#rustic hinge

[jt1674]

[capslocked]

PROXIMITY

male reader x chou tzuyu

25k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And her collarbone is out too. Ouch.

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

The problem is, you’ve recognized her immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

* Avoid unnecessary physical contact

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

* Do not offer opinions/advice unless specifically asked

* Minimize speaking, just to be safe

* Do not exchange gifts, especially personal ones

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

* Adjust and reframe

* Reinforce

* Remind yourself

* To just fucking think about literally anything else

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh yeah, for the ambience."

"For the ambience," she nods.

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe in, slow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

The fire pops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm. Sure."

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

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

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

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

"Did I get it?"

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

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

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

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

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

"There," you say, smiling, naive.

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

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

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

But everything starts to sink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, christ-

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

You breathe, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds like a you problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Swallow," you tell her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu lets herself go slack against your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

And that is - a vision.

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

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

"A shirt?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right."

"Your favorite past-time."

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

The power goes out early in the morning.

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu opens the sliding glass door to the balcony.

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

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

"Maybe."

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

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

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

"Want to look for it?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meaning?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

"My cocksleeve, my good girl, shit-"

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

"Is that what my girl wants? 

She smiles, again, so prettily.

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

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

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

Her hips come up off the granite, desperately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“You have no business thinking about babies.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

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

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

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

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

"My benefit, really?"

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

"Not making this easier, babe."

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

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

Tzuyu nods.

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

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

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

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

"Then you get your turn," you offer.

"Deal," she nods.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," is all you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

-

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

"Yes?" you prompt.

"Is it working?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No comment."

"So shy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put your hands on her hips.

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

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

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

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

-

The days bleed together after the snow.

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

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

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

"I have my limits, princess."

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

It's what makes her heart beat. )

-

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

You continue combing.

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

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

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

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

"If you don't take that back-"

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

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

Tzuyu shudders slightly under your touch.

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

"Sir, don't pretend."

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

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

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

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

"Too bad."

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

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

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

This doesn't have to end, no?

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

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

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

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

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

"Crazy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her legs snap to you quick.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you ask:

"What now, doll?"

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

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

"Was the screaming really that necessary."

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

"I," is the immediate reply.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were right. "This is hell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mnph.” Tzu chokes down a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, fuck, fuck- need to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You're not a bad person. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

She's at the doorway.

“Us. Being here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gloomy," you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And our usual antics?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

A girl like her, kissing so eager for you-

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

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

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

“How is that fair?”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

[alnilaem]

you lose your way on the pastures of a hidden farmstead. however, upon meeting the husky owner, being lost quickly becomes the least of your problems.

cw for noncon/dubcon, forced lifestyle puppy play, kidnapping

read on ao3

-

John sees you coming from over the horizon.

He heard the sputter of your van before seeing it. The plume of smoke that follows in your wake, orange and ashy, as you drive down the pebbled road.

He was rounding the house after letting the cattle out when he noticed you. He tips the brim of his hat back and watches, grinding his teeth into the wad of tobacco folded into his cheek, his hackles raised because you’ve decided to ignore the splintery No Trespassing sign in big, black letters pounded into the front of his farmstead.

He wraps a hand around his belt, watching as your camper van slows to a stop in front of him.

The hinges in John’s jaw lock. He’s ready to throw out an expletive, threaten you with the bare metal of his pistol, browned with age, and throw you into the back of his rust-bridled truck. He’d drive you into town and toss you onto the porch of the sheriff’s office, maybe teach you a thing or two about trespassing.

But your engine cuts, and your door swings open, and John’s tobacco turns heavy in his mouth.

He sees your shoes first, pressing tracks into the dirty road as you step out. Frilly socks that end below your knees. You’re wearing tight little denim shorts and a gauzy top that sticks to your chest, knotting your nipples in the summer heat.

You smile.

It’s a little sweet, dewy-eyed. It makes John’s cock chub up, makes him swallow his tobacco on accident, sticking to the spine of his throat.

“Hi mister,” you say. Light and wispy like the breeze that whorls through your ropes of hair. “Sorry to be a bother.”

John perks up. He crosses his arms over his heavily built chest, the hair on his forearms bristling with his newfound flush.

“Just trying to find my way here–“ you unfurl a map and point towards a little dot. “Mind helping a girl out?”

You giggle. It’s coy, John tells himself, just like the flutter of your eyelashes as you hoist your neck up at him, preening.

“Um… sure,” John takes off his cowboy hat and runs a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “Four hours. East. You jus’ follow the road.”

Gooseflesh creeps down John’s skin as you turn around and toss your map into the van, your ass spilling from the bottom of your shorts.

You turn back around and John coughs, averts his eyes to the cattle in the distance. He tightens the reel of his lasso around his knuckles, squirming.

“Thanks, mister,” you grin. “Know anywhere I can top up on gas?”

He gives you another look.

His eyes sweep a trail of flames over your body, making your blood churn. He keens at your nipples and the grain of your denim shorts digging into your cute pussy. He can see the barest outline of it winking back at him. Making his cock pulse.

He decides not to tell you about the gas station a kilometre west of here. Decides that would be too much trouble for a pretty lady like you.

“I’ve got plenty,” John says. Gruff, grizzled, like a bear that’s been in torpor too long. “Follow me.”

All John has to do is snap his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get you to follow him. He takes you into his rustic farmhouse, the place sparse in a red-blooded way, and leads you to the kitchen.

You don’t expect the dog, large with mud-felted paws, that pounces and almost knocks you to the floor.

Its tongue is rough and wet and gnarled against your cheek. You squeal, trying to push it away. It probably thinks you’re playing because it wags its tail, nipping at the divot in your shoulder.

“Aye,” John barks. “Off of ‘er, Dog. Git! Git on out of here.”

John shepherds the dog—aptly named Dog—into his crate by tossing a threadbare toy into it. The golden-haired mutt chases after it, following the toy into his cage.

“No way to treat a damn lady…” John mumbles under his breath. He smiles apologetically at you, his soft wrinkles puckering. He puts his hands on his hips, digging his fingers into his moth-eaten jeans and his sun-bleached flannel. He cocks his head to the side, squints.

“So, sweetheart, how about that gas?”

-

John brings you to a barn out back.

He leads you with a hand split on your lower back, past the stables and the paddocks and the roaming cattle beneath the blaring sun.

He pulls open the large barn doors, his arms flexing with the exertion, and puts his hands on his belt.

It’s an abandoned building. There’s no chicken, no stallions. It’s clear that the barn has been delegated to a storage space of sorts, going by the hay-bales strewn around and the miscellaneous staples of ranch equipment.

John smiles. It offsets his rugged look, makes you disarm a bit.

“Apologies for the mess,” he says, starting to tear through the supplies. “Just wasn’t expectin’ a pretty lady on my doorstep today.”

You stifle a giggle just to be nice, but John, in his time-honoured ways, reads it as coy again. It makes his cock stir against the metal teeth of his jeans, makes his mustache turn hot and wiry against the damp skin above his lip.

John rummages some more. Pretends to nick his finger on a metal steeple. Expels a heavy breath. His stomach paunchy and his chest strong, the hairs pressing against the gauze of his flannel as he rises to his feet and shrugs, hands set on his belt.

“Sorry sweetie,” John grumbles. “No gas here. How do you feel about dinner though?”

The change happens so quick you almost get hit with whiplash.

Your lips pop around stutters, and John’s balls turn heavy. He can imagine your lips parting around his cockhead, all the way down to his pubic bone which is stale with sweat and musky, steel-wooled. It makes him grip his belt tighter, white-knuckled, and undo the first few buttons of his flannel.

“Sir… I really should be getting out of your hair.”

“Nonsense,” John chuckles. “It’s the least I can do for havin’ no gas. I can go into town tomorrow and get some.”

You’re already impaired by the burning, penetrative summer heat. It doesn’t help the way John is looking at you, like a stray predator that made its way onto his ranch and forces him to lock up his animals for safety.

John senses the rumination written into your pretty features. He tacks on, “An old man like me never gets any visitors. None as sweet as you, surely.”

You have to nod, still a little hesitant. You say yes only because there’s a bulky rancher here keen on filling your belly and the sun is beginning to set.

John chuckles and claps his large hands together. He leads you back to the main house and ends up feeding you shepherd’s pie and a cold can of Cola. He pours himself a glass of whiskey and that makes you indignant, as if he sees you as a kid.

Dog stirs at your feet while you eat. Nosing at your ankles and nudging your legs for some food. John flares. He snaps his fingers and snarls, and Dog, moulded by his Pavlovian response, ambles into his crate.

“That’s where naughty dogs go,” John tells him. “You’ll stay there ‘til we’re done.”

You finish not long after that. John gives Dog the plates to lick before soaking them in soap water and shows you your room for the night. His room, actually, but he says he’ll sleep on the couch because he’s a gentleman.

That makes you smile.

But when you wake up the next morning, you’re choking.

Your throat is cinched with nylon webbing. The collar cuts into your windpipe, hindering your sprinting breaths, causing panic to lick up your spine. You sweat and the collar soaks it all up. Makes your skin itchy, flaring, as you chisel at your flesh to try peeling it off you.

You stumble out of John’s bed and hurry outside. He’s herding the cattle when you run towards him for help. Your mind is too scattered to realize he’s the only other person on this farmstead. He’s the one who did this.

“Mister, mister–“ your words come out stifled, cramped against the tight ruck of your throat. “Mister, I dunno what’s happened. Help-“

John puts a hand up and tuts like you’re nothing but a strident, misbehaving mutt.

“Easy,” he grunts around a cigar. “Jus’ calm down, will you? You’re hootin’ and hollerin’ and scarin’ the cattle.”

You choke around your tears. You hang your head, still trying to wrestle the collar off you, your fear ripening into panoramic horror when you look down and see golden fur embroiled into the collar. A bone-shaped tag engraved with a word that makes your blood run cold.

Dog.

It’s John’s name for his pet, but on you, it’s derogatory. Degrades you to a four-legged pup that laps water out of a basin and squats to piss, that needs a handler as rough as John to keep you in check.

He cups your cheek, passes his thumb over your fat tears.

“You don’t like it?” He asks, his voice distorted with a hint of disappointment that, despite you, makes you feel bad. “I took it off Dog. Now he’s runnin’ around the ranch with no collar. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

He curls his fingers under the collar and tugs you close. Your face puckers as he expels a plume of cigar smoke over your face, softly squeezing your bum.

“Good dogs say thank you though. Are you a good dog?” John asks. His eyes darken, eclipsed by something dusky. “Or are y’naughty?”

John forestalls your begging reply, squashing it against your throat as he grips your collar and drags you behind him. Taking his puppy on a walk.

You bridle at the deep-seated embarrassment. John’s other animals seem to have more freedom than you, watching from their pens and pastures as you kick and scream behind him. He pulls you into the main house and takes you to the kitchen. Bullies you to your knees in front of the crate.

He grips the scruff of your neck and forces your head inside. It smells stuffy, stale. The dog bed is moth-eaten and covered in fur.

John pats your ass. He rubs your pussy through your shorts, slowly pulls them off. Kisses your slick clit which is outlined by the dewy gusset of your panties.

“Y’gonna keep cryin’?”

A long cry quivers past your lips.

John’s fingers, although jaded, a testament to working with his hands, make you feel delirious. Makes you curl your pert ass into him, your cunt begging for more.

“Go on, girl,” he grunts. “Go on in. Git.”

He takes you by the collar and shoves you inside the dog cage, since–

“You wanna keep cryin’. I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about.”

There’s barely enough space inside to move around. Dog is a big dog, so you’re able to spin around and face John, but that’s all. You tuck yourself into a fetus position, resting on your knees, the metal grating pressing tracks into your hot skin.

“I don’t reward bad behaviour,” John says. “So for that you’ll spend the night here.”

John clicks his teeth each time you misbehave—clawing at the door, begging him to let you out—his kissing teeth bully the sound of your pleas, until eventually, you quieten, responsive to his clicking tongue.

“That’s it,” John says. There’s a thread of praise in his voice that makes you squirm. “You stay there an’ think about what you’ve done.”

He stands up and prepares his lunch. Eggs on bread and a beer to wash it down. John eats slowly, as if he’s teasing you. Disciplining you further. You don’t think he’s going to feed you, another component of his punishment, until he’s rising from his chair and squatting in front of you, his empty plate in his hands.

Well, almost empty.

Veins of leftover egg yolk are smeared around the ceramic. You look at it, and then at John. He passes his fingers over the yolk and sticks his arm in your crate because the gaps are big enough, waggling his coated fingers.

“Eat.”

You’re shaking. Hesitantly unfurling your tongue, working it around John’s thick fingers, swallowing whatever dregs of food he’ll let you. You become more eager as it goes on—lapping at his yolk-covered fingers as well as the mud and mire crusted into his nails. Sucking at his swollen knuckles, nibbling on his finger hair.

He belly laughs before pulling his fingers out of your cage. John stands up and soaks his plate in sudsy water, turning to look at you.

“Busy day today,” he says. “I’ll see you tonight, pup.”

You find yourself whimpering—not talking—as he turns to leave.

-

That night, you’re woken with a scuffle and John clicking his tongue.

It rouses you immediately. That, and the thin sound of his belt unbuckling.

Sweat sticks to your skin, dewy, when John prods through the crate and gropes you. You can’t see him but you can feel him. Rubbing your puffy cunt, thumbing your clit. Flattening his tongue against your pussy and pulling your lips into his mouth.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against your clit. “Knew you were a sweet girl.”

John’s tongue travels up and wets your asshole. It makes you jerk against the metal, makes the cage rattle.

He pulls away and you moan, thinking it’s another punishment. You push your ass against the gratings, presenting yourself, the metal gridwall rubbing against your swollen clit and making you shiver.

John mumbles something about patience. It seems that he doesn’t have any patience either, soft-soaped by your pussy, because he’s pressing his tip against your opening and feeding you his cock.

John fucks you through the holes of your cage.

Your lungs barely have space to stretch. Your knees are folded into your chest and your collar is still biting into your neck. You’re being split open on John’s cock, your arousal turning your thighs sticky. Drool trickling from your mouth and sticking to your cheek.

You don’t know when it ends. When you come, thighs trembling, or when John paints your walls. You also don’t know when it starts again.

All you know is that it becomes a daily thing, lapsing into a weekly thing. You go to bed in your cage but, sometimes, when you behave, John will let you sleep on the foot of his bed. He’ll clip your nails for you and keep you well-groomed. Brushing your hair, cutting it for you. Bathing you in a galvanized tub out back.

Unlike with Dog, John will even let you eat while he eats dinner. He’ll unzip his jeans and let you slobber at his fat cock while he sips away at his blended whiskey and polishes off his meal with his full belly and his soon-to-be empty balls, mumbling all the while about how much of a perfect pet you are, how he’ll never let you go.

Not that he was planning to, anyhow.

[imthebadguyyy]

Apple Pie

pairing : bradley bradshaw x reader

fandom : top gun

synopsis : bradley helps you make your renowned apple pie and experiences and enthralling sense of domestic bliss.

a/n : merry christmas to all who celebrate! love and best wishes ❤️🎁

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The scent of smoky cinnamon hung thick in the air, weaving itself with the tartness of fresh apples and the buttery promise of a homemade crust. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen window in golden pools, catching the specks of flour dusting the countertops like freshly fallen snow. A warm breeze, heavy with the aroma of a San Diego Christmas, whispered through the open window, carrying the faint scent of the salty sea air. It was a day meant for baking—a day where the world outside could wait while warmth and sweetness unfurled inside your home, one shared with Bradley.

The marble countertop, a luxurious expanse of creamy white, veined with subtle streaks of silver and gray flowed like frozen rivers beneath its polished surface. Cool to the touch and impeccably smooth, it provided the perfect canvas for the symphony of ingredients scattered across it.

A woven basket brimmed with crimson and honey-gold apples, their skins catching the sunlight and gleaming like polished jewels. Nearby, a small glass bowl overflowed with granulated sugar, sparkling like powdered stardust. A ceramic dish held a mound of cinnamon and nutmeg, their earthy hues promising warmth with a whisper of spice. A stick of butter, softened to perfection, rested on a wooden board, its edges slightly melty, waiting to be folded into the dough. Flour spilled artfully from a linen pouch, creating soft white dunes across the counter, while a jar of amber-colored honey glowed invitingly in the light. Nestled among the ingredients, a rustic jug of heavy cream stood tall, its promise of richness tucked beneath its simple cork top. Everything was arranged with an almost reverent care, a silent anticipation lingering in the air, as if the ingredients themselves knew they were destined for something magical.

Bradley stepped through the front door, the familiar creak of the hinges blending with the faint hum of music wafting from the kitchen. The aroma hit him first—sweet apples, warm cinnamon, and the unmistakable scent of butter melting into perfection. It wrapped around him like a welcome, soft and inviting.

Rounding the corner, his gaze landed on you. You stood at the counter, your apron tied snugly around your waist, its cheerful pattern a perfect match to the one hanging on the hook by the door. The sight made his heart stumble, just for a moment. There was something about the ease in your movements, the gentle sway of your hips as you worked, that filled him with a quiet, overwhelming contentment.

The apron—a gift he’d jokingly insisted on getting a matching pair of "kiss the chef" ones looked far better on you, though he’d never admit it out loud. For a fleeting second, he could imagine this moment stretched into a lifetime: mornings like this, evenings too, the two of you wrapped up in the ordinary magic of just being together.

“You’re making me look bad,” he teased, his voice warm as he leaned against the doorway. “What happened to waiting for the sous chef?”

You turned, a smudge of flour dusting your cheek and a playful smile lighting your face. “Sous chef? I thought you’d promoted yourself to taste tester.”

Bradley grinned, crossing the room to grab his own apron. “Domestic bliss never looked so good,” he murmured, the words half to himself as he tied the strings and stepped up beside you.

Side by side at the marble countertop, you and Bradley worked in quiet harmony, the kind of rhythm that didn’t need words. His hands, large but surprisingly gentle, moved clumsily at first, pressing into the cool, pliable dough while your smaller ones guided him with a soft touch. The room was filled with the quiet, comforting sounds of baking—the scrape of the rolling pin, the faint rustle of flour against the marble, and the occasional low hum of contentment from one or both of you.

“Like this,” you murmured, placing your hands over his. Together, you smoothed the dough into an even circle, the action unhurried, almost meditative. The soft press of your palms and the steady roll of the pin seemed to draw the tension from the air, leaving behind a soothing calm that wrapped around you both.

Bradley’s brow furrowed in concentration as he followed your lead, his lips quirking into a smile whenever you corrected his grip or teased his uneven edges. “Not bad for a rookie, huh?” he said, glancing over at you with an easy grin.

You tilted your head, pretending to inspect his work. “Hmm. I’d say you’ve got potential, Bradshaw,” you replied, your tone light but your smile warm.

The moment felt timeless, as if the world outside had paused to give you these small, perfect moments. The soft sunlight filtering through the window, the mingling scents of butter and spice, and the steady rhythm of your hands moving together—it was all a quiet symphony of togetherness. By the time the crust was ready, your fingers dusted in flour and your laughter mingling in the warm air, it felt less like a task and more like a memory you’d treasure forever.

As the two of you worked, Bradley's thoughts drifted, momentarily pulling him away from the comforting rhythm of the kitchen. The past few weeks had been a blur of intensity. The rigorous training sessions, each one pushing his body to the limit, followed by the endless debriefs that stretched into the late hours of the night. His mind had been consumed with flight simulations, meticulous calculations, and the pressure of preparing for missions that came one after the other. Long, arduous flights had left him drained, but it wasn’t the exhaustion that weighed most heavily on him—it was the constant longing to be somewhere else.

Somewhere with you.

The thought of the kitchen, of this quiet domestic scene, had become his escape. There was something about the way you were always waiting for him, patient and unwavering, that had kept him going through those long stretches away. In the dead of night, when his muscles ached and his mind raced with the remnants of missions completed and ones yet to come, he’d close his eyes and think of you. The way your laughter filled the space between the two of you, the warmth of your touch, and the sense of peace that came simply by being near you.

Now, standing beside you, the stress of those weeks seemed to melt away. The world outside, with its endless demands and responsibilities, faded into the background as he watched you expertly roll out the pie crust, the soft flour drifting through the air. The connection between you both—so natural, so easy—was like a breath of fresh air, and in this small, quiet kitchen, Bradley found solace in the simplicity of the moment.

He hadn’t realized just how much he had longed for this. The mundane beauty of being with you—flour on his hands, apples scattered across the counter, and a pie coming together, was a contrast to the chaos he had been living. It was exactly where he wanted to be.

Bradley reached for the basket of apples, the crisp fruits cool under his hands. “You do the crust like a pro,” he said, flashing you a grin. “Let me see if I can redeem myself with the apples.”

“You sure about that?” you teased, handing him a knife and a cutting board. “This is precision work, Bradshaw. No room for error.”

“Challenge accepted,” he quipped, rolling up his sleeves again as he positioned himself beside you. He started slicing the apples, his cuts neat but slightly uneven. You leaned over to inspect, your hand brushing his wrist as you adjusted the angle of the blade.

“Thin, but not too thin,” you instructed, your voice soft but firm. “We want them to bake just right, not turn to mush.”

Bradley nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile as he focused on the task. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board filled the kitchen, mixing with the faint hum of music still playing in the background. Each slice brought a sense of calm, as if the act of chopping apples could somehow unravel the knots left by weeks of tension.

While he worked, you measured out the sugar, pouring it into a small glass bowl with a practiced hand. You added a pinch of cinnamon and nutmeg, the warm, earthy spices swirling together in a fragrant mix. As you stirred them together, Bradley finished his pile of apple slices and slid them toward you with a triumphant flourish.

“Not bad, right?” he asked, his voice tinged with pride.

You glanced at the perfectly sliced apples, raising an eyebrow in approval. “Alright, I’ll admit it. You might have a future in baking after all.”

Bradley laughed, reaching for the measuring cup to help you portion out the rest of the ingredients. “Told you I’m a quick learner,” he said, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you a moment too long.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm again, working side by side to combine the apples, sugar, and spices. The mixture shimmered in the soft light, a glossy cascade of sweetness and warmth that seemed to mirror the mood in the room. Every step felt unhurried, every action deliberate, as if time had slowed to let you savor this rare moment of togetherness.

As the two of you worked, Bradley’s mind wandered back to his childhood, to moments long passed but never forgotten. The kitchen had always been the heart of their home, his mother standing at the counter, apron tied high, her laughter filling the space as she taught him the small rituals of baking. It was there, in that warm, familiar room, that he’d first learned how to measure ingredients and roll out dough—lessons woven with love and patience, and the comforting scent of fresh-baked treats.

He remembered how she’d guide him through each step with a gentle hand, the way she’d smile when he made a mess, and the way her eyes would light up when the kitchen filled with the aroma of their creations. She always said baking was an act of love, a way to pour a piece of yourself into something tangible. It was one of those simple truths he’d carried with him, though it had taken him a while to understand how much those moments had shaped him.

As you stood beside him now, chopping apples with practiced ease, Bradley couldn’t help but notice the similarities—the way you moved with that quiet confidence, the way your presence brought a sense of peace to everything around you. It was like this kitchen, these shared moments, were a bridge between his past and present. The rhythm of your hands working together, the soft exchange of words, and the laughter that bubbled between you felt like a new chapter in a story he never wanted to end.

His thoughts drifted back to his mom again, to the way she’d often say, “Baking isn’t about perfection, it’s about enjoying the process.”

Bradley smiled to himself, a pang of nostalgia settling in his chest. Maybe he didn’t have the luxury of those moments with his mom anymore, but with you here, in this kitchen, it was as if she had passed that same warmth and care down to you, and through that, to him. He glanced over at you, the soft glow of the afternoon sun highlighting the determined curve of your cheek as you worked, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt like it had come full circle.

Bradley set down the measuring cup, the weight of the moment hitting him like a wave. His eyes softened as they drifted to you, the sight of you so focused, so at ease, reminded him of something he hadn’t thought about in years.

“You know,” he began, his voice quieter now, “the first time I baked cookies, it wasn’t just with my mom. You were there too.”

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. “Really? I don’t remember that.”

Bradley chuckled, his gaze distant as he leaned back slightly against the counter, recalling the memory with fondness. “You were six. I was eight. Mom had decided we were going to bake chocolate chip cookies together—like a whole ‘family bonding’ thing. You were so excited, even if you had no idea what you were doing. I remember you kept sneaking chocolate chips and shoving them in your mouth when Mom wasn’t looking.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you tried to picture little you, mischievously eyeing the cookie jar. “That sounds about right.”

Bradley’s eyes twinkled as he continued. “I was determined to be the perfect little baker, you know? Measured everything precisely—like I was some kind of culinary prodigy. But you? You just dumped everything in, flour everywhere, a bit of sugar, chocolate chips scattered around… but somehow, it worked.”

You raised an eyebrow, the playful glint in your eyes matching his. “You mean it was my chaos that made it work.”

“Exactly,” Bradley said with a grin, shaking his head in disbelief. “Mom was trying so hard to keep us on track, but you and I just ended up making the biggest mess. It was like the kitchen exploded with flour and chocolate, but when those cookies came out of the oven, they were perfect. A little rough around the edges, sure, but they tasted like heaven.”

You laughed, imagining the chaos of it all. “I bet it was a disaster, but it was probably the best cookie I’ve ever eaten.”

Bradley nodded, the warmth of the memory spreading through him. “It was. And I think that’s when I realized something important—that sometimes, the mess, the imperfections, they’re what make the moments worth it. You and I, throwing chocolate chips everywhere, Mom laughing in the background—it was a mess, but it was our mess. And I’ll never forget that.”

There was a softness in his voice now, a quiet tenderness as he looked at you. “I guess I never told you this, but I always thought about that day when I came home, every time we’d bake together.”

You met his gaze, your smile softer now, the air between you warm and intimate. “It’s funny. I don’t remember the details, but I can almost feel it—the warmth of that kitchen, the smell of the cookies, and the laughter. It’s one of those memories that’s just… there. Like it was meant to be a part of me.”

Bradley’s heart swelled in his chest, and for a moment, he felt as though the years had collapsed into something simpler, something more timeless. The bond between you, so effortlessly shared in this small kitchen, felt like it had always been there, like it had been waiting to be rediscovered, one chocolate chip at a time.

With the apple filling nestled gently into the pie crust, you and Bradley stood side by side, both silently admiring the creation before you. The last few steps had been an easy flow of action, your movements guided by the comfort of routine and the shared sense of satisfaction that came from doing something together.

Bradley wiped his flour-dusted hands on his apron and looked over at you, his smile easy and warm. "You think it'll be as good as the one from last year?"

You laughed softly, a playful glint in your eyes. "Better, if we do it right."

Together, you carefully lifted the pie, the edges of the crust golden and slightly uneven, the filling bubbling just enough to promise sweetness and warmth. Bradley opened the oven door, the heat rushing out to meet you both, and you slid the pie onto the middle rack, feeling a little thrill at how perfectly it all came together.

The kitchen filled with the soft click of the oven closing, and you stood there for a moment, the two of you watching the pie as though you could will it to perfection just by looking at it. The anticipation hung in the air, the quiet hum of the oven providing the only sound.

Bradley leaned against the counter beside you, his arm brushing lightly against yours. “I’ve gotta admit, this whole baking thing—kind of growing on me.” His voice was relaxed, content, and you could tell that the weight of the past few weeks had momentarily lifted from him.

You smiled up at him, feeling a rush of affection for the man who, despite his usual focus on flying and mission prep, had found time to make something as simple—and yet, as meaningful—as this. "I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It’s nice, right? Just being here… together."

Bradley nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at you, then back at the oven. "Yeah. I don't think I've ever felt more at peace." His words were quiet, but they carried a depth that made you feel rooted in the moment.

For a few seconds, the room seemed to hold its breath, the scent of cinnamon and sugar beginning to rise, mingling with the warmth of the oven and the comfort of the space. In that stillness, you both knew what this was—this simple act of being together, of creating something from scratch and waiting patiently for it to turn into something beautiful.

As the pie baked away in the oven, the comforting scent of cinnamon and apples filling the air, you and Bradley exchanged a look. It was time for a well-deserved break, and after the cozy chaos of the kitchen, a few moments of relaxation felt like a gift.

"Think we deserve a little treat?" Bradley asked, pulling off his apron and tossing it onto the counter with a soft thud.

You grinned. "You mean besides the pie? Absolutely."

With a quick nod, you both headed off to your shared room, shedding the remnants of the afternoon in exchange for something far more comfortable. The soft rustle of fabric filled the air as you pulled on your favorite pajamas, an oversized t shirt that had once been Bradley's before you stole it, still soft despite the stretched out neckline from years of use, and a pair of comfortable flannel pyjama pants that were just soft enough to give you comfort, filled with memories of quiet nights just like this one. Bradley appeared moments later, also in his own set of pajamas—flannel pants and a simple black tee that made him look effortlessly at home.

"Much better," he said, tossing a pillow onto the couch before plopping down next to it.

You laughed and followed him, curling into him as the warmth of the oven continued to fill the room and the scent of cinnamon wafted from the kitchen to your beautiful living room. "Alright, what are we feeling? Chinese takeout? Or... pizza?"

"Chinese," Bradley answered almost instantly, his hands already reaching for his phone to dial the number. "Nothing beats Chinese on a night like this."

You smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m with you. The crispy spring rolls, and fried rice, it’s all calling my name.” you sighed happily, a little drunk on how effortlessly perfect the moment was with him.

He grabbed you by the hips, pulling you into him so you were straddling him, legs on either side of his waist. His hands gently trailed down your back, squeezing your hips as he rocked you forward, meeting your lips in a passionate kiss. His lips were soft and warm, and the kiss was heady in the best way. As he gently stroked your tongue with his, he let his hand drop to the curve of your ass, squeezing and palming the flesh through your pyjamas, the thin material pressing against your core in a way that had you gasping. As his tongue explored your mouth, you let your hands run down the muscled planes of his chest, hard and toned even under his t shirt, gently raking patterns with your nails and grinding your hips against his hips. His hand settled on your ass, cupping the flesh softly as he ran his fingers softly between. He drew back to inhale deeply, sighing happily at the sight of your swollen lips. He placed a final indulgent kiss on your swollen lips, pulling your lip between his teeth to watch it snap back in place.

You couldn't help but smile, gently tickling his side as he scooped you up to lay you down properly, grabbing your favourite couch blanket as you opened netflix on the TV.

As Bradley placed the order, you grabbed the remote, flicking through the shows to find something easy and comforting. "How about we throw on a Friends marathon? It’s been forever since I’ve watched it."

