#something something might be misogynistic as well something something )

[iamthetruenhaz]

Disclaimer, this will be a mess. It's 2am, I can't English (I can't Bulgarian either), which means this will be incoherent and the thoughts will be like those of a caveman. Might edit later.

I don't know who Bell Hooks is but I've been seeing a lot of outrage about this post as well as similar posts (I think I've had some too.

The left's problem (mostly from women) is that it's seen as a given that if men feel hated enough, they'll fall into the alt right. So they respond with "if you get radicalized just by some women not being nice to you, you were misogynistic to begin with and we were right to be mean to you".

Which is only partially true. We have a saying in my language - kick a dog enough times and it will start biting. People snap. People react to what they see as unjust, undeserved abuse. Especially when they haven't identified their inborn or ingrown biases that they might not be aware of. (And before you say it, that's really hard to do because "biased person" is automatically taken to mean "bad person" and no one wants to see themselves as a bad person, you only overcome that painful shame by realizing that having biases is something very much human and doesn't in and of itself make you worse than most people, especially if you learn to examine and confront those biases). So people, including men, have a limit to what they can take before they snap. And there's the alt right just waiting to offer you a sense of purpose as a big strong alpha chad male, and put the blame on those evil, evil bad women.

But here's the thing. Two things, actually:

First thing, empathy. You see women being angry at men, all men - let's not pretend that in a moment of anger anyone bothers to make distinctions and avoid sweeping generalizations. Let's just be honest about that. Maybe it's because I always had a number of female friends, including my best friend, and thus was able to get female perspectives on things like MeToo, but it's essential to listen with the intent to understand. I know a lot of women say their male friends just turn a blind eye and start to be willfully blind to their issues but I guess you have to have "women are just as much people as I am and not fundamentally different" as an imperative on a subconscious level and somehow that's not always a given.

Second, critical thinking. Just because someone offers you some "comfort" and "purpose" or what have you, doesn't mean you can't look at them critically and see what they are really about (forgive me, I can't English, it's past midnight). Even if - actually ESPECIALLY IF - they start offering you comfort out of nothing.

I can't say I haven't been tempted to drop down that pipeline, I've felt resentful, unfairly blamed, mistreated. But the language, the attitude, the mindset in those communities, that always just put me off. I guess it comes down to what you really want - for people who hurt you to be hurt as you have been, or for no one to get hurt at all anymore.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[dukeofankh]

If your vision for the deradicalization of right-wing men begins and ends with "other men telling them that that's gross and to stop it" then I'm sorry, you do not understand how masculinity works.

"Men who hold patriarchal status" and "men who are feminists" are two groups who overlap less than you want them to. I'm sorry. That's not solely because men are so happy with patriarchal status that they don't want to risk it by policing misogyny/queerphobia/racism, It's because being misogynistic, queerphobic, and racist, end expressing other forms of toxic masculinity(and often abusively so) are part of how people establish and maintain patriarchal status. The men who have the ability to stop this via nothing but peer pressure are the very people who are doing it. That's by design. And engaging in feminist intervention is, in and of itself, usually the abrupt end of that status and its associated power to persuade misogynistic men.

Like, I have worked in blue collar jobs as a notably queer person. It was pretty much a constant deluge of verbal abuse. In my experience, most blue collar work environments are exploitative, abusive, and bigoted, and very gleefully so. On the occasions I have spoken up about someone saying something that was super fucking out of line (asking me which of the girls walking by was hottest. We were installing a portable classroom at a middle school), believe it or not, they completely failed to be shamed! Because nobody else on the crew gave a fuck. *I* was the weird one. They ghosted me. A full blown company ghosted me. I suddenly didn't have a job anymore because they just straightforwardly stopped telling me where the next job site was.

Like, this doesn't mean that it's your job to do it, but this vision you have of these big groups of men where everyone is on the fence and there is precisely one shit stirrer who can be shut down by a brave feminist man who can single handedly set the example for all these other guys...you are high. You are describing an "everybody clapped" level absurd scenario. Most of these truly virulent misogynistic guys either have zero friends, because, you know, our society is atomized to fuck, or they are in a group where the feminist guy is actually the weirdo who can be shut down and ostracized much, much easier than the misogynists, because there is no such thing as a man misogynists respect who stands up for women.

You might be saying "well, we're talking about longstanding personal relationships, actually. Like, they need to have to want to spend time with you and then, as a side effect, you can mind control them out of being a threat to us."

Problem with that being:

1: Many feminist men also have no friends, see the atomized society above.

2: Feminist men already stopped hanging out with men who make rape jokes because why the fuck would we want to spend time with them.

3: That isn't just because we respect women so hard. We are in many cases talking about men who are also deeply queerphobic, heirarchical, violent and abusive to other men. What initially drew me to feminism and women was a lack of heirarchical squabbling and constant bullying, and the ability to be openly queer. A lot of men who came to feminism did so because they knew that the patriarchy was not a place they would find success or acceptance. These are not the men who are gonna be able to change right wing minds.

4. Men do not view themselves as a monolith. There is no universal brotherhood of men. The actual meaning of the term "Fragile masculinity" is that men are constantly expected to prove that they are deserving of the status of being a member of their own gender. There are large swathes of men--including most of the men who you'd look to as examples of good, feminist men who you want to undertake this project--who are considered failed men, sissies, f****ts, soyboys, ect. They are. Not. Going. To. Convince. These. Men. Of. Jack. Shit. Much less successfully *shame* them. Jesus.

I know all of this sucks. I know it would be cool to be able to just point at a group and have them be responsible for the work. But nah. It's gonna have to be a societal project, one that will probably outlast all of us. Sorry. The thing you want these men to do is, absolutely, the morally correct thing to do. But presuming that it would be effective is, and once again I am so sorry about this, just ignorance of how these social groups function.

[lucienne-thee-librarian]

Okay but also because I'm a pedantic bitch...in relation to that post I just reblogged explaining part of gay-on-gay bigotry...what if some people are just assholes who happen to be gay, or bi or trans? And they're all for oppression or just plain cruelty as long as it's aimed at other people? Like that's also something to consider.

I don't actually think, any longer, that "internalized self-hate projected outward and also suppressed envy for someone who's doing and being all the things you were convinced into not allowing yourself" is...all there is to this phenonemon. And I wish we'd stop fixating on that quite so much just because we want to be frankly, nicer than some of these people have ever deserved. It's always more satisfying on some level, to imagine your enemies as Tortured deep inside (whether it's because you feel a bit malicious or you just want to believe that there's a way to reach out and heal them with kindness.) than to admit that Sometimes They're Just a Shithead.

Now, do I think that complex can be a big part of it? Oh yeah. And of COURSE, different people have different motivations in different amounts and yadda yadda yadda. No group of people, ethnic, gender, political or otherwise is a Monolith. (For one thing, when it comes to these Pick-Me Gay/Trans pundits and Influencers, money and clout should never be left out as an explanation. Just saying.) But that's the point, isn't it? Any ONE explanation can't explain them all completely.

Tbh, I think we need to consider some people are just bullies who happened to be born not cis or straight. And even if they were bullied at one point for their identity, they learned absolutely nothing from the experience except Don't Be On the Social Reject Side. So they moved their thinking just enough that "woman who likes women" "man who likes men" "I just happened o want to be a woman instead, or a man instead despite how I was born" could be put in the Safe category and they fight for that. Everyone else though, is still fair game and even a fair target. Some people don't just want power to escape oppression and live their lives in peace, they WANT to BE the ones oppressing. Like, do we ACTUALLY understand that LGBT people are humans too and that that includes the bad side?

It tracks a lot better too, when you consider that a lot of people like the masc4masc gays are openly racist and fatphobic. "No fems" Yes but also "No fats. No Asians." Christ, I could think of countless examples of white thin (and sometimes but not necessary cis) queer people doing that sort of thing. I'm sure y'all can too. This idea of some poor lost soul Tormented by Self Hate and Envy of the Freedom of Others doesn't do shit to explain that. Like, even if the two things coexist and they can, it doesn't explain that part.

I honestly just think the uglier but more accurate truth is that lot of queer people aren't all Hashtag Gay or Trans Rights or aren't Liberal out of any sense of justice AT ALL but only self-interest. Being an activist because you're a member of an oppressed group is like, entirely normal and fine of course BUT it becomes real clear when someone's framework of ethics and politics is PURELY "I think me (and people I personally like and approve of) being oppressed is bad" and literally not one inch deeper.

You can tell because if it was deeper, why would they find it so easy to turn around to a fellow queer/trans person to jeer at and humiliate and throw them under the bus if they think they're a Deadweight to the group by being a Weirdo I Don't Want to Stand Next to, Eww...or if they just don't personally like them? Why have you clearly spent absolutely no time unpacking any of the prejudice and biases around gender sexuality (or GOD FORBID race) that society throws at you.. at least no more time than it takes to rationalize yourself out of the category of Should Be Destroyed and Oppressed?

We are not immune from this sort of terminally self-interested activism. I just feel like we'd get a lot further as a society, as a community, if sometimes our analysis of bullies and assholes didn't fixate on finding some deep pain and trauma inside them, to explain their actions in a way that makes them look more tortured and less malicious (even if we say, even mean, that it's not supposed to be an excuse). Sometimes people are just racist, or fatphobic. Sometimes lesbians or gay men or bi or trans people just want to be judgmental bullies too.

Sometimes the reality isn't Tragic Villain Backstory. Sometimes, its just a selfish, deeply pathetic person refusing to become any less, because it's easier not to; even if you had a unique chance to see how the other side lives, a chance your straight cis bully peers didn't get by virtue of their identities.

[dittolicous]

i dont get hpw people can make jokes about biden being shitty right now, when its nearly guaranteed that its either him or trump who will be president.... and trump becomimg president again is just.... horrifying? like legitimately really fucking scary????? im terrified thinking about biden not doing well, not because i like biden (i do not) but because the other option is basically. a nuclear bomb.

its all fun and games until we have no one who can get enough votes or power to go up against trumps corruption. and im so fucking afraid of how we'll joke ourselves right into our graves

[linneastarron]

never let me design an antagonistic woman for a story because i will in fact fall madly in love with her

[frenzity]

@jiwone offered... not necessarily sure it's a misconception, but what do you feel about the general fandom idea that susie is the nice one of legion, who was entirely dragged along by the others in their crimes? i see people tend to treat her like a victim & i'm curious how you feel about that!

oh boy, let's get into this.

so, i can see where the whole "susie is the nice one, she doesn't know what she's doing," comes from. more specifically, the part of the legion's backstory where it is pointed out that susie is the only member of the legion who doesn't stab the first person frank kills. i can see where someone would read that and think that susie maybe isn't on board with it.

this, however, leads to a slippery slope of a few things. A. robs susie of a lot of her own agency, because she does willingly take part in all of the other crimes the legion does, B. completely villainizes frank and julie in particular.

i cannot tell you how many posts i've seen where frank simply manipulates the entire legion and he's the truly horribly evil big bad, OR... julie is just as evil and bad as frank and helps in manipulating her best friend into a life she does not want.

this?? just feels so silly to me after a point. maybe if they all met in the fog, and susie had no choice but to kill as a killer... but that's simply not the case.

susie actively commits all the other crimes w/ the legion. she is not some victim who is not aware what they are doing is wrong. there is a point she crosses with the killing as well... where she doesn't care anymore.

as far as i'm aware, susie is only described as hesitating in literally that one instance. correct me if i'm wrong, but it feels a little silly to have the conclusion she actually wants to do none of this from that one line, right?... well, that's the thing. i don't think it comes from that one line.

it might be a little weird to say but, i honestly also think the fact susie dyes her hair pink, has A LOT of colors in her skins, is shy, and so forth, also adds to susie's infantilization by the fandom.

which happens with a lot of other female characters as well. like, yes, she's cute. she's adorable.

she is still fully aware of the fact she is a killer and is okay with that. it's taking simple things of her personality, and that one line in the backstory and turning that into that shes and uwu babey who frank abuses and who julie is horrible to for dragging her into all of this.

anyway. thats my rant. let susie have her damn colors and still murder survivors.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

tfw you keep trying to write up a concise Introduction of a Complex and Interesting Concept You Think About a Lot, getting distracted by an infodumping derail about The Breadth of the Subject, and running out of steam and having to start over ashdndmfb

[severepink]

Observing Adam

Where I go way too deep into something that probably isn't that deep. It's long, it's long as hell.

Okay, so you'd think with how Adam talks he's just a typical misogynist, right?

This man worships pussy. So much so, he's named a whole ass angel, one of his best, Vagina. You'd say that he objectifies them and thinks of them as being lesser, but I don't think that's the whole story. In fact, I think he might be the original simp.

All of these exorcists so far have been women. All of them. He refers to them as ladies or bitches interchangeably, he sees them as being completely capable of absolutely decimating leagues of some of the most vile beings who have ever existed, and they have, to the point it was only after thousands of years that there's been a risk to this hierarchy.

He's a self-centered, egotistical, loud-mouthed, arrogant asshole, no doubt about it, but I'm beginning to suspect something now.

If Adam and Lilith were created from the same dust, if they were created as equals, I am more than willing to bet... Lilith is also a self-centered, egotistical, arrogant asshole. But, she's likely far more intelligent, composed, and duplicitous.

Lilith was allowed to refuse Adam and leave of her own free will and garnered her own independence. A new wife was created for Adam, she was replaced. My guess, is she thought Adam wouldn't be able to live without her, to come back and find herself replaced entirely, she was enraged.

I believe both Adam and Lilith were both incredibly dominant individuals who fought over ideas, thoughts, and ultimately in the bedroom as well, if we take into account the creationist stories.

I'm willing to bet she likely manipulated Lucifer into twisting humanity against its original concept. What if Lucifer's intention truly was to just spark something within Eve, like independence and thought and creation, but it was Lilith's poison within the fruit that tainted her, then subsequently Adam, with sin.

Lilith thrived in hell, while Lucifer's dreams of creation were dashed. She didn't suffer as he did, instead the power of her voice grew with hell. Her voice grew so powerful that heaven found it to be a threat, her actions instigated the beginning of exterminations.

Charlie said that when she was a little girl, she didn't know Lucifer at all. I don't think this was because of Lucifer, he's seen here, picking her up, inviting her to share in his thoughts and dreams, showing her something wonderful. Something she could see within herself.

Charlie says that it's this moment that sparked her will to fight for her dreams. Which is strange, because at the very beginning of the story, Charlie says it was her mother's dream that was passed down to her.

Lilith took Charlie away. In this scene, Lucifer wasn't done showing Charlie his thoughts and dreams, he's still yearning to show his daughter these things at this point.

Lucifer loves his daughter. He loves Charlie so, so, so much. So why wasn't he allowed to build a relationship with his daughter for the longest time? He was waiting for the opportunity to get to know her, but with how much he adores her why didn't he do it sooner? He didn't comment on 'It took you a while-' he just said he missed her smile. They don't want to be pulled apart, again.

Now, we know Vivziepop has said that Lucifer and Lilith love each other, but Lilith 'wears the pants' in the relationship. We see all of the pictures all over the walls of a supposedly happy family. I don't think the relationship was as loving as originally portrayed and Lilith is a woman who desires control above all else. She likely tried to mitigate what influence Lucifer had over their daughter when she thought his angelic thoughts and behaviors became more than what she approved of.

Lets take it back to Adam and Lute for a moment. Again, Adam is a loud mouthed idiot, he's a jerk. The moment he realizes there are demons in heaven, he's ready to go on the attack. It's only because of Lute that he didn't end up doing something absolutely idiotic.

I gotta say, Lute and Adam's relationship is an absolutely fascinating one. He's a disrespectful dick head in how he talks, but how he acts is a different story. He allows Lute to man-handle him. He does listen to her, even if he's a whiny bitch about it.

Look at him, this is the face of a man listening, a dumb one, but a dude listening all the same. He doesn't manhandle her back, he doesn't even pull away until she lets go of his collar. Of all the shit he complained about, between being grabbed and being told what to do, his biggest complaint is that she's telling him to shush.

We know that Adam is the one who suggested the exterminations to begin with, so Sera says, and this was because of the power that Lilith was amassing. To him, Lilith is a threat. Even when he was willing to move on, to go to another wife when Lilith didn't want him or want to submit to him (fair babe, he's a bit of an idiot), she came back with an angel and proceeded to manipulate his new wife Eve. This is the supposed progenitor of man-kind, the original dick (hilariously enough), the reason civilization even exists at all. He and Eve had to fight for their lives after being tempted with the fruit. They had immortality, they had no ideas of shame, they were supposedly 'innocent' creatures before Lilith and Lucifer came along. He and Eve had to fight tooth and nail to survive after being cast from Eden. I think it shows in how willing and ready he is to take lead and do what he believes needs to be done, now out of a need for entertainment rather than a need to defend or protect. But, he still stopped to listen to Lute's advice. In the mythological story of Adam and Eve, Adam is the one who has to tell Eve that god said don't eat the fruit. Eve never heard god speak to her, so she was vulnerable to the snake's manipulations. She will now die because she ate it, and because she did not want Adam to take another wife, convinced him to eat it unknowingly. Funnily enough, Adam tried to explain to god that 'she lied to me and gave me the fruit' and in this actual mythology, Adam was punished for listening to his wife. Even without mentioning Lilith in the original mythology, Eve didn't want Adam to take another wife, so when we consider it within the context of Hazbin Hotel, it may be likely that's how it went down. Eve knew of Lilith, knew that she could be replaced, and decided that she would take Adam with her.

I believe that Adam does and did rely on the women in his life to help him with direction. I think Adam knows he can be an idiot and is willing to listen, even if he doesn't agree with what he's hearing. He did listen to Charlie in the beginning, he just didn't believe in her, like everyone else and he, out of anyone there, probably had the most reason not to. Cain and Abel were his and Eve's sons, his own child became the first murderer. Out of jealousy, the same kind of jealousy that no doubt has caused Lilith to act how she did. Adam isn't going to have empathy for sinners. His family, his legacy, were filled with the original sinners. He probably had to kill his son Cain in hell during the first exterminations. What do you think he would have had to feel, if it came to be a fact that sinners could be redeemed? That maybe his son, could've been redeemed? Or any of his progeny for that matter? How did it feel when his sons, his progeny, weren't given the same mercy as the Hellborn that Lucifer managed to keep protected through some deal with the angels or god? Not to mention that Charlie could've been his daughter. Charlie is the product of the people who completely and totally destroyed the paradise he'd been born into. She's the daughter who is protected and immune from the slaughter while all of his sons and daughters are judged and killed. I believe, even though he was a dickish prankster to Charlie, he was surprisingly patient and even somewhat amicable, willing to even ask her how her weekend was like he was just trying to get to know her.

Adam could just see all of the angels under his employ as being disposable. He doesn't have to name them, or think about them in any individual fashion. But, he knows Vaggie, recognized her instantly. Thought she was badass. Lute's the one who saw her, tore her wings off, and walked away. I'm surprised they even let her live, because this just goes against everything they're doing. They're an army and they saw one of their own showing empathy to the enemy.

Look at this dumb ass. He's being a shit-head, a dick, a bastard. But, he admires Vaggie's ability to pull Charlie, congratulates her, this dude isn't even judging her for being a lesbian. I don't think it's because he objectifies women, this dude loves women, he just does. He respects fellow vagina lovers. I don't think he respects liars in the slightest though. He's being underhanded, he's trying to be manipulative (he's not very good at it). I think he's brutally open and honest about everything and that's probably one of the reasons he's such a bastard anyways, because sometimes you just need to shut-up and he's not good at that.

I don't think he respects Sera for that either, he's more than willing to let others know what the hell he's doing, but under Sera's lead, he can't be open about it. I don't think it's his jam to act this way, it's why he sucks so bad at it and I think that's why Lilith is so antithetical to him. I also think that's why he's possibly even being manipulated.

It's kind of crazy that Adam is the only one who tries to come up with what allows someone to get into heaven. So here's his list: 1. Act Selfless: Maybe at one point he was! He had to have been, to be one of the progenitors of mankind, he would have had to work, sacrifice, and give to his wife and children for them all to survive. Eve would have had to do the same, no doubt. He may not seem selfless, due to his raunchy behavior, but he's served heaven since he's been there. He's served humanity in some kind of facet. 2. Don't Steal: Considering the only other humans are his spawn, he likely had to try and get them to not steal from one another for them all to have an equal opportunity of survival. He and Eve likely both knew they would need to work together to survive.

3. Stick it to the man: This, however, is interesting. Who is 'The Man' he speaks of? God? The only other people over him or were equal to him were women. He speaks like a rocker, and I think in this case he's using the term 'The Man' in a gender neutral way. I think he allowed some amount of Authority to Lilith when they were supposed to be seen as equals, it comes so naturally to him as a character when it comes to the other women he's been interacting with. I think she is the 'man' that he's been sticking it to- Pun somewhat intended. ((This third one may also simply be a tongue in cheek reference to when Alex Brightman played Dewey in School of Rock on Broadway! Thank you to the user who brought this to my attention!))

Adam is a bit of a hypocrite, isn't he? He likes to fuck, he's made that abundantly clear. Full of lust you could say. It was his original purpose after all, and he is judging Angel Dust for something he probably would've done himself at one point or has considered doing (maybe not the having sex with men part). Angel Dust does all of these things, Adam doesn't even deny it. He even looks nervous. He's angry, but doesn't deny that Angel has done those things. He doesn't explain it away or try to lie or move the goal posts, he's just asking what is an actually very valid question.

Why isn't Angel Dust there if he can do things equal to what Adam himself hasn't done? Serenity continues that line of thought. It isn't until Charlie is realizing no one knows what it takes to get into heaven.

Adam is more than willing to let Lute take the lead here, he's willing to give her the stage to clap back, he's giving her back-up antics. By all means, they could be pushing and fighting one another, there could easily be body language expressing something other than their general comfort around one another. They aren't fighting for a spotlight like you'd expect Adam to try and do considering his egotistical attitude.

Adam fucking sucks at keeping his mouth shut and he sucks at lying. He nearly blew the secret out of the bag once, this time, Sera is the only one who tries to stop him and to be honest? Lute looks a bit too thrilled at it. He knows he fucked up, but he doesn't think it's a big deal that anyone would know. For fucks sake, they've already condemned souls, his progeny, to suffer. What's the big deal if he kills them?

I have to re-iterate what's happening here. Charlie is proud she caused this chaos, that she caused these angels to fight amongst themselves, even if in this case it's a good thing. But, this is like history repeating itself to Adam, the reflection of his ex-wife, entering his domain, causing strife among his people, being happy about it.

And the venom he expresses when it comes to the 'liar' portion, god Alex Brightman destroyed when he got to this portion specifically. There is some vehement disgust in his tone when he says liar.

Adam isn't a good person now. But, I think he used to be a good person. By all means, Adam himself could've been the first murderer when his wife made her mistake. He, at one point in time, had to have been good enough to foster civilization itself with Eve. Both good and bad. Adam's original purpose was to be fruitful and multiply. Ordained by god (or maybe just angels) himself, divine power directed and created him to fuck. He didn't chase his ex-wife down, he was given a new one, Lilith was allowed to leave. When he left things alone, when he tried to move on, his ex-wife and a scorned angel destroyed the paradise he was in with Eve. He had to struggle and toil, he had to feel shame in his own body. He had to find out his first born son was the first murderer. His second son killed. We don't know if this is going to be canon in the story, a lot has changed, and if Adam is the first soul who reached heaven, then what did happen to Abel? Was Abel considered a sinner? Or did Cain kill Abel after Adam had passed? Either way, he had to witness his children kill, he had to watch his descendants behave in a range from saints and monsters. He's seen genocides, he's seen famine, war. Adam is desensitized to the plights of his descendants. Maybe he even saw it as a duty to cleanse the universe of their existence at one point, because they were his responsibility.

At the end of this episode, he is properly scolded by Sera and does seem ashamed of himself. He isn't huffy, he is reminded that he should be ashamed of acting that way.

I love Lute's enthusiasm, she's absolutely brutal when talking about Vaggie and with how she handled Vaggie. I think it's funny that Lute is so brutal she's even made Adam uncomfortable. It's cute that he's made uncomfortable by the excitement and all he does is tell Lute, the premier hype woman over here, to chill. She's so proud of herself too, look at her.

He fully expects these exorcist bad bitches to go in there and fuck shit up. But, you know it's hilarious that he's throwing horns? This dude, this angel. First human soul in heaven, loving rock n' roll, the devil's music, and throwing motherfucking horns. It's poetic really. I think we can probably assume where things are going.

Now, this is the first point we've seen Adam being a real piece of shit to Lute. I don't think Adam likes it when people think he's too dumb to notice something, especially something so damn obvious. This is such a drastic moment of vitriolic, uncontrolled anger directed towards Lute. Adam knows he isn't the brightest tool in the shed. He likely knows he's obtuse and misses shit. It's why he sucks at lying, he knows he's not smart. That is why I think he's afforded women opportunities to direct him without fighting back against their advice and their choices. I'm sure Lilith made it obvious how dumb she thinks Adam is. I'm wondering if this might be where their ground breaking fight might've come from. Who's to say he didn't allow Lilith to take the lead, or listen to her like he's done with Lute here and now? Perhaps to an even greater point? He listened to Eve and ate from the fruit of knowledge and he was punished for it. Being seen as so dumb he can't formulate a simple fact is a sore spot for him.

Adam is incredibly powerful. It took a bit out of him to exercise that power, probably because he's out of practice just like Lucifer said. At one point, he probably wasn't so sloppy and weak willed. He's gotten lazy. Sloth like.

I think it got real personal here. How viscerally and personally he attacked Charlie. No one but Charlie truly thought sinners could be redeemed, or that they were even worth it. Not even one of the original sinners. Maybe he never considered the possibility, maybe what happened really did make him see the world as black and white to cope with that happened to him, his wife, his children. Charlie's desire to fight this idea would destroy the foundation for all of his coping through the years. He stopped seeing them as family, even though he's grandiose about his founding role in humanity. Does that itch the guilt that may lurk under the surface?

I don't think Adam thought much of Charlie at all. I don't think he had any intention of coming to kill her in the beginning, despite seeing her, despite who her parents were. But, I think with the constant push, with how eager she was to disrupt the pre-conceived idea of order, it reminded Adam and reflected her parents so much, he was eager to kill her for revenge against them. I think this electrical interference on the mask is a direct reflection of sin. Namely, wrath, in this moment.

