, or should you have stayed put? You’d just wanted out from the metal box – the windscreen was a spiderweb of cracks, creaking like it would explode in shards at any moment. “N-no, I’m on the sidewalk.”

“Okay, good. Ambulance on its way?” He’s reached the elevator, mashes the down button like it will make it accelerate to his floor any faster than usual. He feels awful that he’s interrogating you, but his training has kicked in - gather as much intel as possible – and he needs the facts.

“Yeah. Police too.” A few cars had stopped after. Someone said they were calling 911, another saying they got some of the license plate, the old lady and her purse full of candy. The other car drove off, tyres burnt with how fast they fled the scene.

“Good. That’s good, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay. Can you tell me where you are? What street you’re on?”

“Erm…” You look round, but in the shock nothing looks familiar, though it must be a route you’d driven down hundreds of times before. “I was on the way home from work, so, I’m, erm…”

“That’s all right.” He can hear the tightness in your voice, knows you’re not thinking clearly and so he changes tact. “Is anyone nearby that you could ask?” He hits the elevator button again, swears it’s been on floor 12 for far longer than necessary. Come on.

The elderly lady comes back to mind – she must’ve stepped back to give you privacy when you’d pulled your phone out. “There’s someone.”

“Great. Can you ask them where you are?”

“Yeah…” You pull the phone down from your ear, looking around to find she’s not gone far at all, hovering a few metres away. “Excuse me, where are we? Sorry.” The apology slips out, feeling more of a nuisance to her than you’d already been.

“16th Street, dearie.” She smiles, keeps her tone gentle. “Just near Jack’s Groceries.”

The elevator finally arrives – empty - and Leon positions himself between the doors, aware that his reception might drop when he starts to head down to the garage and he can’t leave you on a dial tone.

“Thank you.” You force a smile in return, hold the phone back up to your ear. “16th Street, near the grocery store, Jack’s - it’s the one with those chips you like?”

He smiles at that – it’s not your usual place to shop, but you go there sometimes to pick them up for him ‘just cos’. “I’m on my way, sweetheart. Can you call or text me if you go anywhere else?”

“Y-yeah.” You take another shuddering breath, dig your nails into the palm of your hand. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

He steps into the elevator fully, double taps the button for the garage before assaulting another to close the doors. He hopes no-one tries to grab it on the way down, cos he won’t be able to hide his irritation.

“Nothing to apologize for. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, baby.”

“Love you too.”

“See you soon.”

He hears the beep, signaling the call is cut off and takes a grounding breath, though his foot taps impatiently as the elevator continues to descend. He scrolls down his contacts, thumb poised to dial as soon as the doors open again.

“Leon,” Hunnigan sounds surprised to receive his call, probably cos he’s in the same building as her and usually swung by the office if he was after something. “To wha-“

“I need a car.” He cuts across her, heading over to where the company vehicles are kept. “Any car - I’m in the garage already.”

“Right. Why?” He feels a smidge of relief when he hears her begin to type.

“Please - just give me anything. I don’t care what, I just need to go.”

There’s the clunk of a lock down the line of vehicles, a black estate vehicle’s lights flashing. “Bay C3. Keys in the sun visor as usual. Tell me later.”

“I will. Thank you.”

 --

Leon drives a little faster than he should, but it still feels like hours until he reaches his destination. There’s a couple of cop cars blocking one of the lanes, red and blues flashing, an officer stood diverting traffic around the closure and another manning the perimeter. He pulls up behind the cars and hops out, scanning for you.

There’s an ambulance parked up in the lane and his heart skips a beat when he sees you sat on the steps, a cop on one side, a paramedic waiting behind in the wings. There’s one of those silver foil emergency blankets draped around your shoulders and you look so goddamn small.

He starts to jog over, intent on getting to your side as soon as possible, when the cop manning the perimeter sidesteps in front of him, holding his hands up to get him to stop.

“Sir, I need you to stay ba-“

Leon flashes his ID in his face – it’s not something he likes to do and so he rarely does it, but he doesn’t have time to put on the charm. “Agent Leon Kennedy. That’s my girlfriend over there – I need to get through.”

The cop steps back and Leon feels weirdly grateful for once for the DSO.

As he gets closer, his eyes narrow at the fact that they’re making you blow into a breathalyzer. He clenches his fist then - you’re bleeding and they’re accusing you of drink-driving?! He wants to give them what for, but then he sees the way you’re shaking and knows him storming into the scene ready to blow is not going to help, especially with how apologetic you’d been on the phone.

He forces himself to stop a moment and breathes deeply again. You’re shook up, but you’re in one piece, conscious and that’s the most important thing.

“Thank you, ma’am.” The officer nods, noting down the reading as Leon walks over, catching the tail-end of the conversation. “Nothing to worry about there. I’ll just go update the control room – it won’t be long.”

“Leon,” you stand abruptly at the sight of him as the cop steps off to the side and the foil blanket slips off your shoulders, gauze taped on multiple parts of your arms. You’re trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

“Come here,” Leon wraps his arms around you, coaxing you into his chest. He wants to squeeze tight, to confirm what he’s seen with his eyes, that you’re real and whole, but he doesn’t want to aggravate any injuries so he’s careful, pressing a kiss to your crown. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You’re not, but maybe if you say it to Leon it’ll make it real. There’s a horrible burning sensation in your chest. You want to cry, but not here, not in front of everyone.

“Sorry, ma’am, can I get you to take a seat again?” The paramedic interrupts, emergency blanket back in hand. “I won’t be long, sir. I just need to check a couple more things.”

“No, of course.” He presses another kiss to your forehead and guides you back to the steps, encouraging you to sit and takes the blanket from the paramedic’s hand to drape back over you. “I’ll be right over there, okay? I’m just gonna go have a word with the officer.”

“Okay, yeah.”

He steps aside so the paramedic can move in and waits for the officer to come off the radio, approaching and offering his hand. “Leon Kennedy. I’m her boyfriend.”

“I gathered.” He shakes it. “Officer Jacobs. It was your car she was driving?”

“Mm-hm.” He keeps half an eye on you as he sees the paramedic shine a flashlight in your eyes, getting you to follow his finger. “What happened?”

The cop consults his notepad, flipping through his notes. “A witness stated another SUV-type vehicle went through the red light at some speed. Said it had been driving erratically for a while, so I’m figuring drunk-driver. T-boned, sent your SUV spinning and flipped onto its side after it collided with the lamp-post. The other vehicle stopped for five seconds or so, then gunned it. I’ve got dispatch sending a description out for the highway patrols. Partial registration but it’s gonna have damage, I’m sure, so should be easy to spot if it’s still in transit.”

Leon swallows, taking all the information in.

“How lucky do you think she was?”

“Truthfully,” the cop scratches his day-old stubble, looking between the SUV and you, “I think if she’d been in a different car than that, we’d be having a very different and difficult conversation right now.”

Leon’s fists clench. He’s encountered unspeakable horrors too often in his time, but the idea that some drunken jerk could just get behind the wheel and end your life is more terrifying than anything he’s ever faced. His thoughts swirl down a dangerous drain - wonders if Hunnigan can grab the partial registration from the cops, run it through her software and find the culprit, or trawl the CCTV cameras for a screengrab. He’d show up at their door, or maybe wait for them in the parking lot, revving his own engine, scare them the way they’ve traumatized you and-

“Sir?”

The thought extinguishes as he realizes the cop is offering him a slip of paper.

“Case number. We’ve got her details and we’ll be in touch if we hear anything, but just in case either of you want to follow anything up.”

“Got it.” He nods, taking it and popping it into his wallet. “Thanks.”

--

Leon wants to take you straight home – he’s got a substantial first aid kit there that’ll do the trick on the cuts that need stitching – but, honestly, you need a proper check-up and only the emergency room will do.

You’d required a few stitches from where you’d been caught by the glass from the driver’s window and bruises had started to develop, specially from where the seatbelt had jerked at the impact, but the overall prognosis was positive – you’d be sore for a few weeks, that was for sure, but armed with some painkillers and some rest, you’d be fine.

Leon doesn’t think he’s ever driven quite so carefully the way he drove to and from the emergency room. Not that will help against other assholes on the road, but he’ll be damned if he does anything that means he has to slam on the brakes and give you a fright. You’ve been silent most of the time – silent on the drive, silent in the waiting room, answering the doctor’s questions in a quiet, unsure voice, and then silent again on the drive home. He’d placed a cautious hand on your knee, squeezing it in reassurance, meaning to draw it away but you’d placed your hand on top of it, looping your fingers through his.

He pulls into the parking lot, gives your hand one last squeeze and hops out, dashing around so he can help you out the vehicle. Leon can read you like a book, he knows you’re holding it together until you get inside – you know you are too.

The elevator is mercifully sat on the ground floor when the two of you enter the lobby and Leon keeps you close as you ride up to the 12th floor and the safety of the apartment.

“Can we sit?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” He sits down on the sofa first and you drop yourself down onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s only a second before you burrow your head under his chin and, with a heaving breath, finally let out a proper sob - releasing everything you’ve held in for the last few hours. You feel stupid, annoyed, frightened, sore, relieved – too many emotions to keep track of.

He wraps his arms around you in turn, pressing a long kiss to your temple, tears burning at his own eyes.

In that moment, it hits Leon in the gut that he doesn’t know what he’d do without you, what he would have done if you hadn’t come home that night. If he’d have to come back to the apartment and not find your shoes kicked off at the door at the end of the long day, the glass with the lipstick smear on the rim near the sink from the water you’d gulp down greedily whilst making dinner.  It’s not like he takes you for granted by any means. He feels lucky every morning when he gets to wake up next to you in bed, and every night when he climbs back in, wrapping his arms around you. He’ll never let the two of you go to sleep or part ways if you’ve had harsh words or a full blown argument as all couples do, not with the risk his line of work brings, the threat that he could be called away in the middle of the night and have to bid goodbye to a turned back.

He rubs his hand gently up and down your back then, tears silently rolling down his face as he takes you all in, relishes your warmth as he cradles you in his lap.

“I’m so sorry.” You hiccup, your sobs eventually ceasing into sniffles, but still you kept your face pressed into his chest, seeking the comfort of his smell – the faint cologne and natural musk that was so uniquely Leon.

“You did nothing wrong, you hear me?” He mumbles into your crown. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Is the car a complete write-off?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” He gently lifts your left hand, presses a kiss across your knuckles. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“Love you too.”  

The day after the next – he negotiated a personal day to spend doting on you, breakfast in bed, cuddles on the sofa, takeaway for dinner – Leon goes out and buys a ring.

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[saturnville]

more jude fics I beggg

where do we go?

pairing: jude bellingham x black oc warning: angst content: she finds her way to his house after midnight with no other thought besides where they move forward from here. reference: where do we go by andra day an: engagement is always appreciated, and highly encouraged. I hope you enjoy <3 tags: @mauvecherie-writes @emjayewrites @neewrites @saintslewis @boujiestpoet @vile-harlot @greedyjudge2 @cocobutterqwueen @cosmic-parker @blueaetherr + let me know if you want to be added/removed!

It was past midnight. The dark sky cried bitterly, its tears streaming down in sheets, drenching the earth below. Loud wails and heavy sobs shook the ground. Who was she missing? Perhaps the sun, her lover who disappeared for hours at a time. Warming her atmosphere for a few short hours before abandoning her for the light sky, leaving her cold and lonely in his absence,

Evelyn Alena watched the winding road intently. Her bright headlights cut through the blanket of rain. The storm's weight felt so heavy, so consuming, that it was suffocating. Her hands twisted around the steering wheel. Her knuckles turned white as she focused on an unknown destination; her eyes narrowed against the glare of the rain. 

While consciously, she had no destination, her heart had directed her brain to follow its created roadmap. It had driven her there, through familiar pathways and past streets with cars against the shoulder. It pulled her with a force she couldn’t name but couldn’t resist. 