Bradley looked over, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Now you're speaking my language." He paused for a beat. "You know, I’ve always thought I’d be a Chandler in another life."

You raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh really? I can see that. The sarcastic humor. The… awkwardness.”

“Hey!” he protested, nudging you with his elbow. “I’m not that awkward.”

“Right,” you said with a grin, leaning back into the couch cushions. “You’ve definitely got a little Ross in you too, but more… cool.”

Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, but if I’m Ross, you’re definitely Monica. All that organization and competitiveness.”

You looked at him with a mock gasp, “How dare you? I’m not competitive.” But you both burst into laughter as the familiar opening credits of Friends played, the theme song a nostalgic reminder of countless nights spent laughing at the same jokes.

Bradley got up to fetch a bottle of red wine he had picked up a few weeks ago exactly for a night like this, along with two wine glasses with purple and red wine charms you had bought when you first moved in. He poured you a glass of the Sauvignon, watching with a content smile as you swirled it around your glass and took a happy sit, complimenting it with a sweet kiss to his lips.

The doorbell rang just as you settled in, and Bradley jumped up, a little too eager to grab the takeout. As he brought the steaming containers into the living room, you both made room on the coffee table, the food’s scent mingling with the still-warm aroma of the pie in the oven.

With takeout and your favorite show queued up, the evening stretched out in front of you like a peaceful, uninterrupted pause. There was no rush, no deadlines—just the quiet comfort of the moment, with laughter, familiar food, and a freshly baked pie in the oven.

Bradley fed you bites of food and the two of you chatted about mundane things that felt extraordinarily special when you spoke about them with Bradley. Growing up together, you had little to no secrets from each other, but the level of domesticity being in a relationship and living together had brought you had you dreaming of a life with him, a picket fence and kids, dogs and cats, a classic life you hadn't allowed yourself to dream of.

But now, as he fed you a bite of his spring roll and stole a sip of wine from your glass and placated you with a chaste kiss to your lips, your dream had turned to a reality.

The timer’s soft chime echoed through the kitchen, and with it, a rush of anticipation. The pie had finished its long journey in the oven, and as you opened the door, the golden crust greeted you like an old friend. The edges were perfectly crisp, the apples inside caramelized and bubbling with sweet warmth. The kitchen seemed to hum with the quiet satisfaction of a job well done.

Bradley was already standing by, his gaze soft as he watched you take the pie out, the aroma mingling with the last traces of cinnamon and sugar. “Looks perfect,” he murmured, his voice low with the kind of affection only shared in the quiet moments.

You turned to him with a grin. “I think you’re right. This might just be the best one yet.”

With care, you slid the pie onto a cooling rack, and together you waited those precious few minutes before slicing it. You cut into the soft, tender layers, the filling slightly bubbling over as you pulled the first piece onto a plate.

Bradley, ever the gentleman, grabbed the whipped cream from the fridge and dolloped a generous spoonful on top, the cold cream melting slightly against the warm pie. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours in the exchange.

“You first,” he said, his smile warm, a little teasing, but filled with sweetness.

You took the fork, the bite of warm pie and cold cream almost too perfect, the sweetness settling on your tongue like a promise. Bradley’s eyes followed you, a quiet contentment settling over him as he waited for your reaction.

“Good?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, savoring the moment. “Perfect.”

And then, without a word, you held the fork out to him, offering him a taste. His eyes softened as he took the bite, the simple act of sharing something so intimate almost more than either of you could put into words. You fed each other in silence, the only sound being the soft scrape of forks against plates, the occasional hum of contentment escaping both of you.

Between bites, the pauses were filled with quiet laughter, shared glances, and soft kisses—quick, sweet pecks that made the world outside the kitchen seem distant, as though this small moment was the only one that mattered. Your lips met between forkfuls of pie, the taste of apples and cinnamon mixing with the sweetness of each kiss, a quiet rhythm that only deepened the sense of domestic bliss.

Bradley’s hand found its way to the back of your neck, his fingers brushing the soft skin there as he pulled you in for another kiss. It was slow this time, lingering, the warmth of the pie forgotten as you melted into the softness of each other’s embrace. You let the moment stretch, taking it all in—the cozy kitchen, the warmth between you, the simple sweetness of pie, and the quiet joy of being together.

When the last bite of pie was finished, the plates were left behind, forgotten, as the two of you curled up together on the couch. The kitchen had long fallen quiet, save for the steady hum of the world outside. But inside, in the gentle glow of the evening, it was just you and him—a perfect little moment, wrapped in love, pie, and a thousand unspoken promises.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : merry christmas everyone! wishing you all love and peace! ❤️ would you like a series on how bradley and childhood best friend!reader got together? do let me know!! as always, likes , comments, reblogs etc are always appreciated!!

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[edenspoem]

SEXROT 𖤐 | ellie williams

☠︎︎࿐-ˊˎ jackson!ellie x fem!reader

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

AN: second fic ever published, it took sm longer but has more focus on the smut part of it. maybe the epilogue is a bit more casually written but its whatevs y'all def just here for the smut anyway. but(t) i hope u enjoy!! cause i sure did!! various times.

cw/tags: NSFW 18+ MDNI, smoking weed, getting high, friends to lovers, flirting, killing infected, guns, knives, blood description, replaces the jackson patrol scenario, spitting, dom leaning ellie, fingering (receiving, vaginal) clit stim (receiving and giving-ish) strap penetration (receiving, vaginal) oral (receiving) petnames (babe,baby,babygirl,princess) almost caught naked tewgether 😈(not in the act)

WC: 6.6k+

designated song: anesthesia- type o negative

synopsis: you have resided in jackson for about six months solo in a humble cabin only a stroll away from the lively community plaza. ellie introduced herself to you two months ago on the full lunar night of a bonfire and have proved inseparable ever since. both of you had a couple things in common upholding your friendship but lots of new experiences arise from beneath those shared interests. one day, you and ellie embark on the scheduled patrol for that afternoon, plowing through scattered clusters of infected inhabiting dilapidated buildings lost in the past. presently, after trudging the pearly snow and eluding the raging snowstorm, tucking both of you into a lone library sitting amongst those very buildings, brimmed with a 'herby' mystery.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Your uneasy fingers grasp the rustic steel door handle, deprived of the haven sourced on the summit of your horse's saddle minutes prior to entering this enigma of a building. Not a soul has settled within these walls for a considerable stretch of time and it shows, dust cloaking the floor, a void pooling in various corners of each room, the stuffy and still air clogging your senses and peculiar noises erupting from either your mind or physical reality. You roll the knob and push the loose door open, hinges creaking untimely with the lingering presence of a clicker revealing itself with the infamous croaks emitting from its fungal body.

Ellie is close behind, poised over your crouched shoulder with hawk pupils scanning the room you've just discovered. Her hand nudges you and deviates your focus from the room, honing on what she was mouthing in empty words.

"Watch my back, I'm gonna sneak up on it." 

You nod subtly in accordance, flattening your back against the icy door to make a path for her.

Ellie extends her gloved hand out on the doorways trim, shuffling on crouched legs past you and into the pigsty of an office, steadily approaching the mindless croaking clicker.

Your fingers seize the pistol sheathed in its thigh holster, provoking the trigger with dual fingers ready to fire a round right in the clickers noggin if need arises. The creaky chatter cracking from the fungoid continues as Ellie creeps upon its obliviousness, pouncing timely and capturing it in headlock as she fluidly jabs her switchblade into its rigid neck, spewing crimson blood outwards that painted her sleeve quite disgustingly.

"Uck," she conveys, face contorted with sourness.

Stillness remains until the coast proves clear, giving you a chance to address, "All good, no more infected." 

"Well, it's about fucking time!" she heaves the figurative indent of edge from her tense chest, flicking off strings of blood from her winter sweater.  "Think this doors' unlocked?" She queries herself prior to twiddling with the rattling door knob of a possible exit.

Your wandering eyes uncover the roughly concealed red and grey steel box, internalizing instantly that it was a generator, "Hey, 'Williams', there's a generator." you make known to Ellie, who's not even facing it.

She turns around, "Where there's a generator, there's a hideout. We could use the supplies, so.." she sauntered over to the generator, folding her knuckles around the pull-tab, "Hope they don't mind us borrowing- also, don't call me by my last name!" 

You snort a genuine laugh and ogle the way Ellie cranks the cord, arm so stable and fierce. You felt like a bumbling idiot for admiring her mere movements, but something under the skin pined for her in a way unfathomable at first glint. Her cinnamon dotted cheeks, badass scar slanting in her brow, fluorescent fauna irises, button nose and the sheer nerd that she was really spun the tide coalescing within your tenuous heart. On the other hand, her mannerisms, thrumming husky voice and attitude frets the knot in your pelvis beyond a fixing point you can't manage alone.

"C'mon, lights are on in here." Her voice snuffs the ramblings clogging your brain, grasping your attention towards the door swinging open just now.

You stare into her pupils barreling into you, now twisting a impishly curious visage.

"What'chu thinking about?" 

Your eyes flicker, "Nothing." A clod draws from your tense gullet, gulping the trance that bewitched your susceptible mind.

"Doesn't look like 'nothing'." She prys with a low gravelly tone, waddling languidly towards you.

"Nothing." You pursue vaguely, dusting past Ellie in a swift pace.

She just gawks at you, thin grooves in-between her knitted brows while she swung her head round to trail her eyes after you. Admittedly, she entertained the stray thoughts of you mutually, as the living recreations of you are sunken into her journals pages habitually. Her wrist recalls every arch and convex of your face, fingers honor the sway of your eye shape, subconscious retains the wisping of your baby hairs and consciously, Ellie just knows you as 'cute girl'. That very title is etched under the whole lot of depictions reaping your glamor throughout her journal.

"You think Eugene used this place too? I mean, all this electrical shit, nobody'd tinker with it except him." She infers, reverting to the eased doorway you just proceeded through.

Your void mind instantly heeds the flurry of wired veins branched across the next room. Your eyes trace the river of cords until it vanishes between the wall and a peculiar bookcase. Illumination pummels through the frayed wood planks backing it, luring your mind towards this enigma.

"Yo, check this out." You hoist an observation aloud, Ellie's umber auburn head whirls to peek at your discovery.

"What the fuck?" An airy chuckle grates from her throat in awe, peachy lips ajar and nooks of her mouth flexing into a smirk.

You lend your weight upon this bookcase, plateauing to drive the colossal bookshelf from where it's planted. "Ugh, a little help?"

Ellie giggles at your measly endeavor to motivate the shelf, that dumb wide crescent grin bearing upon her spread lips, "Got no muscles or something?" she quips.

"Shut up!"

She caves in and assists you regardless, moseying around and towering over you, casting a dark specter across your body. It was a casual stance, but quivers your beating core nonetheless. The noise of scratches indenting underneath the hefty bookcase as it drags screeches in your hollow eardrums.

"There." Ellie claims hoarsely, whooshing her breath against your bare neck and scoring numerous hairs to plumb from your skin.

Shaking it off, you embark through the threshold, eyes tunneling upon a downward staircase beckoning you to traverse to its descendant level.

"Tch, did Eugene own a sex dungeon?" Ellie immaturely cracks, scurrying down the steps faster than a dog could.

"I hope. That dude was lonely." You jest back in emphasis, earning a gust of laughter past Ellie's lips.

"Think we'll find scary whips and chains in there?"

"Oh my god, Els! I don't think he was into that kinda stuff." You hop a step, springing upon her and jabbing your stiff knuckles into her unalerted shoulder blades playfully.

"Ouch! It was only a theory." her voice curves in defense, sowing her feet flat after the last tread of stairs. 

You tumble your eyes accompanied by a sigh, beating her to the door and pushing it open to a sight your noses realistically should have detected a floor above. Least of all ambrosial, the fetid source birthed from a garden of weed, some potted, some dangling, lots cascading over the steel tables, essentially, a fuck ton of herb.

"Unholy shit!" You expound with starstruck pupils, molting away the playful exterior you harbored just moments ago and cast an astonished visage.

"Did he grow.. all of this?" Ellie doesn't grapple with the notion of it right away, but soon materializes it in her cranium and wanders over to a pot of the dried sage green herbage.

"Must've taken ages.." you pondered, plucking a brittle leaf off its hunched stem, chafing it to ash between the pads of your glove-clad digits, "And a day.." you slyly add in regards to the weeds dehydrated state.

Ellie stupidly grins in reaction to your joke, baring teeth and all. She strides past arrays of trays, rustling the herbs strung up to the ceiling. Her eyes land upon an obscure shape, alluring her to inspect the properties of this object. She erupts, "It's a gas mask bong." cradling the mask in her hands, infatuated by its genius design.

"In what situation would you even use that?" you doubt it's anything more than plain goofy.

"Emergency relief?"

"Of course you'd know how."

"Hey, I don't smoke that often!" she wards in a pitched tone, scoffing at your mere belittling.

You reel back into a searching mode, lurking among the next isle of weed till a glass jar of blunts enlightens you. "Ellie, there's a jar of this shit!" 

"Oh for real?" she trots hastily to your region, bearing a vivacious fever at the sight beholding a for real container of rolled blunts.

"Think it's fresh?"

Ellie hums an 'I dunno', cusping the jar from your hands and wrenching the lid with all her might, not budging at all. It takes her a blur of tries, observing the way her thick brows purse together and summon those vertical grooves in her forehead, an attractive sight to you.

"You need help?" you mock her, unzipping and unsheathing your arms out of the slim fitted sleeves fashioning your winter jacket.

"No, I got it." Ellie assures with a cluster of uncertainty smothering her strained voice. She had to practically arch over and bound the jar to her abdomen for faltering pressure.

"Gimme that." you snatch the glass from her dense grip, garnering a doubtful sneer skipping her lips.

"Like you'll get it." 

"You shouldn't be talking." you dart a wink.

Ellie flits a smug middle finger like the immature fiend she is, peeling the green jacket layering her pewter grey hoodie off. She tosses it astray to the ground, lurking towards a convenient couch and relaxing her butt against the nook of its armrest.

The lid refuses to subdue to your firm grip, feebly slipping and searing an exasperated groan gritting your teeth. Your instincts flash and wills an arm up to hurl the jar harshly against the stone ground, pulverizing the glass into countless shards.

"What, the fuck, is wrong with you?" Ellie halts at every syllable, gesturing with her palms like a shield to the jagged fragments.

"A lot."

Ellie gives a judgey once-over at your unbothered demeanor, hiking off the couch and crouching down to cautiously pinch a freed blunt from the debris, feathering the dust off and indulging a whiff held to her nostrils, "Smells good." she asserts, hoisting up and offering the joint to you.

"We' taking a detour?" you metaphorize, rotating the blunt like a wheel between your fingertips.

"We're trapped." Ellie educed a reminder wary of the billowing snowstorm that proved risky to tread earlier.

"Totally trapped." 

You both take harbor on the buffered sofa, bodies naturally vis-à-vis, a sheer four feet apart. Flicking the lighter cap open, plucking the tab and igniting the pocket flame whilst keeping your keen eyes on Ellies, who's piercing the windows to your soul with those juniper rings.

Ellie studies your face brazenly, locked on your profile as you kindle the blunt casually, lodging it between your lips to inhale a drag. Her optics tear an awkward barrier in the vacant space between you, now bidding a tension on the horizon. This makes you feel, seen, read like a poem, one that Ellie read often, and adored endlessly. Weed scorches the walls of your throat, eliciting a cough to spasm from your tight chest.

"Gah- fuck!" The spasmodic fit weaves through your distress, extended arm begging for Ellie to nab the source of your rasp from your jolting hand.

She snickers in belittlement at your expense, that dorky toothful smile crooking her rosy lips, "First time?"

"No."

"Liar." 

"You'll never know." 

Ellie's grin broadens prior to catering the blunt to her lips, pursing around the tip to drain a puff into her barren lungs. You take a gander at this sight, melting in the dimensional image of her woody auburn hair veiling a halo around her hung head, perking up to huff a thick smog enveloping you.

"What happened- last night, at the dance?" 

"You mean, with Dina?" she passes the blunt back, fingertips mingling a moment.

A hesitant drag soothes your lips, "Yeah, if you're uh- fine telling." Luckily, a cough doesn't plague you.

Ellie's cheeks lift a smirk, "It was a.. wild night. Dina.. kissed me and then Seth went bigot mode and said a not-so-nice word."

"Oh, shit." your brows rear and carve horizontal creases to your forehead, "You good?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just.. on edge. This helps though." she beams, nicking the smoldering blunt from you.

You couldn't divulge if she referred to you or the weed being her beacon of ease, but you dust off the thought. "So, you and Dina?" you inquire in a flirty mimic.

"N- it's.. just a kiss. She was drunk, I'm not gonna look into it- it doesn't mean anything." she stutters in a flustered haze.

Drawing some smoke in, then puffing it out, a smile invites itself on her pooling red midface and hijacks your attention.

"Why' you blushing then?"

"I'm not fuckin- fuck." Ellie's embarrassment stinges the sight of her smile as she flicks her head away, a cute sight to you that warrants your rising feelings at this moment.

"I think it's more than a kissss~" your tone curls playfully, nagging at Ellie's rattled state.

"You're on thin ice."

"A crimes' been committed, someone stole your heart!"

"I will come over there and fight you, no joke!" 

"Ellie's got a girl-" 

Out of the void, she has you pinned by the wrists under her clammy palm, sinking into the padded seat beneath you, auburn bang drooping like a pendulum over your face with the barely existing space between your faces. Senses plagued from the way gravity lashed out of you and hallucinogens deceived you, burrowing and growing like mold in the foggy vale of your skull.

"I don't have a girlfriend," Ellie utters through a sluggish jaw. "yet."

Your mind makes out an elusive meaning to her words, "You don't like Dina.."

Her lips calcify ajar, hot breath seeping into your buzzing skin, "It's someone else."

"Me?"

Her eyes waver, but strike up, "Yeah." she admits in a soft chuckle, wedging her thigh between your shut ones cunningly. You swear her pupils dilate like a supermoon.

A euphoric orb rings inside of your essence, thickening your veins and coating a cloak of boiling heat over your swelling hips wailing for a fucking when her voice brims your ears. This weed has really got your mind and panties in a pleasant twist. The confirmation of her liking- love? Maybe it's too soon, but it sure confirms your hidden suspicions.

"I think we needa get back to your place." Your words weigh heavy with intention.

"Fuck yeah we do." Ellie aligns with your suggestion, gnawing her tender lips with intention as well.

You both hustle off the tearing couch now tinted with a lustful sweat, not paying an ounce to sliding a coat on or gloves prior to, but not without pilfering some lone blunts scattered upon the floor, mounting your horse and galloping off.

☆

The warmth of Ellie's garage-shed-home drinks you up graciously, biting back the bone-chilling skull-screaming fever of the merciless ice age outdoors. The locked door affirms you won't be bothered, so your nerves settle and excitement brews deep in you. A new heat bonds with your body physically, Ellie embracing you cordially and her face dominates your vision.

"We're here." Her husky voice streams pleasantly, "What now?" 

A chill races your spine, replying in a stutter, "L-let's do this on your bed." You heave out with desire, digging your nails into her hoodie-clad back.

Ellie descends slightly to tuck her hands under your knees, buckling you around her hips snug and lodging her crotch against your heat, the rivet of her jeans poking the valley of your clothed cunt, earning a choked whimper bearing pleasure. The ensuing moment, you're cast onto the cottony bed with Ellie crawling over you, latching her plump lips on your bare neck and peppering your neck with prompt and sloppy nibbles.

"You want this? Cus' I really want this~" her words muffle in the crook of your jaw. "But d'you?" she intoned against your ardent skin, hips bucking and rolling the lump of her denim into your clit, causing you to bear down and grind back in chase of those lovely whits of ecstasy.

"I want it.. so bad.." the tension piling since the couch at last reprieves through every respite and roll of her hips.

Bodies chafing together at Ellie's intended friction, more importantly, knee now rutting against your aching clit stirs a kugelblitz in the cavern of your pelvis. Ellie peeks her face over yours, tucking the apex of her nose aside before rolling her lips on yours with passion, smacking sounds filling your headspace.

"I've liked you for so long, yknow?" Ellie affirms on your lips, "I wanted you for so long."

The pure carnal burn tickles your skin, bubbling a sinful image behind your eyes and mouth ardent to bite down on her bottom lip in hunger.

"Fuck, babe-" Ellie breaks the kiss briefly to utter, dazed vision, via her arousal, tunneling into yours with wide pupils.

You grin, prying your thumb between your teeth in a way that appeals to her. A hand traverses your body and toys with the hem of your shirt before lurking under and grasping your bra-clad breast fondly.

"Ahh~" your voice creaks when her thumb shimmies under the bra and plays with your fervent buds.

"Like that?" Ellie's tone dwells with honeyed lust, so sweet yet so intoxicating.

Lips polarize together and spark a continuous blossom of arousal, soaking the panties and coating a flim on the denim in a portal shape. Bound by a sluggish spell, your limp arm snakes over your torso, fingertips stroking Ellie's forearm and folding under the rim of your shirt to pull it off, exposing bare skin lush with blemishes and scars, trailing along with your jeans almost torn off in a rush.

"Damn." Ellie's airy chuckle riffs in your head, prefacing a long flirty whistle.

"Stop.." A blush bruises your midface, darting away from her intense stare that crowds you with a shy rotation of your head.

"Hey, look at me." Her fingers forcep your chin, reeling your head back to drown in her sights like a gentle whisper of adoration, "I wanna make you feel good.." her words cruise in a promising melody.

That very declaration screws your core in delightful ways, waxing a breaking sweat over your already humid exterior, interior when it refers to something else.

A notion murmurs akin to a soft hollow echo betwixt your temples, ushering your body to motion. Your hands spring to clasp her unaware wrists, tussling her over and straddling her hips.

"Woah, okay. This works." Her lips spread to an exalted smile, palms perched on your thighs and digits prodding the viscose skin wrapping the crests of your hips, reading every stretch mark with her finger pads which adorns a satisfied beam to her eyes.

A slew of exhilaration crashes against the walls of your body, grinding that clothed sensitive bud on the ridge of her zipper fly, biting back a riff of moans.

"Lemme hear you." Her hand scales your body, thumb inching past your lips and hooking over your teeth, beckoning it ajar.

"Fuhhhck.." You thrill her with a droning groan, stirring your eager tongue around her thumb and suctioning a kiss around her knuckle as it adjusts beyond your teeth.

"Suck, babygirl." 

Obeying her word, your lips bolt around the root of her thumb, siphoning it further inwards on the plateau of your tongue and casting dozy sex eyes upon her.

"Good girl," Ellie's finger skims out from your teeth, leaving a trail of saliva down your chin.

Your hips wallow over the hill of her bunching jeans, feeling a finger embed and press up onto your clit, damping the tip of her willowy digit thinly and hollowing out a clamor of moans.

"I gotcha this wet?" A brazen smirk glamours her lower face, rousing her own elation with a weighted chafe of her thighs, "Fuck, baby."

A figment of her voice remains like a chant in your smothered mind, calling your eyes to shut and live in every sting of pleasure stimulating you.

"Hmnnn.. mmm~" you purr, unfathomable bliss influencing your actions with every roll of your bud.

"Can I take these off?" her fingertips peruse your pantyline, to which you nod, pleating them down your hips gently once you've granted the okay signal.

Your panties eventually get hurled somewhere in her room, probably dangling from the edge of her TV screens' rim or now invited to the pile of her own laundry, nonetheless, she honed in on your now stripped slit, spreading your legs with her own shuffling first, displaying your bareness split across her open thighs.

"Watch my fingers."

So you do, focused on her gliding hand grazing your thigh in an unhurried manner, coaxing the crevice melding your thigh and crotch before they split and part your folds. She gives you a once-over before dipping into your drenched core, sucking her fingers up like it knew her touch. Her fingers inside prove warm and filling, sliding through your clenched walls with ease and in return rewards you with a drunken and drowsy gaze from her seductive greenhouse glow eyes.

“You take me in so well, shit-” Ellie’s humid mutter seeps into the swirling skin of your temple, close proximity with her heaving chest and the aroma of her natural scent coating the chamber of your skull deeply.

Her skins aflame with an amber luminance and dampening, reeking of carnal ache through her sullied hoodie, so you slur out, “I wann-feel your skin’n mine..” you clutch on the band of her hoodie, knuckles prodding her firm abdomen.

"Fingers not enough?" Ellie's hoarse yet silky voice coos, fingers sliding from your sopping wet cunt and slick glazing her svelte digits beautifully.

"I need all of you." You lean and overshadow her stationary body, hastily pulling her hoodie over her head and ruffling her hair a smidge.

"Mhm, baby?" Ellie reposes her benign palms to your hips, fingernails indenting the plush skin of your ass and inscribing a reddened row of scratches, a daring idea lighting inside her head, "y'wanna sit on my face, pretty girl?" her husky tone thickens.

An answer spurns from your agape lips, instead winding your body to heed her suggestion and climb upwards towards her face, observing the way she bites her pink lips at the sight of your eagerness before your stature projects over her and offers a pleasing sight to her sex-swollen mind.

Your avidness turns her on, admittedly, "Fuck, babe- gonna clean y'up good, okay?"

Her greedy digits resume through your ocean-soaked folds, splitting them apart and sinking three fingers in, fiending for the profound warmth your core provides. They dip in nicely, entrance molding to the shape of her fingers, absorbing every intent feeling her curving knuckles elicit in your throbbing walls and the celestial heavens wash over you.

"Fuck me- oh god.."

"That's what I'm doing.." Ellie sneaks in a playful joke, a crook slanted smile smoothing her lips for a mere moment before swiping it away with her tongue 'wetting the whistle'. Her hunger lives for your taste, colliding timely with your clit and suckling the bud into her pressed lips, simultaneously pumping her fingers into your leaking pussy and forcing a spiking yelp from your unlatched mouth.

"Mmm, Ellie.." you whine, gripping on her already disheveled locks instinctively.

She doesn't reply, too focused on rolling the swelling bud with her nimble tongue flicking endlessly between your delicate folds. An arm buckles over your thigh, elbow adjacent to your hip crest and pinning you further against her deft lapping motions. Ellie knew what she was doing.

The curved fingers coaxing your g-spot sparingly is just enough stimulation to decay your functioning senses, "Els- El..Ellie.." you wail breathless, her tongue prying at the hood of your clit lovingly whilst suctioning inwards sends shockwaves down your legs and into your feet.

Ellie parts from your core, smeared with your slick gleaming down her chin. She sucks in the wetness dripping from her lips, "Tastes so good, babe- mm, so fuckin' hot." she steeps her vision in the perspective of your body elongated before her, eyeing like a precious gem.

You melt in the quickened pace of her fingers inside you, knuckles deep and brimming with arousal overflowing at the base of her fingers. The intense thrusting of your sobbing pussy ejects a melodious line of moans, "Fuuuuck…" masking the tantalizing noises of your heat slapping with Ellie's palm.

"Cum, babygirl, come on.." Her voice husks gravelly, deepening in your skull while numb-fucking you into oblivion with hawk eyes staring up at you.

Lubricous strings lash against your outer folds and inner thigh at each smack her hand endures, her tongue slurping up those juices pooling over your neglected clit adding an extra layer of lust incarnate ramming your walls to be released. Giving in, your nerves flare up and pulse around your opening, limbs tightening and clenching, especially around Ellie's lithe fingers, a sweet pleasure engrossing your entire essence with a rush of fluid spiraling down her knuckles.

"Good fuckin'- that's m'girl.." She growls inwardly against your stuffed cunt, thrumming from her chest igniting that attractive muffled voice she crowns.

You feel her fingers slip out, leaving a hollow sense rooting in your core. A suctioning sound comes from below you, noticing that Ellie had licked the taste of you from her pussy-drowned fingers. 

"God, Ellie.. where'd you learn that?" you huff out, still descending your head from the sun above.

"Experience." She discloses, not a fragment of bluffing behind those proud eyes, relishing in the way she drove you to boundless ecstasy. She announces, "I'm not done yet though." 

You inquire a bumbled facade until you hack her meaning just as she leverages you off her face with dual strong grips setting you to the side. Hoisting onto her knees, spinning 'round to rustle through her nightstand, equipped with a slightly beaten but sealed box once she faces you again.

"Fuck is that?" You ask with knitted brows, curving curiosity in your smirk.

"So, there was this sex store up in-"

"Ellie, is that a dildo?" you poke the box.

"Not- exactly no."

"Bitch, I'm gonna be getting a different kind of infection from that."

"It's sealed! The building was barely ruined or inhabited," She defends, gentle hands rubbing your folded knees. "I just wanna fuck you."

You bob your head languidly, bidding an unwarranted smile on your lips, "You did, though." 

"But I can do so much more.." Her face levitates towards yours, "If you want?" the corners of her mouth jerk, upholding that memorable smile, dimples, nasal lines and all.

"Obviously.. I want it.." your voice rumbles navelly, eyes fix on her pupils, narrowed lids and a siren visage.

"Head on the pillow then, princess." Ellie chuckles, hands mindlessly peeling open the box.

Your fingers linger on your bra, still on somehow, so you brace it off willingly, plopping into the cloudy pillow enveloping your sticky skin with a cotton case creasing like a halo surrounding your head.

Ellie dumps the box's contents out, a thick hunter green mass smacking your thigh, "Shit, sorry." she clasps the strap-on by its buckle, leading it off your thigh simultaneously to giggling.

"How long ago did you find that box anyway?"

"Like.. a month or two?" her voice curves, unsure.

"So, you've been planning this for 2 months?"

"I've liked you longer than that."

"Oh?"

"I didn't plan it, I just.. had the stray thought." Ellie's cheeks churn in a red tint, "But I always think of you, fake dick or not."

"It's fine, I wanted you for a while too, so it's mutual." you sync a blush, anticipating the hazy lust to clamor within you again, "Thought of you too."

A mischievous grin carves on her lower face, light eyes squinting, "Like, in bed-"

"Get that damn thing on already."

"Yes, ma'am!" Ellie resumes her motions, tearing the rest of her under garments off in a pinch, bare alongside you. She fastens the strap on snug, jabbing into her untended clit that jams a groan out of her diaphragm.

"Neglected a bit?" you tease.

"Shut up." she hushes in a honeyed mumble, slouching slightly and grasping the mimicked shaft, spitting into her unoccupied palm and massaging the length graciously, "There we go.." she hums deeply.

Next thing, Ellie's hoisted your bottom between her thighs and legs hugging her hips loosely, seconds away from cramming the entire base into your over-sensitive pussy. She runs the tip through your delicate folds, sloshing the lewd slickness around which is music to your ears. Her eyes darted over to capture yours, withholding the appetite for one last affirm of consent; "Ready babe?"