Now, this. THIS. Is something that made me want to write this whole fucking essay. Is Lucifer implying that he not only gave Eve the Fruit from the tree of knowledge, but FUCKED HER TOO? Homies, I'm sorry but holy shit. That is some hydrating tea. I'd be pretty pissed too, fucked over twice by women who were supposed to be literal soul mates, who you were made for, who were made for you?

I knew he would have a goatee, I could almost hear it. I gotta say, I'm a sucker for how he looks. I think he's hot. He is a bastard, but so are a lot of the hot dudes in this show. It's just a theme.

This exact series of lines prompted so many of the thoughts that I had about Adam and why he thinks or acts the way he does. At one point, Adam did have to work himself to the bone and learn to survive from scratch alongside Eve. He isn't entirely without cause to not think that he deserves some respect or recognition from his descendants.

But, that doesn't give him the right to act like god himself. It's... well... Blasphemous. Isn't it? One of the worst sins is to think yourself to be worthy of worship, as if you're a god.

This is the moment that gave me empathy for them both. You could probably see the kind of loving person Adam could have been at one point with how he looks at Lute, even as he's laying there, dying. He's not crying like a bitch, just looking at Lute softly. Lute screaming for him, screaming his name. They cared for each other deeply.

And this... and this.... and this. WHAT DEAL DID YOU MAKE, LILITH? Did you make it with Sera? Did you make it with Adam? Did you make it with Lute? Did you really just want a little 'vacay' away from the hell you helped create? Left her husband, depressed and lonely. Left her daughter without any care or guidance. Maybe Alastor was sent in her place, perhaps? Seven years since he was seen after all, but why wouldn't he show up sooner if Lilith did care? Did she make a deal with Lute and Adam? Did she let Adam smash it so she could stay in heaven? Did Lute let her stay in exchange for getting Adam out of a position of power? Or was it maybe Sera who commissioned Lilith with a deal? Either way, I'm in full belief that it wasn't Adam's idea to move the extermination day up. I think he's a patsy, a scapegoat. I think Lute may have been manipulated, potentially, into manipulating Adam into this position. Was it even really Adam who came up with the idea to do the exterminations? Or was he the one who simply decided to fight originally because he was told heaven was at risk due to Lilith's rising power? The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions. I think it could be any number of these. Either way, Lute certainly does think she had authority over Lilith. Is it Lute just having hubris? Or is Lilith truly bound, just like Alastor, Husk, and Angel Dust?

Of course, now that we know a soul can be redeemed... and we certainly know that angels can fall. I don't think this will be the last we see of Adam.

[clairethekiwi]

Me when the guy I like turns out to be misogynistic

[tleeaves]

”this book is a reimagining of hades and persephone as-” it’s the final month of 2023 as a society we need to move on and fast.

[katszumi]

“have you seen the abs on that man?” hagakure sat across of you. “sexy on a stick, i swear!” she giggles. she was going on and on about the guy that starred in the superman movie you girls put on last night. henry cavill was his name.

mina agrees with her statement with a nod. “he’s the hottest white man i’ve ever seen before.”

“sure, he was hot, but are we forgetting the misogynist comments he’s made? sexy is one thing, but being controversial is a whole ‘nother thing.” uraraka inserted her input.

“oh, please. i’d cook and clean for him anyday he asks.” mina retorted. both uraraka and yaoyorozu shake their head in shame.

“speaking of controversial.” uraraka murmurs under her breath, you peer over your shoulder, wondering the intent of her statement.

you notice bakugou making his way over to your desk, his eyes planted on you and you only. you shift uncomfortably. why the hell would he be coming to you? did you do something?

once he makes his way to your desk, you look up at him with a half smile.

“hey, bakugou. what’s up?”

his eyes analyze the other girls before looking back down on you.

“my pencil?”

you flutter your lashes at him. “pencil..?” you repeated in a trance of confusion.

he groans. “the fuckin’ pencil i gave you last week. i need it back.”

now it all clicks. you nod, laughing nervously because of your stupidity. you reach in your backpack and grab the black mechanical pencil that you forgot to lend back to bakugou.

your arm extends to the male in front of you, waiting for him to snatch it back.

“sorry.”

he gently grasped onto the pencil, his hand brushing against your fingers for a small moment.

“it’s whatever. just rather not be the one to find you after i lent you something.” he shoved the pencil in his pants pockets, leaving his hands in there. “that’s one of the last pencils i have.”

you shoot your eyebrows up in defense, quickly lowering them after. your eyes falling down to your desk for comfort.

“well, hope you take care of that one.” it was a half-joke. a lame one, might you add. you were just unsure on what to say. especially since it seemed like bakugou was lingering around your desk. as if he didn’t want to return to his seat just yet.

“so, what’d you score on your test?”

“ah…it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t horrible.”

“well?” was he really desperate to know that bad? you knew bakugou was smart, so he probably only wanted to know so it could boost his ego.

you rubbed your arm out of shame. “a seventy-nine.” you stared at his face to recognize any humility or laughter, but there was none.

he shrugged. “should’ve asked for my help if you needed it.”

right. you almost forgot that bakugou offered to help you study and go over notes with him for the next test. it was such an out-of-bakugou thing to do that you nearly didn’t take him serious.

you nodded slowly, processing his information.

“i was planning on making it up, so maybe for that.”

“fine.” his short one-worded response was dull. but what else did you really expect? “next time, don’t steal my pencil.” was his last comment before leaving your presence.

you sat in your thoughts, reeling the conversation back in your mind. what the hell just happened? it was the most simple yet confusing conversation you’ve ever had. was bakugou joking with you or was he seriously irritated with the pencil situation?

regardless, you made a mental note that bakugou was very protective over his mechanical pencils.

once bakugou returned to his seat, he unzipped his backpack, secretly opening his pencil box. within the box were a collection of pencils. there were so many pencils that he could give one to all of class 1a and 1b and still have few left.

aside sat denki who was clearly peeking inside of bakugou’s bag.

“damn, bakubro. you saving up pencils for a potential pencil outage or something?” it’s denki. of course, he never used his inside voice.

“i will literally blow you out this fuckin’ window and across the lot.” bakugou turns his head immediately, a faint pink blush spreading across the apples of his cheek.

bakugou just didn’t want you to know that the pencil was obviously an excuse to talk to you.

pt 2 of the study sesh

[reiderwriter]

Little Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid × virgin!fem reader

Genre: SMUT, some fluff, a little tiny smidge of angst. MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: As the youngest and most innocent member of the BAU, they all take care of their little angel. When they find out just how innocent you are, though, one member takes his possession to the next level. You're his little angel, and he's determined to have you.

Warnings: loss of virginity, loss of innocence, degradation, pet names, oral sex, thigh riding, fingering, cum marking, love bites, Spencer is territorial and possessive, Dom! Spencer Reid, PinV sex, mentions breeding, but he pulls out.

A/N: We've reached Day 8 of kinktober! It's our second "long" fic, meaning there's a bit more plot to this, and the smut scene is longer too (WC is almost 7k!) I hope you love this one just as much as I did... The kinktober masterlist can be found here, and my regular masterlist is here too! If you want something specific, my requests are open ❤️

Your first three months with the BAU were a blur, and for good reason. Endless cases, back-to-back, interrupted only by the slight hint of a weekend or the ever possible death row interview. You were tired, stressed, and afraid to walk home alone at night, and absolutely satisfied. As far as you were concerned, it was all worth it to get these monsters off the streets, to help save their victims and to find out what made them tick. There was nothing else you'd rather be doing. 

The team had helped you settle in well, too. You'd joined the team after Alex Blake had left - she'd recommended you actually from the college seminars you'd taken with her. You were obviously lacking a bit of experience, so they took on two team members, and you and Kate Callahan had the great opportunity of both being the newbie. But you had a slight disadvantage of age, coming in as the youngest member of the team. You thought that might be why you'd settled in so well, in all honesty. 

Hotch and Rossi were both protective in a fatherly way. Hotch pushed you and Rossi encouraged you and that was everything you needed from them. A strong pat on the back at the end of a case and a "you did good, kid," and whatever hell they'd pushed you through, it was worth it. Morgan's tough love was brotherly, but he did a great job at getting you to relax on and off the case, reminding you to not take the work home. JJ and Kate were great mentors. It wasn't easy being women in the FBI, let alone the unit that specifically looked into some of the most misogynistic killings, rapes and abductions in the world. They both gave you tips about how to handle condescending officers, and JJ had held your hair back after you'd puked your guts up on a particularly harrowing day in the field. With Penelope, friendship was easy, and you loved talking to her about whatever hyperfixation you were on that week, loving that there was someone on your team that had filled their life with genuine joy in the face of so much horror. 

And Spencer. Honestly, you were beginning to think that you'd used Spencer as a human stuffed toy a bit too much. 

You don't know how it happened at first, just that after one of your first few cases, you'd been so elated to find a victim alive, safe but traumatised, that you'd thrown yourself into his arms the minute you got back to the precinct. 

"We did it, I thought she was going to be dead, Spencer but she isn't." Your head was pressed into his chest, you were almost surprised he even heard them, muffled as they were. If you weren't so elated, you'd have noticed the way he'd stiffened at your touch, panicking slightly before awkwardly wrapping his arms around you, too. But you pulled away before you could notice that he wasn't really used to any physical comfort, bouncing off to write up your case report. 

Spencer noticed, though. Noticed how the heat of your body made him feel comforted, the way his heart rate increased to 125 BPM from it's base rate and didn't fall back to normal for another half hour. He noticed that you smelt like jasmine and patchouli, and more importantly, he noticed that he didn't really care if you touched him, and that was new. 

It became a kind of ritual for you, finding him after a case and folding into his arms to celebrate. They were friendly hugs, after all, a sign that you'd been through hell together, and you'd made it through like avenging angels. They only lingered longer when the cases went badly. You turned to crying in his arms after you'd discovered the body of a dead street girl, Veronica, in pieces in the house of an unsub who'd committed suicide by cop moments earlier. 

"I told her she'd be safe if she talked to us, Reid. I told her we'd protect her, that I'd protect her." You were so hurt by that failure that he'd had to drive you home that night, holding your hand the entire way so you didn't feel so alone, left to fester in your guilt. 

The rest of the team had begun teasing you about the hugs, but you'd brushed them off. You hugged everyone else too, and you knew for a fact that Penelope hugged every member of the team, so there was nothing special going on between you and Spencer. No one had deigned to inform you of Spencer's germophobia and aversion to touch. 

"Gonna tell me what that's all about?" Morgan asked Spencer as you bounced away from a hug one day, leaving to remove your FBI vest. 

"What what's all about?" He replied coldly, turning away to remove his own vest, replacing it with his blazer. 

"What, you don't have a statistic for how many germs are passed between people during a hug, Kid, come on, you were practically smelling her hair." The older man's eyebrows raised in a question again, but Spencer continued to blow him off. 

"I hug people all the time, it's not a big deal." He shrugged. 

"It took you four years to return one of Penelope's hugs, and you still only do that on special occasions. That's not all the time." 

"Derek, just drop it. There's nothing going on, she just… She just does it sometimes." 

It was when you'd hugged him in the middle of the office, without a case to use as an excuse, that you noticed an underlying tension in the office. You were all celebrating, of course, Callahan had just announced her pregnancy, and you were all so happy for her. You'd heard the happy news and instantly turned and thrown yourself into Spencer's arms. Even you weren't sure why, not even questioning it until you saw the awkward glances on the other profilers' faces. You brushed it off by rushing to give each of them hugs, and running out in a mad flush, needing air, or water or something to get you out of what was looking more and more like an interrogation room. 

A few cases later, the entire team headed to O'Keefe's to celebrate. 

"To another case successfully solved," Morgan toasted, and you all joined him, lifting your glasses in triumph. 

"To the wonders of non-alcoholic beer," chimed in Kate, leaving you all laughing together. The booth was small, and as usual, you'd found yourself sat right in the arms of Spencer Reid. You hadn't intended it, honestly, having slightly avoided him recently, but you'd followed Penelope into her side of the circular table, and Reid had followed you. You were sat squished between them, your arms resting awkwardly on your lap between drinks. 

"Okay, a night of drinking is slightly boring without some games to spice things up, what do you say, hot chocolate?" Penelope said, addressing Morgan who was on her other side. 

"I'm all ears, baby girl. What were you thinking?" 

"How about twenty questions? We already know a lot about each other, let's see what we don't know?" Kate suggested, thriving off of the knowledge that as the sole sober member present, she'd hold all the cards tomorrow. 

"What, how is asking questions a game?" Reid questioned jokingly from beside you. "That's just an interrogation or a therapy session, there's no winner or loser."  

Already slightly buzzing from your drink, you turned to him and out your fingers in his lips, shushing him. 

"No time for logic in matters of the bottle, Spencer. Let's play." He pulled your fingers off him, but nodded, holding them in his grip still as you turned back to the table. 

"I'll start! JJ, are you and Will thinking of having more baby LaMontagne's?" Penelope jumped at the chance to probe her teammate, and you laughed at her enthusiasm. 

"There have been discussions, but I'll not confirm or deny yet." JJ said, taking a sip of her drink as she slyly avoided a direct answer. 

"I always forget why you were so good with the press, Miss No Answers. Okay, your turn to ask a question." 

"Okay, Morgan. Are you thinking of popping the question to Savannah anytime soon?" 

"Did she send you?" He laughed and took a drink. "If I do, she'll be the first to know." 

The game went back and forth like this for a few rounds before Penelope turned the spotlight back to you. 

"Okay, Y/N. You were a college student recently, I know you've got some wild stories. Where's the craziest place you've ever done it?" You knew Penelope didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. She was just an open person. 

But you shifted in your seat nonetheless, trying to figure out if you could answer or even if you would. Your tongue was a bit looser than you expected though, because before you could even finish thinking you just blurted it out. 

"Nowhere." 

The others blinked at you slightly before Penelope dived in with another question. 

"Is that Nowhere, Oaklahoma, or you're just not having sex in crazy places?" 

"No. I'm not… I'm not having sex. Period. Never have." You felt yourself shrink as the other members of the team awkwardly apologised for probing you so much. Really it wasn't that big of a deal, and it wasn't as if you were saving it for religious or moral reasons. But you'd not been the most popular teenager, and you'd started studying serial killers and sociopaths so early that you really hadn't wanted to get so intimate with someone else like that. 

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer's grip on his own drink had tightened ever so slightly, his heart race had picked up again, and suddenly the hand that was holding yours suddenly let you go, quietly dropping your fingers like they were glowing cinders, and he was dripping in gasoline, waiting to ignite. 

Lust. He felt sick with himself for the images that were suddenly flashing through his mind now that he knew you'd never been held in that way, trying not to fantasise about you underneath him, holding him, begging him, feeling all of him. He took another swig of his drink and politely excused himself to get another as he let himself catch some air, as the sudden realization that he wanted you - and had wanted you for quite some time now - finally hit him.

The next couple of weeks were normal, and you were thankful to have that discussion behind you. No one treated you differently, acted like you were more of a child than before, asked you how your dating life was or set you up on blind dates, which was really refreshing actually. You'd let some friends know previously, and that's all they'd done, surprised that you could live ignorant to wonders of sex without shrivelling up and dying. 

The only thing that was different was Spencer. And that wasn't really difference so much as growing more comfortable with each other. He'd rest his hand on the small of your back now in support sometimes, or have a hand slung over the back of your chair when sitting together. He was constantly at your side, especially if you were around male suspects or officers who'd taken a bit of a ballsy approach. 

You liked it, probably a bit too much. You gravitated towards him in a room filled with people, and found yourself hugging him more often, when you left a room, when you entered one, when he looked like he needed it. Which, recently, was all the time. A month went by with this increased comfort level, and soon you found yourself feeling wrong if his hands weren't on you. 

He stood close to you all the time, and you noticed the stares you were getting from everyone else. A few officers who'd approach you would apologise to him when they noticed him at your back, hand on your hip as he pulled you away. 

After one case, you could even swear that you felt more than him than you were expecting. He'd moved away slightly in between one of your hugs, but you'd pulled his arms back around you and stepped closer, pressing your back against his chest, letting your head rest on his arms. Something hard and long wedged up against your ass, and in a split second he was pulling away before you could ask him about it. He excused himself, and you felt your body burn up. It was Spencer, it was just Spencer and that wasn't because of you, it was some other reason. 

Spencer didn't know what he was doing. He grew more possessive over you by the day, and he'd honestly nearly bitten the head off an officer who asked him for your number. 

"Sorry, she doesn't have a phone." 

"But I saw her with one earlier. Look I get it she's FBI, and you guys are-" 

"Okay, so she's not interested."

"Hey, why don't you let her decide that wise guy?" 

"Oh sure, get angry I'm sure she'd love that. She's not interested, she has me." He couldn't help himself from getting in the officers face at that, and Morgan had to pull him back from the edge. 

"Wow, wow, hey, calm down." The officer stormed out, and he felt triumphant for only a second before Morgan rounded on him. 

"Whatever this thing you've got going on, Spencer, you need to get it out of your system as soon as possible." His voice was low and stern, throwing a glance over his shoulder to where you were sitting, staring confusedly through the glass at Spencer, whose eyes refused to move from your own. 

" I just wanted him to back off, she doesn't like him like that."

"No, you wanted him to back off because you've marked her like some animal marking its territory. She's not your prey, Spencer, she's our team member, now you're gonna have to get your act together and leave her alone, because we've got work to do." 

Sighing and throwing his hands through his hair again, he finally looked away from you and gathered his breath. He wanted to stop this too, this horrible perverted feeling of needing his hands on you, wanting to possess you day and night. To protect you. He just wasn't sure if he was strong enough to do that. 

The next time you all went to O'Keefe's he certainly tried. You expected him to follow you into the booth again - he didn't, sitting opposite you next to JJ. You expected him to talk to you or look at you for more than a second at a time - he didn't, avoiding most conversations entirely and keeping his eyes fixed on the bar. You certainly expected him to still be sat at the table when you returned from the bathroom, ready to slip into the seat beside him, force him to talk to you. Instead he was gone, and you scanned the rest of the bar trying to locate him. 

Something green and vile jumped you when you finally locked onto him, stood at the bar, surrounded by other women. Surrounded was maybe an exaggeration, as there were really only two of them, but they were practically draping themselves over him, and for some reason that set something alight inside of you. 

You watched them for a moment, how one of them trailed a hand up his arm as he shuddered away from their touch, the other pressing herself against the bar so her chest pushed up dramatically. The green bile in your throat carried your feet forwards, and before you knew it, you were clearing it from your throat to grab their attentions. 

"Spencer, there you are!" You brightened your tone specifically, as you locked eyes with his panicked ones. The two girls looked you up and down as you moved closer, brushing past them to climb up right into his lap on the barstool, pulling his arm around you as you pressed your ass into his crotch. 

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?" The smile didn't reach your eyes as you let your back rest against his chest comfortably, watching the women to see their reactions. The one touching him pulled her arm back instantly, and the other readjusted her dress before they both left silently, carrying their glasses back to wherever they came from. 

You watched them leave a little triumphantly before the green faded, and you realised what you had done. 

"Y/N…?" His voice was hesitant in your ear, and you shivered slightly before pushing off of him. 

"I'm so sorry, Spence, it just- it… looked like you were hard." You panicked again, pushing closer to him. "No, like you were in a hard situation, not that you were," your hand accidentally dropped to his crotch as you spoke your final words: "Hard."

He twitched beneath you as you finally looked down to where your hand was, as his mouth opened to say something. 

"Y/N…" was all you heard before you turned around, and fast walked to the entrance, picking your bag up quickly on the way, and then sprinted the second the cold air hit your face. 

You cursed yourself inwardly as you ran the three blocks more to your apartment, thankful that you were at least in walking (or apparently running) distance. What the hell had you been thinking? Practically sexually harassing one of your coworkers like that, grabbing his dick, albeit accidentally. 

You slammed your door shut behind you, leaning against it and sliding to the floor as you finally accepted that whatever this was with Reid, it wasn't friendship for you anymore. And you weren't sure if it had ever been. 

With your head between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you started replaying each moment with him, each touch from the very first. How even the memory of a brush past you could excite a fire in your heart, a heat between your legs growing by the second. 

You wanted to crawl pathetically into bed and not think about him until the next morning at work,  but fate, or Doctor Spencer Reid, had other plans. 

The knock at your door was sudden and incessant, the banging starting loud, and staying consistent until you tentatively pulled it open. 

He was stood there, chest heaving, looking down at you, sweat coating his forehead. 

"Can I… Come in?" He asked, and you nodded, too stunned at his sudden appearance to tell if this was real or just your fantasy becoming a little too realistic. 

He thanked you for letting him inside, and you showed him inside, guiding him to he couch, where you took a seat opposite him. 

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, you left in a rush and…" He trailed off, eyes flicking down to your lips. His Adam's apple bobbed with his swallow, and you watched it yourself, trying to avoid meeting his eyes, as if you were a schoolgirl about to get in trouble with a disappointed teacher. 

"I'm okay." 

"Okay, that's great, that's… Great." His breaths caught up to him, and he took another deep breath and a swallow before continuing. "How about we continue that game from last time. Twenty questions?" 

You'd do anything to stop him walking out of that door, but you felt too shy to touch him again, even in the friendly ways you were used to, so you eagerly accepted. 

"Yes, that… That sounds fun, thank you." 

"Okay. Question one. Do you know why I'm here?" He asks as he shifts closer to you, still not touching, but at a proximity where it would be natural to accidentally brush against one another. 

"N-No. But I might have an idea." He nodded at your response before moving on to his next question. 

"Question two. Are you a virgin?" He didn't trip or stumble over the words, pushing them out slowly and delicately so as not to offend. 

"Yes." The lump in your throat was thick, almost as if he'd put something there that you couldn't help but choke on. 

"Question three. Do you want to remain a virgin?" 

You shook your head no, following it with your voice seconds later as he stood up from his seat, putting some distance between you. 

"Question four. Do you feel intoxicated or drunk right now?" He held himself still as you sat on the very edge of your chair, desperate to feel his hands on you now. 

"No, I only had one sip at the bar before…" He held up a hand to silence you, and you did. 

Question five. Answer me honestly. Do you like it when I touch you?" 

"Yes." Your breath was a whisper, but it was breathy, sounding almost pornographic in your neediness. 

"Question six. Do you like it when other people touch you?" 

"Do you?" His head snapped back to yours, and you froze under his gaze. "Not as much." You answered and relaxed again, pouting slightly at his lack of answer. 

"Question seven. Do you like me touching other people?" He took a step closer to you again with this question, but you continued pouting as you shook your head. 

"No. I don't." His lips quirked upwards before he could stop them, but he gathered himself together again. 

"Question eight. Do you want me to leave?" You met his eyes at that question, taking one good, hard, long look at him. You noted the tensed jaw, the clenched fists, his stiff body language, trailing your eyes over him before looking him directly in the eyes. 

"No." You let the word hang on your tongue, pulling it out a bit longer than was necessary as you watched him take in a shaky breath. 

"Question nine. Do you want me to come over there and kiss you?" 

"God, yes." He was on you in seconds, restraints gone, throwing himself back at you as his lips collided with your own. Virgin you may be, but you'd kissed men before, and it had been nothing like this. 

His hands trailed up to your hair, tipping your head back slightly so he could gain better access. He bit your lip and thrust his tongue into your mouth when you gasped, so eager to consume every part of you whole. 

You'd never felt like this before. 

He pulled away, and you tried desperately to chase his lips, even as your lungs begged you to stop. 

"Last question," he whispered in the space between you, holding the sides of your face at a distance so neither of you could be tempted to dive in for a second kiss, or a third, or fourth. "Do you want me to fuck you?" You whimpered at his words, nodding furiously as you tried to lunge at him again, but he held you firm. 

"I need you to say your answer, baby. I need to hear your consent, okay?" You nod again and open your mouth, eyes never leaving his lips as you moan out a definitive "yes."

Instead of letting your lips fall against his again, he lunges for you, grabbing your legs and hauling you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style all the way back to your bedroom. 

"Gonna do it right," he mutters to himself as he throws you down on the bed, pulling back to take off his jacket and unbutton the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves up meticulously. 

"I'm going to take care of you, Y/N, okay?" You nod at him and flush, suddenly feeling the strength of his need for you as he holds himself back. He puts his hands on you again, gently coaxing your legs apart, pushing your skirt up over your hips. Reflexively, you move your hands over yourself, covering your sensitive places with your hands. 

"Don't cover yourself." His voice is strong, deep, as he orders you, and you let your arms drop back to your side. He traces his hands up and down your legs, almost as if he were memorising every inch of your skin, how you felt under his hands. 

His hands make their way up to your panties, and you watch with baited breath as he moves you, pulling your hips up so he can let them fall down. The lace material tickles you as he pushes them past your thighs, over your knees and finally off your legs entirely, balling them up and putting them in his pocket. 

"I'm going to touch you now, okay?" He asks it like a question, but he doesn't wait for your answer, unable to hold himself back before diving straight between your legs, so desperate to taste you that he's deaf to everything else. 

His tongue connects with your sensitive area first, tracing up and down at a steady pace as his legs half-heartedly push your legs open. It's almost as if he's enjoying the pressure of your legs wrapped around him, suffocating between your thighs as he feels your pleasure build, and build. 

Eventually he pushes your hips further apart, letting himself push his face into even more of you, his tongue entering your hole as he begins fucking it in and out of you, fingers coming back up to your clit to keep up the pressure there. 

"Spencer, please, please, fuck." 

"I love it when you beg for me like a needy little slut," he whispers, holding your legs apart as he looked up at you, face slick with your arousal. Your mouth drops wide at his words, and he immediately begins to retract them. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N, if that was too far, I just got caught up -" 

"I liked it." You said, quieting him as you spread your legs a bit further apart, begging for him to continue. He smiled and dived right back in, bringing his other hand up under your dress, all the way to your chest as you kept your legs open yourself. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth, lapping up all the juices you were releasing as you moaned underneath him, bucking into his face at the memory of his degradation. 

You were a needy little slut, and you needed him to make you cum. He was more than happy to oblige. 

He kept you there for what felt like forever, drinking you in for as long as he could. You orgasmed twice before he finished, completely overstimulated by the way he was desperately fucking you with his mouth. 

