#this is probably way more than you asked for but

[whytheylosttheirminds]

home for the holidays (part two) - r.c.

❄️ a frat!rafe cameron holiday mini series ❄️ (part one here!)

summary a simple favor for a friend ends with you reluctantly bringing Rafe Cameron, resident campus fuckboy, home for the holidays. It’s gonna take more than a little mistletoe for him to win you over…

content “enemies” to lovers, copious amounts of flirting, eventual smut, a dash of familial angst, parental illness and mentions of parental death, 18+ mdni

(taglist for this series is closed. please see author's notes at the end of the chapter for important info about the taglist!)

Somewhere between his house and yours it dawned on Rafe, much to his annoyance, that he had a big, stupid crush on you.

He tried everything to suppress it. He reminded himself that you didn't like him, that you probably thought you were better than him. He reminded himself how stupid it’d be to get attached to someone only a few months before graduation. 

Jesus, really man? He thought. She’s not your type, Rafe. She hates you. Be a fucking man and pull it together.

But it was the way you were perched in the driver’s seat, scooted all the way forward leaving no room between you and the wheel, smiling as you sang along to Mariah Carey. You looked so soft and cute, the sleeves of his hoodie slipping over your hands as they clutched the steering wheel.

Fuck, he definitely had a crush on you, and he hated having a crush. There was way too much room for rejection. This was one area in which he’d never really grown up, so he opted for his usual defense mechanism - pushing your buttons, like he was ten years old on the playground, pulling your pigtail just to get a reaction.

“So was I right about you not having many hookups in college?” He blurted out sometime during the third play of All I Want for Christmas is You.

Your head snapped toward him, complete confusion and not even a smidge of amusement on your face.

“What the fuck?” You grumbled. “That’s kinda personal, actually…”

“I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you at parties, and you don’t seem to have a boyfriend. Four years is a long time…”

“Everything is about sex with you, huh? Some of us are actually in college to learn,” you scolded him. It was his intention to push you away, and yet the repulsion in your voice still stung.

“Alright, I’ll stop asking,” he conceded.

“Good,” you huffed, shoulders slumping a little.

He looked over at you every so often, determined to find a flaw, some blemish or ick that he could use as a dealbreaker. This plan backfired terribly, his eyes only discovering more pretty features and cute little mannerisms that made his stomach leap every time he looked at you. He felt like a moth, brainless and hopelessly drawn to the warm light of a lamp that was sure to zap him dead at the slightest touch.

After twenty minutes of freezing him out for his “no hookups” comment, you gasped and excitedly pointed out the first of many road signs for your hometown, your annoyance with him replaced with excitement as the signs advertised you were getting closer and closer to home. 

Then you finally gave him something to resent you for. After a remark about how excited you were to see your family, you looked over at him with big, kind eyes, nervously broaching the topic with a light touch on his arm, “I’m sorry about your family leaving you behind. That totally sucks.”

There was a softness in your tone that was so warm and inviting it made him want to jump out of the moving car. He knew he was fucked up for being mad that you were being nice, but he couldn’t help it, the tenderness in your gaze made him feel like a wounded puppy, and he hated your pity.

He pulled his arm away from your gentle fingers like they’d hurt him.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “They didn’t leave me, it was just a miscommunication.”

You withdrew in more ways than one, pulling your hand back and falling awkwardly silent. Rafe kicked himself mentally, of course just when you’d started to come around to him, he pushed you away. Little did those girls in your dorm know, that was the true Rafe Cameron special.

“So, uh, you were saying something about presents for your brothers? How old are they?” He asked, praying he hadn’t made you shut down for good, trying to re-stoke the fires of the friendship you had been building since you offered for him to come home with you.

You were chewing on your nails, picking at the dead skin nervously. At his prompting you started to speak again, though a bit less enthusiastically than before he’d shut you down.

“Uhm, well,” you sat up a little. “There’s Luke, he’s sixteen. And then Reese is thirteen and Bennett is ten.”

“Fun ages,” he nodded, wincing at his cliché words.