"Mhm." You nod with zero hesitation, squirming your hips in timidness for what might be brought upon your foggy senses.

Ellie leans her body over you, sinking the tip between your slippery walls and gauging you in one quick swing of her hips. 

"Fuck!" Bliss clogs your throat but overdrive knots in your pelvis, implanting your bottom deeper in the sheets as a means of reprieving the inferno of overstim just slightly.

Ellie lends you a moment of adjustment, asking in a silky tone, "Can I start moving?" her face a breath away from yours, arms like pillars locking you between her hands.

"Please.." you secure your legs around her hips, nicking her in the butt with the heel of your foot playfully, "fuck me.."

Ellie's muscles tense in excitement, fierce craving looms in her face and her hands run down to grip your hips in a carnal fashion as she sinks you deeper on her base, uttering under a hush, "I'll fuck the shit out of you."

Following that, you embrace her close to you as her hips begin to crash against yours slowly, akin to a wave, hollowing and filling as she pumps her hips flawlessly. 

Tickling whimpers purring from your lips linger around the base of her ear, encouraging her to speed up slightly, chromatically raising the pitch of your pleasure, "Els…" you whine.

The strap jerks back at every thrust, chafing with her sensitive clit in provoking ways that draw out steamy breaths from her every moan. Friction beguiled her to pace faster, digging the straps base into her bud deeper, heaving a "Fuck, baby, fuck!" from that groggy voice as your hips knead together, her fingernails scraping your plush bottom instinctively.

You cast your head back towards the headboard, displaying a tidal of curses surfing from your throat at the top of cloud nine, "Yes! god.. harder.." 

"Say my name.." 

"Els-E-Ell.." you struggle as your voice gets smothered by every buck her hips produce.

"Come on.. you can do it." she motivates you in a sugary sweet coo.

"Ellie!" you wail, "Ellie.." 

"Good girl."

Ellie snaps and throws her torso up, clutching your tender hips and slamming them down on her eased cock, front slapping harshly against your bottom with aiding wetness splayed across your legs, her face contorting one of strain at the sheer intensity her speed proves to be.

"Mm, fuck!" You writhe in erotic contentment, stunned by the pure sensations sweeping your nerves and swirling around your pelvis, she's fucking you so good, your minds' all mush.

Ellie bites back her ceaseless rasps, riveted on the way your breasts bounce restlessly with every pound, bewitched by the sight and honestly almost drooling since her mouth was just open. She groans, "You gonna cum again? Hmm?" her thrusting falters and begins to get sloppy, out of breath.

"A-huh! Hmmnn.." your vision blurs and you fall into a dizzying spire, fucked out of your mind and on the verge of snapping.

"Yes.. yess.." Ellie mewls out, the dark amber strand sticking to her drenched forehead, emanating a beautiful glow across her body that weaved every groove her toned muscles bestowed, highlighting her drooping lids, agape mouth and taut forehead creasing when fucking felt just right.

All the feelings bubble up, the strap hitting your g-spot so perfectly, fogging your mind and tossing your coordination out the window. She descends her head towards your neck, sanguine bites lathered upon your shoulder and crook of your neck.

"Ellie- I'm gonna.."

"Me too." She huffed out, slamming your hips down in unison with her movement, a sheet of slick glazed between both of your crotches causing a wet slap to occur with each thrust, "Open up more, babe." her hands trail to your thighs, forcing them apart .

"It's s'fhukin g-mmm.." your voice slurs and cuts off.

"Shhhshh… shh.. I know.." her lips drag against your ear, prideful eyes drowning in your fucked out face, proud of her work. 

The swelling knot in your pelvis finally snaps, sending you quivering in her arms. Lewd moans clatter against the rooms walls, orgasm overwhelming your systems and gyrates your brain on a down spiral. Muggy sweat cloaks your entire body and hinders a steady breath from grazing your lungs.

Ellie's pelvis doesn't hesitate to halt, colliding with yours and rendering your already fried senses into a numbing and jittery state. She chases her own climax, hosting a melody of moans into your ears as she approaches release, "Fuck~ fuck fuhhckk.. babe." she squints harshly, driving her clit into the strap's base fiending for release.

"Els.." you whine, bracing the eruption of overstim.

"Just hold on, baby, hold'n.. uhh- fuck." Ellie's neck tightens and narrows her voice into a groan, gripping your wrist with a might to bear down her intense orgasm, sexy low growls thrumming from her chest. Her body falls flat on you in immediate exhaustion, burrowing the strap deep inside at a pause.

A laugh entrances you, "Felt good, hmm?"

"I should be asking you.. shit.." Ellie's chest rises sporadically against you as she syncs a giggle, sliding her hips away and taking the strap off without batting an eye so she could pepper you with smooches enraptured in a cuddle.

"It was good.. really fuckin' good."

Your reply seeps into her mind, inviting a sheepish smile to her face, "So.. does this mean, you'll be my… girlfriend?" a chuckle spurts out to clear any awkwardness.

That same pre-sex shy blush paints your face, replying, "Yeah, hell yeah."

"Okay.. you wanna, stay here tonight?" Ellie suggests with soft yet worn out eyes, fiddling with the hair cascading from your scalp.

"Of course, I don't think I can walk anywhere now." you quip, whisking your finger over her nose tip.

"Yeah.. bet I was better than any guy." She praises herself, beaten fingers tracing shapes on your chest.

"At least you get to choose your size."

"Pfft, you're funny." A brilliant laugh brushes past her lips, with a mellow whisper, "and so pretty." her thumb swipes your cheek.

You wrap your snug thighs enveloping her body, "You too, Williams." 

"Still calling me that? I thought I said-" 

You seal her lips with a prolonged kiss, dragging your lips against hers in a hypnotic passion, getting her to engage in something a bit longer than a lone kiss. She indulges without a second thought, slurping you up and tasting every inch of your-

A knock pounds your hearing and the door, adjourning the steamy makeout for a different time.

The voice behind the knocking calls out, "Yo, Ellie! You in there?" unmasking itself to be Jesse.

"Shit!" she yells, "Be right there!" and scurries off the bed, hunting for her under garments frantically.

You quickly bolt off the bed and swoop your undergarments, nearly toppling over as you shimmy your underwear on hurriedly but fortunate enough to catch your fall with some clamorous foot thumps to the wooden floor.

"What's goin' on in there? You fightin' a runner in there?" Jesse quips, his voice deadened by the walls.

"Ye- No!" Ellie stammers in a rush, managing to yank her jeans up and throw a bland white shirt over it, oblivious to the fact that it was inside-out, seams bulking and tag visible.

You were on the brink of raising a question to Ellie, but bite it back as she swings the door open and you cling to the closet adjacent to but behind the open door, not without a blow from your back against its rattling nature that had Ellie spooked for a split second.

"What're you doing here?" Ellie inquires, crossing her arms to appear unbothered.

"Heard you had quite a night after I left." His voice clarifies, streaming through the open door.

"It-" Her response defects, "She kissed me. Dina being Dina, it doesn't mean anything-"

"Wait, you kissed Dina?" Jesse interjects her reply, voice curving in curiosity.

"Oh, I thought-"

"We're broken up one week and you make a move on my girl?"

"No- She was the one- I don't even.." Ellie corners herself into a distraught state.

"I'm messing with you man, I don't care. I just swung by to tell you Maria switched up the assignments for tomorrow, you're up for more patrol."

"Seriously? I thought I'd get-"

"Hey why's your shirt inside out? Did you really get tangled up with a runner in there?" He jokingly peeks into the room, jolting back when Ellie's forearm bars him out randomly.

"None of your business, I get it now you can go." She sternly affirms, slowly creaking the door closed.

"What'chu hidin' in there?"

"Go!" Ellie strikes the door shut on his face, secretly flipping him off from the opposite site under the knob.

"Unholy fuck-"

"Next time try not to wake the dead with your footsteps!" She snaps back at you through an adorned smile, on edge from the unexpected, interrupting, visit.

"Like I said I can barely walk from your-"

Ellie strides up in a pacey fashion, cradling your head from the back in her palms, linking lips with yours soulfully. 

You press your lips, dawdling with hers and soaking in the taste of breath and flesh. It feels so good to expose your love, animated for her in this moment now, like a singing felicity in your heart. She parts, engulfing you in her olive irises before she croaks.

"Say we.. get back to bed? I wanna show you my drawings.." A sugary murmur trampling her usually husky voice.

"Yeah.." you wriggle your lips in a creeping smirk, leveraging your weight from one leg to the other.

"C'mere." Ellie creaks before tackling you onto the bed, burying you with infinite ticklish kisses along your face, a declaration of unfiltered affection in her lasting intentions.

"Ellie! That tickles.."

"Good."

hope you enjoyed!!! <3

MASTERLIST

[f14fun]

pages and podiums (!author x op81) - chapter 1

synopsis: in which case y/n, an author hosts a signing and a read-out-loud of the final installment of her book series in new york city. oscar, lost in the big city, stumbles by the bookstore and is immediately intrigued by her (and her books).

prose (3.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | next ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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There was nothing I liked to do more than write stories.

Well, reading them came in a close second, but being able to tell a heartfelt tale coming from the inner depths of my heart, and sharing that emotion with an audience really, is the best thing that could ever happen to me.

That's how I found myself newly graduated from New York University, sitting in a relatively popular bookstore, sat in the corner of the shop with my books surrounding me. The bookstore was a quaint little gem nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, its walls lined with shelves brimming with literary treasures.

The warm, inviting atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bustling city outside. My table, adorned with a modest sign displaying my name and the title of my latest book, was strategically placed near the large bay windows, allowing the soft afternoon sunlight to spill in and create a cozy nook.

As I arranged my books, carefully stacking them in neat piles, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and anticipation. This bookstore had been a frequent haunt during my university years, a place where I sought refuge and inspiration amidst the chaos of assignments and deadlines. Now, returning as an author, it felt like a full-circle moment—a dream realized in the most poetic of settings.

I was hosting a book-signing and read-out-loud for the last installment of my book series.

It was quite early in the afternoon, but never too early in the Big Apple. As it neared one o'clock, I was lost in the tranquility of it all. The shop had quieted to a dull lull.

It was lunch hour, and people were busy munching away on salads, sipping their lattes and iced-coffees, and eating finger-held pastries.

The clinking of silverware against porcelain plates created a rhythmic background hum, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or murmur of conversation. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of pastries, creating an intoxicating blend that seemed to energize the entire space. Some patrons sat alone, engrossed in their books or typing away on laptops, while others gathered in small groups, their animated discussions adding to the lively ambiance.

The bookstore café, with its rustic wooden tables and vintage chairs, was a popular spot for locals and tourists alike, a perfect retreat from the frenetic pace of the city outside. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the faces of the patrons and illuminating the colorful spines of the books on display. It was a picture of serene contentment, a snapshot of everyday life unfolding in the heart of the city.

It was a sleepy time too, everyone tired from the consumption of their lunches. It was a relaxing time, and I was glad to have the time to myself, which contrasted the terribly-busy morning I had. Signing books and talking to fans nonstop from eight to twelve.

But I was eternally grateful for them.

Without them, I would quite literally be homeless on the scary streets of New York City. Their compassion and appreciation for my work kept me writing.

I was interrupted from my moment of solitude when I heard the bookstore door suddenly swing open. It was quite an ordeal as well, as the rusty, copper door hinges squeaked loudly when opened, disrupting the ambiance of the shop. Heads turned briefly toward the entrance, curiosity piqued by the unexpected noise. A gust of cool air rushed in, carrying with it the faint scent of rain from the gathering clouds outside.

From where I was sitting, adjacent to the door, I spotted the new customer. Or at least, he was an unsuspecting customer.

Standing awkwardly with his two feet pointing in opposite directions and his nervous hands fiddling with each other, I could tell that he looked inexplicably lost. With a bewildered look on his face, he looked like the opposite of a native New Yorker.

He stood in the doorway for what felt like a minute, inquisitively grappling with his new surroundings. His eyes darted from shelf to shelf, taking in the rows of books with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

He wore a slightly rumpled graphic t-shirt and shorts, his brown, mousy, tousled hair suggesting a hurried departure from wherever he had come. The contrast between his uneasy demeanor and the bookstore's cozy, relaxed atmosphere was almost palpable.

As he lingered by the entrance, other patrons glanced up briefly before returning to their books and conversations. The young man seemed to be in his own world, oblivious to the mild interest he was generating.

His fingers tapped nervously against his leg, and I noticed he kept glancing at a slip of paper he held, as if seeking reassurance from whatever was written there.

The longer he stood there, the more out of place he seemed, like a character from a different story who had wandered into the wrong book.

Finally, he took a tentative step forward, then another, moving slowly into the bookstore’s warm embrace. His eyes continued to scan the room, perhaps searching for a familiar face or a sign that would guide him to his destination.

There was something almost endearing about his uncertainty, a raw vulnerability that made him stand out in this city of confident strides and determined gazes.

From my vantage point, I watched him with a blend of amusement and empathy. I remembered the feeling of being out of place, the hesitance before taking a plunge into the unknown.

It was a moment of silent kinship, two strangers connected by the shared experience of navigating the unpredictable terrain of life in the city.

He was sort of cute, in an awkward way. His tousled hair gave him a boyish charm, as if he had just rolled out of bed and rushed to get here. He had some sort of a crooked smile, one side of his lip lifting higher than the other. He was tall, with a lanky frame that made his awkwardness even more pronounced. His long legs seemed to have a mind of their own, fidgeting and shifting as he stood in the doorway, adding to his endearing clumsiness.

The way he towered over the small tables and chairs made him look slightly out of place, like a gentle giant in a world built for smaller people. Despite his height, there was nothing intimidating about him. Instead, his gangly limbs and hesitant movements gave him an almost childlike innocence.

His eyes, bright and inquisitive, roamed the room with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. There was a spark of intelligence in them, hinting at a thoughtful mind behind the awkward exterior.

He was different, a moment of slowness. Different from the fast, bustling energy and the fast-paced life the city offered. As I continued to observe him, our eyes met. It was a fleeting moment, but there was something in his gaze that beckoned him to cross the room to meet me.

With a deep breath, he finally took a step forward, his tall frame weaving through the tables and chairs with cautious determination. As he drew closer, his awkwardness seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet confidence.

“Hi,” he said, his voice carrying a rich, unmistakable Australian accent. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a bit lost.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the accent and the admission. “Lost? In a bookstore or New York City?” I asked with a playful smile. “Because either way, that’s quite the adventure for an Australian.”

Oscar chuckled, his crooked smile widening. “Both, actually. My phone’s dead, and I’ve been wandering around for a while." Oscar’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and a faint blush spread across his cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking slightly embarrassed." I’m just visiting for work, and I think I’ve wandered a bit too far.”

“Well, welcome to the Big Apple, Oscar. I’m Y/N,” I said, extending my hand.

He took it with a firm shake, his eyes brightening as he glanced around the bookstore. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. So, any tips for a lost Aussie in the city?”

I enjoyed the nice handshake, noticing how his hand seemed to slot perfectly with mine, the warmth of his palm against mine sending a faint shiver up my arm. I blushed slightly, a feeling of unexpected warmth spreading through me as I glanced down at the table where a loose slip of paper lay forgotten.

Gathering my bearings, I leaned in with mock seriousness. “Well, first tip—don’t trust the pigeons. They might look innocent, but they’re secretly plotting world domination.”

Oscar laughed, a genuine sound that filled the space between us. “Noted. And here I thought they were just after my lunch.”

“You’ve got to watch out for those New York pigeons,” I continued with a grin. “They’re a sneaky bunch.”

Oscar leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Do they have a vendetta against Australians too?”

I chuckled, remembering a particularly humorous incident. “Well, let’s just say they’re equal opportunity offenders. Once, on my way to NYU, one of them decided my freshly washed hair was the perfect target.”

Oscar burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the bookstore and drawing curious glances from nearby patrons. “That’s terrible! But I have to admit, I can’t help but laugh imagining that.”

“It was a memorable day, to say the least,” I replied, joining in his laughter. “I learned a valuable lesson about looking up in the city.”

“Well, consider me warned,” Oscar said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “I’ll keep an eye out for those feathered troublemakers.”

I grinned mischievously. “If you see them starting to organize, run. Or carry a loaf of bread as a peace offering.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind. But if I end up covered in bird droppings, I’ll know who to blame.”

“You’re setting me up for failure,” he added with a playful glint in his eye. “They’ll definitely target me now.”

I couldn’t help but give him a sly grin. “Consider it a rite of passage in New York City. Once you’ve dodged a pigeon or two, you’re officially a local.”

Oscar chuckled at my remark, his eyes lingering on mine with a warmth that made my cheeks flush. “So, Y/N,” Oscar began, his tone suddenly more serious, “since my phone’s dead and all, do you mind if I stick around and keep you company? You seem like you know your way around here.”

I raised an eyebrow playfully. “Are you asking for a tour guide or just trying to charm your way into free coffee?”

He flashed a sheepish grin. “Can’t it be both?”

I chuckled, enjoying his easygoing nature. “Alright, Aussie. You’ve got yourself a deal. But fair warning—I give terrible directions.”

“Good thing I’m not in a hurry,” he replied with a wink, his attempt at flirting more endearing than smooth.

I smiled warmly at his playful remark, enjoying the easy flow of our conversation. "You're welcome to stay," I said, gesturing to the empty chair beside me.

Oscar nodded gratefully and smoothly slid over a chair, positioning himself directly in front of me. As he settled in, I couldn't help but notice how his earlier awkwardness seemed to melt away, replaced by a relaxed confidence that was inviting yet unassuming.

Sitting face to face with Oscar, making direct eye contact, I suddenly felt a shift in our interaction. It wasn't just a casual meeting anymore; it felt like a moment frozen in time, a bookstore date where we were the main characters in a story unfolding between the shelves of books.

His brown eyes met mine, and in that instant, I felt a sense of peace and comfort wash over me, as if I had found a familiar place where I belonged. We continued to hold each other’s gaze, sharing unspoken sentiments that seemed to weave between us like a silent conversation.

Unexpectedly, Oscar's smile turned cheeky, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as if he was having an internal dialogue with himself. He was the first to break eye contact, his cheeks tinted with a soft blush that crept up from his neck.

Despite his attempt to maintain composure, his bashfulness was endearing, adding a charming vulnerability to his confident demeanor. I couldn't help but find it incredibly endearing.

I watched as he glanced down briefly, a small smile playing on his lips as he collected himself. His gaze returned to mine, now tinged with a mixture of amusement and newfound self-awareness. It was a moment of mutual recognition, a subtle acknowledgment of the connection that had begun to blossom between us.

I smiled softly, realizing that despite the bustling surroundings, I felt completely at ease with Oscar beside me. It was as if we had stumbled upon a quiet sanctuary amidst the chaos of the city, where our shared laughter and exchanged stories were the only things that mattered in that moment.

Oscar leaned in slightly, his smile still playful. "You know, Y/N," he began, his voice carrying a hint of flirtation, "there's something about this bookstore that feels like it's hiding a secret or two. What do you think?"

I chuckled softly, intrigued by his observation. "Maybe it's where all the lost plot twists end up," I replied, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in my eye. "Or perhaps it's a portal to a parallel universe of unfinished stories."

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "A bookstore as a gateway to alternate dimensions? Now that's a plot twist I can get behind."

"Who knows," I mused, leaning back slightly in my chair. "Maybe we're characters in someone else's story right now, and they're wondering how our plotline will unfold."

Oscar nodded thoughtfully. "You know, as much as I enjoy pondering these ideas, sometimes it leads me down a path of existential dread. The vastness of the universe and our place in it—it can be daunting."

I nodded in understanding, recognizing the weight of his words. "It's a lot to wrap your head around, especially when you start thinking about multiverses and infinite possibilities."

"Yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I try not to dwell on it too much. That's why I appreciate stories—they provide a narrative structure that helps make sense of it all, even if it's just for a moment."

"That's true," I agreed, feeling a deeper connection as our conversation touched on deeper themes. "Stories give us a way to explore those big questions in a way that feels manageable, contained within their own worlds."

Oscar smiled gratefully. "Exactly. They offer us glimpses into different perspectives and allow us to navigate through complex ideas in a way that's both enlightening and comforting."

I leaned forward slightly, intrigued by his introspective nature. "Do you ever wonder who you'd be in a parallel universe? What job you'd have?"

He chuckled softly. "Sometimes. It's a fun thought experiment, imagining different versions of myself in alternate realities."

Curious, I asked, "So, what do you do in this universe?"

He leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Guess."

I considered for a moment, trying to match his playful demeanor. "Acupuncturist?"

"Nope," he replied, shaking his head with a smirk. "Is that the best that you can come up with?" He said, teasing me.

"Quantum physicist?" I guessed, trying to make each guess more outlandish than the previous one.

"Not quite," he chuckled. "Do I really seem like the type to be in that job?" he asked.

"To be honest..." I trailed off, "Not really, no," I said quietly. Laughing at my honest response, he gestured with his hands, prompting me to guess again.

"Funeral director?" I ventured, this was literally a shot in the dark. If such a happy man was in such a depressing career I would immediately be so disappointed and sad.

"Getting warmer, but no," he teased. "Again, do you really peg me to be the type of person who would be a funeral director?" He asked again.

"No! I'm just guessing the most outlandish and random jobs," I held up my hands in mock frustration, pretending to surrender.

"Yeah I can tell, some of these jobs are quite random," he smirked. "But to be fair, my actual job is way more random than what you think it is, I genuinely bet you could not guess it," He provoked me again.

"Please do not tell me you work at a car dealership," I sighed in exasperation. Those people were the worst types of people to deal with as they keep pressuring innocent customers. God, I hoped Oscar wasn't that.

Oscar's face suddenly lit up. Shit, if that was his actual job...

"Close but no," Oscar's smile widened.

"What do you mean close but no?!" I got louder, the competitive spirit in me arising, "That's so vague"

"Okay, to give you a hint, it has something to do with cars," he said calmly. Ahh, that was much better, I see what he meant.

"Are you a tire technician?" I asked.

"Nope," he replied, popping the p.

"An auto-instructor?"

"Wrong, again."

"A diesel technician?"

"Loud, incorrect buzzer."

"That one guy that tests the car for quality issues... the quality control engineer!"

"Not it!"

"You're joking... right. I've guessed all that I know, and I really do not know much about cars in general, just tell me what it is, I give up," I said, finally exasperated as I went through all possible options of what Oscar did for a living.

Oscar leaned forward again, his smile widening. "I drive for McLaren Formula One."

My eyes widened in surprise, momentarily stunned by his revelation. "Seriously? Formula One? I would never have guessed that!"

He laughed at me, momentarily erupting into a guffaw at my blatant shock. "That is literally the most random job relating to cars, and it's motorsport, not just cars. I would have never guessed that, really!" I continued, still surprised.

"That's not fair, you shouldn't have made me guess. I didn't know you were famous," I said, teasing him lightly.

He grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. "I guess I don't fit the typical stereotype, do I?"

I shook my head, still processing the unexpected twist in our conversation. "Definitely not. That's amazing, though. How did you get into that?"

Oscar leaned back, folding his arms with a playful air. "Well, it all started with a love for speed and a bit of luck. I've been racing since I was a kid, and somehow, it led me here."

"Impressive," I replied with a smile. "You must have some incredible stories from the track."

He nodded, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Plenty. It's a world of its own, filled with highs and lows, victories and near misses."

"I can imagine," I said, genuinely intrigued. "It sounds like a thrilling life."

"It has its moments," he agreed, his tone turning thoughtful. "But enough about me. I want to hear more about you. What's your story, Y/N?"

And so, as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the bookstore windows, we continued to share stories and laughter, each revelation deepening our connection. Eventually, as the conversation naturally drifted to an end, Oscar leaned forward with a gentle smile.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice warm and sincere, "I've had a great time getting to know you today. Would you like to grab dinner with me later? Earlier I saw this dinner place on Google Maps that had splendid reviews."

Surprised yet pleasantly flustered by his invitation, I couldn't help but smile. "I'd love to," I replied, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of continuing our conversation beyond the cozy confines of the bookstore.

And with that simple agreement, like a chapter in a novel, our first chapter closed, leaving us both eager to see where our story would lead next.

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author's note:

ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

(part TWO coming soon, comment if you want to be added to the taglist <3)

[aethelwyneleigh27]

If you're happy and you know it clap your hands....

Yeah same I just need price to comfort and love me rn, I feel I'm the problem, that no one likes me, that I'm annoying as hell and... Yeah huge mental health decline lately. Dysmorphia kicks in for extra ✨spice ✨

Comfort with Price (Drabble)

Darling you are not the problem, name drop the people who don't like you, I'll hunt them down and drop kick them. (I am very much in a violent move BECAUSE NO ONE HURTS MY BABIES, NOT ON MY WATCH)

I'm so sorry my lovie, this has been in my drafts since October 31 and I forgot about how many drafts and requests I have but I promise I'm working on all of them right now..

I didn't specify though on what the comfort is on just so everyone who needs it can be comforted too, I hope I did this request some justice <333

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld

"You want to talk about it, love?" You heard the door hinge creak accompanied by the gruff voice of your husband.

You whined and shook your head, face buried in the wrinkling sheets of your shared bed, sighing as you let your body sink further into the soft mattress and pillow.

A shuddering sob escaped your lips even if there was no more tears, John placed himself in bed next to you making the sheets shuffle and bunch up on the side you were previously on, gently prying your face.. his beautiful spouse's face off the cold pillow to see your eyes puffy and face flushed.

He pulls you, head on his chest. You felt the rumble of his body caused by his voice through the ear that was pressed against his body. "Talk to me.. hmm? What's been on your mind..?"

Just like that, you let it out. Your frustrations, stress, John let you ramble and listened until you finished. He hates seeing you like this, hates the hurt others can inflict on you, hates that he can't do much to help as much as he tried to but at the end of the day, as much as you wanted to keep it to yourself, your husband always gets you to open up.

He was the only person ever worth the energy it takes to talk to someone. He didn't say much, he knew what you needed, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead. He made it known he was there, his body warm against yours in the cold room that surrounds you both.

[artists-ally]

{She Gets The Flowers, Right?} Reader x Lucien Vanssera {Pt.2}

Welp. Here we are. Didn't know this was gonna happen. I had ZERO INTENTIONS of writing a part two but I basically got cyber bullied into making another so here ya go fuckers. Someone literally threatened to stop taking their meds so to whoever that was I hope you get to keep your kidney! Enjoy! This part is inspired by this song.

Word Count: 6,111

Warnings: ANGST (yall thought you’re gonna get a happy ending? HAHAHAH) Some pretty negative self talk.

Tagging: @bubybubsters @cyrygher @thelov3lybookworm @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @anuttellaa @lookingforamissingpage @thehighlordishere @crazylokonugget

Summary: In the days and weeks that follow your downfall with Lucien, he has no fucking clue how to go about life without you. He can’t cope. And he desperately wants to fix everything with you.

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LUCIEN’S POV

I have made the biggest mistake of my entire life. I thought that would be reserved for not being able to protect Jesminda. No. This… this is… I don’t even know.

I’m just standing on the sidewalk, staring at our- her home. At the rustic, auburn door we painted. At its brass knob, at the rusty, creaking hinges that would ring through the house when someone came in. At the little potted plant in the corner, the vines spilling out of it. 

I’ll never be back here again. 

I’ll never get to hear her laugh.

I’ll never get to taste her new recipes.

I will never be able to take all that I said back. That is the most haunting feeling of it all.

I’m an awful person. After all she’s done for me. After saving my life– on more than one occasion– I went and did nothing in return. I gave her nothing for her endless kindness. All I was capable of doing was destroying the one person in my life who has given me everything I’ve ever wanted. 

Unconditionally. She always loved me unconditionally. How could I have been so blind and naive to it? How did I never see it? 

Gods every single time she made me something to eat, a recipe to try… she was basically shoving the bond in my face, hoping I would see it. And I never ever considered it. I was so lost in Elain. Lost in the fact that I finally had feelings for someone after Jesminda… Not once did I think it could be Yn. 

I don’t deserve her. I never did. I was a bitter, rotten shell of a man when she met me. She dragged me by the arms to her house to fix me. She thought I was worthy of being saved when my own father thought the opposite. Yn put me back together. She made me who I am. And this is the thanks I give her?

Elain has said all of ten sentences to me in the past year. I haven’t been able to do anything but replay every single one of them in my head. A thousand times– a hundred thousand times. I wish I couldn’t. It’s exhausting. Constantly thinking of her. But I don’t have a choice. 

I like the feeling of being able to feel again. But at the cost of Yn? At the complete sacrifice of all I’ve known for the past century? My rock? My best friend? Nothing is worth more. 

But it is far too late to do anything about it. I’ve lost her.

I want her back. 

Yn did things to me that no one else could. She just seemed to know when things were wrong. She always knows what to say, when to say it, and how. She never tells you what you want to hear, it’s always what you need. She is the most well rounded person I’ve ever met. She’s never afraid to feel her emotions. 

I envy that skill.

I’ve always hid my feelings deep down. It took years to decipher them again. But it was Yn who made me do it. She always fought for me, fought me for me. Yn never let me do it alone. Refused to, actually. Was there every step of the way and never told me I was taking too long or wasting her time. 

I get it now.

And there is nothing I can do. I have nowhere to go. Tears scald my eyes as I trudge down the little path that we beat into the grass. Day in and day out. 

I remember when we picked this place. We had only been in Velaris for a week or two when we stumbled across it. It was run down and needed a new roof. As a thank you for keeping Feyre safe on our journey across the Courts, Rhysand gifted it to us. Complete with a new roof, new furniture, a new kitchen for Yn to cook in. And he let us be. Well, let her be. I still had my debts to pay off. 

And then I met Elain and… fuck. Everything went to shit after that. 

There is no way of processing all of these emotions at once. These very real feelings I still have for Elain. And these all-of-a-sudden very fucking real feelings I now have for Yn. It’s how I imagine imploding feels like. My body wants to cave into itself and never fold back out. 

I pray to the Cauldron that I do self destruct. This feeling, a mixture between irrational rage and betrayal… I don’t wish it upon another living soul. And Gods know I’d sell mine to change everything I’ve just done. 

I don’t even know how I ended up at the Town House. All of a sudden I was just standing in front of it. I normally resent coming here, but for some reason I was relieved to see the bricks and busted up cobblestone sidewalk. Maybe no one would be here; Rhys was more often than not at the River House with Feyre and Nyx, indulging in the life of parenthood. Nesta and Cassian were probably somewhere in the House of Wind with Elain, Mor at Rita’s, Amren with Varian, and who the hell knows where Azriel is.