He was obsessed with you, with your scent, your taste, with being the first ever person to ever touch you like this, to fuck you, to make you feel so good. Without him even realising, you're pushed to the brink for a second time, shuddering under the heat of his mouth as he drinks you in. 

He finally pulls his head up again, coming up for air as you're twitching under him. 

"Perfect, baby, so perfect for me." His lips fall down to your own, and suddenly you're tasting yourself on his tongue. It's hypnotising, and despite the pleasure you've just received, you need more, desperate to feel him on you again. 

When he pulls his mouth away, he replaces himself with his fingers, pushing them into your mouth. 

"Suck," he says and you listen, as he watches the way you lick yourself off of him. 

He unzips your dress with his free hand, carefully pulling your arms out of the sleeves and pushing your dress off your body. You trace your tongue around every ridge of his fingers, leaving no inch undiscovered. He moved you to pull the dress of, and you graciously followed, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. 

"Nice little slut, tasting herself on my fingers?" He whispered when you were finally bare, pulling his fingers from your mouth, letting the trail of spit hang between you as you moaned. 

He removed himself from over you, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. 

"Come here. Come and sit on my lap." 

You cautiously followed his directions. You'd thought that he'd fuck you then, after spending so long getting you ready, but apart from his tie, which he was in the middle of discarding as you crawled over to him, he hadn't derobed any further. 

"That's it baby, come and sit yourself down right here." He pat his thigh and you crawled over, lowering yourself down onto his clothed leg. 

"What now, Spencer?" You stuttered the words out, heart beating as you awaited his instructions. 

"Now, I want you to rock your hips back and forth. Just like this." He grabbed your hips and started moving you against his leg, pushing you down to grind into him. 

"Spencer, wait, I don't know-" 

"I do. I know you can do it, so please try. For me." You pulled you in for a kiss, and then removed his hands from you, leaving you to rock against his thigh. 

You were unsure of the movements at first, moving slowly as you dragged your aching cunt up and down the top of his pants, watching as you saw the wet patch you were making. You moaned with each movement, growing faster and more confident as you continued. 

"That's it baby, use me to get yourself off, okay? Let me see you." He whispered in your ears, pushing your sweat-slicked hair ou of your face, holding it up for you. 

"Spencer please," you don't even know what you're asking for as you beg him, feeling that familiar bubble in your stomach grow. 

"No, you can do it. You look so beautiful like this, Y/N, so desperate for my cock, huh?" You start trying to unbutton his shirt, desperate to see more of him, to feel more of his bare skin on your own. But he stops your hands and holds them against his chest. 

"You need to ask nicely first, before trying to undress me like a needy little whore." The words should sound violent, should humiliate you, but his voice is so soft you simply move faster, moaning and desperate to cum one more time. 

"Fuck, Spencer, I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" 

"No, you're not." Before you finish, he pulls you off his leg, hauling your body back onto the bed, and laying you back down on your back. You moan in disapproval, so frustrated with the lack of release that you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

"Don't cry, baby. I'll give you what you want soon." He practically rips his clothes off, pulling his vest over his head, stumbling over each button and removing his belt and pants before climbing over to you. His cock finally free you take your first glance at it. 

You'd never entirely been sure how it was that the male appendage fit inside something as small as your pussy, and you were doubly unsure about how Spencer's was ever going to fit inside you. You stared at it wide eyed, as you took in the length, the girth, and the heat of it as he stroked it in one hands, pushing on top of you. 

He let go of it as soon as he was between your legs, letting it fall onto your stomach as he crawled between your legs. He trailed a finger over your lower abdomen just around where his cock was twitching against you as his other hand came up to stroke your hair. 

"You look worried, Y/N, what's wrong?" 

"Will it, um, will it fit?" You asked, knowing how cliché you sounded. 

"We've spent the last thirty-seven minutes loosening you up with foreplay. It should fit, but I can't promise it won't hurt."

"Right, if my hymen is still intact you have to…" 

"That's right. And then it's going to reach all the way in you to here," with each word, he stepped his fingers up from your clit to where the tip of his dick sat on your stomach, letting you come to terms with exactly how full you were about to be. 

"I'm going to fill you, and you're going to be mine, and I'm going to be yours. My sweet angel." He stroked your face, catching his thumb on your lips on the way down, tempted to thrust it into your mouth again, to see just how much of a whore you could be, given the chance. 

Instead, he lined himself up with your dripping core, and, making sure one last time that this is what you wanted, slowly pushed in. 

It was uncomfortable at first, having something so wholly alien inside of you, you weren't sure how to react. You wrapped your arms around him, digging your nails in, deep, as he pushed in further. 

"Y/N, I need to move more now, and it's going to hurt a little, you just have to trust me, okay?" He kissed the top of your head, but you were so lost in the sensations to answer. With one swift jerk of his hips, he pushed through your hymen, and fully sheathed himself inside of you. He pressed small kisses everywhere on your face, while whispering to you how beautiful you were. 

"You're doing so good for me angel, I'm going to take care of you. Going to make you feel so much better than this. You're so beautiful." His lips were distractingly sweet, as were his words, and soon you found yourself relaxing into him, the sharp pain of earlier fading to an electric buzz inside of you. 

You jerked your hips up to meet his, and with that, he knew you were ready. From his words, you'd assumed that he'd move slowly in you. But with one final lingering kiss to your lips, he lifted his chest up, pinned your legs tightly down, and started thrusting hard and fast. 

"Sorry, just couldn't help myself baby. Needed to see you looking ruined underneath me." Moans spilled out of your mouth with his every movement, and the orgasm you'd built up earlier hit you like a ton of bricks, blackness hazing over your eyes as they rolled back in your head. 

"Fuck, fuck, Spencer, don't stop!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, unable to control your pitch or volume as he slammed into you desperately. He was so turned on by the sight of you beneath him, so proud of having fucked away your virginity, to have given you your very first penetrative orgasm that he wouldn't have heard anything that came out of your mouth. 

His eyes were fixated at the place between you, where you joined, where he was entering you, defiling you, claiming you, using you, breeding you. 

He knew he wouldn't cum inside of you, not the first time, but it was tempting. Instead, he chose to move his lips back to your skin. He marked you with love bites and hickeys across your neck, chest and shoulders as you moaned with every roll of his hips, shuddering on his cock. He was close. And seeing you like this, displaying all the signs that you were his and his only, he finally lost it. 

Pulling his dick out of you, he stroked it through his release, spraying his seed over the parts of your skin he hadn't bruised with love. Your stomach, your breasts, hell, one spurt even landed dangerously close to your lips, he was everywhere. You. Were. His. 

He fell beside you, panting for a few moments as you finally cracked your eyes back open, realising what the two of you had just done. You wiped the cum from your face with a stray finger, staring at it for a second before licking it off your finger. 

"As hot as that was, I think we should get you cleaned up properly, angel." He spends forever cleaning you up, carrying you to the bathroom, washing your entire body with hot water and a fresh cloth, running you a hot bath to relax your muscles. You snuggle into his chest at some point in the bath, relaxing so much into him, that you drift off to sleep. 

You feel him carry you to bed, semi-conscious, tucking you in and climbing in next to you. He holds you through the night, the way he holds you after your bad cases. He holds you until he doesn't. 

You're blindsided by the cold bed the next morning. You knew he would be there, you'd felt him inside you and next to you, and you'd needed his warmth, but he was gone. You looked for him in every other part of your home, looked for a note or an explanation, but there wasn't one. 

Through tears, you got ready for work, ready to face him and make him answer why he was suddenly gone. You wanted him to apologise, especially since he'd marked you so badly the night before you looked like a car crash victim from the neck down. 

Dark lavender blossomed along your collar bones as you looked at yourself in the mirror, trailing a finger along every place that he touched the night before. 

"How could you be so stupid?" You cursed yourself. If you'd have listened to what he was saying last night, really listened, you'd have known he wasn't going to be here in the morning. He wanted to ruin you, to possess you, to take away your virginity, and he'd done just that. 

You almost wanted to keep the bruises on display going into work, to make him confront the pain he caused you by leaving. In the end, it was the inevitable stares from everyone else that convinced you otherwise. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

You pushed through the doors to the bullpen and didn't bother putting your bag down before you started scanning the room for him. 

"Where's Spencer?" You practically shouted the words at Morgan, unable to hold back your anger. 

"Y/N, what's wrong?" 

"Where is he?" You demand, and there must be something in your eyes that speaks to your devastation because Morgan shuts up and just points to the top of the stairs, where Spencer is exiting Hotch's office without a care in the world. 

You don't realise that something is tears until you're beating a hand against his chest in frustration as they spill down your face. 

"Where were you?" You demand, sobbing into his chest, as he pulls your hands away. The entire office is watching your commotion, but you don't care, you're not letting him move you out of the way. 

"Y/N, I need you to sign this." His voice is calm, and you hate him for that. That he can stay so neutral when he's just broken your heart. 

"No, not until you tell me why you left." 

"Sign the papers, Y/N, trust me." He pulls your chin up so you can look him in the eye, and you catch a glimpse of the man who has been holding you, comforting you for the last four months. You snatch the pen from him and sign the papers, thrusting them back at him with a scowl. 

He smiles as he looks down at them, placing them back on his desk before pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. You're shocked at first, but you melt into it, pulling him closer so he can't leave again. 

"I'm sorry. I had to come into the office to declare our relationship, Morgan sometimes tells me I have a one track mind, and when I woke up this morning, the one thing I wanted to do was get it in writing that you were mine." 

Your push the tears out of his face, and attempt to pull him down for another kiss. You don't get the chance, as the sound of several throats clearing around you burst your bubble. 

"Public space, no canoodling." Rossi shouts down at you from the balcony, a soft smirk on his face. 

Penelope runs in from her office, and stares wide-eyed at the lack of space between the two of you. "You! And you! Security cameras….. You!"

"Now, I'm sure there's a story here, but from the state of our little angel's neck here, I'm sure I don't want to hear it." Derek laughs, smacking Spencer on the back in praise as he walks up the stairs to the meeting room. 

You slap a hand over your neck, trying to pull the turtleneck further up to hide the mark you evidently missed. 

"She's my angel, now." Spencer calls up to him. "I have the paperwork to prove it."  

[vividxpages]

｡° ✮୨ৎ "lay it all on me"୨ৎ✮° ｡

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 2100

summary: With the Queen and your betrothed Jacaerys’ delayed arrival, you are left in charge of the day’s council meeting. When one of the lords starts to speak of a possible bedding ceremony for your upcoming wedding, your thoughts begin to spiral badly…

warnings: the lords in Rhaenyra’s council being perverts and dicks, talks of misogynistic traditions and predatory behavior of men, sexism and misogyny, panic attacks, Jacaerys being a protective betrothed, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, crying, hopeful ending

a/n: I cooked this up so quickly, but I was very inspired yesterday - thank you so much to the anon who sparked a conversation about bedding ceremonies in my asks and with it, my inspiration for this idea! <3 this is for you :*

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

When the messenger arrived at the council room and announced the delayed arrival of the Queen and her son, you had been optimistic for a moment.

Jacaerys and you, a team ever since your shared childhood and since recently betrothed with the blessings of his mother and family, had led council meetings like this together before and you were no stranger to the strategies and logistics of the war and Rhaenyra’s efforts in it. You just had not done it by yourself before.

You nodded in thanks to the messenger and turned back to the assembly of Rhaenyra’s lords around the table with a polite smile. It was only a matter of time until her and Jace would make their return from the dragon’s caves and until then, you’d do your best to begin today’s conversation.

“Well then, my lords.” You nodded to yourself and took a deep breath, looking into the round with openness. “I believe we’ll continue where we’ve left off yesterday? Is there any news yet of Daemon’s stay at Harrenhal? We could-“

“There is another matter of importance we thought we could discuss with you, my princess.” One of the lords interrupted you, a cool smile on his face as you leaned back in your seat. You cocked an eyebrow at him to continue despite your sentence being left unfinished. “Since the wedding with the prince Jacaerys will occur in the upcoming months, it would be wise to discuss the bedding ceremony sooner rather than later.”

Something in you went very, very still.

You blinked at him before you looked into the other men’s faces. They seemed to be in agreement of this rapid topic change. “The…bedding ceremony?”

“Yes, it is of grand importance to ensure the consummation of marriage between two newly-weds.” He explained to you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his old mouth. “It’s an old tradition and the lords and I believe it is best to follow it with the young and lovely union of the prince and you.”

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, your hands suddenly clammy with unsureness. “I have not talked to Jace about such a thing. The Queen hasn’t spoken to me about it either. That’s…-What if me and Jacaerys are against it?”

A few of them chuckled as if you had made a good jest.

“My princess, is it not really a matter of choice, if you understand.” One of them explained to you before he suddenly turned away from you and addressed the others: “The wedding will be held here at Dragonstone as we know and I thought of a crowd of perhaps a dozen, mostly members of the family and this council, of course. After the celebrations, the prince will lead his bride away in the company of the Queen’s loyal and trusted advisors and then, the marriage will be consummated in a room large enough for the ceremony.”

You opened your mouth to object, but found your voice had simply vanished.

“Will there be sheets as proof in the morning?”

“I would actively support it.”

“There are clothes here at Dragonstone suited for such a ceremony, I am sure we will have them before the wedding takes place.”

“A purity test accomplished by a maester might be sufficient beforehand as well-“

You felt yourself drifting away from the conversation, one that circled around you and yet did not include you at all. Staring at the table in front of you, you felt your breath quicken as a distant howl swept through your mind, drowning out their voices as they went on and on.

In your mind, you saw yourself being led into a fully lit room. The dress you wore was thin and barely hiding your body, your arms protectively crossed in front of yourself as you shivered. The bed chamber was crowded all the way back to the tapestry of the walls with men regarding you coolly. Their hunger for the curves barely hidden underneath your dress was evident in their eyes, yet you had to walk on until you reached the middle of the room. Jacaerys was waiting, his own expression blank and without any emotion for you as he took your hand and led you to bed. There were a thousand eyes on you and you felt numb, your body screaming in protest, your mind begging you to shout at them to leave as Jace mechanically began to kiss your neck-

The wide doors of the hall opened and the men seated around you abruptly stood, their wrinkly hands brushing over their attires. The Queen was here.

You remained in your seat, your mind having drawn itself back to a hidden part in yourself, blankly staring at the fidgeting hands in your lap. When you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, the touch so familiar it could’ve been your own, you closed your eyes for just a moment. Jacaerys had come with her.

“What is going on?” Rhaenyra demanded to know, walking around the big table as she took in your uncharacteristic quiet state.

When your betrothed raised your hand to his lips in greeting, you looked up and bit your lip at Jace’s worried expression. The taste of iron coated your lips and only now you realized you had bitten your lip so badly, it had started to bleed. The pain was almost a relief.

“Are you alright?” Jace murmured, his hand delicately cupping your cheek and making you shudder. Your eyes were glassy, your cheeks red from shame and suddenly, a strong urge to cry shot through you, so intense you barely could fight it. “What is it, my love?”

You shook your head, avoiding his searching gaze.

The shame burned hotly through you and you wanted to shrink into your seat until you could escape these old devils. One of them, who had started this whole discussion about the ceremony in the first place, cleared his throat. “Your Grace, we were discussing possible arrangements for the wedding of the prince and his betrothed. There have been no mentions of the traditional bedding ceremony yet and the lords and myself were worried that-“

Rhaenyra frowned with a disgusted curl of her lips. “A bedding ceremony? There hasn’t been a tradition like this in my generation. Why would we burden the next with such an old piece of the past?”

You could sense Jace tensing beside you, his face dark as he stared at the lord. Would he look at you like this too, when the happiest day of your life would end with having to sleep with each other in front of dozens? Your chest hurt as you struggled to breathe normally.

“The princess has expressed similar concerns, but there are ways…There could be a thin veil draped over the sides of the bed.” Another suggested generously and you felt your stomach turn itself over. “Of course, it cannot shield the pair fully from the observer’s eyes. They have to be in sight, so it can be assured that she’s-“

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Jace cut him off, close to snarling as he flexed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He remained by your side, his stance protective of you and intimidating. “Neither my mother or myself have been consulted about this before and the fact that you’ve preyed on an opportunity to bring it up in front of the princess is close to treason. And yet you’ve dared to speak of such inappropriate matters in front of my betrothed, your future Queen? I could have you hanged by the cliffs of Dragonstone for such perverted behavior.”

“My prince, with all respect, it simply is tradition. It has to be guaranteed that on the night of her wedding, the bride is a maiden-“

The sound of your chair screeching over the floor broke through the room as you stood up. The sound of your own breath was too loud in your eyes, the lump in your throat only growing by the second. “If you would excuse me, Your Grace, I’m not feeling well.”

Jacaerys stood with you, but as he reached for your hand, you had already slipped away and quickly made your escape towards the wide doors, trying to breathe against the numbing panic in your lungs.

You blindly walked down the long corridor, ignoring the questioning looks of the guards standing on the sides. Would they be there as well, to witness yours and Jace’s union, eyes on your naked body when Jace had to deflower you in front of an audience?

You choked on a sob, the tears running freely down your cheeks now, the pain in your chest only expanding from keeping it inside for so long. You had never experienced a panic like this before, a powerful tide washing all rational thoughts away and sending your brain into overdrive.

Behind you, quick footsteps were approaching and before you knew it, Jacaerys had overtaken you and blocked your path, taking your upset state in with wide eyes. Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously and you came to a halt, noting how far and fast you had walked away from the council room.

“My love…” Jacaerys mumbled quietly and stepped closer and somewhere inside of you, a dam burst and he caught you as you fell into his arms, your body wrecked with heartbreaking and breathless sobs. He wrapped his arms around you, drawing you against his chest and letting you cry, his own heart aching at the stress vibrating through your body.

“I don’t want them to see…” You sniffled miserably against his shoulder, his arms tightening protectively around your waist, one of his hands resting on the back of your head and stroking your hair. “I want our wedding night to be ours, I don’t want them in the room with us, I don’t want any of it.”

“I’m not going to allow it.” He assured you calmly, suppressing his own anger for the sake of your peace of mind. Later, he’d had time to rage and forge the feeling into action, but now the only thing that mattered was you. “They have no right to make these rules for us. You and I decide, together, okay?”

You nodded, your anxiety slowly beginning to ebb away and leaving the council room and its members behind you.

“I am so sorry I was not there with you.” Jacaerys regretfully whispered against your temple, soothingly stroking your back as you rested your tear-streaked face against his neck. “I am not going to let this slide. And I am serious, my love, I promise you; there will be no bedding ceremony, I’m not going to let them expose you like this.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your eyes still shimmering with worried tears. “And what if we have to? I can’t do this, Jace, I would rather die-“

He gently shushed you and gently rested his forehead against yours, willing you to take big and deep breaths with him until you were breathing in sync and your shivering stopped. “We don’t have to do anything. You and I, we’ll be king and queen someday and I will not accept any disrespect towards you, not today or when we’re married, alright?”

You nodded slowly, exhaling deeply as you allowed yourself to sink against him, letting yourself be held and gently swayed from side to side. Slowly but surely, your heart stopped hurting and the clouds in your mind dissolved until you only felt him.

“Alright.” You whispered back after a while and his lips on yours, featherlight and oh so gently, were a relief after such moments of stress. When you separated and looked into each other’s eyes, you added quietly: “I want this, with you. All of it. I want our first time together to be special and a memory we’ll cherish forever.”

“And it will be, I promise.” He soothed you. “These old pathetic men will do good to remember their place before I’ll unleash Vermax on them.” He added jokingly and even managed to make you giggle a little bit at the mental image. “You know how Vermax adores you, he’ll eat them in one piece and spit them out, because they’re disgusting.”

You snorted tiredly and nuzzled his neck in affection, not ready to separate yourself from him just yet.

“My mother will deal with them.” Jace promised you darkly, a revengeful shimmer in his fierce eyes as he wiped the last of your tears away with his thumb. “And when she’s done with them, I will make sure as well they’ll remember who they answer to, my queen.”

He would deal with this.

And after he had put those foul men in their place, he’d make sure you’d be the happiest you could be and your wedding would be perfect and just the way the two of you had imagined for so long…

my taglist: @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

[colormepurplex2]

Golden Cufflinks | JJK

▻ Golden Cufflinks ↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ Best Friend's Fiance, Strangers to True Mates ⤜ A/B/O AU | angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 11,742 ⤜ Summary: You’ve never given much thought to finding your true mate, firmly believing it’s something that will happen when it happens. But, when you do find him—thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks—it very well could ruin everything. They say not all’s fair in love and war; you just hadn’t expected your best friend’s wedding to be the battleground. ⚠️ Crass language, talk of designation hierarchy, mild talk of misogynistic practices of the past, confessions of cheating(not by main pairing), anger/arguments, kissing, dick sucking, mild cum intrigue, maybe mild breeding kink if you squint, unprotected v. sex, knotting, lots of slick and cum

Written for @hisunshiine as part of the 2nd Quarter 2023 @bangtanwritershq Awards Season! A/N: Congratualtions, Vanessa. You deserve all the kudos for a job well done during the 2nd Quarter 2023, I hope you enjoy the story!

A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi, @lo1k-diamonds, @moonleeai for the amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Nerves flutter in your belly as you gather your belongings from the plastic bin at the end of the rolling conveyor belt on the other side of security. As you walk away, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you have to juggle your purse and jacket to retrieve it.

You feel bad for making Hayun, your best friend for as long as you can remember, wait for a response, but you desperately just want to find your gate and have a seat first. Once you find it and settle in at a chair by the big windows looking out on the tarmac, you thumb to her contact.

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d probably hate you right now for making me wait so long for a response,” Hayun sasses before her voice softens, “Hello, I love you.”

“Love you, too, girl,” you say, unable to help the smile that tilts your lips up. “Sorry, I’ve been MIA for the last few hours. Things have been hectic. I misplaced my passport this morning, but I finally found it under the bed and then missed the hotel shuttle. I had to call a rideshare, but of course, it took them forever to get through airport traffic, and ugh…” you trail off with a sigh. “I’m sitting down for the first time since I woke up this morning.”

Which was approximately four hours ago at this point. Your flight is set to take off less than an hour from now, so you imagine boarding might start soon. You’re not exaggerating when you say it’s been hectic. It was bad enough waking up at 3 AM, but you’re a chronic planner and stickler for time, so missing your flight was the absolute last thing you wanted to happen.

“Oh, babe, that sucks. I’m glad it’s all worked out, though. I really can’t wait to see you!”

The conversation passes quickly, easing your heart and mind as you catch up on the last twenty-four hours. You haven’t seen Hayun in a handful of years. Her career took her to the other side of the world, and yours kept you where you both grew up. The last time you saw her was through a haze of tears at this very airport when she boarded a plane destined for Seoul, South Korea, where she was adopted from at just two years old.

Visiting each other was always something you both talked about. But, as with most things, life just happens, and eventually, you find yourself making that visit you always talked about for reasons you never considered before—like your best friend tying the knot with a guy you’ve never met.

Sure, you’ve seen pictures of him and have heard him talk in the background of most of the phone calls you’ve exchanged with Hayun over the last few years. But, it was never on your friendship bingo card that the next time you’d find yourself seeing your best friend, it would be her at her wedding.

“I gotta go. They’re about to start boarding.”

“I’ll see you when you land. Can’t wait!”

Hayun disconnects the call, and you gather your belongings to prepare to line up in the boarding queue. It will be a long flight, but seeing Hayun again after so long apart will be worth it.

You fiddle with the bracelet on your left wrist, twisting and pinching at the silver moon charm dangling from the thin chain. Hayun has a matching one. They were presents from your parents on the day you were both recognized with your designations; she was thirteen, and you were fifteen.

The dynamics of Alphas and Omegas have long since changed from what it once was. Legend has it that once upon a time, an Alpha and an Omega were closer to their wolf-kin than how the world is now. Thanks to evolution and science, the only things remaining from that time are the more basic bodily functions—scents, knots, and slick, to sum it up.

The crescent charm on your wrist symbolizes your designation—Omega. But being an Omega doesn’t hold much meaning for you. You don’t feel all that special, and it’s not like you’re rare or any more or less capable than the next person. As it stands, you can see at least a dozen other moons jangling from bracelets, waiting to board the same plane you are.

There are also necklaces, tattoos, and other ways to display a designation scattered around the waiting area. The how of it is mostly regional, sometimes generational. The Beta standing behind you in the queue has a teardrop earring dangling from their left ear, and if it weren’t for the pheromone blockers you took this morning, you might be able to smell their unique scent.

You also have your own smell, a scent that is just you. You’ve been told it’s a sweet, citrusy bouquet like lemonade on a hot summer afternoon. However, also thanks to the blockers, it remains suppressed to the point someone would have to make you bleed or press their nose so firmly against your throat it hurts to smell it.

There really is only one thing that a lot of people are envious of when it comes to an Omega’s designation, and that is that they supposedly have an Alpha true mate out there somewhere that will call to their baser nature. It’s such a rare phenomenon these days that it might as well be part of the legends of old, too.

The bottom line is that no one cares about subgenders anymore; it doesn't matter whether your charm is the Omega crescent, the teardrop of a Beta, or the triskelion denoting an Alpha. In fact, you’re pretty sure you could ask the Beta for their earring and offer them your charm bracelet and no one would bat an eye over it.

Though you’d never do that, considering the chain around your wrist isn’t technically yours. The night after you presented as Omega, when you snuck away with Hayun to lay on a blanket under the stars and moon that was so like the charm hanging from your twin bracelets, you giggled as you exchanged them. Her tiny fingers trembled against your wrist as she secured her silver chain around it. You did the same with your own around hers a second later.

It was that night that you both swore always to be friends. No matter what happened in life or where either of you ended up, you would always remain true to one another. So far, your friendship has been unfailing, a constant thread of comfort and light for you both. No matter how long it’s been, the charm still smells faintly of your best friend—a perk of the charms themselves, holding a token essence of their owners. Hers holds a soft lilac and jasmine scent that you’ve always thought complimented your own citrus notes.

The flight attendant scanning boarding passes beckoning you forward breaks you out of your internal reflections. With a full heart and giddy anticipation curling in your belly, you find your seat and settle in.

It’s a long flight, longer than most flights you’ve taken. But when you finally walk off the plane, make it through customs and immigration, and finally empty into the arrivals terminal of the Incheon Airport, you feel immediate relief, and the hours spent in the air don’t seem so bad.

