#but be sure to take things into perspective every now and again

[icewindandboringhorror]

One of the interesting bits of trying to resume working on the game after so long is looking back at my ancient Draft Placeholder versions of an image from 4 yrs ago trying to remember what the hell I meant back then, to hopefully interpret it into some more final (ish..) form of the same thing .. making slow progress lol

[aleksatia]

What would the LaDS do if MC just had enough of the whole secret keeping/manipulation/stalking/controlling behavior and ran away? Like she made sure all of the ways they're keeping tabs on her don't work anymore, secretly leaves to live elsewhere, and never comes back? Like she's GONE gone and can't be found.

Thanks so much for the question and the idea — it made me spiral beautifully into angst territory. 🖤 At first glance, this is how I imagine things would unfold in my headcanon.

Every LaDS reacts differently, and honestly… some of them never really recover. I poured my heart into each of their perspectives, so if you see it another way, I’d love to hear your take. Always open to different interpretations — especially when it comes to pain like this. 😌✨

UPD: Requested continuation is here:

Sylus | Rafayel | Caleb | Zayne (coming soon) | Xavier (coming soon)

🦅 Sylus

(He doesn’t lose things. He takes, he keeps. But this—this is loss. A slow-rotting, world-tilting, soul-gnawing kind of loss.)

The Moment It Hits

It’s a shift in the air. An emptiness where something vital used to be. His breath catches, fingers tightening around the crystal glass of whiskey.

He calls you. Nothing.

He tracks you. Nothing.

He tears the city apart—contacts, satellites, underground networks. Nothing.

Then it hits. You’re not hiding. You’re beyond reach.

Does He Blame Himself?

At first, no. You’re just being difficult. Testing limits. He trained you too well in the game of power.

Then the days stretch. The silence rots in his gut.

Maybe he pushed too far. Held too tight. Loved too hard.

But if he had been softer, would you still be here? No. You were always going to run. He just never thought you’d win.

First Day

He sits in his study, staring at the last glass you touched. His fingers hover over the rim, but he doesn’t pick it up.

The Nest is in chaos, men scrambling for orders, but he says nothing. Just listens to the empty resonance where you used to be.

He doesn’t sleep. He barely moves. And when dawn breaks, he realizes—you’re still gone.

First Week

The silence is unbearable.

He smashes a mirror. Then a chair. Then an entire fucking room. But the noise doesn’t bring you back.

Music. That’s the answer. The organ swells under his fingers, but the sound doesn’t fill the void. It just makes it worse. The walls of his mansion tremble with the weight of his grief, but no one dares to stop him.

The first time he says Kitten, it’s barely a whisper. The second time, it’s a growl. The third—it’s a plea.

First Month

He kills a man just for saying your name. He kills another for looking at him wrong.

The city learns to be silent.

The organ plays every night, each melody heavier, darker—until one evening, he simply stops. Because music is agony now.

He thinks he hears you sometimes. A shift of fabric. A sharp inhale. But he turns, and there’s only the crushing weight of absence.

Five Years

People say he’s gone mad. That he talks to ghosts. That he’s lost his edge.

They don’t understand. He hasn’t lost it. He just has nothing left to prove.

He still feels you. Somewhere distant. Beyond his reach but never truly gone.

New Relationships? Don’t be ridiculous. He fucks, maybe. But no one’s ever allowed to touch his soul again.

He doesn’t chase anymore. Because one day, the universe will break in just the right way, and you’ll be within reach again.

And when that day comes—you’re not running anymore.

🌊 Rafayel

(He always smiled through pain. Painted beauty over grief. But when you disappeared, not even art could hide the collapse.)

The Moment It Hits

He waits three days before admitting to himself that you're really gone. Not late. Not upset. Gone.

Your studio key still sits on the shelf. The mug you always used — untouched. He tries calling. Messaging. Pretends he's not panicking.

Then he checks every port, every passage, every gallery, every alleyway where your soul might've left a trace.

You’ve vanished. And he knows—you didn’t want to be found.

Does He Blame Himself?

Every minute.

He retraces every word, every joke, every lingering glance he didn’t take seriously enough.

Maybe he should’ve said it clearer. Or sooner. Or not at all.

Maybe if he hadn’t tried so hard to keep it light, you would’ve known how deep he really felt.

First Day

He draws you. Over and over. Not from memory — from guilt.

He tries to remember how your mouth looked when you smiled through frustration. How your eyes dimmed when you thought he wasn’t watching.

He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t sleep. Paints until his fingers bleed.

First Week

He keeps thinking he hears your voice in the wind. That you're just out of frame.

Sits by the harbor, waiting for a boat that never comes.

Finishes a canvas. Stares at it for an hour. Then sets it on fire.

Tells himself he’s fine. He lies beautifully.

First Month

People ask where you are. He says you're traveling. Or healing. Or chasing a dream.

But the gallery knows — there’s a new collection in the works. All unnamed. All in shades of drowning.

The walls of his home are covered in your outlines. He keeps the lights low. Pretends it’s intimacy, not absence.

The world starts to lose its color. For a man who once saw millions of shades, everything dulls. Muted. Grey.

He stops using yellow entirely.

First Year

He vanishes beneath the sea. A whole year. Gone.

They say he swam through old ruins, sang to coral reefs that didn’t sing back.

He gathers shells—perfect, fragile—and crushes them into powder, making pigments no one's ever seen.

But they all come out grey.

When he finally resurfaces, his skin is colder. His voice is softer. His art—wordless grief on stretched canvas.

When asked what inspired them, he says: “Nothing. She’s not mine anymore.”

And when no one’s looking, he traces your initials into wet paint. Every time.

Five Years

He exhibits a piece called "When Silence Learned to Scream." It sells for millions. He doesn’t show up to the opening.

He no longer draws faces. Only fragments—lips that look like yours, fingers that used to hold his brush.

He’s touched people. Kissed some. Loved none.

He still sets a second cup of coffee. Still leaves the balcony door unlocked. Just in case.

The color never comes back. He just learns to fake it.

He doesn’t wait. He just… exists beside the ghost of you.

✈️ Caleb

(You were the only thing that made him feel human. Now, he’s just another machine built for war—functional, efficient, and dead inside.)

The Moment It Hits

He notices the silence first.

Your messages stop. Your routine shifts. Something’s off, but he tells himself you just need space. You’ve always needed space.

He checks on you through the usual systems—his eyes, the satellites, the passive trackers he swore weren’t invasive, just precautionary.

Nothing. Not disabled. Not broken. Gone.

His knees hit the floor before he can stop them. His hand wraps around the metal tag you gave him—the one he swore never to take off. It digs into his palm so hard it leaves a mark.

Does He Blame Himself?

He doesn’t even need to ask. Of course, it’s his fault.

Maybe if he had held you a little looser, if he had let you breathe, if he hadn’t always been watching, waiting, bracing for the day you’d run.

Maybe if he had been less Caleb and more someone you could love without suffocating.

But it’s too late now.

First Day

His body stops feeling like his own. Like his mechanical arm, the rest of him loses sensation.

He moves, eats, speaks, salutes—out of habit, not need.

But sometimes, when no one is watching, the pain surfaces.

And when it does, it swallows him whole.

First Week

He takes every mission no one else wants. The more dangerous, the better.

Tells himself he’s just doing his job, but deep down, he’s testing fate. Daring it to take him.

It never does.

He always comes back. And he hates it.

First Month

He stops cooking. No more spices, no more warmth, no more shared meals.

Only bland, military rations. Fuel, not food.

He doesn’t touch your photo albums, but he doesn’t throw them away either.

Let them rot with him.

First Year

He hasn’t eaten apples since the day you left.

Too sweet. Too alive. Too much like you.

The dog tag you gave him is still around his neck. A brand. A wound. A curse.

He tries. Once. With a woman from the med bay. She was kind. Gentle.

But when she reached for his hand—his jaw locked, his throat closed, his stomach churned.

He excused himself. Never tried again.

Five Years

His name is legendary. His rank? Higher than anyone imagined.

The man who never dies. The ghost pilot. The one who walks away from wreckage without a scratch.

He used to hate attention, but now? Now his inaccessibility makes women chase him more. He lets them. But never sees their faces. Never lets them touch his scars. Never lets them hold him the way you used to.

Because pain is all he has left of you. And he’s not ready to let it go.

🧊 Zayne

(Some men burn in their grief. Some men drown in it. Zayne? He freezes. The world still turns, the city still moves, and he walks through it like a ghost wearing a doctor’s coat. Precise. Detached. Functioning. But never living.)

The Moment It Hits

He finds out through absence, not presence.

You were always predictable in small ways. The way you fidgeted when nervous. The way you always texted before vanishing for a few hours. The way you left traces of yourself in his space, even when you didn’t mean to.

But one day, all of it stops.

Your number disconnects. Your bank account closes. The security cameras catch nothing. Too clean. Too final.

You didn’t just leave. You erased yourself.

Does He Blame Himself?

No. Not at first.

Because blaming himself would mean accepting that he miscalculated, and he does not make mistakes.

He spends months analyzing. Running simulations. Mapping out every logical reason why you left.

None of them make sense.

Then, one night, while sitting alone in his office, he makes the mistake of asking himself the one question he’s been avoiding—

What if it wasn’t logic? What if it was just pain?

That’s the first time he doesn’t sleep.

First Day

The hospital is quiet. Too quiet.

He operates. He consults. He performs at peak efficiency because the alternative is stopping, and stopping means thinking.

At the end of the day, he unlocks his apartment and stares at the empty space where your things used to be.

He stands there.

Just stands there.

First Week

His routine doesn’t break. Not once.

5 AM runs. 12-hour shifts. Research until 2 AM.

No deviations. Because deviations lead to cracks.

The first time someone mentions your name, his scalpel slips.

It never happens again.

First Month

He starts closing doors he once left open.

Stops looking at his phone. Stops checking messages.

Your coffee order is deleted from his usual café’s system.

He doesn’t erase you. That would be emotional.

He simply moves forward.

First Year

He doesn’t say your name anymore.

When people ask, he says you’re gone. No details. No elaboration.

But his residents whisper.

How their attending stopped smiling. How he works more than sleeps. How his precision became ruthless.

They never mention the fact that he never, ever, takes cases where patients have your eye color.

Five Years

The rumors are true. He has a daughter.

No one knows the mother. No one dares ask.

He never talks about it, never brings her to the hospital, but he leaves every shift at exactly the same time—always back before she falls asleep.

He teaches her to count constellations on the ceiling. Reads her anatomy books like fairy tales.

She has your eyes. People notice. Whisper. But no one asks.

And when she laughs—it’s a sound that shatters something in him.

When she asks, “Was Mommy like me?” He pauses. Looks at her. Then, softly: "She was... the part of you I’ll never be able to explain."

He never married. Never will.

And sometimes, when the room is too quiet, and she’s asleep in his arms—he looks at her face and wonders if loving someone this much was ever ethical.

🌌 Xavier

(He doesn’t fall apart. He folds in. Quietly. Gracefully. Like a dying star still casting light no one realizes is already gone.)

The Moment It Hits

It starts with your resignation.

No dramatic exit. No farewell. Just one line in the system: “Resigned. No forwarding information.”

You, who lived for the Hunt, for duty. You, who said this was everything.

He tries to message. Silence.

Asks around. Friends. Colleagues. Command. They say you just… vanished.

Then one day, he walks past your old apartment—someone else lives there.

Your scent, your presence, your trace in the universe—gone.

Does He Blame Himself?

He tries not to.

Tells himself you were always drifting, always meant to disappear.

But the silence between you, the things he never said— “Stay. I need you.” “I was never calm, I just didn’t know how to show it.”

They echo in his mind louder than any explosion.

He doesn’t hate himself. But he never forgives.

First Day

He stays on duty longer than needed.

Doesn’t take off his coat. Doesn’t go home.

Doesn’t even speak, unless the mission demands it.

At night, he stares at the ceiling and wonders if you’re staring at the same stars.

First Week

He starts bounty hunting again. Harder. Deeper into uncharted zones.

He sleeps more—but worse. Dreams flicker like static.

When he returns, they say he’s become faster. Colder. Lethal.

No one dares ask why.

First Month

He stops wearing light colors.

White fades into grey. Grey fades into black.

He says nothing about the change.

But those who know him realize: he’s mourning.

And it’s a mourning that will never end.

First Year

Women try. Of course they do.

He’s distant. Beautiful. Untouchable.

He lets a few in—physically. But only when the emptiness claws too loudly.

He never sees their faces. Never lets them stay the night.

One once whispered, “I could love you, if you let me.” He didn’t respond. Just walked away.

Because you never had to ask. You already did.

Five Years

He’s still hunting. Still tracking the lost, the dangerous, the damned.

He walks through warzones like a shadow of starlight.

No one has seen him in white in years.

They call him a myth. A legend. A ghost.

But he’s just a man who would trade eternity for one more day with you.

Just one day.

Just once—to see your face again.

[melaninfury]

Astrology Harsh Opinions

Back with a vengeance. Thank you 😊

Please don’t take this as astrological facts. These are more my experience and perspective. The whole chart and aspects must also be considered.

It must be gods gift to every Scorpio rising with Pluto in the 1st to seem very devoted to self preservation and just...self. Can be very self absorbed when the power is in their hands. With a Taurus descendant they have stability/peace in some relationships but I notice these people have a thrill for domination and power dynamics but in subtle ways that reflect back to how they want to feel about themselves, enough said.

If your parents are a Capricorn moons, their wounds and detachment from their mother will translate to how they raise and treat you. While they may not hate you or want to treat you with that same coldness but they can't help but resonate with the downright coldness they can carry into parenthood. Some.....some.

For independent souls if your MC (10th house) is in an innovative and independent sign do not and I repeat DO NOT tell your plans or all your ideas to somebody with a moon or malefic planet on your MC. They will control or have alot to say about how you approach and move through your career and navigate life on the outside. They can hinder you or make an emotional attachment regarding your improvement/advancement. Partnerships are great make sure yours can be though.

There is nothing more judgmental and ever questioning then a gemini moon, venus or stellium. Guaranteed aways have something to say.

If your coworkers have personal placements in your 4th, 8th, 12th and 10th. Trust they will be all up in your business, watch your mouth around them. They will talk and spread your business. (honorable mention the 7th house)

You will find a venus on someones ascendant or in their 12th can activate their jealousy towards you and the people you love and give your attention to outside of them. Especially if you surpass the idealism or idea they wanted you to be.

Don't be a fool mars conjunct mercury or these planets in the 7th, YOU know and you need to follow you intuition towards your people (soul family), business and fulfillment. Move away from them people that come against or attempt to hijack your wavelength. FUCK THEM PEOPLE.

Its true if you have 7th and 12th house placements you have hidden enemies/sneaky enemies....enemies of all kinds nonetheless. If this energy is connected to your 1st, 10th, 4th or 9th house i'm telling you now, you have hidden enemies that are coming from alot of places some family, friends or people around you (i.e coworkers). They seek to stop, control or transform you for their own benefit and from their own place of shadow.

Again if your parents are Capricorn moons I just want to start a support group for you and me so we can discuss all of our generational trauma and anger together, fully engage with the fact that your parents can do anything but love you properly.

If your a Sagittarius moon, Laugh...laugh as you cry its gods way of giving you proper antidepressants I do not care what your provider says....jkjk lets all get a therapist and shadow work :).

I personally think telling people to fuck off is the best way to protect yourself. Its the right way and the only way because if i don't get it then its not real. Make it make sense or shut up because I don't have the energy. The math has to fucking math thank you - a tired virgo mercury

I think having karmic synastry or inherited placements from family is a fucking curse. If this lady didn't fair well with her moon mercury and venus why the fuck would you give me that one for her to screw me retrograde...? HELLO god were you listening while I was crying and screaming....!?!?

One thing I fucking hate is being told what to do - sincerely a sag moon. Especially when you fucked it over 3 or 4 fucking times... now your trying to "teach" me something. Play with stop signs and red lights for me respectfully.

If your mars is conjunct a planet listen to your anger and the source, use it to your advantage or to calm down. If its a soft planet like venus, use pleasurable and fun ways to activate and express your needs. If its moon find comfort in taking action to protect and build your needs and home for yourself. If its mercury well, just try to calm down and find ways not to punch people, watch how and what you say because it makes sense why your angry with everyone but yourself. Use it to talk yourself down or scream or perceive a smarter person idk (sorry y'all i'm pissed)

Love yourself well and protectively Venus in the 8th, its precious there and its hard to fully recover from deep seated pain it changes the foundation of how you love or who. Which may be a good or bad thing.

Bump people and their passive aggressive lack of realness and balls to say I either do or don't like you 11 house placements (especially malefic). Cut em off loose ends that aren't productive for how you see yourself and reputation. CUT them off don't just think about it.

Saturn or Mars in the 4th is childhood trauma, the type depends on the connections and aspects to the houses.

A mars in scorpio is gonna do what they wanna do for them every time, your in the way of what they want or who they want...they will attempt to get you gone in secret or in public, I don't make the rules.

Neptune can show where you should or can spiritually protect your mind, body and spirit. I.E Scorpio Neptune in the 9th can use religious ideology or practices to protect or spiritually cleanse. Leverage your spiritual planet. Especially because of its need for strong spiritual hygiene. Sometimes applying the meaning to the energy of the planet can help you learn to define your spiritual practice.

Saturn squaring moon or mercury is emotional/mental pain, it can definitely show hardships involving perception and internalization in your environment. These are planets that rule over socialization and understanding (how we learn to understand the world around us), these are the main planets that show us and guide us on "how". Even if its not real, for example Saturn in the 4th/aspecting moon or mercury allows you to perceive through a lens of struggle or hardships that haunt them, as they grow older or reflect in lessons of life. Growing up in poverty effects how we see or want our inner world and homes to appear after we've endured childhood, this is seen through maturing the moon or saturn/moon hard aspects. Saturn/mercury aspects show the dent in expression and mental clarity that can often be inherited by a lack of stable environment or words being affirmed, later healed through journaling, therapy and expressing the source of what was never said.

If you are a Pisces, Scorpio, Capricorn or Aquarius. Learn to love yourself and who you are (not to say others shouldn't), my dual ruled signs tend to receive a lot more hardships being ruled by malefic and transformative energies. The rising can also show what your parents wanted for or of you, which under these signs can be a weight of something that you never asked or wanted. It can become a burden but allow it to show your strength. Focus on mastering and clarifying who you are to YOU before you find yourself in a job, label, home or relationship that may not be the best but the endurance before the best.

If you are a 9th moon or venus, move. If family and circumstance is bothering you MOVE, even if you cant leave forever or stay away forever. Take the time to learn when to move with the optimism of the heart. Because you may not feel in tune with yourself unless you find what your looking for elsewhere. Elsewhere is usually not with the past and people from the past.

One of the hardest placements to me is Saturn,Chiron, Neptune in the 11th. I truly feel sad when I think about this one, remedy or not who you trust isn't much up to you. Who really is there that you haven’t chosen? This to me is a cosmic rejection. You are not for everybody and everybody isn't for you. Don't easily trust or share because your heart will harden if you let it dealing with that type of public, communal or social rejection. Especially if your a social sign like libra, gemini or sagittarius, etc. Just be careful because it can be painful. Its protection there and ideas, innovative yet strong energy but it can be very lonely.

ALL signs should love themselves and take it easy. Grow up and live strong. Never forget who you are and what you live for.

©️ All Rights Reserved @melaninfury

[boobav]

!season 1

Viktor is, you've clearly observed, insecure of himself.

Quite valiantly, due to some looming social norm or personal feeling, he tries to hide it. But in moments like these, such an act becomes impossible. Try as he might, desperately at times, when he's pressed against you in the warm water, your fingers over his skin, your fingers in his hair, his failure is palpable.

"Are you okay?" You murmur into the nape of his neck, his back against your chest. The water threatens with gentle churns to spill over the bathtub.

He turns his head to press a kiss against your wrist.

"More than," he says, voice quiet but firm, "I just feel, sometimes," and he hums, as though forming an adequate description of his emotions were the hardest task on the planet. Viktor, your genius scientist, hesitant not to innovate, to change the world with his research, no. He's hesitant only to make sure he says the right thing to you.

"Like I'm too good for you?" You ask, catching his eye. By the gentle look you know that's what he means. He faces away again, nods in a vaguely ashamed way.

How, you've always wondered, can you truly change someone's perspective? When words don't seem to persuade, when actions bring only fleeting relief, what can you do?

"It's irrational, I know, some... flaw of the mind. You don't need to keep reassuring my senselessness." He leans into your touch, takes your free hand into his, soap suds bubbling between your fingers.

"Sometimes you talk about yourself like you're a machine, you know." You muse. He gives a half-hearted laugh.

"Not a well functioning one."

Are words or actions worth more in this game of convincing? Does he feel it deeper when you press your lips into his hair, or when you mumble compliments and honeysuckle words into his ear? He shivers either way.

It's a long game, you know. It's taken months to even reach this stage, where the self-deprication is a rarity, not the norm. Maybe it'll take his whole life before he can accept every part of himself like you can, before he can truly see himself through your eyes, gleaming and gem-speckled as they are.

You free your hand from his, reach up instead to knead shampoo into his thick hair. He responds with a sigh and sinks somehow further against you, the water falling slowly to a more lukewarm temperature. You're not sure how long the two of you have been in here, talking quietly about very little, exchanging words that'll disappear forever with the water. But you really can't find it in you to care.

There's work to be done, errands to run. Errands that should've been run a week ago. This ceremony, this meditation makes all of it null. For where else would you want to be? Where else exists besides here, this room, this moment, static in the cooling water with the embodiment of perfection.

When you tell it to him, as you so often do, when you tell him that he's perfect, he can't believe you. The first time you ever said it, peering into his eyes as if they held some secret treasure within, he thought you were joking. He'd laughed, more out of obligation than actual humour, but your expression remained still. Sincere. To say he was moved would be a wildly inadequate explanation. What he felt in his chest that night was something otherworldly, something without a name. He's come now to associate it simply with yours.

You run water through his hair, rinse out the shampoo as he lies pliant in your hands. He insists you use your soaps in his hair, some floral-scented collection you've used for who knows how long, because the smell reminds him of you.

There's no point in overthinking it, you suppose. No point in trying to map out and organise moods, emotions. No point in trying to turn a gentle human experience into something clinical, something without humanity.

That swirling, omnipresent yet transient concept of humanity. You simply must cradle it within your own. You press your lips into his wet hair, whisper words made of ginger and lavender into his ear. Because at the end of the day, you're human. You're in love. And sometimes, that's all that matters.

[aphrvdisiac]

THE BLACKEST DAY.

ellie williams & abby anderson x fem!reader.

part three of off to the races & to lie and love.

synopsis | devotions, crimes, sacrifices. how far will ellie and abby go to make sure you’ll never escape again? what will be the ultimate decision to make for your life, and what is worth saving — your life and freedom, or them and their undying love?

tags | adult language. NC-17 rating content & dark elements; m*rder, mentions of kidnapping, obsessive and possessive behaviors, infidelity, violent behavior from ellabs, manipulation, graphic descriptions of t*rture (even psychologically), threats made with weapons, blackmail. slight adult content; fingering, slight voyerisum, double penetration, asphyxiation, usage of mommy and daddy.

author’s note | i want to say there is not much smut in here due to the fact there is great dominant focus on the relationship; we get a new light of ellabs, but they are 10x more cruel and mean. please proceed with much caution as sensitive and graphic content does exist in this story. if you find anything triggering to your wellbeing, please click off and do not continuing.

if you have decided or do decide to keep reading, you are

hereby responsible for your own media consumption.

Despite how much you did confession, you knew you were meant for eternal damnation.

However, you didn’t know that was being permanently tied to Abby and Ellie’s forever — and having to know what they would do to keep you by their side. 

You thought in a span of a year after they had lured you back in, they would lighten up and make some adjustments within their behavior and emotions in order for you to live a more carefree life — which made you an idiot to think that they’d ever do that.

Things had only gotten worse since you returned, and that made absolutely sure you would never be able to escape from them again; not that you planned to, but they couldn’t put it past you anymore. 

While you knew you were loved and wanted by them despite all odds, you felt like a hostage — but yet, who would put up with you like they did? They took all risks and sacrifices for you, did what they had to so you would know where you belonged.

That was understandable and reasonable enough, right?

It felt like everyday you had to lie to yourself to keep going on, to have hope and faith within the relationship. 

“You cannot stab every person who looks my way!” You yelled, upset about how Ellie and Abby dragged you out of Saks earlier because a man’s eyes moved past you while you were looking at skirts. “He was simply being human by looking around!”

“He definitely wanted you. What are you not getting?” Abby wondered, eyebrows furrowed as she sipped on a glass of bourbon. “It’s common sense and knowledge.”

“This is like when that man at the restaurant last week called you love after he asked if you wanted a refill,” Ellie recalled, and you were about to break open your skull in front of them. “We are simply protecting you. Always will.”

“I’m going to take your gun and use it on myself,” you muttered under your breath. 

It was the possessiveness and obsession that you once admired, now become so deadly and uncontrollable that it drove them mad. It drove you insane too, but in the perspective that this is what the rest of your life would look like. 

Abby and Ellie took a seat on the couch, a few feet separated from each other as they continued with sipping their drinks. 

You stood in the middle of the living room, their eyes set on you with amusing grins dancing on their lips. You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at the pair as Ellie cocked her head to the side, Abby waiting for you to speak your mind. 

You lifted up your left hand, your fresh manicure set being shown off. “You see this hand?” You asked, and they hummed. “Until it has a gorgeous Harry Winston ring on it, I don’t want to hear you both saying I’m all yours forever.”

“I don’t think we need to give you an engagement ring for you to know and understand that,” Abby stated, and you rolled your eyes, pursing your lips. “I feel like we have proven it enough; it’s you who needs to get that through your brain.”

“It’s unfair!” You said, and Ellie chuckled. “Murdering people doesn’t prove much.”

“No?” Ellie wondered. “You seem to enjoy our devotion to you, little one.”

“You enjoy this, bunny,” Abby followed up, her finger moving along the rim of her glass. “You know it yourself; you love that we would kill anyone for you. It gets you off as much as it does for us.”

You didn’t say anything back, only continuing to glare at them as they stared back. “I’m going to therapy now,” you said, dropping your arms and going to grab your purse. “I don’t want a bodyguard with me!”

“It’s for your fucking protection!” Abby yelled back, the pair hearing your footsteps fade away into the elevator, soaking in their high pride and ego. 

You were taken aback when they said you should go to therapy, stating how they felt guilty you had to witness Delilah’s corpse along with the amount of childhood issues you still held, and other amounts of shit to list. You were hesitant on it, but it was good that you could talk about anything, and everything — even about Ellie and Abby.

You could talk about how they were murderers, only due to the fact they paid the therapist to keep her mouth shut — they tripled her pay grade. At least at the end, you could let everything out and cry about it, be vulnerable and honest. 

A bodyguard ended up tagging along, staying three feet behind you and staying outside the therapist’s office as you sat inside, looking at your therapist, Jasmine. 

“How are you today? Do we need to talk about the girls?” She asked, notepad on her lap with her pen being played around by her fingers. “I know that look. What did they do now?”

“I am so sick of this bullshit where they say I am theirs,” you started off, holding onto the therapeutic plush that she kept on standby. “Of course, I am grossly attracted to it because of the strings that come along with that, but if I was truly theirs, why won’t they propose to me? They only speak of it when we are fucking.”

“Well, have you discussed this with them?” Jasmine asked, and you nodded. “You have to understand, all three of you have your issues that are brought into the relationship; the way your parents were has led you to be in love with toxicity.”

“It isn’t that toxic,” you protested. “We have problems, but.”

“They have killed for you, they had you bare witness to it so they could prove a point,” she added, and your eyes trailed away from hers, looking down at your lap. “Ellie and Abby didn’t have their own maternal figures, they disappeared; they knew abandonment, soaked that into yours, and transformed it into something sickening.”

“You say this, but never encourage me to leave,” you stated, and she tilted her head to the side, giving you a certain look. “I… I know it is not right, what they do, and I do hate it — but my whole life has been centered around them, they have given me everything, and I cannot just dismiss that.”

“You owe them nothing,” Jasmine assured. “You are still you, with or without them. I cannot force you to leave them, but you come in every two times out of the week, crying and complaining about them, what they have done.”

“Well, that’s what therapy is for,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. 

“Have you ever considered that you are in love with what they give, and not them anymore?” She wondered, and your eyes shot back up, locked into hers. “You said that they have given you everything — things that your parents couldn’t provide. You seek out that, not Ellie and Abby. You give into the things that fulfill your cravings.”

You scoffed. “And what cravings may that be?”

“Attention, love, protection,” Jasmine professed, and your brain had gone quiet. “Marriage won’t fix anything. You will continue to be in love with their providence, while they continue to be in love with violence and using you as an excuse to give into it.”

The room went quiet for a moment, being sure your heartbeat was making noise. “I do love them, I am in love with them,” you softly said, unknown to the tears that were coming out. “I do, I know I do.”

“You seem to be trying to convince yourself of that, rather than me,” she frowned, and sniffled, your head in your hands. “This relationship was built with purposes of chaos, manipulation, and violence — and that’s exactly how it will end. You know what they are capable of, and your love for them dissipated when you realized just how sick they are.”

After your session, you decided to go on a walk to clear your head further after your conversation with Jasmine. You knew you loved Ellie and Abby, you never questioned that at any time — the only things you questioned was how far they would go, and what personal sacrifices you would make; how much more your virtue and soul would be further tainted and bruised, just to satisfy their sadistic needs in exchange for their love and attention.

You knew there was darkness that clouded the relationship as they were purely responsible for it, but you gave into it — and somehow, you managed to find light within it all. Maybe it was to protect you from the cruel truth that they were psychopaths that didn’t hold an inch of remorse or mercy within their souls or hearts, not even in their minds. 

And sometimes, you did wonder if they used you as an excuse to murder, that maybe this entire time you gave them the perfect key for them to feed into their desires. If that was the truth, you would rather die. 

You walk back into the penthouse, taking off your shoes along with your scarf and coat. You heard your name being shouted from the girls' shared office as you careened to the sound of their voices and low jazz music that played. 

You stood there at the entrance, giving them a smile. “Sorry I took a while, I wanted to go for a walk.”

“How was your session with Jasmine?” Abby asked, putting down a file onto her desk as the pair made strict and serious eye contact with you, making your pulse race. 

They must have known something.

“It was okay, a really good session today,” you responded, picking at your cuticles. “It was one of those talks that just had me too in my head.”

“What did you guys talk about, though?” Ellie questioned, and you swallowed thickly. A haunting smile played on her lips, like she knew something and was trying to bait it out of you. 

Because they never ask what was discussed.

They said that was your business, your privacy, and they didn’t need to know about it. 