The rhythm of the windshield wipers played a steady beat against the haunting melody of the storm. Thump. Thump. Thump. Clashing thunderclaps caused a sudden dissonance in the rhythm of nature. She jumped in her seat. She should go home, she told herself. There was still time to turn around and go home before it got too dangerous. But she kept driving. Her car moved slowly and steadily through the rain, hissing as it passed the large puddles at the road's edge.

Then she saw it. At the corner of the street, where it’d always been. Sitting pretty, strong in stature. An inanimate memory, holding safe the love she had wrapped in flesh. She hesitated, foot hovering over the brake, heart pounding in her ears. She made the turn.

Woodman Ave.

Familiar ground. Echoes of old footsteps. Laughter still lingered in the corners. She could almost see her and Jude walking those sidewalks, playing ball in the backyard (though she wasn’t very good), and throwing water balloons at each other during family cookouts. She could see the love between them. She blinked, and the ghosts disappeared.

She pulled into the driveway slowly. Her fingers switched the light, which let the house rest in darkness. Her breath hitched. Had she made a mistake? She couldn’t get in her head too much. She’d already made it this far.

She got out of the car and closed the door quietly. Within seconds, she was drenched. Yet, she didn’t move with urgency. One foot after another, she counted how many footsteps it took to get from the driveway to the front door. 15. 

She lifted her hand to knock but hesitated. What was she so afraid of? She’d already driven to his house during a storm, soaked her clothes like a child, and stood in front of his home. What more was there to be afraid of? 

She gulped. One knock, two knows, three knocks. Silence. 

The knock was quiet. Soft. Like whispers of the leaves during autumn. The door opens slowly. Her former lover, groggy from sleep, caught her silhouette through blurred vision. He blinked a few times. Evie. No words followed. She stood before him as her body shook, shivered, and quaked, evidence of walking in the rain. His eyes met hers—a moment of true recognition and understanding. 

Jude stepped aside, inviting her in. She stepped into the house slowly, water leaving her wake. There were no words to say. He stood behind her, his bare feet damp with rainwater, and peeled the wet coat off her shoulders. He tapped her hip twice, nodding toward the bedroom. 

She shuddered as she stripped out of her clothes. Each article hit the floor with a plop. She stared at herself in the mirror--bare-bodied, bare-faced, and bare-souled. What was she doing? A soft knock caught her attention. 

Without much thought, Jude cracked the door. She didn’t mind it. “Some clothes. Towel for your hair. Another towel for your body...” He handed her a pile of neatly folded clothes. They were hers. Her favorite was an oversized Avengers shirt and old college sweatpants. The towel was a gift from him. Black and microfiber to protect her hair. She wanted to smile. He never got rid of her stuff. 

Her eyes met his. He was tired, but so many emotions were swirling in his chocolate eyes. He was saying something, but she couldn’t make it out.

“Can you…I’m so cold,” she finally spoke through chattering teeth. Jude stepped into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him as if someone would follow. The black towel was thick and heavy in his hands as he wrapped it around her body. She let out a deep breath at the warmth. 

He took the head towel next. He wrapped it around her head, securing it with the string and button. He nodded once. “You okay?” She nodded back. “I’ll leave you to it.” With her damp clothes in his hands, he turned.

He said nothing further when he left. She slid the shirt over her body and shoved her feet into the pant legs. She sighed heavily. 

Her movements were slow as she opened the bathroom door and retreated downstairs. There were perks of living in a small home. Everything was easily accessible, and anyone could be easily found. His body was still against the couch. His finger drew circles around the rim of the pristine water glass, but not once did he pick it up. 

“Feel better?” He asked without turning around. She gulped. Her head bobbed as if she was seen. Her feet shuffled against the tile floor as she circled the couch and stood off. 

Burning ahead was the fireplace. Snap. Crackle. Pop. It warmed the living room and brought light to the desolate atmosphere. “Uh, yeah. Thank you. Room for another?” He lifted his arm, and she slipped under it; she was in her rightful place. 

Silence consumed them. There was much to say, but neither knew where to begin. Evelyn lay on his chest, her eyelids heavy and her vision blurred. Her body shook as it tried to regain its equilibrium from being chilled by the rain. Anxiety-ridden, she was. Nervous and unsure. Yet, the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady, grounded her. 

Evelyn missed being so close to him. It felt like years, but it had only been a few months. There was a familiarity in how he held her near. Close and comfortable like she’d never left. Her mind raced with questions. Why was she here? Why’d her heart guide her to him?

Jude’s fingers traced absent-minded patterns on her arm. She wanted to ask if he missed her if he thought about her as much as she did him. But the words caught in her throat, held back by an unspoken agreement to simply exist, kept her from complicating it.

The storm began to die down. Violent winds and heavy rainpour tapered into a soft drizzle. It mirrored the quiet between them, a peace settling over the room, though the quiet tension lingered beneath it all. The fire continued to crackle in front of them.

“Jude...” she finally whispered, her voice hardly audible above the fading storm. But she didn’t know what else to say even as she said his name. There was no need. He responded with a quiet hum, his fingers pausing briefly before resuming their familiar dance on her skin.

They lay there like that for what felt like hours. The weight of everything unspoken hung between them, but neither felt the need to break the silence. It was a moment of comfort in confusion. Neither was sure where they would go, but basking in each other’s presence was enough.

[aismoker]

Fairy-tale

A variation on a story

Red hung up his phone. That was his grandmother on the phone. She was sick... again. Red sighed. That old hag was basically "sick" every other week, coincidentally always when she was low on groceries. He knew she was faking it, that she was just doing it to check up on him, to show him who was in control. Red even suspected that she just got off on the power play. Red let it happen, he hated himself for it. He wished he could stand uo for himself, become the man HE wanted to be, but he felt most of the time that his grandmother was controlling his life. He was her little lapdog, rhat always came when she whistled. He couldn't help it. She was all the family he had and he felt obliged to take care of her. So he put on his red hoodie (the one his grandmother always said looked "so adorable" on him) and got on his bike.

It was already getting dark, so he drove as fast as he could. Unfortunately, he didn't see the glass on the road until it was too late. Within a few seconds both of his tires were completely empty. Red braked as hard as he could and almost fell off his bike. He stepped off his bike and checked if he could repair them.

It only took him one glance to see that he was screwed. His tires were ripped to shreds. He wanted to call a taxi, but unfortunately, there was no signal. He looked around to see if there was anyone on the streets to help him, but there was no one to be seen. He realized he was in the bad side of town. His grandmother had always warned him not to go there, but the neighborhood lied directly in between their houses. He again checked on his phone. Still no signal. He cursed. He didn't know what to do.

Then, all of a sudden, he heard a heavy rumbling sound. A motorbike was approaching. It drove past him, but then it lowered its speed and turned around and stopped a few meters away from Red.

The biker stepped off his bike and walked towards him. Red's mouth fell open. The guy that was approaching him seemed to come directly from his darkest, wettest dreams: shaved head, big bulging biceps, covered in tattoos of wolves and a big cigar in his jaws. "Got a problem, buddy?" "Y-yeah," Red stuttered, "I got a flat tire. Two, actually." The biker walked to the bike and looked at the tires. "I can see that. You need help with that?" "Y-yes, that... that would be great." Red blushed. There he was with the guy from his dreams and he stammered like a fool! The biker didn't seem to notice it, or at least he didn't show it. He walked up toward Red and said: "No worries, buddy, I will contact a buddy of mine and he will fix it in no time. In the meantime, follow me, you can have a drink with me and a few brothers while you wait." "Th-thanks, Red answered, that is amazing!" He wanted to walk to his bike to lock it, but the guy grapped said in a forceful, almost commanding, voice: "Just leave it there, buddy, your bike will be safe, you are in our territory." Red wanted to protest, but when he looked into the bikers golden, almost hypnotic eyes, his words got stuck in his throat. Those eyes... they were so big...

The biker put his arm around Red and softly but firmly guided him into a deserted alley, steadily puffing on his cigar, filling the air around him and Red. Red didn't mind the smoke. In fact, he felt weirdly comfortable... safe even. He didn't mind this strong bulging arm around him and subtly he started walking closer to the biker. "So, what's your name, buddy?" "My name is Red," Red said. "It suits your hoodie," the biker replied.

"Yeah... and what's your name?"

"Name is Wolf."

"Like your tattoo?"

"Yeah."

"Cool, I like your tattoos."

Wolf didn't say anything, but he pulled Red closer to him. Red shivered. His arms... they were so big...

They continued walking in silence. Red lost all sense of time. He was so wrapped up in the moment. Suddenly they came to a halt. Red looked up. They were standing in front of a bar called "The Wolf's Den". Wolf went inside, leading Red along.

As Red stepped over the threshold of the bar, it was like he stepped into another world. The atmosphere was hazy with smoke and the air was filled with a... musk? Yes, musk was the right word. It was very strong and made Red feel a bit dizzy, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Red looked around. The bar was small. There was only one table. Around it sat four men, all looking like Wolf, all having similar tattoos as Wolf and smoking the same cigar as Wolf.

Wolf walked towards them, greeted them and introduced Red to them. Four pairs of golden eyes stared at Red. Red greeted them meekly. They kept looking at him. Red felt like he was a rabbit, being watched by troop of hungry wolves. One of the men broke the silence and asked Wolf: "You think he has it?" Wolf laughed. It almost sounded like an animalistic growl. "Oh, he deffinitely has it. He reeks of potential." Red didn't understand what they were talking about, but all of a sudden, the demeanor of the men changed. They started laughing and it was as if the earlier moment had not happened. They made room for him on the couch. "Come sit with us, buddy, we are glad you are here. Wolf will get you a drink!" Red sat next on them on the couch. The smell of smoke and musk grew stronger. It was as if it pervaded his mind. Thinking was getting harder. Red already had forgotten about the episode that had just happened in front of his own eyes.

A few seconds layer Wolf put a glass in front of him and sat next to him, closer than Red was normally comfortable with. "Here, buddy, drink it. It will make you feel better." Red had not a clue what was in the glass. Normally he would never accept a strange drink from a stranger he had met in the streets. But he had had a shitty day and he wanted to act like someone he usually was not, so he raised his glass. "Cheers!"

The men around him answered it and they all took a deep swigs of thwir drinks, Red included. The drink went down smoothly and Red could fwwl a warmth spreading through his body. But thatvwas not the only thing Red felt. It was as of the drink awoke something in him. Something Red had never known that was there. Something wild, something... animalistic.

Wolfbintroduced all the men. They were all called Wolf. Red thought it was a bit strange, but he didn't question it. The men started talking with Red. They asked him about his life and Red told them everything, even about his grandmother that dominated his life and how he hated it. That was a thing he had told no one, but somehow, he felt completely comfortable to twll Wolf and his brothers his deepest secrets. Of course it helped that his glass was non-stop being re-filled and he kept drinking.

After a while, Red started feeling warm. Wolf noticed in and said: "Why don't you get rid of that "adorable" hoodie? You don't need it, do you?" Red agreed, he pulled his hoodie over his head, taking the t-shirt under it along. As he wanted to pull the t-shirt back, Wolf said: "Leave it off, you are among brothers." This made perfect sense to Red and so he took the shirt off too and just dropped it along with the hoodie on the floor under the table. As he leaned back, he found that Wolf had put his arm there. He turned his head towards Wolf. Wolf just winked and blew out a cloud of smoke directly into Red's face. Red felt suddenly a wave of horniness wash over him and he couldn't surpress a moan. The moan sounded more like a growl. The other men looked at each other with knowing grins. Wolf pulled him in closer and Red nestled himself close against him. The conversation continued like nothing had happened. Even though Red didn't understand everything he heard, he was completely invested in it. As he reached for his glass glass, he saw that his arm looked strange. His arm looked bigger, more muscular and it seemed there were vague patterns on it, like tattoos. He shrugged it off. He probably had too much to drink, but he didn't care.