“Hey, over here!” a familiar voice calls out, catching your attention.

You spin on your heel, confusion setting in for just a moment before it’s replaced by another wave of relief and a little of something warmer. Taehyung, Hayun’s adopted brother, swamps you in a giant bear hug that quite literally sweeps you off of your feet.

“Wow, hey. This is a surprise. What are you doing here? Where’s Hayun?”

Taehyung scrunches up his face, letting out a small scoff. “It’s a good surprise, I hope. Something came up, and she had to meet with the wedding planner and caterer at the last minute. She called me and asked if I could pick you up.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah,” you confirm with a smile. “Good surprise.”

It’s no secret that you’ve always been fond of Taehyung. As a baby, you were toddling around with him long before his family adopted Hayun. She ended up being the sister you never knew you needed, even if you were a few years older.

When she moved to Seoul for work, Taehyung ended up being the physical representation that took her place. He flew out a week before you to help her with planning and will stay for a few weeks after you’ve already headed back home. They may have had their differences over the years, but their sibling bond is stronger than petty arguments and rivalries.

“Ready to get on the road? It’s a long drive.”

Hours later, with the rolling countryside and farms dotting the horizon, you discover the fiasco inside your backpack. The bottle of pheromone blockers you packed this morning somehow got shuffled to the bottom of your bag and popped open. The once-powder-filled capsules litter the bottom of your bag, broken open. Pale blue powder coats your things, the mild flower smell of the medicine lingering in the air.

“Fucking hell,” you groan. “Any chance there’s a clinic somewhere between here and where we’re going?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He frowns, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, making the triskelion signet ring on his index finger glitter in the mid-day sun. “We’d probably have to turn around and head nearly three hours back to get anywhere near a clinic with blockers. I'm told most people don’t use them anymore these days here. Maybe another one of the wedding party might have some you could borrow if you really need them. But, honestly, I don’t see anyone minding if you don’t use them.”

“Most people here don’t use them anymore?”

“Well, yeah, with the progression of equality and things like that. They’re so great here, way more progressive than back home. It’s very common for Omegas to go off of blockers or never even begin them. Laws have been implemented to punish Alphas who can’t control themselves. The responsibility of remaining safe shouldn’t be solely set on the shoulders of the Omega population.”

Talk like that has only recently become popular back home. You’ve heard the speeches and followed the media and the sources, but you suppose after nearly half of your life taking blockers, it just comes naturally to continue to do so.

“Hm, yeah, okay. I guess it’s no big deal, really. As long as you’re sure people won’t mind?”

Taehyung sniffs the air, his nose twitching. “I think you smell great, but just in case not everyone does, if someone says something, then I’ll personally drive all the way back to the city and pick you up some,” Taehyung promises, giving you one of his swoon-worthy smiles.

The crush you once upon a time had on Taehyung threatens to spark anew at the sight of his charming, boxy grin—a grin you would have once done anything to pull from him. But now, it just fills you with warmth and a homey comfort.

You give him a smile of your own. “Deal.”

“Hayun!”

Her squeal of delight when she turns around and catches sight of you echoes through the open space of the dimly lit bar of the bed and breakfast where the wedding is taking place.

It’s a cozy space with rich dark wood accents and royal blue velvet upholstery. Brass gas lamps and light fixtures give the entire lounge an upscale and chic atmosphere that you know is right up Hayun’s alley.

The few hours you had between checking in at the bed and breakfast and meeting Hayun for her very small—just you and one other person—bachelorette party were spent familiarizing yourself with the grounds.

The ceremony will take place in one of the lavish gardens, and the reception will follow in one of the grand dining halls. For a bed and breakfast, it’s far fancier than any you’ve ever been to. It definitely does not have the mom-and-pop feel that you typically associate with the term ‘B&B’.

“You’re here!” she shrills, throwing her arms around your neck.

Her petite form fits just like it always has against yours. Thick black hair, shorter than the last time you saw it, curls around the rounded lines of her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright and glisten with happy tears. With her bubbly personality and small, wispy frame, she's always reminded you of a fairy.

You sigh, taking a deep breath and savoring your best friend's soft, floral scent. Thanks to the bracelet tinkling around her wrist, it holds the smallest undercurrent of your sweet citrus. Clearly, she’s not taking blockers; the scents are heavy and delightful. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Hayun sucks in a deep breath that mirrors yours. “Wow, babe, you smell good! Finally gone off the blockers, huh?”

“Uh, kind of,” you chuckle, untangling yourself from her arms. “I brought some, but they broke open in my bag at some point.” You shrug. “Tae said it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s not. Absolutely not,” Hayun agrees, grinning broadly. “I’ve been off them for years and haven’t had a single issue. Come on, let’s have a drink and catch up!”

You settle in at a table, and it’s not long before Eunseo, Hayun’s other guest, joins you. You’ve heard a lot about Eunseo. Much the same way Taehyung took the place of Hayun for you, Eunseo took your place for Hayun. You half expect to feel some sort of friendship jealousy upon meeting Eunseo for the first time, but it doesn’t come. If anything, you’re immediately fond of the young woman.

The evening carries on, Hayun and Eunseo regaling you with tales from working together and their various adventures around Seoul. Eunseo shows genuine interest in your life back home, seeming eager to hear stories of Hayun’s childhood. She shows a particular interest in Taehyung, asking you in no certain terms more than you think is appropriate to share.

“But you’ve seen it, right?” Eunseo asks. Her elbows rest on the table, and her chin is nestled on her clasped hands, her eyes wide and glassy from the countless glasses of wine she’s had. “I bet it’s huge. Am I right?”

“Ugh,” Hayun groans. “Can we not talk about my brother’s dick. Please.” She makes a gagging sound before slurping down the rest of her cocktail and flagging down a passing waiter for another.

You try to wave off the waiter, but he’s turned toward the bar before you can get his attention. If Hayun has much more to drink, you’re not sure she’ll be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow unassisted.

“I’m just curious. It’s a harmless question,” Eunseo pouts. “Ignore her. Tell me. I just have to know.”

You swirl the straw around in your glass of water before giving Eunseo what you hope is a conspiratorial look. “Well—”

“What?! Ew. Are you really about to answer her? Please, dear god, do not tell me you have seen my brother’s penis. If you’ve seen it—fuck, I might actually puke.”

As much as you probably shouldn’t, you laugh, which earns further protests and obscene noises from Hayun.

“Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that maybe Eunseo should ask him herself.”

Hayun howls a protest, sloshing her new cocktail onto the table as she gesticulates a crude hand gesture in your direction. “Do not. I repeat, do not do that, Eunseo!”

The conversation peters off, Hayun losing herself in another cocktail while Eunseo stares dreamily up at the ceiling.

“I think—hiccup—it's bedtime,” Eunseo slurs.

As if right on cue, a familiar face peeks through the entrance to the lounge. You wave Taehyung down, and he comes jogging across the space to your table. His shirt is rumpled with the top few buttons undone, but his eyes are clear, and you know he’ll be a perfect gentleman.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, pitching your voice low.

“I got this, don’t worry. We finished up a few hours ago anyway.”

Taehyung gives you a warm, private smile before turning to Eunseo. “Hey there, beautiful. Let’s get you on to bed, okay?”

“Where’s my savior?” Hayun asks, frowning after her brother escorting Eunseo from the lounge and back through the front lobby.

“Right here,” you tell her, sliding out of your chair and coming around to her side of the table. “Come on, let’s go.”

It takes you more than twice as long as it usually would to get to Hayun’s room. She leans against the wall in the hall as you dig through her pockets in search of her room key. Once you find it tucked between a few stray bills and her ID, you usher her into the room and deposit her onto the bed.

Her fiance has a room on the other side of the grounds, but after the ceremony, they will both be moving into one of the couple’s suites for the night before jet-setting off to Jeju Island for their week-long honeymoon.

“Am I doing the right thing?”

Hayun’s question catches you off guard. You throw a confused look at her over your shoulder as you rummage through her suitcase in search of something for her to sleep in.

“What?”

She sighs as she rolls over, letting her head hang off the edge of the bed so she can look at you upside down. “Marrying Jungkook. It’s a mistake…so why am I doing it?”

“Hayun…what are you talking about? Jungkook is perfect for you. You guys have been dating for five years, and you told me you’ve never been happier. Where’s the mistake in that?”

The sound Hayun makes is akin to something a wounded animal might make. She flops, flailing her arms and legs like a child throwing a fit.

“That’s the thing, though! I’m happy, but I don’t love him. Oh god,” she cries. “I don’t love him.”

“Hey, hey now.” You abandon the search for sleeping clothes and crawl across the floor until you’re kneeling beside the bed. Smoothing your hand across her forehead, you ask, “Where is all this coming from?”

“He thinks I’m his true mate,” she whispers. The tears leaking from her eyes slide up her face, wetting the edges of her eyebrows before sliding over her forehead and disappearing into her hair. “But I know he’s not mine.”

“Wh—wait, what?” You push up from the floor and move onto the bed, gathering your best friend’s head into your lap so she’s no longer hanging upside down off the side of the bed.

She hiccups a sob, lips trembling as she explains, “He says I’m his true mate, that he knows because of my scent. But he doesn’t smell special to me…how is that possible?”

“Hayun, I don’t—”

“I cheated on him,” she whimpers in confession, cutting off what were going to be your soothing words of affirmation. They sour on your tongue, refusing to be released now.

Your stomach churns at her admittance. “You what?”

“You have every right to judge me. I’m a terrible person. But, when he told me I was his true mate…I panicked. I had to be sure I wasn’t broken, that me not finding his scent special wasn’t just something wrong with me.” Hayun blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears as they begin to come in earnest. She clutches at the front of her shirt, hand fisting over her heart. “So, I slept with two Alphas that I work with to see if it was any different. I had to be sure. I had to know.”

“Hayun, I-I-I don’t…I’m not—”

“I’m such a fucking mess,” she sobs, curling in on you and pressing her face against your stomach. “I don’t deserve him. I only said yes to marrying him because I don’t want to be alone forever. I can’t be like you. I need someone.”

Her words sting, causing you to flinch involuntarily. You watch as she falls apart in your lap, ultimately giving in to her grief. It’s on the tip of your tongue to call her out on her childish behavior, to set the record straight about your own love life, and to leave her to her wallowing. But…the shaking of her shoulders and soft whines from her remind you so much of a younger and more fragile Hayun—the Hayun of your shared childhoods.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” No matter how you might feel about her actions and the hurtful words she’s spilled, you hate to see your best friend so distraught and broken. “Hey, look at me.”

You wait until her watery eyes peel away from your shirt and meet yours. “Tell me you hate me; it’s okay.”

“Hayun, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You made…a mistake, that’s all. You were trying to figure things out. But…Hayun, you…you have to tell him.”

She frowns up at you, her expression sobering. “Tell him?”

“He’s about to marry you, Hayun. That’s a big freaking deal…you have to tell him tomorrow morning before anything else happens.”

The laugh that bubbles from her lips is anything but humorous. “I-I can’t do that! He’ll hate me. He’ll call the wedding off!” She shoves out of your lap and stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“If Jungkook truly loves you and says you’re his true mate, I don’t see that happening. But, he deserves to know. You have to know that. Either you tell him now, or he finds out years from now, and then it’ll be so much worse,” you try to reason with her.

“He doesn’t have to know!” she whisper-yells, her tears turning from sad to angry in an instant.

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing from her. “This isn’t right, Hayun. You can’t go into a marriage with someone with secrets like that!”

“It’s not like it’ll happen again. I’m not going to cheat on him while we’re married. Please,” she begs, her face once more softening into saddened anguish. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“He deserves to know, Hayun,” you whisper, remembering your own keen sting of betrayal from many years ago. There is a reason you don’t date much. “You say it won’t happen again?” you ask, trying to buy yourself some time to process everything Hayun just told you.

Her silence is deafening, and you think she’s about to not answer you the way you hope, but, finally, she murmurs, “No. Never. I swear it.”

“Okay. Okay, good. But, he still needs to know.”

Just because you’ve never actually met Jungkook, it doesn’t mean you don’t care for him. He’s the one who puts a smile on Hayun’s face when you can’t. He’s the reason she’s as happy as she is…or has been? Now, you’re not so sure. But, what you are certain about is that Hayun is far too drunk right now to know up from down and is just having a moment of raw vulnerability.

“Are you going to tell him?” she asks, voice a hoarse whisper.

You chew your bottom lip for a moment before slowly shaking your head. Thinking about it, even if you didn’t care for Jungkook, he still deserves to know on pure principle. “No. I won’t tell him.” She lets out a soft sigh of relief, which has you tacking on, “Because it’s not my place to tell him, it’s yours.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “Okay.” She doesn’t say anything more beyond that, falling into a listless stupor, all of her energy sapped from the quick argument and endless cocktails from the bar.

After you wrestle her out of her clothes and put on a long nightgown, she tucks easily into bed. You leave a glass of water on the bedside table for her, then exit the room and head to your own.

A pang of uncertainty refuses to quell in the pit of your stomach. You toss and turn most of the night, falling into a fitful sleep just before the sun begins to kiss the horizon. It’s going to be a long day…a battle of wills you never saw coming.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook

Today is the big day, and Jungkook couldn’t be happier. Nothing could possibly bring him down from the high he’s feeling. Not even the fact that he is unable to find the cufflinks that were passed down to him by his father.

“Did you check the pockets of all your pants?” Jimin, Jungkook’s best friend, asks from where he’s lounging in one of the chairs on the other side of Jungkook’s hotel room.

“Yes,” he mutters, dumping his entire suitcase onto the bed to rifle through it once again. “I remember putting them with the pile of Hayun’s—oh fuck.”

“That’s great,” Taehyung sighs. “So my sister probably has them.” He checks his watch. “We don’t really have time to go on a scavenger hunt through her room. Jimin and I are supposed to meet the photographer to get started on some of the bride and groomsmen shots.”

Jungkook purses his lips and rakes his hands through his hair as he thinks of a solution. “I’d go look myself, but what if I run into Hayun between here and there? She specifically requested that we not see each other until the ceremony.”

Taehyung hums lightly. “I think I have an idea. The other girls don’t meet for pictures until after we’re done. So…yeah…okay…done,” he murmurs, tapping away at his phone screen. “If they’re in Hayun’s things, they’ll be delivered to you soon.”

“Thanks, Taehyung, you’re a lifesaver.”

Minutes later, Jungkook finds himself alone, Taehyung and Jimin having gone to meet with the photographer. Somewhere out there, beyond the confines of his room, his fiancee is probably smiling and laughing as she poses in front of the camera. If only Jungkook could see through walls. He’d give anything for even just a little glimpse of his bride-to-be.

When Jungkook first met Hayun almost six years ago, he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to track her scent. The meeting he was heading for was instantly forgotten, replaced by a visceral need to discover the source of that titillating aroma that had his hindbrain firing on all cylinders.

Never before had Jungkook experienced something so…primal. It was both alarming and utterly fascinating. Amongst the harsh scents of car exhaust and the warm notes of roasted coffee, Jungkook wove his way through the crowd on the sidewalk to the doors of a little cafe; Hayun was inside, ordering a matcha tea to-go, and the rest was history.

Jungkook sighs, forcing himself to stop daydreaming and fiddling with his shirt's empty cuffs and focus on putting together the rest of his suit.

The scent hits Jungkook a moment before the sound of a soft knock reaches his ears. He’s standing in the ensuite bathroom, mid-skin care routine. Wiping his wet fingers off onto a towel, he draws in a deep breath to confirm the aroma wafting to him from beyond the door of his room.

A roguish smirk quirks up one side of his mouth as he exits the bathroom and moves across the room. Unable to help himself, he opens the door. “Hayun,” he chuckles, fingers wrapping around the doorknob, “I thought we agreed that you…you are not Hayun.” The words tumble from his suddenly numb lips, rasping past his too-dry tongue.

“Umm, no. Not Hayun, sorry. You’re Jungkook?”

The woman standing before him is clearly not his fiancee. The woman’s purple gown is familiar, Jungkook knowing it’s what Hayun chose for her attending party. You’re a friend of Hayun, clearly, yet you smell exactly like Hayun…if Hayun smelled like Hayun times a thousand. The fragrance slams into his olfactory system, and the edges of his vision grow blurry a moment before he shakes his head and steadies himself with a hand on the doorjamb.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice raspy with his suddenly dry throat. Revelations pounding him right between the eyes, washing through his body and keying right into his most basic of instincts.

Jungkook watches as your nostrils flare, and he knows it’s in that moment that you register his cedar and lavadin scent; the scent that marks him for what—who—he is.

“Jungkook,” you repeat his name, and he wants to howl with delight at how it sounds coming from your lips. “No. You can’t…it’s not—” your voice cuts off a second before you drop the small, black leather box you were holding and turn, disappearing in a flash of violet tulle and silk.

🥀🥀🥀

“Stop! Wait, please!” The shout of your name follows you down the hall, but you’re too focused on getting as far away from him and the feelings threatening to overwhelm you as you can.

“No, no, no,” you chant under your breath as you move as swiftly as the slippered feet will allow you to go without tripping yourself up.

It’s clearly not fast enough. It only takes a few frantic beats of your heart before a firm grip on your elbow draws you to a stumbling halt. The touch is electric, and your skin flushes with goosebumps at the heated contact.

“Don’t run,” Jungkook pants. “Please.”

You wretch your arm from his grip and whirl on him, a sharp remark ready on the tip of your tongue. Only, it dies there, never to be uttered, as your heart thumps violently in response to the look on his face—pure anguish.

Your voice is thread-thin as you finally manage to get words out, “This can’t be happening.”

Jungkook’s brow twitches, his lips tucked between his teeth. His emotions are stark on his face, and the conflict is raw and bare to you. Clearly, he’s warring the same as you, maybe even more so.

“Why do you smell like Hayun?” he asks, his voice soft in contrast to the raging storm you see in his eyes. “Why do you smell more like my true mate than she even does? Is this some wicked, cruel prank?”

You shake your head, intentionally drawing a breath through your mouth in hopes of saving your nose from another assault of his perfect scent. But, instead, his flavor laces over your tongue and slides down your throat to sit like a knot in your belly. You might as well have licked a stripe up his neck for all the good that did.

“I-I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to keep the pool of saliva under your tongue from dripping down your chin.

Jungkook steps closer to you, leading with his nose. He sniffs the air around you and something must not sit well with what he discovers because he rears back and bares his teeth. “Of course,” he mutters as his eyes drop to your left wrist.

Your eyes track his movement as he scoops up your wrist in a loose grip, and you realize it’s the bracelet there that has his attention. Everything clicks into place, and you feel like the faintest breeze could sweep you away with how lightheaded you’re feeling at this moment.

“We traded,” you whisper as if speaking low enough means the admission won’t utterly destroy the world as you know it.

“She’s not my true mate,” he states, voice as low as yours, fevered and quiet. “You are.”

Those words punch you in the chest, nearly taking you to your knees. If it weren’t for the hold Jungkook has on your wrist, you’re sure you’d be in a heap on the floor. As it is, he catches his other arm around your waist as you sway on the spot.

“Y-you shouldn’t.” Your protest is stilted, the words feeling robotic and unnatural as you gingerly press a hand against the arm that’s angled around your ribs. It was your intention to push his touch away, but the most you accomplish is flexing your fingers against the smooth cotton covering his thick bicep.

Somehow, you find yourself back in the room you had fled from just a few minutes ago. Jungkook settled you on the bed and is now pressing a chilled water bottle into your hands.

He kneels before you, headless of putting wrinkles in his black dress slacks. He’s wearing a thin white undershirt, his starched white button-up undone over it. The cuffs of the sleeves flop as he brings his hands into his lap and picks at the edges of his thumbnails.

Your eyes rove the room, catching on the black leather box still sitting on the floor by the door where you dropped it. Inside the box is nestled a pair of golden cufflinks—a pair you now understand have been passed down through the generations of Jeon men.

Absently, you press your thumb to your phone, unlocking it to reveal the text message that has irrevocably changed your life forever.

If you had known Taehyung’s text message requesting help would have led you to where you are right now, you’d probably have ignored it.

Yet, at the same time, if you had, you’d probably have had this revelation with Jungkook in the middle of the ceremony, and it would have caused all sorts of untoward chaos. No, it’s far better that it’s happening now instead of later. Maybe you can get ahead of this and fix it somehow. Though…

“Hey? You okay?” Jungkook interrupts your thoughts. “Fuck, that’s a stupid question. Sorry.”

“Huh? Oh. Umm…yeah. I don’t—what do we do now?” You turn your phone over, finger ghosting over the power button to lock the screen once more.

Jungkook sighs, and you can’t help watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, framing the swell of his defined chest with the action. He’s an exquisite specimen of masculinity, and even if it weren’t for the musky notes of his scent that mark him as your true mate, you’d find him devastatingly attractive.

“We need to tell Hayun. I c-can’t…I can’t marry her. Not when I’ve found—” he cuts off, wincing as his voice breaks. “I should go and find her. Now, before this can go any further. I’m sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Wait,” you call after him. He stops halfway to the door and glances back at you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we tell her together?”

Jungkook chews the inside of his cheek a moment, his eyes flicking over your face as he thinks through your suggestion. Slowly, he nods. “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best.”

There is palpable tension between you and Jungkook as you follow behind him out of the main building. He texted Jimin, knowing he’d be the most reliable with his phone on him, asking where the photos were currently taking place.

It only took a few minutes for Jimin to respond that they were almost finished but were currently capturing some group shots on the walking path by the lake on the backside of the property.

You’re vaguely aware of where the lake is located, having given the map of the grounds that was posted on the backside of your room’s door a cursory look the day you arrived. It’s a relatively short distance, yet it feels like miles with the weight of pure dread sitting firmly on your shoulders.

At least it’s not a feeling you’re experiencing alone. Jungkook is right there with you, and you can clearly see the unease in the stiff way his body moves. The tips of his fingers twitch back in your direction every few steps like he’s fighting off the urge to slip them between your own.

The first person you catch sight of is Yoona, the photographer. She’s squatting in the grass, her large DSLR camera held up to her face, as she captures candid moments of Hayun, Taehyung, and Jimin repositioning themselves along the lake's edge.

Your heart squeezes hard at how beautiful Hayun is in her form-fitting silk ivory, off-the-shoulder wedding gown, the lacy bell sleeves fluttering around her hands. Her head is thrown back, the peel of her carefree laughter carrying to you and further crumbling your soul into a million pieces. You ache, not just for the desire to draw closer to your true mate, but for the inevitable aftermath of what is about to happen.

Taehyung is the first to notice you and Jungkook. The smile on his face slowly disappears, replaced by a concerned frown. Hayun catches his expression and follows his line of sight. Her gaze sears into you, and you feel like you might combust into a cloud of ash at any second with the irritation contained in her pretty brown eyes.

“What’s going on?” Hayun exclaims, throwing her hands up in a frustrated manner as she stalks towards you and Jungkook. “It’s not time for your photos yet,” she tells you before her eyes swing to Jungkook. “What happened to not seeing me before the wedding? That was your rule!”

“Hayun, we need to talk.”

“Talk about wh—” she cuts off, her question turning into a gasp. Your wide eyes flick to you. “You told him?”

“What? No!”

Your protest rings out at the same time that Jungkook says, “She’s my true mate.”

A breeze kicks up, sweeping from behind you and tossing errant strands of hair across Hayun’s forehead. You’d give anything for the power to pluck the wind from the air, shove it back…keep it from showering her with yours and Jungkook’s combined scents—a blatant confirmation echoing the words Jungkook just let loose.

Hayun stiffens. Her jaw goes rigid, and her face pales as her nostrils flare. It’s a moment that will be forever written across the band of your friendship. Betrayal flashes through her eyes before morphing into something akin to somber resignation.

“Hayun,” Jungkook begins. “I don’t—we didn’t…I’m sorry. What do we do?” He spreads his hands out in front of himself in a helpless manner.

By this time, Jimin and Taehyung have come up from behind Hayun, faces wary as they take in the scene with growing clarity. You look to Taehyung, hoping he can see the silent plea in your eyes.

“Explain,” Hayun says simply. Despite how collected she seems, you can see the subtle tremble in her hands and the way the muscles in her neck continue to flex and strain as she clenches and grinds her teeth.

Jungkook launches into recounting the events that brought you to his room and broke the proverbial dam. “We—we had no idea. I swear this is the first time we’ve ever met, and gods, the bracelets…” Jungkook trails off, a pained sound rumbling from his chest.

“Is this a joke?” Taehyung asks accusingly, and it’s like a barb to your heart.

“We wouldn’t do that.” Your croaked statement draws Hayun’s attention.

Hayun sniffles, her chin jerking a little higher into the air. “My nose tells me one thing, but my heart tells me another. Did you know about this last night? Is that why you pushed so hard for me to tell him?” The last part is whispered, meant only for you, which hurts even more.

“Hayun, no! You know that’s impossible. I couldn’t have known.”

“Tell me what?” Jungkook asks, having heard despite her whisper, his eyes swiveling between you and Hayun.

You shake your head at him, not wanting to throw further fuel on the fire. “Hayun, please, believe me.”

A pregnant moment full of thick tension passes before it fizzles, and Hayun shakes her head, not in a dismissive fashion but in gentle acceptance. “I believe you,” she tells you. “I guess…I guess there won’t be a wedding in four hours unless you two want…” She trails off, a bittersweet smile tugging at her cherry red painted lips.

Jungkook blanches, wide eyes landing on you. “What? Us? No. I mean, sorry…but—”

Hayun holds up her hand, quelling Jungkook’s flustered response. “I was teasing, Koo, trying to lighten the mood. Um,” she pauses, absently twisting the diamond engagement ring around her finger before slowly slipping it off and closing a fist around it. “Can we talk, though? There’s something I needed to tell you today anyway.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says wearily.

“Tae, do you mind…?” Hayun asks, not even having to fill in the blanks. Her brother instantly steps into his role as protector and savior.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll make some phone calls,” Taehyung assures her before grabbing Jimin’s arm and starting back down the walking path.

“I’ll just—” you thumb over your shoulder in the direction Tae and Jimin just disappeared in “—be in my room.”

“Wait,” Hayun calls, pulling your retreat up short. “Come here.” She opens her arms, her hands opening and closing in grabby motions. “Please.”