I can’t wait to be alone to scream. 

Fuck, the door is locked. Of course the door is locked, no one’s here. It takes every bit of control in my shiver-ridden body to not rip the door off its hinges. And it takes even more control to not collapse against the door and break down for the whole street to see. 

The lock clicks and the door opens. 

I force myself to appear relaxed. I wipe my tears and brush away my loose strands of hair. No use. My face is probably as red as the burning self hatred inside my twisted heart. 

“What are you doing here Lucien?” The High Lord asks. 

I gulp. Of all the people, it had to be him? At least it’s not Azriel, I think. I might hate him more than I hate myself. For actually getting Elain’s attention. Yn was right, I am selfish. “Sorry, didn’t realize you were in.”

“Did you leave something?” I don’t move, and I stay deathly still. Rhys looks me head to toe, and I know he can scent me from a mile away. “Lucien, what the fuck did you do?”

“Stay the fuck out of my head,” I snarled, pointing a finger at his chest. 

“I don’t need to read your thoughts. Your face says it all.”  Rhys crosses his arms over his chest, “Look, we’ve all told you that Elain is hard to reach these days. She isn’t worth-”

“This… this doesn’t have anything to do with Elain.” I lied. He seemed to know it. “Can I just come in?”

Rhys just steps aside, shutting the door behind me. “I don’t really have time for-”

“I fucked up.”

“Clearly.”

“Rhysand,” I said. So full of disgust. He looked at me with a blank expression. One I have seen too many times to not know what comes next. I eased up my tone. “Is anyone else here?”

“No,” he answers, moving around me and heading into a study on the other side of the living room. 

I can’t help but think of how we all gathered in that living room a few months ago for Solstice. Exchanging gifts and drinks and smiles and stories. I vividly remember making Yn laugh so hard she tipped her head over the arm of the couch, sending her wine tumbling to the ground. The stain still on the small rug almost makes me smile, and it almost makes me burst into tears. 

“I ruined everything in my life. Yn’s gone.” I could feel the air freeze around me. “Not like, gone gone but she’s… I don’t think I’ll ever be seeing her again.”

“So this is because of Elain.”

I bit my tongue so hard I thought I’d bite it off completely. But I sighed, the tears coming with it. “Yes.” A really long pause. “She told me I’m-”

“You’re Yn’s mate?”

“Yes.”

“And you never knew because you were so focused on Elain.” “Is that supposed to be a question?”

“It was, but you just gave me your answer,” Rhys sat. “Do you want me to keep guessing or are you going to tell me what happened?”

I took the biggest breath I could, steading my words. “I missed the opening of her restaurant because I was with Elain.”

Rhysand looked at me with such revulsion that I thought he might put me through a wall. Those wicked, violet eyes could’ve boiled my bones. For a split second I wished he would. I could tell he wanted to say something, but I don’t think there were enough words in the world for how much of an awful person I was. 

“There are things in this world that we sacrifice in this world Lucien,” Rhys said.

Hesitantly, “I know.” 

“And Yn gave up the biggest of them all. She shut her mouth to let you be happy. She did what I did for Feyre until she realized what situation she was in. You are one spineless bastard for doing anything but giving your life to her.”

“I know.”

“Have you any idea what you’ve done to her? She gave you everything you could ever ask for. From the moment the two of you stepped in my Court I could tell she only had eyes for you. When you are in the room you’re the only one she looks at. How could you have not known?”

“I don’t know…” “Yes, you do.”

I plunged my nails into my palms. “For Cauldron's sake Rhysand of course I know.”

“Then why did you continue to ignore Yn?”

“Because I couldn’t ever let myself think a female like her would like such a broken, dismantled and lost soul like mine.” Rhysand stared at me. “When Yn pulled me from the border to fix me, she spent every waking moment of her life stringing my mind and body into one piece. If I let myself think for even a second that it was anything other than kindness, I would’ve gone mad.”

“Would it have been so terrible to love her?”

“I’ve always loved her. I just never thought I’d be allowed to love her the way she loves me.”

“Because of Elain?” “Because of Elain.”

Rhys blew out a breath, sitting down on the corner of his desk. “So, let me see if I have all of this correct. You wouldn’t let yourself fall for Yn because you thought you were unworthy. Instead, you sabotaged both of your happiness for Elain simply because she was your mate and you just wanted to feel something?”

“It sounds so much more fucked when you say it outloud.” I rubbed my hands over my tired, burning eyes. “And it’s not just because she’s my mate, Rhys. I genuinely like her. She’s… she has the potential to be so sweet. I’ve seen glimpses of it, heard stories from Feyre and Nesta. Why won’t she let me see?”

“You are still clueless, aren’t you?” He scoffed. “Here you are, a ruined man because you drove away your best friend, and you’re still worried about someone who doesn’t want you. Pathetic. You are a selfish son of a bitch.”

“I can’t just ignore Elain. It’s impossible to think of anything else but her and how I can help her.” “Lucien,” Rhysand stopped me from going on another tangent. “Maybe start considering that she doesn’t want you.”

“What?” My lip trembled. “N-No she… we have a bond. It’s there she just needs time. I’m her mate, she’ll want one eventually.”

“Just like Yn will want one?” His eyes were as viscous as the tone of his voice. “You are doing the same thing to Yn that Elain is doing to you. You understand how that feels. Now imagine that Elain was the one you found on the border of the Spring Court and you spent decades nursing her mind back into her body. Recreating her personality and passions. Wouldn’t you be a little fucking irate if she started showing interest in another male after all you did for her?”

I froze.

This was so much deeper than I ever thought it could be. But I could see it. Bringing Elain back to herself all for it to be thrown away by another male. Azriel filled that roll, and I was filled with raw fury at the mere thought of that happening. 

“So now you see what Yn has been dealing with. And Gods, Lucien, she has been dealing with it for a long while. What you did was wrong, unjust, and unfair. And for you to be with Elain on the day of her grand opening, where all of us just were, is… that may be unforgivable.”

“I don’t deserve to be forgiven for what I’ve just done…”

My shoulder hunch, and my chest cracks. I am a bleeding mess of tears. I can barely stand as I openly sob in front of Rhys. I’m surprised when he shoves a chair under me instead of letting me crumble to the floor in my self induced agony. And I’m even more surprised when he puts a hand on my shoulder. 

It’s Yn. It’s always been Yn. There is nothing in this world that can compare to her or her kindness or her love. What a fool I have been to not take the hand that was given me. What a selfish, self-serving waste of a man I have been to her. 

I can’t take it. I have to have her back. I have to fix this. I have to. I have to. I have to. 

I stand. “Woah, what are you doing?” Rhys tried to get me to sit down. 

“Yn- I have to fix this with Yn-”

“No,” Rhys slams me back into the chair. “You are not going to march back over there.”

“I have to,” I yelled. “I can’t let her kick me out without her knowing that I’m sorry. That I’ll do anything she wants me to to win her back. I can’t be without her, I need her.”

“She kicked you out?” I nodded. “You’re not going anywhere. She clearly doesn’t want to see you. Nothing you could say to her would suffice. Especially right now. She needs time. She needs space. If I find out that you go back to your- her house, I’ll drop you back in the Spring Court, do you understand me?”

I nod viciously. 

“Good,” Rhys let out a heavy breath. “You can have your old room back. Nothing in it but a few storage boxes. Everything is otherwise untouched.” Great. My old memories to haunt me. Just what I needed. For a very short week we stayed here. Yn’s room was right across from mine. Just another reminder of everything that’s happened between now and then. 

I slump in the seat, letting tears trickle down my nose and onto my knee. Watching them evaporate and dry, just for the material to be soaked again. “I’m so sorry Yn…”

I heard Rhys whirl around, and I could feel the tension across the room. He probably thinks I’m mad. I might as well be. 

More footsteps sounded than people in the house and Cassian walked in the room. Luckily I was facing away from him. “Don’t tell me he’s a part of our special detachment.”

I rolled my eyes. Cassian, ever the charming.

“No, he’s… well, he’ll be living here for a little while.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“It’s none of your business,” I snapped. No one spoke. I sighed for what felt like the billionth time today. “Sorry.”

“What happened?” Cassian asked, coming to stand next to me, his body reeking of sweat and dirt. All I had to do was lift my head and I think he understood enough. That or Rhys told him. “I won’t say anything cause I’ll probably just make it worse.”

“Probably,” Rhys nodded. 

“Probably.” My eyes burned, so did my skin. “I have to get all my stuff out tomorrow. She told me to.”

“Then you’ll do it tomorrow. Not tonight, tomorrow. Respect her wishes, or I will make you.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“We’ll be back,” Rhys grabbed a few things from his desk then ushered Cassian out the door. “Don’t do anything. Just stay here.”

It could’ve been twenty minutes or two hours until I finally moved upstairs. Forcing myself to not go to Yn’s room was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. All the conversations we had, all the plans we made. It’s where she first got the idea of her restaurant. She literally had a dream and made it a reality. 

I’d be lying if I said I told her how proud of her I was. I never have. Why have I never told her that? Could I really have been that caught up in Elain that… Wow. It’s funny how you only realize after the fact. 

My bed caught me as I collapsed into it, tucking my knees into my chest. I am such a loser. Pathetic. Just like Rhys said. My heart would burn up and die at this rate. It was a mystery how I hadn’t burst into flames yet. 

There are so many things I need, and Yn takes the top of the list. She had always been everything I needed. When I needed comfort, I went to Yn. When I needed solutions, I went to Yn. When I needed answers, to be heard, to be validated, to be loved… who was I supposed to go to now? Definitely not Rhys or Cassian, and certainly not Elain.

Maybe for the first time ever I wanted nothing to do with Elain. I didn’t want to see her. I couldn’t care less if I ever saw her again. Her presence in my life has done nothing but tear my other relationships apart. 

She’s the reason I’m here in this mess.

_____

At some ridiculous hour of the night– morning? Is that the sun?– I heard the door open. I shot up, then deflated down. I wasn’t in my bed. I wasn’t at home. And that wasn’t Yn walking in the door. 

Every thought and emotion rushed back into my head, creating an endless tangle of thoughts. The next more horrid and self destructive than the last. I deserve it. 

Missing the opening of her restaurant, Latibule–an ancient word for refuge or safe place–was the biggest mistake of my life. I will never be able to make that up to her. I turned her biggest accomplishment into a slimy, diseased memory. I ruined what was supposed to be the best night of her life.

I’ve let her down in a way I’ll never be able to repair. 

Even Rhys and Feyre were there last night. And I wasn’t. Nesta and Cassian. Azriel, Amren, Mor… they were all there, supporting her. And I was with Elain. She probably wanted to go, and I was there, holding her back. 

I need to get out of this room before it crushes me whole.

I could see the sun just barely peeking over the Sidra when I stepped outside, cloak wrapped tightly around my head and shoulders to keep out the early morning bite. 

There wasn’t a soul around, Velaris still blissfully asleep besides this one small corner store that sold hot tea and pastries all hours of the day. Rustling in my pocket was just enough for a peach turnover and a cherry blossom tea. 

The bell chimed above the door as I walked in, knocking my boots against the step to not track dirt in. 

“Early start to the day, Luc?” Ms. Immy smiled from behind the counter, polishing a few mugs before moving to come to the display case, packed full of delicious goods, savory and sweet. 

“Unfortunately,” I sighed. “Couldn’t really sleep.”

“Well I am glad to have you in, the usual?”

“That would be great, Ms. Immy.” 

The lovely owner of the bakery was Ms. Immy. One of the older members of the Night Court but as wise as they come. She’s the kindest, most gentle fae to roam Prythian. With her soft, sage green eyes and long, slender ears adorn with piercings, Ms. Immy was by far one of my favorites here. 

The kettles whistled behind her as she dipped a tea bag into my mug. Ms. Immy always had designated mugs for her regular customers. Mine was made of green clay, mostly green with a white oval on the front with two lines of flowers. In the center of it all was a simple fox. She once told me that I had the spirit of one of those extinct creatures in the human lands. That I was reserved, and at my core I fiercely protected those I cared about.

If only I had been able to protect Yn from myself.

Her mug had been one crafted of the moon and the stars. With all the constellations of the Gods being lifted into the air by the magic of the Cauldron. Ms. Immy had told her it was a visual representation that Yn was a great reminder of the past to the current world. That she was lost art that was to never be forgotten. 

There is nothing I want more than for the rest of the world to be loved as fiercely as she had loved me.

“Here is your tea, Lucien,” Ms. Immy set the mug on the counter, pushing up the glass case and plucking a peach turnover out. “And for you as well.”

“Thank you,” I tried to smile. I stared at the blackberry tart next to the peach turnovers. Yn’s go-to. It made my blood run cold. 

I put the coins in her hand before I could begin to cry again and scooted out the door as another person was coming in. 

The table and chairs outside were hard and covered in a light mist. It creaked as I sat, just as it always did. I should've sat anywhere else, but my body naturally drifted to this exact spot. It had a good view of the street so Yn and I could watch the people walk by. Pretending we know every bit of their personal lives and beyond. Make up extravagant stories and adventures for the most boring looking individuals in hopes they may one day get to go on them in another lifetime. 

Gods she is everywhere. She’s in the tavern across the street, in the stones on the ground that we used to kick on our walks. She’s in the sunrise, the same color of her heated cheeks filling the sky. There is no escaping what used to be my whole world. 

Silently, I let a few tears roll down my cheeks. I ought to be ashamed of showing so much emotion in public, but for some reason I can’t find the will to care. 

The door chimes and footsteps go back down the street. The door chimes again. 

“My fox boy,” Ms. Immy says so softly I almost don’t hear it over the roar in my ears. “What troubles you so badly you can’t sleep?”

I bite my lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. “I don’t know how to fix something that I’ve done.”

“You missed the opening of Yn’s restaurant.” She says. 

I nod. “How did you know?”

“Because I did not see you there, fox boy.”

“She kicked me out, Ms. Immy. I deserved it, every bit of what she said was true.”

“I think that is true, Lucien,” Ms. Immy came and sat in Yn’s spot, folding her hands in her lap, letting out a breath of air as she extended her old, feeble legs. “Nobody is happy with what you’ve done but-”

“I didn’t mean to blow her off Ms. Immy I just-”

“But,” she cuts me off with a pointed look. “I think you are a very lost soul. For the first time in your life you are truly free. No High Lord to obey, no throne to fight for, no war to fight in. Just a High Lord to serve and to respect. You have everything you could ask for, and yet you have no idea what to do with it.”

She’s right. She’s always right. “I want to fix it. I have to.”

“I am afraid that may not be what the spirit of the Gods wants.” Why is it that I get called fox boy and Yn get’s called something as majestic as ‘spirit of the Gods’? “If those are her wishes, you are going to respect them. Eternally.”

“I will go mad. If I don’t have her by my side for the rest of my life I will go mad.” “So you share a bond with her as well?” She asks. 

“I don’t know. All I do is that I haven’t stopped crying and shaking at every reminder of her. No matter how small. Life without her in it is meaningless to me. Afterall, she is the one who gave it back to me.”

“And a good job she did, fox boy,” Ms. Immy smiled softly. “You are a good male who has been blinded by instincts. While it is not your fault, it has become your problem. And by the looks of you, it seems like it has become quite the ordeal.”

My shoulders dropped as I put my head in my palms. I breathed. “I don’t know how to function without her. She has been there, every day of my life, for nearly seventy years, Ms. Immy. We did everything together. Our mornings were spent as one, our evenings, all the restaurant planning and-and brunches here with you-”

“Breathe, Lucien-”

“How am I supposed to just pack up my things today and move on? H-How am I supposed to just carry on as if she never existed in my life? The thought of not being able to see her every day makes me want to peel the skin off my flesh.”

Ms. Immy looked at me, the hard lines in her face becoming more defined. “Listen to me very carefully, fox boy. What’s done is done. You cannot go back in time and take back what you said. The worst of it is over. Now comes the long process of trying to piece your life together. Whether Yn will be able to help you will depend on what you decide to do in the next several days. If you follow her wishes of moving out and staying clear, there could be a chance in the future. But, if you neglect her wishes, as you had neglected her to lead you to this moment, then there is no hope.”

If you neglect her wishes, as you had neglected her to lead you to this moment, then there is no hope… Words have never stunned me quite as forcefully as Ms. Immy’s had. The true gravity of the situation has set in, if it hadn’t already. One wrong move and she’s gone. For good.

“There is a reason why you are my little fox, Lucien,” Ms. Immy stood, taking my cold mug that I hadn’t touched. “They were intelligent, cunning creatures, just as you are. Do not let your instincts guide you to a decision. Let your heart and the facts do it for you.”

“The facts? What facts?” “The fact that you have screwed up. The fact that Yn has made a decision for you since you were incapable of doing it yourself. It is truth, and it hurts, but it has to for change to come.” And then she went inside. 

I sat with those final words for far longer than I anticipated. It was long enough for people to begin leaving their homes, the streets beginning to fill with people. 

Yn would be out of the house by now, opening for the restaurant’s breakfast hours. I could go now. Or I could stay here and try to blend into the hundreds of faces passing in and out. But I need to move. Yn might come in for her apple cider and blackberry tart. If I saw her right now I’d surely do something stupid. 

As I walked, the clouds blocked out the sun and it began to drizzle. The drizzle turned into a steady rain, then a downpour. I was soaked through my cloak and boots, water seeping in and out with every step. My hair stuck to the back of my neck. 

I kept my head down as I walked, afraid of being recognized. If Ms. Immy had been there to not see me at Latibule, who else? 

The cobblestone ended and mud replaced it. I knew where I was.

The old, beaten path dared me to go up to the house. It beckoned me. From here, at the bottom of the hill, I could see several boxes stacked up outside the door, the disposable brown material soaked through with the rain. She was serious…

Some part of me– the extremely selfish part– has been secretly hoping that she’ll tell me she made a mistake and that she wants me back. But I think those boxes are a not-so-gentle-shove in the opposite direction. 

The key in my pocket might as well have been the key to another universe, because when I opened the door it was like I entered a whole new world. One without me in it. All the pictures of us, all the paintings Feyre had done for us, were off the walls. All the plants and trinkets and decorations I gifter here were piled in the corner for me to collect.

How could so much damage have been done in just a few hours? 

One by one, I packed away the things into the soggy boxes. I moved from room to room. Silently. Hoping this was all a dream only to be launched back into reality with every memory that surfaced. Every possession I had given her in the last seventy years was piled here for me to take. 

She wanted no trace of me here. And I didn’t blame her. I don’t want any trace of me either. 

I must’ve stayed there for hours– crying, packing, reliving moments I had long forgotten only to cry again– because it was close to sunset now. Every trace of me was packed up; all those pictures, all those trinkets, all my clothes and bathing goods… everything I owned fit into these boxes. Everything except for the one person I didn’t want to do life without. 

But Rhys and Ms. Immy are right. If I try to do something now, to get her back, I’ll ruin any real chance. That is something I can’t afford. 

To an immortal, a few months or years equivalates to just a few minutes of human life. But if it takes years for Yn to accept me back in her life…

Besides the clothes and membranes from the Autumn and Spring Courts, I discard everything. I will tear myself to bits if I don’t get rid of them. Will I regret it down the road, probably, but I can’t have them. 

The two boxes and bag of clothes I carry from her house to the Town House are water logged and falling apart. It’s a miracle they didn’t unravel completely. Just add more humiliation to a High Lords son dragging boxes and bags through the street. I deserve all the stare’s and hushed questions. 

Nothing could’ve prepared me for the sights of Rhys and Cassian helping me carry them up the stairs. 

“I don’t know how you’re feeling but-”

“Don’t,” I pleaded. “Just… just don’t. I don’t want your pity, Cassian.”

“I am probably the last person besides Azriel who would pity you, Lucien. And I had no intentions to belittle you for what you did. I was going to offer you a spot in my training ring if you ever needed an escape.”

His kindness shocked me. I can’t say I know the Illyrian well, but this gesture spoke a lot to his character. So I sighed, of course I thought he was going to be hostile to me. Everyone should. “Oh.”

“Training starts at eight and goes to one. Come well fed and in something warm. The top of the House is colder.”

Neither of us said anything else as he left me to unpack.

______

Some weeks later I had taken Cassian up on his offer. Him and Nesta were great at kicking my ass and telling me about it. This side of both of them was far different than the ones I had seen. Here, Cassian wasn’t a prick. He was an instructor, teaching me how to defend my life and my honor. Nesta was… less Nesat. She channeled this otherworldly presence and became one with her weapon.

Me on the other hand… it was far more difficult. Fighting and battle wasn’t rooted in my blood like it was for Cassian. It was much harder for me to get it but I sorta did. Sorta. 

“Just keep working on that footwork and it’ll help with the sword placement. If you’re solid by the end of the week, I’ll put a real one in your hands,” Cassian grinned, chucking me my practice weapon. 

It brought a quick smile to my face. As fast as it was there it was gone. Like most these days. 

When I got home, I rifled through my closet. Brown and green and cream colored shirts after another. Where was that Night Court Blue one I had gotten a long time ago? I could’ve sworn I plucked it from the pile on the floor- no, that was a towel. I was planning on wearing it to dinner at the River House tonight for Mor’s birthday.

Oh, Yn has it. I had given it to her to wear for a meeting with a realtor when looking at properties. She had tucked it into this black leather skirt.

I’ll swing by on my way to the party to get it. Mor always liked the color on me, and said it brought out the fire in my hair. She’ll appreciate the gesture.

After a shower and some other outfit choices, I can’t help but want that blue shirt. I’ll just go get it.

Through the falling leaves, I make my way down the street, across it, and to the meadow. There are six or seven houses with smoke billowing out of their chimneys. But there, right in the distance, is her house. She’ll be at her restaurant tonight so I know I’m safe. 

I scurry up the path, still worried about being seen for some reason. 

Has it been easy these past couple weeks? No. I haven’t been able to think of anything but her. Or dream of anything but her. It’s awful. Not her, but the fact that somehow, someway, she is still everywhere I am. In those memories in the darkest part of the night. The darkest part of my mind reserved for her and her only. 

I hadn’t dared to go visit Elain. I don’t feel the need anymore. Which is relieving and frightening at the same time. It’s like there is a gaping hole in my heart that nothing will fill. Not even training. It proves a good secondary distraction, but nothing can suppress the primary guilt I feel every waking–

What is that smell? I stopped just shy of the door, key in hand. It wants to smell like the rest of the smoke and ash wafting into the air from the nearby cabins, but it’s… more alive? What if she left the stove on? Or a candle? There are hints of woods mixed into it, but not the type of woodsy scent from pine or maple logs. 

I jam the key in as fast as I can to unlock the door. What if she left the fireplace burning or had an electrical fire or-

In the span of five seconds, three things happened. One: Yn was here. And she looked so beautiful. Her eyes are bright and full of color. Two: she was being held by someone, his hands on her cheeks. Three: boiling rage shot through when I realized who it was.