After a while, Wolf had finished his cigar and lit up a fresh one. Red looked at Wolf lighting the cigar. He couldn't pull his eyes away from it. Wolf noticed it. "You want to give it a try?" he asked. "N-no, thanks," Red replied, "I don't think it is my thing." Wolf grinned. His golden eyes glowed brightly, holding Red in his gaze. "But it could be. Look around, do you think we were born like this? No, we were like you, but we decided to let our wild side out, our inner wolves. You want that too, don't you. Be wild... be free... be a wolf." Red couldn't deny it. He wanted it. Wolf sensing Red caving in, brought the cigar to Red's mouth. Red, still looking into Wolf's eyes, opened his mouth. Wolf placed the cigar carefully into Red's mouth. Red felt his lips wrap around the cigar. "Now breathe in. You will love it, I promiss you." Red did as he was told to. As the smoke entered his lungs, Red felt like firework went off in his body. The animalistic feeling that had been stirred out of its slumber when he had had his first drink and had been steadily growing with every next drink, seemed to suddenly have bewn awakened. Red felt euphoric... no he felt alive! Like he could run all night and howl to the full moon!

Ted took the cigar out of his mouth and exhaled his first lungfull of smoke. He looked at the cigar in his muscular hand, covered in tattoos. A small voice in his head said this wasn't right. But another, stronger voice -the voice of the animal- shouted that it was right. That this was what he was meant to be. That this was who he really was. Red grinned and took another deep drag. Indeed, this was who he was meant to be. He looked at the men around the table. They stared at him with hunger in their eyes. This time, Red didn't feel uncomfortable. He now understood what they were feeling...and he felt the same.

Red suddenly heard Wolf's voice whispering in his ear. "I told you, you would love it, didn't I?" Red, fewling the warm smokey breathe of Wolf in hus neck, shivered. He could only let out a growl. "You want to feel like this forever, don't you. You want to be free... no longer constrained by the ties that bind you now. You want to be wild... an animal... You want to be our brother, part of our pack." Red was by now completely in ecstacy. Yes, he wanted it. He needed it. He needed it ALL. "Yes," he panted, "YES!"

"I thought so. In order to become part of the pack, we all need to share our essence with you. So, take your pants off." Red eagerly did as he was told. The small voice in hisnhead was shouting that he was crazy, but he didn't care. Wolf and thebrest of the pack did the same. When Red saw their cocks, he had to swallow. Their cocks... they were so big...

Wolf saw it and reassured Red, that they wouldn't hurt him. He then turned him around and guided him on his knees. A brother aligned himself to Red's hole and slowly started to enter. It didn't hurt, but Red felt how his ass stretched around the humongous cock. He clenched his teeth around the cigar and started inhaling the smoke deeper. Wolf, kneeling in front of Red, encouraged him, : "Yes, yes, smoke harder, deeper. It will help you relax!" And it did. It was like hisbass started to suck Wolf's cock in, welcoming it. Wolf was now completely inside him and started picking up thenpace. Red fell into the rhytm. Every trust flooded his body with pleasure. It added to the pleasure the cigar was giving him. The pace went up and up. Tension built. Red growled in pleasure, just like brother who was riding his ass. Then all of a sudden, the guy started howling and Red felt how streams of cum filled his ass. "Welcome, to the pack, brother," the guy said as he carefully went out of Red. He planted a kiss on his mouth. Red was in a daze. It felt like the seed of his brother strengthened the animal, the wolf, inside him.

Red had little time to think, as the next guybhad already lined up and slided his cock inside Red. The same ritual happened. Then came the next and the next. With each load, the wolf inside him grew stronger and stronger, devouring his old self. Moreober, he felt a bond with the guys thay had just fucked him, like they were his real brothers.

Atblast, Wolf stood behind Red. "Are you ready to becone one ofbus? Are you ready to become part of the pack?" "YES!" That was all Wolf needed tonhear. He rammed his cock deep inside Red. Red inhaled deeply on the now almost finished cigar. Not out of pain, but out of pure intense bliss. Wolf pounded him long and hard. Red felt his own cock grow bigger and harder than it ever had been. The tsmpo went up even more and Wolf went deeper and deeper into him. Then, at the moment Red thought he would pass out, he heard Wolf shot: "ARE YOU READY TO BECOME PART OF THE PACK, BROTHER? THEN LET YOUR OLD SELF GO!" And he howled. And he shot his load. Not just a normal load, volley after volley went deep into Red. Red, no longer able or willing to contain himself, took one last deep drag of his cigar and started cumming. As he exhaled the smoke, he hesrd himself howl with Wolf. Im fact, the whole pack was howling.

After what seemed to be an hour. Wolf stopped cumming and so did Red. But was he still Red? He looked down at the puddle of his cum. There were the last remnants of Red, his old self. He was now someone else... something else. He looked uo and saw himself in the mirror. A pair of brightly shining golden eyes looked back at him. He looked at himself in the mirror. Gone was his boyish features, his lanky frame and floppy brown hair. Instead he saw a strong bald man, covered intattoos. A tattoo of a wolf's head proudly on his chest. He grinned. From ow on, he would go by "wolf", just like his brothers.

He was helped up by a brother and another gave him a biker vest with his new name on it. "Thanks, brothers", the new Wolf said, while accepting a cigar that was handed to him by a third brother. He lit up the cigar as if he had done it a million times and as he exhaled, he continued: "I will have to return the favor... to all of you." The brothers cheered and howled and new Wolf couldn't help to let a howl out as well.

"Not just yet, brother," Wolf, the one who had lead him to the Den, said, "I have a surprise for you." He led the new Wolf outside. "We have fixed your bike." As they came outside, new Wolf didn't see his former self's bicycle. Instead he saw a motorbike like Wolf's one. "You can't be part of the pack without one of these."

New Wolf was astounded. His cigar almost dropped from his mouth. Then an animalistic grin crept on his face and his golden eyes started shining brightly. He took a deep haul of his cigar and he pulled his brother in closely. "I am so gonna fuck you, right here, right now, brother." He then started kissing Wolf with a passion that even surprised himself. He felt his brother's cock swell again and heard him growl in horny bliss." With effort, Wolf broke off the kiss. He said, panting: "Not yet, brother. You first have to cut the last ties to your former life. So, let's make a visit to grandma. You can fuck me right in front of her, showing that hag your new self."

New Wolf grinned as he mounted his bike. Wolf followed suit. "Good idea, brother," new Wolf said, as he started the engine, "let's show her I am no longer her little lapdog." The brothers drove away. The sound of the engines mixed with their howls, leaving behind a trail of cigar smoke.

[scarletts-scribbles]

Driving Her Home

⁀➷ Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

⁀➷ Notes: I wrote most of this during my lecture, I wont lie…

⁀➷ Summary: Natasha falls asleep in the car as you drive her home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The night air was heavy with relief when Natasha had finally completed her mission. Solo missions weren’t that fun anymore. Not after she’d grown so accustomed to having you by her side.

You’d always try to go on missions together anyway, even if it did mean hounding Fury until he eventually caved (which often didn’t take long with how persistent you were). However whenever you couldn’t go together, the two of you had fell into the habit of being the one to pick the other up afterwards. Being the one to drive or fly out to the other. It was a way to reconnect and make up for lost time, not only that but you certainly knew that Nat picking you up after a rough mission was the biggest step to moving on from it.

This time was no different. The road was dim as you drove alone, the lack of streetlights meant you only really had your headlights to illuminate the way through the narrow alleyways. Luckily you knew where you were going - you probably would’ve got lost otherwise. Natasha had turned on her active location tracker earlier and after a 40 minute drive the gps on your phone beeped to signal you were only 5 minutes away from her location.

When you finally arrived, Natasha emerged from the darkness, a silhouette bathed in the soft glow of the car's headlights. You made quick work of pulling up alongside the kerb for her.

“Hi sweetheart,” Your voice murmured softly as Natasha slid into the passenger seat, her demeanor a mix of weariness and quiet satisfaction. Without another word, you handed her a bottle of water from the bag you’d packed to take along. It was a small but thoughtful gesture, “There’s some snacks too if you want them.”

She mumbled a quiet thank you and took the water, taking a long swig, "Long night.” She finally sighed, using the back of her hand to wipe away the few droplets of remaining water from her lips.

“You wanna talk about it?” You offered, allowing her the chance to open up if she wanted too.

She seemed to think for a moment but inevitably shook her head. You nodded, not wanting to push her to talk until she was ready.

“That’s fine my love, it’s about a 40 minute drive so get comfy, we can talk whenever you’re ready.”

With each passing mile, Natasha's eyelids grew heavier. The steady motion of the car seemed to lull her into a drowsy state. You adjusted the temperature in the car, ensuring she was comfortable.

You reached over to gently squeeze Natasha's hand, a silent reassurance. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the steady road beneath you provided a soothing backdrop. As the car rolled on, Natasha's exhaustion became more apparent.

After a while, she leaned her head against the window, closing her eyes. The tension in her shoulders gradually eased, and the weariness on her face seemed to soften.

The next time you looked over, Natasha was asleep, her eyes closed as she sat curled up in her seat. She looked adorable. You turned the radio down gradually, not wanting to risk her waking up with its noise. At the next safest point, you slowly pulled over, making sure to brake softly to avoid jostling her. Once you’d stopped, you unbuckled your seatbelt and slid out your door. As silently as you could, you crept round to the boot and opened it, taking the fuzzy dark-grey blanket you always kept it in there.

Tucking the blanket under your arm, you quietly got back behind the wheel then as gently as you could, laid the blanket over Natasha, making sure it covered her sufficiently.

You took a moment to look over her sleep-filled features, feeling a swell of love and pride as you watched her snooze. You knew these missions took a lot out of her, even if she wasn’t always willing to admit it. Before setting off again, you leaned over and gently pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before whispering in a restful tone, “Sleep well my baby.”

For the rest of the journey, you kept your eye on her, smiling softly as you drove down the quiet streets. You knew you’d probably have to wake her up once you made it back home - but for now you were happy to just let her rest. To sleep away her problems, to finally unwind and let herself be relaxed as you lovingly watched over her.

ﾟ:*

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[nataliasquote]

Double the trouble | a day out | n romanoff

Part of the ‘Double the trouble AU’

Summary: a day trip with 2 3-year-olds is a lot to handle…

Age: 3 years old

Warnings: none

Pairings: WandaNat

wc: 2.9k

note: this was a request from anon (my first request!) so I hope I did it justice

- ⧗ -

Isla was always the loudest twin. She had all her firsts before her sister; word, steps, you name it, she beat Y/n to it. Which often left the younger girl feeling behind and unworthy, born to only follow in the shadows of her twin sister.

Natasha and Wanda tried their hardest to treat their girls equally, but with Y/n’s reluctance to try anything new and Isla’s strong temperament, they had a difficult situation on their hands.

Being three years old meant days were filled with trips to the park and fun days out for the whole family. Isla had been begging to go to the zoo, the colourful picture books she begged Wanda to read every night cementing her love for animals. Y/n nodded when asked if she wanted to go too. But what was she supposed to say? She did everything Isla did.

But the zoo wasn’t her thing. Whilst her older sister toddled around and pointed animatedly at all the different animals, Y/n stayed beside the stroller, her tiny hands fiddling with the fabric seat as she stared at the concrete pavement. Natasha tried her hardest to involve her, often picking her up so she could see over the fences and pointing to the monkeys who were chasing each other around the enclosure. But the little girl was having none of it, her fist wrapped around the strap of her mama’s tank top.

“What’s the matter maylshka?” Natasha asked, holding Y/n tight to her body as she lead them both over to a nearby bench. “I thought you loved the zoo?”

The small girl shook her head, flaming hair falling loose from its braids. “Isla like zoo. Not me.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed as she looked at her daughter. “But you said you wanted to go?”

Y/n gave her mother a glare. A very familiar one at that. “No. Isla said go. Not me.”

Natasha shifted so her daughter was now sat on her knee. She gently moved a stray piece of hair from her forehead and kissed it gently, rubbing the soft cotton of her t-shirt. “I’m sorry malyshka. I thought you wanted to go too.”