A sob cracks from your throat as you throw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. “I’m so sorry, Hayun. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush. None of that. This isn’t anything we could have predicted or stopped from happening. If anything, maybe this is life’s way of getting back at me for what I did to him,” she whispers in your ear. “This is how it’s meant to be.”

Hayun smoothes a hand over your back and releases you. She steps back, using the back of a finger to lift the tears from your cheeks, and gives you a watery smile.

You’re not sure you can speak without completely losing yourself, so you just give her a tight nod and continue back on your way down the path. A part of you wants to hear what she has to say to Jungkook, to be there to soothe any hurts or aches…which is a startling realization that you’d not just tend to Hayun but to Jungkook, too. That internal, visceral part of you yearns to turn on your heel and…protect what’s yours.

It’s an odd revelation to think of Jungkook as yours. Well, yours unless either of you reject the bond. Though, that thought makes your stomach pitch and roil. You have to trail a hand along the wall in the hall leading to your room to keep yourself from curling over your abdomen at just the idea.

Once back in your room, you’re unsure what to do with yourself, so you absently start to gather your belongings and pack them up. Every few minutes, you find yourself pausing to stare at the door, ears pricking at the slightest sound from beyond it.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting. Whether it’s Hayun coming to your room so the two of you can cry together or Jungkook coming to claim y—uh, you shove that thought aside quickly because now is not the time. At. All.

The time for the wedding comes and passes without a single knock on your door nor a text or call on your phone. You’re tempted to go looking. For what, you’re not entirely sure—an answer, maybe, some sort of direction on what you should do now.

Finally, after hours of sitting in silence with just your thoughts for company, a soft knock sounds at your door. The long hem of your dress nearly trips you up in your haste to make it to the door. It swings open, and for some reason, your stomach drops, the flutter of disappointment heavy and unexpected.

“Hey, beautiful,” Taehyung says, his voice soft and full of emotion. “Mind if I come in?” 

His necktie is loose, and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. There is a tension in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier. It makes your chest ache.

“Sure,” you say, stepping back and letting him into your room.

Taehyung sighs, perches on the end of your bed, and props his elbows on his knees. His chin rests on an upturned fist, his other hand dangling between his legs, clutching his phone.

He opens his mouth, a single word the only thing coming out, “So.”

“So,” you parrot.

“Hayun wants me to take her home…alone. I’m not sure what all she and Jungkook talked about, but I think they’re at least amicable in agreeing that it would be best if he gave her a few days at home alone before they start the process of separating their lives.” You’re not sure if the bitter tinge in your chest is hurt because Hayun isn’t the one telling you this or because now you have to find your own way to the airport. As if reading your thoughts, Taehyung continues, “I can be back in two days, maybe sooner, depending on traffic. Perhaps they’ll let you extend your stay. If not, I can talk to Jimin—”

“No, Tae, it’s okay. I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of Hayun, make sure she’s okay...as okay as she can be, at least. Fuck.” The last word comes out choked, and you gnash your teeth on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting the angry tears out. You have no right to be angry. Hell, you’re not even sure why you’re angry. It just seems like the easiest emotion to feel right now, the only one that doesn’t leave you feeling like your world is slowly imploding.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, bringing one of his big hands up to cup the side of your face. His thumb prods at the swell of your cheek, causing you to release the tension in your jaw. “Hayun isn’t the only one I’m worried about here.”

“I’m fine—I will be fine,” you amend. “I promise. I think I’m just feeling overwhelmed. I’m mad at myself for ruining Hayun’s big day. I can’t believe this is happening at all. This…this just doesn’t happen. This is the kind of shit you read about in books, it’s not supposed to be real life.”

And there it is, you surmise—the truth of the matter. None of what’s happened makes sense. It honestly belongs on the pages of a book or in a movie script, not in your real life. It still feels surreal. If it weren’t for the subtle, lingering ache you instinctively know is associated with finding your true mate but not allowing yourself to fully accept it, you’d think this was all some elaborate party trick or impractical joke.

Taehyung smiles at you, but the unease in his eyes can’t be masked that easily. “I’m not sure what to say or what to do. You’re right. This isn’t a situation I think anyone was prepared for or ever thought possible, actually. But, here we are…and we have to face it the best way we can.” He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I'll tell you what: I’ll text Jimin—he’s a good guy, I think you’ll enjoy his company—and ask him to meet you in the lounge. Have a few drinks, wind down, and try to relax as best you can.”

“Sure,” you say lamely, trying to muster up at least a little bit of enthusiasm.

“That’s my girl.” Taehyung offers you another smile, this one not so tense. “Here, I have something for you.” He fishes into his pant pocket and produces a familiar thin silver chain, a tiny crescent moon dangling near one end.

The sight has your spine straightening. “Right, of course.” You quickly thumb open the clasp on the bracelet around your wrist, letting it fall from your skin for the first time since you put it on when Hayun gave it to you all those years ago. It never felt right to take it off…not until now.

Taehyung helps you swap the bracelet with the one in his hand. The metal feels cold against your skin and you immediately miss the subtle fragrance of Hayun’s scent clinging to your wrist. Though, you suppose that’s what has gotten you both into this mess to begin with. Taehyung explains in soft words how Jungkook explained to Hayun about the scent mix-up with the bracelets—such a silly, seemingly insignificant thing…the catalyst to spark such a colossal moment.

“I’m going to get on the road with Hayun, but I’ll call you as soon as we get to her place and check in on you, okay?”

Sitting at the bar with Jungkook’s best friend seemed like a good idea when Taehyung first presented it to you. But, at the time, you weren’t connecting the dots that Jimin was Jungkook’s best friend. He was just Jimin, the guy that just so happened also to be part of the wedding party that you had met in passing briefly, but he seemed like a good enough person. Now, however, you feel all the awkward tension radiating right between your shoulder blades, emphasized by the silence lingering between the two of you.

You traded in your lilac dress for jeans and a light silk blouse, canvas slip-ons in place of your slippers, yet no matter how comfortable you know your clothing is, you can’t shake the prickling discomfort eating away at the back of your neck.

“Want another?” Jimin asks, nodding to your mostly watered-down rum and coke. It’s barely late afternoon, and as much as Taehyung’s suggestion of a drink sounded like just what you needed, you’ve found yourself not in the mood to drink after all.

“Um, nah. I’m okay, thanks.”

“Cool. Okay. I’ll be right back.” Jimin drums his fingers on the tabletop and pops his lips before giving you a slight head nod and pushing up from his chair.

You watch as he saunters to the long bar, his crescent moon tattoo on the nape of his neck peeking out from the top of his collar, and props his elbows onto the shiny top. His smile is flirty and casual as the bartender, a beautiful woman with long, inky tresses and fiery red lipstick, sidles up in front of him.

They’re too far away for you to hear their conversation, but her tinkling laughter carries across the space, and you know it might be a while before Jimin returns to your table.

Which you’re okay with. Considering you know you’re not exactly pleasant company right now, you don’t blame him one bit. You glance down at your phone, once again reading the last text message Hayun sent you not too long ago.

Eunseo stopped by the lounge around the same time Jimin showed up. If her smile and lingering hug were any indicator, she clearly had a thing for him. She gave you a small wave goodbye before giving Jimin another hug and heading out. Apparently, she was going to follow Taehyung and Hayun back to Hayun and Jungkook’s place to help Hayun with whatever she needed over the next few days.

Does it hurt that your best friend is relying on someone else, her new best friend? Yes. Do you also understand why? Also, yes, but that doesn’t make the sting hurt any less.

You’re just about to give up and retreat back to your room, which the front desk still hasn’t given you a definitive answer about whether or not your stay can be extended while you wait for Tae, when a shadow falls across your table a second before.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Jungkook asks in a low voice.

He fidgets, threading and unthreading his fingers together while he waits for your answer. The suit he had half on earlier is gone, and in its place is a dark pair of jeans, the knees worn fashionably, and an oversized white graphic t-shirt. Black sneakers peek out from the rounded bottoms of his pant legs.

You clear your throat, forcing your eyes away from his and instead on the glass sitting in a puddle of condensation on the table before you. “Oh, I—uh, I was actually about to go. You’re welcome to the table, though. Jimin was—” You cut off, realizing Jimin is no longer in the lounge at all. “Well, he was here,” you add with a frown.

Jungkook scratches a hand across the back of his neck and gives you a hesitant smile. “Yeah, he texted me. He went…well, that doesn’t matter. Could we, um…can we talk?”

“Yes.” The response is out of your mouth before he even finishes asking. “Please, I think I’d like that,” you say, nodding toward the open seat across from you.

A shaky breath rattles from Jungkook as he eases into the empty seat. “Have you talked to Hayun at all?” he asks after a moment’s hesitation.

“A text message, but that’s all. I’m not sure she wants to talk to me right now.” Needing something to do with your hands, you trace a finger along the edge of the water pooled around the bottom of your glass and use your other to poke more drops on the side of your cup, making them race down to join the growing puddle.

Jungkook nods, his lips pursing thoughtfully. “She told me what happened last night. Her confession.” That draws your attention back to him, and you wait, fingers still on the glass, intent on hearing what he says next. “I thought I’d be angrier finding out the woman I’ve been with for years—the woman I was hours away from marrying—had cheated on me…but I’m not. For the life of me, I’m not mad at her…even though I know I should be.”

“How do you feel?”

Maybe it’s none of your business, but you have to ask.

Blowing out a breath, Jungkook slides one of his hands across the table and, giving you plenty of time to protest or pull away, slowly slides his fingers between yours, effectively joining his hand with yours. It’s the first time hand-holding has felt so intimate yet wholly innocent.

“Relieved, I think,” he finally says. “Grateful, maybe? Hayun was hurt. As she has every right to be, but she said she also felt relief, too. I think, as much as she said she loved me, she was still holding back even in the end.” With a rueful shake of his head, he tacks on, “We were just a disaster waiting to happen, held together only by the thin chain of a bracelet. We would have shattered eventually.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop to where your fingers are entwined with his, trailing up to your wrist to land on the object he just spoke of.

“I’m relieved, too,” you whisper. Your eyes meet his as he glances up, and you’re instantly captivated.

This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to really study Jungkook. His hair is tousled like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. You suppose he probably had been and wonder if that’s one of his nervous ticks.

The bow of his lips is prominent and draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on his lips, making small mental notes at everything you see, like the tiny beauty mark under his bottom lip. His straight nose leads you to his expressive eyes, so dark and full of secrets you want to be privy to.

To say Jungkook is handsome would be a gross understatement. You’re not sure if it’s the fact he’s your true mate or just simply a gorgeous being, but he is pleasing to the eyes, that’s for sure.

You mentally kick yourself for thinking such thoughts about your best friend’s almost-husband after everything that has just happened. It’s not in good taste to entertain these thoughts so soon, right? True mate or not.

Yet, you can’t shove those thoughts away completely.

“Where did you go just now?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head and studying you intently.

Not wanting to explain yourself and the thoughts you were just having, you choose to ask him a question instead. “So, what now?”

You’re thankful Jungkook doesn’t push you to answer. He shifts in his seat and withdraws his fingers from between yours.

“I think we start with…” he trails off, a playful smile tugging up the side of his mouth as he holds the hand he pulled back in the air in front of you in offering. “Hi, I’m Jungkook.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you smile. A laugh escapes you, and you instantly feel a thousand times lighter with that simple action.

As you take his hand back into yours, allowing yourself to truly savor the feel of his skin against yours, you realize that no matter what happens with Hayun or the fact that you live thousands of miles apart from Jungkook…everything is going to be okay and maybe you wouldn’t have ignored Taehyung’s text after all.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook, 3 months later

The flight was long but worth it. Jungkook stretches as he climbs out of the Uber he took from the airport. You would have picked him up. In fact, you are supposed to pick him up…just, not until next week. He decided to surprise you by coming early. He hopes you don’t mind.

Time seemed to drag to a near stand-still following that fateful day at the bed and breakfast where he was so sure he’d be joining his life with Hayun’s officially. No one could have anticipated what actually went down that day. But, in the end, he and Hayun parted ways on pleasant terms, and it’s actually thanks to her that he’s here right now, a week early.

Jungkook was worried that with everything that happened, yours and Hayun’s friendship might suffer. But, surprisingly—and thankfully—you guys have been getting on great. Hayun has been looking at work prospects in Thailand but, from what you’ve told Jungkook, is planning to visit you and Taehyung for Christmas.

It’s been three months, and not a day has gone by that Jungkook hasn’t talked to you in some capacity. From the moment he offered to be your ride to the airport, and you agreed, he’s thought about nothing other than getting on a plane and following you. The draw to you is just that strong.

You’ve expressed similar feelings, already having planned a return trip to Seoul next month. Neither Jungkook nor you have really talked about what the future holds or how to even begin to navigate it. But Jungkook hopes that during the week he is here, you can both begin to figure that out.

Giddiness makes his tattooed fingers shake as he reaches out and grasps the brass knocker on your door. He gives it a rap against the thick wood and waits. Jungkook counts the breaths as his anticipation rises. It’s only three and a half exhales before he hears the soft pad of your feet on the other side of the door.

Jungkook can imagine you pressing up onto your tip toes in order to peer through the peephole. He’d pay money to be able to see the look on your face when you see it’s him. Not being able to see your face doesn’t take away from the dopamine rush he gets when the sound of your surprised squeal sounds through the door.

“Jungkook!” Your shout is followed by the frantic sound of you disengaging the locks on your door before you swing it open and launch yourself at him. “What the fuck are you doing here? Oh, my gods! Why didn’t you tell me? You’re here!”

It feels good to laugh, but it feels even better to have you in his arms finally. The brief embrace he shared with you at the airport when he dropped you off was not enough and is what drove him to try and come sooner than planned.

Jungkook savors the warmth of your soft body pressed against his, your arms tight around his neck. Running one of his hands up your spine, he clasps the back of your neck and uses his hold there to angle your head away from his neck so he can look you in the face.

“Surprise,” he whispers. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You sigh dreamily, your eyes fluttering closed for a second like you’re savoring the feeling of being in his arms. “Pleasant surprise,” you murmur with a smile on your face.

Jungkook can’t help himself. He wants so badly to know if your smile tastes as good as he thinks it will. The press of his lips against yours causes you to melt against him, a throaty sound escaping around the intrusion of his tongue as he works it between your lips.

“Your taste,” he groans, forcing his mouth away from yours before the allure of you can drive him completely mad. Who is he kidding? He’s already there. “I need more.”

🥀🥀🥀

Those words do something to you.

I need more.

They echo the thoughts you’ve been harboring for the last three months. You’ve ached with those words, desperately willing yourself to be patient and let it happen when it’s meant to happen.

But, fuck, it feels so good to have him in your arms, to have his mouth brushing against yours. He tastes divine, a warm sweetness that compliments the musk of his scent that is slowly wrapping itself around you.

“Take me. Take it all,” you urge, completely baring yourself to him, body, mind, and soul. “I’m yours.”

It’s a frenzy, the frantic discarding of clothing. Your fingers work to free him of his jeans while also helping him with the criss-cross straps of your lounging romper. You don’t care that you’re still standing by your front door, bared down to your underwear. The only thing you’re focusing on now is how Jungkook holds you at arm's length and drinks you in from head to toe.

“You…are…everything.” The way he whispers those words crawls under your skin, rooting itself deep in your being. You feel sexy…desired, and unbelievably empty—your body clenches, the ache deep between your thighs. You’ve never been so turned on from just taking your clothes off before, from whispered words and a heated look.

Jungkook allows you to undress him as slow or as fast as you want. You try to take your time and savor every inch of skin you expose. But, you can barely contain yourself when you get to his jeans, shoving them unceremoniously down his thighs with your eyes locked on the many planes and angles of his toned chest and stomach.

Your fingers ghost over his skin, eliciting goosebumps in their wake as you explore the smooth and lush expanse of his shoulders and down his arms. Without needing to say anything more, he gathers you into his arms and covers your mouth with his once more.

It’s a miracle you make it to your bedroom. But, seeing Jungkook sprawled out on your bed is a sight you’ll never forget, with his lowered lids and bottom lip caught between his teeth. You want to taste every inch of him, from the tips of his ears down to the defined muscles of his calves.

Now, though, your gaze focuses on the front of his tented boxer briefs. The dark grey material has darkened even further, where you can see the distinct outline of the head of his cock. Saliva pools in your mouth.

You crawl on the bed, knees slotting between his, your hands on either side of his hips. With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and mouth gently at the wetness. You moan at the flavor of him, your tongue peeking out to seek more.

“Fuck,” you curse. “You taste so good.”

Jungkook lets out a quick breath. “You can’t say shit like that, baby girl. You’re going to make me lose it.” He flicks his eyes up to the ceiling, his lips moving like he’s sending up a silent prayer, before looking back down at you. “You have maybe three seconds before I can’t hold back any longer and tear that ass up.”

You chuckle softly, pouting out your lips in a faux sullen manner. “Yes, sir.”

That earns a growl from Jungkook that has heat racing down your spine as you hook your fingers into the band of his Calvin Klein’s and pull them down. He lifts his hips, helping you free him from their confines.

His cock stands so pretty before you, the full heft bobbing against his belly, smearing a pearl of precum against his golden skin. You dive in, licking at the sticky mess before taking the tip between your lips and lavishing your tongue over his slit.

Jungkook fists the sheets, a litany of curses falling from his lips. “Please,” he chokes.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you inch your way down his length, your jaw forcing itself wider to accommodate as much of him as you can. The blunt head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. You take a steadying breath in through your nose before forcing yourself a little further until your throat constricts around him and you have to pull back.

The second your mouth leaves his cock, saliva stringing from your lips to his tip, Jungkook grabs you and hauls you up over him. You laugh, loving the heat emanating from his body as yours covers his.

“What are you doing?” you gasp.

His strong hands land on your hips and tangle in the band of your panties. “I need these off. Please. I need you. I want to feel you…be inside you.”

You want that, too, you realize, your body already primed and begging for it. The sweet, fragrant notes of your arousal saturate the air, mixing with Jungkook’s to paint a picture of hedonism and wanton desires.

The rest of your clothes come off, your bra and panties are tossed to the side, leaving you utterly bare to him. Your inner thighs slide like velvet over his hips as you move your body against his until you can feel the press of the head of his cock against your entrance.

You wrap a hand around his base, angling him perfectly. It’s a slow descent into madness, the lowering of your body onto his. His eyes bore into yours, pouring out everything that has been building to this moment, this pinnacle that will forever throttle you onto a different path for your future—with him. You can feel every perfect inch slide along your walls as they adjust and welcome him. It’s like sliding home; he is the perfect fit for your body, filling you completely.

The pace you set, at first, is languid. An easy rise and fall of your hips as you both learn the body of the other. Jungkook’s hands mold around your breasts, his thumbs caressing over the pert points of your nipples.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, emphasizing your words with a generous roll of your hips. “So much better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it often?” he asks, a teasing tone to his words.

With the amount of teasing photos and videos you’ve shared with each other over the last few weeks, he knows you have. You can tell he’s just giving you a hard time. That’s fine, because you can…

Jungkook throws his head back as you arch yours, letting his cock hit that special place inside that has you both seeing stars. “Fuck!” His hands drop to your hips, landing with a satisfying smack. His grip tightens, dimpling the supple flesh around his fingers. “Can I knot you?” he asks with a breathless moan. You’ve never taken an alpha’s knot. The idea has your body pulsing around his, flooding slick onto his pelvis as you continue to roll your hips. “Fuck, baby girl, do you like that idea? You want to take my knot like a good girl?”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, much less answer him. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a panting keen, your chin jerking up and down as you frantically nod your want.

Jungkook braces his feet against the mattress and uses his grip on your hips as leverage to thrust upward, sending you forward onto your hands. He’s relentless, pounding into you from below to the point your eyes roll back, and you have to squeeze them shut. Tiny pinpricks of light burst behind your lids as your body coils tighter than ever before.

You cry out as he sends you over the edge, your body careening into an unfathomable abyss of pleasure. The sounds coming from around his cock as it pounds into you are slick and obscene, debauched yet wholly satisfying. 

“Alpha, need your knot,” you mewl, your lips finding the triskelion tattoo over Jungkook’s left pec muscle. You nibble at it, your teeth sinking softly into the skin.

“Oh, baby, fuck…fuck…Fuuuckkk!” Jungkook shouts, the sound turning into a guttural snarl as his body goes primal.

He seats himself completely inside of you with one final, deliberate thrust, and then you can feel the swell of his knot capture within you. It hurts, your pleasure turning into a moment of pain and panic. You squirm, trying to lift your hips from his, but the clasp of his hands on your body won’t let you go far. You whine, “J-Jungkook.”

“I know, baby girl, I know. Relax. Let your body do what it needs to do.”

It’s like those words unlock some inner Omega part of your brain, and suddenly you feel your body rush with endorphins and dopamine as it accepts the thick jets of his cum now flooding in. Like administering a drug, it’s such a fast transition that you feel lightheaded and giddy, sheepish and almost silly over your moment of panic.

“Gods, that feels so…good.” You wiggle in his arms, gasping as his knot pulls tight. You want more, need more of that feeling…need more of his cum. “More, Alpha, please.”

Jungkook pants, a tired smile on his face. You can feel it when his cock pulses inside you, dribbling even more liquid heat into your body in answer to your plea. “That’s my pretty girl,” Jungkook coos, brushing a hand across your forehead. “You’re so beautiful taking my knot, full of my cum.” He curses softly, reverently, and another gush of heat fills your body. “I’m going to take such good care of you. I swear it.”

You fall into a half-sleep, content and sated as you are. There are no worries about the future, nor the past. You are happy…all thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks.

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2024-11-05 ColorMePurplex2

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.  

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.   

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something? 

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.” 

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you. 

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome. 

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.  

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.  

thank you for reading!! x

[unstable-samurai]

LOVE IS INTENTION

pt.2: A long Dinner With The Frogs

Sana x Male Reader

word count: 18k

part 1

The superintendent's office resembled more a funeral chamber, suffocated in constant dimness. The cold, relentless glow of fluorescent lamps was the only thing piercing the darkness. The smell of stale coffee and musty papers permeated the air, a perpetual reminder of decay. Smith, with dark circles that looked like craters on a face sculpted by exhaustion, stared at the superintendent. Frustration was the only visible mark on his worn expression.

"Superintendent, we need to talk about the case of the victims," Smith said, his voice heavy as lead. "The fourth woman was found today. The modus operandi is exactly the same as the other three. Unless you haven't noticed."

The superintendent, the personification of coldness and impassivity, leafed through the documents before him with an almost supernatural calm. His eyes slowly rose, fixing on Smith with his well-known bony and unfriendly face.

"I saw the report, Smith," he said, his voice as cold as the room. "But this last victim had a Dharma Wheel symbol. That’s a new detail, don’t you think? It might indicate it's not the same killer. Don't jump to conclusions."

"Oh, so now we're collecting exotic symbols?" Smith retorted, acidity dripping from every word. "I understand your concern, but the rest of the details match perfectly. The profile of the victims, the crime scenes, the way they were approached and killed. This can't be a coincidence, unless you prefer to ignore it."

The superintendent maintained his calm and steady gaze on Smith, as if watching a detective character from a black-and-white noir film.

"I agree there are similarities, but the introduction of a new element might suggest a change in pattern or even the actions of a copycat. We need to be cautious, Smith.”

Smith narrowed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “The victims were found in desolate locations, all in seldom-visited urban parks. All four women were between 25 and 35 years old, Caucasian, short in stature, and had a history of ‘nightlife’. The approach was meticulous. Do I need to remind you how it was?” Smith didn't wait for a response and continued: “First, the killer drugged them with benzodiazepines to incapacitate them without raising suspicion. Then, he tied their hands and feet with nylon ropes and strangled them with a thin wire, possibly a piano wire.”

Smith’s voice remained merciless, necessary to make the superintendent understand his point. “The bodies were left in specific, almost ritualistic poses, with their hands crossed over their chests and their eyes open. The only difference in this case is the Dharma Wheel symbol, marked on the victim's forehead with something that seemed to be a cauterization tool, as the forensics confirmed.”

"Dharma Wheel," the superintendent repeated, with a slight inflection of curiosity. "If we initially thought we were dealing with some kind of complex, puritanical misogynist sneaking around brothels, now what is it? A religious fanatic?"

Smith took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. “Well, the Dharma Wheel is a Buddhist symbol, representing cosmic law and order. But it also has mystical connotations. Some believe that incorporating this symbol into a ritual is an attempt to impose a kind of purification or karma on the victim. As if the killer were trying to justify his actions, giving them a higher meaning, almost... religious. Damn, I don’t know. I’ve never been a spiritual guy.”

The superintendent frowned, clearly skeptical. "So you think the killer sees his actions as a form of divine justice?"

"It's a possibility," replied Smith, with a spark of intensity in his eyes. "No detail is added by chance. If the killer included the symbol, he might have evolved in his thinking, or he’s trying to send a message. Maybe he believes he’s correcting some moral imbalance. Sees himself as some kind of Messiah or enlightened one. We need to understand his mindset to anticipate his next steps.”

“And what if we’re dealing with a cult?” questioned the inspector.

"A group of people walking around in white robes killing women would attract a lot of attention, don’t you think? But I admit there might be something bigger behind it. Though it’s still too early to raise such a suspicion. In any case, waiting for another corpse is not a brilliant strategy," Smith insisted. "We have a clear pattern in four cases. We’re dealing with a serial killer. If it’s a cult, we catch one and we catch them all. We need to adjust our operation. The team needs to know we’re dealing with someone methodical and dangerous, unless, of course, you really prefer to wait for another corpse."

"Are you suggesting we formalize this?" asked the superintendent, unperturbed.

"Yes!" affirmed Smith, determined. "Let’s change our mode of operation and inform the team to update the patterns we have. We need to be prepared to anticipate this killer’s next move, with or without the symbol."

There was a note of desperation in Smith’s voice, something even the superintendent, with his impenetrable emotional armor, could not ignore.

"Very well, Smith. Let’s formalize the change and reinforce surveillance in the suburbs. But keep your eyes open for any variation in the pattern. It happened once, it can happen again. Of course, if it’s really the same person. We can't rule out anything," agreed the superintendent, his tone remaining icy. “All this is weighing on me, Smith. I can’t afford to stay in the same spot.”

"Of course, superintendent. We’ll catch the bastard," replied Smith, exhausted. “Well, I think I’ll get some coffee, if you’ll excuse me.”