Eris.

~~~~~~~~~

Part 3

[mariswxt]

𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 | bartender!dean winchester

Summary: Dean Winchester needs a job after his little brother left for Stanford, and he’s good at mixing drinks. You happen to work at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, which is the place he chose to work at. He finds a family. He finds a new life. But he also finds you. But you have problems of your own.

A/N - My first reader series, do make sure to comment and/or reblog feedback. Set with S1/2 Dean cause I love our baby boy 😁 and pretend group chats exist on old phones lol

A/N - Sorry guys again, posting’s gotten erratic! But here’s chapter four!

four - cosmopolitan

The sun had begun its slow descent below the horizon, casting long shadows across the road as Sam Winchester drove through the seemingly endless stretch of rural America. The familiar hum of his car’s engine was a comforting constant amidst the turmoil of his thoughts. The message from Dean had been cryptic enough to stir his concern. It had been a while since Sam had seen his brother, and the Roadhouse, a legendary haven for hunters, seemed an unusual place for Dean to spend his time.

Sam had left behind more than just academic life; he had temporarily stepped away from the normalcy he had fought so hard to achieve. The quaint college life, with its predictable routines and its bubble of safety, was a stark contrast to the unpredictable and often dangerous world of hunting that he had grown up in. As the miles slipped by, he found his mind drifting back to those times — the thrill of the hunt, the camaraderie with Dean, and the constant struggle against forces that most people didn’t even know existed.

The Roadhouse itself was something of a legend in hunter circles. He had heard about it from Dean and their father, John Winchester. Run by Ellen Harvelle and her daughter Jo, it was a sanctuary where hunters could find rest, resources, and most importantly, a sense of community. Sam’s curiosity was piqued, and he found himself wondering what had driven Dean to this place. Dean had always been the more steadfast of the two, embracing the hunting life with a fervor that Sam had never fully shared. For him to seek refuge here suggested something deeper was at play.

As Sam pulled up to the Roadhouse, the building’s rustic charm was immediately apparent. It stood proudly against the backdrop of the fading light, its wooden exterior weathered but sturdy. Neon signs flickered in the windows, and the sound of classic rock music wafted through the air. Sam’s heart quickened with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as he parked the car and stepped out.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door, the creak of the hinges announcing his arrival. The interior was dimly lit, filled with the scent of aged wood, spilled beer, and the faint aroma of fried food. A jukebox played softly in the corner, and a few patrons were scattered around, engaged in hushed conversations. Sam’s eyes quickly scanned the room, landing on a familiar figure hunched over the bar. Dean.

Dean Winchester, with his rugged good looks and perpetual aura of confidence, looked strangely out of place in his solitude. His shoulders were slumped, and his usually bright eyes were shadowed with fatigue. Sam felt a pang of concern; it was rare to see his brother so visibly weighed down.

“Dean,” Sam called out, his voice cutting through the ambient noise.

Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Sammy?” He slid off the barstool, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he approached his younger brother. “What are you doing here?”

Sam returned the smile, though he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. “I got your message. Thought I’d come see what’s going on.”

Dean’s expression flickered with confusion. “Message? I didn’t send you a message, Sam.”

Sam frowned, pulling out his phone to show Dean the text he had received. It was brief, but enough to raise his suspicions: Need to talk. Roadhouse.

Dean stared at the screen, his brow furrowing. “I didn’t send this. But since you’re here, it’s good to see you, man.”

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at Dean’s characteristic nonchalance. “Yeah, it’s good to see you too. But seriously, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

Dean shrugged, his smile fading slightly. “Just needed a break. Figured the Roadhouse was as good a place as any to clear my head.”

Sam didn’t buy it for a second. He knew his brother too well. Dean was evading, deflecting. “Come on, Dean. You don’t take breaks. What’s really going on?”

Dean sighed, glancing around the room before motioning for Sam to follow him to a quieter corner. They settled into a booth, the worn leather seats creaking under their weight. Dean took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the table.

“It’s Dad,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “We had a fight. A bad one.”

Sam’s heart ached for his brother. He knew all too well the strain their father’s relentless drive had put on them both. “What happened?”

Dean ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, frustration evident in every movement. “Same old story. He’s obsessed with finding the demon that killed Mom. And he expects me to be right there with him, every step of the way. I just… I needed some space, you know?”

Sam nodded, understanding all too well. Their father’s obsession had been a constant shadow over their lives, dictating every decision, every move. “I get it, Dean. I really do. But you know you don’t have to carry this burden alone. We’re in this together.”

Dean’s eyes softened, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “Thanks, Sammy. I just… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like it’s all on me. Keeping us together, keeping Dad from going off the deep end.”

Sam reached across the table, gripping his brother’s shoulder firmly. “We’re family, Dean. We look out for each other. Always.”

Dean gave a small nod, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. “Yeah, I know. It’s just hard sometimes.”

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the bond between them a palpable force. Sam felt a surge of protectiveness towards his older brother. Despite Dean’s tough exterior, he was still just a man carrying the weight of their family’s legacy.

“So,” Dean said, breaking the silence, “how’s life at Stanford? Still planning on marrying that girl of yours?”

The question brought a genuine smile to Sam’s face. “Jess is great. She’s been really supportive, even with all the craziness. And yeah, we’re still planning the wedding.”

Dean’s smile widened, a rare moment of unguarded happiness. “That’s good, man. I’m happy for you. You deserve it.”

Sam’s heart swelled with gratitude. Despite everything, Dean had always been his biggest supporter. “Thanks, Dean. It means a lot coming from you.”

As they caught up on each other’s lives, the Roadhouse continued its quiet hum around them. Ellen Harvelle moved behind the bar with practiced ease, her sharp eyes taking in the brothers’ reunion. She had seen many hunters come and go, each with their own stories, but the Winchesters held a special place in her heart. She knew the weight of their family’s mission and the toll it took on them.

“Hey, Ellen,” Dean called out as she approached their table. “Two beers, please.”

Ellen nodded, her expression softening. “On the house, boys. It’s good to see you two together.”

Sam smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Ellen. We appreciate it.”

As Ellen brought over the beers, she lingered for a moment, her eyes flicking between the brothers. “You boys take care of each other, you hear?”

Dean nodded, raising his bottle in a silent toast. “Always do, Ellen.”

With a final, approving nod, Ellen returned to the bar, leaving the brothers to their conversation. Sam took a sip of his beer, savoring the cold, bitter taste. It had been a long journey, both literally and figuratively, to get here. But as he looked at Dean, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. No matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked, leaning back in his seat.

Dean’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Well, I was thinking we could have a few, get wasted.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “You never change, do you?”

Dean’s grin was infectious. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Sammy.”

For a brief moment, it felt like they were kids again, dreaming of adventures and making plans that defied the expectations of their reality. The Roadhouse, with its walls steeped in history and its patrons seasoned by life’s battles, seemed to embrace them in a cocoon of camaraderie and understanding. Here, amidst the shadows and the flickering lights, they found a sense of normalcy, however fleeting.

The jukebox in the corner switched to a familiar tune, and Dean’s face lit up. “Remember this one?” he asked, tapping his foot to the beat.

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, Dad used to play it all the time on those long drives.”

Dean’s eyes took on a faraway look, as if he were back in the Impala, driving down endless highways with their father at the wheel. “Those were the days, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, though his memories of those days were tinged with a longing for something more. “But we’ve got a lot of good days ahead of us too.”

Dean clinked his bottle against Sam’s, a silent agreement passing between them. Whatever the future held, they would face it side by side.

As the evening wore on, the Roadhouse filled with more hunters seeking respite. The conversations grew louder, the laughter more boisterous. Sam and Dean remained in their corner, catching up on lost time and revelling in the simplicity of being together.

When Dean was mid whiskey and mid conversation, you came back from a supply run, swinging the keys to your car on your finger. His attention was immediately caught by your infectious smile, his lips parted as he took you in, the halo he always saw around your head contradicted by the sinful amount of beer he knew was in the shopping bag you carried.

Sam’s eyes followed Dean’s, and his foot tapped his older brother’s with a smirk. “Who’s that?”

Dean snapped out of it, licking his lips and his eyes briefly followed your heavenly, sinful ass in those jeans before contradicting himself. “Who’s who?”

“Yeah, you heard me.” He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re looking at her like she’s God’s gift to men.”

“She’s no one. I mean, she’s someone, but not like that.” Dean swollen, then smirked slightly. “She’s hot.”

“Knew it.”

“Look, can we change the subject? Don’t want anyone sharing my secrets like we’re in Mean Girls.”

Eventually, the topic turned back to their father, and Sam felt compelled to ask, “Do you think Dad’s okay?”

Dean’s expression grew serious. “Honestly, I don’t know. He’s been so focused on finding the damn demon that I think he’s losing sight of everything else. But we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Sam nodded, though he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. Their father’s obsession had driven a wedge between them more than once, and he feared what might happen if it continued unchecked. But for now, he chose to focus on the present, on the fact that he was here with his brother, and that they had each other’s backs.

As the night deepened, the Roadhouse’s patrons began to thin out. Ellen and Jo moved through the room, tidying up and exchanging friendly banter with the remaining hunters. Sam and Dean finally stood, stretching their legs and preparing to call it a night.

“You got a room here?” Sam asked, following Dean towards the back.

“Nah, I’m hooked up with a friend,” Dean replied. “I’ll see if Ellen’s got one for you.”

Ellen appeared at that moment, as if summoned by their conversation. “Need a room, Sam?”

He nodded gratefully. “If you’ve got one, that would be great.”

“Of course,” she said with a warm smile. “Anything for a Winchester.”

As she handed Sam a key, she added, “You boys get some rest. Tomorrow’s another day.”

Sam and Dean thanked her, then made their way to their respective rooms. As Sam closed the door behind him, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. Despite the uncertainty and the challenges that lay ahead, he knew they would face them together. And that made all the difference.

Lying on the bed, Sam stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting back to Stanford, to Jess, and to the life he had momentarily left behind. He missed her, missed the normalcy of their life together, but he also knew that this was where he needed to be right now. With his brother, navigating the complexities of their family and their shared destiny.

He closed his eyes, the sounds of the Roadhouse fading into the background. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, he allowed himself the luxury of rest. He was home, in a sense, and that was enough.

As the night stretched on, the brothers drifted into a restless sleep, their dreams filled with memories of the past and visions of the future. The Roadhouse stood as a silent witness to their reunion, a testament to the enduring strength of family and the bonds that could never be broken.

The Roadhouse buzzed with the usual hum of conversation and clinking glasses, but in a quieter corner, Ruby and Meg were engrossed in a conversation that had nothing to do with hunting or the supernatural world. Their connection, an unexpected development in the turbulent lives of hunters and demons, had grown stronger over time, becoming a source of intrigue and tension for both.

Ruby, known for her badass demeanor and sharp tongue, was an enigma to many. She exuded confidence and danger, her presence a stark reminder of the dark world they lived in. But beneath the tough exterior was a complexity that few had the opportunity to see. Her interactions with Meg had begun to reveal layers of vulnerability and conflict that she usually kept well hidden.

Meg, on the other hand, was a stark contrast. With her flirtatious and friendly nature, she had a way of making even the most hardened hunter feel at ease. Her playful banter and mischievous glint in her eyes masked a depth of cunning and intelligence that was not to be underestimated. To Ruby, Meg was a puzzle—one that she found herself increasingly drawn to, despite her better judgment.

They sat at a small table, the ambient light casting a warm glow on their faces. Meg’s laughter, a light, musical sound, filled the air as she recounted a humorous story about a hunt before she got to the Roadhouse.

“And then,” Meg said, her eyes sparkling with amusement, “the guy actually thought he could outrun a werewolf in those ridiculous shoes. Can you believe it?”

Ruby smirked, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. “People are idiots.”

“Yeah, but it makes our job more interesting,” Meg replied, leaning back in her chair, her gaze fixed on Ruby. “So, what’s your story, Ruby? Why does a badass like you hang out in a place like this?”

Ruby shrugged, trying to maintain her usual air of indifference. “Maybe I’m here for the company.”

Meg’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “Is that so? And what kind of company are you looking for?”

Ruby felt a flush creep up her neck, caught off guard by Meg’s directness. She wasn’t used to feeling this way—unsure, off balance. “Good company,” she said evasively, taking a sip of her drink.

Meg’s gaze softened, a hint of genuine curiosity replacing her playful facade. “You know, Ruby, you don’t always have to be the tough one. It’s okay to let your guard down sometimes.”

Ruby’s eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—surprise, uncertainty, and something deeper that she couldn’t quite identify. “And what makes you think I have my guard up?”

Meg leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Because I see it. You act like nothing can touch you, but I know there’s more to you than that.”

Ruby’s heart pounded in her chest. This was territory she wasn’t accustomed to navigating. Feelings, emotions—they were dangerous, unpredictable. But something about Meg made her want to take that risk, to explore the unknown.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Ruby said, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

“Maybe not,” Meg conceded. “But I’d like to.”

The sincerity in Meg’s eyes was disarming. Ruby looked away, struggling to keep her composure. She was Ruby, the demon with a mission, the one who always had a plan. Yet here she was, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Why?” Ruby asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you care?”

Meg’s smile was gentle, devoid of her usual flirtatious edge. “Because I see something in you that’s worth knowing. Something real.”

Ruby’s mind raced, her internal conflict intensifying. She wanted to push Meg away, to protect herself from the potential pain and complications. But a part of her also longed for the connection, for the possibility of something more.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” Ruby warned, her eyes darkening with intensity.

Meg’s gaze remained steady, unflinching. “Maybe not. But I’m willing to find out.”

The weight of Meg’s words hung between them, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Ruby felt a surge of emotions—fear, hope, desire—all clashing within her. She had spent so long guarding herself, building walls to keep others out. But Meg was chipping away at those walls, and Ruby wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop her.

Their conversation was interrupted by Jo Harvelle, who approached their table with a knowing look. She had been observing the growing bond between Ruby and Meg with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Hey, Ruby, Meg,” Jo greeted, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “Mind if I join you?”

Ruby glanced at Meg, who gave a slight nod. “Sure, Jo,” Ruby replied, her voice neutral.

Jo pulled up a chair and sat down, her gaze shifting between the two women. “I couldn’t help but notice you two seem to be getting along pretty well.”

Meg grinned. “We’re just having a little chat, Jo. Nothing to worry about.”

Jo raised an eyebrow. “Right. Well, Ruby, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”

Ruby hesitated, glancing at Meg. “Sure,” she said finally, standing up.

Jo led Ruby to a quieter corner of the Roadhouse, away from prying eyes and ears. She turned to face her, arms crossed. “What’s going on, Ruby?”

“What do you mean?” Ruby asked defensively.

“You know what I mean,” Jo said, her tone serious. “You and Meg. What’s going on there?”

Ruby sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know, Jo. I really don’t.”

Jo’s expression softened slightly. “Look, Ruby, I know you’re tough and all, but feelings are complicated. And they can get messy if not handled properly. Look at Dean and our golden girl, he can barely keep a lid around her.”

The Roadhouse had long emptied of its usual patrons, the last lingering traces of conversation and laughter dissipating into the night. The dimly lit interior was a stark contrast to the darkness that enveloped the world outside. It was after closing time, and only a few stragglers remained, lost in their own thoughts or nursing their drinks in solitude.

You sat at a table in the corner, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. Dean Winchester, the enigmatic hunter with a devil-may-care attitude, had captured your attention from the moment you had met. His rugged charm and unwavering determination had drawn you in, despite the dangers that lurked in his world.

Tonight, however, there was a tension in the air that you couldn’t ignore. Dean’s usual easygoing demeanor was tinged with unease, his eyes darting towards the door with a mixture of anticipation and dread. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding, a gut feeling that something was about to happen.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, the familiar creak of the door signaling an unexpected arrival. You turned to see a figure silhouetted against the dim light of the entrance—a figure you recognized all too well.

John Winchester.

Dean’s father, a man shrouded in mystery and shadow, stood in the doorway, his presence commanding attention. His eyes scanned the room, settling on Dean with a mixture of disappointment and frustration.

“Dean,” John said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “We need to talk.”

Dean tensed at the sound of his father’s voice, his shoulders stiffening as he rose from his seat. “Dad,” he said, his tone guarded. “What are you doing here?”

John stepped further into the room, his gaze never leaving Dean’s face. “I came to talk some sense into you, son. You can’t keep running away from your responsibilities.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his fists balling at his sides. “I’m not running away, Dad. I’m just… taking a break.”

“A break?” John’s voice rose with incredulity. “This isn’t a vacation, Dean. We have a job to do—a duty to our family.”

Dean’s eyes flashed with anger. “I know that, Dad. But I can’t do it anymore. Not like this.”

John took a step forward, his expression hardening. “You think you can just walk away from this life? From everything we’ve fought for?”

Dean squared his shoulders, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not walking away, Dad. I’m choosing to live my own life, on my own terms.”

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent battle of wills playing out between father and son. You watched, your heart pounding in your chest, unsure of what to do. Dean’s infatuation with you had been evident from the start, but you had never imagined it would lead to a confrontation of this magnitude.

As the argument escalated, John’s frustration boiled over. In a sudden burst of anger, he lunged towards Dean, his hands outstretched as if to grab him. Instinctively, you sprang into action, placing yourself between them with a forcefulness you didn’t know you possessed.

“Stop!” you shouted, your voice echoing through the room.

John froze, his eyes narrowing as he regarded you with a mixture of surprise and disdain. “And who the hell are you?”

“I’m someone who’s not going to let you lay a hand on Dean,” you replied, your voice dripping with anger. “He’s had enough of your controlling bullshit, and I’m not going to stand by and watch you bully him into submission.”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, his gaze flickering between you and his father. He had never seen you like this—fierce, unyielding, and utterly fearless. In that moment, he felt a surge of gratitude and admiration, mixed with a newfound sense of protectiveness.

John’s expression hardened, his fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. This is between me and my son.”

“No,” you said, stepping closer to John until you were mere inches apart. “This is between you and me. And if you think for one second that you can intimidate me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the standoff continued, the air thick with tension and uncertainty. You refused to back down, your eyes locked with John’s in a silent battle of wills. But you won, and John turned on his heel, walking straight out without a word.

You now knew why Dean was such a lost soul.

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Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen 

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death 

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 34 ✧˚₊‧

"Ladies," Satoru said smoothly, throwing his long arms around the shoulders of two miko. The girls jumped in surprise and he pulled one girl closer, only so he could push up his sunglasses and flash those impossible blues at them both.

"S-sir you can't just—" one stammered.

"Shh, shh, nah honey let's talk," he shushed her, fluttering his eyelashes, "I got some questions for you two, alright? You'll answer them, won't you?"

"Oh, a-about the temple?" The second girl squeaked. One of her hands hand landed on her cheek and she could barely look up at him as he led the two of them away from the entrance to the women's quarters.

Yuki, who was waiting nearby and getting extremely tired of "examining the rustic architecture", sighed as soon as they were out of the way. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and confidently strode directly into the building, heading straight towards the first door she could find.

It was a storage closet. The next was as well, filled with various bells and symbolic trinkets and some of the sacred cups for drinking sake at various rituals. Following that we're the changing rooms and break rooms she expected to find, but none of them contained anything that felt real to her.

She gritted her teeth and swatted at one of the outfits, closing the closet behind her. She turned, placing a hand on her hip as she glanced around the room. If this was where the girls were getting ready for their rituals they must have the real thing somewhere nearby.

"Secret door maybe?" she mumbled, turning to run her fingers along the wall. She narrowed her eyes, doing the same on the floor with the toes of her shoes. But when nothing came up she groaned, rubbing both her temples with her fingertips. "Annoying," she grumbled, starting her search once again.

Finally her search bore fruit and her fingertips caught on the edge of something on the back wall of a wardrobe. She tapped it lightly before pushing a little harder, the inside wall pushing back out on a spring hinge. Pulling it fully open slowly, she grinned when she spotted the dark set of stairs ahead.

"Always a secret basement," she chuckled as she stepped through, taking her steps cautiously in the dark.

When she finally reached the bottom the corridor opened up into a relatively plain stone room lined with rows of racks for hanging clothes. They were divided by types, sorting by the ranking of the official who would likely be wearing it and seemingly also sorted by size. Touching the fabric slightly she could already feel the hum of energy running through it and she smirked to herself as she picked out a few different pieces and hung them over her arm.

She turned back towards the stairs, but she already felt on edge. This was far too easy. There really wasn't anything down here in place to keep these things protected? Not even something as simple as a mundane trap or a regular security camera? That didn't sit right. In every other scenario it felt like the positive energy users were better hidden than this.

"Outta time let's go!" Satoru suddenly shouted down the stairs.

She sighed, snatching up a few more pieces before she rushed towards the stairs. "What did you do?" she called up, only for her voice to catch in her throat. A burst of hot air blew the hair off her neck and after a moment a second fanned over her skin. She felt a chill down her spine when she realized whatever it was behind her was breathing on her neck.

In a split second, she jumped up as many stairs as her legs could reach as a huge white paw crashed into the wood just where she'd been standing. Gritting her teeth she rushed up towards Satoru who grabbed her as soon as he could reach and yanked her hard. She landed beside him and felt the draft of another slam just as he stepped in front to block it with limitless.

Satoru whistled as he followed behind Yuki. "Damn! That's a big ass cat!" he shouted to her over the chaos at the creature smashed its way through the wardrobe and into the building.

"Cat?" Yuki glanced back finally, getting a look at the thing.

A deafening crash filled the hall as splinters rained down around them. Emerging from the dust and rubble was a massive lion, it's fur as white as freshly fallen snow. Its golden eyes glowed like molten metal, locking onto the intruders with the fiery intensity of its rage. The creature's low grunts rolled through the hall like distant thunder, vibrating deep in her chest. Every step it took cracked the wood beneath it's paws, the floor splintering under its enormous weight.

Satoru shoved Yuki aside just as the lion surged forward. Its roar erupted like an explosion, the sound so loud and primal that both she and Satoru wince and stumbled, clutching at their ears.

The beast pounced. Two massive paws slammed down inches from they had been standing, carving deep gouges into the wood and the stone foundation beneath. The force of the impact sent shards of wood flying as the lion's momentum carried it forward, its body smashing through the far wall. Sunlight poured in through the hole it left behind, illuminating the swirling chaos of dust and debris.

Hearts pounding, they scrambled for the exit, feet slipping on the uneven ground. But the lion wasn’t done. With a roar that shook the building to its foundations, it leapt back into the fray, white fur gleaming and golden eyes aflame. It moved with terrifying speed, its claws raking through the air as it pursued them.

They burst through the temple doors into the open courtyard. Behind them, the lion’s massive body collided with the roof above, shattering tiles and sending splinters of wood raining down. The force of the impact tore the roof apart, pieces of it scattering like leaves in a storm as the creature surged after them.

For a moment, everything was chaos: the lion’s thrashing limbs, the splintered remnants of the temple, the golden sunlight gleaming off its pristine fur. Then it landed, crouched low, muscles coiled like springs, ready to strike again.

"Kill it or, nah?" Satoru asked, grinning at Yuki.

"No, leave it," she called to him, moving past, "If we kill their guardian they'll have nothing to keep the curses away."

The lion trembled mid-stride, its massive form faltering for the first time. A low, guttural growl escaped its throat, but this time it wasn’t anger—it was something else, something unnatural. A crackling sound filled the air, like lightning splitting the sky, and suddenly two enormous, radiant wings burst from the creature’s back. Feathers of light, impossibly bright and shimmering, unfurled and stretched wide, their glow casting long, eerie shadows across the courtyard.

Satoru slowed his pace just enough to glance at Yuki, one eyebrow raised in curious amusement. "You didn’t mention the part about wings."

She huffed, her focus still on the beast as they kept running. "Don’t touch it, Satoru! I mean it."

"Fine," he said, though his grin hinted at mischief.

The lion let out a bone-rattling roar, launching itself into the air with a powerful beat of its wings. It soared after them, an angelic terror streaking through the sky. Dust whirled around as its shadow engulfed them, golden eyes locked on its quarry.

Satoru skidded to a halt in front of a cluster of priests who had gathered near the temple gates. "Move!" he barked, stepping forward with arms spread as if to shield them.

The lion descended with terrifying precision, jaws wide, its teeth glinting like blades. But instead of mindlessly crashing into him, it slowed just enough to snap at him, testing his defenses. Satoru’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, his usual confidence cracking.

"Interesting," he muttered, raising a hand as his Limitless technique activated. The shimmering barrier between them pulsed, holding the creature back—barely. The lion’s golden eyes flared with an eerie intelligence, its momentum pressing against his technique, straining it like nothing he’d encountered before.

"You're tougher than you look," Satoru said with a grin, though sweat beaded at his temple. He twisted his wrist, redirecting the beast’s force to shove it back, but the effort took more out of him than he’d anticipated.

"Gojo!" Yuki’s voice cut through the chaos.

She darted beneath the lion, sliding on her side with practiced precision. Her technique flared, visible for a brief moment as her legs shimmered with increased density. With a sharp inhale, she planted both feet under the lion and kicked upward with explosive force.

The impact sent the beast hurtling backward, its wings flaring to steady itself as it crashed into a nearby torii gate. The structure crumbled around it, but it was already recovering, shaking off the wood like dust from its fur.

Before the lion could leap again, Satoru appeared beside Yuki in an instant, scooping her up with one arm as he dashed for the temple gates. He set her on her feet the moment they crossed into the forest beyond, both of them breaking into a full sprint.

"You really didn’t want me to touch it, huh?" he said, breathless but still grinning.

"Shut up and keep running," Yuki snapped, glancing over her shoulder.

Behind them, the lion roared once more, its golden eyes blazing as it took to the skies again. The temple grounds crumbled in its wake, but something about the way it moved now was deliberate, almost calculated.

"We’re not done with this thing yet," Satoru muttered, his gaze flicking up to the glowing figure in the sky.

"Not even close," Yuki replied grimly.

For what felt like hours it pursued them, relentlessly tearing through the trees or flying overhead searching with it's blazing golden gaze. Not even for a moment did it hesitate whenever it got close enough to take a swipe or a bite, it's tail and wings thrashing with anger. It's white fur shimmered with golden light and it seemed to have an unnatural sense of where they were heading.

"We're gonna have to do something about it," Satoru called, "I don't think it's going to let up!"

"Shit," Yuki spat, "We've already done too much. There's no way this is going unnoticed."

"So let me take it out!" Satoru shouted.

"No! Just knock it out or something!" Yuki cried, "Just don't kill it!"

The dense forest around them was alive with the sounds of their desperate escape—branches snapping underfoot, leaves whipping past, and the relentless roar of the lion closing in above. Satoru came to an abrupt stop in a clearing, turning to face the glowing beast as it descended like a divine judgment. The beast’s golden eyes locked onto him, and it let out a low growl that made the ground tremble. Its glowing wings spread wide, their radiance bathing the forest in a harsh, almost holy light.

Satoru cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. He grinned at the beast as he removed his sunglasses, hanging them off his shirt as he waited for its first move.

The lion lunged, a blur of white fur and shining feathers. Satoru ducked under a massive paw, the claws raking through the air inches above his head. He retaliated with a palm strike to its side, but the impact was muted—its positive energy clashed with his cursed energy, negating the force of the blow.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue, sidestepping as the lion spun with alarming agility, its jaws snapping at his midsection.

It was fast—and more annoyingly, it was relentless. Each strike forced Satoru to rely more on his physical skill than his cursed energy. He’d already learned the hard way that his techniques faltered against the creature’s radiant power with that first attempt at using limitless.

He leapt onto a low branch, narrowly avoiding another swipe. The lion roared, its wings beating once to propel it upward. Satoru sprang off the branch just as the beast tore through it, landing in a crouch as splinters rained down.

“You’re not just strong, huh?” Satoru said, smirking despite the sweat on his brow. “You’re smart, too. This might actually be fun.”

The lion’s golden eyes flared as if in response, and it surged forward again. Satoru met it head-on, weaving between its strikes with precision born of years of combat. He drove his elbow into its shoulder, followed by a kick to its ribs, each blow landing with satisfying force.

But the lion didn’t slow. It twisted mid-attack, its massive wing catching him off-guard and slamming him into a nearby tree. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his back, but he didn’t let it show.

"Alright, kitty," he muttered, shaking out his arms. "You want to play rough? Fine."

The next time it lunged, he met it with a spinning kick, his heel connecting with its jaw. The lion staggered, but Satoru didn’t stop. He followed up with a flurry of punches, each one aimed at vulnerable spots—the eyes, the neck, the skull.

Finally, he saw his opening. The lion reared back to swipe at him, exposing the underside of its head. With a burst of speed, Satoru leapt up, twisting mid-air, and drove his foot into the side of the lion’s skull.

The force of the kick sent the creature crashing to the ground, its wings folding as it lay still, its massive chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

Satoru landed lightly, brushing a bit of dust from his shirt. “Stay down,” he muttered, though his tone carried more respect than mockery.

Yuki emerged from the shadows of the trees, her expression unreadable. He gave her a quick nod.

“Let’s move before it wakes up,” he said.

She didn’t argue, falling into step beside him as they disappeared into the forest once more. Behind them, the clearing was silent, save for the faint sound of the lion’s breathing.

"What now?" Satoru asked once they'd gained more distance, "How far do you think we need to go before we can circle back?"

"You feeling impatient?" Yuki teased, grinning at him.

"I'm always impatient," Satoru scoffed, "Everyone moves so damn slow."

"Well, get used to it," Yuki mumbled, "We'll need to take the long way around for a while and keep ourselves on the move. I was hoping to only alert a few guards not kick the whole wasp nest."

"Didn't expect a winged lion," Satoru said, glancing back towards where he'd fought the beast. "You seen anything like that before?"

"Can't say that I have, but I've heard stories," Yuki chuckled, "Lots of different 'holy' type creatures are in all their fancy books. Bulls and doves and eagles and stuff, you know. Guess we just got unlucky and ran into a big boy."

"But why a lion?" Satoru pondered, "Lions are kind of a big deal in Buddism, so what's a minor Shinto temple doing with a big ass white lion as a guardian?"

Yuki's brow furrowed. "Actually that's a good point," she mumbled, adjusting the pile of clothes on her arm. She glanced back at where they'd left the lion behind as well, then looked ahead again with her eyes narrowed. "They're probably hiding something," she suggested, "Maybe they've got their own little positive user hidden in there somewhere. I wouldn't be surprised if they did."

"Should we go back?" Satoru asked, "Maybe we could see if they need—"

"No," Yuki cut him off, "As much as I'd love to go on a random rescue mission, we don't know the situation at all. The user may not be in trouble, for one, and we already have our hands full with Sarah. Bringing in a second wouldn't be worth the trouble."

Satoru didn't answer. Yuki glanced over at him and smiled, shaking her head with a sigh. "Alright, how about this? We'll check it out again after we've released Sarah's vow, alright? We'll do a little wellness check. Think you can wait until then before adopting another stray?"

Satoru smiled. "Sure, yeah we can do that."

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Haibara jumped around behind a tree, ducking low just as the reach of the wooden tendrils tore through the trunk just above his head. He shuddered, still trying to catch his breath as he sprinted away with Nanami skidding to his side as he dodged an attack aimed at him as well.

"I've never seen curses like this!" Nanami gritted, spinning back to swing his ax at the reaching tendrils, cracking off sharp branches that tore at their clothes.

The creatures scrambled through the underbrush as if it was only an extension of their twisted little bodies. Skin that was gnarled like wood dissapeared into the twigs and leaves scattered around with only their glowing eyes to alert the boys of their presences. They chirped and squeaked like saplings bending in the wind and long reaching tendrils endlessly reached for them.

"I don't think these are curses!" Haibara panted, snapping a branch headed right for Nanami's head. "I think these are the things Gojo mentioned! The spirits? Like the flower one he talked about!"