You went quiet, not knowing if you should lie though that would land your ass in hot water. You played with your necklace, fiddling with it as your mouth hung open, but nothing came out. You seemed gobsmacked, because you were.

What the hell did they know?

“I’ll tell you what was said,” Ellie started off, getting up from her desk chair, and slowly moved your way. “That fucking stupid therapist has been putting these lies into your head, and you’re believing her. Aren’t you?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, shuffling backwards. “Nothing was put in my head.”

“You hate what we do for you, little lamb?” Ellie asked, and you were on the verge of tears as she got close enough to grab your face, nearly cracking your jaw. “You think you are someone without us, hm? We can dump you back to your parents, and see if you keep thinking that.”

You sobbed, continuing to shake your head. “I–I was just talking!”

“Don’t fucking lie to us,” Abby approached the two of you, standing on the side while you looked at her. “We don’t pay her extra for no reason, and surely you are not that dumb to think we wouldn’t be keeping record of what your sessions consist of.”

You knew it was too good to be true. They just wanted to hold more stuff over your head. 

“You’re really breaking our hearts, bunny,” Abby sighed, but in a faux manner. “Do you think we are sick? Manipulative?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered, and Ellie deepened her squeeze, getting a whimper out of you. “No, no! I was just too in my head!”

Ellie moved her head so you could be looking directly at Abby, your eyes glossy and tearful. “Do you know what will happen if you leave us, baby? If you even dare think about it?” She asked, her face close to yours that you could smell faint alcohol, and you shook your head. “We will fucking kill you. Your death will be guaranteed.”

“You are nothing without me! You have no fucking purpose if I don’t exist!” You shot back, and they chuckled. “You’ll go blue simply because I am the oxygen you breathe and crave; your life will be dull and boring because you have no excuse to fucking kill someone.”

“Oh, look who finally got a mouth on her,” Ellie cooed, pushing you into Abby’s arms, and you were being lifted over her shoulder. “It’s almost like you enjoyed being fucked to the point your brain is sponge; only things you’re soaking up is to remember your place and who your devotion is to.”

You were being led up upstairs, knowing what was to come. You were sure the thumping of your heart could be heard, felt against Abby’s shoulder, and nausea came over you with regret attached to it. You started to cry out a symphony of apologies, trying to find any use or way to get out of Abby’s grip but the eyes of Ellie’s was proof that it wasn’t such a good idea to do.

The wind was knocked out of you when Abby settled you roughly onto the bed, your clothes stripped off your body with the desperate yet furious hands of Ellie. “I swear I am not going to leave you or anything!” You pleaded, trying not to break into tears as your glossy eyes begged for mercy. “I–I’m sorry!”

Abby had already seized a set of bunched-up rope, loosening it as Ellie straddled on top of you to hold you down. 

A part of you was getting hot and bothered by this, but the emotional state of you could not take it. After such a therapy session and a conscious part of your brain coming to life during your session, you could not even take the simplest touch of their hands on you. 

“Violet!” You screamed. 

You hardly used the safe word. Hardly. It has only been used twice in the span of dating the pair, and today it had to be used. 

Ellie hopped off your body, Abby dropping the rope. You broke into heavier sobs, your chest moving too rapidly and your breaths were shaky. 

They were trying to comfort you, but you only snapped. “Get the fuck away from me!” You kicked and crawled away to where the pillows rest, curling yourself up into a ball. “Get out, get out!”

“Baby—“

“Leave me alone!” You yelled, tossing a flower vase that sat on the nightstand towards their exact direction. To your unfortunate luck, they moved out of the way of it. “I just want to sleep. Alone.”

“Fine. Sleep alone,” Abby seethed, marching out of the room as Ellie stayed behind for a few seconds before following the blonde’s direction. 

It didn’t take long until tears came running out of you, nearly drowning in your sobs. You laid down, sobbing into a pillow and brought your knees back up to your chest again, shaking and shivering. 

You don’t know why it was today when you felt like you were breaking. It had been three years now, and the good girl act you kept up for them was coming to a crash, feeling it in your bones. 

You couldn’t bite your tongue anymore, but you had to. Because you were much of a bad person as they were; everyone they killed or harmed was because of you, because you tattled and wanted to see how far they'd go. 

And this was it. You reached the final level, and it caused you to have a psychological breakdown. You were now trapped in love with them, not in love.

Your need for love, attention, and desire caused you every sense of dignity and self worth you carried. You were nobody without them because they stripped you of who you were before them — and that made you fucking sick to your stomach. 

You couldn’t stand a night in the house with them as you boosted yourself up out of the bed and moved back to the front door where your shoes and coat hung with your scarf. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Abby asked, noticing her and Ellie staying feets away from you. “It’s late.”

You turned your head to them. “I’m not a fucking child; if I want to be one, I’ll go to my parents.”

“The ones who don’t fucking care?” She spat back, and you rolled your eyes as you adjusted your scarf around your neck. 

“Well, when I left you both and asked for haven, they offered it without hesitation,” you stated, grabbing your purse. “I’m sick of this shit.”

And like that, you walked out of the house before they could further protest. 

Which was only the beginning of the end. 

You were four dirty martinis in, elbows rested on the bar countertop as old blues music faintly played throughout the dingy bar. 

A body sat next to you, hearing the man order bourbon on the rocks. There was significant silence as it was you, three other strangers, and now him sitting around in the bar smelling of old musk and lemon. 

“So you’re here alone?” He asked, eyes focused on the basketball game that played on the laggy TV in the corner. “Or are your girlfriends waiting around?”

Your eyes snapped to him on cue as he met yours. “What?” You managed to sputter out. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“Well that depends,” he mumbled, slouching forward with his arms crossed onto the countertop. “You see, your girls did a great deal killing my friend, Brandon. I mean, h—he was gonna go to fucking Princeton!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, pushing away your drink. “I have to go.”

“Oh, but I’m not going to let you,” he told you, grabbing a hold of your wrist as he viciously gripped it and leaned in closer to the side of your head. “Unless you want your pretty brains blown out.”

He had a gun. 

You stayed firm in your seat, his hand removed from your wrist. “How do you know me? Who are you? What do you even want?”

“Karma. Payback. Whatever they call it,” he admitted, clearing his throat as his drink finally arrived. “See, I did some good research into you and your girlfriends. Whoever is protecting them has a good way of keeping anything about them completely clear and hidden.”

“No one needs to protect them. They are good people,” you said, brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Oh, but you— you fucking New York princess — no one is protecting you or your family,” he grinned, and nausea consumed you. “Now, you have a good record. I guess being a goody-two shoes will do that. However, those parents of yours… well, fuck.”

“My parents have nothing to do with anything,” you said, ready to break your martini glass for shards to stab into his eyes. “You leave them the fuck out of this.”

“Let’s make a deal.”

“I don’t even know your name, freak.”

“Vincent Hayes.”

“Well Vincent,” you said, getting up from your chair, and threw down a few twenties onto the stained countertop. “I don’t give a fuck what agenda you have planned or want to succeed at, but leave me alone or I will take a gun to your head.”

“You might want to care,” he suggested, grinning. “No one wants a father who commits tax evasion and bribery, and has multiple affairs.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, inching yourself closer to him. “And if you dare to come after my family, I’ll come after yours. Whatever you have, I’ll take it.”

“You didn’t have this much spunk before Ellie and Abby,” Vincent reminded you, and you dug your nails into the palm of your hand, a method you’d had to come to use to prevent any harmful flashbacks.”If I remember correctly, you were a loser bitch.”

“And so was your buddy,” you said, giving him a pat on his arm before you walked out of the bar, and back home. Once you were only a few miles away from the place, you took your phone out of your purse, and went to your phone app, contacting your dad immediately.

“Hello?” He answered after a few rings. “Are you okay?”

“Dad, I need to talk to you,” you started off, exhaling heavily. “Nothing’s bad happening, right? Like you would tell me if you were okay, or in trouble?”

He went quiet for a few moments, only static making prominent noise over the line. “You have nothing to worry about, okay? I am taking care of everything for this family, and I need you to continue staying with the girls because of that. Okay?”

Continue staying with the girls.

When you wanted to be out, there was always going to be a reason why you had to stay. You hung up the call, and continued to walk back to the penthouse, stifling your sobs as you walked past strangers and a violent urge to puke everywhere. 

You didn’t want to go back home; in fact, you were okay with staying at a hotel or anything else for that matter. You disabled the tracker on your phone, and went on to call Jasmine. “Good evening,” she picked up after only two rings, and you sighed. “Why are you calling this late?”

“I… I don’t want to stay with them tonight. And I know this is inappropriate to ask, but may I stay with you this evening?,” you wondered, sniffling, and looked at the ground. “There is just so much that has happened tonight since the session, and I don’t have anywhere to go because they’ll find me.”

Jasmine gave you her address, and you sighed in relief, minimal anxiety being lifted off your shoulders. “I’ll run a kettle of tea for you, and I’ll be sure to give the doorman your name.”

You were curled up with a soft throw blanket on Jasmine’s couch, a warm cup of tea sitting in your hands. “Did anything particular occur today?” She asked, and you sighed, soaking in the sweet smell of lemon. “Seems like you’re extra fragile today.”

“They recorded our session today, they know what I said,” you sniffled, looking up from your tea. “I don’t know how, and of course I know they pay you to keep things a secret, but… Yeah, they know.”

“I would still be silent even if they didn’t pay me,” Jasmine confessed, and you grinned, your ears perking up, too. “Not for their sake, but for yours.”

“You’re a therapist, not my savior,” you stated, taking a sip of the tea. 

“When will it be enough for you?” She asked, placing herself slightly closer to you. “You are exhausted, scared, and finished. When will you draw the line?”

You wish you had the answer to that, but you never would. You should have drawn the line the second they killed Brandon James or Delilah, but instead you ran back to them, and caved in you; you were indefinitely trapped forever, and the only way out would be death.

“You deserve better,” she whispered as you noticed her body leaning in towards yours, her head dipping to a side angle. You knew what was going to take place, and you reckoned with your loyalty as Jasmine didn’t hesitate to put her lips onto yours, you caving into the kiss. 

You were loyal and submissive to Ellie and Abby — you had been for years. If they knew you were with another woman, letting her kiss you and tell you that they didn’t deserve you, they would be cutting her apart before your bare eyes. 

You shifted onto her lap, the kiss turning into a messy, desperate makeout session as Jasmine’s hands found their way under your shirt, and unclasped your bra. “I got you, you’re safe with me,” she whispered between a kiss, your shirt and bra coming off during it. “I won’t let them hurt you anymore,” her lips dragged down along your neck, to your collarbones. 

Guilt and shame should’ve come so sudden to you, should have allowed you to push away but you only wanted more. 

It wasn’t like you were sex deprived because you weren’t — Ellie and Abby made sure sex was a continuous routine in your everyday lives. But it was the gentle touching, the soft reassurance and kisses that you missed, and Jasmine was filling that void, and that is what she was only doing. 

You were using her to fill your satisfaction. 

The sun cracked through the windows and flared across your eyes, forcing them open and adjusting to the brightness. An arm was wrapped around your waist, and you noticed the tattoos on Jasmine’s arms, your fingertips following the traces of them. 

Your touch awoken her, and she hummed, smiling the moment she saw you. “Hey,” she whispered. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”

“I think she feels just fine,” Ellie’s voice came about, causing you and Jasmine to both jump up, your anxiety spiking. “Considering the fact our girlfriend’s clothes are off, and scattered in your living room.”

Abby stood aside, seemingly irritated and disappointed in you. However, you made out the gun that was in her front right pocket, and you swallowed thickly, nauseous and scared of what was to come. “I think Jasmine here thought she was her property,” Abby said, gesturing to the hickeys on your neck. 

“Just leave her the fuck alone,” Jasmine spoke up, and you cringed to her defense, only knowing she was making it worse. “She wants nothing to do with you.”

“Oh?” Ellie grinned. “Is that true, lamb?”

You felt small and weak suddenly, not responding or moving. 

“She won’t answer that,” Jasmine continued, scoffing. “She is scared of you, and she is done loving the two of you.”

“I’m really done hearing you whine, you bitch,” Abby chuckled, stomping towards Jasmine’s side of the bed, and grabbed her by a fistful of her hair. She tried to fight off your girlfriend, but it was impossible as she then dropped her to the ground, kicking her repeatedly in the lungs. “This is just the beginning of it.”

“Come on, sweet girl. We have to take these affairs somewhere more private,” Ellie said, and you glanced at her, shaking your head. You seemed like a scared, afraid puppy who had just been kicked again, and the auburn cooed at you, giving a faux pout. “You know something like this would happen, baby. Did you really think you would get away with this?”

Abby was in the background forcing a coat around Jasmine’s nude body, and slipping on her shoes. You couldn’t make out what the blonde was saying to her, but you were sure it wasn’t kind things, and possibly reassuring Jasmine that she was going to meet the end of her life. 

“Get on up, sweetheart,” Ellie pulled out her gun, clocking it. “Or do I have to re-train you all over again?”

You got up hesitantly, but moved your yesterday’s clothes back onto your body as Ellie made sure to keep the gun in your eyesight. “Are you going to kill her?” You asked, voice hush and soft, on the brink of crying. “You should hurt me, not her, Els.”

“We’re gonna find out together, baby,” Ellie grinned, and cocked her head for you to start following her. 

Minutes later, you and Jasmine were tossed into the back of a limo with your girlfriends. Abby had to securely put tape around her eyes and mouth the moment the doors closed behind you all, and you had to do your best to ignore her sobs. 

“We weren’t paying you to fuck our girl,” Abby blurted, and Jasmine let out a sniffle. “Miss Hills… You should have known better, even after you knew how Brandon Jasmes died when he decided to be a stupid fuck.”

“But you aren’t going to kill her,” you defended. “Not her — she does have people who will miss her, and someone will find out?”

“Like who?” Abby wondered.

Your brain registered the night of last, how you met Vincent Hayes who was a friend of Brandon’s, and was warning you of what he knew, and was going to do. 

“Someone’s threatening me,” you stated, and the girls shifted their eyes entirely onto you. “When I left last night, I went to the bar and this guy started threatening me – saying how he had stuff on my dad that could land him in prison.”

“And you decided to what — fuck your therapist? How fucking cliché can you be, sweetheart?” Ellie asked, and you rolled your eyes, visibly irritated and frustrated. “What’s his name? What does he know?”

“He knows your guys’ slates are clean, and you killed Brandon,” you recalled, and they hummed. “But he said my dad is committing tax evasion, bribery, and more. And then he…”

Your girlfriends shifted closer in, panicked but alerted.

“Spit it out, bunny.”

You sighed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “He then threatened to blow my brains out.”

Abby looked at Ellie, an unsettling laugh leaving her mouth. “Jasmine… Today is your lucky day,” Ellie said, Abby giving her a curt nod. “But we still need to take care of you for fucking around.”

The car came to a sharp halt as you looked outside to see an empty warehouse. Ellie opened up the door, stepping out while Abby grabbed and dragged Jasmine out of the car, the girl kicking her legs and screamed. “Bunny, you need to see this for yourself. This is your new punishment.”

It's not like you had a choice, you had to oblige and obey. You already put yourself in a grave for letting someone else fuck you, although you continued to see it as you using Jasmine. You got out of the car, following behind all the girls, and saw a table that had multiple objects on top of them; a wrench, hammer, pilers, and rope. 

Abby shoved Jasmine into a chair that stood in the middle of the large, empty warehouse. You eyed around, seeing dried blood spots scattered everywhere, and your body cringed and shivered. 

So this is where the killing takes place, you thought to yourself. This is where people I caused to die last saw before they went away.

And Jasmine was possibly next.

“I don’t want to see this please,” you cried, shaking your head. “Please don’t let me.”

“But you will miss all the fun,” Ellie said, frowning. “And I told you that this is your punishment.”

Abby binded Jasmine’s arms and legs, putting some around her waist to the chair to keep her entirely strapped down. “You think we must be exaggerating when we say we would do anything for you,” she started off, grabbing the wrench. “Or when we say that you lead all these people to die, and we just have to take care of them for you.”

The wrench then hits Jasmine in the stomach, a muffled scream coming out from behind the duct tape. 

Ellie stood behind you, her gun pointed to your back as her hand held and squeezed your jaw, forcing you to watch closely and attentively. “Some of those fingers of hers have to go,” she cooed, sighing dramatically. “It’s unfortunate. She was a good therapist for a while.”

The wrench went on to beat down on her legs, Abby taking a fun swing at every inch and part, bones cracking and breaking. 

“Abby, take off the tape,” Ellie suggested, and the blonde obeyed, ripping both pieces off. “We are going to give Jasmine a show, baby. Take off your bottoms.”

You nodded and sniffled, your shaky hands reaching to the waistband of your jeans and underwear as you snug them off down to your ankles. Ellie’s hand went from your jaw, down to your stomach and cunt, her fingertips grazing over it. You shivered to her touch, whimpering for more — it was sick how your body immediately responded and gave into her touch, wanting and needing more. 

“Who’s your daddy, angel?” Ellie asked, loud enough for Jasmine to hear. “Go on, and say who is. Let her know.”

“I–It’s you, Els. Only you,” you moaned, her fingers dipping inside of your cunt and perfectly curled in, moving at a harsh pace. “My body is yours and Abby’s.”

“You hear that, Miss Hills?” Abby wondered, dropping the wrench and picked up the hammer next. “Did you fucking hear that!” The hammer struck at her feet, a harsh scream escaping her but Abby got a cruel rise out of it, taking the hammer to her hands. 

Your brain ran around with what was happening around — Jasmine being tortured, Abby finding it humorous, and Ellie fucking you for her to see. 

Your climax approached you instantly, not giving Ellie a heads-up as you let it go, and continued to cry from how you wanted to cover yourself up and repent for how your body gave into Ellie’s demand. 

Abby shifted from the hammer to the piler’s in the blink of an eye, and used them to break and half-amputate a few of Jasmine’s fingers. You knew what they were doing, though — they were also torturing you, wanting you to understand that they could do worse than this next time. 

You knew about them being murderers, so why wouldn’t they give you a show. 

Jasmine Hills ended up being discarded in an alleyway hours later with a pulp face, dangling fingers, damaged palms, and a bruised and broken body. 

You decided to stay at your parents house for a few days after what you witnessed and endured. You didn’t know what to do about your girlfriends, almost terrified to even sleep around them, and you were already experiencing nightmares

“Amore, you have a guest!” Your mom shouted, and you groaned, getting up from your bed. You had been sinking in your comforters for those days, garbage of foods and cups dumped in mindless places, with you in days-old pajamas. 

You shuffled into the main living room of your parents Manhattan’s penthouse. Thinking it would be about anyone else, you were met with Vincent Hayes.

You couldn’t curse him out in front of your mother, without making it suspicious. “Um, hi?” You said, and he smiled, taking a close look at you. “How can I help you, Vincent?”

“We need to have a conversation,” he told you, and you sighed. Your gut wanted you to listen and have the conversation, a part of you feeling like it was something you needed to hear. You only nodded and gestured your head for him to follow you out to the terrace. 

You stepped into New York’s cold weather, sitting down at the small coffee table as he sat across from you. “So, you’re stalking me now?” You wondered. “I could have you arrested for that.”

“You’re barely with them,” Vincent said, taking out a pack of cigarettes. “I have eyes on you and them. Last thing I know is you were in some dingy warehouse.”

You sucked in tears to the memory, and he noticed, only tossing his pack and lighter to you. 

“They needed to do what they did,” you defended, lighting up the stick. “Nothing horrible happened.”

“The girl is in the hospital — the NYPD categorized her as a Jane Doe because she was that unrecognizable,” Vincent professed, and you let out a heavy puff. “You don’t want part of this, and I can help you.”

“What? Who said I want your help?” You scoffed and shortly chuckled, shaking your head. “Abby and Ellie are everything to me — you just don’t understand our relationship. They have done so much for me, more than my parents ever have.”

“A friend of mine in the DA office knows who has eyes on your dad, snitching him out and stuff,” Vincent started, lighting up his own cigarette as he dazed out for a second when he let go of his first puff. “You see, there is corruption in the justice system. Some of the prosecutors in the DA office know that the girls paid somebody to plant evidence on that other person, and that they are killers.”

“And you are telling me this, why?”

“You exchange information about Anderson and Williams, and the DA office will drop everything on your dad,” Vincent confessed, and your eyes widened, your heart sinking. “You don’t want anything to do with what they are doing. You were seemingly unaware until Brandon.”

“So let me get this straight,” you paused, deadpanning at him. “You want me to betray my girlfriends — the only people in my life who truly love me — just to save my dad’s ass? For all I care, my dad deserves to be there more.”

Vincent sighed, irritated and in disbelief. “I can see that you are struggling with what to do,” he stated, almost as if he wanted to sympathize, but just couldn’t. “If they get caught, you will be in just the same trouble as them. Imagine how that will look on your parents? What will it do to them?”

“It's like you said — I didn’t know what was happening until Brandon,” you repeated, nearly out and done with your cigarette. “The reason why your friend is dead is because he decided to be a prick, and think he was a high value man or something. If it wasn’t the girls going to take care of him, someone else eventually would.”

Vincent kept a calm demeanor, but with his hands tightened into vein-popping fists, it was sure he was going to blow at any moment. Minutes passed and his hands unclenched as he stood up from the chair, and burned out the bud of his cigarette. “There’s going to be a memorial for Brandon tonight at the St. Peter church,” he told you, and you raised a brow, tilting your head to the side. “Tomorrow will be one year since he was discovered dead. Just come by… I encourage you to do so.”

He excused himself out, and you continued to sit outside, staring at the skylines and sighed heavily. You felt an immense amount of guilt for Brandon’s death, it is something you couldn’t ignore, even as you tried to justify why he died or how he came to it. 

You were the only person at fault. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you took it out, seeing Abby’s contact name. For days, they have tried to ring you, text you back to back, and do anything they could to get an ounce of your attention. 

You decided to answer it this one time. 

“Bunny.”

The line was static for a few moments. 

“Bunny, come home,” Abby pleaded, and you sniffled. “We only mean to take care of you, love you — however we mean to do that.”

“I… Tonight’s not good,” you mumbled, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. “I have something to do, and I’m not just ready to see you and Els yet. I need time.”

Abby was quiet, and it caused you to shiver. Any silence that came from your girlfriends was not a good sign, and it could only mean they were a plot being made, or they were going to do something beyond inhumane. 

The line went dead, and you were left with the bustling noises of New York, your heart sinking into your stomach. 

How could anything get worse?

You stood outside St. Peter’s church, frozen and paralyzed in your spot as you watched people walk in. You swallowed thickly, your fingernails clawing into the palm of your hand to give yourself any hint of ease and calmness. 

Then you heard your last name being called out to you. You turned your head, seeing two older figures approaching you, a female and male. “I’m Detective Ramirez, this is Detective Adams. We are with NYPD Homicide, and we are revisiting a case involving Brandon James,” the female spoke, a smile playing on her lips to seem pleasant and kind. “It’s surprising to see you here.”

“His friend invited me,” you answered. “How can I help you?”

“Miss, you know why we are here,” Adams said, and you hummed, nodding. “You were declared a misfit for the trial, that’s why you weren’t in it, but you know what happened. And you can put them away.”

“If they were already found innocent, why retry them?” You wondered. “Doesn’t the justice system grant innocence to those who are innocent?” 

“The DA wants a retrial, but it is only possible if you agree to be part of it,” Adams added, and you scoffed. “If you consent to it, the DA will let go of your dad, and stop sniffing around.”

“You are some corrupted fucks,” you laughed. “Now if you excuse me, I have to get inside.”

Ramirez momentarily stopped you in your tracks, shining a small card in front of you. “Here are our contacts if you decide to change your mind.”

You stared at her and the card, back and forth, before your hesitant hand seized it and you nodded. You walked off, putting the cards in your purse and continued inside, a crowd filling the pews while some stood off to the side talking. 

“Welcome, child,” you heard the priest approach you, and you smiled, greeting him. “You are a friend of the deceased?”

You nervously smiled. “I guess you can say that, Father.”

You two shared a small, curt laugh until his eyes shifted a deep focus on you. “Something is troubling you however,” he stated, and you shivered, stumbling on your words as you tried to deny it. “The Lord never lies, my child. You are tackling something.”

“I believe I cannot confess here, Father,” you told him, and he hummed, nodding. He gestured his head for you to follow him, and before you knew it, you were in the confessional booths. 

All you could think about was getting fucked in one by the girls about last year. 

“Forgive me for Father, for I have sinned,” you began, blessing yourself and kissing the side of your hand shortly after. “Forgive me for I am not that religious but–”

“God accepts all,” the priest stated. “He forgives all.”

“Well Father, I think I killed a man,” you admitted, looking down at your lap. “My partners, they are protective of me, and it is in their nature. But they have taken it far multiple times, and I wasn’t aware of it until last year. And when I tried to escape them, I only allowed them back in, and now I am trapped in Hell.

“But, I love them, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to go to Hell for things they have done, or for God to hate me over it. They have killed so many people because I tattle-tale on them, and my partners showed no mercy, no kindness. And I just… I am so lost, and scared. Father, I don’t see no way out of this except self execution.”

“Self execution is a sin, I plead you know this,” he stated, and you broke into sobs, hunching over as you held yourself. “There is nothing wrong to love those who God brought into your life, child. The only sins that have been committed here are wrath, greed, and pride; and they have not been done by you. You are not responsible for the sins that have been committed, you are not destined for Hell.”

“But I have fueled their sins. I am their biggest one.”

The priest went quiet for a moment, a frustrated but saddened sigh escaping him as he himself struggled. He sympathized, knowing you were just a girl who was lost and landed herself in a wrong situation. 

For the past few years, the high was blissful and could not get better than that. You thought Abby and Ellie were your angels sent from God himself, but after Brandon, Delilah and Jasmine, you realized they were fallen ones, instead. Their fair beauty and success drew you to them, and you were blinded by it so much, you could not see what they were like beneath.

They used you to excuse their drive and need to harm individuals, to let out what they were made up of.

Evil.

“Am I wrong to love the Devil? Is that what this is, Father?” You asked. “I need to know.”

“Jesus loved Judas. God loved Lucifer. Does that make them wrong? Did they let Lucifer and Judas' betrayal and sins affect them?”

You sniffled, and only nodded to yourself, assuring you that this fate was old as time. You were not wrong to come to love them, but it was only about what you were going to do next. 

“I want you to do penance — charitable work, twenty hail marys for the next two weeks, and leaving these partners of yours soon,” the priest demanded, his voice tough and stern. “The Lord will then forgive you, my child.”

When everyone wanted you to stay with Ellie and Abby — even made a reason to — the voice of God himself demanded you shouldn’t. 

“Thank you, Father,” you said, and walked out of the confessional booth. Walking back into the main center of the cathedral, you saw Vincent, and his eyes immediately picked up on you. You decided to let yourself approach him as a smug look was plastered onto his face, and you rolled your eyes over it.

“Something change your mind?” He asked. “Thank you for coming, it means everything.”

“I just wanted to um… pay my respects,” you assured, and he hummed. “It is my fault he is dead after all. But I can’t stay long, I have some things to situate.”

“Going to testify?” He wondered. “I saw those detectives talking to you outside.”

“Wow, you do stalk me a lot,” you bitterly joked. “I am sorry about Brandon, though. I didn’t know they were so capable of… you know. I didn’t think they would do that.”

“The only way you can truly get forgiveness is if you leave them,” Vincent said, and you knew he was right, but it wasn’t that easy. Everybody made it sound like it was the most simple action you could make, but it wasn’t. 

Abby and Ellie had been your whole life, and they had committed so much towards you, and the thought of abandoning them after it all made you want to hurl everywhere. You knew that leaving them would end with catastrophic consequences, and it wouldn’t happen right away nor ever; the last time you tried to leave, you were brought right back in. 

You walked out of the church without saying much else, and you were met with your girlfriends right outside. You froze paralyzed, eyes scanning for the detectives as a precaution, and you shivered to their darkening gaze that rage with hunger and madness. 

“Come on, baby,” Abby beckoned you over to her car. Ellie fiddled with something in her pocket, and it made you hesitant and nervous. “We aren’t gonna hurt you, we just need to show you something.”

For once, your interest was piqued and you tried to let go of your anxiety, practically shuffling over to the car. Abby opened the backseat door, and you climbed in with Ellie trailing behind you. “I have to blindfold you, honey,” Ellie said, and you eyed her, shaking your head. “Not because of that. We are taking you to a sweet surprise, I cross my heart on that.”

“You could be killing me just for leaving,” you protested, and Ellie sighed, taking out one of her suit ties from her pocket. “No, no! I don’t want to die.”

“Oh, don’t be so hysteric,” Ellie groaned. “It is sweet and you’ll like it. It is what you have been waiting for.”

You wanted to hesitate, but instead slowly gave in and let Ellie blindfold you as your heart raced immensely under your skin, and you could feel a wave of nausea coming to you. They could be tricking you, and as foolish as you are, you had fallen for it and were about to be executed.

Maybe God heard one of your prayers, and decided to cave into it for you. 

The car ride went by in quiet, the only thing surely heard being your heartbeat and the sound of you cracking your fingers as a distraction.

Ellie put her hand over both of yours. “Stop that. You know it isn’t good.”

“I’m scared.”

“We would never kill you, bunny,” Abby stated, sincerity drawn into her voice. “We know you get caught up in your head because of things we have done and put you through, but the thought of taking your life has never crossed our minds. In fact, it still stands that we would not exist without you.”

You nodded, unknowingly of the grins that played on their lips. The car came to a full stop only minutes later, and Ellie carefully escorted you out, feeling hands on each side of your waist guiding you; Ellie’s hand was cold, while Abby’s was warm. 

They made sure you didn’t trip or fall down while altogether padding up a flight of stairs, always careful whenever they were the ones moving you around; you were that fragile to them. If you were to fall down on the pavement you were walking across and scrape your knees, they would immediately be kissing the wounds and tending to them, angry at themselves for being so mindless with you. 

“Okay, here we go,” Ellie whispered, and the second the blindfold was off, a symphony orchestra played a version of Hallelujah – but it wasn’t the original, but by your favorite 1994 version of it by Buckley.

A candlelit path remained in front of you with rows of your favorite flowers being placed everywhere, and you could see the city lights of New York in the background. 

Then you realized you were on the rooftop of Faye Academy – where history all started. Your partners moved you down the path as you broke into sobs with your face into your hands, and could not believe what was about to happen. 

A proposal. 

When you got to the end of the pathway, you were in a circle of roses and lilies that were in beautiful blossoms. Ellie and Abby stood in front of you, noticing them nervous for the first time ever in your life; usually they were so bold and confident, but in this moment, they were shaking and finding a way to calm themselves down. 

Ellie started off by stating your name, a shiver running down your spine. “You have been the bane of our existence for a few years now, and you will forever remain as our religion, and our sole reason for living and breathing. Abby and I never thought we would find the same soulmate, but it is one of the greatest and only blessings we got out of God, and we would not want it any other way.”