“They are fun,” you nodded, a smile returning to your lips at the thought of your little brothers. The sight of you smiling again soothed the ache in his chest and he leaned back into his seat, full of relief.

“Luke is such a teenage boy, too cool for everything. I got him some Nike cleats because he plays football, he’ll pretend he doesn’t like them but I think he’ll wear them. And Reese is quieter, he’s always been a bit more sensitive. He wants to be a photographer, so I got him a vintage Polaroid camera. Benny was the easiest to shop for,” you smiled at the thought of your baby brother, Rafe could tell you had a special love for him. “I got him one of those giant gummy bears that comes in its own plastic case. It cost a fraction of what I spent on the other two but I guarantee you he’ll be the most excited.”

“I’m sure they’ll all like what you got them,” he assured you.

“They better, they cost me a whole paycheck,” you huffed, thinking of all the hours you’d worked slinging drinks at your college’s go-to student bar to pay for the presents that were currently sitting in your trunk.

“It’s better than what I got my sisters,” he reminded you with a laugh.

“Hey! I spent six whole dollars on those souvenirs!” You scolded him, smiling at the memory of the crappy little knick-knacks in the backseat.

“And I’m sure they’ll love them,” he agreed.

“What about your sisters? How old are they?” You asked.

Surely, you were just being polite, keeping the conversation going after he’d asked about your brothers. But he wanted nothing less than to talk about his family right now, the thought of them all hanging out at the Bahama house, completely forgetting that he existed, still stung fresh. He wondered if Sarah and Wheezie even asked his dad where he was, why he wasn’t on the plane. Maybe they were relieved to celebrate the holiday without him annoying them, he probably deserved it. 

“Hey, isn’t that your exit?” He pointed at the highway sign, advertising that the off ramp to your hometown was only half-a-mile away, trying to distract you from your question.

“Yes!” It worked, you sat up in your seat, excitedly pressing a little harder on the gas as you celebrated the proximity to home.

“Woah, slow down, I’d like to celebrate Christmas alive,” he joked as the needle on the speedometer climbed higher and higher.

“Oh shit sorry,” you giggled, pulling your foot back to slow down a little. “I’m just excited. It’s gonna be so cozy. My dad will have put a bunch of colored lights all over the front of the house, and the tree will be up, probably a fire going and Christmas music playing. I can’t wait to see them!”

His jealousy was almost debilitating. What must it be like to feel this excited to go home? To know what was waiting for you was going to bring you so much joy? He wanted what you had so badly, he was tempted to reach out and touch you just to see if he could absorb your happiness by osmosis.

The little town you called home was just as small as Rafe was picturing, if not more. Though, the tiny houses lining the main street were decked to the nines with Christmas decorations, so much merriment in such a tiny little hamlet. The further into the country you drove, green street signs giving way to rickety, hand-painted ones, the more he felt like he understood you.

You smiled at all the lights, body absolutely buzzing with each turn that brought you towards home. Finally, you turned on a long dirt road, past a field of horses Rafe recognized as the farm you said you grew up next to. Approaching a mailbox with your last name on it, your smile fell from your lips, eyebrows creasing as you turned onto the property.

At the end of the long driveway was a small little split level home Rafe surmised to be yours, only where he expected a display of twinkling christmas decor, there was only one single flickering porch light. If he hadn’t known better, he’d assume the family who lived here didn’t celebrate Christmas at all.

“What the hell?” You mumbled under your breath, concern on your face growing as you pulled the car up and parked behind an old, rusting mini-van. 

Arms full of presents, Rafe helping with your bags, you stumbled anxiously through the front door. The inside of your house was just as disappointing as the outside. It was messy, dishes on the counter and the echo of obnoxious video games ringing through the halls where there should be the familiar chatter of your family having dinner.

“Hello?” You called out, setting the presents down on the kitchen table. You peaked your head over the island, into the open space of the living room. In the far corner, where there should’ve been a Christmas tree, there was a pile of unfolded laundry. 

Two messy headed boys peered over the back of the couch, the third head not moving from its fixation on the TV as his fingers continued to click away on his controller.