"Get some sleep, Smith," advised the superintendent, his voice as cold as a tombstone. "We’ll need a better spirit than this to deal with this case."

“I need to sort out a few things first,” Smith said, opening the office door. “After years in this profession, sir, your body gets used to and even learns to function in exhaustion.” And with his usual stubbornness, Smith left the room.

Although the conversation had ended, the funeral-like atmosphere lingered in the air, heavy and striking. The dying cries of the cold wind lashing the window glass seemed to protest against the sick city, as both men prepared to face another long night with no easy answers.

You waited for the document to save automatically, then saved it again manually. Trusting automation 100% has never been your style. You closed the MacBook screen and pushed the chair away from the table, rubbing your tired eyes after three hours of nonstop writing. The now-empty coffee bottle had been your greatest ally in this torturous and solitary mission. All true artists are, at some point, masochists. You heard this from a close friend who was also a writer. A word wizard, you considered him, despite the man never achieving the success he deserved. He was always sensible in his ponderings and could ridiculously well use sex as symbolism for any topic he was discussing. A damn depraved genius is what he was. You wish you had paid more attention when he said function should give a blowjob in form, not the other way around.

You gave a deserved stretch after so many hours sitting, feeling terribly tired, and, unfortunately, there was still a long time until nightfall. It was your third day in the cabin; on the first night, you slept poorly because the place was new, your body and mind needed to get used to such abrupt (though carefully organized) isolation. On the second night, you slept poorly because, well, you don't know why. Just a weird feeling of not being alone, something or someone watching you in the darkness of the room, a sudden perception of there being something else in this place. Whether it was a damn Wendigo or the witch of the woods, you weren’t sure, but regardless of who it was, you were going to sleep well that coming night, no matter the cost.

You took off your clothes, standing in your boxers in front of the bedroom mirror. Not bad for a man about to turn 40, truth be told. You always looked younger than you actually were, and some people found it impossible that you were over 35. For some reason, it was sad to stare at yourself half-naked in front of a mirror, so you refocused and put on your running clothes, the idea being to exhaust yourself to the point that at night you would die in bed, and nothing would bring you back to life, demon or spirit.

Perhaps you drafted the character Smith in such a tired and exhausted way so that he wouldn’t think more astutely than your own mind was capable of at that moment.

In the kitchen, you ate your banana with oats and took your creatine. Deafening silence. Leaning on the sink, you looked around the interior of the cabin; the only thing separating the kitchen from the living room was a counter. There was a small bathroom next to a small bedroom, and nothing more. It was a modest and rustic treasure, and you were more than happy to invest your money to renovate the entire cabin’s plumbing. Artesian well, submersible pump, lift piping, cistern to store water and distribute it to the points of use, pressurizer, and all those filters with strange names and different types of filtrations that, in the end, made it seem like the groundwater had passed under Chernobyl before reaching your cabin. But the bottom line was: drinkable water straight from the tap.

The nearest town was 12 km away. It was almost certain that no one was in the other cabins in the area, as most belonged to hunters and hunting season had not yet opened. The others, the ridiculously large and expensive cabins of rich folks wanting to enjoy nature without giving up extreme comfort, were apparently unoccupied, considering that the vacation season for most people with conventional jobs had already passed. In a way, this made you one of the only slackers in the region.

‘Artist’ might be a less degrading word.

As you headed to the cabin door, you were surprised to notice a small green thing on the wall near the window. As you approached, it moved. You were about to go for a run without your glasses, so eagle vision didn’t match your eyes at the moment. But getting a little closer, you realized it was a frog. When the little visitor noticed your presence, it ran up the wall to hide in an opening between the window and the wall, the spot where it probably came through. Shy little fellow.

“I’d better not see you around here at night, buddy,” you warned it, trying not to sound threatening.

Well, you didn’t hate frogs, but you weren’t a fan either. There was something about them that deeply bothered you, and if it weren’t for that, you might even consider them adorable creatures. The problem was their unpredictability; they could either run away when they saw you coming or suddenly jump on you. It’s not like you were afraid of frogs, maybe just the poisonous ones, for rational reasons, but those were rare to find by chance. The real problem was the feeling of being caught off guard by one of them; it was irritating to you. And this had roots in your tumultuous childhood. As a child, you hated spending holidays at your grandparents' country house because almost every night some frog would jump onto your bed, waking you from deep sleep in the worst possible way: cold, sticky feet on your face. It was always a challenge to get the frogs out of the room, and with all the adults asleep, you couldn’t turn to anyone. A small battle you had to fight alone every night. If only it were daytime, but damn, at night. Why did things seem so much harder at night? Once, three frogs jumped onto your bed within an hour. You woke up the next day with dark circles too deep for a 12-year-old boy and a lot of irritability in your voice. After that misfortune, you started sleeping with the room light on, even after leaving the country house; a habit that triggered issues with your uninterrupted sleep. That was when you first noticed that one event could trigger another completely random one. However, after two months, your father discovered the room light stayed on all night and forced you to turn it off at bedtime, making you lie in bed swallowed by darkness, dreading the sneaky steps of those amphibians so cute yet so damn annoying. It was a pretty embarrassing thing to admit. Ultimately, an irrational fear of something harmless, a product of the unconscious or a malfunction of the reptilian brain, where reason doesn’t operate, only primitive instinct or some crap like that. Regardless of what it was, the sensation of those little cold feet on your forehead was still incredibly vivid in your mind. No wonder you always admired Tiana's courage when she kissed that frog.

The fact was you’d prefer fat, slow toads crawling around your cabin to sneaky frogs inside it. At least this one in particular was smaller than usual, and it looked at you with bulging, curious orange eyes.

“Get out of here, little guy. The insects are outside,” you informed it with leniency, but the green fellow stared at you with a clueless look.

You headed outside the cabin. The fresh air filled your nostrils as the wind tousled your hair. The day was cloudy. According to the weather forecast, the week would be very rainy. You stretched before starting your run; your route would be to walk to a lake five minutes from the cabin and then run around it while listening to your rock playlist. After that, you would have to go to town to buy a new air filter for the generator, and maybe new spark plugs, as the current ones didn't seem to be working properly since the generator was consuming more fuel than you had previously calculated.

Which was strange because it was new.

Oh, and masking tape to cover that crack so the little green guy or one of his friends wouldn’t come back to bother you.

As you walked there (the background music playing in your ears), you revisited the idea of your story in your mind. It was a crime thriller, your first adventure in the genre, perhaps not as commercial as the books Grandma Agatha Christie wrote, tinged with a gloomy and almost nihilistic atmosphere, if not for the satire of the thing in some moments. The draft of the first chapter seemed good enough to you; it set the tone the story would follow. Smith, the classic detective destroyed by his own job and with a few vices, was quite fun to write because of his sarcasm, and the slight satire you intended to put in the subtext of the story lightly worried you about how the audience would receive the book. It wasn’t serious and dark, nor was it a comedy, or a proper satire, but rather that hard-to-reach tone in art: the bittersweetness of real life. Detective Smith cracked good jokes, but despite that, he was a guy committed to his job and, above all, focused on catching the serial killer. Obsessed, so to speak. Which often leads to character flaws and missteps along the way. A human.

Just because what he says is funny doesn't mean he isn't serious.

That was how you wanted to continue the story, and you needed to remember to never underestimate the reader to do it right and stay on tone. The fact that the story only really begins after the fourth murder was different and interesting, placing the reader in the middle of the mess would make the pace intense, while the past events would be given to the reader through flashbacks. The idea could work, as long as you don't ping-pong between the past and the present.

Before you knew it, the lake already stretched out before your eyes, calm and majestic. As you approached, it became clearer, even though distant things weren’t very precise on your radar. Near the shore, you started to run. The sensation was invigorating, close to absolute freedom, making you smile to yourself as all the irrelevant things seemed to fall behind. Perhaps this was the beginning of your solitude, after all. Finally erasing that weird feeling of resentment that had taken over you since you arrived at the cabin, a sense of being somewhat sick, with an inexplicable urge to vomit. And all because of damned Facebook forcing you to see a picture of your ex-wife, remarried, holding her baby in her arms. Countless times she said she didn't want kids… Yet there she was, looking like the happiest woman in the world. Without you.

And you without her! Happy in your solitude, the perfect return to your writing career, except for that one small, insignificant detail. It was all fine as long as you kept running because with every step: all those stupid things grew more distant from you.

Well…

Which actually didn’t make sense.

You were running in circles.

And just when you were about to complete the second semicircle around the lake (man, you must have been really into that solo from Shine On Your Crazy Diamond not to notice earlier), something reflected inside the lake, blinding your vision. You stopped running to see what it was and had to squint to see clearly; truth be told, it took a while for you to believe there was someone swimming alone in the lake at the far end from where you stopped running. You thought it could be anything else, but well, you weren't blind yet. The person had long hair, which could be black, dark brown, or even light brown, darkened by being wet. And you were almost sure it was a man. Thinking with common sense, no woman would be swimming alone in a cold lake in the middle of the forest. Maybe in a teen horror movie where a hot young girl lures a guy or a group of them into a deadly ambush; complete with over 30 minutes of explicit violence, numerous creative deaths, and lots and lots of nudity. You wouldn’t buy the ticket, but you’d watch it on some streaming service on a random night. Thankfully, something like that would never happen in real life. Right?

You paused the music and looked around. There was no one else nearby, and the lake was completely silent, the person swimming slowly and stealthily, like a crocodile — ah, I get it! The person was diving constantly in the lake, which explained why you hadn’t seen them easily.

You resumed running, determined to turn the second semicircle into a full circle. Maybe you’d interact with the person in the lake if you got the chance, but you didn’t think it was a good idea to deliberately bother them in the middle of their dives. You also avoided looking too much at the lake, knowing that person must have noticed your presence from the beginning, so you just decided to ignore the unusual situation and go on with your life.

You completed the second circle by passing by the diving person, but it was nearly impossible not to sneak a glance. That’s when you saw on the lake’s shore some clothes that looked — holy shit! — feminine.

And, of course, the fucking phone that reflected the sunlight in your face.

Your fear grew as your eyes identified each piece. Sweatshirt, jeans, sandals…bra…panties…

This woman couldn't possibly be naked, could she?

Splish!

She suddenly emerged to the surface, tossing her hair back and wiping the excess water droplets from her face. Her breath was heavy as she filled her lungs with oxygen again. The sight was as strange as it was beautiful, like a painting with indecipherable forms, a mirage in an oasis.

“It can't be… Damn it! No, it can't be!” you stammered, your mind going blank.

“Hi, dear! Isn’t it a shame we always meet in such cold weather?” Sana asked, excited to see you. “You’re sweating a lot, huh? Why don’t you stop for a bit and come swim with me?”

She was submerged up to her shoulders, and the faint sunlight piercing through the gray clouds penetrated the lake’s surface, creating a vision of pure delirium. Through the clear water, you saw Sana’s body, refracted and distorted by the rippling surface. Her arms moved gracefully, and each movement seemed amplified and softened by the water. The ripples created a hypnotizing effect, making parts of her body appear to change shape and size. It was as if Sana was wrapped in a cloak of liquid glass, the details of her body dancing and fragmenting into kaleidoscopic patterns. You were mesmerized by the sight, and your mind, often too associative for your liking (a lapse consequent of your work), made you compare Sana to-

“Calypso!” you suddenly said. “You look like some kind of freshwater Calypso. Beautiful and terribly lonely here in this lake.”

You weren’t flirting, just trying not to show the mortal fear you felt at that moment. A mere defense mechanism.

“And you are like Ulysses. You seem not to have been content with my love,” she said. “But unlike him, you don’t have another woman waiting for you far from here. So you have no reason to run from me.”

You squatted to observe her closely. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but watch her, fascinated — perhaps her naked body contributed to it.

“Actually, Sana, you’re more like a limnatide, you know? Those are the nymphs that inhabit lakes. Salmacis was a limnatide."

“You’re so smart. I never get tired of hearing you talk,” she said casually, just to please you. “But who is Salmacis? I don’t remember her.”

“Oh, you know, she’s the one who raped and cursed Hermaphroditus by merging their bodies into one,” you explained and saw her smile fade. A small victory. Standing up again, you asked, “What the hell are you doing here? And how did you find me?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” she said, running her hand through the water, making it ripple.

“You know I can call the police, right?”

“And what will they arrest me for?” she asked, seeming very amused by the situation.

“Stalking.”

“And what are your proofs, darling?”

“I have witnesses who can testify they saw you at the book launch. It’ll be easy to prove since your name was on the list. At the very least, they’ll find it odd we meet again in a new location almost 2,000 km from where we were before.”

“Is that all?” she asked, laughing. “Honey, I think you don’t know how things work. And the proof of a real threat? You can also add the security camera footage from the hallway, where they can see me entering your room at night and leaving only in the afternoon the next day. That will help you a lot, Mr. Integrity,” she flashed you a smug smile that made you look away for a moment, because it was beautiful, Sana was beautiful, and you were very angry with her at that moment.

“You know it’s illegal to swim naked, right? This isn’t a damn nudist beach.”

Sana squinted and smiled; she was really enjoying this argument or whatever the hell this conversation was.

“I thought I was being accused of stalking, now it’s public indecency?” she questioned, caricaturingly putting her finger on her chin. “Look, I think you even have better chances with the second option, although it probably won’t result in anything substantial. I can already imagine my defense saying something like,” She cleared her throat and changed her posture. Simulating a formal tone, she continued: “‘I do not understand that the accused, with her conduct, intended to shock and violate the decorum of the man who witnessed the scene. In my view, the defendant was bathing to refresh herself, however, she did so in a place exposed to the public, though remote, once she believed she was alone at that moment due to the cold weather, which was not inviting to most people, besides the popular hunting season had not started on the date of the incident.’ And I can go on: ‘despite having taken the risk of being seen naked, I see the defendant’s conduct as naive, with no offense to be punished under the law, as she did not commit any obscene gesture.’ And it can get better, look-”

“I get it!” You exclaimed, irritated. “You’re very smart, Sana. I admit that. But know that anything reckless you do will be used against you in court.”

Her expression seemed to change a little.

“I was acting like a peacock, dear. I just wanted to show you my hidden feathers. Believe me, I don’t want us to get to that point.”

“But seriously, where the hell are you staying? It’s 12 km from here to the nearest town and I haven’t seen any tire marks around except my pickup’s.”

“I have a cabin nearby.”

Hearing that, you swallowed hard. It was fucking difficult to keep your head in place in this kind of situation, you simply didn’t know what to think. Simply didn’t know.

As if this insanity wasn’t enough, Sana did nothing to help by displaying her small and delicate body, a structure that seemed almost sculpted at first glance. Her build was slender, with subtle curves that accentuated her femininity without exaggeration. Her skin was smooth as porcelain, slightly pale and flawless, with a natural glow that captured the light like a deity.

Her shoulders were narrow, gracefully shaping into thin arms and delicate hands. Her breasts, though small, were perfectly proportioned, firm and slightly lifted, complementing the harmony of her torso. Her belly was smooth and flat, leading to a finely chiseled waist that gently widened to form narrow hips.

Sana’s legs were long in proportion to her body, slender and well-toned, ending in small, delicate feet. These details were still clear in your mind. One night had been enough to capture a bit of her essence. Writer’s habit.

“That’s a lie. There’s no cabin nearby. I would know.”

“It’s true. Don’t you want to go there with me? I can prepare a picnic basket and we can eat here by the lake. Like our own blue lagoon. Isn’t it cute?”

That was too much for you.

The laugh escaped your mouth like a cough, compulsively laughing in front of her.

'Just because what he says is funny doesn’t mean he’s not serious.'

“Sana, you know there are companies eyeing this lake, right? They want to buy the surrounding area to stock fish in that water and make a fucking recreational fishing park.”

“In that case, it would be epic to fight against the privatization of this lake together. Like a couple of activists.”

“Take it easy, Yoko Ono,” you said while thinking about what to do. The fatigue made everything harder. You asked as sincerely as possible, “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“I’m as sad as you are, but this was the only way for us to have some time alone. Give me a chance to explain everything and I—”

“What’s your last name?”

“What?”

“What’s your last name?” you asked, irritated. Maybe the direct approach wasn’t the best option, but you were incredibly impatient.

“Please, let’s have dinner at your cabin tonight,” she said, completely ignoring your question. “I’ll explain everything. You’ll get to know the real me. You’ll know my last name and much more. I just don’t want you to be afraid of me. Please.”

“It’s hard not to be afraid when everything you do is the most psychopathic thing a human could do.”

“You don’t understand. It’s hard for me. I don’t know how to act like other people, but I’m trying. There are so many little social conventions that are hard to remember.”

“How did you know about the perfume my ex-wife wore? Fuck, I was so stupid to think it was all just a blessed coincidence!”

“You mentioned it in an old interview. The question was: ‘Is there a smell that brings you good memories?’ and you answered that it was that perfume. The one your ex-wife wore since your first date. The dress… There were pictures of her next to you wearing it.”

“You’re a freak, Sana.”

“Wait! Let me fix this.”

She started swimming towards the shore.

“Stay away from me!”

Sana stopped.

“I’m alone in this world, and I have nothing to lose,” she suddenly confessed. “I literally have no one. Except for you.”

“You don’t have me! You never did. You don’t even know me, Sana! You made this up in your head. You need help, do you understand? You need a lot of help!”

“I just need you... Wait, where are you going?!”

“To town! I swear to God, if I see you again, I’ll call the police.I don't give a fuck what I'll need to do to prove you’re a danger.” You spoke, then turned your back and started walking away from the lake.

Then, in the distance, Sana called your name. You shouldn’t have looked. But you turned towards her again, Sana walking slowly in the land, every drop of water lazily trailing down her curves, as if even nature wanted to feel her.

“I have nothing to lose!” she repeated the warning. It was a warning from the very beginning.

And that vision was dangerous evidence: Sana’s body was exactly as you remembered.

The smell of damp earth mingling with the freshness of the surrounding trees. The dirt road stretched out before you, winding between tall trunks and dense branches that formed a natural tunnel. The crunch of the wheels on the gravel and the sound of the old pickup truck’s engine echoed as the only constant sound in the forest, occasionally interrupted by the distant call of a bird or the cry of a small mammal.

As you progressed, the trees began to thin out, leaving larger gaps between them. The sunlight, once filtered through the canopy, had disappeared, giving way to a light rain. The dirt road turned into a narrow paved highway, with the dense vegetation replaced by open fields.

On the horizon, spaced-out farms began to appear, with wooden fences marking pastures where cows and horses grazed lazily. The sky grew darker. Rows of rain-laden clouds marched towards you, and sporadic thunder sounded like war drums. The highway, now straighter, ran parallel to rows of crops that stretched as far as the eye could see. The landscape was dominated by shades of green and gold, occasionally punctuated by red silos and barns.

A few kilometers ahead, the first signs of the town emerged. A small gas station, a grocery store, and a few modest houses lined the road, signaling the approach to the urban area. The main road led directly to the center of the rural town, where life seemed to move at a slower pace.

You drove to the hardware and auto parts store, parked your old pickup truck, and looked both ways before entering the store, the feeling of being watched now believable enough to heed what you previously considered paranoia. There was only a short, elderly man in the store, paying for his purchases and leaving. You walked to the counter to speak with the attendant, a young guy with acne, poor posture, and a cap with the store’s name on it that didn’t fit properly on his head.

“Good afternoon, bro. Tony’s Hardware and Auto Parts. How can I help you?”

“Are you Tony?” you asked, skeptical.

“Nah, man. Tony’s my uncle, I’m Johnny.”

“Okay, Johnny. I need an air filter for a generator.”

“Sure thing. Do you have a sample of the air filter?”

You put the piece on the counter, and Johnny looked at it for a moment, then went to the shelves behind him and spent two minutes searching for the right model.

“Here it is, man. All set!”

“Thanks. Look, I was having issues with the spark plugs in the generator. Yesterday, it took several tries to start it. Then I opened the generator and saw the spark plugs were a bit dirty, I cleaned them, and it started working again, but the generator isn’t running at full power. Do you think the problem could still be the spark plugs?”

“Hmm, could be, buddy. I’m no expert, unfortunately.”

“Also, it’s consuming more fuel than it should.”

“Hmm, yeah, sounds like it could be the spark plugs. I’d recommend buying new ones and replacing them, just to be safe.”

“Do you think I can do this without fucking up the generator?"

“Just shut everything down and don’t go touching random wires. I trust you.” Johnny said, giving you a false sense of confidence.

“Look, you seem like a smart guy.” Actually, he seemed kind of dumb, but he had the profile you were looking for. “Do you know if it’s easy for someone to hack a person?”

“Ah, man, I don’t know anything about that stuff. My brother’s the tech guy. But, I mean, it depends on who this someone is.”

“Someone very dedicated and willing to learn, let’s say.”

“In that case, they could spend hours on internet forums reading about it, man. The information is out there for anyone, no lie.”

“So, hacking someone remotely isn’t too difficult, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And if you had physical access to their devices for a while?”

“Oh man, that’d be a piece of cake! There are some programs you can install on someone’s computer or phone that stay hidden among the files, like a virus, and this software sends a link that opens a page with all your folders for the hacker to access remotely… wait a second,” he said, his expression changing suddenly, “is someone hacking you, or are you trying to hack someone?!”

“The first one.”

“Ah, what a relief. I mean, damn, man, that sucks! You should, like, go to the police or something, right?”

“Right now, I don’t think the police can actually solve my problem. I don’t want to do anything rash,” you tried to explain. “By the way, have you seen any Asian girl, also not from around here, walking around town?”

“Look, man, you can bet if there was a hot Asian girl around here, I’d know.”

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked, and Johnny leaned over the counter to listen. “Can you and your brother look up some info about someone online for me? I’ll pay you.”

“Hey, man, that sounds shady as hell. I don’t know about that.”

“I’m not the creepy one here. There’s a girl, and she’s, like, an obsessed fan of mine. Somehow she found out I was here and followed me. She’s probably at some hotel in town, and I’m staying in a cabin near Crystal Lake. I need to know how dangerous she is. But I couldn’t find anything when I searched her name.”

“Bro, don’t be crazy, call the cops already!”

“The police won’t do anything efficient without solid proof of a real threat. If I involve the authorities, she might get pissed and easily bypass any protective measures just to, you know, get revenge.”

“Wait, if she’s a fan, then you’re famous, right?” he connected the dots, the genius. “I think I’ve seen you in some action movie…”

“I’m not an actor. I just write stories.”

“Oh man, you’re a writer, bro? That’s so cool! Are you friends with Stephen King?”

“Friend is a strong word. We’ve exchanged ideas at a conference.”

“Damn!!” he exclaimed. You could predict what was to come. “Look, I’m shaking, I’m such a fan of his, man! I’ve seen almost all the adaptations of his books. Can you get an autograph from the master?!”

“If you do what I asked, I can try.”

“Deal.”

You shook hands, and the devil knew this wasn’t the best of alliances.

I won't find anything better than this in this place.

“Damn, man! I just remembered I don’t have any of his books at home. I’ll need to buy one.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“Cool. Don’t worry about paying, I’ll cover it. I won’t screw you over or anything. So, buy the It book, it's my favorite film of the adaptations of his books.”

“Alright, alright! Forget about that for now. The girl’s name is Sana, keep it in your memory.”

“Got it. Do you have a picture of her or something? My brother will need a face to know if he found the right person."

You had deleted all those selfies she took with your phone while you slept, but there were still the photos from the book launch, where everyone gathered for a group photo. You took your phone out of your pocket and selected the best picture, Sana was way in the back, she knew how to be discreet when she wanted, you zoomed in on her face and showed it to Johnny.

“Holy shit man! She’s really hot! Look, I wouldn’t mind having a girl like that spicing up my life,” he joked, but you didn’t laugh along.

“Give me your Instagram, I’ll send you this photo so you don’t forget her face."

And he did so.

“When I get some info, I’ll message you.”

“Is your brother trustworthy? You better not fuck with me, okay?”

“Hey, man, you can count on me. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. My brother is solid. Actually, I’d like to ask you one more thing besides King’s autograph. So, me and my brother have a podcast, it’s about movies and stuff, if you could give it a shoutout, speak highly of it, it’d be awesome. We’re getting close to 100 concurrent viewers during live streams, man. It’s growing nicely.”

You looked for the joke, but even Johnny wasn’t laughing this time. You were really desperate to go through with this.

“Alright.”

“And look, if you do that, it’ll mean a lot. It’s almost like a pact, you know, we’d never screw over someone who helped our podcast, you know? So you can feel safe with this. For real.”

“Fine, Johnny. I’ll trust you.”

“Oh, one more thing!” You tried not to roll your eyes. “You said you’re staying in a cabin near the lake, right? I recommend you buy everything you need, especially fuel to keep the generator running, because you might get stuck there for a while. There’s a hell of a storm coming, and when that happens, that road gets all muddy and almost impossible to drive on, and with that pickup of yours,” he pointed through the store window where your truck was parked, “you’re not going anywhere until the rain stops. That’s why no one stays in that area during the rainy season. You got unlucky.”

“Damn, I should’ve rented a better car. I thought this one would do the job.”

“Sometimes humility is our downfall, bro… Hey, that was a damn good line, you should write it down for one of your books. Consider it a gift.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll stop at the gas station and buy some gas cans.”

“Alright. When my shift ends, I’ll go home and tell my brother everything, he’ll do some digging on your fan. Maybe we’ll find some police records or something, who knows, maybe a lawsuit she’s involved in. I’ll get something for you, man. Trust me.”

You were starting to regret this idea.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, got it?”

“The secret between friends dies with the friends. Take care.”

You paid for the air filter and spark plugs, then left the store. As you got in the car, Johnny waved at you through the store window. Everything happened too fast for you to realize the level of recklessness you’d inflicted, but, damn, there were no manuals teaching how to deal with this kind of situation. Either way, you didn’t have a good feeling, and it was hard to tell if it was a bad omen or just fatigue. The roads would soon be messed up, and once you returned to the cabin, you might not be able to leave for a while.

Was it a sign from the universe or just bad luck?

Well, whatever it was, you still needed gas.

The trip to town had been frustrating but necessary, as thanks to Johnny's warning, you managed to stock up on gasoline for the generator. And food, of course. If everything you bought wasn't enough, then you would resort to self-cannibalization while writing an essay about the experience to be published posthumously. Now, the truly frustrating part of the trip had been your search for Sana. You looked for her in the tiny hotels, inns, hostels, and even motels. Fortunately, the town was small and there weren't many lodging options. Most of the conversations with the receptionists went like this:

“Good afternoon. I’m looking for a friend of mine, Sana. Is she staying here by any chance?”