“Since the first day we saw you, mindful and occupied, we were instantly drawn to you,” Abby continued on, grinning as she could recall that very memory. “The light from the sun graced you that day, and we just knew you were meant to be ours for lifetimes.”

What you had just confessed to the priest fleeted through your head, and his demands for you were sunk into nothingness in this moment. You wanted to believe they were just finding a way to further hold you hostage, but the way their face and voices softened, laced with love and genuinity, you wanted to kiss them and forgive them for everything.

At the end of the day, they were your girls and they did everything for you. They were the ones who always took care of you and defended your honor when no one did, and when you were left abandoned and alone, they came to your rescue.

You were always meant to be theirs, one way or another.

“Will you be our wife, bunny?” Abby asked, and you broke into further sobs, nodding. Ellie took the ring box out of her pocket, and you saw a beautiful Harry Winston ring that made you nearly choke onto your sobs.

“I love you!” You shouted, jumping into their embraces as they both managed to hold you close. “Yes I will marry you– Fuck, I want to be your wife.”

A wife. You were going to be a wife to the loves of your life, and your brain managed to forget everything that had happened for the past year until only a few days ago. You believed that everything was worth it to lead up to this moment, and now everything would get better and healthier; you would be wives, and you would have to live a happy marriage if things were meant to be, or if a kid would come into the picture. 

“Our pretty little wife, hm?” Ellie teased, and you nodded again, earning a soft laugh out of them. 

In an hour, you were between the two of them back at your shared home, Abby kissing on your neck as Ellie groped your ass and bunched your dress up to your waist to get a feel of your soaking cunt. “So soon until we put a fucking baby in you, little one,” 

You purred at their touches and kisses, any ounce of purity and doubt moving out of you. You would let them desecrate you every time, and you would feel pure heaven and bliss in it, letting them own and control your body. 

“We missed you so much, baby,” Abby said, kissing behind your ear. “Make us proud and get on the bed.”

You hummed, maneuvering yourself onto the bed where you slowly removed your dress as you gave your girlfriends a strip tease, with your undergarments coming off last. You bent your body down, knees and elbows sinking into the mattress, able to feel it dip heavier from behind you. 

“Look at this pretty cunt,” Abby cooed, her fingertips grazing along it. “Will never be able to get enough of this; you just know how to make us want to destroy you, bunny.”

Ellie came onto the bed in front of you, her strap in front of your face as she pushed any strands of hair out your face, and gripped onto your chin. “You gonna be good for us, doll?” Ellie wondered, and your eyes softened before her primal ones, nodding.

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s our girl. See, you still remember who you belong to,” she praised, and you giggled, putting your hand around the silicone, licking the tip. “There we go, baby. Jus’ like that.”

Abby spat down onto your cunt, rubbing it in before she roughly pushed herself into you, and you gasped harshly, eyebrows furrowing. “Left us hanging for a bit, baby. You let another girl touch you and everything; can’t lie to you, it made us wet and turned on. We knew she wasn’t better than us.”

Ellie grabbed your head and forced a mouthful of her cock into yours, earning immediate gagging noises and a glop of drool forming around the object. Your eyes rolled, light breaths coming out of you with each thrust from Ellie and Abby, your head already dizzy and cloudy.

“Oh, look at you, sweetheart,” Ellie teased, petting the top of your head with each thrust she put forth into your mouth. “She just always gets so messy, doesn’t she, Abs?”

“She’s fucking soaking and milking my cock,” Abby groaned, feeling her own wetness form under the harness. “Just needed us to fuck her and break her all over again, make her remember she can’t leave ever again.”

Abby pounding into you always feel intoxicating, you always needed to be bouncing on her cock and letting her know how desperate you were; you wanted to suck and gag on Ellie for hours, and let her fuck the back of your throat until it was hoarse and raw. 

You needed them in each, every little special way that could satisfy your needs to the fullest extent. They could do that, no one else. They could make you theirs and make you feel worship with their sweet nothings, or cocks breaking into you one way or another.

Drool dripped down your chin, your eyes drooping as Ellie had to practically keep your head up to keep her cock shoving back and forth into your mouth. You allowed her to use your mouth, let her get her own sick satisfaction out of this moment, Abby doing the same thing while your cum was looping around her dick.

“Let’s break her,” Ellie said, and Abby stopped all movements into you, a whine escaping your mouth. “You need another punishment, baby. You must think we are stupid.”

Abby grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to be dragged to the floor before them, and your knees slammed against the hardwood floors. “Jasmine was one thing, baby,” she began, clicking the roof of her mouth in thought. “But the police are another. Where is your loyalty?”

You frowned, staring up at them back and forth. “It’s to you. It has always been to you.”

“And Vincent Hayes?” Ellie asked. “He is awfully close to you.”

“I wanted to pay my respects to Brandon,” you admitted, sniffling. “I… I felt guilty and bad.”

“Guilty? For what? For letting that sick fuck call you a bitch?” Abby questioned, and you shook your head. “Use your brain, sweetheart. You are clearly dumb, and need us to guide you through everything in life.”

“I’m not dumb, I—I just felt really bad,” you neared breaking down, eyes shifting away. “It is my fault he is dead. It is my fault so many people got injured or died.”

“Here is what you seem to forget – and look at us, baby,” Abby demanded, and you slowly peered back up at them. “It is our sole duty for us to take care of you, and protect you. Do you know where you would be in life without us? How sick and lost you would be? People would be using you and taking advantage of you if we never existed, sweetheart.”

“I… I would have minded my own business forever if we never met,” you stated, wiping your tears away. “I won’t talk to anyone, I haven’t spoken. This ring,” you lifted up your hand, “it states that I am yours for lifetimes, and I will do anything as your wife and partner. Nothing or no one could take me away.”

The pair seemed to be satisfied by your answer because in their heads, they got you right where they needed you forever; submissive, trapped, and loyal – like a fucking dog.

It took cunning patience to mold you into this state, and make sure you would never leave again; if putting a ring on your finger was the way, so be it — at least you could not go anywhere and your loyalty was finalized by a proposal, and soon a marriage. 

They could not risk you fleeing from them, and they had to keep as their pretty hostage for the rest of your shared lives; if they had to repeatedly kill, torture, and remind you where your lifetime stood, they would do just that.

After all, they loved you. They cared. Who else would?

A backhand came from Abby as she dragged you back to the bed, and in moments, you were stuck between Ellie and her. Ellie bent you slightly forward as spit went down your ass and she shoved her into your ass, and Abby wasted no time getting back into your swollen cunt. 

“Tell us who you belong to, sweet thing,” Abby said. “Come on, use your fucking brain.”

“I belong to Abby and Ellie, I be—belong to you!” You cried out due to their rigorous, violent pace, being able to feel them literally and physically break your holes. 

“Yeah, baby? Nobody else?” Ellie taunted, eliciting a breathy laugh. “We could fucking kill you, you know that? But we just love you so much, and wouldn’t want that.”

You shook your head, too spaced out to closely listen to what Ellie was saying; it should’ve been a sign, but you were focused on the feeling and motion of them pounding into you. “I—I love you so much, so so much,” you moaned, your back arching, and fingernails clawing into Abby’s wrist the second she put a tight grip on your throat. “So much, mommy. You don’t understand how much I love you.”

“Oh, we know baby,” Abby told you, grinning and panting. “Going to do anything for us, right?”

You nodded. “Anything for you. My loyalty and life is to you.”

“Then you are going to kill, baby,” Ellie stated, and the sexual high was shifted into terror and panic. “We are gonna teach our pretty baby how to kill, and take care of business.”

“N–No, please no!” You cried, their laughs ringing in your eyes as they sounded like maniacal psychopaths. 

“You need to– hey, focus!” Abby yelled, having to keep her hands on your waist to keep you up. “You need to take care of that boy, angel. That silly idiot, okay? We’ll teach you.”

That’s when you realized — you had taken the bait. You caved right into what they wanted and needed. 

And you would never have any way out every fucking again.

You broke into sobs, the sick high of pleasure and despair mixing into the heat of sex that lingeried and fully thrusted into the bedroom. Your body shook with anxiety, your climax rattling in you and took control over your nerves, the girls always finding a way to take a note. 

“No, you don’t get to cum,” Ellie spat, her hand wrapping around your neck from behind you, and you gasped when her fingers pressed into your throat; hard enough to leave bruising or any fingerprints. “Be a good girl, lamb. Don’t disappoint us more than you already have.”

“Please let me cum,” you managed to cry out, her strength tightening around your throat, almost slowly cutting off any airway. “Please!”

“Why should we let you cum, bunny?” Abby panted, pinching at one of your nipples. “You don’t think this is fun? Us using and breaking you?”

It didn’t take sex anymore in order for them to find their cruel ways to psychologically torture you, but rather mock and taunt at you for everything and anything. They did it with Brandon, Delilah, and Jasmine — everyone would be killed in front of you because it was the only way for them to break you into submission. 

You came anyways, and despite that they would usually stop and punish you further, they used it to their advantage and Abby’s put her hands on top of Ellie’s, both of them choking you and fucking harder into your sore, ruined holes, and your vision went blurry and you were croaking out cries and moans. It was sick that a part of you truly liked them being this vile and vicious with you, and that it would always get you off, but it was scarier that they would go further than this in the future. 

The violence was covered by affection, and now by marriage.

Abby and Ellie spent weeks teaching you how to use a gun on someone, be sleath and quick with it. They wanted you to kill Vincent Hayes at the very second you could, and be out of sight when you did it. You knew you couldn’t do it; you weren’t like your girlfriends. That’s why they liked you to begin with, because you were the complete opposite of them, and at some point, that must have changed. 

For those weeks, you spent time in isolation wondering what to do, what you could do without getting yourself or others killed in the process. You would stare at the ring, playing with it, and break into tears whenever your partners were around.

You were a hostage in a relationship for eternity, and the thought of escaping once more did cross your mind, but you knew what happened last time when you tried to; who knows, they could kill your parents just so you could come crawling back to them. 

You avoided any discussions about the wedding or future plans because you were slowly coming to terms with your decisions, with what you wanted to do, because you just simply couldn’t think about that. 

You sat in your parents home, telling the girls your mom wanted a spa day together in order to avoid suspicion; after all, you were doing well playing the sweet fiancée. 

Vincent sat next to you, a cup of coffee in his hands. “You can talk to me.”

“I want out,” you mumbled. “But I need you to do one thing.”

“Well, what is it?”

You gnawed onto your cheek, inhaling sharply. “I need you to kill me.”

Silence filled the room. 

“What the fuck did you say?” Vincent asked.

“I said I need—”

“No, I heard you. You just must forget that your girlfriends are insane, and will do worse to me,” he stated, and you looked at him. “Why do you want to die?”

“Not actually kill me,” you said. “I—I just need a way out, and death sounds fleeting and the only way.”

Vincent joined the quiet that tumbled back into the living room, the two of you now staring down into your cups of coffee. After what felt like hours moving by, he hums. “Okay, I’ll do it,” he tells you, and though your heart sank, you nodded. “Think of it as an eye for an eye because of Brandon. I’ll take what is most precious to your girlfriends.”

“Okay, so how should we do this then?” You wondered.

Vincent got up from the couch, putting down his cup. “You’ll come to find out. I have to make this even. But you should talk to those detectives if you want a full clean slate.”

“That’s why I’m telling you to do this,” you started, taking a sip of your coffee. “My death could be planted on them. I’m a heiress, and that would be bigger news. I’ll leave something behind to admit Abby and Ellie’s full guilt for Brandon's death.”

“No way you would do that. You wouldn’t betray them like that,” he shot back, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t leave anything behind; how do I know you aren’t setting me up?”

“I am betraying them by finding the only way out, and I know you want revenge,” you professed, realizing how calm and collected you were talking about potentially dying for good. 

It was a suicide ideation, yes, but maybe Vincent would find a way to sympathize; you believed in that. 

“This is the revenge I had in mind.”

You tilted your head. “It’s the perfect revenge. We both get something out of it.”

“Do you want to actually die, or are you trying to fake it?” Vincent wondered, and you shrugged your shoulders. “Do I get something from you for admission either way?”

You nodded, putting down your coffee and stood up. “I will leave something behind in my bedroom after it is done. But do not betray me, or I will fucking kill you instead.”

“That’s not very fair.”

“It is fair,” you said, brushing past him as you took the cups to the kitchen and he followed behind you. “Now if you excuse me, I have to prepare any finalizations.”

Vincent found himself out, and you went back to your bedroom, spending hours putting together forms and transferring money into offshore accounts, and even called over your family lawyer to discuss a will. The lawyer sat in front of you at the kitchen table, files out in front of you. “May I ask why you are doing this?” She asked, sliding over the paperwork. “I mean, you are so young and people usually prepare a will when they are about to die. Your parents have a will with your name in it.”

“I understand that, but I just want to be prepared,” you said, grabbing your pen. “I want all my profits to go to charities for women in shelters, to under class schools for children where they will be rewarded with new books and computers for them; along with fixing up any structures they need done. A grand total of 20K will be rewarded to research, world troubles, and more. I have put it all down.”

The lawyer knew not to pry any further, and pointed to where you exactly needed to sign, and you did it with such ease, finally accepting what was coming to the end. You were tying up all loose ends that you needed to before Vincent would take charge of your fate. 

After the lawyer left and you signed away your destiny, you went back into your bedroom and grabbed a hard drive stick, putting it into the side of your computer.

 You turned on the recording, and you sucked in a harsh, deep breath that came out shaky and unsteady. “Abby Anderson and Ellie Williams killed Brandon James. There was a bloody-stained shirt that had his blood on it that was burned by them only a year after his death. I know this because I told them what Brandon was doing, and they got killed. I know the other people they have injured and killed before and after him. This is my admission of guilt.”

You paused, staring blankly at the computer screen, and you cleared your throat shortly after. “They are violent killers; there is no innocence in them or this case. By the time this has turned over to the courts, I will be gone. But I will not leave without confessing the only sin that has been killing me for months.”

You stopped the recording, and made sure it was filed into the hard drive, putting it in a box on your vanity; easy access for Vincent to get ahold of. 

After your admission, you took a walk into the bustling city of Manhattan, having your own headphones in to take away distractions or thoughts of anything that was to come. The girls spammed your phone, but you decided to go on airplane mode, and let yourself cruise around the city you were raised and born in. 

If your death would be soon, you rather take in any last memories. Your walk went on and on, losing any track of time as you were on it. You would go home, get changed for bed, and go to sleep with the decisions you decided to commit to. 

You let yourself walk and wander for hours, grabbing ice cream on your way to home. The sweet flavor gave you sweet memories of your childhood; how your dad would take you out for ice cream and sweets whenever you did well in elementary school, or how your mom would let you mix candy into a huge bag whenever you had a bad day. Those were the parents you always remembered and wanted back, but when their careers and success became bigger than you, they had shut and tossed you out. 

If they hadn’t, maybe then Abby and Ellie would have not come into your life, and ruined it all. 

You tossed your cup of ice cream into the bin outside your penthouse hotel, and the busboy opened the door for you as you thanked him on your way inside. The building felt colder and eerie, seeming as if no one lived inside and you were the only resident. 

You were sure you were overthinking it after the day you had, and were just overly tired. After all, it was New York, and people were always going out. 

You grabbed the elevator, and selected the floor of your parents’ penthouse, your hands in the pockets of your coat with your headphones and phone tucked inside of it. It took a few minutes until you reached the floor, and when you walked in, you heard the sound of glass clinking together. You paused inside the elevator, hesitating to get inside your home.

Silence entered back into the room, and you assumed it could have been your mom pouring herself a cup of wine and was making a ruckus for no reason. You sighed, walking inside anyways and when you dropped your tote bag on top of the island, you found the horror scene and sight of your butchered parents. 

Your scream ripped out of your throat, falling down into their blood as you first moved to your mom. “Mom, mama!” You screamed, crying and panicking. You picked her up, lifting her into your lap, your blood-covered hand brushing her hair. “Mama, please wake up! Come on, come on, you’re okay.”

You turned over to your dad, letting your head rest on his chest which was repeatedly stabbed at. You sobbed into him, grasping onto his shirt. Your jeans soaked in their pool of blood, and you shivered, wanting to cradle into their embrace again.

Now what was there to live for?

“Eye for an eye,” a voice came behind you, and before you could see who it was, your vision went cold and black.

Waking up from a concussion was more hellish than anything.

Your eyes took their time to adjust to fluorescent lightning, feeling loose ropes around your wrists and ankles, a throbbing ache in your frontal cortex. You felt nauseous and feeble, like death was reaching out at you, and about to take you.

The second your vision and memory was intact altogether, you realized you weren't in your home anymore, or hovering over your deceased parents. Instead, you were in a quiet, dimmed room as you were strapped and hostaged to a chair, and you groaned.

“Where the fuck am I?” You groaned. 

“I brought you here,” Vincent’s voice erupted through the room, and came in front of your eyesight. “I told you it would happen soon.”

You swallowed thickly, and hummed. “You killed my parents?”

He nodded.

“That wasn’t the fucking deal,” you spat. “My parents had no part!”

“Killing you was just not enough for me,” Vincent stated, and you fidgeted with the ropes. “You need to know what lose truly feels like. How it killed me when my best friend died.”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“The deal was I'll kill you,” he recalled, and you groaned. “But that’s just too easy. I want to have fun with it.”

Maybe he was just as fucked as your girlfriends. 

“If you kick or bite, I’ll hit you,” he threatened as he moved over to you and slowly took off the ropes, you staring at him while he did it. “Play nice.”

“I could rip out your eyes and eat them right now!” You snapped, and he chuckled. “You are such a fucking asshole. I hope you see Brandon in hell.”

Vincent could only then grab a fistful of your hair, using it to crane you in whatever direction that he took you in, the two of you leaving the room you were trapped in just a second ago. You moved into another room later, and then found your girlfriends tied to chairs, and clearly unconscious.

“Abby! Els!” You shouted, sprinting over to the middle of them, shaking them by their legs. “Hey hey, wake up, baby. Come on, wake up.”

“I took pride in knowing I was able to overpower them,” Vincent confessed, and you peered over your shoulder back at him, shaking your head. “I just needed an extra pair of hands to help me out; they are a bit feisty.”

Ellie and Abby slowly awoke out of their unconscious slumber, taking their time to adjust to their surroundings. “Baby?” Ellie whispered, and you smiled, nodding. “What’s going on? What the actual fuck?”

“We are about to play russian roulette,” Vincent grabbed a gun out of the back of his pocket; a revolver being loaded with clearly only a single bullet. “I am going to answer questions; if we are all honest, I won’t kill your girlfriend. If we aren’t, I’ll make sure she is tortured in front of you, and she kills herself.”

Ellie and Abby paused, registering what deal he had just made until they looked back at you, pure concern and disappointment in their faces. “What have you done, bunny?” Abby asked, and for the first time in a while, they looked panicked and scared.

You retreated backwards, and stood up, now standing center in the middle of the room. Vincent came to the side of you, feeling the cold tip of the gun pressed up against your temple, and you sucked in every despair and anxiety that ran through you.

“How many people have you killed?” Vincent asked.

Quiet. Silence. An oath of silence.

“I’ll blow her brains out right now.”

“About a dozen, maybe fifteen. Including your shit friend,” Ellie confessed, and you sighed in relief. The revolver luckily didn’t click. “We tortured every one of them, some of them were taped.”

“What?” You gasped.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ellie brushed it off, clearly unfazed.

“What did you do Brandon?” Vincent asked another.

“Just fucking killed him, man,” Abby answered, and revolver clicked, but nothing came out. “Fuck, okay! We burned a cigarette, cut his tongue — it was a while ago, we honestly forgot.”

“You killed my best friend like he was just cattle,” Vincent spat out, and you trembled. “You’re lucky I don’t kill your girlfriend, even after she betrayed you.”

“What is he talking about?” Abby asked.

You would rather kill yourself at this point because he knew what you were referring to. You were the reason you got them into this spot, that they were so blinded by their love for you, you casted them under this spell that had caught them in these chairs, and were possibly about to witness you die in front of them.

“I… I signed my will. I told Vincent an eye for an eye,” you sucked in a harsh breath. “You were part of that agreement, but not this shit. He even killed my parents.”

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Ellie shouted; she had never shouted like this before. Her voice was laced with pure distraught and anger, like she was willing to kill you herself at this point. “What the fuck, what the fuck! Are you fucking stupid!”

“Oh, don’t act like you are such saints yourself!” You seethed, scoffing in disbelief. “You only married me so I wouldn’t leave your asses again! You didn’t marry me out of love, you married me out of pure Stockholm syndrome! You use me to fulfill your need and drive of violence; you need me as an excuse to kill people!”

The pair went absolutely silent, and that validated everything Jasmine had told you long ago. 

“New game; I am going to leave this gun with you,” Vincent took it out, showing it off as he untied you a few seconds afterwards. “Your little girlfriend will decide who gets to live.” He slowly walked out of the small four by four room, only then tossing the gun your way shortly after he walked only, the trigger off and the door closed and locked.

It was you, a gun, and the loves of your life. It was now a sicker, cruel game between the three of you. You put the gun in your back pocket, going on to untie your girlfriends as they massaged their wrists and glared at you with utter betrayal, and slight disgust. 

You made sure to careen yourself backwards at a steady pace, getting the gun out and instantly got the gun out of your pocket, pointing it up and direct at them. They took rapid notice, both of them raising their arms up in self defense and protection.

“Okay, bunny… I know you are probably really scared right now,” Abby started off, and your hands became shaky, the sweat from your palms forming around the handle. “Just give us the gun, and we will figure it out together, okay?”

“Please don’t make this any harder,” you whimpered, sniffling. “I should do this — you guys have put me through Hell.”

“Little one, we care about you so much,” Ellie added, and your gaze shifted over to her. “You know we do; from the first moment we saw you, we finally understood our purpose for existing in this world, and that was to protect you, to care only for you.”

Your body shivered with anxiety, your brain trying to refuse anything they were both saying to you. “You don’t understand anything,” you whispered, and you tackled with multiple options to end this moment; shoot them and kill them, shoot them in the legs and run off, or end your own life. 

If you were to shoot them and run away again, where could you possibly hide? There would never be anywhere for you to go. You needed a way out but there wasn’t any, and that made you face only one true fate for yourself; you had to take yourself out. 

You turned the gun onto yourself, the head kissing your temple.

“Angel, no no! Put down the gun!” Abby shouted, and Ellie carefully stepped over to you. “Els is gonna take the gun, and we are gonna get out of here. We are gonna go home and pretend none of this happened, and move on to our happy lives.”

“I have to do this, I have to!” You sobbed, and they shook their heads. “If I leave and run away, you guys will find me and kill anyone who stands in the way! You always do that, and make me witness it as your sick punishment!”

“Baby…” Ellie beckoned, and her eyes softened to you. “No more killing, no more hurting. We promise. We knew that chapter was over when we asked you to be our wife. We want to move elsewhere with you, and begin our exciting new life.”

You couldn’t decipher genuinity or manipulation that played a role in her tone, and you could not tell if she was being honest with you, given how many epiphanies you’d been having ever since the proposal. Maybe Ellie was being right for once; the way she glanced at you was pure and worried, almost like she wanted to embrace you, and let you cry into her hold. 

Maybe that little hope that danced in your heart was right, and going to come true. 

You slowly put the gun down, sniffling and nodding. “No more killing please,” you begged, hiccuping and sniffling. “I can’t take any more of it.”

“Just us and our happy life from here on out, babydoll,” Abby reassured, and you nodded, frowning. You held the gun out into her reach, and the second she grabbed it, the door swung open to reveal Vincent with his own gun.

“Eye for a fucking eye,” he said, and an immediate pain stung to the middle of your abdomen. You stood in shock, every nerve going numb and your brain falling quiet on you. Your hand touched down to where the ache and throbbing sensation formed itself, only to reveal a coat of blood. 

Vincent ran off before the girls could get to him, and their attention landed back onto you when they heard your body thud against the ground. You stared up at the ceiling, your vision blurring in and out, and you felt eerily cold. 

“Eyes here, baby,” Ellie coeed, Abby ripping a piece of her shirt off and putting it over the wound, and applied pressure. “There we go, you are gonna be just fine.”

“There’s too much,” Abby panicked. “Too much fucking blood— I’m gonna fucking kill that fucker—”

“It hurts,” you muttered, breathing heavily. “It hurts— Please, make it go away.”

“We’re trying, angel, just keep breathing,” Abby worriedly smiled, Ellie stroking the top of your head. “You are gonna be okay.”

You just nodded, even though the fluorescent lighting was dimming and their panicked voices slowly turned into echoes, your ears ringing. If there is a Heaven, you hoped it’d be kinder to you than all your years were.

Privilege does not give you anything; you have to exchange many of it, just for a little something beautiful.

ONE YEAR LATER.

“Please rise before the court,” the judge said, and everyone stood. “This trial was once again complex and complicated, I will say that. The tape we got from the deceased was hearsay, and without her here with us, the jury had to make a decision based on other testimonies. Jury, do you have a decision?”

“Yes, your honor,” a juror lady stood, a card in hand. 

“What is your defense?” He asked.

“On behalf of the New York vs. Anderson and Williams, we hereby find them not guilty on multiple counts of first degree murder, manslaughter, torture,” the juror said, and the pair sighed in relief, knowing that their plans could fall back into place. 

When the tape was stolen and found from Vincent, he turned it over to the police which then resulted in the girls arrested. The trial took a while to begin, evidence being enough to upstart one, but they knew it would not conclude how Vincent intended for it, too.

You died horrifically before their eyes, and a funeral was held for you, and everyone attended for you; they knew you would have loved the turn out. You would have loved how Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley played for you, and how it is the only way they can easily cry.

But Vincent decided to go hide away, and what they did best was play cat and mouse. Vincent Hayes thought he could escape by murdering you, and trying to turn over your partners, but they love a good chase, and better yet – a needed murder.

“Miss Anderson and Williams, you are hereby dismissed and free,” the judge announced, and they cheered, hugging their top-tier lawyers. 

When Abby and Ellie left the courthouse, they took a trip to the cemetery and visited your grave. They sat down on the moppy gross, setting down flowers near your headstone.

‘Beloved Daughter, Friend, and Wife’

“We did it, angel,” Abby said. “We did it – and now we are going to avenge you. We promise.”

Abby and Ellie knew what they were going to do, and how they were going to get Vincent Hayes. They knew at the end of the day, it was the only way to remember you, and seek justice for your soul.

To the ends of the Earth. 

[jupiterpilgrim]

Drown With Me

Pt.2: Interpolation

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 7K

part 1 | part 3

A/n: Pt.2 and pt.3 were supposed to be a single chapter, but it was split in two because of the block limit.

I wish I could be everything you wanted.

—

Oh, here we are again. But this time we're going back in time. We journeyed into the past because some things must be witnessed. And I say 'witnessed,' not 'understood.' For understanding confines the subtleties of human connections to a singular perspective, and that restricts the strange language of the heart.

We're at a bar now, where a lot of stories start. This is one of those:

The lights are dim and amber, casting warm shadows over the polished countertops and the scratched wooden floor. It’s a quiet Tuesday night, a lull between the weekend rush and midweek regulars. You’ve been working here long enough to know the rhythm of it—the predictable ebb and flow of people looking for drinks to drown whatever piece of life was gnawing at them. But then, just as you’re stacking a row of freshly washed glasses, the door swings open, and in walks her again.

She hesitates in the doorway, framed by the cool, blue glow of the streetlights outside. The first thing that grabs you, as it did last night, are her eyes—huge, almond-shaped, and impossibly feline. The kind of eyes that make you forget what you were supposed to be doing. They dart nervously around the room before finally landing on you, and for a moment, she freezes.

“You again,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You lean casually against the bar, arms crossed, trying not to seem too eager.

She’s wearing a cropped, black leather jacket that clings to her slender frame, sharp and a little out of place against the pale softness of her features. Beneath it, a white tank top hints at the curve of her collarbone and the toned lines of her stomach. Her high-waisted jeans, faded and torn at the knees, hug her slim legs like they were stitched onto her body. The scuffed Doc Martens on her feet somehow make her look even more striking—an accidental runway model lost in a world of beer stains and neon signs.

Her broad shoulders, almost too strong for her petite height, square up as if she's trying to summon some hidden reserve of confidence. But it’s her shyness, that hint of hesitation in every movement, that makes her feel like a puzzle you want to solve. She brushes a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away from yours as though the floor might swallow her whole if she stares for too long.

You tilt your head toward the bar, beckoning her closer. “Second night in a row, huh? You sure you’re not stalking me?”

Her lips part in a soft laugh, so quiet you almost miss it. “Hardly. My friend dragged me here yesterday. Tonight… I just needed some air.”

Her voice is as soft as her laugh, tinged with a slight huskiness that adds depth to her otherwise delicate demeanor. She approaches the bar slowly, her movements careful, like someone who’s always aware of the space she takes up.

“Well,” you say, pulling a coaster from under the counter and setting it down in front of her, “welcome back to the quietest bar in town. What can I get you?”

She perches on the stool, her knees pressed close together, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. “Um…just a Coke, actually.”

“Coke?”

She nods, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, only to dart away again. “I don’t drink much.”

“Second night in a row at a bar and no drinks? You’re full of surprises.” You grab a glass and pour the soda, sliding it toward her. “Not that I’m complaining. Makes my job easier.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, you realize, but it only adds to the quiet allure of her presence. “You work here often?”

“Most nights.” You lean against the bar again, giving her your best casual smile. “And you? What’s your excuse for gracing us with your presence twice in a row?”

“I’m…” She hesitates, then shrugs. “I guess I just liked the vibe. It’s not like other places.”

“It’s not like most places because most places actually get customers,” you joke, gesturing to the mostly empty room. “But hey, if the vibe brought you back, I’m not going to argue.”

She smiles, faint but genuine. “It’s nice. Quiet. Less… intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” You raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

She fidgets with the straw in her glass, swirling the Coke absently. “Bars aren’t really my thing. Too loud, too crowded. I usually avoid them.” She glances up at you, almost shyly. “This one feels… different.”

You don’t miss the slight blush that creeps up her neck as she speaks, and something about it tugs at you. “Different’s good,” you say softly. “I like different.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The faint hum of the jukebox in the corner fills the silence, playing some slow, melancholic track that perfectly matches the mood. You watch as she takes a small sip of her drink, her lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

“So,” you finally ask, breaking the quiet, “what’s your name? Or should I just keep calling you ‘Coke Girl’?”

Her lips twitch into a smile again, a little more confident this time. “Ning Yìzhuo. And you?”

“Coke Boy,” you deadpan, earning a small laugh from her. “Kidding. It’s—”

The door swings open again, cutting you off as a group of rowdy patrons stumbles in, disrupting the peaceful bubble you’d been sharing. Ningning’s shoulders tense immediately, her fingers tightening around her glass. You can tell she’s debating whether to stay or bolt.