“It’s ok Mama,” Y/n said, placing her cool palms on her mother’s warm cheeks. Natasha smiled softly at the gesture and booped her on the nose, making the young girl giggle. “Can we get ice cream?”

Natasha pretended to think for a moment. “Ice cream? Hmmm, I don’t know.”

“I think yes!”

“Do you? And does Y/n make the rules now?”

The young girl nodded happily, her whole body moving with the force. “Ice cream!”

“Ok, big girl. Let’s get ice cream.” Natasha stood up from her seat and began to set Y/n down on the ground, but the three year old clung to her front like the monkeys behind her, tiny heels digging into Natasha’s waist. There were many things Nat loved about her youngest, but Y/n’s clingy nature was by far her favourite. It made her feel wanted, important.

With a stroller handle in one hand and a child balanced carefully in the other, Nat set off towards the jungle themed cafe she’d spotted on the map by the gate. Wanda had taken Isla off to god knows where, the young girl unable to sit still with so much happening around her.

The cafe itself was rather busy so Natasha expertly manoeuvred the stroller into a corner booth table and kicked the brake down so it wouldn’t roll into anyone’s way. She sank down onto the cushioned blue seat and allowed Y/n to straddle her lap, soft red hair tickling her nostrils as the young girl lay against her mother’s chest.

Natasha quickly scanned her surroundings before pulling out her phone and punching a quick update text to Wanda, who replied back with a video of Isla at the penguin enclosure.

“Look Y/n,” she turned her phone so the young girl could see but Y/n didn’t pay much attention. She watched for two seconds before her head went straight back to Natasha’s collarbone, finding more comfort there than anywhere else. “You’re really not bothered by the zoo, huh?”

Y/n shook her head lazily, her thumb coming up to brush against her lips, a telltale sign for Natasha who was well trained in motherhood.

“I think someone’s tired?” Another sleepy nod. “You wanna go for a nap, detka?” Talking was clearly too much for Y/n, who only replied with yet another nod. Natasha took her response and pulled the stroller close. However, she was met with some resistance as she tried to transfer a now squirmy three year old into her seat. “What’s wrong?”

“-na stay with you,” Y/n mumbled around her thumb before Nat gently prised it out of her mouth. Y/n’s big green eyes blinked up at her tiredly and Natasha couldn’t help but coo at the sight. Her girls were the most adorable things in her life and when they were tired they were so precious.

Nat moved her body back into the corner of the booth and allowed Y/n to swivel around so she was flat against her chest, cheek resting comfortably on the softness of Natasha’s chest. They may not be fed like that anymore, but the twins still found great comfort from their mamas’ chests.

It didn’t take long for Y/n’s breaths to even out and Natasha couldn’t help but take a quick selfie with her daughter, the moment too precious to capture. She stared at her screen with a blissful expression before posting it to her close friends’ instagram story. Only family and the occasional friend was allowed on there, and Yelena of course was the first to send a reply.

@ yelenabelova7

you better be bringing those munchkins to me soon. I want baby Y/n hugs too

Natasha rolled her eyes and laughed as she replied, flawlessly typing even with one hand.

@ natromanoff

i’m impressed you got the twin right. and i’m not putting them on a plane so you’ll have to come here. I know isla would love that.

@ yelenabelova7

I can’t believe you doubt me Natasha. I know my Y/n when I see her. Besides, she’s always clinging to you. You got the quiet one. Wanda has her hands full with the other monkey

@ natromanoff

They’re both our children, Lena. Wands is just happy to be dragged around a zoo. I’d rather sit

@ yelenabelova7

HA! You’re getting old sestra. You’re a mother, not a grandma. Not yet anyway.

Yelena’s comment made Natasha roll her eyes and place her phone down on the table. She cradled Y/n’s head to her chest and rocked her gently back and forth. A smile broke out across her face as she spotted her wife push through the large glass doors, Isla tugging on her arm impatiently.

Natasha held a finger up to her lips as her favourite girls approached, trying not to disturb her youngest. But her efforts were in vain as Y/n recognised the approaching voices and lifted her head to peer around. Wanda bent down and kissed her head softly, brushing her hair back as she pulled away.

“Hello sleepy head,” she cooed, taking a seat on the opposite bench and pulling Isla onto her lap. “Did the ice cream make you sleepy?”

“We didn’t even get that far, did we?” Natasha laughed, watching as Y/n’s head perked up at the mention of the sweet dessert.

“Can we get it now?”

Wanda looked down at Isla. “You wanna get some with me and we can bring it back for Y/n and Mama?”

“Sure!”

“Me go too!” Y/n squirmed off Natasha’s lap and ran over to Wanda, taking the hand on her other side. “Mama stay?” She asked, looking back at Natasha.

The redhead nodded. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

Wanda led the twins away like a mother duck and her ducklings, holding their hands tight until they reached the large glass cabinet. The young woman behind the counter smiled at the precious sight in front of her as the twins stretched up on their toes to peer in.

“Pink!” Y/n exclaimed, pointing to the candy floss ice cream that sounded disgusting in Wanda’s eyes. “Can I get pink?”

“Mommy I want chocolate!”

“What do we say when we want something?” Wanda asked, putting on her best ‘mom’ voice.

“Pleeeeeese?” The girls chorused, tiny toothy smiles dazzling up at their mommy. The worker chuckled and caught Y/n’s eye so she smiled widely at her too.

“That’s better. And yes, you can get whatever you would like. But you have to ask the nice lady politely.”

Isla being Isla spoke up first, puffing out her chest as she took a deep breath. “Please can I have chocolate please?” She pointed into the cabinet, just in case the server wasn’t sure which one was chocolate.

“Of course you can sweetheart. Is that in a cone or a cup?” Isla looked at her blankly and turned to Wanda, a clear cry for help.

“The smallest cone you do please. And just one scoop.” The girl nodded and began preparing her order. “They don’t need too much sugar.”

Once Isla’s order was complete the server turned to Y/n who was staring intently at all the colourful flavours. “Which one would you like sweetheart?”

“Pink?”

“Strawberry?” Y/n looked up at Wanda, tugging her sleeve for help. The mother shook her head and watched to see which one her daughter pointed too. Granted, Y/n could barely point in the right direction but her intention was enough to go off.

“I think she means the candyfloss. The one with the glitter on it.”

Y/n’s was scooped into a similar cone to Isla and then placed on the stand. Wanda quickly sorted herself and Natasha out; two scoops of honeycomb crunch in a cup for herself, and a double scoop of caramel coffee for Nat. Wanda always teased her wife for crunching on the coffee beans that topped her scoop. Natasha sure was a strange one when it came to her flavour preferences.

Ice creams clutched tightly in hands, Wanda ushered her little ducklings back to the safety of the booth where Natasha was waiting, a large grin plastered onto her face that mirrored that of her ice cream laden babies.

Sweet treats were consumed from the safety of the jungle themed cafe and Isla and Y/n swung their feet happily as they nibbled on their cones. Sticky hands and faces were just inevitable and Wanda was soon ready to attack both with baby wipes the second they were done.

“Did you two see everything you wanted to?” Natasha asked, scrolling through the pictures on Wanda’s phone of Isla at various exhibits.

“I saw lions!” Isla bared her teeth and roared, shaking her head like she’d seen the majestic creature do hours earlier. “And the ‘raffes!”

“Giraffes?”

“Yeah!”

Y/n tugged on Natasha’s sleeve and pointed to part of the mural covering the wall to her right. “They have those here?”

The colourful sea creatures were definitely oversaturated; pink sharks didn’t sit comfortably with Natasha. But she followed Y/n finger to a sparkly blue turtle and smiled, noticing how Isla and Wanda also did the same.

“I saw a sign for an aquarium around the corner,” Wanda said. “There could be turtles in there.”

“We go!”

“Now hold on a minute-“ Wanda started, but telling two sugared-up three years olds on a mission to slow down was a fruitless effort. Natasha grabbed both of their tiny wrists and gently tugged them back to the table, earning little angry glares from both girls.

“What did we say about running off?”

“But-“

“Not buts, Y/n. What did we say?”

“Don’t run off,” they said in unison, the floor now much more interesting than Natasha who wasn’t smiling. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok munchkin, just wait 2 minutes and we’ll be ready.”

Wanda and Natasha packed up quickly and headed towards the aquarium side of the zoo, eyes glued to the two little girls in front of them whose hands were tightly clasped together. They may have their favourite parent and stay glued to their side, but Y/n and Isla’s bond truly was unbreakable. Starkly different, yet inseparable.

[adoresia]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ CHAPTER 1 : NEW BEGINNINGS AND OLD WOUNDS

series masterlist

Sia here ! : WOAH FIRSG CHAPTER?1??!1?!1? ngl guys this is superrr long but I think that’s how it’s gonna have to be because there isn’t a lot of time until christmas.. should’ve started this earlier whoops. Anyways I kinda hate the layout of this if the filler pics are too much I can remove them omg this is overstimulating me bye. ENJOYY also I scheduled this before going to sleep for the next day so if you weren’t tagged it’s because you asked to be while I was asleep and the this was posted automatically so I didn’t see your ask!

Word count : 1.9k

You adjusted your bag strap nervously as the bus rolled to a stop in front of the school, its brakes screeching against the morning quiet. Students were already streaming through the gates, chatting and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. Your stomach twisted. You weren’t sure if the knot of nerves in your chest was because of the unfamiliar building looming ahead or the memories you were trying to leave behind.

The first day at a new school was never easy, but for you, it felt like stepping into a minefield. Whispers followed your steps in the hallways, even though you knew they weren’t directed at you—yet. The weight of your old school’s rumors clung to you, invisible but heavy, and you were determined not to give anyone here a reason to dig.

You kept your head down, avoiding eye contact as you navigated the crowded halls. The holiday decorations strung across the ceilings and the faint sound of Christmas music playing from a distant classroom only made you feel more out of place. It wasn’t that you disliked the season—it was the idea of warmth and connection that felt so far out of reach.

As you came face to face with your first class of the day you braced yourself.

“It’s only 2 years.” You reassured yourself.

Yuji leaned back in his chair, lazily scrolling through his phone while Toge and Megumi bickered beside him. “Bro, just admit you lost,” Toge said, smirking as he held up his phone to show Megumi the leaderboard of the game they’d been playing. “It’s not losing if the game glitched,” Megumi replied flatly, refusing to look up.

“You’re just mad I’m better than you,” Toge shot back, grinning.

“Can you guys, like, shut up? ” Nobara groaned from her seat across the room, rolling her eyes.

Yuji chuckled, as their voices blurred into the background.

When he glanced up from his phone, he noticed you.

Sitting in the back corner of the room, your eyes glued to the desk like it was the only thing anchoring you to the earth. Yuji tilted his head slightly, intrigued. You looked… new.

“Woah new huzz? Who you staring at?” Toge asked, leaning over to follow Yuji’s gaze.

“No one,” Yuji said quickly, though his eyes betrayed him.

“Oh, he’s definitely staring,” Nobara said, chiming in from her seat.

Megumi raised an eyebrow without looking up. “Your scaring her stop staring so hard.”

“Guys, stop,” Yuji protested, heat rising to his face.

“She’s new,” Toge commented, watching you for a moment. “Probably doesn’t want to be stared at dude.”

Yuji shifted uncomfortably but couldn’t shake the feeling that you looked like you could use a friend. Before his thoughts could wander even more the bell had rang, shaking him out of his daze. And when he looked back to catch a final glimpse you were already gone.

“Oh? Where did she go?” He asked openly, though he meant to say that in his head

“Away from you probably. C’mon let’s go she probably doesn’t want to be stalked.” Nobara rushed him and everyone else out of the seat and out of the classroom.

In the midst of exiting the room he caught a glimpse of you at your locker, alone again. Something in him made him hope that maybe you just didn’t have any friends in this particular class but he was wrong. Proven as he watched you put away your books in silence.