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m sorry, but we can’t disclose information about our guests for privacy reasons.”

“I understand. It’s just that she’s not answering her phone, and I’m worried. Could you at least confirm if she’s checked in recently?”

“I really can’t confirm if someone is staying here, but I can try to help in another way. What’s her full name?”

Here is where you’d seem like the most suspicious guy in the lobby:

“Look, it’s funny, I always forget her full name. The last name is difficult to remember, and I’m not really good with names in general. But there can't be many women named Sana around here, right? I just want to know if she’s okay.”

When you gave this flimsy excuse, the receptionists would give you a very judgmental look.

“Let me check something for you. Just a moment.”

Then they’d start checking the system. Or pretend to.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t provide that information. However, if she left any message for you or indicated she was expecting someone, I can let you know. Leave your name and contact here.”

“I understand, thank you. Actually, I’ll keep trying to call her. Sooner or later she’ll have to answer, right? Thanks again for your help.”

You and the receptionist would exchange an awkward smile, and you’d leave knowing she was watching you from afar.

Leaving your information at receptions would only plant evidence of you stalking Sana, and just God knows how things would go if that ended up in court. Besides, if Sana were really staying in one of these places, she would never contact you. It was pretty clear that wouldn’t work, but you had to try anyway. The idea of Sana being in another cabin in the forest was inadmissible and didn’t make sense to you. During the days you spent in your cabin and wandered around the surroundings, you didn't notice any smell of food being prepared, no human noise, no footprints, no trash. But... she had invited you to her cabin, which you logically refused. There might be some kind of trap waiting for you there; you couldn’t trust her. The most plausible thing then was that Sana's cabin was relatively far from yours, hidden and camouflaged in the dense forest. Your mind elaborated a thousand and one theories as you returned to the comfort (not so comfortable now) of your home.

Then an absurd idea crossed your mind and you caught it with your hand, while the first drops of rain hit the car's windshield.

Night fell over the forest with the storm.

It took you a little over an hour to change the air filter and the spark plugs, but when you finished, the feeling of satisfaction at hearing the generator's engine purr like an orange kitten made you smile, cutting through some of the tension that was stiffening not only your muscles but also your spirit.

A big thank you to YouTube tutorials.

Anyway, the joy was short-lived, the raincoat you were wearing felt like a black shroud given to those summoned to explore the borders of hell. You needed to find out if there was indeed another cabin near yours. It was safer to go during the day, but you couldn’t risk Sana seeing you. Who knows, maybe there was some surveillance equipment in her cabin, although it was unlikely to keep such a thing running 24 hours with just a simple generator. But images of you sneaking around her cabin would be all Sana needed to blackmail you.

What the fuck am I doing…?

Where were the boundaries between your pragmatism and your neurosis?

You thought that by the time you figured it out, it would be too late.

With one hand you were holding the flashlight, with the other you opened the cabin door.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, your anxiety grew in a pulsing manner, like a parasite inside you, but a good parasite, pulsing in your temple telling you to turn back. What lay ahead were trees, trees, trees, and more trees. No sign of a cabin.

The forest was nothing more than a labyrinth of shadows. You advanced with uncertain steps, the flashlight trembling in your hand. The rustling of leaves sounded like distant laughter. You looked back, but the darkness had already swallowed the way back. If there was a cabin, you should have found it by now. There was no sign of an open field where a cabin or any structure could be placed. Your heart beat erratically, in a sudden delirium you wondered if you were alone or if someone was watching you. The forest closed in around you, it was hard to admit it, shit, it was terrifying to admit that you were lost. Your breath quickened as the cold bit into your skin, rationally, the despair set in. Then the flashlight in your hand flickered, the weak light trembled like a candle about to go out.

No, no, no!

You pressed the button repeatedly, but the beam of light weakened even more. The uncertain steps made your foot encounter something solid on the ground. You stumbled and fell. The pain was sharp enough to know that the injury was serious, at least given the situation you were in. After all, what the hell was that? A twisted root? A rock? It didn’t matter, it wouldn’t change the fact that now your left ankle was sending you jolts of pain, and standing up was torture, making you hate Sana with all your might. Limping in the middle of the dark forest like a stupid clown. You were tremendously irritated, an unexpected urge to drink seized you.

I could drink and die right after. I’d give anything for that. Fuck this life!

Suddenly, your hearing sharpened when you heard a terribly high-pitched sound coming from behind you. Screaming, screaming, screaming, calling you. It sounded like a… Whistle? It couldn’t get any better. Maybe a soccer match was going on nearby and you were the idiot who didn’t buy a ticket. The whistle seemed to have a life of its own, it was continuous. Well, someone was killing their lungs trying to save you. Either that, or the witch of the forest was whistling in a very, very weird way. You followed the direction of the incessant whistle, except for the regular pauses for whoever was whistling to catch their breath. Sporadic lightning occasionally revealed the way for you, giving you glimpses of a trail you had already traveled, although, the way it was shown – fleeting and blurred by the wet lenses of your glasses – seemed more like hallucinations in your head. But you had to believe you were returning to your cabin. The whistle. The call.

It was Sana, wasn’t it?

A lightning bolt flashed across the sky like at a large outdoor festival, in the distance, still through the trees, you saw your cabin flicker in the dazzling light.

The whistle sounded like a gesture of despair.

The trees gradually spaced out, the surroundings became more visible, the ground less uneven, you were out of the dense forest, your flashlight failing as it tried to illuminate in a single beam of light the figure of the girl dressed in a long dress, holding an umbrella with one hand and a whistle with the other, looking like a character straight out of a Koreeda film.

You walked up to her, your left foot practically dragging on the ground, you couldn’t think of anything to say, the anger being crushed by gratitude, the fury devouring the complacency alive, the urge to cry usurping the relief.

“Let’s go inside!” exclaimed Sana urgently, sharing the umbrella with you as you both rushed to the cabin (well, you tried).

The door opened with a dry snap. You exhaled like a dying horse, throwing yourself onto the cabin floor to lie down, practically your white flag against the wild nature. You didn’t want to think about anything. There was nothing to think about. There was no reason to think. You’d been doing that your whole life and were tired of it. You wanted to throw your brain away. Pull the back of your head like a damn mailbox and remove that electrified ball of flesh. There had to be a way to make it stop thinking.

Well, there was a way, but it was, let’s say, off-key.

You started to get up, your damn ankle sending you jolts of pain to remind you of your stupidity. You looked at Sana, beautiful, while you: destroyed.

“There’s no cabin, is there, Sana?” you asked, pronouncing each word slowly, trying to space out the anger you felt. But it was hard. God, how hard it was.

“I’m sorry!” she said, crying. Fuck, she was already crying. “I didn’t think it would go this far. I can explain everything. I’m sorry! You were out for so long! I was so worried about you. Are you hurt? My God, I’m sorry!” she repeated, screaming.

“Get out of my cabin. Now!”

There you were, throwing her out again.

“Please, no…”

“I said I’d call the police if this happened again. Get out, you psychopath!” you yelled at her, and Sana stepped back, scared.

You approached her in a threatening manner, making her walk backward, cautiously, and with each step she got closer to the door. Before she realized it, she was at the doorway.

“You better disappear before the police show up,” you warned her, and then slammed the door shut with brute force.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What a day. Everything fell apart so quickly that you didn't have time to see where you went wrong. Now 3% calmer, you noticed that the kitchen table was set, hot food, candles, the fireplace warm, two glasses, and a bottle of Coca-Cola (no wine for Mr. Writer). She had prepared dinner while you were facing the two longest hours of your life. Spaghetti carbonara. That's what it seemed like, at least. A relatively quick dish to prepare if you had made it before. The smell was great, the ambiance emphatically comfortable while the world outside was collapsing. It seemed intentional: a terribly cold end-of-the-world assaulting the planet and you denied shelter to one of God's angels. Even if she might be Lucifer's younger sister

Oh, come on, I'm not like that. She didn't deserve to die from hypothermia or whatever the hell.

You took off that stupid raincoat and went back to the door, leaned your head against the wood before deciding if you were actually going to open it or not. The primary mistake was opening the hotel room door that day, and here you were, repeating — now aware of what would happen — the same mistake, about to formalize a new heuristic pattern. And, fuck, it was really funny how one event could trigger another totally random one.

You saw Sana's face light up when the door opened, the glow of the lamps behind you reflecting in her brown eyes. She hadn't moved an inch since you expelled her. Because she already knew you would open it again or because she didn't know where to go?

"Come in before you catch a cold," you said, extending your hand into the cabin.

She seemed slightly confused by your kindness but entered immediately.

You asked her to sit on the couch while you quickly walked to the bedroom and grabbed two towels. You wrapped her body with the bath towel and started drying her hair with the face towel.

"Sorry, I don't have a hairdryer."

"It's okay. Thank you."

Sana's makeup was running down her face, a sad sight, but somehow, it became incredibly erotic on that precious face. Two beautiful lines running below her eyes, the mixture of eyeshadow and mascara, as if Sana had cried tears of dark indigo. A living portrait where the artist displayed his tragedy.

"Excuse me," you asked, and she allowed you to dry her face, cleaning one corner and smudging the makeup even more in another. "Why do you have a whistle?"

"Hmm, i found it here."

"Really? Well, it's actually the least weird thing that happened today."

"I saw you limping," she said, her voice still wary, like a child who knows they've done wrong and now has to face their parents. "Are you okay?"

"It's my fucking ankle. I think I tripped over some exposed root or something. I must have twisted it."

You hadn't taken off your boots yet to see the damage. After drying Sana's face, that's what you did and — oh boy —, it wasn't a pretty thing to see.

"Let me check," said Sana, kneeling with difficulty because of her dress. "It's quite swollen and red; it might turn purple. I'm going to press a little, okay?"

You gave permission, and the slightest touch made you groan and sigh, and maybe you were starting to go crazy because the pain that pulsed from your ankle was terribly pleasurable and stimulating, seeming healthy to self-inflict for your own satisfaction, like scratching a persistent itch. But you weren't quite insane enough to enjoy that kind of thing.

"I don't know where to start treating my ankle," you admitted, frustrated.

"Where's the first aid kit?"

"In one of those cabinets," you pointed to the kitchen.

Sana got up and went over to rummage through the cabinets. She soon found the small white box with a red cross on the lid. Sana opened the freezer and took out a bag of ice, grabbed some cubes, and wrapped them in a cloth, bringing everything back to the couch. Sana gently took your leg and raised it, placing it on a pillow on the coffee table.

"Open the kit and look for a painkiller," Sana said while holding the makeshift ice pack on your ankle. "Take ibuprofen if there's any."

Fortunately, there was.

"How long do you think it will take to heal?"

"It wasn't a severe sprain. Maybe two weeks. One, if you behave and take care of it."

"Are you a nurse?"

"No, but I took some classes on 'how to be a functional human being and survive in society.' Oh, do you need water to swallow the pill?" You shook your head. "Believe me, where I came from, I needed those classes. They just didn't teach us much about medications. For safety."

"You're my Annie Wilkes, I guess. But more attractive than Kathy Bates, at least." You joked, and the bitter sarcasm felt much like the taste of a horrible medicine you needed to take to endure the moment.

Sana chuckled, but she was still focused on her task.

"Don't be silly, I'm not going to keep you here or anything like that. I'll take care of you. It's my fault you got hurt, after all," she sadly admitted. Apparently, psychopathy wasn't her problem. Sociopathy, maybe. "I suppose you don't have a crutch here in the cabin," she said while rummaging through the first aid kit. "Tomorrow I can buy one... Oh, look, this elastic bandage will do for now." She showed you the small roll of bandage with a gentle smile.

"I wouldn't count on going to town tomorrow. With this rain, the road will be impassable. We're stuck here," Was it safe to pass this information to Sana? After all, you still didn't know her true intentions.

"Oh, I kind of suspected that. So, in that case, we'll improvise a stick for you tomorrow morning. We have plenty of wood at our disposal. Well, now I'll bandage your foot. This might hurt a little, but it will help," she warned, unrolling the bandage.

Holding your foot with one hand, Sana started wrapping the bandage firmly around your ankle, starting at the base of your toes and moving towards the heel.

As she worked, she made sure the bandage was snug but not too tight to avoid cutting off circulation. "I need you to tell me if you feel too much pressure or pain," she said, focused on what she was doing.

You smiled without realizing it. Her serious expression while focusing on the task was actually very cute. She had agile and gentle hands, and her care not to hurt you was evident.

Sana continued wrapping the bandage, overlapping the wraps evenly, creating stable compression around the swollen ankle. When she reached halfway up your calf, she secured the end of the bandage with the clips provided in the kit.

"Done," she said, observing her work. "Now we need to keep this elevated and continue applying ice. It will help reduce the swelling," she informed you, putting the makeshift ice pack back on your ankle. "We'll do this every few hours, 20 minutes at a time."

"You're incredible," slipped out of your mouth. You shouldn't be encouraging her. But you were voluntarily doing so.

"It was nothing. Now, I think we have some things to talk about, don't we?"

You smiled with your lips, a humble smile of Tiredness. Or a smile of defeat, like someone who, with a certain pride, acknowledges their weakness towards something or someone. In your case, it was her. Sana.

You patted your thighs and sighed. Was there anything else to do, after all?

"Bring the spaghetti over here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Terribly fascinated you were. Maybe it was too early to say 'terribly enchanted'. You were enveloped by the long, deep, melodramatic lull that was Sana's past. Slightly distressed to know how it all happened until it triggered the moment where you both were, but it was necessary for the story to be told from the beginning to fully understand the impulsive acts of this girl - this fan - passionately obsessed with you.

Oh, and by the way, the spaghetti was good. But a bit cold.

You looked at Sana, melancholic and distant while she watched the flames in the fireplace. She had gone to the bathroom to wash her face properly. Now with a clean face, nothing was covering it. Determined to delve into her wound for you.

“First of all, my last name is Minatozaki,” she said, in a mere attempt to break the ice. You told her it was a beautiful last name. “I was 11 years old when everything started to fall apart,” she began in earnest. “My mother suffered from severe depression. She was always absent, even when she was present, if that makes sense.”

“It does make sense,” you commented. “And your father?”

“My father was a ghost, always working. He never had time for me. Soon I started to feel invisible, as if I didn’t matter. Then the anger started growing inside me. I became more and more impulsive and aggressive,” Sana paused. She looked at you, as if to make sure you were really listening. “They didn’t know what to do with me. The school couldn’t handle my behavior. The breaking point was when I pushed a classmate down the stairs over some silly argument. I don’t even remember the reason anymore, just that she broke her leg. That’s when they decided to institutionalize me.”

“Damn… That must have been terrible for such a young child.”

“It was. At first, I hated being there. The psychiatric hospital was a cold and strange place. The atmosphere forced to be welcoming, it was an expensive hospital after all, but if you’re there alone, it’s terribly distressing. I felt isolated from the world. The other kids had similar problems, but no one really connected. Everyone was fighting their own battles there.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind Sana’s ear and then asked:

“And what was your routine like there?”

“We had classes inside the hospital. There were teachers, but the classes were small. They tried to adapt the teaching to our needs, but I always felt like I was missing something, you know? The occupational therapies and the playful activities helped pass the time, but it was never enough to fill the void.”

“I imagine. And the treatments?”

You didn’t realize it, but there was a calmness and kindness in your voice that motivated her to continue.

“At first, they diagnosed me with Oppositional Defiant Disorder. I was always provoking the adults, causing trouble. But as I grew older, my symptoms evolved. In adolescence, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. My emotions were a roller coaster. I felt empty, but at the same time, any small thing could trigger a storm inside me.”

“It must have been a constant battle.”

“It was. They tried everything to control my anger and impulsiveness. Psychotherapy, behavioral therapy, medication... Every day was a struggle to stay stable. I was always being watched, always under surveillance. I had few chances to feel really free. Over time, my parents’ visits decreased. Not that I cared, we were never close anyway. The only things that brought me some relief were books. And that’s how I discovered you.”

“Me?” You swallowed hard. “Well, sooner or later we’d get to that.”

“Yes. Your books were an escape for me. I read and reread every word, trying to find some meaning, some connection with myself. When you wrote about pain, about loneliness, I felt like you understood exactly what I was going through. Catarina, the protagonist of your first book, when she attempted suicide and was hospitalized… That story changed me… But not all of your books were allowed for us.”

“It’s understandable, God knows how many triggers that could unleash in vulnerable people. But wait, how did you get my books then?”

“There was a doctor, Dr. Collins. She sympathized with me. I think she saw something in me that others didn’t. She brought me your books secretly, even those considered too sensitive for patients like me. Besides, she managed to get teen magazines where you were interviewed. The questions were trivial, but for me, every detail about you was a treasure.”

With a slight smile, you said:

“I was contractually obliged by the publisher to do those things. I don’t dare to flip through any of those magazines nowadays,” You saw Sana’s face soften a bit. “So, Dr. Collins was your accomplice, right?”

“In a way, yes. She also knew I tried to listen to your radio show. There were nights when I stayed up late, trying to fix the signal on the old hospital radio to hear you talk about movies with your friend. Sometimes, I even managed to hear a full episode without missing anything.”

You held her hand. A gesture that made you uneasy, but Sana’s response by squeezing your hand made it seem right.

“I never imagined my books and other nonsense I did could have such an impact.”

“They did. I wasn’t joking when I said that day that you were my peace of mind. But anyway, my parents died in an accident shortly before I left the hospital. I was the only one to inherit their estate. Living in society I found myself lost and lonely again. I tried to find someone like you, but no one was enough. They all disappointed me. They were older, like you, but they just wanted to use me. I hate admitting this part of my life, but I slept with several men hoping to find one who made me feel what you made me feel. It didn’t work, so that’s when I decided I needed to find you, needed to somehow make you understand.”

Your gaze shifted from hers. Terribly melodramatic for your taste, terribly visceral, and terribly your complacency acted without your command.

“And now we’re here. And I finally start to understand the depth of what you went through, Sana. I'm sorry about your parents, I had no idea. What a fucking journey you lived..."

She gave you a sad smile.

They were the beautiful eyes of a tragedy looking at you.

“Yes, we’re here. And maybe, now that you know I’m not a monster, we can really get to know each other.”

The hand of reason tugged at your ear. Was this beautiful, seemingly vulnerable girl manipulating you again?

Either way, there were still loose ends.

“And at the book launch, when you appeared… Your dress, the perfume… Everything so intentional… Why did you do that, Sana?”

She looked down, embarrassed.

“I planned everything. I wanted you to notice me, to see me as someone special. I thought if I wore the same dress and perfume as your ex-wife, I could make you feel the same as you did for her. It was a desperate way to try to get your attention, to make you fall in love with me like you did with her. I know it sounds crazy, but… I was willing to do anything for you to notice me.”

“Sana, that is…” What was that? So many layers, so many branches, you didn’t know what you were feeling anymore. You didn’t know how to judge. Even having written troubled, depressed characters, the real bastards, you never approached from a psychoanalytic perspective. You were just a person writing other people. It was never your place to judge your characters’ actions. It was never your place to judge anyone. “I understand a little better now, Sana. You just wanted to be seen, to be loved.”

A sudden desperation took hold of her.

“And you’re the only person I felt could really understand that! That’s why I did what I did. I didn’t want to scare you, I just wanted you to see me.”

You wanted a drink of something. Your throat dry in that cold weather. God, how a whiskey would be nice. Just one glass. Maybe two. Why not? You asked Sana to serve you a little more of that damn Coke. Your eyes were a little heavy, the train of thought slightly losing the objective.

Oh, more questions…

"you were bluffing when you invited me to your cabin, correct?"

"That's right. I knew you would never agree to go there with me. My real plan was to have dinner together, and slowly I would explain everything to you. Like now."

“But Sana, I need you to explain to me: if there’s no other cabin, where the hell have you been all this time? I swear to God you were scaring the shit out of me. I went to several lodges but couldn’t get any information about you. Then suddenly you show up here at night like out of nowhere. I hope that psychiatric hospital isn’t really the fucking Xavier Institute.”

“I’ve been here the whole time, silly. Watching you,” hearing that sent chills down your spine. “Sorry, I know it sounded weird. Just kidding. But it’s actually kind of true.”

“Are you a ghost or something?”

“I’ve been hiding in the basement.”

But what the hell is she talking about?

“Sana, this cabin doesn’t have a basement.”

“Did Mr. Goss tell you that?”

Jesus fucking Christ, she never stopped surprising.

“How do you know the name of the former owner?” you asked, trying to disguise the fear on your face.

“The night we slept together… You know I took your phone. I checked everything that might be important. I saw your emails about the cabin documentation and all that. At the same moment, I looked for nearby cabins I could rent, but there were none available. Well, the original listing was still active, it was favorited in your browser. The description didn’t mention anything about a basement, nor did the documentation. Since it was so well camouflaged and without hiring an inspector, you would never find out.

"And how did you know?"

"I was watching that interview you did for Book Tools that happened shortly after our first meeting. You mentioned you were planning to go on vacation and write a bit in nature, but you were going to delay it a month to get better organized."

"I guess I'll never comment on my personal life again. Holy shit..."

"Well, I decided to take advantage of that time and see your cabin before you did. It was easy to find; people gave me information without suspecting a thing. I was researching how to build an even simpler cabin on the other side of the lake for us to be 'together,' and I found information about the history and importance of the cabins in the area on the county's website. Among that, there was a blueprint showing how the cabins were originally designed. Most were built according to this model, and it included the existence of a basement."

"But why did Mr. Goss omit that?"

"After staying in the basement, I have the answer. Down there, you can see some structural irregularities. I think he feared that if they were discovered, they could cause legal problems or decrease the property's value. So, he decided to simply forge the documentation, stating that the basement had been dismantled and no longer existed since doing so for real is quite expensive."

"I could sue that old man for this!"

"I read your conversation with him about the purchase. You said it would just be a retreat for a few weeks. He probably thought that by the time you discovered the truth, he would already be six feet under."

You paused to digest things, refilled your glass of Coke, and downed it in one go. Calmer, you then asked,

"Structural irregularities, huh? That could be dangerous... And with these rains..."

"Despite the irregularities, I think it's safe enough to stay there for a while. You can deal with it later. If it hasn't collapsed before, it won't collapse now."

"That's a spirited way of looking at things."

For some reason, this made her smile.

"Someone has to, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so... Anyway, where's the basement entrance?"

"Under this rug," Sana replied, pointing to the shaggy rug in the living room.

"Of course it would be in the most visible place in the cabin. I feel like an idiot."

"There's an additional exit from the basement that leads directly outside, behind the cabin. It's where the old plumbing system was. It's camouflaged by vegetation, so it's hard to see."

"I really bought Area 51, huh?"

"The rest is no mystery. Through the external exit, I brought in food, blankets, a sleeping bag, clothes, and everything else I needed. I knew the basement had small ventilation openings, so there was enough air to breathe. And most importantly, an outlet to charge my phone."

"Damn! That's why the generator was consuming more than I calculated."

"Er, sorry!" she said, then theatrically bit her lower lip as if that could make up for things. Maybe it could. A little.

"It's been a long day. A long and weird day. But, in a way, it's nice to have you here. I guess."

That seemed to spark something in Sana's mind.

"Really?"

"While I was wandering lost in the forest, I felt strangely alone. I think being stuck here for days would be too lonely for my taste. At some point, I would wish for company."

You smiled at Sana, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Since I talked about my past, why don't you tell me a bit about yours? You know, the stuff that never made it into interviews. What might only be revealed in your biography."

"Well, know that you outdid me in the difficult past department. There are some things that were never told. Some painful memories. But it's already very late. How about I tell you tomorrow while we have a picnic by the lake? We need to save some for the next chapters."

"Great idea!" her smile lit up, and at that moment, she seemed like nothing more than a girl to you. "And what kind of story are we writing here?"

"I don't know... I want you to help me figure that out."

"You're... not afraid of me?"

"Not anymore. I think you got what you wanted. Come here."

You opened your arms a bit. Sana, like a wary puppy, gradually gave in and approached. She sat sideways on your lap, slowly, uncertain, looking at your ankle extended on the coffee table.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"No. You can sleep with me in the bed tonight. Or on the couch, if you prefer—"

"In the bed. Please."

"You don't need to do the weird perfume and dress thing anymore. From now on, I want you to just be yourself. Can you do that?"

"Of course! Of course I can! But... you don't hate me anymore? The way you expelled me earlier... The anger on your face... it broke my heart."

"People are strange, Sana," you began, the prelude to a speech you didn't know you were capable of giving, "feelings, they are weird as hell. A single feeling can have a million facets," you explained, and Sana looked at you with a mix of fascination and curiosity. Dangerously adorable on your lap. "The simplest way to see this is to think of a child who, after years of living with their parents, is ostracized for some reason, be it for coming out with their true sexuality or taking a political side contrary to the family's. It's easy to imagine the child's emotional pendulum swinging between love and hate for their parents."

"I think I get the gist of it."

"The point is: I understand what it means to find solace in something to take refuge from the untamed wild world. That's what I did with writing. And, in your case, you found refuge in me. It's our first point of connection."

Sana's hand trembled as it reached your face, her lips pressed together and her eyes shining with tears.

"You're exactly as I imagined," she said in a whisper, the most her voice could manage, as if every cell in her body was working to keep her from falling apart at that moment, "there's no other explanation but fate. It brought us here."

You thought that Sana might have nudged fate a bit to bring things to this moment. But so far, what you had seen of this girl with such a fragile appearance was a tragic and relentless force of nature, so maybe she did have her cosmic connection with destiny.

You brought Sana's face close for an Eskimo kiss. She seemed shy about the gesture but undeniably loved your initiative, and the sensation of her skin against yours, her weight on you, and her warmth enveloping you was irresistibly addictive. Sana's fingers played indiscreetly with your hair, her smile directed at you... When was the last time someone had smiled at you with love? It all felt so pure, so beautiful, so romantically erotic (the privileged view right in front of her neckline, her small and perfectly formed breasts pressing against the fabric) and so, so good. God couldn't be testing you, could He? Because, well, this was beyond any human limits.

Her eyes marked your mouth as a target, but she couldn't go further because what preceded the desire was a need to affirm something greater.