You lean closer, your voice low. “Don’t worry. They’re harmless. Plus, I’ve got your back.”

She looks at you, her eyes searching your face for something—reassurance, maybe. And whatever she finds there seems to calm her, if only a little. She nods, taking another sip of her Coke.

You don’t know why, but you can already tell she’s going to stay with you longer than just tonight. Something about her feels significant, like a spark of lightning caught in a jar. Quiet, shy, and utterly captivating.

—

The weeks bleed into one another, and before you know it, Ning is a fixture at the bar. Not officially, of course. She doesn’t work here, doesn’t drink much, and always leaves by midnight like Cinderella with a self-imposed curfew. But she’s here. Three nights a week, like clockwork, perching on her usual stool and ordering her usual Coke, sometimes daring to live dangerously with a Sprite.

At first, you thought she came because it was quiet, because she needed a place to escape whatever stresses her life held. But it’s become increasingly clear that the bar’s charm isn’t the only thing pulling her back. It’s you. And you’re not mad about it.

Tonight, she’s dressed like she always is—effortlessly cool in her slightly oversized sweater, rolled-up jeans, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Her leather jacket is slung over the back of the stool, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like ink. She’s got her sketchbook with her tonight, the same one she’s been carrying for weeks. You’ve seen glimpses of the drawings—sketches of people, abstract swirls, the occasional cat—but she guards it like it contains state secrets, never letting you get a proper look.

“What are you working on this time?” you ask, leaning on the counter with the practiced nonchalance of a bartender-slash-business-student who definitely isn’t secretly invested in whatever she’s drawing.

She glances up from her page, cat-like eyes sparkling under the warm glow of the bar’s lights. “Nothing special. Just doodling.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you point out, reaching for a clean glass to wipe down. “And then you showed me that sketch of that old guy in the corner, and it looked like something out of a museum. You can admit it, Ning—you’re talented.”

She ducks her head, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not that good.”

“Sure,” you deadpan, “and I’m not the best bartender in this city.”

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that you’ve started to look forward to more than you’d like to admit. “You’re not even the best bartender in this bar.”

You feign offense, clutching your chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” she says, smiling up at you. “Which is why I’m honest with you.”

“Brutally honest,” you correct, smirking. “Fine. Tell me this: do all fine arts students have this much sass, or are you just special?”

“Special,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “And for the record, it’s not fine arts. It’s animation and visual effects. Totally different.”

You nod sagely, as if you know the first thing about animation or visual effects. “Ah, of course. Animation. You’re going to make the next Toy Story, right?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “Something like that. What about you, Mr. Future CEO? Made any spreadsheets cry lately?”

“Every day,” you reply solemnly. “It’s part of the curriculum in business administration. They don’t let you graduate until you’ve traumatized at least three Excel files.”

Her laugh comes easily, her shoulders relaxing as she sips her Coke. She looks comfortable here now, like this place—and you—have become a safe haven for her.

It’s nice.

She’s nice.

“You know,” you say, setting the glass down and leaning closer, “when you first started coming here, I thought you were just using the bar as a library with worse lighting.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I think you’re here because you can’t resist my charm.”

She snorts into her drink, nearly choking. “Your charm? Please.”

“Hey, admit it. I make this place bearable for you.”

She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You do make pretty good jokes.”

“High praise from the queen of sarcasm.”

Her smile softens slightly, the teasing edge in her voice fading. “I just like talking to you. You make things… lighter. Easier to deal with.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s rare for her to let her guard down like this, and you feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to keep it safe, to make sure she never regrets being vulnerable.

“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “as long as you keep coming back, I’ll keep telling terrible jokes. Deal?”

“Deal,” she says, holding out her hand like you’re signing a legally binding contract.

You shake her hand, her skin warm and soft against yours. There’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where the noise of the bar fades away, and it’s just the two of you. Friends. Companions in this odd little corner of the world.

“By the way,” you add, breaking the moment, “if you ever need a businessperson in one of your animations, I know a guy.”

“Let me guess,” she says, smirking. “He’s incredibly charming and makes terrible jokes?”

“Exactly.”

She laughs again, and for the rest of the night, the bar feels a little brighter.

—

Ning sits cross-legged on her bed, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her sketchbook balanced on her knees. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the desk lamp Minji insisted on buying, claiming it was better for productivity. Across the room, Minji herself sits at her desk, perfectly upright, fingers flying across the keyboard of her sleek laptop. She looks like a Vogue spread come to life, even in her oversized knit sweater and black leggings, her shiny, straight hair falling effortlessly over her shoulder.

Minji’s skin practically glows, the kind of flawless complexion that makes you wonder if she’s secretly Photoshopped in real life. Her glasses—a stylish, rectangular pair with gold rims—rest perfectly on the bridge of her pointy nose, framing dark, intelligent eyes that seem to miss nothing. Her lips, soft and plump, are painted a subtle pink, just enough to look effortlessly put together. She’s everything Ning isn’t: confident, composed, intimidatingly perfect.

Ning chews on her pencil, staring at her friend’s back. “Hey, Minji?”

“Hm?” Minji doesn’t look up from her screen. She’s probably working on some group project for her international business course. Even in her downtime, Minji is an efficiency machine.

“How do you, like…” Ning hesitates, fiddling with the corner of her sketchbook. “How do you get guys to notice you?”

That gets Minji’s attention. She swivels her chair around, fixing Ning with a look that’s equal parts amused and curious. “What kind of question is that?”

“You know what I mean,” Ning mumbles, heat rising to her cheeks. “You always have a line of guys chasing after you. It’s like… you just exist, and they’re obsessed with you.”

Minji raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I’m trying to get their attention.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Ning groans, flopping backward onto her bed. “You don’t even try, and they’re all over you. Meanwhile, I could walk into a room naked, and no one would notice.”

“First of all, don’t do that,” Minji says dryly, folding her arms. “Second, you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Ning mutters, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like this goddess of elegance or whatever, and I’m just… me. How do you make people like you?”

Minji sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in that annoyingly perfect way she does. “It’s not about making people like you, Ning. You just have to be yourself.”

Ning sits up, frowning. “That’s so easy for you to say. You’re perfect. People like you without you even trying.”

“I’m not perfect,” Minji says, though the way she says it makes it clear she knows she’s pretty close.

Ning snorts. “Please. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re the only person I know who actually looks good in those glasses. And don’t get me started on your ‘I just woke up like this’ hair.”

Minji chuckles softly, a sound that somehow feels condescending and comforting at the same time. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have some good qualities. But seriously, Ning, if you want people to notice you, just… put yourself out there.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not shy,” Ning mutters, pulling her knees to her chest.

Minji leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Shy people are fine, but if you never let anyone see who you really are, how are they supposed to notice you?”

“What if who I really am is… shy?” Ning asks, her voice small.

“Then be the best version of shy,” Minji says simply. “Confidence doesn’t mean being loud or outgoing. It just means being comfortable with who you are. People are drawn to that.”

Ning stares at her, skeptical. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Minji admits, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “But if you don’t at least try, nothing’s going to change. And trust me, you don’t need to change who you are. You just need to stop hiding it.”

Ning chews on her lip, mulling that over. Minji makes it sound logical, like a formula to be solved. But Ning isn’t sure she can simply flip a switch and become “the best version” of herself.

“And if it doesn’t work?” she asks.

Minji shrugs, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Then it’s their loss.”

Ning laughs despite herself, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know that?”

Minji smirks, turning back to her laptop. “I know. Now stop overthinking and start being fabulous. You’ve got this, Ning.”

Ning watches her friend for a moment longer, a mixture of admiration and frustration swirling in her chest. If Minji says she can do it, maybe she can. But it still feels like an impossible climb.

“Hey, Minji?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Minji doesn’t turn around, but her voice is warm. “Anytime.”

—

The door to the bar swings open, and in walks Ning with a determined look in her cat-like eyes. She’s wearing a fitted white crop top that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, a plaid mini skirt, and her signature scuffed Doc Martens. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and there’s a hint of pink gloss on her lips. Tonight, she’s decided, is the night.

No more shy, stammering Ning. Tonight, she’s confident, bold, maybe even flirty. She’s spent the past three days psyching herself up for this moment, replaying Minji’s advice in her head like a mantra. Put yourself out there. Be the best version of yourself. You’ve got this.

The bar is warm and dimly lit as always, the low hum of conversation filling the air. She spots you cleaning a table, laughing at something one of the regulars said, your easy charm on full display. You see Ning and wave to her with a smile. Her heart skips a beat, but she steels herself. You’ve got this, she repeats silently, striding toward the bar.

Or at least, she tries to.

What she doesn’t see, in her single-minded determination, is the bright yellow Wet Floor sign in the middle of the room. Her Doc Martens hit the slick patch of tiles, and suddenly, her confident stride turns into a cartoonish flail.

“Shit—!”

She feels herself going down, her arms pinwheeling as gravity takes over. But just before she hits the ground, a pair of strong hands catch her, one gripping her waist and the other cradling her back.

“You okay?” Your voice is close—too close—and when she blinks up at you, she realizes her face is just inches from yours.

Her heart is pounding, and not just from the near-death experience. Your eyes, warm and concerned, lock onto hers, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I—yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” Her voice comes out quieter than she’d like, all the confidence she’d mustered evaporating on the spot.

You grin, helping her stand upright but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. “That was a close one. You almost went full slapstick there.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep things entertaining,” she mumbles, avoiding your gaze. Her ankle twinges as she shifts her weight, and she winces.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, noticing the way she’s favoring one foot.

“It’s just my ankle,” she admits. “I think I twisted it a little.”

“Let’s get you off your feet,” you say, guiding her to a booth in the corner. “Come on, sit down.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protests, but you’re already pulling out a chair for her.

Once she’s seated, you crouch down in front of her, gently taking her foot in your hands. “Let me check it out. I can’t have my best customer suing the bar.”

She snorts softly, despite herself. “It’s my fault for not seeing the sign.”

“Well, next time, try looking where you’re going,” you tease, flashing her a grin that makes her heart skip again.

You slide off her boot carefully, your fingers brushing against her ankle. She tries not to shiver at the touch, but it’s impossible. Your hands are warm and firm, and when you start to massage the sore spot, she has to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

“You’re really good at this,” she says, her voice coming out a little breathier than she intended.

“Comes with practice,” you reply, focused on her foot. “My ex used to come home from work with sore feet all the time, so I’d give her massages. Got pretty good at it after a while.”

Ning’s ears perk up at the mention of your ex. “Oh?” she says, trying to sound casual. “What happened there?”

“She was… complicated,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Kind of jealous. Possessive. A little manic, honestly.” You pause, then chuckle, shaking your head. “I guess I have a type. Crazy girls seem to find me.”

She swallows hard, caught off guard. “Is that why you’re single now?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, still massaging her ankle. “Taking a break from relationships for a while. Thought I’d give myself some peace and quiet, you know?”

Ning’s heart sinks, though she forces a smile. “Makes sense. Less drama.”

“Exactly,” you say, glancing up at her with a grin. “And besides, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got customers like you to keep me company?”

She laughs softly, but it feels hollow in her chest. She watches as you go back to massaging her foot, completely unaware of the tiny heartbreak you’ve just caused. But she doesn’t say anything.

Because Minji’s words echo in her head: Be the best version of yourself. And tonight, the best version of herself is just a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

—

The dorm bathroom is small, humid, and filled with the faint scent of citrus-scented body wash. The door is open, so the fragrance invades the whole bedroom. The overhead light flickers faintly, casting a soft glow over the scene. Minji stands by the sink in nothing but a pale lavender bra and matching underwear, her skin luminous under the harsh fluorescent light. She’s methodically applying lotion to her arms, her long, straight hair pushed over one shoulder to avoid smearing it. Every movement she makes is precise, deliberate, like everything else about her.

Ning is by the closet, half-dressed, rifling through her limited wardrobe with a furrowed brow. She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone and the straps of her bralette. Her plaid pajama shorts are crumpled, a stark contrast to Minji’s immaculate appearance.

“Can I ask you something?” Minji’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the room, soft but with that unmistakable edge of curiosity.

Ning freezes, her fingers lingering on the hem of a black skirt she’s debating on. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

Minji finishes with her arms and moves on to her legs, bending one knee and propping her foot up on the closed toilet lid. Her movements are unhurried, as if the question isn’t a big deal. “Where do you go every week? At night, I mean.”

She glances over her shoulder, her face warming under Minji’s unreadable gaze. “Nowhere. Just… out.”

“Nowhere?” Minji’s lips curve in a faint smile as she straightens up, tilting her head slightly. Her sharp, dark eyes scan Ning, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers fidget with the fabric of her skirt. “That doesn’t sound like nowhere.”

“I mean it’s not anywhere in particular,” Ning mumbles, turning back to the closet. She grabs a random top to busy her hands, hoping Minji will let it go.

But Minji doesn’t let things go. “Ning,” she says, her voice calm but insistent. “You’ve been going out at least twice a week for the past month. You get dressed up, come back late, and you never say where you’ve been. It’s weird, because it's not something you used to do.”

Ning turns around, clutching the top against her chest like a shield. “It’s not weird.”

Minji quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if she’s holding back a laugh. “You don’t think so? Because to me, it looks like you’re sneaking off to see someone.”

“I’m not!” Ning’s voice rises slightly in protest, her face turning a deeper shade of pink. She tosses the top onto the bed and grabs her sketchbook from the desk. “Look, I take this with me, okay? How could I be seeing a boy if I’m bringing this?”

Minji’s eyes drop to the sketchbook, then lift back to Ning’s face, skeptical but intrigued. “I don’t know. Art students have strange habits. Maybe you’re sketching him while you’re there.”

Ning groans, plopping onto the bed and flipping the sketchbook open to a random page. “It’s not like that. There’s a bar I go to. It’s… quiet, and it helps with creativity.”

“Creativity,” Minji repeats, crossing her arms as she leans against the sink. Her hair falls perfectly over one shoulder, her glasses catching the light just enough to make her look like a chic librarian. “That’s your story?”

“Yes!” Ning huffs, holding up the sketchbook like it’s evidence in a trial. “See? Just sketches. No boys, no dates, nothing like that.”

Minji steps closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies Ning’s face. “So you’re telling me you sit at a bar all night, alone, with your sketchbook? That’s it?”

“Well…” Ning hesitates, her fingers gripping the edges of the book. “There’s this bartender I talk to sometimes. But he’s just a friend.”

“A friend.” Minji’s voice is flat, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?” Ning mutters, ducking her head.

“Probably not,” Minji replies, her tone maddeningly casual. “But now everything is even more suspicious.”

Ning sighs, flipping the sketchbook closed. “Oh, whatever! He’s the bartender. We talk. That’s it.”

“And you’re just friends?”

“Yes.” Ning’s voice is firm, but her cheeks betray her with their telltale blush.

Minji watches her for a moment longer, then does something that catches Ning completely off guard. She smiles. Not her usual poised, mysterious smile, but something softer.

“Can I go too?”

Ning blinks, sure she’s misheard. “What?”

“To the bar,” Minji says, stepping closer until she’s standing right in front of Ning. “If it’s so great for creativity, I want to see it.”

“You want to go to the bar?” Ning asks, her voice incredulous. “The one I go to?”

“Why not?” Minji shrugs, grabbing her towel and tossing it into the laundry basket. “It’s not a date, right? If you’re just hanging out with a friend, I don’t see why I can’t come along.”

Ning stares at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. “Are you serious?”

Minji leans down slightly, her glasses sliding down her nose as she meets Ning’s wide-eyed gaze. “Dead serious.”

“But…” Ning struggles to find a reason, any reason, why this is a terrible idea. “What about your coursework? You’re always busy.”

Minji straightens up, brushing her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I can spare a night. Besides,” she adds, smirking, “I want to meet this ‘just a friend’ of yours.”

Minji’s calm confidence is both reassuring and terrifying. She knows Minji means well, but she also knows her friend. Minji doesn’t just show up. She observes.

Still, it’s hard to say no when Minji looks at her like that, her dark eyes steady and full of quiet determination.

“Okay,” Ning says finally. “You can come.”

Minji smiles, a triumphant glint in her eye. “Great. I’ll get ready.”

As Minji walks away, Ning flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be simple. Just her, the bar, and a chance to take things slow with you.

Now?

She has no idea what’s about to happen.

—

The bar’s hum is steady but quiet tonight, soft music playing from the jukebox, mingling with the low murmur of scattered conversations. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and vaguely thinking about the economics lecture you skipped today when the door swings open.

You look up instinctively, and there she is—Ning. Except she’s not alone.

Ning walks in first, a bundle of energy in her casual but cool outfit: a cropped black sweater that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, paired with loose cargo pants that sit snug on her hips, and her ever-present Doc Martens. She looks great—like she always does—but it’s the girl walking in behind her that makes your breath catch.

Minji.

She’s dressed simply—an elegant cream blouse tucked into high-waisted, dark-wash jeans that make her legs look impossibly long. Her black hair falls in a sleek curtain down her back, and she’s wearing the kind of gold-rimmed glasses that make other people look like try-hards but somehow make her look even more stunning. There’s something about her presence—poised but approachable, with a quiet confidence that fills the room—that makes it hard to look away.

“Hey!” Ning’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts as she practically bounces over to the counter. She gestures enthusiastically toward her companion. “This is my best friend, Minji. You’ll love her.”

You recover quickly, setting the glass down and offering a smile. “Hey, Minji. Nice to meet you.”

Minji steps forward, her smile polite but warm. “Nice to meet you too. Ning comes here every week, I got curious and realized I needed to see it myself.”

You nod, trying not to seem too obvious as you take her in. “Well, welcome. Hope it lives up to the hype.”

Ning slides onto her usual stool, pulling out her sketchbook like it’s just another normal night. “He’s being modest. It’s the coolest place ever. And the bartender’s alright, I guess.”

You smirk at her teasing but find yourself glancing back at Minji. “What can I get you two?”

“The usual for me,” Ning says, flipping through the pages of her sketchbook.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Something light. I don’t drink much—health reasons.”

“Got it.” You start preparing the drinks, glancing at her again. “If you don’t mind me asking, health reasons?”

Ning's Coke is ready in moments, she takes a sip absentmindedly as she looks at her sketchbook.

“I have a heart condition,” she says casually, like she’s used to explaining it. “Nothing too serious, but I can’t really handle strong drinks.”

“Fair enough,” you say, sliding the glass across the counter toward her. “This should be light enough.”

She takes a sip, her lips curving into a small smile. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Ning, who’s been scribbling something in her sketchbook, looks up suddenly. “Minji has been really nosy lately, she wouldn't leave me alone until I brought her here, she's never done this before.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, raising an eyebrow at Minji. “Was she really that mysterious about it?”

Minji laughs softly, setting her drink down. “You have no idea. She’d leave without saying much, come back late, and when I’d ask where she was, she’d just shrug and say ‘out.’” She glances at Ning, her tone amused. “It was suspicious.”

Ning groans dramatically. “It wasn’t suspicious! I just didn’t feel like explaining.”

“Well, I’m glad you brought her along tonight,” you say, smiling at Minji. “It’s nice to meet one of Ning’s friends.”

“Best friend,” Ning corrects, nudging Minji with her elbow. “We’ve known each other forever.”

Minji chuckles. “She’s exaggerating. It’s only been a few years. But yeah, we’ve been through a lot together.”

You lean against the counter, genuinely curious. “How’d you two meet?”

“Orientation,” Minji says, glancing at Ning.

“At first I thought she was snobbish for being so serious."

“And I thought you looked like a troublemaker,” Minji counters, her eyes sparkling with humor.

You can’t help but laugh at their banter. “So, Minji, what are you studying?”

“International business,” she says, adjusting her glasses slightly. “What about you?”

“Business administration,” you reply, and her face lights up with interest.

“Oh, really? That’s great. What year are you in?”

“Third,” you say. “It’s not as glamorous as international business, but it keeps me busy.”

“It’s not glamorous,” Minji says with a small smile. “But it’s practical. And honestly, that’s more important.”

You nod, impressed by her straightforwardness. “So what made you choose international business?”

She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful. “I guess I like the idea of understanding how things work on a global scale. It’s a challenge, but I enjoy it.”

Ning, who’s been quiet for a moment, suddenly speaks up. “She’s being humble. She’s the smartest person I know. She even helps me figure out my art projects sometimes.”

Minji shrugs, clearly a little embarrassed. “I just give her feedback. She’s the real talent.”

You glance at Ning, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of feedback?”

“She helps me refine ideas,” Ning says, twirling her pencil. “Like, if I’m stuck on a concept, she’ll point out things I didn’t think of. It’s annoying how good she is at it.”

Minji rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of affection in her expression. “It’s not that hard. I just have an outside perspective.”

“Well, it sounds like you two make a good team,” you say, genuinely impressed by their dynamic.

Minji smiles, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than you expect. “We do. But I think I understand why Ning likes coming here now. It’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Ning chimes in, her voice a little softer. “It is.”

The three of you fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking and laughing like old friends. But every now and then, you catch yourself glancing at Minji, wondering what it is about her that feels so… magnetic.

—

The bar has never been livelier for you, not because of an influx of customers but because Ning and Minji have made it their unofficial hangout spot. At first, it was a bit surreal—Ning showing up with her best friend in tow, bright-eyed and eager to introduce her to her favorite bartender. But over the next few weeks, it becomes routine.

Monday Night

Ning and Minji arrive together, as they always do. Ning’s dressed in her usual casual style—cropped sweatshirt, ripped jeans, and her trusty Doc Martens—while Minji looks effortlessly polished in a tailored blazer over a white camisole and straight-leg pants.

“Usual?” you ask Ning, already reaching for the soda gun.

“Of course,” she says, hopping onto her usual stool.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

“I’ll take the same thing as last time,” she says, her smile easy. “That drink was great.”

You get to work, sliding the Coke over to Ning and preparing Minji’s light cocktail. “So, how’s the week been treating you two?”

“Terrible,” Ning groans dramatically, opening her sketchbook. “I’m behind on like, three projects.”

Minji snorts, glancing at Ning over the rim of her glass. “That’s because you spent the entire weekend rewatching Spirited Away instead of working.”

“It was research!” Ning protests, flipping through her sketches. “It’s a masterpiece!”

You chuckle, leaning on the bar. “She’s got a point. Spirited Away is definitely worth rewatching.”

Minji raises an eyebrow. “I don’t disagree. But maybe she could balance her research with her deadlines.”

The two of you share a laugh, and Ning pouts.

“You’re both nerds,” she mutters, earning a grin from you.

“Guilty as charged,” you say, raising a random glass in a mock toast.

Wednesday Night

Tonight, Minji’s in a soft blue sweater that matches her dark-rimmed glasses, her hair swept back in a loose braid. Ning looks a little tired, probably from pulling an all-nighter.

“You look like death,” Minji observes bluntly as they sit down.

“Gee, thanks,” Ning says, dropping onto the stool and slumping over the counter.

“You okay?” you ask, sliding her a Coke without waiting for her order.

“Just tired,” Ning mumbles, sipping her drink.

Minji tilts her head at you. “So, did you finish that econ paper you mentioned last time?”

You perk up, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, just barely. Turns out writing about financial markets at two in the morning isn’t fun.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Minji says, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I bet you still nailed it.”

Ning watches the exchange, feeling a pang of something she can’t quite name. She clears her throat. “Hey, can we talk about something not boring?”

“Sure,” you say, turning to her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Aliens,” Ning declares, grinning. “Do you think they exist?”

Minji sighs. “Oh god, not this again.”

You laugh, genuinely amused. “Honestly? I hope so. Would make the universe a lot more interesting.”

Ning beams, satisfied, while Minji shakes her head. “This is why she likes coming here,” Minji says dryly. “You encourage her nonsense.”

“Hey,” you protest, “it’s not nonsense. It’s curiosity.”

Minji chuckles, and Ning feels a little less out of place.

Friday Night

The bar is slightly busier, but the two of them still manage to snag their usual seats. Minji looks radiant in a sleek black blouse and gold hoop earrings, her makeup subtle but flawless. Ning, in her oversized hoodie and her Doc Martens looks comfortable but feels distinctly underdressed next to her friend.

“You look nice tonight,” you say to Minji as you hand her drink over.

“Thanks,” she replies, her voice calm and self-assured. “Ning practically dragged me out of the dorm, so I figured I’d make an effort.”

“You’re welcome,” Ning says with mock pride.

“So,” Minji says, turning to you, “tell me more about your business classes. Do you focus on entrepreneurship or management?”

“A little of both,” you reply, leaning on the counter. “Right now, we’re working on case studies about startups.”

“Oh, I love those,” Minji says, her eyes lighting up. “Which case studies are you doing?”

As you dive into the topic, Ning finds herself zoning out. The conversation is engaging—Minji is clearly knowledgeable, and you seem genuinely interested in what she has to say—but it’s not her world. She fiddles with her straw, feeling invisible as the two of you talk animatedly about market trends and business strategies.

Eventually, she clears her throat. “Hey, do you think they’d let me draw on the walls here?”

Both of you turn to her, surprised.

“I mean, this place could use some art,” she says, grinning.

“Go for it,” you say, laughing. “Just don’t tell my boss I approved it.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly creative,” Ning corrects, feeling a little more grounded again.

Sunday Night

The bar is nearly empty, the quiet hum of the jukebox filling the space. Ning is doodling absently in her sketchbook, while Minji sips her drink and chats with you.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Minji asks, her tone light but genuinely curious.

“Work, mostly,” you admit. “But when I have time, I like hiking. Clears my head.”

“I didn’t peg you as the outdoorsy type,” she says, a hint of teasing in her voice.

You shrug. “Gotta balance all the business talk with something peaceful.”

Ning glances up from her sketchbook, watching the two of you. There’s something about the way Minji leans slightly forward when she talks to you, the way her smile lingers a little longer.

“Do you hike?” you ask Minji.

“Sometimes,” she says. “But only when Ning drags me along.”

“Hey, I make hiking fun,” Ning protests, jumping back into the conversation.

“You complain the whole time,” Minji points out, smirking.

“Because you always pick the hardest trails!”

You laugh, the sound warm and genuine. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us,” Minji says.

Ning blinks, caught off guard by the suggestion. She glances between you and Minji, unsure how to feel about the way this strange triangle is starting to form.

As the night winds down, the three of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, but Ning can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting—slowly, subtly, but undeniably.

—

The three of you have fallen into a strange, unspoken routine—meeting up not just at the bar but beyond it, like some evolving trio of mismatched energy. It feels natural, at least on the surface, even if Ning occasionally finds herself analyzing every interaction, dissecting every glance and laugh.

Tonight, you’re at the movies, sitting in a darkened theater. Ning insisted on watching the latest animated film, claiming it was "research" for her art, though the truth is she just really loves animated movies. You and Minji went along with it, no complaints. Ning sits between you and Minji, a giant bucket of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap.

Halfway through the movie, she notices how Minji leans slightly toward you, sharing whispered comments about the plot. Ning can’t quite hear what you’re saying, but the low rumble of your laugh makes her feel strangely uncomfortable.

“Pass the popcorn,” you murmur, your hand brushing Ning’s as you reach for the bucket.

She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “Here. Don’t eat all the good pieces.”

“You’re weirdly protective of popcorn,” you tease, taking a handful.

“Popcorn hierarchy is a real thing,” she replies, smirking. But her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.

Minji chuckles, leaning closer. “She’s serious about it. She once bit my hand when I took the last caramel piece.”

“I did not bite you!” Ning protests, her cheeks flushing.

Minji glances at you, her smile lingering. “She absolutely did.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I believe it.”

The sound of your laugh sends a pang through Ning’s chest. She knows it’s stupid, knows she’s overthinking. But the way you and Minji interact—effortless, like equals—feels different.

Later That Week

The three of you are at a college basketball game, seated in the bleachers. It was your idea this time, a way to do something “normal and fun” after a week of classes. Ning, determined to feel confident, showed up in a cropped tank top and tight jeans, her makeup more pronounced than usual.

But as the game goes on, she notices the subtle ways you treat her. When she trips on the bleachers, you catch her arm, laughing softly. “Careful, kid. Don’t want you breaking something.”

“Kid?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally an adult.”

“Barely,” you tease, ruffling her hair in a way that makes her want to scream.

Meanwhile, when Minji leans over to ask you something, your tone shifts. It’s subtle, but Ning catches it. You’re attentive, leaning slightly closer, your voice quieter. When Minji laughs at something you say, it’s like the whole world fades out for a second, leaving just the two of you.

Ning fiddles with her phone, pretending not to notice.

At one point, Minji turns to her. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Ning says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… not a huge basketball fan.”

Minji studies her for a moment but doesn’t press. She turns back to you, asking something about the game. Ning doesn’t bother listening.

The Bar, One Week Later

It’s a typical slow night, the kind you’ve come to expect when it’s not the weekend. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and occasionally glancing at the door out of habit. When it swings open, you look up, expecting to see Ning and Minji together as usual.

But it’s just Minji.

She steps inside, her presence as poised as ever. She’s wearing a fitted black turtleneck and a sleek gray coat, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. There’s a calm confidence in the way she walks, like she owns the space without even trying.

“Hey,” you say, smiling as she approaches the bar. “Where’s Ning?”

“She’s sick,” Minji replies, sliding onto one of the stools. “It’s just me tonight.”

There's a hint of excitement in her voice, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The absence of Ning—her usual energy, her playful remarks—feels strange. But Minji’s presence is undeniable, grounding.

“Just you,” you repeat, setting a glass on the counter. “Alright. What can I get you?”

Minji smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “Surprise me.”

part 3

[rabotimagines]

"Tease" GN BOT Reader x [Yandere/Obsessed] Ironhide, Prowl, Ratchet, Optimus.

Summary: The bots snap. Or BOT Reader gets their valve pounded.

G1 characters: Ironhide, Prowl, Ratchet, Optimus

Warnings: CNC (technically), Yandere/obsessed bots! Prowl uses his stasis cuffs, Ratchet abuses his knowledge as a medic.

Genre/Theme: Yandere Smut 🔞 MDNI

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Notes: Reader wants to frag but thought it would be more fun to tease the bots while playing coy. The bots don't know this, however, hence the CNC instead of NC or Dubious consent because they think its full NC from their perspective. (Prowl has assumptions but isn't sure, While Optimus is the only one who does actually know for certain you want him.) G1 Optimus would be such a soft Yandere I'm sorry it's true. Prowl and Optimus's parts directly references their first imagine I wrote with Yandere them here

Ironhide is the fastest out of these mechs who snaps first in this scenario. Now, don't get it twisted. Ironhide lasts much longer than other autobots not included here. (Sunstreaker, Skyfire) But out of the other contenders here, he snaps near immediately compared to the rest of them. It starts with soft brushes of your em field when passing each other and you don't react. And Ironhide can see the shape of your aft while your bending over to help fix teletraan 1- and it cultivates when you accidentally run into him and his servos fly onto your frame to steady you not realizing it's you- and your frame is pressed right up against his own and your servos are on each other- and then Ironhide can't fragging take it anymore!