"If that's the case," Nanami huffed, "Then we need to get back to the temple as quickly as possible. The barrier should keep them at bay!"

The two of the scrambled through until the temple was in sight and Haibara shouted, "Hey! Hurry!"

A pair of hands shot out quickly from the wall and Haibara and Nanami grasped on quickly before Sarah and Suguru yanked them inside. They panted, collapsing onto the stone floor. Suguru watched them only for a moment before he glanced up above them.

"More of those things, right?" he asked, "We've been watching them."

"There's so many!" Sarah informed them, "We heard them when they showed up but now… well, look!"

She pointed up above and Haibara and Nanami both gasped.

The top of the dome was beginning to overgrow with vines. The creatures huddled together atop the barrier and extended their long tendrils, blocking out the light and everything in sight.

"No way," Haibara muttered, "What… what are we gonna do?"

"We may have to exorcise them," Suguru assessed, crossing his arms and scowling at the creatures above as they writhed and hummed. "But I don't want to be to hasty. If we catch too much attention we'll have a bigger problem on our hands."

"Couldn't you just absorb them?" Nanami suggested, holding his hand out for Haibara and helping the other boy stand as he himself got up. "I know if they're below a certain range of power it's nearly instantaneous for you."

"Yes, that is true," Suguru nodded, "But these are stronger than they appear. That, or they're only pieces of a larger whole."

"What if I did my thing?" Sarah mentioned, stepping closer to the barrier as it slowly closed off more and more with vines, "Maybe I could talk to them? They seem like they're upset with us."

"Is it because we cut down the trees?!" Haibara gasped, "What if we did too much?!"

"No, I would think they would have done this much sooner if that were true," Suguru said, shaking his head, "We cut down so much more when we were rebuilding."

"This must be why this place was abandoned," Nanami suggested, "If it was constantly being swarmed like this they would surely move it further away."

"All the more reason for me to talk to them," Sarah said, stepping closer to the barrier. It was almost completely covered by this point and soon enough it would be pitch dark inside the dome.

"I'm not sure that's the best plan," Nanami said, "What if using your energy only upsets them further?"

"I agree with Nanami," Suguru nodded, "We don't know what may happen if something else catches on to you. We may get rid of this problem and create an even bigger one."

"But we can't do nothing," Sarah scoffed, crossing her arms, "What are we going to do, just let them close us in? That's stupid."

"It's not stupid, we must be cautious or—"

"Nanami, c'mon really?" Sarah sighed. She looked at the three of them before she shook her head, her fists balling at her sides. "Once Gojo shows up he'll just blow them up anyway. We might as well try my way before we give up and let ourselves get locked in."

Haibara shook his head, "C'mon Sarah, don't do this. We can just wait until—"

She took a dive for the wall and all three of the boys reached for her. Only Haibara, who'd been the closest to her, managed to grasp onto her ankle only for her to wiggle out of her shoe and pull her foot through just as the barrier closed off.

"Shit!" Suguru cried out, "Stupid! We need to go after her!"

"We can't!" Haibara shouted, trying desperately to pull up on the branches that now were pushing into the stone floor. "I can't! It—it's too strong!"

Nanami rushed to Haibara's side, pulling with all his strength but he was forced to back off just before it closed around his fingers. The boys were shrouded in complete darkness as the vine choked out all of the light and the only sounds were their own labored breaths.

Suguru punched the wall, swearing under his breath. "Shit," he mumbled, "We just— we have to! We have to go out there!"

Nanami was already on the move, sprinting for the main temple building. "I'll take down the barrier! Be ready to run!" he shouted.

But suddenly shafts of light began to appear from above. Haibara pressed against the barrier, watching as the branches slowly retracted. He saw her in the distance. She was shouting over her shoulder and the curses seemed to be taking the bait.

"Sarah!" Haibara shouted, tearing at the wood and shoving his shoulder hard into it trying to tear though. Suguru slammed next to him, cracking the wall further and the two of them stumbled out into the light once again.

"Stop!" Suguru shouted, "Don't be stupid!"

"I can do this!" Sarah shouted over the scrambling frantic sounds of the curses. They swarmed after her, tearing through the ground and each other. The curses behind her shrieked with inhuman voices, their cries echoing like nails dragged across glass. Wooden tendrils reached for her like fingers of the dead, snagging her shirt and tearing at her arms, but she pressed on, gritting her teeth against the sting of her wounds as they healed themselves almost instantly.

Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat urging her legs forward. She didn’t dare look back. She knew what she’d see: the twisted forms of the curses, amalgamations of jagged bark and writhing roots, their eyeless faces locked onto her scent. Her lungs burned, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but slowing down wasn’t an option. Sarah darted between trees, her hands brushing against rough bark as she used them to propel herself forward. She ducked under low-hanging branches, her hair catching in the leaves, and leapt over thick roots that jutted from the ground like gnarled bones. The curses followed relentlessly, their movements a cacophony of snapping wood and rustling leaves. Her foot caught on a vine, and she nearly fell, but she caught herself, glancing briefly down at her bleeding palms before they healed over. The adrenaline drowned out the pain, her only focus the path ahead—a narrow gap between two towering oaks. She pushed through it, feeling the splintering scrape of bark against her shoulders. The ground began to slope downward, the trees thinning. She didn’t slow, even as her feet skidded on loose dirt and dry leaves. Then, the ground gave way entirely, and she slid, tumbling into a dry riverbed. Rocks and debris tore at her legs as she fell, and when she hit the bottom, the impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She gasped, her vision swimming as she scrambled to her feet, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. Above, the curses loomed at the edge of the ravine, their forms silhouetted against the night sky. For a moment, they seemed hesitant, their tendrils twitching as if testing the air. Sarah’s chest heaved as she backed away, her shoes crunching on the dry, cracked earth. She searched desperately for an escape, her eyes darting to the shadows around her. One of the curses tipped forward, its wooden limbs creaking as it slid down into the riverbed after her. The others followed, their movements jagged and unnatural. Sarah’s stomach twisted with dread. She spun on her heel and ran again, her feet slipping on loose stones as the walls of the riverbed rose around her. The path narrowed, the walls closing in until she was forced to squeeze through a tight gap between jagged rocks. Her shoulders scraped against the stone, and she felt a fresh sting as a tendril lashed out, catching her side. She bit back a scream, clamping a hand over the wound as she stumbled forward. The curses screeched, furious and hungry, but the narrow gap slowed them, their larger forms struggling to squeeze through. She emerged on the other side, her chest heaving with exhaustion, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The curses were relentless, and if she didn’t keep moving, they would drag her back to their lair. Back to whatever horrifying fate awaited her there. Ahead, the riverbed opened into a small clearing. At its center stood a single, ancient tree, its roots twisting into the earth like the veins of the forest itself. Its presence was different from anything she'd seen yet—calm, protective, and powerful. Desperation flared in Sarah’s chest as she made her way toward it, collapsing at its base. The curses spilled into the clearing, their forms hesitating as they neared the tree. They shrieked, their wooden bodies trembling as if repelled by an unseen force. The air around the tree seemed to hum, a gentle vibration that resonated in Sarah’s chest. She pressed her hands to the roots, her voice a whisper. “Please… forgive us.” The tree answered. Its roots began to move, shifting and curling around her like a shield. The curses howled in rage, their tendrils lashing out, but the tree’s branches swayed, and a wave of energy pulsed through the clearing. The curses recoiled, their forms splintering as the force pushed them back, farther and farther, until they were swallowed by the forest’s darkness. Sarah collapsed against the tree, her body trembling as the adrenaline began to fade. The roots loosened their hold, cradling her gently as the forest once again grew quiet. She was safe at last.

Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara arrived moments later, out of breath and covered in wounds. Suguru held up his arms, blocking them from approaching the tree as soon as he spotted Sarah among the roots.

She sat up and nodded to him and he nodded back, the three of them stepping further away.

"It's angry," she whispered, "But it accepted my apology for now."

Suguru nodded again, then looked at Nanami and Haibara. The three of them slowly began to approach as carefully and reverently as possible. The tension in the air was practically physically choking, but still they moved forward.

"I… I'm sorry tree," Haibara said awkwardly, "Did we cut down too much?"

Sarah smiled at him, then looked up at the tree. "I think it's upset that we haven't visited," she explained. "I think people must have thanked the forest spirits in the past but it's been a long time since it's seen humans."

Nanami glanced at Suguru, the approached the tree cautiously. Suguru followed him and the two of them gave their own quiet apologies. As they spoke, it was as if the forest itself was letting go and the tension began to fade.

Sarah sighed with relief, wiping the sweat off her brow. "We can leave for now," she said quietly, "It's calm enough."

The walk back was quiet, none of them sure what to say. Eventually Haibara piped up and cheerfully said, "Well I guess we should have a festival for it!"

Sarah laughed, Nanami and Suguru unable to resist a chuckle too. "Yeah, that sounds like fun doesn't it?" She agreed, "Once everyone else gets back we can make a day of it."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that this forest has spirits," Nanami sighed. He glanced back at the clearing for a moment, considering the sight of the ancient tree. "I didn't believe that anything but curses existed," he admitted, "It seems like something directly out of a fantasy."

"It's just like Totoro!" Haibara chirped happily.

"I suppose it is," Suguru agreed with a smile, "We'll leave it offerings more often and we should give it thanks every time we go for firewood."

The conversation trailed off as they walked back through to the temple, but as soon as they were within the barrier once again Sarah loudly cleared her throat. The three boys stared at her and she put her hands on her hips, looking down her nose at them with a smug grin.

"Don't you have something to say to me?" She asked, tilting her head, "Something about how cool that was? Yeah? Maybe, I dunno, an apology?"

Suguru rolled his eyes, but then smiled at her. "You did really well," he relented, "I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

"Yeah," Haibara grinned as he threw his arms around her, "That was so cool! I can't believe you just went for it like that!"

"It was reckless," Nanami mumbled, but even he nodded in approval when he said, "But it was impressive. I apologize for doubting you."

"Alright then," Sarah said with a sniff. She glanced at the three of them awkwardly then asked, "So… I guess we gotta go figure out where you two left the wood sleds?"

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date: 05/10/2024

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—Now playing: Fast Car by Tracy Chapman ✫

The Jeon's three-story rustic mansion was built almost half a century ago thanks to the grandfather’s doing. The building sat proudly in the centre of a wide land, practically hidden away from the heat of town. It barely had neighbours if not nearly fifteen minutes away by foot. The closest living beings around it were trees, just feet away from the field outside the fence.

The entrance was symbolised by a great black iron gate hinged to the medium-tall brick fence. The only thing keeping possible intruders off was the short black iron fencing running upon the brick wall imitating the spiked look of a mediaeval spear.

Behind the gate was a freshly mown smooth green field briefly interrupted by the sandy slithering path leading to the mansion, wider when aligned with the gate and smaller as it approached the double door of the building.

The external walls of the edifice were rather made of grey bricks or stone, similar to a castle. Its main trait was natural light: the mansion comprised numerous windows of various styles. The frontage wasn’t a smooth horizontal wall. It was only in the centre and round in the corners hence the tall windows, going from the floor to the ceiling, on the bottom and first floor and the arched ones on the top floor right beneath the dark triangular roof.

Within the thick walls of the majestical building lived a family of four with four ulterior pets: three dogs for the older son and a recently adopted kitten for the younger one. Despite this, the house was often dead silent: the parents worked from morning till evening—they also often had business trips to attend to, the youngest was mostly in his room with his kitten studying or playing video games and the oldest was rarely at home—he’d rather hang out with his friends or if he must, he’d stay in his room playing video games but for the past week, Jungkook couldn’t indulge in this routine.

Thanks to his parents, the mansion was ready to welcome almost a hundred teenagers for his highly-awaited party. His family would stay at their grandparents’ place for the night so he had full control over the building. Thanks to Adrielle, he had an excuse to throw a party. Thanks to Jimin, the catering was settled. Thanks to Avyanna, a community blog for the juniors and seniors was created and the party was announced. Thanks to Taehyung, very nice pictures of his majestic mansion were taken and published with the announcement.

As he had already planned, the party would be shared across two different moments: the evening and the night. He didn’t want anything too fancy because it’s not his character. The dress code was simple—not too slutty nor too snobbish. Dinner was set to be at half past seven. He wanted it to be at eight but he knew Adrielle had to give her whole presidential type of speech so he had to reserve thirty minutes for her. The party he likes begins at half past nine—here too he wasn’t respecting his personal wishes because he’d have the night start at ten or even later but he doesn’t know if some of the guests have a curfew to respect so in order to have them have a little fun before leaving, he was obliged to set the time at half past nine and not later—he was following Avyanna’s advice really.

Avyanna: “Hello everyone. I am Avyanna. For those who don’t know me, I’m running in the campaign alongside Adrielle Hawthorne. I created this community blog in order to communicate with all the junior and senior year students of our school. Today, I’m writing to inform you of the upcoming party organised by my teammate Jeon Jungkook. The party will be held at his place exactly a week from now, next Friday. You are all invited.”

That was how the announcement began before Jungkook intervened, giving all the details regarding the dress code, the hours and the food. That was enough for the school to be nosier, the sounds similar to buzzing bees. While in the gym, after basketball and volleyball practices, the changing rooms welcomed sounds similar to rumbling thunders from the males and chirping birds from the females, the classrooms were noisy both during lessons and especially during the breaks.

The announcement came on Friday and on Monday, during the break, Cleo couldn’t talk about anything else.

“His house is enormous and so beautiful”“We’ve been there a handful of times because he likes throwing parties up and down.”“Oh, my God. You don’t know half of it!”“I don’t even have anything to wear, shit!”

Daphne couldn’t care less though. Cleo talked about it on their way to school, during class, during recess, after school with her teammates or with Daphne on the bus. She just couldn’t shut up about it. It didn’t bother Daphne for two reasons: first, in their friendship, she’s the listener and Cleo’s the talker; second, the party didn’t interest her because she had no intention of going since she had to study.

Being a better talker than a listener, Cleo just went on, dragging Daphne behind sometimes to explore the mall in hopes of finding the right dress. They went on Saturday, Monday and that day, on Tuesday. Nick, James and Asher went their way while the girls went theirs, arms linked and almost hopping around.

For how many times they’ve hung out together, Daphne was progressively getting familiar with the town. Ever since the picnic, she started going out by herself to discover what she liked of the town and she’d managed to find a nice coffee shop, a little bookstore and a shop of peculiar artefacts. For over a week now, she’s been going to the library to study and soon it also became very familiar to her. She was settling down. In the meantime, the prioritised task sitting at the top of her To-Do list was studying physics.

"Since many of you failed it, I'll give you above a month to prepare and that leaves us... in the last week of November. I'm giving you this much time meaning there won't be any second chances. The study is autonomous but you can always ask me questions. Until then, we'll move on to the next topic."

Those words have been replaying in her head like an old broken record and she wasn’t complaining. It spurred her to study so much that she’d been waking up earlier than usual just to study a bit before starting the day. After school, whenever she wasn’t at the library, she spent her time revising what she studied in the morning and making even more Post-it notes to stick onto her walls. Within a week, her bathroom mirror was almost fully covered with the little posters—it even scared Dayanne when she caught a glimpse of it during a video call and her father a bit when he was helping her tidy her room on Saturday. He jokingly brought it up with the mother but she took it seriously and believed their daughter needed to get a little distracted. Don’t blame the woman. The last time Daphne was so focused on the subject, she failed the test and sobbed so hard. She doesn't want to watch such a shitshow anymore, especially since her daughter is starring in it.

Cleo shared the same idea. She never spoke with her friend’s mother about it but there was no need. It was evident. Yes, she’s the talker in the duo but she’s not blind. She spends so much time with Daphne, enough to know what the girl could be up to in her free time—especially when she brings out her physics book and notebook to IRC class. Cleo’s been blabbing nonstop about the party because Daphne still hasn’t matched her vibe. She hadn’t expressed half a word about it and Cleo knew that it meant she didn’t want to go. She wouldn’t force her, no. She’d try to persuade her with words or, like she’s planning, with things, objects, dresses.

—Now playing: Loop by Yves, Lil Cherry ✫

“So the dress code is simple. A party that is half formal and half party-party. Y’know what I mean?” their arms were still linked, pace almost coordinated as their shoes clicked on the reflecting bright tiles of the mall. Different songs coming from different stores were shuffling together. The crowd was not as thick as usual, so they soon reached their first stop out of the many clothing stores welcomed in the shopping mall.

As they stepped in, the shuffling stopped and a runway-like song played through the speakers. The ceiling was covered by milk-coloured panels interrupted by black lines of ceiling lights. The walls and the tiles were of the same colour. The space was shared in various aisles thanks to the wide squared pillars against which were dressed mannequins. Shirts, dress shirts, gowns and sweaters were hung. Short stalls welcomed folded pairs of trousers, jeans and shorts.

Daphne's head turned left and right looking for something that would spike her interest. Cleo stopped by a row of headbands looking at Daphne implying that the one she was touching was cute. Daphne nodded and smiled before they both proceeded past it.

“So what are you looking for?” She asked for the third time that week. Their pace, slower than before. Bringing her phone out of her pocket, Cleo launched onto Pinterest, rushing to the board she’d created exactly for this occasion. “Whatchu think about this?” she showed her the phone. “It’s giving uni clubbing, don’t it?” From what Daphne read in the community blog, the pictures sitting on Cleo’s board hit the jackpot. Cute enough for a party but formal enough for the first half of the party. She nodded and, following what she’d just seen, she started helping Cleo in the search.

“You pick for me, I’ll pick for you,” Cleo suggested before going her way, giving Daphne no time to explain that she had no intention of going to the party. A part of her regretted not going because there wasn’t any other reason for her not to. If she hadn’t failed that test, she wouldn’t be feeling so pressured to study, she would’ve simply agreed, having no reason to skip out on a good time with her friends. Yes, she was sure Nick, James and Asher would tag along because they expressed their interest during recess with Cleo. The thing is that if she were to agree nonetheless, she feared she’d be worrying about her studies even during the party and there would be nothing shittier than that.

She found a grey sparkling strapless top she thought was cute but, feeling like Cleo rocked warmer tones harder, she looked for a golden one. Once she found it, she immediately moved to the bottom section in search of a good match but on her way there, she found another possible choice, an off-shoulder see-through black long sleeve and its matching top. For the first top, she ended up finding a black micro skirt while she had trouble with the second one, indecisive whether to go for the long body cone leopard print skirt or a pair of low-rise trousers.

On the other side of the store, Cleo’s arms held many clothes. She believed Daphne was the type of person to rock any piece of clothing you throw her way and, having choice problems, she couldn’t come down to one outfit and just took everything with herself.

Since Daphne loved low-rise bottoms, she picked two pairs of slightly flared low-rise jeans, a jeans mini-skirt and a pair of micro leather shorts she believed Daphne wouldn’t wear but she wanted to see her put it on. As for the tops, she knew Daphne would go for something simple and cover it up with a leather or a biker jacket. On her arm she slung a satin strapless red top, a brown lacy backless tube top and many more tops she felt like Daphne had to get. She’d pay for it herself since her father gave her his credit card so Daphne had no excuses—with Cole out of the picture, in the city for his studies, Cleo would be getting spoiled.

—Now playing: Forever by Babymonster ✫

The two girls finished choosing and met at the changing rooms. The first one to start her fashion show was Cleo. Their school bags were set aside as Daphne sat on the soft chair and waited for her friend to come out.

“Oh, my God. This shirt is so cute!” Cleo squealed from behind the curtain gaining a smile she couldn’t see from Daphne who was glad of making the right choices. “Oh, Lord. I feel like I’ll end up buying everything.” Another smile from the friend as she opened her camera to check her makeup and take a little funny selfie right before Cleo sprung out of the changing room.

“Now… how do I look?” she sang.

“Now… how do I put it? Gorgeous? Beautiful? Stunning? Which one?” Daphne matched the energy getting up to make her friend spin a little. The first fit she tried was the see-through black long-sleeve and the leopard print long skirt. “Okay, you look hot,” she confessed cupping her face in amazement. Cleo giggled, spinning around one last time before heading to check herself out in the mirror.

“Yes, I do,” she agreed, hands on her waist and hitting different poses. “If I were to wear this what do you think I should do with my make-up and my hair?” Daphne walked up to her friend and placed her chin on her shoulder to imagine.

“You think I should flat-iron my hair—”

“Absolutely not. I love them curly. I think you could tie them in a bun and leave out a few curly strands. Match it with some golden hoop earrings, bracelets and a few rings and you’re good to go.” Daphne gestured around like an actual stylist before stopping to play with her friend’s curls.

“And for the shoes?”

“Anything but sneakers or boots. The skirt covers your feet so I’d wear just a cute thing in case they poke out.” Nodding, Cleo typed the ideas into her notes application before hopping in to change into the next outfit.

Seeing her dressed so nicely really made Daphne regret not going. She too wanted to dress like that and rock her fit with her friend at the party but she had different priorities at the moment and she had to tend to them.

The next one was an all-brown fit: a simple long-sleeved short dress with a black wide belt at the height of her hips. “This one will be fire with a pair of tall leather boots,” Daphne exclaimed, back on her feet. The dress had a mildly deep V-cut exposing a little bit of cleavage, just enough. As Cleo placed herself in front of the mirror, occasionally turning around to check if her butt would be out if she bent over, Daphne started adjusting her hair and explaining all the possible ways she could style them.

“I’m telling you. You need a very cute pendant necklace. Instead of hoops, we’ll go for the long earrings and the final touch would be a red leather purse. Ooh! Match it with some nice red lipstick. Gosh, I should be a fashion adviser or something,” the two chuckled before it went silent all over again, throwing Daphne off.

“You like it? Is it too revealing? You know that you mustn’t wear it, right—”

“No, it’s not… it’s just that…” she didn’t know how to express herself.

“I’ve never felt this pretty?”“I didn’t know I could look like this?” How would she put it?

“I really really like it. That’s all,” Daphne looked into her friend’s eyes through the mirror a bit longer before smiling and taking her words. “You’ll take it?”

“Obviously, regardless of the party,” Daphne clapped, glad with the answer and spurred her to proceed on to the next outfit.

—Now playing: Sexy to Someone by Clairo ✫

“There goes the hottest girl in town!” Daphne’s rosy cheeks were a direct consequence of Cleo’s squealed compliment. They were simply warm when she was changing and saw her reflection in the mirror but after hearing her friend’s words, they decided to pick a shade that matched their temperature.

Daphne’s legs were clad in the mildly flared dark brown, dirt wash jeans chosen by Cleo. Her upper body was covered by a backless lacy top secured at her back by a messily done knot. The black top was triangular towards the navel, in contrast with the straight line of the jeans, and decorated with little brown pearls.

Without the need for any reminder, Cleo immediately got into character, adjusting Daphne’s hair and advising her on what jewellery to wear—all the while ignoring the suspect within her of Daphne’s refusal to attend the party.

“You need big golden earrings. Not necessarily hoops. Just a nice and noticeable shape to parade. Lots of bracelets and rings. I know you’d top it with a biker jacket and… it could match but just a leather jacket would rock harder.” Daphne looked at her reflection in the mirror reminiscing the last time she was this much dressed.

It was Margot’s birthday. Not the glam type. It had the looks of a little teenage party where flocks of irresponsible teens gather to get drunk and do stupid things. She wore a lacy black see-through shirt. Her black bra, in view. Her parents didn’t fully see her outfit as she headed out since she hid it under her thick jacket otherwise, she surely would’ve been dressed differently. Her bottom was covered by a brown jeans mini-skirt, and her legs were wrapped in the soft material of her black tights. At last, her feet were deep inside a pair of knee-high brown boots. The makeup wasn’t that crazy: just a thicker eyeliner and a darker shade of lipstick than usual. Her belongings were in the little bag hanging by her shoulder and her hair wasn’t styled out of the ordinary—just refreshed bangs.

When she’d walked in, she immediately felt like she would’ve gone deaf, eardrums convex, trying to escape the loud music. The room was dark, lit only by random LED lights. The place smelled too much like alcohol and cigarettes for it to be a party held by sixteen-year-olds. The sole reason she even attended at all was the party host, the birthday girl.

Daphne didn’t know if the front door was closed behind her as she walked in. Got startled by a group of screaming friends and a couple making out against the wall. They were surely drunk because it looked messy as fuck—could induce anyone to throw up just at the sight. The walk from the front door to the heart of the party in the living room felt hours long because of the number of people who thought it was wise of them to stand in the not-so-wide hallway and block the way. Once she did arrive, the person she was looking for was nowhere to be found. Just more drunk teenagers, dancing bodies and face-eating ones in the corners. So she immediately moved to the kitchen.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been at Margot’s. In fact, considering the uncountable amount of times, Daphne basically knew her way around by heart and yet, at that party, the place suddenly appeared unfamiliar, easily got confused after taking a second step.

She sighed in relief when she found her friend behind the counter in the kitchen but right when she moved to approach her, her feet decided to stay stuck on the floor. She’d never seen Margot like that. It was crazy. Doing shots on someone’s body, screaming, dancing—if you can call it that because she was visibly drunk.

It wasn’t Daphne’s first time at the house but the first time at a party like this. Margot had begged her to come since it was her sixteenth birthday and, after lots of hesitation and pleading, Daphne agreed as long as Margot would always be there with her because she didn’t want to get uncomfortable. Doesn’t like things that are too crazy—especially when you have sixteen-year-olds, minors, in the picture. Margot promised her that, happily clapping but, right at that moment, the ones clapping were the people around her after she took another shot of whatever the fuck was in that plastic cup.

A part of Daphne really wanted to turn on her heels and leave like she never came but she’d be overwhelmed by guilt because Margot won’t stay drunk forever, she’d come back to her senses and know she never came so she pushed on and approached her friend without going straight into the heat. She stood aside, blending in with the bystanders, arms crossed on her chest. She didn’t know what to do. Felt too shy to go in and go like: “Hey, Margot. I’m here!”. Felt too uncomfortable to step in at all, into that circle of momentarily mentally unstable kids. So she waited, hoping that by the time Margot would see her, the crowd would have thinned out and fewer eyes would be around.

But that is the funny thing about life: it has fun shoving what would dislike right into your face like a cake. The friend screamed Daphne’s name so loudly that all the heads present turned around to look at her. Margot messily pushed through the crowd and made her way to Daphne.

“I’m so happy you came!” she squealed, enveloping the friend in a very tight and alcohol-smelling hug. Daphne pushed a feeble smile through the discomfort, barely having any time to reciprocate the gesture before Margot pulled back and pulled her in.

“You should have a drink.” She sounded on drugs like someone losing their sense of reasoning. The voice, the tone and, most especially, the very little distance between their faces when she lurched forward to speak. She probably almost lost her balance but Daphne remembers instinctively moving backwards.

Blinking a few times, she came back to the present, now facing her reflection in the mirror and not any type of messy memory. She refused to let such an experience condemn her ideas about parties because she knew all of them wouldn’t be like that and, right at that moment, a great part of her regretted deciding not to go to the party because she would’ve rocked the outfit so hard—especially considering the people attending.

She couldn’t lie to anyone, not even herself, and say she wasn’t looking perfect. The outfit complimented every little detail of her features, showing the best in her and she liked it. Turned left, turned right and posed, all with a shy little smile on her lips. In the background were Cleo’s incessant compliments.

“A nice pair of pointy boots or heels and, girl, you’ll be killing them with your looks.” Daphne giggled without stopping with the poses but she wasn’t as excited as Cleo whose hands were clapping nonstop the more poses she hit.

“I don’t care if you’re coming or not, I’m getting this for you if you won’t get it yourself. Can’t gatekeep this beauty.” Daphne laughed, now looking at Cleo as though she wanted her to stop with the compliments because she didn’t know how to behave and was getting all shy instead but the friend just went on before encouraging her to go for the next fit.

“Girl, you’re to die for!”

So, in the end, despite her refusal, Cleo bought her every single piece of clothing she brought for her to try because, in her words, “You rock them better than anyone. You’re so fucking beautiful!” Each of them had at least three bags hanging by each hand and a backpack by their shoulders. Cleo, overly excited, couldn’t stop talking about how many jaws would be scraping the ground the day Daphne would rock those clothes out while Daphne tried so hard to fight against the warm shades coming up on her cheeks like a rolling filmstrip.

But this Cleo didn’t know. She just believed that Daphne wasn’t really in the mood. They’ve gone shopping these days and, despite Daphne's refusal, Cleo opted that today Daphne would get herself something so she wouldn’t look like she’s tagging along for the simple sake of it.

The last time they had really hung out was at the picnic but days have passed since then. Cleo doesn’t classify herself as an overthinker—she likes going with the flow and handling life as it presents itself to her—but she fears the picnic did nothing to Daphne. She feared that the foolish physics test broke her friend and there was no going back.

She was fearing for nothing because the picnic did work for Daphne. Really helped her calm down so now she’s simply Daphne, just with a physics test to ace. She didn’t change. Only her schedule did. She’d probably too when the official date starts inching closer.

If she had known, she would’ve explained it to her and her friends as well. Nick and James were really worried—James the most. Asher believed that time would soothe the injuries. The first two hate time. Feel like there is never enough for them to do anything so surely there wasn’t enough to heal wounds. They liked taking control of their own destiny, going against time so they invited Daphne to come pick them up after their practice.

Cleo wanted to object to that. The wording was weird and she didn’t know if one picking up their friends consoles sadness. “She’d just have to come like twenty minutes before the end when we play. She can assist, watch the match and then we go home together. Like a little hangout. Not as big as a picnic in the asscrack of the world but just… a hang out.” When he finished explaining, the friends didn’t object and just worked for a way to tell Daphne but they didn’t. They simply told Cleo to do the job.

She wanted out the moment she stepped out of the classroom with Daphne during recess. She didn’t know what to say but knew what answer she’d receive: “I’ve to study. You know…” She knows it by heart now because it had become Daphne’s favourite sentence for the time being.

“Hey, do you mind coming to practice today?” Daphne halts her movements for a split second and raises an eyebrow. “What practice?”

“We have practice today. They play basketball and I play volleyball.”

“Nick, James and Asher?” Cleo nodded and remained silent. “What am I coming to practice for? I don’t practice any sport,”

“The last twenty minutes we play short matches and we thought of inviting you. They probably want to impress you, I don’t know.” Daphne couldn��t see through Cleo’s nervous giggle. She just kept walking, thinking.

“What time?” The question brightened Cleo’s face, instant sunrise. “We practice from four to seven so you can come around half past six or some.” Daphne was still thinking. She didn’t want to immediately hit back with the ‘I got to study’ reply because she herself was getting tired of it—and of studying overall—so she thought about it. She could hang out with them, have lunch together and while they go their way, she goes to the library and studies for two hours before joining them. Yeah, she could do that.

After shopping yesterday, she really felt the urge to leave home and lift her head from books for a bit so the idea didn’t hurt. Made full sense.

“Okay, then. I’ll be joining you then. The gates will be open?” Cleo couldn’t muster a verbal reply. Too happy to, so she simply nodded before wrapping her arms around her friend’s neck into a tight hug that had them both messily walking down the hallway so as not to fall over.

They didn’t know that a certain subject was looking at them from down the hallway, smiling at their happiness. Creepy much? He didn’t know that. Infatuation was all he knew.

—Now playing: Teoria del caos by Nek✫

If anyone were to ask Daphne what her favourite season is, she’d immediately say autumn. Likes the colours, the vibe and the outfits she rocks but she hates the temperature, the chilly breeze that likes to crawl beneath the crack of her clothes, underneath the sweater, the jacket, the leg of her jeans or behind her neck whenever it blew strong enough for her hair to move. She hated the feeling of in-between, having both warm and freezing days.

She would never say summer is her favourite season because it’s too hot and high temperatures stress her out, especially in the city. She doesn’t know to handle it. To conceal that though are the occasional majestic trips she goes on. She’d like to go to the beach but she specifically has a thing for parks. Could spend all her summer break travelling around the world and visiting parks. Likes to see how every country makes theirs.

She likes spring, not as much as autumn, but she still likes it. It’s rainy season and she loves the rain, especially when the aftermath is the growth of flowers and trees. For nature, spring is the new beginning. For humans, especially someone her age, the new beginning is late summer after having the highly-awaited glow-up your YouTube homepage is littered with.

Almost three weeks have gone by, barely one left before October would leave, exit through the front door the same way it came in. Barely a week left before November would arrive with its own guests. Wednesday is the most in-between day of the week, sharing it into two parts—the most hated and the most anticipated days.