To be honest, you noticed Yuji staring at you during class but you just passed it off as being new. Of course you were going to get a few stares, not that it was all that welcoming but it was expected. It was your first day after all.

The locker door shut with a soft metallic clang, and you startled, your heart lurching in your chest. Standing there, practically glowing with an overly bright grin, was Yuji Itadori. Behind him stood his trio of friends—Toge, Nobara, and Megumi—all watching like they were waiting for him to complete some kind of dare.

“Hey,” Yuji greeted, his tone warm and cheerful, as though you’d been friends forever.

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. He didn’t seem to notice your hesitance, continuing with an almost disarming enthusiasm. “You’re new, right? I saw you earlier in class but didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Yuji!”

Behind him, Kugisaki raised a brow, leaning toward Toge. “You think he’s scaring her or what?”

“He’s definitely scaring her,” Toge replied bluntly, crossing his arms.

Megumi sighed, already looking like he regretted being a part of this. “Just get it over with,” he muttered under his breath, earning a sharp elbow from Nobara.

You managed a polite smile, though your grip on your bag strap tightened. “Uh, hi. I’m—”

“See, Megumi!” Yuji interrupted, flashing an almost victorious grin at his friend. “Not scary at all.”

“Sure,” Megumi deadpanned.

“I—I really need to get to class,” you cut in gently, edging away. Yuji’s enthusiasm was overwhelming, and the watchful stares of his friends didn’t help.

“Right, of course!” Yuji scratched the back of his head sheepishly but didn’t seem deterred. “Maybe I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, maybe.” you replied, stepping past him and making a swift exit.

As you turned the corner, you swore you could hear Toge muttering, “She bolted faster than I thought she would.”

“She probably thinks you’re a weirdo,” Nobara added, and you had to fight back a small, amused smile.

“Who was that?” Maki asked as both her and yuta suddenly appeared around the corner.

Kugisaki leaped in for a hug almost throwing maki off her feat “MAKII MY WIFE, I missed you.”

Maki groaned, side-eyeing Nobara as she pried herself out of the hug. “You’re so dramatic. I was literally just in the gym.”

“And now you’re here, which makes everything better,” Nobara shot back, grinning like she’d just won a prize.

Yuta chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “What’s going on?”

“Yuji’s doing his usual thing,” Toge answered dryly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Found the new kid, cornered her at her locker, and tried to claim her as his omega.”

“Hey so you’re actually not funny.” Yuji turned, frowning. “I wasn’t trying to scare her! I just wanted to say hi.”

“You stood in front of her locker like a puppy waiting to be adopted, you need to be put down lowkey” Megumi muttered, clearly unimpressed.

“That’s… not true.” Yuji looked at them, confused. “Do I really come off that strong?”

“Absolutely,” Maki said without missing a beat.

“You were beaming like she’d just agreed to marry you,” Nobara teased, crossing her arms. “She probably thinks you’re some kind of stalker now.”

Yuji groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “I was just trying to be nice!”

“Well, now at least she knows you exist,” Yuta pointed out helpfully.

“Wouldn’t really say that’s a good thing but it’s the thought that counts man,” Toge deadpanned, making the group laugh.

Despite their teasing, Yuji glanced down the hallway, where you’d disappeared moments ago. There was a flicker of determination in his eyes, his cheerful demeanor shifting slightly.

“She seemed… lonely,” he muttered to himself, though the others didn’t catch it.

By the time lunch rolled around, you were exhausted. The constant buzz of the classroom had worn you out, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep your head down before someone dragged you into the chaos. You grabbed your lunch and found a corner table in the cafeteria, far away from the noise before you pulled out your phone and pretended to scroll, hoping no one would approach.

Sitting alone was a double-edged sword. On one hand, no one bothered you. On the other, it gave you too much time to think.

At the center of the cafeteria, Yuji sat with a group of his friends, his laughter loud enough to carry across the room. You caught sight of him briefly and immediately looked away. He looked so… at ease, surrounded by people who clearly adored him.

For a moment, you felt a pang of something—nostalgia, maybe. You used to have that, once. But then the rumors started, and suddenly, you didn’t.

You shook the thought away, focusing on your phone.

Across the cafeteria, Yuji noticed you again. He nudged Nobara, gesturing subtly toward your table.

“Don’t be weird,” she warned.

“I’m not being weird,” Yuji said, already standing up.

“Megumi,” Toge said with a grin. “Your boy’s about to do something stupid again.”

“Let him,” Megumi replied, not bothering to look up.

“Don’t embarrass yourself,” Nobara called after Yuji as he approached your table.

You were so engrossed in pretending to scroll on your phone that you didn’t notice him until he spoke.

“Hey!” His voice was too loud, too cheerful, and entirely unbothered by the way you flinched when he plopped into the seat across from you.

You jumped, nearly dropping your phone. When you looked up, Yuji was standing there, grinning sheepishly. Behind him, Nobara hovered a few steps away.

“You’re the new student, right? I’m Yuji! Oh wait I already told you right?”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his energy. “Uh… yeah.”

“Sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to scare you. Not that you were scared… were you? Actually never mind. What’s your name?” He tilted his head, his smile radiating a kind of warmth you hadn’t encountered in a long time.

“You’re scaring her again. Calm down.” Nobara said reassuringly

You hesitated, debating if giving your name would open a door you weren’t ready to step through. But his expectant gaze left little room for refusal. “…It’s y/n.”

“Cool! So, do you have any plans for the holidays?”

You frowned. “Um. Not really.”

“Great! Then you should come to the Christmas market with us this weekend!”

You blinked again, caught off guard by his sudden invitation. “I don’t even know you.”

“That’s the fun part—you’ll get to know me!” His grin widened, and you couldn’t help but feel both annoyed and amused by his persistence.

“I’ll think about it,” you muttered, though you had no intention of showing up.

“That’s great! It’ll be so much fun I promise! You should sit with us though y’know? So you can maybe get to know the people you’re going out with?” Yuji offered, his grin widening. “It’s more fun than eating alone.”

“I’m fine here,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yuji hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, no pressure. But, uh, let us know if you change your mind.”

They left after that, but you could still feel their group’s eyes on you.

Later that evening, as you sat in your room, the thought of Yuji’s invitation lingered. Against your better judgment, you opened your phone and typed out a text. You hovered over the send button, the words staring back at you like a confession you hadn’t meant to make. Finally, with a deep breath, you hit send.

You stared at the screen, caught somewhere between rolling your eyes and smiling. He was annoying—undeniably—but there was something about his unrelenting kindness that made you feel… seen. For now, though, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You were just trying to survive here, not make friends. But Yuji didn’t seem like someone who gave up easily…

next ➡️

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@fushiguruuzzzz @mystic-megumi @aldebrana @anotherwriternamedclara @tlissablr @academiq @2dmenfr @vmpky

[thewryter]

Conventional

Melissa Schemmenti x Female! Lowkey Mobster! Reader

Warnings/Summary: Jealousy along with some insecurities. Italians arguing.

A/N: is this me having a new favorite redhead 🫣. Granted I just started watching Abbott Elementary so I’m still on Season 1 atm but couldn’t resist and gave it a shot. Hope y’all enjoy!

-

I was walking the halls of Abbott Elementary, (how I got in wasn’t important) bringing my girlfriend some lunch. We kinda got carried away with some morning shenanigans which resulted in her running a bit late and I know she didn’t bring anything to eat.

While the relationship between Melissa and I was fairly new, we knew each other very well. Our whole lives to be exact, but being in a relationship with one another was new and it did have its ups and downs. We’re both Italian for crying out loud, so when there was an issue it wasn’t easy for one to admit fault.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when I hear Melissa’s laugh coming from the school’s teacher break room making me smile which is then immediately wiped off when it’s followed by a males voice. One I don’t recognize. I slow down my pace in the hall as I hear this guy flirting with my woman. I stop by the door out of sight, waiting to hear Melissa brush this buffoon off but it doesn’t come.

I then turn in to take a quiet step into the room, Melissa had her back to me but I get a good look at this guy who was chatting her up. It wasn’t a teacher that’s for sure. They continue to talk adamantly to one another, not noticing someone has entered the room.

Barbara makes eye contact with me from her seat at a table. I give her a slight nod but raise my hand when she opens her mouth to acknowledge me ultimately silencing her reluctantly and watch as Melissa digs herself in a deeper hole.

“Am I interrupting something?” I ask gruffly finally making my presence known.

Melissa whips around surprised, mouth opening then closing like a fish out water, eyes wide.

“Hon! What’re you doing here?” Melissa collects herself with a smile coming over to give me a sorta hug since I don’t lean down to reciprocate.

“Since we had a late morning you didn’t bring lunch. So I got you my pops special from the deli.” I speak to her yet not moving my gaze away from Yosemite Sam.

As she steps to the side her left hand reaches back and up to scratch the back of my nape softly, something that usually relaxes me the second she does it, which most likely is her tactic.

It doesn’t work.

“And who might you be?” The guy then asks lightly in my direction.

“Doesn’t matter.” I quip dryly.

“Y/N.”

“Oh dear lord.”

The Hulk Hogan wannabe then awkwardly chuckles.

“Well I’m-

“Didn’t ask.”

“I just-

“Don’t care.”

“Well I better get going. Enjoy your tea, Red.” The man says before making his way out with his cart walking past me.

Instincts take over as I subconsciously turn to follow him when I feel Melissa holding me back by my forearm. My body is tense along with my jaw when I turn to face her.

“What the fu-

“Not here. Not now. We’ll talk tonight.” Melissa mutters to me.

We don’t live together but for most nights out of the week I come over for dinner and spend the night at her place.

“Are you serious?” I ask taken aback at how she’s practically ordering me around.

“Y/N please.” She sighs making my jaw clench.

“I’ll see. I’m going to be working late.” My reply is cold. “Enjoy your sandwich, Red.” I add dryly handing her the plastic bag with her lunch before walking out.

“Thanks for the heads up, Barb.” Melissa huffs, going to slump down on the chair next to her while the other woman’s mouth drops slightly at how this is being turned on her.

“Well I was going to but then I thought, I want my brakes to work on my car when I’m on my way home this afternoon.” She replies not wanting to be on your bad side.

“She wouldn’t do that..to you.” Melissa mumbles the last part.

“Yet you have to admit she’s not completely in the wrong for her reaction. You should have no longer entertained Gary’s flirtations when you decided to pursue a relationship with Tony Soprano.” The other woman points out with a nod of her head while the red head rolls her eyes at the nickname.

“Look despite how ugly that might’ve looked I know how to handle this. Ain’t nothing a night of good food and good sex can’t fix.” Melissa half shrugs digging into the bag from the deli while Barbra cringes at the last bit.

But when the day is over and it’s time for dinner, you don’t show up on time.

Since you two decided to be exclusive you have always made it a point to always be on time for dinner when Melissa cooked. A sign of respect of the time she took along with her thought. She contemplates calling you or not, but her pride stops her from doing so. If you don’t want to come over that’s fine. She’s not going to force you to, but man was it lonely.

Over the years Melissa has learned the hard way to adjust to sudden changes in her life but she was already used to the routine you two had going on.

The time she spends alone nursing a glass of wine she reflects on her actions from earlier today.

It was about to be 10 in the evening and despite being tired I didn’t want to go to my lonely apartment, even if Melissa is in bed and asleep I want to share the warmth of her bed which is an odd feeling in my chest, one that might have a connection to how I reacted earlier today.

I unlock her front door with my key as quietly as I can in case she’s asleep but I’m proved wrong when I hear approaching footsteps making me look over my shoulder to see Melissa standing there, wearing one of my Eagles sweatshirts.

“Hey.” She greets me softly, the complete opposite of what I was expecting, despite the bat in hand.

“Hey.” I mumble shrugging my leather jacket off my stiff shoulders, it’s been a long day.

She then goes over to the kitchen as I walk further inside. Her back is to me as she turns on the stove, no doubt reheating dinner. It’s silent but I’m not one to beat around the bush.