Ironhide drags you into their equivalent of a storage closet before you can protest. It's a heated and frustrating blur, but Ironhide does remember yanking the manual release on your modesty panel- Next thing he knows, he's pounding into your valve from behind where you're both standing. Ironhide curses when you squeeze down on him while you groan against Ironhides' servo. Ironhide had covered your mouth when he yanked you in here. While the back of your frame was pressed right against his front. There's a soft clank of his windshield glass getting hit on your armor every time he bottoms out inside you again.

Primus- you little- You didn't mean to do it! Ironhide knows- he's just a filthy fragging pervert who can't help himself! Every muffled cry out of you only makes Ironhide snap his hips harder and harder. The heavy want in his core only getting hotter and hotter the longer he's fragging you silly. Primus- Ironhide fantasized about this so many times, and the press of your frame against his and your valve taking his spike like this didn't even come close to his own dirty little thoughts. You're so good- taking his spike so good- not struggling too much against him neither- Ironhide lately wishes he'd dragged you in here by your front because he really wants to taste your glossia right now.

A strangled noise, muffled but still audible, escapes your throat when Ironhides free servo grabs your spike and practically starts fragging you right into his own fist with the force of his thrusts. Your spinal strut arches back against his own frame, where you're flush against one another. Your frame is trapped between ironhide and his own servos, and you overload on his spike. Valve clenching down on him and a muffled but used sound escapes you when Ironhide only speeds up. And Ironhide groans and stills to finally overload inside you.

You groan against his servo and Ironhide just continues to softly rut against your aft. Riding out his own overload and making sure his transfluid is stuffed in your valve proper. Your spent spike is twitching in his servo and Ironhide pushes his em field out to praise you- His dang glossia wasn't cooperating with him right. So instead he's pushing his field to wrap around your frame like the rest of him was. the Good, good, you're doing so good. that Ironhide feels in his struts caresses your softly twitching frame.

Ironhide pulls his servo away from your mouth, and you pant in greedy vents. Ironhide then gags you with his digits next- The flat of his digit pads pressing down flat on your glossia. His own glossia dragging along the covering of your audial- Ironhides spike twitching inside you when you whine around his digits. Ironhide had a good amount of pent-up tension he still needed to get outta himself concerning you.

He's lucky you were so understandin' to his predicament...

-

Prowl didn't know what else he could do to avoid the new influx of- unsavory imagery infecting his proccessor whenever he would see you. He'd chalked it up to it being because he'd seen you as he had in the hallway self servicing. And now he could not get the imagery out of his helm. And then new... fantasies continued to turn in Prowl's processor. His logic center continued to randomly calculate subduing measures. He'd now made a habit of dismissing them and keeping his servos behind his own back when you'd have to be near one another.

Prowl is coming out of his habsuite, and you suddenly crash into Prowl, and you both end up on the floor in a tangle of limbs. You're practically straddling his lap- you apologize and sit up and in the process your aft grinds down on Prowls modesty panel. Prowl is hit with the sequence of moves he'd need to take to knock you on the floor and get on top of you instead. And he dismisses it, and he forces himself still. In fact, he's so still you look down at him in confusion and ask if he's alright.

Then your em field of all things brushes against Prowl, and there's a hint of- playfulness? It makes Prowls logic center run, and it runs into a conclusion. There was a thirty percent chance you'd been doing this to Prowl on purpose. Every little pose and stretch- the longer Prowl recalled incidents, the chances had jumped up to forty percent. And then Prowl does something he loathes to admit- but he reacts without thinking. He follows through with the take down sequence prompt and swiftly knocks you off of him. And before Prowl knows it, you're on your front, with your wrists bound in the stasis cuffs he always carries in his subspace.

After a heated few klicks, Prowl grabbed you and dragged you through his doorway into his habsuite, the door closing behind you both. What he was doing to you- but Prowl knew- Prowl was following his intuition. He was trusting his intuition that said the forty percent was correct, and he was reacting accordingly. (Never mind the fact that you were incapacitated-) and he snapped open your modesty panel and your valve was dripping on his digits in less than a klick and the percent shoots up to fifty percent and Prowl (this was wrong- this was wrong-) takes that chance and spikes you right there on his habsuite floor.

Prowl rarely cursed. It just wasn't a habit- but he's muttering curses under his vents when he enters you and promptly bottoms out. You felt- wonderful. Prowl thrusts hard and fast- he never punished you for self servicing in the ark hallway- this was for that- nothing else! Prowls pace doesn't falter when you start moaning and grunting every time he bottoms out. And his door wings don't fan high when you start saying his designation against the floor where your faceplate is pressed. (And he's certainly not fantasizing about pulling you onto his berth after this and fragging you senseless-)

Prowl notices that you're drooling on the floor. (His stasis cuffs having taken function of your fine motor controls.) Prowls servos move from your waist to your pauldrons and he's pushing you down further and thrusting into you harder. Your valve clenches down on his spike and you're murmuring his designation over and over- Prowl overloads with a sharp invent of your designation while pressing down on your back. You're twitching around him and panting lazily against the floor. His cuffs still preventing you from doing much else. Prowl gets the inappropriate thought of kissing the back of your neck and he does not follow through with it.

He does, however, lean to the side of your audial and speak. "Consider this- punishment for your habit of self servicing outside of your habsuite." Your vent hitches at Prowl's words. Prowl realizes he still needs to punish you for playing with him so inappropriately- Prowl didn't consider this nearly enough punishment for your misgivings.

Prowl is running through what else he's going to do to punish you while he drags your frame upwards.

-

Frankly the only reason Ratchet doesn't snap before Prowl is because he took measures to try and keep you safe from him. Which was limiting his interactions with you unless absolutely necessary. Which was working- to a degree. Ratchet keeps thinking about you and the few interactions have left his frame hot and his engine wanting to rev. It's getting harder for Ratchet to continue to convince himself to leave the room when you enter- and then you walk right into the medbay and Ratchet has no where to go- you see him and walk right up to him- and Hoist is off base and he's not gonna be able to handle this- and you'd come in with a visible limp so Ratchet can't just kick you out without seeing you. (He should! He should do just that-) And you ask if Ratchet can realign your leg pivot.

That was simple- Ratchet should be able to do that at least... So you're lying back on the medical slab and Ratchet has a hold of your leg and his other servo is on your pelvis and he just- Ratchet pushed up and to the left and feels your leg realign and you audibly groan in relief. Ratchet found himself staring at how your plating all slacked after the action. And Ratchet takes much too long to realize he hadn't moved from his position and still had your leg propped up. His other servo still on your pelvis' when you're on your back looking up at him.

Ratchet needed to move now.

So Ratchet leans forward forcing your other leg to the side and his servo reaches for your throat- and you stop but you don't panic because you trust him- (He was your medic of course you trusted him-) and one of the multi tools in his digits zapped you right in the throat. Your own sound of surprise is cut sort because Ratchet just shorted your vocalizor. Your optics go wide, and you jerk backward and start trying to use your voice- but nothing comes out. And nothing would sound out of you for a few klicks. Ratchet realizes that whatever is seriously wrong with himself might not be fixable when Ratchets first thought is to feel bad for shorting your vocilizor- not because he might have hurt you. (Or because it's a gross violation of your trust-) But because now Ratchet won't be able to hear what sounds you'd make.

Ratchets yanking the manual release on your modesty panel and climbing up onto the medical slab too, and before he knows it- He's spiking you right then and there in the middle of the medbay. Ratchet savors the reaction of you arching off the medical slab, mouth open but no groan or moan to accompany it. Ratchet pulls back and re enters you slow and watches your valve open up to accommodate the girth of his spike. You grit your denta, and your own spike pressurizes properly, and Ratchet doesn't hesitate to grab it and stroke you off languidly. His grip tightening at your spike tip and giving you a gentle squeeze at the base every pump back down-

Your hips jerk against his own and his servo, and Ratchet actually feels gratified when your valve clenches down on him- (he shouldn't! He shouldn't! It was a basic reaction to him servicing your spike! Ratchet knows better!) Ratchet groans and starts snapping his hips and fragging you proper on the medical slab. His optics are trained on your faceplate- watching how your optics almost shuttered closed- your optical ridge furrowed. Your optics are as bright as he'd ever seen them. Your mouth closes and opens with no sound coming out of you still- Ratchet really wishes he hadn't shorted your vocalizor! Ratchet needed to hear what sound you'd make right now- how you'd sound taking his spike- how you'd sound overloading on his spike- How you'd sound begging for him-

Your spike throbs in his servo, and the only sounds out of you are the slick sounds of your pre lubrant in his servo and your valve when Ratchet bottomed out inside you. You arch against Ratchet, and he jerks your spike in quick pumps and watches you overload all over your chassis and on his spike. Ratchet then rushed forward and locked his derma against your own. His glossia lapping against yours while he snapped his hips. And Ratchet overloads right in your valve while sucking on your glossia.

Ratchet pulls away from the messy kiss and huffs in heavy vents. You're venting harsh, and in the middle of your soundless vents, your vocalizor resets, and Ratchet can suddenly hear your quiet cursing. Ratchet rolls his hips, and you audibly keen- your valve twitching around his spike. Primus- Ratchet was going to need to hear how you sounded overloading on his spike a second time... and maybe a third and maybe a fourth-

Ratchet uses his credentials to lock the medbay door via his HUD and then sends a message about closing the medbay temporally.

-

Optimus is suffering. He's suffering. He is suffering! He has not known peace since his infatuation with you. And he's not known sanity since he's noticed how even more tantalizing you suddenly seemed to be. But Optimus may look- even though he has to yank his gaze away. And Optimus may fantasize- even though he doesn't let himself indulge in those thoughts. Optimus does not "snap." He may be suffering and wound terribly taunt, but you didn't need to suffer because Optimus was a filthy pervert- this was his problem, not your own! (A prime example and the only bot on earth who keeps it together yandere or not!)

Then you're in his office for something, and you ask to examine his desk- and Optimus is confused about why you would possibly need to examine his desk? But like most things involving you, he finds he can't deny you the simple request, and Optimus scoots his chair back to allow you in front of him. And then you promptly sit down right in his lap!? A startled sound escapes Optimus and his servos hover right over your frame. You're on his modesty panel- and you say you didn't think Optimus were this dense. Dense about what exactly?!

And then you admit it. Admit that you'd been purposely teasing Optimus- because you wanted him to proposition you?! Then Optimus's servos fly onto your hips when you rock on his lap. And you tell him he can throw you out If he isn't interested- and Optimus can't let you assume that so his panel is pulling back and he's pulling you upwards so his spike can pressurize correctly. The sound of just your own panel pulling back excites Optimus much more than he'd imagine it would.

Optimus's digits find your array quick, and he vents when he can feel how your valve is already wet and your spike pressurizes in no time at all. And then you ask if he wants to spike you and Optimus abruptly realizes he hadn't asked he'd just assumed you'd be willing to take his spike- After scolding himself a bit for getting caught up in his own needs- wants, Optimus asks if you'd rather spike him. Optimus's engine purrs in his chassis when you say you wanna get spiked by him right now.

Optimus has to take his time prepping you- he has to, his spike is admittedly rather large. By the time he gets two digits down to his knuckle in your valve you're squirming and making all sorts of noise in his lap- and every sweet sound out of you is going right to Optimus's spike and he's dripping pre lubricant on himself- But Optimus just savors every little reaction he gets out of you while opening you up for himself- and then he believes you'll be fine at least taking half his spike. And you're asking him to spike you, and he can't deny you when you want him almost as badly as he needs you. It's a task and then some but you've got at least half of Optimus's spike in your valve and Optimus figures he should show you how much he wants you- Show you what you'd wanted from him with all of your teasing.

Optimus starts fragging you up and down his length (it doesn't matter if you're in his frame class or maybe even bigger he's strong and he's using his matrix enhanced strength to frag you down his spike like a toy.) And Primus you feel amazing squeezing around his length so perfectly- and every noise out of you is music to his audials. Optimus is muttering praises and cooing over how darling your expression is while he's stuffing your valve with all you can take of him. (If you're big enough/trained enough that Optimus can actually bottom out inside you, he's groaning hard. And his engine revs loud.)

Optimus's em field brushes flush against you, and he's telling you how good you're being for him. His spike throbs when your optics noticeably brighten under the attention. (Sweet - you were so sweet for him-) And he starts pulling you down his spike faster and faster- You overload on his spike with a groan, and Optimus follows right after. His spike throbbing and pumping thick amounts of filling transfluid into you. His transfluid starts spilling out of your valve and into his own lap.

Stars- you were amazing...

It takes a few klicks, but eventually, Optimus shifts you up and then drops you back down again. Optimus can't help but enjoy the sight of how your spinal strut arches and how you squeeze down on him. When you question him, Optimus points out how you'd wanted this- all your hard work of teasing him was for this- so Optimus was going to make sure you were satisfied. Completely and utterly.

Was it selfish and almost completely for Optimus's own desire? Yes. But Optimus felt justified being just a touch mean to you. Especially when you'd been purposely making Optimus stress over, apparently nothing for multiple cycles. He's just- punishing you a bit. He was justified doing that. Now, wasn't he? Optimus wondered exactly how much he should punish you- but he guessed he could decide when he got there how much was too much for you, now couldn't he.

Optimus was going to make sure you were satisfied enough that you'd never try and tease him like you had again. He could do that much for you at least.

(Spoilers but Optimus frags you so hard, and so many times your frame ends up entering a forced stasis to recover.)

[beloveds-embrace]

Omg the dukedom sick reader was amazing. I'm so addicted I just love the thought that they are now realizing how far the relationship with the reader has gone. Will the reader recover? If they do, will the wound (is it on the leg?) be a constant reminder (if its something noticeable, like limp when they walk?) to the guys of what they did.

I really like the fact you put Kyle's perspective in there, how do you think the rest of the guys will react to the reader. Idk I just image a pale, malnourished person. Their face having dark circles around the eyes and just a somewhat sunken in face because of the fact they weren't eating.

How do you think the guys will try and make it up to the reader? I feel as if after that experience of being left in their room to rot, basically, they would want to be outside more, not in the manor. I see John having like a HUGE conservatory or greenhouse of plants that he used to visit just not anymore and just has his workers take care of all that with a courtyard.

I'm sorry for putting a lot

- 🐸

@nes-kopi Thanks to all of you!! I combined the answer to these all together because they are pretty much in the same wavelength, i hope no one mind 😔 linking still doesn’t work otherwise i would be linking the masterlist ueueueueue dukedom masterlist au first part

The manor was eerily quiet, but not the kind of quiet that soothed. It was oppressive, heavy, pressing against you like a weight you can’t shake. The warmth of the fire in your chambers, the softness of the freshly laundered sheets, the smell of fresh flowers arranged by the maids who now came by regularly- it all felt like a mockery. A sharp contrast to the months of cold, desolate silence that had left you here: numb, broken, and hollow.

The room was silent, save for the faint creak of wood under your weight as you shifted on the bed. The prosthetic, heavy and foreign, rested against the edge, and you stared at it with a detached sort of hatred. It wasn’t the prosthetic itself; it was what it symbolized- what you had lost, what they had taken from you without even trying.

Your body ached constantly, even after so long spent under the doctors’ care.

Your heart ached more.

The warmth of the room now- the fire, the clean sheets, the gentle glow of the afternoon sun streaming through the newly opened curtains- did nothing to thaw the frost that has made itself a home in your chest.

They were trying now. Oh, they were trying. Even if they couldn’t bring themselves to look at you in the eye anymore, though you weren’t surprised; you look… horrific. You’ve been avoiding the mirror on purpose for a good while now.

You aren’t sure what is worse; the way they ignored you before or the way they hover now.

Every step you took was a struggle. The prosthetic leg strapped to your stump was heavy and awkward, the chafing unbearable at times. Its mere existence, its mere need, alone was enough to make you balk more often than not.

But you refused their help.

When Simon silently appeared at your side during your attempts to navigate the stairs, you waved him off. When Johnny offered his arm to steady you as you crossed the garden, you shook your head. When Kyle insisted on helping you carry things, you snapped at him to leave you be. You were trying to not rot away again, yet they were making it incredibly bothersome.

And John… John lingered the most, his piercing gaze trailing after you like a shadow. His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it, his every word laced with regret. A tone never, in your entire life, aimed at you.

You wondered if he was sincere. You wondered if it even mattered if he was.

“Let me help you, Duchess.” he said one morning, watching as you struggled to tighten the straps of your prosthetic. You have not called for any help from the maids or anyone even if they lingered, and you weren’t about to ask help from him of all people.

König would’ve helped-

“I don’t need your help.” you bit out sharply, your fingers trembling as they worked against the stubborn leather. You refuse to depend on him, especially for this. Why would you trust him, or any of them, after everything?

His jaw tightened, and he knelt before you, his large hands carefully prying yours away. “Please,” he said, his voice cracking. For once, he wasn’t a presence larger than life. “Let me. Just this once.”

Your instinct was to pull away, to snarl that it was too little, too late. But the exhaustion won. You sat back in the chair, your arms limp at your sides, and let him finish securing the straps. You wished you could feel anything except for the numbness and misery that has been clouding you for so long, but you couldn’t.

His hands were gentle, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverence that made your chest ache.

Why did it take this much for them to care?-

They tried, in their own ways, to make amends.

Johnny started bringing meals directly to you, ones that catered to your preferences. He’d sit quietly at the edge of the room, cracking jokes or humming soft tunes, never leaving until you’d taken at least a few bites. The plates are always so well-decorated, the food so well cooked, not a single spot burnt or undercooked.

Kyle began organizing the staff, ensuring your chambers were kept warm and your belongings were arranged just how you liked them. He even replaced the stiff linens with softer ones and left books on your bedside table that he thought you might enjoy. You touched none of them.

Simon never said much, but his presence was almost constant. He became your silent sentinel, appearing whenever you struggled, watching over you from a distance. He didn’t speak often, but his eyes held a kind of quiet guilt that spoke louder than words but you decided that just this once, you’ll defean your ears.

And John…

John was everywhere. He lingered outside your door at night, the faint creak of the floorboards betraying his pacing. He watched you with an intensity that made your skin crawl, not out of fear but because you couldn’t reconcile this man with the one who had left you to rot. You had nothing to say to him. You barely had the strength to refuse his help attempts already.

The days blurred together, each one a series of numb moments punctuated by pain. The servants were more attentive now even without Kyle, but you couldn’t bear their pitying looks. The maids still whispered, though the words had changed:

Poor thing. How awful.

You avoided them all.

The manor felt smaller somehow, its walls closing in no matter where you went. You found solace in the gardens- when the weather allowed and you had the strength to navigate the terrain. The cold didn’t bother you anymore; it was the one constant, a reminder that you were still alive, still breathing. Unfortunately.

They watched from the windows sometimes, their gazes following as you limped across the grounds. You didn’t acknowledge them.

Something in you broke when the doctor told you you had to stop those trips for now, for your own health. Like the miserable thing you are, he didn’t even say it to you- but to John. Told him not to let you dilly dally around.

That very same night, after you’d spent hours pushing yourself to the brink- trying to walk farther, faster, to prove you could, even as the prosthetic left your stump raw and aching anew- you collapsed into bed, trembling with exhaustion.

You thought you were alone.

The tears came before you could stop them, hot and bitter as they slid down your cheeks. Pain radiated through your leg, your shoulders, your back. But worse was the weight in your chest- the overwhelming suffocation of it all.

You buried your face in your pillow, trying to muffle the sobs that wracked your body. You didn’t hear the door creak open, didn’t see John standing there, frozen in the doorway.

He stayed there, his fists clenched at his sides, listening to your muffled weeping. His chest ached with the knowledge that this was his doing; that every single tear, every shuddering breath, was because of him and the others.

When your cries finally quieted, exhaustion lulling you to a peace-less sleep, he stepped back, closing the door as silently as he’d opened it.

Several days later, he personally led you outside.

You didn’t ask where you were going; you didn’t have the energy. When the massive glass conservatory came into view, you stopped, your breath catching in your throat. Were those… your favorite flower as well?

“I had this built for you,” John said, his voice low, hesitant. “I thought… after everything, you might want a place of your own. Somewhere to breathe.” Somewhere you can stay and walk around in.

The conservatory was beautiful, filled with lush greenery, colorful flowers, and a gentle bubbling fountain at its center. The glass walls let in streams of sunlight, and the air inside was warm and fragrant. This must’ve been in the process for a while now.

You stepped inside, your prosthetic clinking softly against the stone floor, yet you didn’t hear it. The beauty of the place was overwhelming, almost unbearably so.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you said, your voice trembling. It didn’t, truthfully. It didn’t bring your leg back, it didn’t wash away the dark cloud clinging to you. It didn’t wash away the pain.

“I know,” John murmured, his gaze fixed on the ground. His shoulders were slumped. “But it’s a start. You deserve something… beautiful. Better. The gardens brought you peace, and I can hope that this does the same.”

You turned to find Johnny, Simon, and Kyle standing behind him, their expressions a mixture of hope and guilt.

“We’ll keep trying,” Kyle added softly.

You stared at them, your chest tight, the weight of your pain and exhaustion threatening to crush you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you.” you whispered.

“We don’t expect you to,” Simon’s voice was quiet. “But we’re not going anywhere. We’ll be here for you regardless.”

“…don’t expect this to change anything.”

John’s voice was so painfully soft, but you didn’t notice. You were limping towards the flowers, gait uneven but determined. “I don’t.”

That night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the memory of the conservatory lingered. It was a reminder of what could have been—of what you might have had if they had tried sooner.

You still didn’t trust them.

But part of you, the part that still remembered what hope felt like, wanted to.

[michuga]

see both sides like chanel

summary: your best friend, jeongguk, has only ever dated boys. unbeknownst to you, (he was also into girls).

pairing: jeongguk x fem reader

content: best friends to lovers, sexual tension, fluff, reader is a little absentminded, jk is a damn tease

warnings: cursing, (it gets steamy)

wc: 2k

you and jeongguk have been friends for the past seven years.

jeongguk has only ever dated boys.

does that a gay man make? no! of course not, you knew this. it is the big year of 2025 after all. sexuality is a spectrum; and you were never one to judge.

leaning in, jeongguk brushes his lips against yours.

and that's how you ended up kissing your very gay best friend.

or, not? i guess?

you don't know if it was because he was your best friend; instantly crossed off as a potential lover in your mind anyway, or because he was always sporting a new shiny boy toy every couple of weeks. or the crop tops he wore all throughout high school. or the sexy fireman posters plastered all over his dorm room walls in college! either way; you never would have expected to end up bent over on his couch on a random tuesday afternoon.

but one thing is for sure.

you were stupid.

oh so very stupid.

you're probably wondering how you got here.

well, let me walk you through it.

it all started with an incident that happened a few months ago.

your best friend, jeongguk, was on your bed, ranting to you about his new fling.

"i can't believe i ever thought jimin and i could work," he complains.

grabbing the hem of your blouse, you lift it up and off your body, tossing it across your room.

left in your black lacy bra, you scour your closet for something to wear.

a minute or so passes, and you finally notice the silence that falls upon the room. you turn around to find him visibly preoccupied, going through his phone.

"you were saying..?" you tap his shoulder.

clearing his throat he continues, maintaining eye contact with his phone, "i just don't think he's the one for me. he's too.. flaky?"

you've always found it adorable how jeongguk got shy at times like these. it's been seven years and he has remained ever the gentleman, never taking advantage of your friendship or abusing the amount of trust you put in him. you never had reason to doubt him anyway, it's not like you were exactly his... type, per se.

"i agree, babe. you deserve way better than that," you say, returning to the agonizing task at hand; finding an outfit amidst the chaos that is your closet.

finally picking one out, you hold up the hangers against your body, standing in front of your full length mirror to see how it would look on you.

"what do you think of this?" you ask, lost in thought.

"your black skirt would go along better," jeongguk mumbles from your bed.

"right? i thought so too." putting the hangers down, you bend over to grab said skirt from your bottom drawer.

from an outside perspective, one could consider you shameless.

from jeongguk's perspective, he found you amusing.

and from your perspective.. well, the most complicated thought in your mind right now was putting together a damn outfit.

an hour later, you and jeongguk sit at your table eating the brunch he cooked you, catching up on your busy lives; as was your routine together.

"and this girl i was fooling around with at the time-"

your brain short circuits.

"come again?"

"what?"

"sorry, i thought you said girl." you say with a dismissive laugh, "imagine that."

"i did." he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows and an amused smile.

the entirety of your coffee is wasted in your spit take.

you wish you were exaggerating.

cleaning up the mess you made on the table, you backtrack.

"you like girls???"

"..yes?"

looking at him suspiciously, you scramble to find your words. you didn't want to offend him, but he had caught you very off guard.

"did you think i was gay?" he asks, with a raise of his eyebrows, fully dumbfounded this time.

"i've just.. you've always.. i've only ever seen you with guys?"

"well yeah, those are just the ones i've encountered, i guess."

"you're telling me we've been friends for the past seven years, and i'm just finding this out now?"

"damn. when you put it that way, you sound like a real bad friend, you know," he says with a chuckle, casually gulping down the rest of his coffee.

oh. oh.

helikesgirls

helikesgirlsandhe'sseenyounaked

helikesgirlsandhe'sseenyounakedonmultipleoccasions

with a small smirk and a tilt of his head, he gets up and walks up to you. "don't worry, you're still not my type." he whispers in your ear.

"if you need me, i'll be with the community dick!" he yells out as he walks away, taking your dignity and your pride with him; the last of it escaping with the final click of your apartment door.

"god how stupid am i?" you complain, rather dramatically, to your other best friend, hoseok. "i mean, how could i just blatantly assume he was gay? what if i made him uncomfortable before and he never told me? i'm a terrible friend!" flailing your arms, you ignore the dirty looks from onlookers passing by.

"i'm sure if you had made him uncomfortable, he would have told you. this is jeongguk we're talking about? are you trying to tell me he has any sort of filter?" he jokes, trying to cheer you up.

repeatedly bumping your head into the wall in front you, you surrender to the sea of embarrassment you found yourself drowning in.

"you should have seen my face. as if i wasn't stupid enough already, i made things awkward and rethought every interaction we've ever had, like, right in front of him. you could literally see the gears turning in my brain. i probably looked like a bloated pufferfish blowing bubbles. stupid, stupid, stupid," you repeatedly smack yourself in the face.

"wait. you're gay though, right??" you ask, suddenly feeling as insecure as ever.

"yes babe, i came out to you in the 12th grade. still as straight as rupaul." he says with a chuckle, finding your meltdown completely adorable.

reaching behind you, he takes hold of your seatbelt and fastens it.

you can't help but burn bright red. what the fuck is wrong with you? what ever changed? he's still jeongguk. your jeongguk. the same jeongguk whose clothes you helped clean from vomit, after he got drunk one too many times back in college?

you feel like ripping all your hair out.

maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

jeongguk had picked you up from work, and you were on your way to his place to hang out, as usual.

"so it's either that or fried chicken.. what do you think?"

"huh?"

"i said what do you want to order??"

"oh.. anything is fine, thanks," you say awkwardly, clearing your throat.

"okay then?" he says as he starts the car.

a few hours later and the evening was going smoothly. perhaps too smoothly.

mishaps forgotten, you and your best friend sit in his living room, eating, laughing, and watching desperate housewives. just as you always have been for years.

"i'm gonna go get us some more drinks," you say as you get up, making your way over to his kitchen.

"he's such an idiot," you mumble to yourself as you chuckle, remembering the joke jeongguk had cracked a minute prior.

initially you open the fridge to check for beer, but there wasn't any; so you resort to plan B: the fancy wine he stores in his top cupboard.

you stand on your tiptoes and extend your arm up, trying to reach the wine bottle.

suddenly you feel a prescence behind you. last time you checked, brick walls can't move. so if 1+1 equals 2; then warmth, musky vanilla and hard equals jeongguk.

you see a bigger arm reach up and get the job done. "here, let me."

"thanks.." and just like that, the strange feeling is back.

you knew there was no way the evening could go smoothly. no, you're never that lucky.

pulling away, jeongguk pops open the wine bottle, pouring crimson liquid in two glasses.

you jump up to sit on the kitchen counter.

"have you picked out an outfit for the gathering yet?" he asks, taking a sip of his wine.

"nope," you say with a sigh, shoulders slumped in defeat. "it seems like everything i try doesn't look as good on me as i imagine in my head."

"but everything looks good on you, doll."

"are you putting the moves on me, jeon?" you say, jokingly; waiting for him to laugh along.

inching closer, closer, closer.. he stops and situates himself between your legs.

"and what if i am?" he mutters with a deep hushed voice. "am i making you nervous?" mere inches between your faces laced with thick, undeniable tension. he dare not raise his voice a single octave; for that could ruin the intimacy of it all.

whether it was something in the air or the liquor in both your systems, something between you had shifted.

this was not your gay best friend.

this was someone much more dangerous.

"we really.. really shouldn't.." voice barely above a whisper, you manage to let out with every remaining ounce of self-control you have. a feather light hand on his chest, you fruitlessly attempt to push him away; physically melting into his touch instead.

grabbing your hand, he holds it in his.

"do you have any idea how batshit crazy you drove me all those times, stripping half naked right in front of me?" he starts, voice raspy and full of need, slowly tracing his finger along your thigh, going up, up.. "mindlessly running your mouth, bending over in your tiny panties.. when all i wanted to do was bend you over myself, and put you in your place? my best friend of seven years, assuming my sexuality.. tsk tsk.."

ghosting a hand over your throat, he firmly grips your chin, lifting your head up to meet his gaze.

"do you want me to show you.." with a sinister smirk he breathes into your ear, "just how much i love women?"

your breath catches in your throat.

it was at that moment he leaned forward and crashed his lips against yours, closing the gap between you.

78% nitrogen and 21% oxygen in the atmosphere, but right in this very room and in this very moment; it's 100% you, jeongguk, and your breathless pants. a different third gas; the kind that smells like blurring the lines between you and your best friend. potentially damning a solid friendship, and throwing years down the drain. not 1% was spared for rationale.

both of you are forced separate, bound by your human bodies, in need of air.

ravenous, you grab his shirt collar and shoved him right against your face, devouring his lips once more.

with a groan, his free hand grabs your calf, hitching your leg against his hip. you wrap it around his waist, while the other hangs low; your heels hanging poorly on your foot and finally dropping to the floor with a clank.

both of you move rhythmically at first, then it gets sloppy; a sense of urgency overwhelming you. your lips move together with hurry, adrenaline coursing through your body; as if replacing the very blood that flows through your veins. chasing his lips, you just about swallow him whole.

not that he minds, he seems adamant on doing the exact same.

tangling your fingers in his hair, you angle your head better to ensure your prey is perfectly trapped. an act of cannibalism.

it was primal in the most natural way, finally letting go after an entire night of need and clouded lust.