The weather was okay. Not rainy, not sunny, not gloomy. Just okay. Simple. A simple October Wednesday evening. By the time she left the library, the source of light was artificial. The sky was closer to reaching its darkest shades and the moon was already peeking through the curtains. Daphne had noticed a stark change in the environment whenever she left the library so late in the day. Within the walls of the building, there seemed to be an everlasting silence that could only be hindered by the sounds of coffee and vending machines being operated in the hallways, the crunchy sound of paper whenever pages are turned, the scratching sound of pencils running on paper or the very soft sound of music coming from headphones whenever you walked past its owner. She revelled in such an ambience. Could come to the library even if she had nothing to study.

Once she pushed the wide glass doors of the entrance and exited the building, the everlasting silence would seize existing almost like the sound of music being abruptly turned off at a party. Cars, bicycles, motorcycles, dogs and pedestrians brought the town to life. Cars roared and honked. Bicycles slid through and rang bells. Motorcycles weren’t as noisy as they are in the city but they never stray too far away from their peers. Dogs barked and pedestrians went on their way just as she was as she walked out of town and into the silent road leading to her school.

She’d never seen how it looked at hours like this so she liked the feeling settling within her, a feeling connected with the satisfaction of discovering new things. There was no one standing outside. No students smoking or gossiping in the corner. No car parking. No parents running after their kids. Just silence, almost tantamount to the one in the library.

She trekked up the little hill leading to the building. As Cleo had stated, the gates were open. Very few lights came from the dead silent main building. Her attention swiftly moved to the next building where lights beamed through almost as hard as the howling sounds of students playing. She checked the time it was almost twenty to seven so she quickened her pace a bit to make sure she wouldn’t miss even a split second of their little matches.

Her feet moved one after the other along the pathway leading to the gym and once she’d reached the huge doors, she dragged them open and went in. The volume of the noise was higher now that she was closer, in the bubble to be exact.

The place wasn’t stinking of sweat as much she believed it would—don’t blame her because, during simple PE classes, very unpleasant fragrancies could make their way into the gym. The howling continued, some screams followed along with the screeching sound of trainers scratching the polyurethane floor as the players moved.

Both the volleyball and the basketball players were present but playing at the moment were the volleyball ones. Her eyes instinctively caught her friends, Nick, James and Asher, as they stood in a corner assisting the match. James gestured for her to join as if she wasn’t already out of free will. She walked along the side of the court without stepping in and reached over to them.

“So glad you came!” Nick exclaimed engulfing her in a heavily sweaty hug that had her screaming for freedom the moment she realised.

“Nick! Oh, my God, how disgusting!” he laughed as he let her go amused by the face she showed. James and Asher laughed as well before they greeted her. Daphne warned that she’d never come again because of his hug.

To apologise, Nick drew her closer but she was already screaming, fearing the worst and he couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not hugging you again. You ain’t that special,” he joked, gaining a death glare. She didn’t say anything and just looked forward into the court where a very familiar pair of eyes was looking for hers. Cleo waved like a child seeing their parent in the audience at a school play and Daphne happily waved back, uncontrollably smiling.

The girls in the court were in their respective positions, Cleo was in the centre for the time being.

“Coming!” was the opposing team’s scream before the ball was hit into the game. The first person to receive it was a teammate. The ball was passed to the setter before one of the outside hitters hit it into the opposing team’s court.

Daphne’s eyes followed the ball as it was promptly received from a player of the opposing team. They went on like this, up and down, for a few more times before Cleo’s team scored the point. That was the only moment Daphne’s focus would pause, she would happily rejoice with her friends and clap her hands. “Let’s go!” James exclaimed, clapping hard along with some other basketball players.

The ball was passed on to Cleo’s team as the players changed their positions. Daphne didn't know what role Cleo precisely was if she was set to be a libero, a setter or a hitter. She just watched as the ball was hit into the opposing court and her focus returned.

It was easy for her to lose track of time, forgetting the match would eventually come to an end. She enjoyed watching good players play the sport unlike the very messy volleyball matches she’d be having with her classmates during PE class.

Cleo’s team won only thanks to one point, it was very close. The friend happily celebrated with her teammates before hopping like a kangaroo into Daphne’s arms.

“Did you see that?” she exclaimed as Daphne screamed a ‘yes’ in reply, jumping around with her.

“Damn, I thought we would’ve lost exactly the day I told you to come watch,” her breaths were still a bit laboured as she rested against the wall and slid down onto the floor.

“I would’ve fucking laughed in our face if you had!” Nick screamed into her ear before running away to help as they set the net aside and prepared for their match.

“Asshole.” She rasped after getting startled. Daphne laughed and sat down next to her to finally shower her with compliments, claiming that her eyes hadn’t seen such a good thing live her whole life.

She was so focused on her friend as they ran across the court to the bleachers that she didn’t notice the newcomers. The gym doors are loud when they close but the howls of the boys in the court are even more. Cleo disclosed a few details about the match and the sport in general and Daphne listened, wondering how her friend wasn’t feeling too cold dressed in just shorts and a tank top.

Taehyung and Jimin clapped hands with Jungkook as they walked onto the court. Just like Daphne, they came to assist the match. Wasn’t their first time but it was in a long time.

If he too wasn’t too focused on his friends, he would’ve seen Daphne and Cleo gisting at the extreme end of the bleachers but he didn’t. He just settled down on the opposite end next to Jimin.

A few seconds passed and the first whistle was blown for the match to begin.

—Now playing: Simple and Clean by Hikaru Utada✫

Daphne would like to define herself as an understanding person, someone who likes to study why people do, like and hate certain things but whenever it came to silence, she’d never try to reason with whichever extraordinary human despises it. It’s probably connected to her love for reading and studying which implies a silent environment for better enjoyment and learning but she believes it’s something everyone likes. Something everyone needs at some point in life.

Her ears were placing blessings on her when finally the basketball match came to an end and all the players retired to the changing rooms to shower and change.

To say that she savoured the experience was a hefty understatement. What she saw that day would make her add ‘coming here’ to her list of things to do when bored or when she has no idea of somewhere else to go.

To solve the understatement issue, she hooked a leg over the other and jotted down every detail of the event on the pages of her journal. Headphones on playing soft music for better concentration.

Earlier, Daphne stated she’d never seen something so beautiful unfold before her eyes live. Taehyung would’ve argued to that claiming that only the view before his eyes could bear such a title.

She couldn’t see him but he was looking at her, admiring her like she was a piece of art in a museum. He couldn’t get a full view of her face because of where he was and the bangs slipping out from the band of her headphones and onto her face. Her upper body was in the warmth of a big brown aviator jacket. She had a pair of jeans on and platform black All-Stars. Backpack, set aside on the bleachers.

He tried not to stare for too long but couldn’t help it. He was fighting against the urge to fully turn around towards her, one leg bent onto the chair, arms on the headrest and chin upon them as he observed with the glowing eyes of a kid appreciating the beauty of nature.

She was in her own little world, her personal planet and he was the astronaut who’d discovered it and dedicated his time to studying every hook and corner of it. At some point, he’d know it by heart, talk about it to whoever listens and work on the perfect spaceship that would take him there.

She lifted her head, seemingly in thought, and removed her headphones to adjust her hair. Such a simple action and yet his pupils would enlargen so much and his memory could swear nothing as beautiful had ever been registered. The hair was bouncy so, despite the adjustments, they’d go back to being out of place.

If it weren’t for the phone in his hands he used as disguise, what happened next would’ve been great material for his next nightmares. Daphne had looked in his direction, not on purpose, and he instantly moved his eyes down to his phone. Heart, moving from his chest to his ears, his body temperature rose within seconds and suddenly his clothes felt too heavy and thick.

On the other end, Daphne’s eyes were scrambling to look at her journal and not at him. She didn’t know he would’ve been there, or better, she didn’t expect him to be there at all. She saw Jungkook when she walked in and surely when he was playing because he’s among the best players and she did think about Taehyung for a split second before a player would get the ball and bounce it from one end of the court to the other within moments but she didn’t think Taehyung would be present, within the same walls. She wondered for how long he’d been there. If he had assisted the match or just came at the end. She didn’t know. All she was aware of was that her focus was long gone. Left through the large doors of the gym and would totally make no return until the next day if it felt like it. So she found herself seemingly thinking about a word for way too long, leaving the sentence incomplete in her journal.

There was a strange dynamic between the two and they were both oblivious to it. She was too shy to watch and observe and it gave chance for him to admire her. She’d never look in his direction for fear of embarrassing herself while he'd sneakily go on, adding many more pictures of her into his mind.

The same thing happened when they were just a seat away from each other on the bus. It went on till they parted their ways. That day, they’d joined their friends and went to their class. Today, they would join their friends and go home in different moments.

The first to be done were Asher and Cleo whom she joined when they called. She wanted to—oh, God, she really did want to look in Taehyung’s direction as she walked past him. In the corner of her eye, she saw him slightly sprawled on the chair, one ankle over the knee of his other leg, phone in his hands and head hung low on it. His face was barely visible underneath his hair. If she had turned around, she would’ve seen him look at her through his bangs, especially after Cleo and Asher greeted him as they approached her and he took the chance to look in their direction—precisely at her—before going back to his phone.

Someone screaming Cleo’s name and approaching them caught her attention, distracting her from the sudden heat she was feeling.

Jungkook’s main destination was Taehyung but, seeing Cleo, it changed and he walked straight up to her.

“Gosh, I got scared for a moment,” he spoke as they shook hands. “Why’s that?” the girl swiftly replied. He shrugged and pouted, “Thought you’d leave without greeting me.” He feigned being a sad child and she matched the vibe, “Oh, God, no,” she exaggerated as she dragged him in for a hug, “I would never do that.” He made whiny noises as he rested his head on her shoulder, pout still on his lips, allowing Cleo to caress his hair and back like a mother consoling her child. Asher and Daphne chuckled at his behaviour.

“Hey, Daph,” he got serious, patting Cleo’s back before withdrawing from the hug. “Did you like the match?” his hands were slipped into his pockets as he spoke. “Yeah, I did. I’m being very honest when I say that I admire y’all cause I could never. I suck at sports. You have to see me during PE classes,” she laughed. It was simple. It was a conversation and yet in Taehyung’s head, the environment was completely silent, the only sound audible was Daphne’s voice. Finally, he knew what voice to attach to the heavenly person starring in his night and daydreams. He’d heard it before from her stories but hearing it live had to him the same effect of going to your favourite artist’s concert for the first time.

“Oh, my God. That can’t be true. And it’s not hard by the way.” Jungkook had officially managed to weave his way into Daphne and was starting his investigation. She didn’t know this. She just thought he was an extremely extroverted person who made friends the same way one makes their sandwich in the morning. She wouldn’t be wrong anyway.

He was slightly swinging his body around, balancing once on his heels and then on his toes, hands still in his pocket, and biting at his slightly chapped lips as he listened. A little dimple formed in his cheek as he did so.

“No, I’m not lying. I suck,”

“Yeah, man. She really does.” Daphne was about to speak again when she stopped and glared at Asher who immediately chuckled. “Okay, I know I suck but it’s different when you say it so shut up.”

They laughed as she continued, “The guys in my class are so competitive. They take everything so seriously and I’m always scared of trying because I fear I won’t do it correctly and—”

“Okay, okay. They ain’t that harsh,” Asher objected, knowing fully well who she was referring to. “They’re not that harsh? Oh, so you know I’m talking about Nick and James, right? Why are you defending their asses?”

“I’m not defending their asses. I’m just stating facts—”

“Facts, my ass!”

“Why are we suddenly talking about ass so much?” James intervened but everyone ignored him except Jungkook who chuckled.

“Asher, you’ve got to admit that they’re crazy competitive—”

“I agree. Whenever we’re in desperate need of winning, we’ve got to rile them up and victory is assured.” Jungkook butted in, in support of the girls. Daphne clapped her hands, gesturing to him, eyes widened at Asher.

“You see? He says it too and he’s not even in class with us—”

“Exactly, that’s why his statement lacks any value—”

“Hey!” Jungkook acted hurt while the argument went on till James and Nick finished and joined them.

“What’s all this fuss about? You liked the match?” Nick’s questions were addressed to Daphne, eyebrows wiggling.

“Yeah, I did,” Daphne smiled as she answered the second question and then returned to being serious when she wanted to answer the first question.

“Y’all need to sit on a massive block of ice and cool your tits down because you get too competitive and it’s okay when you’re playing basketball not during PE classes when we’re playing stupid dodgeball—”

“You’re saying this because you don’t even try—”

“I don’t even what? I’m running up and down the gym like a mad woman and you say I don’t even try?”

“You run so much and still get hit—”

“Oh forgive me for not being Kid Danger or something! I would try to hit someone but I don’t have enough strength to throw a ball and prevent it from being immediately caught by the opponent!”

“I ain’t Kid Danger and I do just fine. Cleo too—”

“Because that’s the shit y’all be doing when you feel bored. I don’t. I sit in a corner and read. I prefer to train my brain than my skills at dodgeball—”

“You’re unbelievable and anyway, I can’t help it. I get competitive—”

“You fucking scream my name as if I had killed your dog for fuck’s sake!”

“Daphne!” Nick screamed, mimicking exactly what she was talking about.

“Exactly. You see? Jungkook, it’s impossible to do shit. He screams like we’re in the fucking military or something.” They were all laughing and the argument went on until James called for them to leave. He was tired and wanted to sleep. They waved their greetings before Jungkook walked away and sat beside Taehyung.

—Now playing: Road Trippin’ by Red Hot Chili Peppers✫

“Whatchu doing there?” he asked the friend since he’d been on the phone the whole time without bothering to join the conversation. Taehyung shrugged and finally turned the device off, slipping it into his back pocket. Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed a bit but he didn’t let it linger too much. He didn’t know if this was the way to act with the person one was interested in but he couldn’t judge. His ways were blunt: Jungkook likes you? Jungkook will talk to you. Immediately. Time’s precious, time’s money.

“So what do you think of the new girl?” I think her name’s Daphne.” Like a robot, Taehyung’s brain immediately connected ‘Daphne’ to ‘Lauri’. Her real name is Daphne.

“What do I have to think about her?” he smiled.

“Don’t know. She’s cute, that’s for sure.” They both stretched out on the chair, sighing out.

“She’s your new interest, huh?” Taehyung was still smiling, almost smirking. Jungkook wasn’t looking at him but he could sense it, imagine it.

“Nah, I wouldn’t say that. I’m just getting to know her. Adding someone new to my never-ending list of friends.” Jungkook didn’t know if Taehyung was testing the waters and dragging out specific answers from him. All he knew was that if that was the case, they were warranted.

Jungkook’s notorious for always getting what he wants, even when it comes to people so if he happened to be interested in Daphne, he’d surely work his way to her but he couldn’t because he’s not ready for commitment and already shagging one person from his school, close to him, is more than enough—doesn’t one another person to add to the list of people to be cautious about. Moreover, Taehyung is clearly interested in the girl. He’s trying to hide it but his friend sees right through that.

Taehyung isn’t as promiscuous as Jungkook can be. He too had his times but they were not as frequent. The last he’d flirted with a girl was during summer for the sole reason of it being summer so, once he was back to school, he cut connections with the girl. Another stark difference between the boys was commitment. Jungkook wanted to freely fly around like a bird while Taehyung didn’t mind perching onto the same tree for a bit longer—if it met his taste—before taking off—if needed.

Jungkook’s ‘relationships’ could last a few months at best. He liked one-time things. Felt like commitment was for when he’d be more mature, when he would be grown up and his parents would pressure him with the need for grandchildren.

Taehyung, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to start a relationship and would stay through it all. He has a few exes but not as many as Jungkook and they all came from a somewhat long relationship. Not year long—only one—but certainly more than six months. The way he looked at Daphne implies he’d start a serious relationship if fate leads him there. He knows that himself and it’s what he’s working on but things would be very different if Jungkook is interested in her. Yes, he has the right to shag anyone he wants but Taehyung would prefer that person to not be the same he’s very interested in, someone he’s looking up to for something more, not just sex.

“Don’t think you’ll ever move on from Cleo anyway,” he chuckled, easing the forming tension that was growing—at least from Jungkook’s point of view. The way Taehyung was throwing the questions and smiling through it meant something more.

“Oh, my God! She’s just a friend and a very good volleyball player for which I’m a great fan of hers—”

“Yes, yes. You fear you’ll have dreams of commitment at night if you don’t say that?”

“Taehyung, seriously—”

“You’re getting too defensive.” He chuckled, raising his hands in defence and Jungkook simply gave up, not ready to have the conversation for the umpteenth time in his life.

—Now playing: Take a Bite by Beabadoobee✫

In the meantime, Daphne and her friends arrived just in time before the bus left the terminal and headed towards their homes.

The sky was now fully dark since it was getting closer to eight. The late hour allowed them to have space and enough seats to settle upon during their journey. Daphne and Cleo were in their usual spots and the boys, scattered around them.

“Whatchu doing?” Cleo asked, poking her head to look into Daphne’s phone. “Texting my mom about my whereabouts.” They all heard the reply and remained silent not because of what she said but because a different thought bogged their minds.

“Hey, ehm…” Asher was the one to speak, “We were planning a sleepover at mine.” Daphne’s eyebrows jumped up at the information, almost surprised.

“Ooh, that’s nice.” The answer and smile on her face were exactly what they were all looking for but they didn’t want to celebrate victory too early. “Isn’t it funny how y’all always say ‘we’? Why do y’all plan things without me?” she was joking, or, at least, she wasn’t serious but she meant what she said. It was the truth. Her smile confused her friends though. They didn’t know if she was pissed or not.

“Okay, let’s cut the bullshit,” James began, believing she was pissed, “We placed the sleepover on Friday at Asher’s because he’s basically neighbours with Jungkook so after we return from the party, we stay at his for the night.” James rapped this in one breath but his face was serious, tired of running around the bush—the boy is sleepy.

Daphne’s jaw hung low in bewilderment. Here she was, all sad about not attending the party and her friends plan to do something even greater such as a fucking sleepover. How would she not agree to this?

“I’m not pissed at the fact that y’all organize stuff. I just wanted to put it out there.” She first clarified, feeling like all their eyes were on her. “And second, that’s a very great idea but—”

“I fucking knew it—”

“We fucking knew it—”

“What?” Daphne chuckled, knowing what they claimed to be aware of. “I’m sorry guys, really—”

“Daph? Fuck physics—”

“You’ve been studying for it like a freak—”

“Remember we failed the test too and yet, here we are.”

“And that’s because y’all handle your anxiety better than I do. You don’t feel the pressure, you’re calm so you study just as normally. I get anxious at the simple thought of the official day eventually coming by—”

“So it’s God’s wish for you to have met us. It’s time you free yourself from those shackles and become someone new. Someone better so we have to start by taking little steps. Let’s all have this fucking sleepover together.” Maybe it was the tiredness, Daphne thought, but she’d never heard James speak so seriously about anything not to talk about a topic like this. She had no intention to drop a bomb on them and tell them that she sought freedom not from shackles but from Anxiety’s claws but she also didn’t know what to do.

“Should I go with the flow and join them? Say ‘fuck this’?”

“Guys, I don’t know… I fear I’ll be thinking about it even at the sleepover—”

“Fuck no, you won’t because we won’t give you the chance—”

“I feel very offended, Daph. Why would you think it’s possible to think about boring stuff when you have us in the room?” Nick smiled, wrapping an arm around James’s neck and dragging him closer, presenting them as the object of his sentence. James’s face, though, was serious.

“What if I tell you that I’ll think about it?”

“Okay, then.” James rasped, taking his phone out. He typed a few things Daphne didn’t know about before turning the device to show her the screen. “You have ten minutes starting from now—”

“Oh, my God, James!” They all laughed at his frustration, finding him ulteriorly funny when he was tired. The boy slumped on his chair, resting his head back and closing his eyes. Daphne softly smiled. Had run out of excuses—she also knew that if the news reached her mother’s ears, she wouldn’t be able to escape it and with Cleo-bigmouth around, there was no way to run away from it.

“Okay, okay—”

“Oh, my God, what?” They all snapped their heads in her direction. “Erm, I was just kidding about the timer. I’m not trying to force you—”

“No, I’m serious. I was already hesitating about going or not but since we’ll also be having a sleepover together…” her smile appeared to be contagious. It slowly grew on her friends’ faces before they all jumped in happiness, startling a few other passengers on board.

“Fuck, yeah!” James hugged her tightly, dragging her closer and rubbing the top of her head to ruffle her hair. “Fuck you!” she screamed, mimicking his voice. She knew what he was doing and tried to fight against it but before she could free herself, the rest joined in for a huge hug.

“Oh, my God! Y’all! Stop!” Her scream and laugh were muffled underneath James’s arms and her friends’ hug.

—Now playing: Magnetic by ILLIT✫

Thursday is normally a heavy day for multiple reasons. First, it’s the day before Friday, a highly awaited day, so the anticipation makes one get lazy earlier than they should. Second, being just a day away from the weekend, one has to finish everything they’ve planned so they can lounge around till Monday rolls around again.

For Daphne, it was just another school day. Wake up earlier, get ready, have breakfast, join Cleo and catch the bus, get to school, follow in the different classes of the day, ease her legs’ muscles during recess with a little walk around, get back to class and follow the remaining lessons before the next break and, eventually, the last bell of the day. By two, all the classes were empty. Hallways packed as the students happily exited the building.

Nick and James are neighbours therefore they go home by car together thanks to Nick’s mother. Asher rides his bike home because he considers it a way to exercise without having to hit the gym. At last, Daphne and Cleo catch the bus home as they’re used to.

It was the party’s eve and Daphne’s anxious tendencies were knocking at the door and picking through the windows to see if anyone was home. Luckily for her and thanks to Cleo, the outfit was ticked out of her list of problems. In its place was the sleepover. She had to get tons of things ready for it since she wouldn’t be staying in the comfort of her home.

She’d asked permission from her parents first, obviously, and just as she expected, her mother agreed happily, glad she was willingly thinking about hanging out.

“Go, my darling. Have fun!” words that masked the real thing she wanted to say: “Ooh! I’m so happy you’re taking a break from studying. Please have so much fun you won’t think about school for at least twenty-four hours.”

Daphne had a little anxious shenanigan while texting Dayanne about it, asking for advice and tips. Her mother borrowed her a bag big enough to welcome everything she’d like to take with her and now it proudly sat in the centre of her bed empty. The content was still scattered around the room, some were on her bed, some still in her wardrobe and others in their respective spots.

Her phone was well placed on her desk. On the screen, she was on a video call with her friends. Cleo was at her place, her phone placed on a similar surface as hers as she read the announcement out loud to all her friends. Nick, James and Asher were in their rooms as well. The first was digging into his wardrobe, the second sat on his bed listening while the other one was handling other things off-camera.

“I don’t know for y’all but the first half of the party gives me Gossip Girl vibes if you know what I mean.” Cleo had finished reading and was drawing her conclusions from it.

“No, I don’t know what you mean.”“What’s Gossip Girl”

“Oh, god. Y’all can’t be serious.” Cleo’s jaw was hanging low as she fully faced the camera to look at who she was speaking to. Asher took the phone and brought it closer to his face as if he were checking himself out in the mirror.

“I ain’t smiling or smirking so no, I think I’m serious.” He replied, gaining a chuckle of disbelief from the friends and a heavy eye-roll from Cleo. “Ha-ha, so funny. Gossip Girl is a TV series about rich kids messing around basically.” Cleo’s face was great material for a meme as she spoke, death-glaring Asher who couldn’t hold back from chuckling. Reactions like this boost his serotonin levels.

“Well, basically what I meant was that the first half will give serious rich shit type of vibes. Only the second half will be the normal party we could be expecting.”

“Well, it is for their campaign anyway. They’re trying to get votes so they can’t just bring drugs, alcohol and shit like that to make everyone happy—”

“Besides, you can never trust anyone with that shit.” James cackled, getting off his bed.

“I think what’s really important is the time so we know how to go about everything.”

“Exactly. I don’t think y’all will have the time to go home before getting to mine.” Asher’s face was off-camera. The volume of his voice wavered as if he was bending around and adding pressure to his stomach.

“I could ask my grandfather to come pick us up,” Daphne suggested. She was not sitting on the chair anymore but was busy folding her PJs on her bed. “Nick and James live closer to you and they go home by car so I don’t think we have any problems.” Daphne’s reasoning cleared all doubts in Asher’s mind and soon the topic moved to everything they had to bring and whatnot since it was available at his place.

And it went exactly as planned. Daphne’s grandfather was more than glad to come pick the girls up. Spent time in the car waiting before the bells rang and admired his granddaughter, reminiscing the times she was a little child and loved running up to him to be carried.

Daphne and Cleo didn’t see this through his happiness. They were just glad they weren’t disturbing him. He asked them about school, how their day went and if they had any upcoming tests. Then he quickly moved the topic to ask about what they’d planned for the sleepover and the party. Cleo gladly answered the question, being the talkative person that she was and soon they were having a great conversation. Daphne just listened, smiling at the interaction and the immense comfort she felt. It felt like family.

Once they got home, the grandfather urged them to hurry up, have lunch, get their stuff and call him as soon as they had. The girls giggled and flew to their rooms like little kids after an adult playfully threatened to catch them if they didn’t run away.

Daphne had spent the whole previous evening setting up everything she needed so the bag was full and well-prepared, placed aside on a stool. She was very excited about everything, glad she’d agreed because she knew she would’ve spent the night imagining the fun her friends were having and regretting not going. Loki and Luke understood her energy and matched it, hopping around with her as she talked to them about her plans for the night as if they’d understand her words.

They hopped and happily barked behind her as she went downstairs to have lunch, feet thumping on the stairs.

“I see that someone’s excited,” her father sang looking at the three subjects that just entered the kitchen. Daphne nodded with a wide smile on her face, jumping with her dad in a hug as if a rush of energy surged through her nerves. Loki and Luke kept walking around them, tails waving from left to right and tongues out. Once she broke away from the hug, Loki barked, huffing up and down, and wanting to stand on his paws as if to grab Daphne in a hug as well.

“The party is half formal, half party because it’s like for a campaign or something.” She took a plate from the dispenser and served herself the freshly prepared risotto. After taking the first spoonful, she immediately recognised the cook to be Granny.

“Half party?” Her father had served himself too and joined her at the table. While the mother had already eaten since she had things to do in the afternoon, he always waited for Daphne to be back from school so they could have lunch together and he could listen to her.

“Yeah. The hosts are running in the campaign to become the school representatives basically.” The words were quickly spoken with very brief breaks in between so she could take another spoonful of the amazing dish sitting before her.

“Wow. That’s cool.” Daphne hummed and nodded, refusing to speak again for the next few seconds so she’d eat a bit more. “Damn, this food is awesome.” Her father watched her as she downed the food. A warm smile altered his facial expression. He was glad that she was okay despite the scary look her bathroom mirror now had.

“When are y’all leaving?”

“Asher said that Cleo and I could change in his older sister’s former bedroom so I think we’ll be leaving shortly after lunch.”

—Now playing: Alright by Kitty Craft ✫

“Don’t worry, I set it correctly. The navigator will lead us there.”

Daphne was sitting in the front, keeping her grandpa company and holding the phone where the navigator explained how they could get to Asher’s place. In the backseat, Cleo had the pleasure of having as company their bags for the sleepover.

“Oh, my God. All these new devices are so hard to understand.” The old man chuckled, turning the engine on and after revising out of the neighbourhood, they were on the road heading to Asher’s home. Daphne chuckled as well asking if he was used to road maps and that was how their conversation began with the calming sound of music playing lowly from the radio.

It was just past three. They’d eaten at the speed of light because they didn’t know exactly how long it would take them to get ready. The day was still bright but the breeze was chilly especially since they were in a moving vehicle. The hour caused them to meet no traffic as they drove along the same road the girls take to go to school.

Daphne had felt the chills when she came out of the house but they rushed in the car and after turning the heater on for a little she completely forgot about the low temperatures. Outside, alongside the road, were the fields that left an impression in her the day she drove here for the first time. They were getting emptier as the days went by because of the season. Daphne knew where all the farmers and farm animals could be because, far in the distance, she could see a tall farmhouse but it was so far away she could barely make out the details. She wondered how everyone there faired, how they’d go about the upcoming winter. She wondered how cosy it could feel and looked there, certain the hitting system came from a fireplace. Probably, right beside it, there was a nicely organized pile of wood destined to burn next in the fire. But she also guessed there’d be a distinct smell there, the smell of a farm which doesn’t necessarily imply animal feces. Daphne believed farmhouses had their own peculiar scent and it fascinated her. A scent that tells you that animals are around.

As far as she was concerned, every house had its own smell, even back in the city. One doesn’t need animals around for it to exist. A lot of people smell the same way their houses do. For example, Granny always smells like flowers because her home is littered with it, no nook or corner is spared. The smell is even on her grandfather who cannot go without smoking at least once a day.

If you were to ask her about hers, she’d say it smelled like home, a scent that made her think about the intimacy of a close-knit family. Maybe it was related to the love she quickly developed for her new home but, truly, to her the house still has the smell it had the first day she moved here, the smell that welcomed her when she opened the front door, when she walked along the living room and kitchen, when she ran upstairs and opened the doors to her room. Exactly, to her, her bedroom smells like the softener Granny used to wash the sheets before they moved here.

Now, as they took a different turn from usual and drove to a different and tinier road, Daphne wondered what Asher’s home would smell like. Would it smell like he does or smell differently? Does he have pets? Cause that could mean something. She didn’t know. Asher barely spoke about himself. She discovered only yesterday’s video call that he has an older sister who now lives in the city because of school.

The road they were on was noticeably smaller and tighter—almost looked like it wouldn’t allow two cars to pass by at the same time. On her left was still an expanse of green land but the view was interrupted by the presence of trees. On her right were houses, one after the other, the second different from the first and so on. One, two and three-story buildings. Some balconies here, some staircases there and again, flower pots hanging outside the widows or the railings.

Daphne looked down on her phone and it estimated they’d reach their destination in a few minutes.

“Turn right. The second exit.” Just like her neighbourhood, the road had various exits here and there. The one leading to Asher’s was the second one on the right.

“Oh, my God. I’m so excited!” Cleo squealed from the backseat as she recognised they were getting closer to their destination. She’d already discarded her seatbelt and was now in the centre leaning on both the front seats to have a better look at where they were going.

When they turned right, they met another row of houses but they were more scattered along the way, not one after the other. They looked private so if they had various floors, the house fully belonged to one person or a single family. No next-door, upstairs or downstairs neighbour.

“Asher’s home is that one there.” Cleo’s hand poked out as the pointed at the building and Grandpa followed suit. Having already sent a message when they turned the road, Asher had left the gates open and was waiting outside. When he saw them, he waved and they waved back, giggling because they found him funny.

“Okay… Here we are.” The old man didn’t park inside the compound despite the open gates which implied he could. He simply stopped in the front, got down from the vehicle with the girls and helped them with their bags. In the meantime, James and Nick, who had already arrived, ran out of the house to welcome them.

“Sir, you don’t want to come inside?” Asher asked when he saw Grandpa close the backseat door and get into the driver's seat. “No, don’t worry, my son. I’ll come pick them up tomorrow. Thank you. Girls have a fun time. Be careful. Don’t go all crazy. Have fun responsibly. I repeat, nothing too crazy, okay?”

“Yeah, Grandpa. Don’t worry. We’re not like that.” Daphne had left her bag with Cleo to quickly hug her grandfather before he’d leave. The engine was turned on and, as he revised, Cleo and Asher waved at him too.

With James and Nick’s help, the gate was closed and they all went inside the white building in front of them. Asher’s compound wasn’t paved with any type of special stone tile. Cars were meant to be parked on the wide stone area on the right, in front of the garage door and the rest was all green grass. As they approached the open front door, they walked along a grey stone path which zig-zagged through the green. The path was confined by flower pots and gnomes here and there. On the end of the left was the real garden decorated by bushes of flowers and a table with four chairs under a shelter. The white building was roofed in reddish brown tiles from which a little window poked out.

Once they made it to the front door, they went down a few steps before reaching the pavemented floor outside where they were instructed to leave their shoes and switch to the slippers they brought. As Asher spoke, he checked to see if Nick and James had come out with their slippers but, fortunately, they changed into their shoes. His mother had just finished washing the floors before they came. She’d roast him alive if they ended up dirty again.