“I know your pay ain’t the best but you don’t needa flirt with some dude to get a free drink.” I set my jacket aside.

“Correction. He flirted with me.”

“You think I’m fuckin’ stupid? You were eating that shit up more than my brother Joey eats tiramisu.” I scoff.

Melissa’s eyes widen at your retort. You’ve never cursed at her, well in a non intimate setting, and much less because you’re upset at her.

Oh? So this is how it’s gonna go?

“Oh I’m sorry am I not allowed to express joy or laugh?” She raises a brow, some bite in her tone.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Melissa.” I huff shaking my head.

“Who knew for a gangster you’d get so jealous.” She quips borderline amused making me whip around.

“Jealous? Me? Over that? Fat chance, especially not when some big idiot thinks he can win you over with a stupid drink. I know you, Melissa. You wouldn’t let no guy you didn’t want flirt with you. I know what we got goin’ on ain’t conventional but shit! If you wanna be with some run of the mill bootlic-

“So that’s what this is about? You think I don’t want to be with ya? Hello? If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have a key to my damn place. I wouldn’t want you over eating my food every night. And I would have never accepted when you asked me out! Kept it strictly business. Now do you want one helping or two?” She asks looking over at me expectantly with a raised brow, plate in hand.

I take a second absorbing her words.

“Two.” I mumble going over to sit on a stool at the breakfast bar.

“That’s what I thought.” She replies serving two scoops of the pasta she made and adding the sides.

“Don’t push it.” I grumble as she comes over making me lightly smack her ass while she sets the food in front of me.

She fights back a smile while cupping my face to look at her.

“Now give me a kiss. What’re you crazy? Holdin��� out on the sugar when I’ve seen you twice already and nothin.” She kisses my lips which I “reluctantly” reciprocate.

“So are you gonna fix this problem with Hulk Hogan’s bald brother or am I gonna have to kick his candy ass?” I ask not letting her try and smooch her way out of this.

“Relax Rocky. It’s an elementary school, not Wrestlemania. I see Gary for maybe 5 minutes one day a week. I see you practically every day and spend every night with you. You don’t have to worry about him ‘kay? And just please don’t do anything to mess with him. It’s nothing. Really. I’m sorry.” She insists seriously making me release a tired breath and a slight nod letting my muscles relax under her touch.

“Now eat so you can go shower. You smell like an ashtray.” She then presses a gentle kiss against my temple while I nod before digging in what’s in front of me.

Yeah sure we have our issues, but we make it work.

-

Next Morning

Melissa wakes up alone, it’s unusual but it still happens sometimes when you have to handle work early in the morning so she doesn’t think anything of it despite what happened yesterday and gets ready for work like normal.

As she gets to the school she fumbles through her keys to get the one for her room when she notices the door is already open, making her walk a step faster.

“Easy. I don’t want none of her stuff outta place, capisce?” I instructed the two men who were moving things around.

“Good morning.” I hear making me turn around to see Melissa.

“You’re early.” I smile.

“Well yeah, without your distractions I was on time.” She chortles lowering her purse from over her shoulder and sets it down on one of her students desks.

“You love my distractions.” I smirk crossing my arms over my chest to which she only hums in response before returning her attention to what’s happening behind me.

“What’s all this?”

“Well since your room is pretty far from the teachers break room. I thought it would be convenient for you to have a personal fridge in your room. I even got you started with some snacks, water-

“Tea.” Melissa cuts in knowingly as she eyes the cases of raspberry tea set off to the side.

“Well would you look at that? I guess it made it into the mix.” I look over as well.

“Hon?”

“Yeah?” I turn to her and I’m met with her lips against mine in a quick kiss.

“Love ya.” She smiles against my lips.

“And I’m going to pretend this is a random act of kindness from my loving girlfriend.” She sighs lightly walking over to get a better look.

“Cause it is!” I shrug amused.

“Mhm yeah sure. Now, y’all gotta go. Imma miss the news.” She then says.

“You heard her. Business is done here.” I tell them with a simple nod towards the door.

As the guys walk away they mimic whipped noises making me curse after them in Italian.

“They’re not wrong, hon.” Melissa wraps her arms around my neck with a smirk.

I don’t deny it.

“I’ll see ya tonight?” She adds and I can’t help but grin.

“You know it baby.” I smack her ass playfully on my way out quickly dodging the hand she lightly swung my way.

Melissa looks back over at what was set up behind her desk, a genuine smile spreading across her lips at what you would do for her.

Yup. This is as conventional as it would get for her, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cool-fancier]

Stormy Hearts

Synopsis: Amidst a stormy night, a chance encounter with a lost dog sparks a heartwarming tale of rescue, reunion, and unexpected love between two compassionate souls.

Word count:2.4K

This was requested by anonymous so I hope I did good

Let me know if you guys have any requests for the girls :)

The air was thick with humidity, a sure sign that the brewing storm would soon unleash its fury. You glanced out the window of the animal shelter, watching the dark clouds roll in. It had been a long day of caring for injured and abandoned animals, but the satisfaction of seeing them nursed back to health made every effort worthwhile.

"Alright, everyone," you called to the small team of volunteers. "Let's make sure all the animals are settled for the night. It looks like we’re in for a rough storm."

As the last of the animals were secured and the shelter doors locked, you grabbed your coat and braced yourself for the downpour. The drive home was going to be treacherous, with the streets already slick from the intermittent rain that had begun to fall. You navigated your car carefully through the winding roads, the windshield wipers working overtime.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a small figure darted across the road. Your heart leapt into your throat as you slammed on the brakes, the car skidding slightly before coming to a stop. You peered through the rain-splattered windshield and saw a drenched dog standing in the middle of the road, shivering and looking terrified.

"Oh my God," you muttered, quickly turning on your hazard lights and stepping out of the car. You approached the dog slowly, your voice gentle. "Hey there, buddy. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you."

The dog, a small Jack Russell Terrier by the looks of it, seemed hesitant but didn’t run. After a few tense moments, you managed to coax the dog into your arms and carried him back to the car. You wrapped him in a blanket you kept in the back seat, feeling the poor thing tremble against you.

"Looks like you’re coming home with me tonight," you said softly, hoping your voice was as reassuring as you intended it to be.

Back at her cozy apartment, you dried the dog off and examined him more closely. He didn’t seem injured, just scared and exhausted. You set him up with a warm bed and some food, watching as he slowly began to relax in the unfamiliar surroundings.

“You’re safe now,” you whispered, gently petting the dog’s head. “We’ll figure this out.”

— — — — — — —

Rosé stepped off the plane, her legs weary from the long flight. She had spent the past three weeks in the Amazon rainforest, capturing breathtaking images of wildlife for her latest project. While the experience had been exhilarating, she couldn’t wait to get home to her beloved dog, Hank. The thought of his excited barks and wagging tail always made her smile.

As she drove through the familiar streets of her neighborhood, a sense of unease began to creep in. Something felt off. When she finally pulled into her driveway and opened the front door, the silence that greeted her was deafening.

“Hank?” she called out, her voice echoing through the empty house. There was no response. Panic surged through her as she checked every room, but Hank was nowhere to be found. His bed was empty, his toys untouched.

Frantically, she rushed outside, calling his name as she searched the yard and the surrounding streets. Her neighbors hadn’t seen him either, and with each passing moment, her fear grew. She returned home and grabbed her phone, dialing the number of the local animal shelters and veterinary clinics.

“Hi, this is Roseanne Park. I’m looking for my dog, Hank. He’s a Jack Russell Terrier, and he’s been missing since...I don’t know exactly when. I’ve been away on assignment. Have you seen him?”

Each call brought the same disheartening response: no one had seen Hank. Rosé felt a lump form in her throat as she sat down, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t lose him. Hank was more than just a pet; he was her family, her constant companion.

Determined not to give up, she printed out flyers with Hank’s picture and started posting them around the neighborhood. She shared his photo on social media, hoping that someone, anyone, might have seen him. The days passed in a blur of worry and exhaustion, each one harder than the last without her furry friend by her side.

— — — — — — —

Meanwhile, back at your apartment, the little dog was beginning to come out of his shell. You had taken him to the vet to check for a microchip, but there was none. You posted pictures and descriptions of him on various lost-and-found pet websites, hoping his owner would come forward.

Days turned into a week, and still, there was no word. The dog, whom you had started calling Max, seemed to be adjusting well. He followed her around the apartment, his once wary eyes now filled with trust and affection. Each evening, they’d curl up on the couch together, a comforting routine that had quickly become the highlight of your day.

“You’re such a good boy, Max,” you said one night, scratching behind his ears. “I can’t believe no one’s come looking for you. But don’t worry, we’ll keep trying.”

As you sat there, watching Max drift off to sleep, you couldn’t help but think about the owner who must be missing him terribly. You knew what it was like to love an animal deeply, and the thought of someone out there worrying about Max broke your heart.

— — — — — — —

One afternoon, as Rosé was putting up yet another flyer, her phone buzzed with a notification. She opened it to see a post from a local lost-and-found pets group. The description matched Hank’s perfectly: a Jack Russell Terrier found on a stormy night, currently being cared for by a veterinarian.

Rosé’s heart raced as she dialed the number listed in the post. After a few rings, a warm voice answered.

“Hello, this is Y/n.”

“Hi, my name is Rosé. I think you might have my dog. He’s a Jack Russell Terrier, and he went missing while I was away. I saw your post and...I think it’s him.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end before you replied, your voice tinged with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been hoping someone would come forward. He’s been with me for a week now, and he’s such a sweet dog. Can you meet me at the park near the shelter? I’ll bring him with me.”

Rosé agreed, her hands trembling with a mix of hope and anxiety. She couldn’t wait to see Hank again, to hold him and know he was safe. She grabbed her keys and headed out the door, her mind racing with thoughts of their reunion.

— — — — — — —

The park was a serene oasis amidst the bustling city, its lush greenery and peaceful atmosphere a stark contrast to the turmoil Rosé felt inside. She scanned the area, her eyes finally landing on a woman standing near a bench, holding a small dog in her arms.

“Hank!” Rosé called out, her voice breaking with emotion.

The dog’s head snapped up, and he wriggled out of your arms, racing towards Rosé with all the speed his little legs could muster. Rosé dropped to her knees, scooping him up and holding him close as tears streamed down her face.

“Oh, Hank, I missed you so much,” she whispered, burying her face in his fur. “I was so scared I’d lost you forever.”

You watched the reunion with a smile, your heart swelling with happiness. You approached slowly, not wanting to intrude on the moment.

“Hi,” you said softly. “I’m Y/n. I’m so glad we found you.”

Rosé looked up, her eyes red but filled with gratitude. “Thank you so much. I can’t believe he’s really here.”

You smiled, feeling a warm connection with Rosé. “He’s been a joy to have around. I’m just glad he’s back where he belongs.”

They spent the next few moments exchanging details about Hank’s adventures, with Rosé expressing her heartfelt thanks over and over again. As the conversation flowed, you felt an unexpected but welcome bond forming with Rosé.

“Would you like to grab a coffee or something?” You suggested, hoping to extend both of your time together.

Rosé hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I’d like that. There’s a café nearby that’s pet-friendly. We can take Hank.”

— — — — — — —

Over coffee, you and Rosé began to learn more about each other. You shared stories from the animal shelter, tales of the animals you helped, and the challenges they faced. Rosé listened intently, her eyes lighting up with interest and empathy.

“You really love what you do,” Rosé said, admiration clear in her voice.

You nodded. “I do. It’s not always easy, but it’s incredibly rewarding.”

Rosé then spoke about her photography, her travels, and the wild places she had visited. She described the thrill of capturing a perfect moment in nature and the peace she found in the wilderness.

“I think that’s why Hank and I get along so well,” Rosé said, smiling as she looked at her dog. “We’re both explorers at heart.”

You chuckled. “I can see that. He’s quite the adventurer.”

As you both talked, the initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a comfortable and easy rapport. You both discovered common interests and shared values, from your love of animals to the desire to make a positive impact on the world.