"mm'not.. here," you mumble in between kisses.

finally picking you up and wrapping both your legs around his waist, he wastes no time leading you to the nearest surface he could find. well, as good as he can see, anyway.

and that's the story of how you hooked up with your bisexual best friend.

you learned the hard way.

[mediacircuspod]

This scene was absolutely beautiful BUT it’s also the crux of the issue. You guys this is where the problems start. Because—because Crowley’s already cast out, he finds COMFORT in the idea that they are lonely together. “As far as he can” becoming “as far as they can” is an END to his complete “otherness” and something to appreciate, to covet, and to find solace in. He’s finally not alone.

But—and this is important.

Aziraphale does NOT feel that. He can’t.

This moment is completely and utterly devastating for Zira. He finds out he’s not damned and sure, he’s relieved. But he’s no longer “an Angel” in the way that he’s learned is right. He’s now unchangeably and forever; less holy—a concept that is dearly important to his identity. “[Going] along with heaven as far as he can” is a FAILING on his part. Not heaven’s(at least to him). There is no solace or comfort—he finds existence like that—just the two of them—achingly LONELY. And that’s just how his perspective demands to be taken. It’s the only perspective he is capable of in that moment AND after it, too.

Take into account Crowley has went from having no one AT ALL to having SOMEONE. And he puts EVERYTHING he has into it. This is not good. It’s unfair to Aziraphale. And it’s unfair to himself. On the opposite side, you have Aziraphale. Who has just went from having the ENTIRE HEAVENLY HOST, to having this SINGLE demon— who, one minute ago, Aziraphale thought would be dragging him off to hell.

And the part that aches is that this perspective hasn’t changed. Aziraphale feels like his existence is lacking because he wants so badly to be GOOD. And good is Holy. Good is heavenly. He’s the problem for having morals that are misaligned.

Spoilers for the last episode:

Aziraphale has just been given the validation that he is not only GOOD but the most HEAVENLY Angel there is, the Supreme Archangel, even. And if heavens morals are now HIS morals, then that’s EVERY PROBLEM SOLVED. With a bow even, because Crowley’s basically on heavens side anyway, he’s GOOD, isn’t he? He’s been good this whole time, so why wouldn’t heaven want him back? Reinstating him as Angel would fix everything. They can be together, and they can be good, and they can be HOLY. All Aziraphale’s conflicting emotions about loving Crowley can be packed away because Crowley will be perfect again—and surely Crowley wants to be perfect—wants to be forgiven.(sorry everyone, that hurt me too, oof) Aziraphale is SHOCKED by Crowley’s refusal. He’s devastated that his version of perfect is treated as something naive and distasteful.

Crowley’s devastated too. He’s just lost “their side”. A concept that for 5000+ years has been THE ONLY THING he puts love into besides his car and perhaps his plants(And humanity, but he’ll never admit to that—I’m looking at the “No more dying” scene). Crowley is constantly being devastated by Aziraphale. He’s “too fast”, he’s too evil, he’s too good sometimes. Crowley has always been TOO MUCH. But this is different because for four years, he’s had “them”(on their own side) without the hiding, and without the denial and without Aziraphale constantly putting former jobs between them. PLUS he has a mountain of trauma centered around the concept of “forgiveness”, so that’s not great considering Aziraphale’s last words to him(THAT HE HASNT SAID ALL SEASON EVEN WHEN HE MADE CROWLEY APOLOGIZE IN THE FIRST EPISODE, AHHHHH). He’s losing everything and he’s desperate: Why isn’t he enough, hasn’t he been enough these last 4 years? Hasn’t HE been enough the last 6000?

Aziraphale has always been enough for Crowley. But being enough for Crowley doesn’t fix how Aziraphale has never been enough for himself, not since Job. He looks at this offer as a chance for HIM to be enough, and for Crowley to be FORGIVEN. Crowley looks at it as a betrayal because it’s Aziraphale saying Crowley ISNT enough, and he NEVER has been.

But that’s not what Aziraphale is saying. He’s saying, “Let me fix it for you”. Crowley is hearing, “Let me fix you for it.” Two completely different and completely horrifying concepts.

And then Crowley needs to say HIS piece(oh my gosh, btw, this was heartbreaking).

“Let’s be together on our terms” is basically what I’ve distilled it down to. But Aziraphale hears, “Let’s run away from our problems”

Aziraphale doesn’t want to run away, and Crowley doesn’t want to change who he is.

They both want to be together so badly but they don’t understand why they each want it so differently. And Aziraphale can’t compromise because he’s brainwashed and LOATHES himself. And Crowley can’t compromise because he’s traumatized and LOVES Aziraphale just as he is. Crowley doesn’t want to be good on heavens terms. He can see Heaven for what it is; “toxic”. He hates heaven not only for what the Host did to him, but for HOW THEY TREATED Aziraphale.

They both don’t understand each other because for all the pleading and presenting and monologuing, they never once in that whole conversation, actually talked.

[456-is-the-way]

A/N: Hello everyone it has been a while since I have done any sort of fanfiction. I want to try and get back in the groove for this new year. There are so many fandoms I want to write for. I want to try and get all my drafts and inbox requests cleared out by June but who knows if that will happen. Right now I will focus on them one at a time. But for now I want to focus a bit on Squid Game since the new episode just released. This will be a two part fanfiction.

PART 2 IS UP

Squid Game Masterlist

Triggers: Mention of death, Gore (part 2), smoking, alcohol use, age gap (reader is 25 , Seong is 50,) and SMUT (PART 2)

Seong Gi- Hun x Reader

Game of Hearts pt.1

Seong Gi- Hun had his heart, mind, and soul set on finding the person who currently ran the Squid Game. He needed to find not only their leader but the island he was sent to in hopes of stopping the horrid games once and for all. His first step was to find the salesman who recruited him. Gi- Hun needed a team searching everyday for signs of this recruiter, and with his money he could afford anyone he desires. That is how (Y/n) (L/n) landed an invitation from Gi- Hun to discuss a partnership. Doing his research on possible hires, her name somehow kept finding its way to the top of his list. (Y/n) (L/n) came from an international family who of course aren't exactly on the right side of the law. Gi- Hun normally would not converse with people such as this but he needed someone discreet. It is possible this foreigner may be just the thing he needed to give a different perspective, and if they were caught it wouldn't connect back to him.

Gi- Hun sat patiently waiting for (Y/n) to arrive. His leg bounced nervously as the anticipation continued to grow. He was eager to get his mission started and this was only the first step in his plan. So many doubts ran through his mind. Everything that happened, all the friends lost, and worst of all the betrayals. A gentle knock at the door instantly grabbed his attention. “You may enter.” He spoke in a monotone voice. A cricking sound echoed in the room as (Y/n) entered. Now Gi- Hun had seen many beautiful foreigners in his life but this woman took his breath away. A feeling was rekindling he never thought possible again especially with how things ended with his ex wife whom Gi- Hun used to harbor feelings for. (Y/n) was a decent height, not taller than he was. Her sharp (e/c) eyes had been the first thing that captivated him. A look someone in power gave and it made him almost fall to his knees in front of her. (Y/n) held her head high taking a seat in front of him. She crossed her legs elegantly ready for business. Suddenly his lips were dry he quickly wets them taking a breath in.

“Are you just going to sit there and sweat all over the place or talk business?” Her tone that made him hang off every word spoken.

Gi- Hun nods,” Forgive me. I am looking for someone and I believe your team has the skill set needed to help.”

“Sure, do you have a picture of this suspect? Do you want them dead or alive?” (Y/n) got straight to the point.

“No I don’t have a picture but I can describe him, maybe even draw a reference up, but I do need him alive. This man is very dangerous. I didn't plan to go into detail about him. I do think you need to know what I have been through…” Gi- Hun then goes into details about how the salesman looked and tells her the synopsis of his time in the Squid Games. In honesty he simply needed to vent to some who might listen. Like any normal person of course her facial expressions changed throughout the entire hour he spent rambling on. Just as she was about to call him a lunatic and storm out for wasting her time Gi- Hun pulled out a case of money. The sum only one could achieve if his story was true. He looked like a desperate man needing someone, anyone to believe him.

“I’m in.” Those are the words that sealed their fate.

_1 Year Later_

The first year was rough for Gi- Hun who struggled with no progress. The pressure built on his shoulders as (Y/n)’s team searched. No leads, signs, or any traces of this guy or any others recruiting for their sadistic game. He is currently lighting a cigarette leaning back in his chair. It was time for (Y/n)'s weekly update. She walked into the room. The once stone cold eyes now turn soft seeing Gi- Huns distress. It was easy to notice he was worked up, especially today because it happened to be the ‘anniversary’ of him winning the games.

(Y/n) had also opened up with Gi- Hun the older man constantly turned to her for conversation. Normally she would dismiss clients' interests in becoming more than just professional partners… However this man , using those sad puppy looks made her professional code crumble after the first 3 months. Today Gi- Hun started their normal conversation about who went where and searched what stations including all the evidence of their searches that had been submitted via picture. (Y/n) in the middle of their debriefing took a bold step behind Gi- Hun’s desk gently placing both of her soft hands on his shoulders. At first he tensed up, unsure of her movements. Little by little her hands began to move , rubbing his shoulders.

“What…why are you doing this?” His voice shakes from the amount of relaxation he was drifting into. She chuckled at his response and applied more pressure at the base of his neck earning a moan. “You are trying to kill me aren't you?”

“Gi- Hun if I wanted to kill you and take all of your money I would have done so already. But I wouldn’t ever think of doing that. After meeting you nothing feels the same… I want to meet more than once a week. I can see this is tearing you apart. You have been at this for a year… we may not have much progress… but I know destiny brought us together and it's just begun. I won’t leave your side.” She could not stop as her heart took over.

Gi- Hun is speechless gazing up into her large (e/c) eyes that sparkle in the dim light of this run down hotel. “It's dangerous, I am dangerous. All the people that were killed… I hated that I even got you involved… you are the closest friend I have made in a very long time.”

Friend… just like that her world crumbles this whole time she had only been a friend to Gi- Hun and nothing more? All the late nights thinking of him. How (Y/n) casually would scroll through their texts… Each sweet compliment or kind gesture from Gi- Hun meant nothing but… friendship… (Y/n) refused to let her emotions show now.

“Yeah, what are friends for! I know you would do the same for me if the roles were reversed… or at least I would hope so.” She felt her cheeks warm up as he stood gazing down at her. Gi- Hun pulled her into a hug needing more physical contact. (Y/n) quickly embraces him as well, feeling the need to act as if this was no more than a friendship.

“I don't know what I would do without you.” He whispered. It was breaking Gi- Hun to tell her this was nothing more than a friendship because he craved more. But he didn't need to put a target on her back. If she got caught up in these horrid games… if they killed her… Gi- Hun wouldn't be able to move on.

“I should get going. I have some more paths to lay out with my men. They need to know where to head for next week.” (Y/n) pulled back, turning to leave.

Gi- Hun grabbed the small of her forearm, “Wait! How about we get some drinks tomorrow. It's an off day… I would really like to treat you… Come here and I’ll take you somewhere nice… as professional friends of course!” It took a moment for her to respond properly, she had to make sure her voice did not waver, not in front of him anymore.

“Yeah I would love that. How does around noon sound?” She asked after receiving a confirmation from Gi- Hun (Y/n) left returning to her apartment tossing herself in the bed with a sigh. Why is she putting herself through this? The desire to cancel this meetup was close but she had to see him… She craves Seong Gi- Hun.

-To Be Continued.

[kkayyerr]

Little girls don’t smoke.

Summary: Rafe catching little!reader smoking with Pogues. He isn’t very pleased about that, but he know how to deal with her.

Warnings: Age regression, dark!Rafe, manipulations, slightly forced regression, smoking.

„C’mon, he won’t find out!”

 

Kiara said, giving you a cigarette. You have never smoked before, and you were pretty unsure if you wanted to try. But Pogues were almost insisting; they wanted to see your reaction to the first cigarette, and they also wanted you to finally break free from your overprotective boyfriend. They were happy that you had sneaked out to hang out with them, and they wanted to remind you about your past lifestyle at least a little bit. 

You took a cigarette from the Kiara’s hands and put it in your mouth, frowning at the bitter taste. You coughed when the smoke filled up your lungs, but you had to admit that there was something addicting in that process. Though you were resisting to take another puff. 

 

„You know he’s always smoking, right?”

 

Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow. They didn’t know about your regression, and from their perspective, it was looking like an abusive relationship. They didn’t know that you needed his care, and sometimes you also you needed his control, even if you won’t ever admit it. You nodded, quickly folding under all the pressure and taking another puff, when you heard a loud cough behind you. You knew it was him. 

Rafe didn’t say anything. He just silently approached you, taking a cigarette from your trembling hands. He took a long puff before giving it back to Kiara. He was trying not to show any emotions, but his clenching jaw was betraying him.

Rafe was not happy about that. At all.

 

„It was nice to see you, folks, but we’re going home.”

 

Rafe wasn’t feeling like fighting with them right now. He needed to deal with you going against his rules first. He grabbed your arm roughly, almost enough to make it hurt, but you kept your mouth shut, knowing that anything you’d say would trigger him even more. When he had finally dragged inside the house, he silently commanded you to go upstairs and wait for him, and you did as you were told. You knew that he needed a couple of minutes to calm down, so he won’t freak out. Every minute felt like eternity, and when he finally entered the room, you sighed with a small relief. You saw that his expression softened a little bit, as he was trying his best to remain calm. 

 

„Who gave it to you?”

 

Rafe broke the silence immediately, making you even more anxious. His voice didn’t sound angry or upset; it seemed like he was curious about the whole situation. You didn’t want to betray Pogues by blaming your actions on them, but you also knew that they were partly responsible for that. 

 

„Kiara. But it’s my fault for taking it.” 

 

Rafe nodded, knowing that he would have a friendly chat with her later. But for now, his main priority was to make sure that you wouldn’t ever do stupid things like that again. He didn’t plan on punishing you. Why would he do that? The punishment would only have a temporary effect on you. He needed something that would last much longer than that.

He gently cupped your face with his hands; his thumb was caressing your cheek. Your gaze was already filled with naivety and with sincere devotion. It seemed like you were almost on your breaking point and he just had to push some buttons.

 

„Daddy isn’t mad at you, little one.”

 

He said, watching how quickly the anxiety look on your face turned into something else, something that only he could’ve caused, using the specific words that he knew for sure would trigger you enough to fall even deeper in the littlespace. He wanted you to regress even harder, so you won’t be able to take care of yourself and also won’t be able to sneak out or runaway from him like you did today. He needed you to need him. 

 

„I just care about you a lot, and they clearly don’t. I want you to understand that, baby.”

 

You nodded, even though you weren’t paying attention to his words. There were other things that made you feel so little. His gentle touches, soft voice, pet names. He just made you wish that you could’ve been small forever. But who said you couldn’t? You would be his little girl, always behaving and never leaving his side; isn’t that sound like an actual dream?

 

„You’re still Daddy’s little girl, yeah?”

 

The second he said that, your face was buried in his neck, and your hands were holding him tightly, demonstrating just how much you needed him. Rafe’s eyes closed as he was enjoying that peaceful moment. His little girl was here, with him, under his care and control. The pogues can call it abuse; they can call it whatever they want, but for both of you, it was an escape. Rafe was your savior, and you somehow became his. He slowly picked you up, so you would hold onto him more comfortably. 

 

„Do you want your pacifier?”

 

Rafe knew that he had won when, instead of words, he heard your quiet murmuring. 

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @rafecameronsloverrrrr @aew-regression-cove

[juniperdugong]

How silly

Pairing: Salaryman!Nanami x reader Genre: Romance, Fluff, Angst (?) CW: Heavily Suggestive but no real smut !!!MINORS DNI!!! WC: 4,269

A/N: Note, a Nomikai is like an after-work drinking party. Also...I'm back, lemme know if this is absolute shi- or not.

Despite his austere demeanor, Nanami Kento's house was rather cozy. There was enough space for himself and then some - when he's rather cold and calculative on the battlefield or behind a desk, his house remains warm and bright, inviting even.

Although, right now - to you, it was anything but.

You were leaning against the living room wall, your heart stirring with every sound Kento made in the kitchen. There were perfectly good and comfy seats to be taken on the couch but your nerves willed you to stand. You fiddled with your fingers and scanned the room - It wouldn't have been too long ago that you might've felt comfortable in this space, maybe even felt at home. But now it just served as a bitter reminder, one that Kento just had to bring up again.

"Take a seat, it's not like you to not make yourself at home." Nanami came in teasing you, all smiles as he brought in two mugs of tea - just the way you liked it, just the way that he remembered you liked it.

"I feel fine on the wall, Nanami." Your tone conveyed your nerves in a way that Nanami definitely disliked judging by the way you see his eye twitch slightly. You would be the first to talk casually but right now being formal was the one thing keeping that lump in your throat from forming.

"I thought we'd gotten past the formalities, y/n…" Disappointment rides over his face, he should be expecting this after how he acted in the office but it only makes his mood more sour. Sensing your apprehension he lightens up, "Right, sorry-", adjusting himself on the couch, he picks up one of the mugs and starts sipping, "Saw you've got a new assistant." He doesn't elaborate or even meet your eyes as he changes the subject.

"Nana-" He throws you a stare that makes you clear your throat, "Kento… what does me having a new assistant have to do with anyth-"

"Can I not have a good and well-mannered conversation with my co-worker?" He cuts you off, knowing what you're prodding him for but not giving in just yet.

"Not if that co-worker is me and anyways, I think officially speaking I'm your boss. Even more inappropriate." You nip at your fingernails before pulling your skirt down, "But that isn't even why we're really here."

He sets down his mug and gets up, your breath hitches at his movements and his gaze darkens at your trepidation - he approaches you slowly, "Let's not be like this, y/n.", it sounds like he's fed up with your attitude. You couldn't understand why he would be the one fed up in this situation but suddenly you can't control your breathing, chest rising up and down more and more rapidly as he stalks forward, the way the lighting hits him makes his shadow grow from your perspective- You feel like an animal being hunted and you're not sure if you like it. His eyes narrow as his imposing frame towers - caging you in.

"Kento, stop." You're stern as the pit in your stomach grows. And he pauses, shaking his head and chuckling before backing away and composing himself.

"I'm sorry- Sit. Please. I have a feeling we might take a while…" Acting as though he didn't just try to intimidate you he sits back down. Turning on the TV he drags out this moment of tension until you feel coerced to sit or else you'd get nowhere and you'd have come here for nothing.

---

Of course, it wasn't always like this. There was a point in time when his stalking was desired, lusted after, and in turn, he was fond of your seductive fawning & controlling side. Yours and Nanami's relationship was almost like a TV-perfect office romance/forbidden love trope. Both competing to get promotions, bickering in meetings to gain advantage & prestige, nothing more than idle talk about client meetings during work hours, and both equally as cold & uncaring in the eyes of everyone in the office.

After hours…now that was a different story altogether. What started as coincidentally meeting at the convenience store - both of you hammered after a night out to relieve stress - turned into much more. What neither of you would admit to calling an office crush twisted itself into love motel stops & Nomikai's that became routine for you two. Always claiming that "just one more night" would quell your desire for each other. It was almost toxic the way you wanted one another - how the frustration of the office during the day could be taken out on each other during the night.

But that relationship changed once you got promoted. You both had been up for the position for some time - having several meetings & being observed constantly - near continuous stress. Being so fiercely competitive you went at each other's throats, desperate to prove your worth to the company. Your nights out became back-to-back sessions of rough love-making that would end with tired eyes remembering the hostile environment you've both cultivated at the office that you would now have to return to in the morning.

When it was announced that you had gotten the position things began to shift. Of course, there was the relief of securing something earned through hard work & loyalty but looking Nanami in the eye became harder, as if through this your loyalty to him was in question. Over the next month your nomikai's together were less frequent, you were moved to the office one floor up so talking was rare now too - it all fizzled right at the climax. "How boring." Nanami thought.

Months passed and eventually, you lost all contact except for the occasional meeting or report. In a surprising turn of events, you got promoted again when the department head got fired as the new year came. This effectively made you Nanami's boss and once more your paths crossed with increased frequency.

Everything was really good. No longer colleagues and rivals, your relationship got better. You still felt the occasional guilt of climbing the corporate ladder faster than him, but it wasn't anything either of you could or would change at this point. You were able to make light conversation, the spark of the corrupted crush you had so long ago reigniting, but this time, more purely—more right.

You'd blush as you came into your office and saw a note with a coffee or breakfast sandwich next to it. Inside poetic waxing of 1-3 sentences often harping on "having a good day" & "gaining energy" from these lovely efforts. And at the end always signed "Ken."

Even the smallest efforts made your heart swell, as would anyone's given the circumstances and the man. Without needing physical intimacy there was a subtle tension, never negative, instead an electricity in the air that made the office feel more alive… Well, at least that's what you two would experience. Maybe this time you get off on the right foot and build up something real - although still heavily taboo between boss & employee. At least it would be a relationship bound by more than tenuous midnight moans & morning walks of shame.

---

At your height within the company, it would be stupid to take on menial tasks like running to the printer, confirming meeting times, and scheduling on-site appointments. Not too soon after your promotion, a peer advised you to get a full-time secretary or personal assistant. You had more than enough salary to pay someone, so why not? Less on your plate meant more time spent thinking about your personal life, something you couldn't afford to do before.

It didn't take long for young university hopefuls to come crawling out of the woodwork once you posted the job offer. Colleagues began being overly nice during work hours in hopes of buttering you up enough to mention a name of an underclassmen or relative. During this period, noticing the buzz around you Nanami came around less frequently in fear of being a bother but his presence made itself known in the refilled snack drawer by your desk and the organized documents that you had complained to him about over lunch. Eventually, you settled on a very nice young man who had good enough experience to not be a hassle to train but not too experienced to where your seniority felt pointless.

Sure enough, it made things much easier over the next week. Meetings went by more smoothly and you could contain work more strictly to office hours.

In your newfound free time, you often drifted to thinking about Kento and what your relationship was. You started to consider the thought of "liking" someone, of liking Nanami Kento seriously. How nice it would feel to go to dinner with him after work with no expectations of the night, of stealing kisses in the break room, of waking up next to someone and this time not rushing to gather your clothes from off the floor.

So, after a few months of back & forth and more time than ever to attempt something like this, you decided to test your waters by setting up coincidental bump-ins with him but the results were odd. You were friendly with each other sure but in your gut you could feel him pulling away. Every interaction becoming shorter and less filled with niceties & casual talk leaving you confused. You were so sure that this was working, that weeks ago this would've led to a real connection; Maybe you weren't on the same exact page but close enough… you had thought that at least.

Were the signals too mixed? Did he want to return to the casual sex from before? Was that what he was after all along? Was he not on the same page and saw this simply as friendliness between higher-up and lower employee?

But then what did it mean when he'd brought you coffee in the mornings? Or when he'd stop by your office during lunch to ask what you were eating? Or the shy smiles you'd steal from each other when you were sure no one was looking? What does all that mean if not "I like you"?

You couldn't stand it. Waiting for the coy smile of the businessman sitting across the room during a meeting became almost torturous. You're not sure but it feels like a significant change had occurred without you knowing. Like over the past week a frost had entered and frozen over an innocent springtime.

The next 2 weeks were spent analyzing this thing between you and in your analysis you confirmed one thing. That this was not a case of growing apart but rather an avoidance caused by an unknown subject- Unknown to you that is. A confusing loop of getting just close enough to observe the glimmer of want in his eyes when you were around but never close enough to actually talk about it. And that's when you knew that you had to do something or the spark would fizzle just as quickly as it did before.

---

"Nanami, can I talk to you in meeting room 3?" His eyebrow quirked at your sudden question.

"Oh sure, was something wrong with yesterday's reports? Or did the client from Y company say something?" As per usual he kept on the topic of business - He has no precedent to think this was anything but, after all.

"No, I actually just wanted to touch base about something else." His face was inscrutable as your words were taken in.

"I'll be there in 15. Just let me finish up these last couple of emails." Even his tone was monotonous, with no hint of deeper thought or meaning. For all you know, he could be cursing you out in his head.

15 minutes has never felt this long before. Circling the room you went over the conversation you've meticulously planned - All the responses he could make and all the actions he could take. You're not sure if in doing this you only made yourself more nervous or if it at all quelled your worry but you couldn't stop. Not until you heard those heavy footsteps and the door click.

"Nanam-"

"Y/n-" You almost giggled as your voices overlapped but seeing the forlorn look on Kento's face made that moment of joy subside.

"Sorry, you called me here for a reason. Please…" He gestured towards you to continue.

"Ah- I umm I just wanted to talk to you because recently it seems like you've been…avoiding me. I mean it's not like I expe-"

"Stop." He cuts you off abruptly. "Not during work hours, please."

"Then when? I can never find a moment with you alone these days. It's only in an official capacity like this can I even see you right now."

"Y/n-" He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples before continuing, "Look - I'm sorry. I have been avoiding you. But it's for a good reason."

"Good reason? What reason?" You don't mean to sound as mad as you do but you couldn't help it - You were hurt. What reason could he possibly have for distancing himself like this? The look on your face must've conveyed your emotions perfectly because he immediately softens raising a hand to your cheek to comfort you.

"Mrs. L/n are you in- I am so sorry." Your assistant walks just before Kento can reach you. "Mr. Lee is ready to see you in your office. Please excuse me." He leaves just as quickly as he arrives.

You turn your attention back to Kento as you see his gaze linger on the door as it swings closed. Whatever softness he was going to reach you with has hardened, his eyes narrowed with a look of displeasure. "Ken-"

"It looks like you have to go, Mrs. L/n." He straightens up and addresses you formally. You're about to speak up as he leans in close to your ear, "My house tomorrow after work if you have further business to discuss regarding this manner."

Fixing himself he doesn't even spare you a glance. He makes his annoyance far too obvious with the low grumble that echoes throughout the room. Completely frozen from the shock of his whispered proposal you couldn't comment on his attitude, not even as his boss.

You shudder at the thought of being alone with him again after those words. What consequences have you brought upon yourself this time? Going to his house either sounds like the worst hell or the most gracious heaven right now and your mind can't settle on which one sounds more probable. There was only one way to find out.

---

Well now you were certainly in his home but the pressure in the room was enough to make an elephant sweat. Coerced to sit you breathe out heavily, adjusting yourself to as comfortably as you could in your rigidness. Kento reaches for the TV remote and turns the volume down before turning to face you nonchalantly.

"This silence is scaring me a bit, Kento." You break the silence, your words have a joking tone but he takes it seriously even as you pose a fake smile.

"I'm scaring you? I'm…" He swallows his words, straightens out, and takes a breath, "I'm sorry about that y/n. What was it that you wanted to discuss?" It's almost sickening the way he puts on the formality of business with you after nearly pouncing.

"What? No, you're not- Wait. Can we just stop this?" You rush to clear up whatever spiraling thought he had from your few words before focusing your gaze down, embarrassed of bringing up the subject.

"Stop what?" And it sounds like he's genuinely asking. Raising your head back up to meet his eyes you see confusion but also want to resolve whatever this is. Some amount of confidence is restored as you realize that it isn't just you who wants to fix things.

"Well, like I said back in the meeting room, you've been avoiding me Kento. And don't try to deny it."

He pauses trying to collect his words, "I have. But like I said for good reas-"

"Then just tell me the reason Kento." You raise your voice out of frustration.

Nanami retreats, readjusting to calm his nerves. You've never seen him so timid except for when he has to ask if his favorite treats are in stock at the bakery. He can't bring himself to look at you anymore. Whatever confidence he had was blown away by your exclamation. He picks up his mug, takes a sip of his tea, and fiddles with the handle - head downturned.

A murmur comes from him, "What is this?"

"What?" You can barely grasp the words.

"This." And he gestures between the two of you. "What is it? Y/n."

"I'm not understanding, Ken." And you notice the nickname catches his attention as his head whips to look at you - only then do you realize that you haven't addressed him so casually since before your promotions. Not even when you were flirting through office exchanges. For a second you wonder when that hostile relationship became more casual & comfortable than what you had grown accustomed to now.

Nanami bites his bottom lip, "Are we something? Anything other than coworkers? Tell me upfront, please because I don't think I can handle any more of these blurry lines. It's hurting my heart too much." It's a shock to you to see him this way but even more of a shock to himself as he's sure he's never even been this shaken by a curse standing right in front of him but now you've gone and turned things upside down.

You're speechless. Isn't that what you meant to ask him? He was the one putting distance between you. He was the one avoiding you. And now he was asking you this as if you're the one to blame for his actions. For someone so incredibly smart man, oh man was he dumb when it came to emotions. For the first time above the sheets, you're seeing Nanami Kento crumble into your hands. The intimidation tactics from before you now realize were just a front for him to hide all these feelings.

"Do you want to be something other than "coworkers"? Nanami." You scoot closer to him.

"I don't know what to think right now." His eyes are glossy but not yet tear-filled however with the shaky tone you have a feeling that the flood was incoming.

"Just tell me everything that crosses your mind. Anything is better than nothing right now." You're begging him at this point to open up to you. Staying in this relationship purgatory hell for any longer would drive you up a wall.

"Maybe…I don't know." He sighs, " I just- I don't think I'm in my right mind when it comes to you." Placing the mug back down he puts his hands to his face trying to gain clarity.

"What do you mean? Ken." You reach out to him, placing a hand on his knee.

He turns his head to face you again, another heavy sigh escaping him before placing his head back in his hands speaking slightly muffled. "You've made me insane, y/n." He chuckles and you smile, it feels so good to hear him laugh genuinely for just a moment even in his presumed "insanity". "Every time I see you I just want to- I want to hold you. And every time you're near my heart feels at peace but never at ease. I don't know what to make of you."

"I'm afraid I'm still not understanding?" You can sense the inner turmoil he's going through but his word vomit, although pretty, isn't helping you piece it all together clear enough to respond; You're not sure what's holding him back but you know you want to help him through it. Standing up you place yourself in front of him, kneeling slightly to pry his hands away from his face.

He looks up at you as you stand tall before him. Tears now brimming. You never thought a day would come when you would see Nanami of all people on the brink of collapse, as sad as it was it was also extremely cute. But, Was whatever he had to admit something to get this emotional about? Or was it just the fact that it involved you? Even he couldn't be sure of the answer.

"I'm pathetic." He lets his hands flop onto his lap as his shoulders slump and his head hits your stomach in defeat.

You chuckle at the admission brushing the back of his head and letting your hand play with the strands at the nape of his neck. "How are you pathetic? Have I made you feel like that? Is that why…you won't talk to me anymore?"

"What?! No!" He exclaims before calming down once more, this time he places his chin on your navel to look up at you, "I'm pathetic because I get jealous over - what is probably - nothing…" He digs himself back into the softness of your belly, bringing his arms to wrap around your waist - securing you where he can breathe you in.