TOUCH ME

KISS ME

The words that flew like magic into your ear that night, now implied by a thread of feeling. You were kissing Sana, rediscovering that the truth can be a sweet ruin or, perhaps, she was the last soul to fill your emptiness. The kiss started gentle but soon intensified, becoming a deep and wet exploration. Each movement of your tongues carried the urgency of months of repressed desire. Mutual. The way Sana's lips molded to yours, the slight pressure and shared moisture creating an almost chemical reaction that could lead to combustion. Your fingers intertwined in her brown hair while Sana's fingers traced soft lines on your nape, sending shivers down your spine. She moved closer, pressing her breasts against your chest as your tongues intertwined, exploring and teasing. Her taste was a refreshing mix of sweetness and desire, an intoxicating combination that made your heart race.

Suddenly, you felt her lips open a bit more, and her tongue slid into your mouth with a firm motion. She started sucking on your tongue, pulling it gently into her mouth, creating a warm, wet suction that sent waves of pleasure straight to your core. The sensation was almost overwhelming, indescribable, indeed. Sana could leave a writer speechless. But the fact was that every movement of her tongue created a deeper connection, a current of desire that seemed to run directly to your cock.

"Your taste is delicious. I've missed it. It makes me want more, so much more," Sana whispered against your lips, fatally beautiful as a thread of saliva spontaneously trickled down her chin.

Sana's eyes were closed, her face surrendered to the pleasure of the moment as she did a perfect job driving you crazy. Each time she sucked your tongue, you felt a pull in your stomach, an almost primal need to fuck her hard in response to what she was doing to you.

Sana moaned softly, her sweet sounds of pleasure resonating against your lips, increasing your arousal, your hands gripping her delicate waist firmly, as if fearing she might escape. But Sana had no intention of going anywhere. She wanted to carnally explore every part of you.

You pulled her body closer, your hands sliding over the smooth curves of her back until you reached the firmness of her ass, soft through the texture of her dress, squeezing it shamelessly, feeling Sana's response in a muffled moan.

She released your tongue for a moment, just to murmur against your lips: "I want your cock fucking my tight pussy soon. It's getting so wet for you, my love."

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," you murmured, your voice husky, your mind... completely devastated by her.

"Oh, I do," she replied, a smile of pure satisfaction on her lips before diving back into your mouth. And in that moment, with Sana sucking your tongue with an almost painful precision, you knew you were totally, irrevocably surrendered to her.

"Now... Is this real? This time, is it real?" Sana asked, as if speaking of a distant dream, her eyes half-closed in pleasure and longing.

"It's damn real," you replied, feeling your heart race uncontrollably. "I can't resist you anymore."

Sana shifted position, slowly sliding to face you, her legs delicately wrapping around your hips. Her eyes met yours, and the lascivious and determined gleam in them was unmatched. She began to move her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, pressing against your cock. By then, it was painfully hard inside your pants, throbbing with expectation.

Sana moved closer to your ear, her voice low and sweet, whispering: "I can feel how much you want me." Her hot breath against your skin. The smile... completely disloyal.

"What you're doing to me," you groaned, your voice heavy with desire, "is more than I can bear."

You couldn't hold back any longer, and with eager hands, you pulled Sana's small breasts out of her dress. Her nipples were hardened, inviting, and you couldn't resist. With your hands, you gently squeezed them, feeling the soft yet firm texture. You teased them with your thumbs, playing, provoking. Your mouth soon found her nipples, and you sucked on them, nibbling gently, each movement drawing moans of pleasure from Sana. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against your mouth, wanting more.

"Oh, yes... like that," she moaned, holding your head against her breasts. "Mmm, you suck so well."

"You're so hot," you murmured against her skin, the words coming out between kisses and nibbles. "I want to devour you whole."

Your desire to mark that moment as yours came to the surface and, terribly vulgar and perhaps even pretentious, you tilted your head and sucked on Sana's neck, leaving a visible mark, tasting the salty flavor of her sweaty skin.

"You're mine," you whispered, your voice full of possessiveness, you noticed, "that's a fucking fact now."

Then a smile escaped your lips. Acidic and ironic, ricocheting right back at you.

"What is it?" Sana asked with a curious giggle.

"Nothing," you replied, avoiding mentioning that you saw the current moment as a contemporary and subversive erotic reenactment of the myth of Hermaphroditus.

Sana, equally possessive, marked you too. She bit and sucked on your skin, leaving marks that affirmed her possession. The sensation of her teeth against your skin was undeniably pleasurable pain.

Finally, Sana got off your lap and grabbed your cock, a gesture that could only mean one thing. You unbuttoned your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear, just enough to free your cock from the terrible web of fabrics imprisoning it. The excitement in Sana's eyes increased, and she lay back on the couch, a look of satisfaction on her face.

She started giving you a blowjob, moving her mouth skillfully and intensely. Her lips wrapped around your cock, her tongue exploring every inch. She began with slow, deliberate movements, teasing every throbbing vein. Each suction, each slide of her small tongue was a reminder that you were alive, that you were touching the edge of paradise.

"You're incredible," you groaned, throwing your head back, your voice full of pleasure. "Keep going... don't stop."

She used her hands to stimulate what she couldn't reach with her mouth, alternating between fast and slow movements. Sana then began to play with your balls, licking and sucking, alternating between gentle caresses and intense pressure.

"Oh, Sana... that's so good," you groaned, feeling the pleasure course through your body.

She looked at you, her eyes shining with desire and satisfaction. "I want to make you cum hard," she whispered, returning to sucking your cock with renewed intensity, while her hands continued to caress your balls. "I want you to fuck me so badly," she said, looking at you with a mix of desire and determination. "Let's end this wait."

"Fuck, let's!" you replied, knowing that surrendering to her had been your best decision in a long time.

You moved to the bedroom. With your fucked ankle, you knew some positions would be challenging, but the latent desire surpassed any pain. Slowly, you began to undress. Sana, noticing your difficulty, knelt in front of you, with a terribly indecipherable look. She unbuttoned your pants with deliberate sensuality, her fingers brushing against your skin, making your entire body shiver.

"Leave it to me," she murmured, sliding down your pants and underwear. On another occasion, with another person, you might have felt embarrassed, but this time it seemed so... normal? The last time you had shared this level of transparency and vulnerability had been with your ex-wife. Although only at the beginning of the relationship. Soon everything got so... strange.

After Sana helped you slide your injured leg into your pants, you managed to finish the rest yourself. Completely undressed, you kissed her deeply and lovingly, then slid both straps of her dress off her slender shoulders at once. The fabric rippled as it slid down on its own, revealing the beautiful artwork that was Sana's petite, half-naked body. The only piece of clothing that remained, and truly captured your attention, was the cute pair of panties she was wearing.

Totally intentional.

A pink pair of panties, almost innocent in contrast to the fervent passion she was capable of emanating, adorned with a small bow at the front. The thin fabric was damp, a clear evidence of how much she was enjoying the moment.

"You're so fucking hot, Sana," you murmured, your eyes fixed on that small detail that seemed to encapsulate all the desire and tenderness that made up Sana's essence.

She smiled, a shy yet mischievous smile.

"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice filled with sweetness and boldness.

"I love it," you replied, unable to resist her charm, running your fingers delicately over the bow, feeling the softness of the fabric. "And you're so wet," you added, your fingers gliding over the material, feeling her reaction in the slight tremor of her legs.

"That's the effect you have on me," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "And I used to masturbate thinking about you... Always you."

You smiled provocatively and slid your fingers over the fabric of her panties, feeling her dampness increase with each touch. Your mouth began to kiss and lick her belly. With slow and provocative movements, you started rubbing your fingers over the wet fabric, pressing lightly against her clit, without ever removing the panties.

"I can feel how excited you are," you murmured between kisses, your tongue warmed by her heated skin, each touch of your lips sending sparks of pleasure throughout her body. "You like it when I do this, don't you, Sana?"

Sana moaned in response, her hips moving involuntarily against your hand, seeking more friction. "Yes... please, keep going!" she pleaded, her voice trembling with desire.

"You want more?" you asked, already knowing the answer. "You want me to keep teasing you like this?"

"Yes, please," she moaned again, her voice full of need.

You continued to rub your fingers over the wet fabric, pressing harder, faster, until you felt she was completely soaked. The panties were drenched, the moisture trickling down the insides of her thighs.

"I can feel how much you want me," you murmured against her skin, your fingers now sliding along the edge of her panties, pulling them down slightly, just enough to tease but not enough to remove.

Sana panted, her moans loud and filled with pleasure. "Please, don't torture me anymore," she begged, her eyes closed, her head thrown back.

You obliged, finally pulling the panties down, exposing the glistening wetness of her pussy. The musky aroma of Sana filled the air, intoxicating and irresistible.

"You're perfect," you murmured.

"I want to feel you," she whispered, her voice laden with need. "I want you to eat my pussy. Look how creamy it is."

Sana propped her right leg on the bed and with two fingers she opened her tight pussy, and it was so delicious, so perfect, so, indeed, creamy.

In a moment of pure synchronicity, you both lay on the bed, as if connected by a greater bond, and assumed the 69 position. Sana positioned herself over you, her hot, wet pussy directly over your mouth. You started to lick her hungrily, savoring each moan that escaped her lips. Your tongue explored every fold, every inch, while your hands held her buttocks, pulling her closer to you.

"Yes! Lick my pussy! Just like that," she moaned sweetly.

As you savored Sana's creamy pussy, she enveloped your cock with her mouth, her tongue gliding over the head, mercilessly stimulating your frenulum, causing precum to leak out, which she loved. All the while, her hands massaged your balls, amplifying the sensation to the highest degree.

"Oh, fuck... If you keep doing that, I'm going to cum, Sana," you groaned, unconsciously thrusting your cock slightly into her mouth.

Sana then stopped sucking you and changed position.

"First, I want to cum on your face, love," she said, crawling over you, positioning herself, and opening up in front of your eyes until she finally sat on your face, her pussy now completely accessible to your tongue and mouth. You held her hips, guiding her movements as she began to grind against your face. Your tongue explored every inch, while your fingers caressed the insides of her thighs.

"I want you to lick me until I cum," she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement.

"I'm going to make you cum so hard," you murmured, your lips and tongue moving with precision against her.

Sana moaned loudly, moving her hips more intensely, pressing herself against your mouth. Her moans were loud and filled with pleasure, her body experiencing small spasms.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," she moaned, her eyes closed, the tension increasing.

Your tongue moved faster, firmer, each movement bringing her closer to climax. She held your head tightly, her fingers tangling in your hair, as her moans grew louder, more desperate.

"I'm almost there," she panted, her body entirely sweaty. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!"

With one last firm move of your tongue, you brought her to climax. Sana screamed with pleasure, her entire body trembling as she came intensely, her juices covering your mouth and face. You continued to lick her softly, helping to prolong her orgasm, savoring every moment.

"You're amazing," she murmured, still panting, that inherent satisfaction of making a girl cum taking over you.

Recovering, Sana slid down again. She began to ride you slowly, her movements erotic and calculated, each rise and fall rhythmic and sound. She leaned forward, her breasts bouncing as she increased the pace.

"You're so sexy," you groaned, holding her hips, helping her keep the rhythm. "Keep going, princess, don't stop."

She increased the speed, her entire body working to bring both of you to ecstasy. Her pussy tight around your cock, the heat and friction creating an indescribable sensation.

"Oh yes, Sana. Fuck me harder," you murmured, your voice hoarse with pleasure.

"I'm gonna cum... fuck, I'm gonna cum on your cock," she screamed, her movements frantic, her pussy pulsing around you as she reached orgasm, trembling with pleasure.

She collapsed on top of you, her head resting on your chest. You gently brushed a sweaty strand of hair from her face. Until then, you hadn't noticed how beautiful she was without makeup. You kissed the top of her head, a gesture she returned with equal passion by kissing your chest, saying: "I love you so much."

The room was dark, except for a soft light coming from the living room filtering through the half-open door, enough for you to see the sparkle in her eyes when she finally looked at you.

You didn't say anything. Words were unnecessary now. Instead, you let your hands do the talking, tracing the contours of her body, every curve, every perfect imperfection. She mumbled something inaudible against your chest, and you felt a smile form on your lips despite the fatigue.

She raised her head, her gaze serious but with a spark of something untamed. "Don't leave me," she pleaded, as if that were a real possibility. You smiled, kissing her lips, soft and prolonged, a kiss that promised much more than simple words could.

"I'm not going anywhere," you replied, the certainty in your voice unwavering.

You nestled close to her side, you behind her, your injured leg resting. You entered her again, slowly, savoring every inch that went in and out. She leaned back, allowing you deeper access. Your hands caressed her breasts, playing with her nipples as you fucked her from behind.

"Sana... I'm falling in love with you," you murmured, your voice laden with a strange possessiveness and love, a love you never imagined you could feel. But the act of kissing Sana's shoulder so tenderly while penetrating her could mean nothing but passion.

"You are my everything," she moaned, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You gripped her hip tightly, your thrusts becoming faster and more intense. The sound of your bodies colliding was erotic and highly stimulating.

"You're so tight... so wet," you confessed in her ear, your breath ragged. "I'm gonna cum, Sana."

"Cum, baby. Cum for me," she begged, her moans loud and filled with desire.

Feeling your climax approaching, you pulled out of her. Sana quickly knelt by the edge of the bed, looking at you with intense anticipation and lust., ready to receive your cum. You sat on the edge of the bed and started masturbating quickly, the sight of her so exciting that you were soon on the verge of orgasm.

"Cum for me," she whispered, her voice soft but urgent.

"I'm gonna cum," you groaned, your voice hoarse with pleasure and urgency. Sana smiled wickedly, knowing exactly what you needed.

"I want to feel you cum on my face," she whispered, her voice dripping with lust. "I want to taste you."

The sight of Sana waiting eagerly, her eyes fixed on you, made your cock throb even more. You sped up your strokes, your movements fast and precise, while she watched you, her hand casually caressing your balls.

"I want all your cum on my face, baby."

You felt the pressure building, each movement of your hand bringing you closer to climax. The moans intensified, your muscles tensing as the pleasure built to an inevitable crescendo. Sana looked intently, adorably seductive, ready to receive every drop from you.

When the orgasm finally hit, it was like an explosion. You let out a deep groan, almost a scream, as your body convulsed with pleasure. The first spurt of cum hit her face. Sana moaned with satisfaction, her eyes closed as she felt the warmth of your semen spreading across her skin.

"Oh yes, just like that," she murmured, her voice full of delight. "Cover my whole face." You continued to masturbate, each spasm sending more jets of cum onto her face, while she used her fingers to spread it, mixing it with the sweat still glistening on her skin. She opened her mouth, her tongue out to taste what she could, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.

"Wow! Fuck! that was fucking amazing," you groaned, reason slowly returning to your mind, your eyes fixed on the erotic painting in front of you.

When the spasms finally subsided, you stopped, panting. Sana looked at you, a smile of pure satisfaction on her lips, her face gleaming with your cum. She licked her lips, savoring the taste.

With a mischievous smile, you couldn't resist and, holding the base of your still-sensitive cock, started rubbing it on her face, spreading the cum already covering her skin. Sana closed her eyes, moaning softly as you slid the head of your cock over her cheeks, forehead, and lips, marking her completely.

"Yes, baby, rub that big hard cock on me," she murmured, her voice full of satisfaction. You rubbed slowly, savoring every moment, feeling the heat and moisture of her skin against your cock. Sana opened her mouth, licking the head of your cock, tasting the mix of your semen and sweat. You let out one last muffled groan, terribly sensitive.

"You look so hot like this, covered in my cum."

"I’m better than your ex-wife, aren’t I?"

"In ways that are immeasurable, princess," you murmured, your voice heavy with lust.

She smiled at your compliment.

"I guess I better wash my face before I go completely blind," Sana commented, her eyes half-closed. "Want to shower with me?"

"Sure! I- uh, I'll need your help anyway," you said, looking at your messed-up ankle.

"With me here, you don't have to worry, silly."

After the bath, the curiosity to see what the basement was like was obvious and natural. There was no way to resist such a mystery, and Sana, still a little shy about the somewhat... reckless action, revealed the secret room to you. She pulled the rug, and to your surprise, there was nothing there.

“It’s really a secret passage because I can't see anything.”

“It’s very well disguised. Mr. Goss did a good job camouflaging it. Look, the trapdoor is framed in a way that it blends perfectly with the surrounding floor. Covered by the shaggy rug, it’s almost impossible to see with the naked eye, especially since the edge aligns with the floorboards, without any protrusion or visible handle.”

“Yeah, I see. Or rather, I don’t see a damn thing!”

“There’s a small opening that can only be accessed if you know exactly where to look. I used a thin blade like this one to lift one of the wooden boards where there’s a small concealed groove. Once I knew that, it was easy to open the trapdoor and hide down there.”

And that’s how she did her magic. You really would have died without knowing about that damn basement. Once the trapdoor was opened, there was an old wooden staircase leading down to a kind of concrete room; although previously neglected, it now seemed like a carefully arranged refuge, perfectly ready to secretly shelter someone. Sana helped you down the creaky and worn wooden steps, a slight and cold humidity pervading the air below, common in places that rarely see sunlight. However, the signs of a recent attempt to make the space habitable were evident in every corner.

The concrete walls, probably once gray and mold-stained, had been partially cleaned. Though still rough and marked by time, they were now free of superficial dirt, and some parts had been covered with old, worn but colorful tapestries, adding a touch of warmth and humanity to the environment. The cement floor had been meticulously swept, and a large, thick rug had been placed in the center, providing a more comfortable and insulated surface than the cold concrete.

In one corner of the basement, there was an improvised bed made up of a sleeping bag, washed cotton sheets, and a wool blanket to face the cold nights. Next to the bed, a book whose title you couldn’t read from where you stood, an almost finished open bag of chips, and a (possibly dry) can of iced tea, although you doubted Sana had actually drunk it cold.

Lightly rusted metal shelves leaned against the walls, housing provisions and essentials like canned food and bottles of water. Some clothes were carefully folded in one corner of the shelves, with some sanitary pads nearby. A small wooden chest with a rusty lock held Sana’s personal belongings.

“How did you bring all this down here?” you asked, astonished.

“It took time, but I’m patient.”

On the opposite side, an improvised washbasin with a metal bowl and a water jug for basic hygiene offered a minimum of comfort. Clean towels hung on improvised hooks, and a cracked but still functional mirror was fixed on the wall above the basin.

“Please don’t tell me you-”

“No way! I was using the cabin’s bathroom,” she replied preemptively. “I was mindful of your schedule, and even though you take a long time to fall asleep, once you’re out, nothing wakes you up.”

A small oil heater was strategically placed to combat the cold that seeped in at night through the concrete floor and thick walls, probably responsible for secretly consuming the generator’s fuel. Next to it, a simple wooden chair and a small table offered a place to sit and perhaps write or read, with a few books carefully stacked beside it.

Despite the age and condition of the basement, Sana’s effort to make it habitable was commendable. Every detail, every item carefully placed, reflected her urgency and care, a diligent effort to transform the basement into something minimally livable.

“This is absurd as hell, Sana. Completely insane… But... Well, I’m glad you won’t be sleeping here anymore. There weren’t any bugs, were there?”

“Thank God, no! When I cleaned, I only found cobwebs and abandoned moth cocoons. I couldn’t have stayed here if there were bugs. Ew!”

You managed a slight smile. It was funny to think that despite being calculating, methodical, and patient, mere insects scared her. No one was really safe from that irrational fear thing.

“Alright then! You’d better take all your stuff up,” you said. “I can’t think of any use for this basement. In a future renovation, maybe I’ll just close it up and fulfill what’s written in the document.”

“Nah, you should just reinforce the foundation and keep the basement,” Sana suggested, moving closer for a hug. “You never know when you might need a little place to store something.”

You two were in bed. Sana, with your MacBook on her lap, was deciphering the draft of the first chapter of what might become your next novel. Untitled, without a definite form. She liked what she read, unraveling the unfinished subtleties that challenged the conventions of the genre. Letting her read the draft was a huge gesture, an exposure comparable to sex. And she knew that. She knew everything about you, after all. It was your goodwill gesture, a sign that you were open to her, willing to make this relationship stable, serious, healthy.

You had gone to the bathroom to brush your teeth. When you returned, Sana followed your steps with her eyes, waiting for you to lie down beside her again to ask:

"Promise you won't give up on me?"

"I promise. Sana, you're already strong on your own for having endured everything you have. And from now on, you can count on me to support you too. We'll break the circle together."

"You're everything I dreamed of and more," she said, hugging you, giggling.

"And you're an unexpected but very welcome gift," you comforted her in your arms. She was incredibly cuddly and emotional, which wasn't a bad thing. "So, I think we better sleep to enjoy the picnic tomorrow," you said, pulling Sana to snuggle into the pillow with you. "Damn, I'm completely exhausted, and it's partly your fault."

She giggled.

"And there's much more to come, Mr. Writer," Sana commented, turning off the lamp. "We can sweat a little tomorrow at the lake, if you know what I mean."

You fell asleep earlier than you imagined. Sana kept talking in your ear, excited about everything (you couldn't blame her), her words dissolving into the darkness. Her sweet, serene voice fading as you drifted off.

A perfect way to fall asleep, you thought, before slipping into slumber.

Then a scream sliced through the night like a blade, cutting the silence and your eardrums. Sharp and piercing. Sana, in a leap that defied logic, turned on the lamp and flew out of bed. Her hands frantically groped the wall, searching for the switch. The raw light illuminated her pale face, wide eyes filled with fear, and trembling hands.

"What's happening?!" you asked, confusion shaking your head.

"Something jumped on me! Some kind of bug!"

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing made sense, everything was blurry.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! It jumped on my face. It was cold!" She was on the verge of tears, you on the verge of falling back asleep.

You got up with difficulty, each movement sending jolts of pain through your injured ankle. Your eyes fixed on the nightstand, where a small dark green figure stood on the right edge, like an unexpected sentinel.

"I see it."

"What is it?! You have to kill it!"

"It's just a small frog."

"You need to get it out of here!"

"I saw it before. It came in through a crack. I bought some duct tape to seal the hole, but I forgot to do it."

"It can't stay here!"

"Are you afraid?"

"It might jump on me again at any moment."

You laughed, a rough, low sound, almost a release of relief. You understood what she was going through, that primal terror of being attacked by something unknown in the middle of the night.

“Why are you laughing? That's not funny!”

"Hey, don't worry, this little guy won't disturb my girl's sleep anymore."

Slowly, almost ridiculously slowly, you walked around the bed, each step a struggle against the pain. You approached the small invader, the frog, still and cold. When you tried to touch it, it jumped straight onto your neck, like a biological missile. Sana let out a high-pitched scream, as if the frog had jumped on her.

"It's okay," you said, trying to calm her, but Sana was already at the door, ready to flee, eyes fixed on you as if you were her last safe harbor.

You approached the window, opened it, and a cold breeze hit your face, refreshing. Carefully, you removed the frog from your neck, feeling its cold, moist texture against your skin. You held it in your hand, offering it the vastness of the night outside.

"Go live a little," you said, with a flick of your hand, watching the frog leap to freedom. "It's all good now," you said, turning to Sana. "We can go back to sleep. In the morning I'll seal the crack."

"God, I think I hate frogs now."

You laughed again, a laugh that was both relief and exhaustion. The room finally sank back into silence, except for the soft sound of your breathing and Sana's, slowly returning to normal. Tomorrow, you thought, tomorrow you'll deal with the crack, but for now, the only thing that mattered was that she was safe and the terror had been expelled. And you... Fuck, you could get some sleep.

In the kitchen, you were busy packing the picnic basket, feeling a strange happiness performing such a mundane task. It had been a while since you felt this way — almost like a young boy again, experiencing the thrill of a new romance. Everything would be different now. Fuck solitude, you would be happy alongside someone. And a simple yet significant action representing your care for this new relationship was in this picnic basket you organized. Every sandwich carefully wrapped, the biscuit container tightly sealed, each juice bottle adjusted, and the bowl of fresh grapes waiting for a decision...

You both believed that your ankle would indeed be 100% recovered in about a week or less. Fortunately, the damage wasn't that bad. Until then, you would walk supported by a broken broom handle, pretending it was the staff of an old monk in a cabin with satellite Wi-Fi.

In the bedroom, Sana stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her earrings with an untimely smile. The morning was heavily overcast, threatening rain, but you both were counting on some weather support for a few hours, and although the day wasn't bright, Sana was. Ready for a perfect day with you.

Everything, absolutely everything, seemed to be in place.

As she turned slightly to check her look from different angles, your phone on the dresser lit up with a notification. The flashing light caught her attention. Curious, she leaned in to see the message on the notification bar.

And then her world crumbled. The smile melted away from her face like hot wax. Everything around her slowed down.

You called out from the kitchen, almost singing: "Sana, what do you think? Should I take grapes or not?”

Her eyes widened instantly as she read the message, and for a moment, everything around her disappeared, leaving only a cold void. The happiness she felt evaporated, the fog in the forest remained.

In the back of Sana's mind, the read message echoed like a dark warning:

"Dude, stay away from that girl!!"

"My brother found out some creepy shit about her"

"Btw her real name isn't even Sana 💀”

You asked again from the kitchen, your voice sounding distant, almost like an echo:

"So, Sana? Grapes or not?"

She took a deep breath. She was a battlefield between panic and forced calm. The messages were deleted with fingers that didn't want to believe what they had just read, while she replied with a voice that could barely stay steady:

"Yes, take the grapes! I love grapes!"

She turned to the mirror again, but the image she saw was no longer the same. The sparkle in her eyes had disappeared; it was just the reflection of someone. It could hardly be called a face.

A mask.

A mask desperately trying to stay calm.

She put the phone back where it was, making sure the messages were indeed deleted and the sender blocked. Something would have to be done soon. She forced herself to smile again in front of the mirror to see if she could maintain it. But a crack slowly widened in her mind, threatening to shatter all the false stability she had built.

She left the bedroom, walking towards the kitchen with hesitant steps, trying to maintain composure. There you were, waiting, with the picnic basket in your hands and an expression of affection that now seemed almost cruel to her eyes.

As she approached, she simulated a smile, everything buried behind her beautiful brown eyes. She greeted you with a quick kiss and casually asked:

"Did you remember to put the strawberry jam in the basket, honey?"