The chemistry between you both was undeniable, but both you and Rosé were cautious. You both had each been hurt in the past and were wary of rushing into anything. But as the days turned into weeks, the friendship deepened, and began spending more time together.

— — — — — — —

Navigating the challenges of Rosé reclaiming Hank wasn’t without its difficulties. Hank had grown attached to you, and there were moments when he seemed torn between the two women.

One evening, as you all sat together in Rosé’s living room, Hank lay contentedly between you both . Rosé looked at you, her eyes softening.

“You know, I’ve never seen him this happy before,” Rosé admitted. “He’s always been a bit anxious, but with you, he seems so calm.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I think he’s just happy to have so much love around him.”

Rosé reached out, taking your hand. “I’m really glad we met, Y/n. You’ve brought something special into our lives.”

You squeezed Rosé’s hand gently. “I feel the same way. You and Hank...you’ve both brought something special into mine too.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the connection between you two growing stronger. But with that connection came the inevitable question of what your relationship would become.

As you guys continued to spend time together, you and Rosé began to explore your feelings more openly. There were shared glances, lingering touches, and moments of unspoken understanding that hinted at something deeper.

One day, while walking Hank in the park, Rosé turned to you with a thoughtful expression. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about us.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh? What about us?”

Rosé took a deep breath, her eyes locking onto yours. “I care about you, Y/n. More than just as a friend. I don’t want to rush things, but I think...I think there’s something really special here. And I want to see where it could go.”

You felt a surge of emotion. “I care about you too, Rosie. I’ve been feeling the same way, but I wasn’t sure if you did.”

Rosé smiled, her relief evident. “I guess we’ve both been a little cautious, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but maybe it’s time to stop being so cautious.”

The conversation marked a turning point in this relationship. You and Rosé began to explore the feelings more openly, allowing the connection to deepen naturally. You both went on more dates, spent weekends together, and shared your lives in a way that felt genuine and unforced.

— — — — — — —

One evening, as you both sat on Rosé’s balcony watching the sunset, you turned to Rosé, your heart pounding with anticipation. “Rosie, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now.”

Rosé looked at you, curiosity and affection in her eyes. “What is it?”

You leaned in slowly, giving Rosé time to react. When Rosé didn’t pull away, you closed the distance between you two , your lips brushing against Rosé’s in a tentative, tender kiss.

Rosé responded immediately, her hand coming up to cup your cheek as she deepened the kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the warmth of your embrace. The kiss grew more passionate, your connection undeniable as you both poured feelings into that single, electrifying moment.

When you finally pulled apart, both were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” you admitted.

Rosé laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Me too. It was worth the wait.”

You both spent the rest of the evening wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing whispered confessions and dreams for the future. As the stars began to twinkle above, you and Rosé knew that this was the beginning of something beautiful.

Your relationship continued to grow, filled with love, laughter, and the occasional challenge. But through it all, You and Rosé faced everything together, the bond strengthening with each passing day.

As you both stood on the balcony one evening, watching another sunset, you turned to Rosé, your eyes filled with love and determination.

“You know, Rosie, I never imagined finding someone who understands me the way you do. I’m so grateful for every moment we’ve shared.”

Rosé smiled, her heart swelling with happiness. “I feel the same way, Y/n. You’ve brought so much joy into my life. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us.”

You leaned in, capturing Rosé’s lips in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a promise of all the adventures yet to come. And as you held each other close, you both knew that this love story was just beginning, a journey filled with endless possibilities and a love that would endure through any storm.

[ragingbookdragon]

Rudy pulled Alejandro aside before the team was about to depart. “Colonel, we need to talk.”

“Can it wait?” he asked.

“Alejandro,” Rudy said, voice lowering seriously. “I can’t get your wife to answer any texts.”

The Colonel’s eyes widened, and he started patting his own pockets for his cellphone, but he cursed himself, remembering he’d left it in the jeep before Graves had betrayed them. He strode to the table. “We have to put the plan on hold.”

The group looked at him, their expressions confused; Price stepped forward. “Why? What’s the matter?”

“My wife,” he replied. “Rudy cannot get her to answer. Something is wrong.”

“Perhaps she’s busy?” Soap offered.

“No,” Rudy said, shaking his head. “I’ve texted her over the span of the last few hours. Nothing.”

Price let out a sigh, looking to Ghost. “You?”

Ghost nodded. “I’ve met his wife. She’s needed here to run things smoothly. Losing her wouldn’t be wise.”

“Alright. All of you, pack up, move out.” He looked at Alejandro. “Where is she?”

“Home,” he replied, fear ebbing into his stomach. “She is home…alone.”

***

She opened the door to her home, gazing curiously at the armed guards outside in the dark. “Can I help you?”

“Missus Vargas?” one said. “You need to come with us. There’s been trouble at the base where your husband works.”

“Oh, God, what’s happened? Is my husband okay?” she worried, turning to grab her purse and jacket; she bent over, putting on her shoes.

“We’re not entirely sure, ma’am, but he told us to come collect you and bring you to safety.”

She started to open the door further when it suddenly hit her and she slowed to a halt, looking at them. “What’s the code-word?”

The two soldiers froze, sharing a quick glance between them. “Beg pardon?” one excused.

“The code-word,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “My husband and I have a code-word. He would’ve shared it with you if he told you to come for me.”

“Mrs. Vargas,” the other sighed. “Please, time is of the essence.” He reached for her and she slapped his hand.

She stood there, staring at them. “My husband didn’t send you.”

“This doesn’t have to get ugly.”

“It will if you cross the threshold of my house. I would advise you to retreat before you make a mistake you can’t undo.”

The one soldier reached for his gun. “You have one last chance to come quietly.”

Her jaw clenched and she inhaled deeply. “Elegiste a la esposa del coronel equivocado.”

***

Alejandro was on the edge of his seat, hoping to not see fire in the distance as they came up over the hill before his home. What he hadn’t expected to see was one of the Shadow’s jeeps abandoned, and his wife sitting on the front step of their house, a haggard look on her face.

“Detén!” he yelled, and Gaz hit the brakes; they climbed out and Alejandro ran up to her. “Mi alma!” he froze, eyes wide in shock at the sight of slick crimson covering her face and body. “Qué te pasó?” he breathed, the fear in his stomach turning to straight ice.

She lazily looked up at him, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, puffing the smoke from her lungs; her free hand held up the whiskey bottle. “Drink?”

Alejandro bent down, feeling along her body. “Dónde estás herido?”

She tried to shrug off his hands. “I’m fine.”

“Dónde estás sangrando?”

“I’m not wounded.”

“Lo siento, debería haber estado aquí para protegerte. Lo sien—”

“Alejandro!” she yelled, and he fell silent, watching as she stared him down, put the butt of the cigarette in her mouth and warned, “It’s not my blood.”

His brows pinched in confusion. “Who’s bl—”

Ghost emerged from the house. Alejandro’s eyes zeroed in on the item he was holding, shock dripping from him like each droplet of scarlet that came from the metal baseball bat. “I think the Missus maintained a very good home defense.” He looked at Alejandro. “You might want to have professionals clean the brains out of the carpets.”

She stood up from the step, one hand holding the whiskey bottle, the other throwing the cigarette out to stomp its life out; she yanked the baseball bat out of Ghost’s hand and turned around, walking down the steps. “Take me to the bastard who brought enemies to my house. Tengo un regalo que me gustaría devolverle.”

She stood at the jeep door and Price asked, “What’s that?”

Tossing something his way, she muttered, “The nametags from their uniforms.”

“Where are their dog-tags?” Soap asked, and she gave him a dead-eyed stare.

“Los empujé por sus gargantas antes de golpearlos hasta la muerte.” She didn’t say anymore, climbing into the jeep.

Alejandro walked over to them, sparing a glance back to the house. “I…should call someone to clean this up.” he took Rudy’s phone and dialed a number, talking quietly to someone.

Soap looked at Rudy. “What did Missus Vargas say when I asked about their dog tags?”

Rudy frowned. “She shoved them down their throats before beating them to death.”

“Jesus fuck,” he said, glancing into the door to see her staring straight ahead. “Remind me not to get on her bad side.”

As they piled into the jeeps, Alejandro leaned into his wife, murmuring, "Mi alma, how did you know they were enemies?"

She breathed deeply and laid her head on his shoulder. "No me dijeron nuestra palabra clave. Sabía que no los enviaste para protegerme." Looking at him, she added, "Defendí nuestra casa, pero por favor, no me obliguen a hacerlo de nuevo."

Alejandro nodded. "Nunca más. Siempre estaré allí de ahora en adelante para asumir esa carga por ti."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You never really thought of Hammer Ford as home. You only ever tried to forget it and the turbulent years of your childhood. You let the memories haze away with the chaos of the urban rush. Office doors and honking cars easily overwrote the map work of your mind. A less than glamorous life, but peaceful. That’s all you ever wanted.

Your return is inevitable. You knew that. For years, you outran that fact. One day, you would need to face those dusty rural roads and the whispers in the wind. That day has come despite your stubbornness. A week after the news came and you could find no other excuse to stay away.

Not home, just the past. A piece of you you can’t erase. A shame you’ll never fully shake.

The welcome sign, beneath an iron statue of a hammer on a cloud, marks the village edge. You grip the wheel tighter and swallow dryly. Your bladder aches from the coffee you chugged after the last rest stop. You still have some ways to go.

Funny to think that despite its sprawling roads sparse layout, that the populace is so tight knit, the small hamlet untouched by the world outside. The same red barn up on the hill, the gate of the Grove in all its resplendence, and the short strip of businesses before the earth rolls into hills and flattens to fields.

You steer off into the northeast. The Maps app stopped working a few miles back. You don’t need the automated voice to guide you. It all comes back to you so clearly. Just around this curve and behind the barn, there’s the old path behind the Berrys. On and on, behind the overgrown brush to the house by the river. 

Your tires mulch in the dirt as you brake. You shift and shut off the engine, looking out at the peeling wooden facade. The house was once a cottage in the glory days of the village, then it was passed along until your parents’ signed the deed. By that time, it was already derelict.

It hasn’t gotten better. The windows are cracked and dusty, the door splintered, and the front steps crooked. You get out and cross your arms, breathing in the damp forest air.

You feel nothing looking up at that shit hole. You thought the sight of it would bring the flood, but nothing. You shake your head. They said your mother was found in the kitchen, at the table with a bottle of vodka. You never expected anything different for her. At last, she’ll be happy. She’s off to see your father again.

You approach the porch but can’t make yourself climb the steps. There’s something blocking, some unseen wall. You just want to turn around, get in the car, and pretend it’s all a dream. Just like you had for all those years.

You lean your head back and blow out through your lips. Eventually you’ll have to go inside. You need sleep. You could curl up in your backseat again but your hips are ragged from last night. You’re supposed to meet Jan tomorrow. He’s got a casket ready and then you have to go to the church to discuss the service. You don’t think they’ll be much of one.

The hotel isn’t an option. Not for you.

As you glare up at the front door, you hear snapping sticks and the hum of another engine. You turn and watch the dark shadow slowly rolling between the trees. The forest green car turns in just behind your bumper and idles as you squint at the tinted windshield. 

A curious villager isn’t unexpected. Everyone probably knows old Nadia is dead. You just hoped they’d leave you alone, at least until tomorrow.

You cross your arms and steel yourself. The driver’s door opens and a tall man steps out, his imperious nose sniffing the scent of river water and crinkling. Your chest feels as if it might gave in as his emerald eyes meet yours.

Loki Odinson. The last person you expected. The last person you ever wanted to run into. He turns and opens the back door of the car, reaching in and pulling out a basket of flowers. Your temper curdles up to the back of your throat. How dare he?

“My mother and father send their condolences,” he shuts the door and strides across the dirt. You look down at his leather shoes, should he be dirtying them here?

You just stare at him. You have no words, not that you’re much of a talker. What is there to say? Your mother’s dead and you’re stuck dealing with this dirt hole.