"Can you let me in on what this "nothing" is? Because I've been nothing but confused these past few weeks, Kento."

Breathing you in, he says something completely muffled that tickles you just enough to lightly chuckle.

"Hmm?" You brush at his gel-hardened hair to coerce him to face you and he follows your movements as if entranced by your touch. His eyes close as he brings his hand to meet yours now leading you to cup his face letting his thumb brush over the skin on your hand. How good it feels to smell you he thinks.

Oh how men fall, more specifically how Nanami Kento falls to your visage as slivers of city lights intertwine with the warm interior and you're illuminated like no goddess he could even imagine. If he could stretch this moment in time forever he would - but he cannot and thus he resigns to just taking you in as your face continues to screw up in confusion.

"Your assistant." and he lets his head hang once more, too embarrassed of his truth to let you meet his eyes.

"My assistant?" You're genuinely confused by the two words for a quick second before it clicks, "Oh…my assistant…He's why you don't want to take me out to lunch anymore?"

"I always want to take you out to lunch, y/n. But how can I- sigh When he's with you 24/7 & gets to be with you all day, how can I not feel so…angry."

"Ken…" You almost have no words, of course, emotions are fickle and he can't control the way he feels but it is kind've silly; While you've been worrying your butt off over him, he's been hiding his possessiveness when you never asked him to. Part of you (a really big part) finds it cute, the other part acknowledges just how stupid that sounds. All this running around each other for nothing - weight lifted but reassurance surely still needed.

"I told you. Nothing." Once again he digs himself so deep into your stomach you're sure he's bound to create some sort of mark.

"No no, not nothing. Well-"

"See!" And you both giggle at the immediate retort.

The entire time you're above him you can't help but think about how odd this position is physically and metaphorically. You're "above" him and he doesn't mind, not the way that you thought he would anyway. And the truth is that Kento would much prefer you above him (in more ways than one) and whatever doubt you had that he would despise you - that he should despise you - after everything that you've taken from him vanishes; you mean so much more to him than official positions and rankings. He loves you, the way his eyes have gained back their sparkle just by being in your presence proves it.

"Should I get rid of him?" You're half joking but in your truest heart of hearts if he asked you would try your best to accommodate his worries.

"Don't do that to the kid…"

"So you're aware that he is just a kid-"

"As I've told you multiple times now, I know it was baseless emotions. Not that I could help it but I know- I should've talked to you sooner."

"Yes. Much sooner." You return to your place beside him on the couch clutching his hand in yours and resting your head on his shoulder.

"Forgive me?"

"Never." He looks at you a bit confused. "Spend every day - starting now - making it up to me Nanami Kento."

A grin so big you couldn't ever imagine it on his face unless it was happening right in front of you - as it was right now - appears. He straightens himself, adjusting pants and all - as if he wasn't already extremely attractive - and faces you. "You've got a deal Mrs. L/n." He holds out a hand and with a firm shake tackles you into the sofa. Suddenly, once more you feel at home in his home. You feel just right where you need to be with Mr. Nanami Kento… or just Ken.

A/N: Holy hell...I'm back babies. Srsly though what did you think of this fic?? Idk how to feel. It's like between a masterpiece and a piece of garbage idk....

Please Reblog and Comment if you enjoyed! (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @iluvmattyb

[mochamadeleines]

Sweethearts and Sweet Dreams <3

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.” (6.4k words)

tags!! - 18+ modern au! Husband! Joel Miller, Wife! Reader, you guys are happy and in love!, mutual obsession if u squint, lots of exposition im so freaking sorry, pervert Joel if u squint, praise kink joel if you squint, dumbification if you squint, written for those with daddy issues lowkeeyyyyy, written with game joel in mind but could be hbo joel no problem!, lowk i combined the two in my mind, mentions of shy old man joel, housewife! reader (by choice), unspecified age gap but reader is like. thirty? and joels Like...55??, talk about joel taking medication for his anxiety, p in v sex, dirty talk, public sex, outdoor sex, joel has a kink for dresses because i said so? service top joel if you squint, pet names, a pinch of jealousy and possessiveness for fun, playful banter, mentions of maria and tommy and their baby with a made up name Lol, mentions of ellie and sarah (rip), mentions of readers past abusive relationships, talk about joel struggling with substance abuse/addiction and being hospitalized.....Im sure u can theorize why </3, lots of lore ill get into in another fic MAYBE *smirks*, flip flop in perspective, sometimes showing what joel is thinking or what reader is thinking blah blah

authors notes!! - hi there!!! im mocha and this is my first joel fic ever + my first fic posted to tumblr!! im really nervous cuz i havent written anything in months and ive never written joel before so please let me know if you like it!! id love to write more of this au for u guys if theres a demand for it...Thank u for reading!! also barely proof read im ngl. ive been staring at this fic all day im sick of itttt. p.s i dont usually write smut i also kinda do idfk Is this bad or am i tweaking

You step out of the house, morning sun soaking into the roots of your hair and the driveway beneath your feet. Theres a package youve been waiting for. 

You cant contain your grin as you wiggle it out of the hot prison that is your mailbox.

“What the hell are you doin’ out there barefoot?” Joel chastises you from the front door, leaning his elbow on the frame. Joel, your lovely husband of two years. Been together for five. And because of how hard he works, you have the privilege of being a stay at home wife. Some people think that sort of life is stifling, but youve never felt so free. No more jobs you hate, no more financial struggles. Just you, Joel, and your cat, Cement. He likes to pretend it isnt a totally hilarious name for a pet.

You were his first relationship in almost a decade, so it was a lot of work helping him unpack his anxieties about dating, and a lot of work for you to feel safe and unafraid. Honestly? Youve been mistreated by enough men to land you in the psychward.

But Joel never yells at you, he never breaks things when hes angry or threatens to hurt you. He might raise his voice every now and again, but its never because of something you did. Sometimes the stress of life is just too much. 

He works hard, he loves his daughter- daughters- and he would do anything to keep you happy. Whatever you say goes, he says. Even now, you hardly argue. Of course you have disagreements, or off days thatd lead to one of you being especially moody, but the both of you do your best to communicate.

Behind that rough exterior, is someone who just wants to be needed. 

You first met Joel at a youth center you volunteered at, he taught guitar, you taught arts and crafts. Joel says it was your smile and sense of humor that charmed him. It was his singing and southern accent for you.

Your favorite thing about Joel is how soft he gets around you. He says its because you make it easy to be soft. 

Joel was a shy lover at first. He would get nervous just kissing you, or holding your hand. While most people become intimate very early on in their relationship, you and Joel didnt do anything sexual for the first five months of you dated. Sure, you almost did, plenty of times, but he would get so overwhelmed and cut things short. You broke two of your vibrators during this era of your relationship. Embarassing.

You remember your first time very vividly. Joel had worked back to back doubles trying to meet a deadline, and on the final day, after having barely spoken to you for almost a week, you had shown up to his house, unannounced. You were wringing water out of your jacket when he swung the door open. 

“How-” Joel blinks a few times, stepping forward to examine the rainfall. “How long you been out here?”

“Not that long,” You lie and pick up the container you brought off the porch chair. Part of you had a hard time mustering up the courage to even knock on the door. Droplets of water cascade down your chin. “Hi, sorry. I know youre tired.”

He shakes his head, voice soft and warm. “S’fine. Now c’mon, youre gonna get sick.”

Youre seated at the little dining table next to the kitchen now, trying to let the sound of the rainfall ease your nerves.

Joel was quick to grab you a towel, and does the honors of drying your face and hair with it. “Why didnt you jus’ call me? Woulda gotten out of the shower faster if i knew you were gettin’ soaked out there like this.”

“I dunno, sorry.”

“An’ whatd i tell you about apologizin’ all the time?”

“Sor- Uh. Right. Okay.” You tighten your jaw. No more.

Joel moves behind you, now squeezing water out the ends of your hair. “Whas’ that?”

“Oh!-” You peel back the lid, showing it to him. “Old fashion cake donuts are your favorite right? I remember you saying you liked eating them with your coffee in the mornings so…I made these. Youve been working a lot lately and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel gingerly grasps the container from your hands, looking into it. Theyre a warm golden brown, outside evenly fried, and the sweet scent of them hits his nose right away.

“I was just gonna leave them on the doorstep and call you to tell you they were there, but I wanted to see you.”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows the dryness in his throat. Youre too good for him. 

“Thank you very much.” He presses a kiss to your damp hair. “Now, lets get you into some dry clothes.”

Joel gives you a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers to keep you modest while your clothes wash and dry. 

You wait patiently on his bed for the hot chocolate he promised you before you showered. Theres nothing to watch on the tv, so you just turn it off and reach for the lamp on his nightstand instead. 

He comes in quietly, and sets the mug down beside the lamp. You finally come into focus, clear as day even under the low lighting.

“You uh.. You look nice.”

You blink. “I look nice?”

“In my shirt.”

That gets a smile out of you. 

Joel tips his head towards the mug. “S’hot so, give it a few minutes. Dont want you burnin’ your mouth.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Hes sat beside you now and the two of you sit in silence for a while. Its not awkward, just the kind of silence where both of you want to say something but just.. Cant.

Joel unravels first. “Missed you, y’know. Just been tired.”

“I know.” Your voice wobbles, and Joels jaw tightens like hearing you sound so sad stings him. “I missed you, too.” 

He slides his hand over yours, giving it a squeeze. Its okay. 

“Hey Joel...Can I stay the night?” 

“Sure. Id really like that.”

While you drink your hot chocolate, you and Joel catch up. You both talk about work, and about your new found interest in baking. Joel teases you about your lack of cooking skills, you do the same. Youre both useless. 

When its time to climb into bed, neither of you can actually fall asleep. Joel rolls onto his side, away from you and the window. You follow, curling up like a little cat against his back. The sensation is nice for the both of you.

You speak up after a little while.

“Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

He scoffs, voice thick with exhaustion. “Like I'd force you to leave after you brought me such a nice present.”

You let out a little giggle, “So if i didnt, youd kick me out?”

“Id think ‘bout it.”

You gasp, gently shoving at his back. “Thats mean…!”

“S’really not.”

“Oh yeah? And what if I poisoned them?.”

“Then itd jus' be a regular day of your cookin’ then.” Joel reminds you, lighthearted. Too many times where you left the shells in your eggs or burnt toast or left the bacon on the pan for too long.

“You cant get mad at me for my dark past when you made a perfectly good sirloin taste like horse leather.”

“Ugh. Dont remind me. That was like putting a one-hundred dollar bill into a paper shredder. How do either of us stay alive again?”

“Uh. Digiorno?”

“Digiorno.”

After a few moments, Joels rolling over again, and hes guiding your head to settle against his chest. Your arms wrap around him, and his arms around you. 

“Joel,” You whisper. He hums. “Im cold.”

“S’cause youre not wearin’ any pants.”

“And whos fault is that?”

“Still yours.”

“I was left out in the rain like a sad, sopping wet cat. One that was left in a box all alone with no family…” You pretend to sniffle. “Dont you feel bad for me?”

Joel sighs, not saying anything more except making sure the part of the comforter behind your back is tucked into your side so the cold air doesnt get in. When hes done, you do a little shimmy up his body, and throw your leg over his hip. Oh no.

Hes alert now. Very alert. Be normal. Joel hesitates, licking the dryness off his lips. “Uh. Feel better?”

“Mhm.” You push your face into his throat, cat-like, before settling down again. Hes like a radiator.

Actually scratch that, he cant be normal. 

“Darlin’.” He rasps, patting your back to get your attention.

“Mm?”

“Your leg. Move it.”

A few beats pass. “Why?”

“Because…” Wow,  he didnt think hed get this far. You shift forward and Joel lets out a quiet exhale through his nose, one that couldve been masked by the rain if you werent so close.

“Are you-”

“No! No. Its- Its not what you think-” He cant see your face in the darkness but he knows you feel the semi-hard struggling through the confines of his pants. Lame.

“Joel,” You say, soft. Your hands slide up his arm to cradle his jaw. Lightning flashes into the room, giving you a glimpse of Joels tight expression. He whispers your name back, just as soft.

“This is normal.” 

Its normal, it is! Except for the fact that you guys havent had sex yet. The stress of being intimate is too much, kills his boner in a blink. The longer he waits the worse the anxiety gets.

“I-I know.”

You place a hand on his chest, feeling it pound away like crazy through all the soft muscle.  

“Youve been taking your medication, right?”

Has he?

The silence of him thinking is proof enough. “Joel-”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes through the darkness .“I know, I know. Shoot, Im sorry. I just forget sometimes.”

“Its okay.” The pad of your thumb strokes the tops of his cheek, and you press a tender kiss to his mouth to soothe him.  “...Want me to remind you?”

The softness of your lips has him a bit dazed. “Huh?”

“I said, do you want me to remind you? I can- You know, call you before you leave work. Make sure you take them.”

“You know I wake up at five-o-clock in the mornin’ , right?”

“I know.” 

In a whisper, “Okay.”

Joels rough palms trail down your back and stop at the curve of your butt, finger tips delicately tracing the skin above your shorts. You shiver.

Barely above a whisper. “We dont have to go all the way.”

He says your name again, laced with worry. He doesnt want you to feel pressured. 

You pull your leg off his hip and push yourself up, settling your hands on either side of Joels head.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes-”

“-And you cant get all in your head about it. You stay here, with me. You stay present.”

“Okay, okay.” He nods, a bit defeated. “I will stay present.”

“When you...When you say you dont wanna have sex, what is it that youre thinking exactly? I know you said you just get really nervous but I feel like youre not being totally honest.”

Joel stays quiet, idly rubbing your sides. Maybe you are a cat. Just getting to feel any part of you is soothing. “I jus’ want you to feel good. ‘Fraid ill do somethin’ you dont like.”

“You cant assume how I feel, Joel. Being intimate.. It takes time to learn what the other person likes.”

He sighs. “I know.” Youre always right.

Adding on, “Like I said, we dont have to go all the way,” You lean further back, situating yourself on his hips. He lets out a shaky breath when he feels the pressure of your ass through his sweats.

“But, I want to start somewhere. I want to feel you.” 

“Fuck- Um-” Hes shaking now, letting you grind your hips down onto him. Joel cant seem to control the way his hips instinctively push up to meet yours. Youre both becoming of a mess of little gasps and hot breaths and tiny whimpers already.

You hunch forward, guiding his hand under your your shirt- His shirt- letting him feel up the supple skin of your stomach, then the area where your ribs are, then your-

“And I want you to feel me,”

Surprisingly, you did actually go all the way that night.

Your sex life was a bit of a rocky start, but after Joel got over most of his anxiety, you learned quickly just how goddamn insatiable he was. Five years in and he still regularly makes you sore. 

There are a couple things you learned about him and his sexual interests. He loves to take you in his truck, in your kitchen, in your bathroom, on your couch. Other, riskier places. Anywhere that isnt your bed apparently, not that he isnt fucking you there either.

Joel is handsy, so handsy infact it embarasses you to no end, especially when youre infront of others. Thats usually how it starts, too. First he kisses you, then gropes your hips and your ass, and the next thing you know, youre cumming on his fingers. Then hed bend you over, or get you on your back, or make you ride him. Is it really riding if hes just slamming up into you until your brain turns into mush?

He likes that too. Making you not think.

Youd be lying if you said its only ever him. Sleepy morning handjobs before work, whining to him over the phone and touching yourself to his voice, arching your back into him while you're washing dishes, sucking him off after hours in his office.

And while most men prefer lingerie or little costumes, Joel likes dresses. Dresses that are discreet so he can take you in the backyard when he comes home early and sees you gardening. Or when youre both at a friends house and hes had a little too much to drink and finds himself alone with you. Dresses that make it easy to play his favorite game with you. I touch you, and you make sure we dont get caught by being too loud. Joel really is the worst sometimes.

Now, you only ever wear pants when its cold, or to bed or sometimes when youre lounging, like today. Youre in some shorts and a tank top. Otherwise, its dresses all year round, usually retro styles or ones meant for spring. Joels not picky though, he loves any dress on you.

Even if you wear an extremely modest, white lacey sleep dress, looking like some kind of vintage ghost, the man would still keep you up all night. And he has. He said you looked like a princess. You guess you kind of did.

The entire thing is like an unspoken arrangement between you both. He doesnt tell you to wear them, you just do.

And he works hard to spoil you, so why not buy as many cute dresses as possible? 

You got a cute dress today too, on the same day Joel has off. You think its going to be a new favorite of his.

The big polymailer stays hidden behind your back. Be casual. “Uh- Nothing!”

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.”

“Lemme see then. Show me your hands-”

“Hey, Mrs. Miller!”

Both you and Joel turn your heads to the voice, and only one of you has the energy to fake a a smile. Your neighbor is stopping in his driveway, having come back from a jog it looks.

“Hi, Lee.” 

Joel really, really, really doesnt like Lee. You dont like him either, but youre not one to cause problems. Lee on the other hand, is. Hes a bit younger than you, and a lot younger than Joel. Hes one of those tech dudes with a massive ego, thinks that youll be swayed by his money and his “charm” and youth as if youre some sad housewife in need of saving. Gross. 

And another thing, Lee doesnt even actually live here! Hes here ever so often to visit his dad between, you dont know, tech expos? You forget. Joel believes he started showing up more often to see you. 

Youre walking towards the porch again. Joels looking especially unhappy to see him today, knuckles pulled taut into a fist. His lips stay pressed into a thin line, careful not to let anything slip out. He usually lets you do most of the talking, as much as it pains him. 

Joels really not a fan of the way Lees eyes take a trip up your bare legs. Little shit.

“Out with no shoes again, Mrs. Miller?”

“You know me, Im uh- Im weird.”

“The weird ones do it best.” He smiles, all teeth. It gives you the creeps. His attention is on Joel now. Its like watching a puppy try to one up a wolf. “Right, Joel?”

“Uh huh.” Whatever that means.

“Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, Mrs. Miller.” Lee crosses into your driveway and you glance briefly at Joel, as if to make sure he isnt going to start growling at the other to stay away. Youre clutching the package to your chest now. 

“Have you ever been to a support group for uh- you know, the spouses of addicts?  I have a friend from work and shes really struggling.” 

Lees tone is sugary sweet, but the fake kind you put in diet soda except that stuff is way better. Joel sighs from the door. You stand there, dumbfounded on the porch steps because what the fuck is he going on about. 

You clear your throat, keeping your voice firm. “No. Ive never needed to.”  

Joels voice cuts in like a knife. “Been clean for almost twenty years now.”

“Yeah but, you know,” He shrugs, squinting a bit under the morning sun. “Relapses happen.”

Joel and Lee are at a stand still, and the moment Joel lets the arm leaning on the frame drop to his side, you know youre in for a lot of trouble. You move quickly towards the door. “We have to get ready for a- uh- a thing? but Im sorry about your friend.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Miller. Im doing my best to support her.” And before he turns away, he just has to be slimy to you. “If you need someone to talk to, Im here for you.”

“No, that really wont be necess-”

Joels slinging a strong arm around you to yank you back inside before shutting the door. 

“Motherfucker,” He hisses to himself, stomping through the walkway and into the kitchen.

“How-” You rub your eyes, letting them adjust to the light inside of the house. You put the package down onto the bar counter that opens up the kitchen and follow Joel to the fridge. “How does he know?? I thought-”

“Been living in this house for decades now,” His expression is tight, brows knitted together while he chugs a bottle of water. “People talk. ‘Specially if I'm being rolled into an ambulance on more than one occasion.” Joel frowns. “Fuck- I shoulda punched him in the fuckin’ face- Do you see how hard he tries so hard to flirt with you infront’a me?”

“I know, love. I was there.” You take the bottle from his hand and set it to the side, then wrap your arms around him. “Try not to let it get to you okay?”

Joel sighs into your hair, giving your body a squeeze. “I know, I know, but jus’ hearin’ him tryin’ta use my baggage to make a pass at you…S’fuckin’ evil.”

“I agree, but I dont want his blood on the driveway.”

“So get it on his driveway instead, got it.”

You giggle and tip your head up to kiss him. The tension eases from Joels shoulders, and he cups your cheeks, letting his worries melt away into your mouth. When the pads of his fingers start to slide under your tank top, youre leaning back. Youll be here for a while if this goes any further.

Joel mindlessly chases your lips, looking a bit pouty now that its over.

“Im gonna start getting ready for the barbecue, okay?”

“This early?”

“I like being punctual.” 

“My brother wont give a damn if were late.” He noses your jaw, pressing a kiss here and there. Your knees are beginning to feel weak. The bastard is trying to distract you.

“But I do. The farmers market opened today, and I promised Maria I'd get her fresh strawberries before we got there, remember?”

“Alright, alright.” He grumbles into your shoulder.

Joel lets you go, watching you round the bar counter to get your package and disappear upstairs.

-

Ever since you came down to a freshly showered Joel, and got into the car with the gift bags you prepared for Maria and Tommy, Hes been staring at you. One wrong move and the drools gonna start pouring out of his mouth.

Your hair is in its relatively natural state, freshly washed and shiny from the oil you put in it. You put on some light makeup, and went a bit heavy handed on the blush to look sunkissed, and topped it off with a flavored lip gloss Joel especially enjoys. 

Now, the dress. Its a pink floral mid-length dress, with a low cut sweetheart neckline and a corset style backing to cinch your waist and push out your chest. The material is thick and pretty, and there are two other layers under the skirt to keep its shape. You have on a pair of little pink pumps with little bows to match. 

The drive to the farmers market is fairly peaceful, the windows are half down and theres music playing at low volume on the radio. You and Joel have different tastes in music, but one genre you can always agree on is alternative rock. 

The weathers beautiful, sun high in the sky, and its not too hot or humid. The day really is perfect. Youre gonna soak up some sun when youre at the barbecue. Hopefully, they made lemonade again too.

Joel has been mostly quiet throughout your shopping. While it would worry some, youve been with him long enough to know that he just has a lot on his mind. What hes thinking about? Maybe youll learn when you make it back home at the end of the day.

You gasp, strolling through the grass to a stand with a mountain of apples. Granny smith, Macintosh, Pink Ladys, Honeycrisp, the works. He grunts, trying to keep the things that are already in your basket steady. You came for strawberries and are going to leave with much more than that.

Joel nudges you softly. “Remember, this is quality stuff, meaning itll go bad faster. Dont get too much.”

“Okay, got it.” You beam, and then begin inspecting the Pink Lady apples first, trying to find the ones with the best color.  He keeps the basket within reach so you can drop your picks in.

"These were Sarahs favorites."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, it was funny 'cause we started arguin' over these or Red Delicious. I think Red Delicious is better."

"Thats so cute! Hmm. Should we get one for her? A Pink Lady?"

"Uh," He thinks on it for a moment, unsure, but the smile on your face helps him make a decision. "Sure, why not."

You drop two perfect Pink Ladys into the basket, moving onto the next pile.

“Hey, Joel.” You grin, holding out a wrinkled granny smith apple. “This one looks like you”

“Ha ha.” He deadpans, and grabs it from you to put back. In turn, hes reaching for the runt of the pile. A pathetically small one sitting near the bottom. “Now this one looks like you.”

“Does not!”

“Does too.” 

The next stand has golden kiwis, and youre practically dragging Joel forward to try them. You ask for one, and the man at the stand slices it into halves, giving you a plastic spoon to go with. 

You let Joel smell it first. “S’good.”

“Lets see if it tastes good.”

You sink your spoon into it, humming when you see how soft and easy it is to scoop out. In your mouth it goes!

Its tastes sweet, a bit mango-y and fucking delicious. You bounce in place, spoon feeding Joel next. “Oh yeah,” He smiles, smacking his lips a bit to really let the taste settle on his tongue. “Were takin’ some of these.”

You take one, then two, then three and four then five and as you reach for the sixth one, Joels stopping you with a gentle hand. 

“Darlin’.” 

“Right.” 

For the next few stands its just you and Joel trying various kinds of fruit. Starfruit, blueberries, some mangos, and then youre going back to the truck.

“I think my favorites were the mangos and golden kiwis. I hope Maria and Tommy have enough space in their fridge for all of this.”

“They moved into a bigger house, I reckon their fridge s’probably bigger, too.”

“What time is it?” 

You let go of Joels arm so he can switch the basket from one hand to the other. 

“‘Bout…” Hes squinting at his watch. “12:34 in the afternoon.”

“Oh! Guess we got the shopping done sooner than I expected. Hmm. Should we stop somewhere in the mean time?-" You snap your finger when you remember something. "They opened up this cafe that has cats in it! We can drink coffee and play with them for bit! The next fourty-five minutes will go by super fast."

“Youre gonna make Cement jealous.”

You bat your hand dismissively. “Hes not gonna caaare.” 

“Oh yes he will. And remind me again why we named our cat Cement?

“Uh, we were both drunk and had gotten him the day before without a name picked out?”

“A whole year later and we still kept it. Worst pet owners ever.” Joel chuckles, opening the passenger door for you like he always does. 

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

The giant basket of fruit goes into the back seat next to the gift bags before Joel slots himself into the drivers seat. 

You fumble with the radio a bit, trying to see what else is on but ultimately landing back on your preferred station. Theyve been playing a lot of Linkin Park recently. Hell yeah. Joel buckles himself in at last, and pulls out of the parking lot. 

“Marias gonna teach me how to make baked chicken,” You hum, gazing outside the window.

“You sure youre not jus’ unteachable?”

“Ha ha,” You lightly shove his shoulder, making him smile. “I thought you loved the meat sauce pasta I learned how to make.”

He settles into his seat more comfortably at the stop light, elbow rested on the window. “Got me with that one. Think I like ground turkey over beef, though.”

“Yeah? Me too. The beef tastes better but the turkey is lighter. Stops me from feeling all sick.”

“Agreed.”

Youre looking out the windshield now. Where did all the buildings go? Youre out of the city. 

“Uh, Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere to kill time.”

“Yeah but where?”

“Youll see.” 

Your brows pinch together. “I see a whole lot of nothing except for trees."

“Almost there.”

Joel makes a hasty left turn onto some campgrounds. Your stomach starts to twist into excited knots. Is he gonna show you a baby deer or something? Bunnies? He used to be a park ranger for this area, and would tell you stories about all sorts of baby animals hed run into.

The car comes to a stop, and he turns the engine off. Silence.

“So…Were out in the woods to kill time?”

“Mhm.” Joel unbuckles his seat belt and twists into the back to grab the spare jacket he usually keeps there, then gets out of the truck and comes around the back to open the door for you. 

He holds your hand to help you get down from the passenger side, and as soon as both of your shoes hit the ground Joel is on you. 

You dont know where your hands should go, youve kissed Joel a thousand times and yet you still get so flustered when he catches you by surprise. You keep your hands on his shoulders for now, letting him press wet kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“This is new right? The dress?” He gives your ass an appreciative squeeze through the fabric. “Thought you looked so pretty when you came down stairs in it.” 

Your heads spinning. Something about your dress? 

“Woulda been okay if you let me have you earlier.” He pulls away, examining your flushed face cradled by his hand. Every part of you just fits so well in his palms. “Then I thought, why not have you now? We got time to spare.”

“Joel- We- Someone could see us-” You sputter, and Joels already shaking his head with a knowing smirk. He pulls you around to the bed of the truck, popping it open, only pausing to spread open the jacket he grabbed, just having just thrown it in there when he came around to get you.

“No ones gonna come lookin’ for us.” He turns you around, pushing you down onto your front. “As long as youre quiet.” 

Fuck. You really hate this game. At least, you like to tell yourself that.

Blood rushes to your ears while Joels rough palms lift up the skirt of your dress, exposing your ass and thighs to the cool air. He whistles from behind you. 

“Red lace panties?” His fingers dont shy away from tracing along the fabric covering your cunt. “This new too?”

You crane your neck over your shoulder to look at his face. “Uh.. Surprise?”

Joels smiling now, fingers dipping under the lace. “Thas' awfully sweet of you.”

His touch slips and slides around your growing wetness, then trails down to your clit. Your voice wobbles a bit and fuck- fuck hes going too fast. “Joel- Ah-” You whimper and try to push yourself up to look at him but his hand is steady on your spine, keeping you down. 

Smug, “Go on, sweetheart. Keep sayin’ my name. Jus’ like that.”

A whine escapes you when he pulls away, “Nooo.” You push your ass back, as if to entice him. You succeed, because hes skipped his usual routine of fucking you with his hands and is now unbuckling his belt.

Joel rolls you onto your back, and peels your underwear all the way off, bunching it up and shoving it into his back pocket. Your face burns just watching him.

“Think i'll hold onto these for a lil’ while.”

His hands push the back of your knees towards your chest, exposing your heat. Youll never get used to the way he just seems so interested just watching your cunt squeeze around nothing. 

“Thats-” You swallow, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. "Joel.”

“Relax." He coos, "Seen it a thousand times already, and ill be seein' it a thousand more. Get used to it, honey.”

Your attention flickers down to where his dick is about to meet your entrance. Joels nudging you down onto your back again and pulling the top of your dress down to expose your chest. Its when youre distracted that he actually moves to push himself in.

Both of you groan together, and Joel could never get bored of fucking you, not when your cunt just pulses around him everytime hes inside you.

Joel wastes no time fucking you once he eases all the way inside. Youre trying your best to keep quiet. Shit is no easy task. Its like Joel is trying to get you guys arrested.

He props himself up with a hand near your head, and lets the other keep one of your legs pinned open. The moans start to claw out of your throat. “Joel- Joel-” 

“Shh. Thas’ enough.” He growls through his teeth, fucking you harder. “Youre gonna- Gh- Get us caught-”

Something rustles between the trees, making you both freeze. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching Joel straighten up to look around.

After a few seconds of squinting, Joel can see a few foxes moving about through the trees. Thank fuck. His shoulders visibly relax.

Hushed, “E-Everything okay?”

“Yeah, jus’ some animals.” 

And like that, hes back to it. His dick is going to make your eyes permanently stay rolled into your head. 

Joel is always just so handsome when hes pounding into you. His forehead gets shiny with sweat, and his jaw is tight from clenching his teeth, keeping himself quiet so he can focus on your moans. His face is noticeably redder against his usual farmers tan too. Really, hes just so attractive.

A flurry of yes and harder and fuck spills out of your mouth and into your palms. Not too loud, you try to remind yourself.

“Joel- S’too much-”

“Nah, thas’ not it.” He huffs, humorous. “You can take it. Y'always do. In fact, you love gettin’ your cunt bullied by me, aint that right?” As if to get his point across, he thrust in all the way to the hilt, making you keen. You forgot how to breathe, lungs drawing tight in your chest.

"Fuck," You manage to squeeze out.

Your palms push weakly at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself somehow. His head drops to the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

“You good?” He checks in, breath hot on your skin. As if your crying isnt enough.

“So g-good, Joel- Fuck- Youre so good.” 