Just as she’d thought about it, Asher smelled like his house and, just as Taehyung had predicted, Jungkook’s kitchen smelled very tempting. It was getting closer to late afternoon and it hadn’t been long since he last ate but the scent was very appealing and caused gastric juices to start bubbling in his stomach for nothing.

He was already dressed. All plain with a two-colour combination: a brown knitted button-up he didn’t button up fully—what a surprise—and beige pants. The top was slightly tucked into his pants and everything was held in place by a bistre leather belt. His feet were in a pair of moccasins and set aside on the couch was his jacket, matching with the pants.

Jimin was ready too and so was Jungkook. The ones still running around were Adrielle and Avyanna. Mainly the blondie.

While Jimin went for a milk-coloured outfit giving him the looks of an Italian man, Jungkook went for… Jungkook: an all-black outfit, black pants and a see-through dress shirt with glitters scattered here and there to remind the guests of who was the real star of the night.

Avyanna was kind of ready, still roaming around the house in her slippers and with her hair tied up into curlers but she was fully dressed and her make-up was done. An off-shoulder white and black short dress was the outfit. Her legs, up from mid-thigh, were exposed but covered in the delicate material of her black tights. The left leg was a bit more visible at the top thanks to the split in the dress. From her ears hung a pair of round silver earrings matching the pendant of the jewel around her neck. He didn’t know which shoes she’d wear nor how she’d style her hair.

He still hadn’t got a good look at Adrielle since she appeared in the same instant she disappeared. He just saw that she curled the ends of her straight hair upwards and styled them with the help of a white hair band. He didn’t know what she would be wearing because whenever she sprung out of the guest room, she had a bathrobe on.

Jimin and Avyanna were going around with Jungkook to check a few last things for the party and, since it looked like they didn’t need any extra help, Taehyung lounged on the sofa to surf his Instagram feed.

He really hoped Lauri would be at the party because he felt like it would give him the chance to talk to her. No ten-minute break times at school and no friends in view since most of them aim at getting wasted, just the two of them and enough time to talk. As he thought about it for the umpteenth time that day and week, he remembered he’d get to see what she would wear and reminded himself to mentally prepare until then.

Moving to his Activity section, he stared at the notification from a week ago telling him Lauri had started following him. It just made him feel a ton of ways and he couldn’t even describe half of one of them. When he checked who viewed his stories, Lauri was in the midst and even then, he wanted to throw his feet around in the air and jump in happiness. It’s stupid he knows. It means nothing. A lot of people view his story and it doesn’t mean that each of them is confessing love to him but he ignored that rational reasoning to thrive in the funny feeling of collywobbles.

If something so simple was enough to drive him this nuts, though he was good at masking it at the moment, he probably would’ve gone into cardiac arrest if he’d seen the person working on her make-up in Asher’s older sister’s bedroom.

Daphne’s hair was held up in curlers as she finished her make-up. The go-to look for the day was smokey for the eye makeup, with very little contour, some blush on her nose and cheeks and, after applying lip liner, she put on some lipstick and finished the look with some gloss and highlights on the tip of her nose and the corner of her eyes.

The outfit was exactly the one she’d tried out in front of Cleo at the mall and, as advised by Cleo, the shoes would be a nice pair of pointy boots, the comfiest ones she had because oh-hell-nay would she spend the evening worrying about having painful feet.

Cleo was done showering and had decided the right fit for the party was the dress she tried at the store. A pair of tall high-heel boots sat in a corner waiting for her to wear them once she’d be done dressing up.

The next twenty minutes were spent blow-drying her hair with Daphne’s help. Then, finally, Daphne brought to life the hairstyle she’d envisioned at the moment: since the dress had a V-cut, she believed Daphne could leave her hair out and gather some to make two little braids in the back. Just a few little strands were left out in the front and the look was done. Their make-up looks looked similar but, while Daphne went for a dark look around her eyes, Cleo preferred to apply a lighter eyeshadow and a few glitters here and there.

Outside the room, going up and down from the kitchen to Asher’s room because their teeth can’t stay too long without munching on something were James and Nick. Finally, the third one came out of the room too. The trio was fully dressed. Their outfits were very similar to Taehyung and Jimin’s—mainly Asher’s and Nick’s. James’s was simple: a pair of jeans, a linen beige shirt and a new pair of sneakers. Asher’s hair was pushed back and held by a little gel while the other two simply opted for simple combing.

“Are y’all ready? We haven’t even set up where we’d sleep!” Nick screamed outside the girls’ door but before he could walk away Daphne opened it and came out. “Yeah, we are. She’s just putting things in order.”

“Anyway, I thought we’d be sleeping in the bedrooms,” Daphne looked at how her friends were dressed as she spoke. “Daph, I know I confessed true love to Asher at the picnic but i like taking one step after the other. Can’t just jump four steps and share the bed with him like that. In his bedroom!” James’s remark caused her to laugh as she approached him to smack his shoulder and compliment his fit.

“Hey, how dare you? You walked past me to compliment James’s outfit as if it isn’t the most lacklustre one here—”

“Okay, hey. Watch your mouth. Everybody expresses themselves in a different way, okay? You’re hurting my feelings,” he whined like a baby and, to get on Nick’s nerves a bit more, Daphne hugged James and consoled him, “You’re hurting him. He is at a very sensitive point in life. Take it easy with him,” she chuckled, ignoring Nick’s complaint and leaving him with a sprawled jaw in bewilderment. “Sorry, my fault. I won’t speak anymore so y’all can be happy.” James and Daphne chuckled at him. The girl didn’t know that, from the other side of the room, someone was looking at her flabbergasted.

“So we’ll be sleeping here? How so?” Cleo barged into the living room. Asher and Daphne shared glances when they noticed the silence that fell into the room and the eyes that fell upon Cleo as she walked in.

“These ones are double sofa beds. Pretty huge ones at that.”

“You ain’t fucking for real. Two sofa beds? Holy shit!—”

“Daph and I are sharing one!” Cleo exclaimed, rushing to grab the friend so they could set theirs up. They met no objections and soon the room was silent again as they all worked out how to set the beds.

“James, you’ll just have to take it easy. Life always comes with challenges.”

—Now playing: Beauty And A Beat by Justin Bieber, Nicki Minaj ✫

“I vote we go by bike!”“Why—”“‘Why not’ you mean—”“No, I don’t. I swear y’all will get so fucked up you won’t be able to manoeuvre even your legs by the end of the night!”

They were all ready, all set, beds, shoes, outfits, make-up, hair, everything… except their means of transport. From what Daphne had understood the previous day, the sleepover was happening at Asher’s place, to begin with, because he was neighbours with Jungkook. As she remembered, back then, the adverb ‘basically’ was also used and that can mean lots of things but she didn’t want to think that without a car they couldn’t get to the party. That would be literally the worst-case scenario at that moment.

Asher had a few bicycles parked in his garden and once James and Nick had set eyes on them, they felt like they’d received a wise inspiration from above.

“Trust me, by the end of the night, no one would want to walk. In fact, we’d want to get home ASAP so a bike is a go-to since we don’t have a motorcycle or the license to drive one at all.” Cleo was against this, most likely talking out of experience. Knowing how crazy Nick and James could get with the simplest of things, Daphne could already imagine how they’d behave at a party but she liked to give them the benefit of the doubt.

“How are we supposed to ride the bicycles since we don’t have enough for each of us?” she asked seeing that the conversation was stalling and going nowhere. “Some ride in two and the rest in three—”

“Suicide mission, I see. Congratulations Nick, you always amaze me,” Cleo rolled her eyes, “Thank you very much. I’m very pleased you think that about me. I’ll try my best in the future to never disappoint you—”

“Oh, shut up—”

“It could be fun, no?” Cleo’s head turned around to look at Daphne and see if she really was the one who spoke. “Did you have something to drink? Did you give her something?” she referred the second question to Asher who looked at her as if asking why she’d ask him in the first place.

“It could be fun— I’ll ride with Asher!—”

“Oh, yeah? It could be fun and yet you go with Asher because you know how crazy these bitches can be.” The term she used to refer to Nick and James didn’t hurt them in the slightest, instead, they started posing around like girls, checking their nails and giggling stupidly. Cleo noticed, rolled her eyes and turned back to Daphne pointing at the boys since they were proving her right. I can’t ride a single bike with two XL-sized kids.”

“I think that’s body-shaming.”“It is.”

“Come on Cleo. I know the next moment you’ll be the same person laughing so let’s go. We don’t have all the time in the world.” Asher chuckled as he followed Daphne to the bike. Nick and James tried to hold their giggles and not scream in Cleo’s face that they won the argument but, by the time they were helping her sit in the front of the bike, between the rider and the handlebar, they started laughing. “Laugh any harder and I’ll send us straight into the bushes.”

Behind Nick, standing on the metal poking from the posterior tyre of the bicycle and leaning on Nick’s shoulders was James already screaming as they rode out of the compound. Asher and Daphne were right behind them and made sure to close the gate. Daphne was placed just like Cleo, between the Asher and the handlebar.

The clock’s hand was inching closer to the beginning of the evening, the sky was getting darker by the second and occasionally some street lamps would turn on sensing too much darkness.

Jungkook’s house was along the same road as Asher’s home, at least that was what Daphne believed at first before they turned left into another road, having her wonder how deep the neighbourhood went.

Leading the way for them was the crazy trio. Just as predicted by Daphne, Cleo was already having the time of her life, laughing whenever Nick tried to take a turn and feared he’d have them all on the ground. She was barely looking ahead of her. Too scared to, so she simply stuck to clinging onto Nick’s body and shutting her eyes as if she was on a rollercoaster ride. Above them, James was screaming like he was surfing the tallest ocean wave ever recorded in human history.

“Cleo, tickle Nick for me, please,” James spoke, standing straight, no single sign of fear in his body. “Do you have a death wish or something?” the other two replied in unison, chuckling at the stupidity.

“Just trynna get charged for the night,” he replied. “The first half is all chill shit so it would be worthless and anyway, tickling Nick wouldn’t charge you for the night. Maybe scar you for life but you do you…”

Daphne and Asher couldn’t hear this conversation. She wasn’t talking with Asher. There was silence, a space for her to observe her surroundings. The countryside presented itself before her eyes as if it were a museum, going from good to better to best within seconds. In contrast to the dark make-up, her eyes sparkled when she saw a building at the end of the road. It was huge and she could make that out by the light piercing through the numerous windows it had.

“Is that Jungkook’s house?” she questioned, almost sounding shy, like a child standing in front of a gigantic statue, the sublime. Asher’s chest vibrated against her as he hummed his reply.

Cleo had blabbed so much about how beautiful Jungkook’s house was but never could have Daphne come up with something like this in her imagination. Leaving in high-rise apartments couldn’t compare to the wealth the building oozed out like honey.

The big gates were wide open and two men were guarding them. Once they reached close enough, they came down from their bicycles and went in after giving their names and getting told where they could park their bikes.

It was Daphne’s first time here, surely not the same case for her friends but everyone was still mesmerised by the view before their eyes, pupils glowing as the light from the house reflected in them.

“Goddamn.” She huffed, “Gossip Girl indeed.”

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[typingatlightspeed]

For the requests, how about something with vampire heavy? Maybe heavymedic, chefs choice though! Such a great cosmetic set.. <33

TF2 Fanfic - Appetites

Ludwig has heard legend of a secluded log mansion in the mountains of Siberia, and its occupant: a creature of the night that seeks men for both carnal delights and bloody meals. He shares only one of those appetites, but perhaps that can change.

Ao3 Link!

Had fun with this one. Love making Medic the one less fluent with the language they're speaking for once. :3 Enjoy!

---------

The structure itself was a building unlike anything Ludwig had ever seen. It was massive and elaborate, a manor house or mansion, but built of logs rather than stone, rustic yet grandiose, sitting hidden in the forested mountains of Siberia. The winds whipped in every direction, and as night fell, he tried to ignore the doubts rising in his gut as he trudged through the snow, clutching his coat close as he approached the darkened structure, no candles in its windows to welcome weary travelers, no warm glow inside to illuminate it for its occupants.

Were there really still any occupants to be found?

The place looked almost abandoned, its grounds unkempt, no footsteps leading to its door. Though as the snow fell and wind howled, Ludwig doubted any footprints would remain long anyway. He hazarded a glance behind him to confirm that his own tracks were being swiftly erased by the elements. He was not just alone, but isolated, with no way to find him save the knowledge of where he was headed.

He swallowed hard and kept trudging.

The locals in the village down the mountain had called him a madman when he asked about the place. Doubly so when he denied being there to exorcise the malevolence that dwelt there.

He didn't need their approval; fools.

The gate was unlocked, and swung open sluggishly, its hinges rimed near-solid and stubborn. He worried he may break the thing off if he pushed too hard, barely slipping his large frame through the opening and continuing on. The front door of the manor was large and dark, ornately carved by skilled hands. He was startled to find it, also, unlocked.

If the manner of creature that local legend spoke of lived here, it was surely not bothered by notions of security. The likelihood of someone braving the elements to stumble into this abode was slim, the chance of them surviving the trek just as narrow.

Ludwig closed the door behind himself, startled to find the interior comfortably warm compared to the harsh outdoors. Whether that was merely a symptom of not being buffeted by wind and snow or the presence of a hearth lit somewhere, he couldn't tell, but as he shook the snow from himself, he deigned to shed his scarf and hat, regardless, setting them on a small table beside the door.

The interior of the building was no less impressive than its exterior, a large foyer opening before him with stuffed bears, ermines, and wolves lining its walls amid other objets d'art. Under the balcony, a line of sconces were lit, leading down a hallway deeper into the structure, a long, crimson carpet showing the way. Taking a deep gulp, Ludwig followed the lights.

His footsteps felt unreasonably loud to him, soft creaking on hardwood as he slowly crept through the home, into a great hall lined with paintings, pottery, and weapons of war. Every sound seemed to echo off of the walls, up to the high, vaulted ceiling, and it made him feel deeply exposed.

Especially when it became clear that he wasn't alone.

"It's been a very long time since I've had a trespasser," a man's voice rumbled, warm and throaty.

Ludwig couldn't identify where it had come from, looking up and about to try and locate its source. He froze in place, trying to remember the rudimentary Russian he'd learned over the years. "Door was not locked."

A soft chuckle answered him. "So it was. You must have great purpose, braving the mountain to enter into my home. What manner of man are you, trespasser?"

Ludwig drew himself up, his spine straightening, his pride bubbling up to try and overcome the terror that was trying to take hold at the back of his mind. This was what he was here for. He was not about to run scared upon getting exactly what he wanted. "I am man of science."

"A man of science?" the voice repeated, amused. "This is certainly a change. Normally I'm forced to receive men of God, here to try and mete out His divine punishment."

"Divine punishment?" Ludwig asked, wishing his skill with the language were stronger. This lurking mystery man spoke so articulately that it took him an embarrassingly long time to recall his vocabulary so that he could formulate a response. He knew the words, but putting them together was proving difficult, and made him wish he had practiced speaking to locals more before making his ascent.

"So many previous callers of mine have come to exterminate me for the crime of merely having appetites their church finds... aberrant. Tell me, trespasser. Would you judge your host thusly?"

" I have no love for church." Ludwig felt a shiver run up his spine, and he wasn't sure if it was the cold, fear of the unknown, or fear of giving his next thoughts voice. "They would kill me for my appetites, as well."

"Oh? Do tell me, trespasser. What dark appetites would they pursue you for?"

"The touch of men."

Ludwig snapped to attention as a pressure alighted upon the small of his back, and it took a moment for him to register it as a large, broad hand, as there was no warmth to it to seep through his coat. Before he could react, another massive hand upon his chest tilted him backward, supported by the hand on his back as he found himself gazing up into eyes of the palest glacial blue he'd ever seen.

Their bearer was no less enthralling, a massive man with a strong jaw and an aquiline nose, larger even than Ludwig's impressive frame, and tilting him into his arms like it was no effort at all. He wore the clothes of a man of nobility, or at least refined taste, and no warmth bled from his body as it pressed against his guest's.

"It appears that is one appetite that you and I hold in common, my dear trespasser."

Ludwig couldn't bring himself to respond, words dying before they could even reach his throat and tongue. He was unsure whether its source was some mesmerizing power of his host's icy gaze, or the force of the sudden lust that had overcome him in an instant at being manhandled by this giant so easily, as though his tall, sturdy frame were nothing but a ragdoll.

"But that isn't the appetite that has clergymen skulking at my door."

As he spoke, Ludwig could see them; fangs. His canine teeth were long, sharp, and he found himself staring at them rather than his host's eyes. He felt his pulse pounding through his veins, and a yearning in his body the potency of which he had never felt before.

This was why he was here.

"And the one that does?"

"I think you already know, my dear trespasser."

"And?"

"And I would slake both with your body, by your leave."

"For eternity?"

The vampire grinned, tilting in to press a kiss atop the artery in Ludwig's neck. "Til death do we part."

[mistressdragonflame]

Practice makes Perfect

So, rather than dive head first into the (current) 700k print of Lionheart, I decided to try a smaller work first. So I decided to use The Perfect Match, by Nora_Wall, another Dramione fic. At 130k words completed, its a much more bite size starting point than even the first volume of Lionheart.

So I began as I did with Lionheart, making a typeset for the print. I used google Docs, as its a habit of mine to use a digital format to best share between my (then) work PC and my home Macbook. I then exported as a PDF for conversion into a signature set using the app BookletCreator.

I actually bought myself a printer for this ADHD obsession, as I didn't have an appropriate one before. I had those "my first printer" types, one I bought while in Japan 12+ years ago and lord only knows if it worked/had ink, but it was single sided print only. I then also had a newer, but still baby Epson printer I bought IDK, 6 years ago (I think I bought it while in Greece, but I don't recall)? It had a scan feature, but it couldn't print duplex, and I didn't hate myself enough to single side/flip/rotate/single side an entire book. I also had no idea about the ink.

Instead I bought a Brother printer that did duplex, and is Laser, so the ink won't 'mysteriously' go bad at some time in the future. Did find out the starter ink it came with was only really good enough for 500 pages, which is less than I'd need for Lionheart let alone any practice/extra printing, but printer companies do what they do. (DCP-L2640DW for those curious)

During my print runs, I learned a few things.

Weirdly, printing from Adobe Reader results in a fainter/more blurry printing than printing from the Brother App. IDK why, it's the same PDF used.

I have no ability to add blank pages using my Adobe Reader, so I have a choice of one, weirdly spaced pages of the book, two, mis-numbered pages (as they count the blank pages), or three, make a separate signature just for the non-writing pages (e.g. title page, table of contents page, etc).

For the life of me, I cannot make the top and bottom margins of the print smaller than one inch. Doesn't matter if the master document has .5 inch t/b margins, it'll print as 1 inch. I may have to inquire with other bookbinders on how to change this, as it's a lot of wasted space.

So next, while I waited for my signatures to be crushed flat, I made a stabbing cradle to stab the signatures, as I didn't trust myself to stab that many times in the same exact spot with out one. I used some excess chipboard to make and it came out decently.

I also made a stabbing template, to share between samples, and that worked well also. I did have an issue of the samples shifting as a fiddled with the template/awl, but for the most part they came out well.

I then stitched them together using a french stitch. I used waxed thread, and a curved needle--found I don't like the curve very much, and should have just used a regular one. Ah well.

Still, I felt the sitchwork came out quite well for a first time. The booklet wasn't too loose, nor too tight, and was within government standards of being in alignment. For Lionheart though, I'll likely be trying my hand at corded stitching vice french.

I did try to round the spine, but I don't think I did it in the right order. I watched a guide glue then whack with a hammer, and that didn't shift anything in mine. I don't know if I didn't hit it hard enough, or if I wasn't supposed to glue the french stitches first. IDK.

I tried to trim the edges and... well, it didn't turn out well. I had the boxcutter with a fresh tip, but I did not have the skills to appropriately trim. So the top's all jacked, and I left the bottom/side alone. Its, er, rustic.

Next I made the book cover. I made a first attempt using a 8 1/2x11 piece of particle board cut in half, but that ended up being too short. Despite the papers also coming from the same size originally, and despite the gap in the cover for the hinge work, it matched the booklet. So I had to make it again. And then again, because the 2nd time was too long, so I trimmed it, only to mistakeningly made it back to the 1st attempt size.

I used some spare cloth I had lying around, backed with some heat and bond I also had lying around (other ADHD obsessions include renaissance fair with accompanying clothing making). I'd need more heat and bond if i wanted to try again.

I didn't have any special end paper for this practice run, so I just used more of the paper I previously chopped.

I added some muslin to the spin for rigidity, as I didn't want to buy mull when I already had a substance that'd work. Actually using it however, it's rather thick, so perhaps a different muslin would work better. I'll have to dig through my clothing piles.

But I glued it all together, and it came out decent! The pages warped some, but I think that partially has to do with living in Hawaii with Hawaii humidity. It gets everywhere. I pressed the books with some cat toy wand sticks in the seems, so they came out nicely.

I do wish the book was a tad bigger. However, my printer only does up to 8 1/2 by 14, so I'd have to chose between long grain print for an addition inch, or short grain print as is.

[estmeetswst]

a calloused hand drove its heels into the heavy oak of his door , hinges squealing in greeting as ragnar's towring frame crossed into the threshold of his room . he rolled out his neck , the crunching of bones echoing against damp stone walls . a heaved sigh followed , one of satisfaction — exhaustion — drawn from parted lips that ached from having been spread into a wild , manic grin for hours . so focused on himself , as ragnar often was , he hadn't yet accounted for the silhouette that loomed in the far corner of his suite . though he did acknowledge the smell , her smell , that permeated the air and stung sensitive nostrils . a human ; notes of floral and citrus clouding her pheromones . from that alone , he was able to deduce it was a maid . often ragnar found that human's feeble and pathetic little frames carried heftier scents of perspiration . salt and sweat . however , the ones that handled chores ; folded fresh linens , loomed in the kitchen , , , they smelt a bit more pleasant . ever foul , to the fae prince , but certainly more tolerable than that of the men and women his family ruled . than the rebels he led like lambs to slaughter .

ragnar didn't offer his gaze , or even the high tilt of his chin , to the woman he had now spotted in his peripheral . instead , he kicked the door shut behind him , continuing to roll his head atop his taught neck , working at the leather straps enveloping his biceps beneath his fur cloak . he didn't offer an explanation for why he was soaked to the elbows in blood . why daggers hung from his hips and laid flat beneath leather belts drawn across large thighs — the faces of their blades slick ; streaked with rustic fluid . instead , he gave a long exhale through flaring nostrils . irritated .

" did i interrupt your poking around ?? " the prince drawled after a moment , voice grated from the declaring of champions , boredom interwoven in syllables . honeyed eyes , flecked with spots of gold , finally came to find the servant's face — anjali , he knew her to be — as the corners of cut lips twitched upwards . taunting her . " i always knew you maids to be nosey . tell me , girl , have you found anything of note ?? " accessory after accessory was stripped , discarded in a pile at the toes of his mud stained boots . his hands went for the ties of his outwear as a brow quirked , his head cocking ;

" — anything worth passing along to a paperboy for a silver or two ?? "

@tooswcctx

[toxxicwrites]

Routine Mission- JJK- Gojo x yn platonic Angst/ Major Character Death

It was a routine mission. A grade level three curse. Well within the strengths of a grade 1 sorcerer such as herself. At least it was supposed to be. Upon arriving at the abandoned warehouse Yn sensed something was off. The air held the rustic tang of fresh blood, but most worrying was the silence. Low- level curses were never this quiet. She opened the rusty iron door, its hinges squeaking loudly before being consumed by silence once again. She took a deep breath before entering, steadying her nerves. It was just a routine mission she reminded herself. She could do it by herself as she had done hundreds just like it before. Still, she felt herself longing the presence of a friend in the unsteadying atmosphere, hell she would have even tolerated Gojo- her ridiculously overpowered friend who would have filled the silence with rambling of his accomplishments and other random thoughts he deemed important enough to say out loud (Yn just thought he liked the sound of his own voice). After another hour of searching the premises Yn finally found her target. It’s spiked back was turned toward her, as a multitude of protruding pincers grabbed and ripped at something, the warehouse now echoing with the sickening sounds of gurgling and crunching as Yn peeked her head over and saw the remains of a human body the curse now feasted on. The putrid scene almost caused her to throw up breakfast but she held her wits. It was just a level three curse. But its enormous size left her unsettled. She reached to her back and unsheathed two swords, letting the sound of metal ring out, gathering the curses attention as it slowly turned around with a chattering, clicking noise. 

“What-ke ke- do we have -ke- here?” The curses voice rasped holding a mocking tone. Multiple pairs of eyes blinked as the curse stared at her, blood dripping from its mouth or rather the gaping hole that resided in its stomach, expanding and shrinking as it took a breath.

“A-Another jujutsu sorcerer? Kekeke” The curse laughed with a horrible shriek and Yn looked down at the body, shock in her eyes as she registered the jujutsu emblem on the disfigured corpse's chest. Her heart beat faster as she met the creature's eyes again. A rage filled her as it stabbed the body with a pincer, throwing it across the room like a ragdoll. 

“I could -ke- go for another snack” 

Y/n yelled out as she charged, swords poised for attack. She jumped high bringing the sword down to the curses chest, but in an instant a cursed energy shield blasted out deflecting her attack. Her brow furrowed as the sword bounced off and in her moment of confusion the curse took its change, swinging its arm and sending Yn crashing into a stack of metal crates. Black clouded her vision as she made contact with the metal, denting it in the shape of her body with a loud clang. She blinked the darkness away, groaning as she got up. The creature laughed again. She narrowed her eyes. It was toying with her she could tell. And it was much stronger than a level 3 curse. That was for sure. The fight continued with Yn landing a few blows. But every stab she made grazed the skin, never cutting through the thick cursed energy field despite her own power behind each swing. It left her exhausted and slow. As she was launched across the room for the hundredth time she saw her opportunity. She grabbed a metal barrel, launching it toward the curse. As it swatted it away it didn’t notice Yn running from behind, cutting off five of its pincers. The curse cried out as they fell to the ground, dripping black, oil-like blood. She grinned as she stood on the other side of the creature, wiping a drip of sweat from her brow. The curse howled in pain yelling curses at her in an unknown language. 

“Not so funny now are we?” She mused. The curse shrieked, making a mad sprint toward her. She smirked, now the fight was within her playing field. Toying with the curses rage she led it in a mad dash, letting its swings get wilder and wilder until finally she saw an opening to its underbelly, unprotected by the metal like skin of the rest of its body, a weakness. She had an opening then-

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a white haired student. Gojo. She almost cried out in relief- she didn’t know how much longer she could last… Unluckily for her, the moment's distraction provided enough for the curse to make its move. She was falling toward the curse, to its soft underbelly, and then she wasn’t. 

“Y/N!” Gojo’s voice yelled out, filled with panic. Y/n felt no pain at first, but her breath was taken away. She remained suspended and she looked down. Eyes meeting the sharp pincer that stabbed through her stomach, the sharp pain now erupting like a volcano. 

“Oh” she said with a small voice. The curse threw her across the room like a ragdoll. A soft gasp left her lips as she slammed against the wall. Her vision blurred and she saw the flash of white hair and a blue uniform. She didn’t know how long she sat there, her shaky breaths slowing as blood gushed out of her stomach like a waterfall. Vaguely she recognized the curse getting decapitated by Gojo and him running to her. A small white haired figure and then he was right in front of her. The scent of cotton candy and blood filled her senses. 

“No no no,” Gojo mumbled, his hands desperately reaching for hers where they sat, holding what she assumed was her organs in her stomach. His blue eyes were wide, panicking. 

“Gojo..” Y/n whispered, it was all she could manage at this point as spots filled her vision and her body felt so so tired. 

“Is it-” She took a wheezing breath, “Is it bad?” 

No no no no. This couldn't be happening. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. He had come too late. It was supposed to be a routine mission and he was just checking up on Yn when he saw the curse stab through it, a bloodied pincer poking through her blue uniform. The curse was anything but a grade level 3, having swallowed two of sukuna’s fingers. And now, he kneeled in front of her, watching as dark red blood gushed out and her breaths became shallow.

“Is it- is it bad? Y/n asked her brows furrowed in pain as a cold sweat arose on her skin. No no no no. It was going to be okay. 

“It’s gonna be fine Yn- it's gonna be fine,” He stammered looking into her pleading eyes, “I’m gonna get you to Shoko and you're gonna be fine.” 

He began reaching to pick her up but a hand on his chest stopped him. 

“Gojo, look at me.” 

He looked at her, his expression one of desperation. 

“You-” She let out a pained, wheezy laugh, “You are a terrible liar.” 

“Please Yn” He pleaded, “We have to go.” 

She shook her head, expression pained. 

“No-” she mumbled, her head bobbing as she struggled to stay awake, “No just- just please stay here with me- just for a minute.” 

He swallowed hard and nodded, meeting her eyes and fighting back the tears in his. 

“When we get back can we get sushi?” 

“Of course,” Gojo nodded, “Spicy tuna?” 

Y/n weakly smiled, her face ghostly pale, “You know it.” 

“Just-” She began, eyes closing, “Let me catch my breath for a minute…” 

She slumped into his arms and he held her. She smiled against the warmth of his chest. Everything was so cold now, but at least she could feel warmth one last time. She died with a smile in Gojo’s arms. And his heart hardened. Another friend that he, the strongest sorcerer in the world, couldn't save.

[feleon]

MANTRA

Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

After reading an occult magazine, you trek out to rural Spain in hunt of a rumored bugman, "El Insecto." This was years after a supposed raid by the U.S. Government on the mountainous region in the mid 2000s, where even the president was rumored to get directly involved. You weren't sure you believed in what you may encounter and were just going for fun.

And fun you were going to have.

P 1/2

The chill, whispering autumn wind nips at your face as you tread forward through the dark, twisting path. The dry, dead leaves crunch beneath your boots. The darkness swallows the light from your flashlight and you can barely see what is ahead of you.

Your map is a bit tattered and hard to read, the road signs are weathered and illegible.

You made the sound decision to travel to rural Spain to hunt down an urban legend you read about in an obscure occult magazine, "El Insecto." Reports of a man with bug-like features have been reported here in rural Spain after an incident had occurred here around the mid 2000s rumored to have required intervention by the U.S. Government. Some say the president's daughter was somehow caught up in the mix. Some say the place was completely wiped out, plagued. It was all conspiracy theory, and you were just looking for a spooky adventure.

No dice, though. It was just an urban legend from an obscure magazine, though. What piqued your interest was just how recent it was, most legends felt decades old with details misconstrued or lost to time. You figured you weren't going see a bugman, but maybe something interesting to make your trip worthwhile. Didn't they say mothman was a giant owl? Maybe you would see something?

The wind continued to ferociously bite at your face, and the weight of your satchel continued to drag you down, tugging at your shoulders as you pray for respite until it becomes clear in the distance. A rustic, dilapidated cabin lie ahead. And for a second.... you thought you saw a scarlet light through the windows.

As you made your approach to the cabin, you couldn't help but hesitate. The grinding of the pebbles beneath your feet slowing down, as your anxiety made you feel like grinding your teeth. The wind immediately stopped as you reached your destination. A dark old cabin. The wood nearly rotting and falling apart. Windows busted out. The Hinges to the door covered in rust. Not a welcoming place, but probably the only place for miles.

The door creaked open, only to slam shut immediately behind you, shoving you ahead.

...

You needed a place to rest, no time to be picky.

...

SHRK

The doorknob snapped as you went to turn it. You looked down at the corroded bronze doorknob, barely being able to make out your reflection in the cracked, dulled eface.

Off to a good start already.

It's a decrepit shack, what else is going to fall apart in here?

Almost as if on cue, one of the overhead, rotted planks from the ceiling nearly hit you in the head, only missing you as you jump back, the force of the beam hitting the ground summoning a galewind of impurities.

Your lungs are assaulted spontaneously as you inhale dust and cobwebs, leaving you hacking so hard you keel over and your backpack goes with you, knocking another hit into you. Once you manage to get your shit together, you decide to take in your surroundings.

Shelves and windows adorned with candles worn down to the wick, a mess of cold wax swirled around the base. Tattered tapestry hangs along the walls, and a musty rug lay in the middle of the wooden floor. In the center of the room is an iron chandelier, now corroded, decorated with off-white, orange, and red candles. The place was musty, but you could swear upon further inspection some of the dust has been deliberately disturbed in some areas.

You swore you suddenly heard a creak. You held your breath, focusing on the sounds, but heard nothing but the wind outside.

It's just settling, it's old and crummy. You attempt to convince yourself, trying to force yourself to get some much needed sleep.

A thin mist wafted through the cabin. It smelled...nice. A floral scent. You shifted a bit, using your bag as a pillow and became more comfortable. A faint orange glow saturated the scene slightly. Were the candles...always lit? Your eyelids began to feel heavy and forced themselves shut.

You pry your eyes open after what felt like hours. You never knew you could sleep so comfortably on the floor of a shitty old cabin.

Wait...

You weren't on the floor anymore. You were strung up in the middle of the room, tied at each appendage with your torso and rear supported, almost like a swing.

What material was this? It wasn't rope or string.. It was thin, white...

Was this silk?

Little did you know

You were trapped like a fly in a web, and your predator was about to make himself known