“Hm,” he angles past you and puts the basket on the top step, “should brighten the place up.”

You keep your arms crossed as you stare at him. He looks at you again, his eyes flickering, as if he’s surprised by your gaze. He just remembers the girl who kept her head down, the one with no voice and no backbone.

“Very sorry to hear it. Rather sad way to go. All alone.”

“Tell your parents, it’s appreciated,” you turn and march up the steps, dropping your arms.

You hear a scrape and shift to peek at his silhouette from the corner of your eye. He has his foot propped on the lowest step. The porch groans loudly under your weight.

“And I drove all the way here,” he says.

You shrug. You didn’t ask or expect it. That isn’t your problem.

He’s silent, waiting. He’s just like the rest of Hammer Ford, he hasn’t changed. He’s still the spoiled brat awaiting his prize. Well, you haven’t got one for him. You have nothing for him, no tears, no anger, just indifference.

“I see,” he says at last, “you must be tired from the road, no doubt. Of course, you’ve just lost a parent, I can hardly expect glowing conversation… not that I ever did from you.”

You don’t flinch. You go to the front door and pull out the key you dug out of your old jewelry box. It still works. You let yourself in as the hinges whine loudly. You don’t look back as you let the door clatter shut behind you. 

There’s a lull before you hear the engine flip and hum. You stand, listening, waiting for him to be gone. Just like when you were young, hiding behind that door from that boy. Well, you’re both grown now.

[marlynnofmany]

Reaching

Being the tall person at the grocery store is nothing compared to being the tall species on an alien planet. Everybody here was hip-height at best, and my ability to grab things that would normally require a stepstool was very appreciated. I wasn’t the only Big Alien come to visit, since the courier ship was about evenly split size-wise, but I was definitely enjoying it.

Especially since the cargo we were meant to pick up was stored (for some reason) on high shelves.

“That’s everything from this one,” I said to Mur as I grabbed a final dusty crate from head level, bending down to place it on the hoversled. “What’s next?” I straightened up and stretched my back, ready for more.

Mur consulted a list on the communicator he held with one tentacle. “That was the ‘blue alcove.’ Which one’s the ‘round alcove’?”

I rotated in place, looking for round things in the alien barn full of mismatched architecture and empty stalls. The owner had decided to retire and sell their old junk, which meant getting us to deliver it to somebody else’s farm. They were paying extra for us to load it onto the ship ourselves. This farmer was either elderly and infirm, or out of bothers to give. Not that it mattered much either way.

“I see it!” Paint said, pointing a scaly hand upward.

I followed her finger to see a curved opening halfway up the wall. “That’s more of an oval, but everything else is square, so I guess that’s it,” I agreed.

Paint tugged the hoversled over, while Mur sat on top of the boxes with his list. Then they both waited for me, because they certainly couldn’t reach any of it.

“We’re meant to take everything up here, right?” I asked, leaning in to grab a bundle of what looked like hammers strapped together. They were heavy, but not to the point where I was at risk of dropping them on anybody.

“Looks like yes,” Mur said. “Can you get all of it?”

“Mayyybe not,” I admitted. “This alcove is pretty deep.”

“Oh, there’s a ladder!” Paint said, darting away. I was busy straining to reach a roll of wire, so I didn’t see what caused the loud snap. But I did hear her make a disappointed sound.

Mur laughed. “There was a ladder. See any others over there?”

I pulled the wire down and set it on the cart, only then getting a view of Paint guiltily dropping the decrepit piece of wood that had recently been half a ladder. There were two or three pegs sticking out of it, though the rest had stayed with the other half, which appeared to be bolted to the wall.

I winced. “Are we going to have to pay damages for that?”

“Eh, maybe,” Mur said. “Pretty sure the old farmer mentioned a number of things that were destined for the fuel pile anyway. We can let Captain Sunlight ask.”

Paint called over, “I don’t see any others.”

A look back at the near wall showed bolts that might have held a different ladder in place once. “New question,” I said. “What do you see that looks strong enough for me to step on? Because I can just climb up there with a little boost.”

Mur grumbled something about species that were always looking for things to climb. Since this was entirely accurate, I ignored him. Then he said, “Well, I’d suggest stepping on the sled, but it’s full of goods, and the brakes aren’t what they should be.”

“Yeah, no use risking that,” I agreed. “And I don’t need much. I could probably get up there with a running start, but I’d rather not bruise anything today.”

Paint trotted back over. “What about those?” she suggested, pointing out a stack of metal tubs that were probably meant for animal food.

We took a look. Some were rusty and unreliable, and they were all heavy — we had to tip the stack on its side to sort through them. But we found one at the bottom that felt sturdy enough. I probably wouldn’t fall right through it. Probably.

It sure was heavy, though. I dragged it over, leaving a trail through the dirt and alien straw, hoping I wasn’t about to ruin another thing that we’d have to pay for.

I’d just gotten it into position when a new voice asked, “What is taking so long?”

Trrili stood in the doorway, a looming black-and-red menace with mandibles and pincher arms. She looked impatient. She also looked like a giant praying mantis, but she always looked like that.

While Paint explained that the items were hard to reach and the ladder was pursuing an exciting new career as kindling, Trrili stalked over on her many legs. Ignoring me completely, she reared back and easily reached into the back of the alcove. “All of these?” she asked.

“Ah, yup,” I said, stepping to the side.

She pulled back to land with her pincher arms holding a large curved thing that had loops dangling from the sides. “What even is this?” she asked as she dumped it onto the sled.

“Looks like a saddle,” I told her.

She was already back up there, rummaging around with only her hind feet on the ground. “What for?”

I said, “Riding animals, I imagine,” then went to stand uselessly with Paint. We watched as our larger coworker loaded up the rest of the items.

“Why would anyone want to ride an animal?” Trrili asked, placing a segment of pipe between the boxes.

“Not everyone has hovertech,” I said. “And it’s nice when your transportation can watch out for hazards. And appreciate neck scritches.”

Trrili declared the whole idea absurd and unnecessary, fit only for species that got too familiar with their prey. None of this was a surprise to me. I’d heard her opinions on pets before.

But Paint was curious about what it was like to be carried around by a large living thing. Was it frightening? What if the animal went the wrong way? What was the importance of “neck scritches?”

I set about explaining horses to her. I might not be able to reach as far as Trrili, but this was definitely something I could do.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[divinemello]

Gyomei Himejima

HE SAVES YOU

You and Gyomei where walking back home from a late night training session. The night was a bit chilly giving you goose bumps.

Y/N: "Thanks for training with me today. usually I go with Mitsuri but, she was busy today."

Gyomei: "Oh? did she say what she was doing?"

Y/N: "Obanai apparently invited her to go with him on a mission its about an hour away."

Gyomei: "That's right, the master was telling me about it. There has been disappearances in that village. Its been rapidly expanding out."

You look at Gyomei with concern. You notice tears start to well up in his eyes but that's not completely out of the ordinary when it comes to the stone Hashira.

Gyomei: "Are you ok Y/N?" Gyomei ask as he continues to look forward. He must have sensed your gaze.

Y/N: "I'm ok, its just...."you stop and tern towards the stone Hashira.

Sensing your uneasiness Gyomei stops as well then looks at you.

Y/n: "sorry, I Just.... wish I could do more I never feel strong enough."

Gyomei walks closer to you, stopping directly in front of You. Making you stand up straight and take a step back. he leans down to your eye level.

Gyomei: "Don't ever speak so harshly about yourself, You are stronger then you think."

Y/N: "Do you really think so?"

Gyomai: "I know so"

You become speechless. You and Gyomei are friends but he has never gotten this close to you before. he's so, intimidating yet... comforting? You laugh it off to brighten the mood again. Thankful Gyomei cant see how you've stared to blush and your body language changing due to him making you flustered. Since you met him you've always had an interest for him. He's too sweet for this world. so kind you cant help but catch feelings for the guy.

Y/n: "Don't mind me come on lets get home I'm starving."

Gyomei follows you again and the two of you continue to walk when you suddenly hear a weird whistle noise out by the trees to your right. Before you can even think Gyomei pushes you making you fly to the ground. You quickly get back on your feet ready to fight and see a demon in-between both you and Gyomei.

Y/N: "Damit, hes so fast I didn't even see him coming." Gyomei, just saved me.

The demon looks at Gyomei his back facing you.

Demon: "Your faster then you look." he snarks.

He runs at Gyomei fast as lightning. Making no time for conversation. Gyomei blocks the attack that would had striked him in the center of his chest. You drew your sword and get in fighting stance. Your body aches from the harsh training prior. You run toward the demon aiming for his back but he moves practically disappearing. You and Gyomei are now standing back to back. with your weapons ready.

Gyomei: "amu amida butsu, amu amida butsu, amu amida butsu" Gyomei chants "Y/N, you are strong. Do what we practiced in training."

You lets out a deep breath. Then a loud whistle noise comes almost syncing with the wind. the demon appears again. A three person brawl brakes out. Gyomei cuts off the demons arm regardless of the demons speed. you then aim for the demons throat when the views clear. He jumps out the way. You continue your attacks. The fight is fast, almost to fast for your eyes to see. Your still standing, this isn't over yet. You and Gyomei continue to fight, attack after attack. The demons claws aim for your eyes but you move out the way. Causing a gash to your eyebrow.

Gyomei: "Are you alright!" Gyomei yells out. His tone serious.

Y/N: "I'm fine"

Blood starts to get in your eye altering your vision. You use your wrist to wipe the blood off your face. Your breathing getting heavy. Sweat goes down your forehead. Gyomei cuts off the demons leg. Yes he's down! You had to move quick before his leg grew back. You swing your sword aiming for the demons head. You cut it off, the skin was tough. You let out a sigh and begin to cough as your breathing finally caught up with you. Curse words flow out the demons mouth as he realized he's been beheaded. Gyomei runs to your side and squats down in front of you. your eye is blurred due to the blood coming from your eyebrow. Gyomei puts one hand on your back and the other on the back of your head pulling you in for a hug.

Gyomei: "I told you your strong Y/N"

He pulls away now both hands on your face. you look into Gyomeis eyes. The night began to sound peaceful as you tone out the sound of the beheaded demons words.

Y/n: "Goymei, thank you for saving me."

Gyomei: "Please, no need to thank me. lets get home ok"

(Time skip)

You both are back home in the demon slayer headquarters. Gyomei takes you to his house to help you tend your wounds. Your crows have already reported to the master and you two where ordered to go to a meeting tomorrow morning. You are sitting on the floor while Gyomei is on one knee. He has a warm rag holding in on the wound above your eye. Your vision has finally gotten better with all the blood wiped off. You can see Gyomei deep in thought. He looks concerned. Once again you blush His figure is so big. He towers over you. Being this close you can truly see his 7'2 height and his broad shoulders. His scars show the hard work he has but in over the years. You pay attention to every detail on his face and body.

Y/N: "I assure you that I'm feeling much better. I'm clean and the food is almost ready after all."

Gyomei doesn't say anything.

Y/n: "Hey...Gyomei?"

Gyomai: "Yes"

You grab his hand and hold it.

Y/N: "I'm ok, I promise."

Gyomei: "Y/N I'm so proud of how far you've come, you are truly special. Forgive me... if I'm to forward. You've touched my heart in ways I can't describe."

Your eyes widen in shock. Did the strongest Hashira just confess his feelings for you? The sweetest man in the world. Has mutual feelings for you! You go in to tackle him into a hug and smile. He falls back, now sitting on the ground. You are now slightly on his lap. you cant help but giggle when you see the deep red in his cheeks. You put a hand on his face. and lean in stopping just at his lips.

y/n: "I'm so happy we feel the same way."

Gyomei seals the space between the both of you. Your lips finally touching. His lips are just as soft and gentle as he is. You pulls away and look into his eyes.

I hope this last forever.

Thank you for reading! This is "my first fanfic" I'd love some requests or your feedback. Don't be shy I don't judge ;). Also wtf is the difference between one shot and x reader?