With a little nod, Joels pushing himself up, switching to slow and deep strokes, really digging himself into you, and trying to find that spot he likes to call home.

He massages your chest, then squeezes your sides and your hips and finally, his thumb finds your clit. Immediately, you jolt. 

“Oh fuck-” 

“Quiet.” And he says it to keep the charade going, even though his favorite thing is hearing your sobs.

His thumb rubbing incessantly against your that sweet little nub of yours. You choke, and Joels chuckling, watching the way you squirm, body not knowing whether it should lean into his touch because its too good or away because its too much.

It starts with this firey feeling under the pad of his thumb, then deep inside your stuffed cunt. Youre going to cum. 

Your hands fly to your mouth again, and you get all wide eyed from the sensation. Its cute. Your muscles pull taut, legs locking around Joels hips. Youre wailing into your palm when it happens.

“Good girl,” His voice soothes you through it. “Very good.”

He pets away the fly aways sticking to your sweaty face when its over. Your eyes drop shut while you catch your breath. 

Joels moving again now. He rolls his hips a few times, and thumb is building the foundation of another orgasm in you. Youre shaking badly.

Your words slur too, “Cant- Too soon- Joel- Joel-”

“Another one.” Joel says firmly, but breathless. 

Youre gasping, not sure where to focus your eyes. The trees around you look like theyre spinning. Your attention is back on Joel, whos looking rather satisfied watching you squirm and cry. If thats how wants to play, then fine.

Your hands slide up Joels biceps, and rests on the nap of his neck to bring him down. “Juh-Joel,” You pant, cradling his face with both hands. “Youre so good- The best-”

Oh, Joel likes that one, you can tell by the way he looks away briefly. Shyness. Excitement runs up your spine. Joel loves being told hes doing well. 

“You are- Nghh-” You swallow the drool in your mouth, trying to get the words out clearly. “The best husband I could ever ask for.”

Joel wheezes, head dropping into the curve of your shoulder. “Please.”

“S’true,” You nod rapidly, fingers curling into his hair. “Youre so good to me and-and youre mine and- Joel-  Im yours.”

“Jesus-” He groans, soaking up the feeling of you pressing kisses to his face and up his jaw. 

“Hhah-  No one else can have me, okay? No one- Not even-”

The name doesnt even come out of your mouth before Joels coming to a stop to slip his arms all the way around your middle. With the new leverage he has on your body, hes drilling his way into you. You fucking squeal, rules now long forgotten. Youre a useless ragdoll in his arms and he wouldnt have it any other way.

Your lips are shiny with spit and left over lip gloss, and he can still taste the mintiness in his tongue. Every now and again your eyes drop shut, but his dick just punches into your guts a little harder. Look at me. 

Your brain is mush, just the way he likes it, and youre perfectly pliant in his arms, babbling over how good you feel. Hes kisses along the valley of your breasts now, stopping to suck the flesh of your nipples.

Youre just so pretty. Even when you have bedhead, or youre snotty from a cold, or youre all dirty from working in the garden  youre still so pretty. Including now, all sweaty with you lipgloss all smudged and your mascara starting to run. Youre perfect. 

Joel grunts loud, jaw clenched tight as he gets lost in the feeling of your insides. His perfect little wife.

When he cums, hes doubling over with a loud grunt, getting a few last thrusts in before his spent floods your cunt.

Youre blinking away your tears, now watching the clouds inch along the sky. It really is a beautiful day. You pet Joels sweaty hair, and kiss the side of his temple. Your core throbs faintly. Jesus, he did a number on you.

“Love,” You say softly, patting his back.

“Mm?”

“Get up.” Another pat. “Youre squishing me.” 

Joel backs off to buckle himself up, but you stay seated to catch your breath and adjust your dress. At least it didnt get ripped during all the… Commotion. Not like last time.

“I need my underwear back.”

“Nope,”

“Joel.”

He kisses the center of your forehead and helps you down from the bed and into the passenger seat instead.  “Told you i'm keepin’ ‘em.”

You sputter, “I cant go to barbecue commando!”

“Sure you can.” He pops open the glove compartment and gets out some tissues, hand snaking under your dress again to clean you. You sigh softly at the sensation.

“Youre the worst.”

“I am indeed the worst.” Joel pulls the seatbelt over your chest and clicks it in. “You can tell me all about it on the way to Tommys.” 

[nitewrighter]

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part Three: I Got Better

Part One

Part Two

Hey thanks for getting the next round, man. 'Preciate you.

I've tried writing this part down, you know. Every couple decades or so I get the urge, say "I'm gonna do it right," get a journal or typewriter or laptop or whatever they're using, try it out for a couple pages... then I drop off. Then I get guilty for dropping off because... I mean Snow taught me to read, right? So if there's anything I should be doing to repay that then...

But I mean--Trolls, look, we're an oral-tradition based culture anyway, okay? The closest thing we had to a writing system is this... kind of Ogham-ish tally language that doesn't distinguish the alphabetical from numerical very strongly that was mostly used for outlining lineages and territories. And we can read rocks, obviously. We can look at a rock and we can tell you where that rock has been or how it used to be a much bigger rock or how it's actually a lot of little rocks mashed together but that's not really a language.

I'm getting sidetracked. Where was I? Snow and the Prince.

Okay. Bloody nose. Probably broken nose. Snow's leading the Prince through the castle, and this is the part where, if Snow were telling this, she would throw in something flowery about the way he gripped her hand or the way the light from the windows passed over his face, or the way her own brain was a scramble of 'You can't trust this guy, this is the queen's cup-bearer, he's done fuck all to try and connect with you before this, why would he try now? This has to be a ploy from the Queen." But then that thought gets interrupted by overwhelming pity for the guy, but then that pity gets interrupted by feeling bad for pitying him, because he's a whole-ass person with dignity or whatever. It all sounds very exhausting, this pure-of-heart thing. She brings him down to this spooky-ass alchemy lab and he's like, "Are we... allowed here??"

And she goes, "Sure, the Queen taught me all kinds of stuff down here when I was younger."

And this is when the Prince makes an 'Oh shit' face and she catches herself saying, "Oh, nothing bad! Like, we did great with the basics, but then we moved on to poisons, but then everything I made kept... burning or percolating into medicines, and she screamed at me over and over again every time my poisons turned into... the opposite of poison... and eventually she just gave up. Anyway, I've got a leopard's bane compound around here for the swelling....Should probably also find something for the pain--how's the pain?"

"It's... there?" Prince Damp Kingdom says awkwardly, "You know, you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why you're on edge?"

"Oh. Well, Queen wants to kill me."

"Wh--"

Snow plucks a vial from a crowded shelf, uncorks and sniffs it. "Oh, this'll work," she holds the vial toward him, "Put this under your tongue?"

"W-what is it?"

"It's... kind of complicated. It's rotten sugar and ground up seashells and this one herb that's been steeped in vinegar for a week and a bunch of other little things."

The prince makes a face again but Snow---and this is another part of Snow that to this day scares the shit out of me--Snow just flutters her eyelashes and goes, "If you don't want it, though..."

And knee-jerk the prince takes the vial from her and goes, "No, thank you--I mean, yes. I'll..." he glances at the vial and then back at her, "Thank you."

And yeah, you could argue that the prince is the kind of guy who would let his Bushwick girlfriend cut his hair and then pretend it looks great when it looks like shit for like three weeks after. But Snow is not a girlfriend from Bushwick. Snow is a Fae Weapon Forged in a Human Womb. Snow is the heart of the Evil Queen wrapped in new flesh and made pure. Snow is holiness and magic. Snow is a Miracle and a Curse. Again, Princess-Messiah.

So like, if you're hearing this from my perspective, you're probably wondering why she's spending so much time with a dude who doesn't have a lot going for him beyond being pretty and harp-playing. But y'know, I've already told you that Fae have complex and have esoteric notions of attraction, and that Snow knew things and saw things that both fae and human couldn't. She's just also... crazy convincing over the stupidest, smallest stuff, which is how the Prince found himself putting something that he didn't even know what the hell it was under his tongue and immediately making a face at this horrible honey-bitter-chemical taste before squinting for a few seconds and feeling his shoulders relax along with a slight tingling buzz relieving the ache of swelling in his face.

"Why do you think the queen's going to kill you?" it's possible Snow's medicine loosened his tongue as well as his shoulders.

"I didn't say she's going to kill me, I said she wants to kill me. If she could kill me, she would have done it already."

"So you can't... die?"

"I can die. Why wouldn't I be able to die?"

"I don't know. This is a lot right now. We don't talk much."

"Why is that?" Snow tilts her head.

The Prince gulps, already higher for this than he wants to be. "It... hurts to look at you, sometimes," he mutters, not meeting her eyes. Her thick black lashes squint and those red lips of hers hitch off to one side and he tries to clarify himself, "Not that you're not pretty--I didn't mean that in a 'You're not pretty' way, because you are... t-terrifyingly pretty, but when I look at you, all I can think of is... how... I've never done anything."

"I think you're selling yourself a bit short," Snow says kindly.

"But that's the other terrifying thing. I'm--I'm also scared of what kind of person I'd become just by being close to you. The world changes for you, I mean even right now, I'm saying so much more than I would ever normally, sanely say and--and what did you give me? What did I just put in my mouth just now?"

"Rotten sugar, ground up seashells, leopard's bane soaked in vinegar for a week--" Snow is counting on her fingers.

"But what does it do?!"

"It's for your nose--which I am still very sorry for, by the way."

"And I'm trying to find out something about you--I want to help you, but you just-just-- shimmer out of it! Why does the Queen want to kill you? This is the third time I've asked you that!"

"That's not the third time you've asked me that. First you asked why I'm on edge, then you asked why I think the Queen's going to kill me, which basically implied that you don't believe--"

"Princess," he bites the word between his teeth with frustration and she blinks, wondering if she's finally managed to find whatever iron is in him, before those thick black lashes lower.

"I think... because of what you just said. Because the world changes for me," she pauses for a few moments and her shoulders sink, "It scares me too. The changing. You stayed away because you thought I'd change you?"

"You can't tell that you're changing me now?"

"We don't talk much," Snow smiles sadly.

There's an awkward pause, then, and they both look away from each other. Fucking teenagers, yeesh. But then Snow seems to remember herself and says, "You really shouldn't be standing this long--with both the drug and the blood loss you could get dizzy so--"

They both flinch at the sound of a voice bouncing off the stone from the turret staircase. From the castle undercroft. They both recognize the powerful, elegant timbre. The Evil Queen.

"We should go," Prince Damp Kingdom says on reflex, all of the truth drawn up out of him shriveling up and dying like velella washed up on a beach, before saying, "Princess--Snow!"

But Snow's already pacing forward, shoulders stiff, gripping her skirts with white knuckles and the prince hopes she's going upstairs, but nope! Downstairs. And he curses in a very unprincely way under his breath before hustling after her, head now swimming from whatever the hell she dosed him with and his own movement.

He follows her down the turret stairs and into the castle undercroft, which is lit by some extremely unsettling purple-teal flames in the approximate spots where torch sconces should be, and they can hear the Evil Queen speaking, her voice echoing through the undercroft, though they can't make out the exact words. The prince gets a shudder at the back of his neck because there was this same draw, this same hook as when he was following the sound of Snow's voice when she sang at the well. Something something air and darkness, that was all the prince could make out, before Snow abruptly turns (maybe she could hear more sharply than him), and both find themselves looking into what may have been some kind of... mini-chapel for when the castle was under siege and human christians had to do human christian shit on account of the siege and everyone was probably going to die or something. Except there was definitely no Christian god for what was going on in that space now, I'll tell you that much. Instead, you have the queen standing in front of a circular plane of glass, as wide as both her arms spread out to her sides--and they can tell that because her arms are fully spread out, and she's saying,

"Mirror mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

And like, this is the horror movie part where any sensible person would be saying, "I should get the fuck out of here, that's what I should do" but again, we are dealing with FUCKING TEENAGERS so of course Snow and the Prince are both hiding behind a column watching the Evil Queen commune with some cosmic horror shit.

And like, the thing is, at first the Queen is just talking to her own reflection.

But then her reflection suddenly digs its fingers to its hairline and peels its whole front off, peels the goddamn image off the queen off like one of those Korean beauty masks, but in that same motion, it's like a layer of the glass itself is being peeled off as well, and before the evil queen stands a roughly her-shaped figure of green flames.

"Our dearest betrayer, our loveliest entertainment," the figure in green flames coos, "Must you call us on such tedious matters?"

And the Evil Queen just says again, more insistently this time,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

"You ask and ask and ask, beloved," the Mirror answers back, "What have you done to change things this time, hmm? Some new potion? Another felled king?"

The evil queen's breath hitches, but she steels herself before saying once more,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

The green flame figure huffs. "Ugh, so BORING--though know we're only answering because your reaction is the most entertaining part of these little chats." The green flame figure seizes and abruptly gets swallowed up by shadowed dampness, revealing itself as Mosscloak.

"You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But Snow-White is a thousand times fairer than you."

But suddenly two green flame eyes burn in the shadows of Mosscloak's hood.

"You act as if she is a weapon against you by her own will,

That she is not the product of your actions.

That she is not your heart. "

The Queen doesn't seem to react, but Snow suddenly winces next to the Prince, her head bowing, her features scrunching as if holding back a sob.

"Snow?" his name leaves him barely audible as a puff of breath.

"You need to go," Snow is suppressing the whimper in her own voice, like there's a tidal wave of grief inside her surging up, fingernails scraping against the stone of the column.

"Not without you--" the Prince starts.

"Now," she flicks those dark eyes to him and before he can even comprehend his own free will in the situation, he's zipping up the stairs, and she can feel his will screaming against her. He's supposed to be scooping her up in his arms and taking her with him, or sprinting toward the Queen screaming with a dagger, or something, but no, Snow is sending him away because he's safest if he doesn't have the Queen's attention.

"Show her to me," the Queen says, her voice thick.

The mirror abruptly morphs to show a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet-black hair. This mass of hair is facing a mirror, which is showing a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet black hair, looking at a mirror at the far end of the rom. The mirror in the mirror in the mirror is displaying a mess of black hair studded with pearls facing a mirror--

Snow realizes she's looking at the back of her own head in the Magic Mirror, and because she is looking at the mirror, the mirror is looking at itself. Her head swings around to see... nothing. There's nothing there and yet it can see her. Her jaw opens and quivers with unspoken, terrified words before she finally manages to force her brain signals down to her legs again. She hauls up her skirts in bunches and sprints up the turret stairs after the prince.

...Oh look at that. I finished this pint. Now, I could go home, or... I could tell the next part of the story if someone got me another pint of 'Literally Just Wet Hops' IPA. Decisions, decisions.

[aliwritex]

LOVERS ROCK fc43

summary: Franco is insanely obsessed. inspired by lovers rock by tvgirl.

wc: 3.7k

warnings: fingering :) brazilian!reader (barely) drinking, franco being pathetic.

notes: turns out i don’t like lovers rock (the genre) so i did bossa nova instead, hence the brazilian reader. the songs they listen to (in order) are ‘onde anda você’, ‘porque será’ and ‘samba da benção’ ;) thanks to @colpenter for the idea!

When Franco got to America for his year abroad he wasn’t expecting to meet the love of his life – maybe that was exaggerating but it’s what it felt like to him.

It was pathetic, really. He had you up on a pedestal since the first time he saw you, walking to the same class as his. That first day of class might just have been one of the best days of his life. The minute you spoke up he was fascinated, you sounded like an angel and he was sure you had just made an amazing and valid point about the lecture, even though he hadn’t been paying attention. He only watched you for weeks, waiting impatiently for Fridays, when you had class together.

He started finding out more things about you as the weeks passed, you were also an exchange student, in your third year in America, and you were always bringing a different perspective to your Politics class, comparing and talking about your own country, professors loved that. You were a good student, that much he was sure of, meanwhile, he was only taking that class for the credits – he thought it would be an easy one, he was proven wrong very quickly.

He would’ve totally dropped the class, it had truly nothing to do with his own major, but would he even see you around campus if he did? He decided against it, he had seen you walk to your car after class, you definitely lived off campus. Despite his admiration and borderline obsession, he kept putting off on talking to you. All his friends knew about the ‘beautiful smart girl in politics’ but they were starting to wonder if she was even real.

It took Franco almost two months to man up and talk to you. He tried so hard to sound smart, like he understood anything you, the professor or any of your other colleagues had ever said, but you could tell. He didn’t mind it after all, the way he mispronounced a word made you smile.

“You don’t think I talk too much? Everyone seems to hate it” you asked, already sitting down as you saw your professor walk into the room.

“Mr. Jones seems to love it, he gets really excited doesn’t he?” you nodded and smiled shyly, coaxing a smile out of Franco, too, “whatever gets you good grades, then. I’m joking, I li-”

He was about to shoot out the first compliment, actually flirt when he got interrupted “Good morning, if everyone could take their seats now, we should start in a second” your professor spoke.

You caught Franco sighing, frustratingly “Why don’t we talk after class? I’d love to hear what you think about his lectures, you’re always so quiet”

“Yeah, we should talk after class. I’m gonna sit down before he shoots me one of those death glares.” he told you while he walked away, watching you chuckle lightly.

He tried to pay attention to the lecture, to have something to talk to you about, he kept looking at the time, checking how long till he got to speak to you again. But just as he noticed there was only ten minutes left, you walked right past him and out of the door without even looking back. He thought about going after you, but that would just be creepy. So he waited, and waited, stayed till the last second of class but you were gone. He would only see you next friday.

It was a week of torture, for him and for anyone around him. He thought about you at least once every hour, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that you had just left, you had never done that before, but of course you did in the morning you said you would talk to him. It couldn’t have been about him, surely something else happened, a setback. But he would only find out the next friday.

Franco was already in the room when you arrived, his hair was still damp from the shower and his cheek was pressed against his hand as he looked down at his phone. He looked good, but you already knew that. You approached him immediately, knowing you owed him an apology for the past week.

“Good morning,” you smiled, getting his attention. “I wanted to talk to you all week, Franco, I swear. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for last week, I said we should talk but I left before the lecture was done. I hope you’re not mad at me”

“Oh! No, no, no worries.”

You sighed in relief “Thank god! I thought you hated me. And I never see you around the campus so I couldn’t talk to you during the week.”

“Hey, it’s okay, really,” he reassured, “I did notice you looked a bit troubled when you left, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just accidentally locked my roommate in when I left the apartment that morning. He was fine. Anyway, we should talk after class” you chuckled.

“What do you think about coffee? Should we get some?” he asked, hands sweating, waiting for your no.

“Sure” you smiled “see you later, then” you told him and made your way to your desk.

Over coffee Franco dropped the façade. Politics wasn’t his area and he hadn’t understood a single lecture.

“How do you plan on taking his test anyway?”

“I was thinking that I could pray, a lot. And if I get too desperate I might cheat.” he confessed, making you laugh. He liked that. You were easily entertained, even with his bad jokes and comments, you smiled and chuckled. “Maybe I can beg a little, I’m not opposed to humiliation”

“Trust me, that won’t work. This is the third course I take with him. I’ve seen him fail a fair share of people.”

“I’m dropping out, then” he joked, slamming his palms on the table in defeat.

“You don’t need to do that, I have a bunch of notes, I’m sure they could help you out. And I could tell you what he likes in his tests, he’s very specific about it. It’s like a formula, once you get it right you can nail every test, trust me.”

You had to part ways for lunch but for the rest of the day Franco had a stupid smile on his face, all his friends made fun of him but he could only think about you. You weren’t that far off. Your mind was on the pretty boy with the childish smile that made you laugh. You had never really paid much attention to him, only knew he was an exchange student, and he would only be there for a semester, so you hadn’t made an effort to get to know him. A pity, really, but how could you’ve known how sweet and nice he was.

Next week he got you coffee again, on the premises of giving him some tips for that class. There was barely any talking about politics. You got to know each other, hobbies, interests, majors were all discussed. In reality you were just stalling, trying to get your nerves down to tell him about a ‘party’ at your place. You were saved by a third figure, your roommate.

“Hey,” he approached the booth where you sat “I thought you were going straight home”

“Franco invited me for coffee” you gestured your hand at the man, making your roommate look at him, “Tony, this is Franco, the guy in politics I told you about and Franco this is Tony, my housemate”

“Nice to meet you, mate” Tony said and they greeted each other with a handshake. “Has she told you about our little thing tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so”

“How rude! We’re having a little get together at our place tomorrow night. You should come, bring a friend, I guess. But just the one, our place is a little small.” he told Franco.

“He sold it terribly, but it’ll be fun, I guess. There will be alcohol!”

“I’ll come. I should take your number though, so you can text me the address.” smooth. He couldn’t have been smoother than that actually.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Franco. I gotta go though,” he turned to you “see you later, yeah?”

You watched Tony leave and soon Franco was walking you back to your car, still talking till you had to go your separate ways.

The next day Franco showed up at your apartment at eight, a time he expected people to be there. Wrong. He rang the bell and when you opened the door he realized the place was still quiet.

“Franco! You’re early!” you said, not seeming bothered that he was there early. He stopped to look at you. Your hair was down, and you had a dress on, completely different to your usual ponytail and jeans. It was a good different, you looked even prettier and Franco couldn’t even believe it. “Come in, no one’s here yet”

“Oh, I can come back later, I-“

“Don’t be stupid, Franco” your hand reached for his wrist, pulling him in “come in. We’re almost done setting up”

As Franco helped set up the drinks people started to show up and you excused yourself to greet them. He ended up drinking some cheap beer while talking to some people that he knew from other classes, in reality they were talking to him, and they must’ve thought he was a really good listener because he never spoke. His mind was somewhere else — watching you from across the room, smiling as you talked to someone else.

He knew the guy, Mike. Mike was handsome, and he was in a band — which Franco thought was stupid — but at some point he caught you blushing as he started to sing. Then there was the horrible feeling in his chest, something he shouldn’t even be allowed to feel, but there he was, drowning in jealousy as you talked to another guy.

God, he felt terrible, disgusted even, to feel that way. So he went after a distraction, and lucky your kitchen was full of them.

He put down his beer for a second, just to analyze the other drinks set up on the table, after a quick look he had to settle for the vodka. He grabbed a clean cup and poured himself a shot, soon he felt the alcohol burning down his throat and warming his body. Franco walked back into the living room already feeling a little dizzy, but when someone accidentally hit his shoulder he had to lean onto the wall to not hit the ground.

Luckily, you had seen the situation from afar and walked over to help him.

“Franco? Are you alright?” you asked, grabbing his arm to stabilize him. Franco cursed himself for letting you see him like that, embarrassing himself at your party. “Give me your hand, I’ll take you to my room for a second.” he shook his head, humming negatively but you resisted, taking his hand in yours and guiding him through the living room.

He didn’t know how but he had ended up sitting on your bedroom floor as you handed him a glass of water, kneeling next to him to make sure he was fine.

“Feeling better?” he nodded slowly and threw his head back, against your bed. “Get up, then, let’s get some air.”

He got up with your help, expecting you to walk him out of the room but you turned to your long curtains, pulling them open and revealing a small balcony. You both stood by the rails for a second, taking in the chilly night before he finally came back to himself.

“I’m sorry,” he lowered his head onto the rail, you could tell he was embarrassed, “I don’t know what i was thinking, I don’t drink, really”

“Are you sure it’s that? You’ve had the same beer all night” you chuckled.

“I took a shot,” he admitted, still refusing to look at you. “I made me real dizzy”

“That was all?” you chuckled in disbelief “A single shot?”

“Please don’t laugh, it’s already as embarrassing as it gets” he finally looked up, you were still smiling, watching and waiting for him to look back at you.

“So you’re feeling better now? We should go back in”

He just nodded and followed you back into the room, only now being in the right mind to notice the space. He tried to look around without you seeing, he noted the neatly made bed, the makeup on top of your dresser and your perfume in the air but what caught his attention the most was the wall covered in vinyls.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, “that must be a lot of music!” You nodded shyly, “You collect?”

“It wasn’t really meant to be a collection, I just like the way it sounds on vinyl. Especially the old ones” you pointed at a specific disc.

“Can we listen to something?” he tried and you nodded again.

“See anything you like?” you squatted down in front of your record player, opening it.

“Don’t know much about music. Play something you like”

You nodded and walked over to your brazilian section, grabbing an album from the back. “There’s a song in this one that was stuck in my head earlier today. I’ll play that” you pulled the disc out, wiping before putting it in and selecting the song you wanted. You sat on the floor by the bed, resting your back against it and looking up at him, reaching for his hand, “sit” Franco happily took the spot by your side as the song started. “This is bossa nova, the genre. It’s a Brazilian genre, from, like, the sixties. It’s always very soft and easy.” you told him shyly, watching his face to figure out if he liked it or not.

“What’s it about?” he was looking right back at you. He wanted you to keep talking for as long as you could.

“Missing someone, he hasn’t seen his lover, he’s reminiscing the times they had together while pacing alone through the places they used to go to. The lyrics are kind of repetitive but, to be honest, you can’t really pay too much attention to lyrics when you’re listening to old music, they can be quite problematic. This is an exception though.”

You spoke looking directly at him, your attention shifting from his lips to his eyes. Franco knew what you were doing, but he thought he might have been hallucinating, the alcohol making things up in his mind. But then you reached over, your hand gently on his cheek as you guided his lips to yours. They met in a tentative peck before you looked at each other, then he finally reacted, his hands met your waist and you smiled, kissing him again.

His hands pulled you closer as you deepened the kiss. It’s all smiles and hands and by time the second song started you were sitting hip to hip, but he stopped, pulled away and looked at you for a second. “Why’d you kiss me?”

You looked at him, confused and tensing up, thinking you got him all wrong, but then he smiled, his eyes squinting and cheeks rising “I just wanted to kiss you” you told him, simply and pulled him back into the kiss.

You pushed his head onto the bed with your hands on his face, and he pulled you with him. He was hugging your waist, keeping you close as your tongues make into each other’s mouths. You could taste the alcohol slowly fading in his mouth and you were sure he could taste in yours too. Your hands lowered to his chest feeling his muscles against your palms and his own went down your body one resting on your bare legs and the other on the small of your back.

By that time the record was on the third song but it was really destroying the vibe for you. You couldn’t help but chuckle and let your head fall to his shoulder.

“Everything alright?” he asked, even pulling his hands away from your body.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just the song. It is not a make out song, sorry” you pulled away and got up to stop the music “It’s kind of religious, it was killing it for me” you said as you walked back to him.

You stood right in front of him, looking down as he watched you kick off your shoes, hypnotized. You smiled at him, spreading your legs so his would be between them before you sat, directly on his lap. His hands fell to your hips naturally when you started kissing his jaw, a pretty noise falling from his lips as you dropped to his neck.

“Ah, fuck” he sighed “no, come here”

You let him take your face in his hand and guide your lips back to his. Then it was your turn to let out a satisfied hum when his palm, on your back guided you to press down against his hips, feeling his arousal against yours. He lowered the hand from your face, resting it on your thigh, fingertips brushing against the hem of your dress. His other hand mirrored the action on the other side as his lips slipped down your neck.

“Can I touch you?” he whispered against your skin, making you smile and practically melt on his lap.

You pulled away, letting your hands brush his hair away from his face. The look on your face was confused? He couldn’t tell. “No one has ever asked me that”

“So, can I?” he tried again, fingers gently pinching the top of your thighs.

You just smiled and nodded, feeling his hands crawl under your dress and play with the sides of your panties. His knees were folded behind your back, giving you support as he guided you to grind against him. Your hands dived into his hair as you kissed him again, your nails running against his scalp, making him shiver. His hands kept making their way higher, up to your waist, till his thumbs were brushing your under boobs. Then they were back down, one flat against your stomach, moving past the band of your underwear as the other hooked around the side.

Franco hadn’t stopped kissing you as his fingers met your slit. He felt around your lips, surprised with how wet you had gotten just from grinding against him. They slipped past your slit, reaching lower to tease your wet hole. A soft moan passed your lips when he did, your nails scratching his scalp harder.

He smiled and brought his fingertips up to your clit, gentle sighs coming from you as he started working circles. Franco wanted to hear you, so he took his lips down to your neck, leaving your mouth free to make pretty noises as he kissed your sensitive skin. His free hand traveled up your arm, reaching the sleeve of your dress and tugging it down, his action made your tits pop out of the dress and he couldn’t help but moan when his hand met them, warm and soft.

Franco cupped a single boob, this thumb playing with your nipple, his fingers never stopping on your middle. All the different forms of stimulation had you clenching around nothing, your cunt begging to be filled.

“Franco” you called in a weak voice, “porra,” fuck you sighed, dragging your hips forward so his fingers slipped down to your hole.

You both moaned when his fingers slipped in, soft ‘oh’s leaving your mouths. But quickly he was kissing your neck again, lowering his mouth down your chest. He worked the flesh between his lips, sucking his way down to your nipple, twirling his tongue around it then going lower. He scraped your skin gently with his teeth before sucking harder, giving you a hickey on the side of your boob. It made a moan fall out of your lips.

“Seu porra” you fuck, you sighed, playfully. You tugged him away from you by the hair, making him lay his head on the bed again, and kissed him. Your hips lifted slightly, moving back and forth as he curled his fingers inside, your movements making your clit rub against his palm.

“You’re close” he said. It wasn’t a question but you nodded anyway and dropped your head to his shoulder, feeling your orgasm build up from your toes to your middle. “No, c'mon, let me see you, princesa” he spoke into your ear but the foreign language only made you melt further into him. Franco threaded his fingers through your hair, gently guiding you away from his shoulder to look at his face instead. “So pretty. ‘d be a shame if I missed your perfect face while I make you feel good.”

You clenched hard around him, soaking in the compliments and with a last rock of your hips, you were coming for him. Franco made sure to watch your face, your parted lips, your lashes brushing your cheeks and the furrowed brows, all of it as your cunt trapped his fingers inside. Short moans flowed out of your mouth and Franco couldn’t think of anything prettier than that. He let go of your hair, letting your head fall back on his shoulder, your lips peppering lazy kisses on his neck.

“Can you ask me out on an actual date now?” you teased, giggling against his skin.

“What? You wanted me to ask you out?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?” you asked, too shy to pull away from his neck.

“Clearly no” he chuckled too, pulling his fingers out of you. You couldn’t see but you heard him suck them clean before resting his hand on your thigh and it made your cunt throb a little. “Listen, I should go” he said after a moment of silence while he straightened the sleeves of your dress, covering you up.

“No,” you finally pulled away, sitting back up on his lap “you should stay.” you said but he didn’t look so convinced “I’m asking you to stay. You’re probably too drunk to drive anyway”

“Okay” he nodded, “let me get you some water, though, yeah?”

You nodded back, moving off his lap to let him get up. He offered you a hand to get up before he left the room.

Franco couldn’t believe, as he poured the glass of water, that he’d be walking back into your bedroom, and would spend the night there.