“Gigs!!” The smallest one, who Rafe assumed to be Bennett, shouted, he and the second smallest, who he identified as Reese, rose from the couch and made their way towards you.

“Gigs?” Rafe repeated under his breath.

“As in Giggles. It’s my childhood nickname,” you explained, and when you saw his teasing smirk added, “shut up.”

Reese and Bennett nearly tackled you, colliding into you with little bear hugs. Reese was nearing your height, though not quite there yet, and Bennett was small but stocky, his chubby arms squeezing the air from your lungs.

“Rice and beans!” You sang affectionately as you returned their hugs, messing up their hair and pinching their cheeks. You looked to Rafe to answer the question you could see already forming on his lips, “rice and beans, as in Reese and Bennett, their nicknames.”

He smiled at your affectionate embrace with your brothers, nodding with a little, “ah.” Something in him ached, like a haunted limb, a muscle he didn’t even have that was sore from lack of use.

After several moments, Bennett pulled away, eyeing Rafe and pointing a stubby little finger right at him, “who’s he?”

Reese covered his brother’s finger, forcing his hand down correctively.

“Benny, that’s rude,” you said, unable to suppress the little chuckle at your brother’s boyish indifference.

In your concern over the state of the house, you hadn’t planned out how to explain Rafe to your brothers. ‘He’s a friend’ wasn’t totally accurate, but it was the only language they’d understand. Before you could open your mouth to explain anything, though, your youngest brother blurted out, “are you Giggy’s boyfriend?”

“Bennett Alan,” you snipped at him through gritted teeth, giving him a motherly glare as you used his full name in warning. “You’re being rude, and he is not my boyfriend.”

This was true, though Rafe wasn’t sure there was any need for the tinge of disgust in the way you said it. He could sense Bennett formulating another pot-stirring question and jumped in before he had the chance.

“I’m Rafe,” he set his bag down next to the counter and held out a hand. 

Bennett puffed out his chest, putting on his best adult voice as he shook Rafe’s hand, “I’m Bennett, my friends call me Benny.”

You and Reese gave each other knowing smirks, sharing eye rolls over your brother’s precocious antics. 

“And which should I call you?” Rafe played along with his all-business tone.

“Depends, how much money you got?”

Rafe smirked, but you were mortified. “Oh my god, Beans! You can’t ask people that. Here, make yourself useful and put these presents under the tree.”

“We don’t have one,” Reese told you, the first words Rafe had heard him speak, and by his quiet tone and the way he avoided eye contact he understood why you’d called him the sensitive one.

Rafe caught the way you allowed worry to flash across your face for only a second before you smoothed your features back into faux nonchalance, like you were putting on a show for the kids.

“Oh okay, well then I guess we’ll just leave them on the table,” you shrugged, as if you hadn’t been raving about your family’s grand Christmas trees just minutes ago.

Your eyes drifted back to the living room, where your remaining brother still hadn’t risen to greet you.

“Lukey? Help me with my bags?” 

The shaggy haired boy finally turned, eyeing Rafe with a cold distrust that felt like looking in a mirror.

“Looks like he’s already got ‘em,” he grumbled.

You gave him an authoritative glare that had much less playfulness than the one you’d given Bennett.

“Where are mom and dad?” You asked Reese in a hushed tone, shielding the question from Bennett, who was busy dragging a chair over from the kitchen table.

“It’s Thursday,” Reese responded, giving you a knowing look like you should know what that meant. When you clearly didn’t, he added, “chemo day,” in a whisper so quiet Rafe could barely hear it. “Mom’s been asleep since they got back and dad had to work the evening shift.”

Rafe did hear though, and your eyes flicked to him quickly with a vulnerability he hadn’t seen from you yet, like he somehow had something to hold over your head now. He wanted to say the exact right thing to put you at ease, to let you know your family’s business was safe with him. As he was formulating the words, Benny was climbing up on the chair he’d dragged over, standing directly between you and Rafe.

“How tall are you?” Benny asked Rafe once he could meet his eyeline.

“Uhm,” Rafe cleared his throat, pulled from the moment, “I’m 6 '2.”

“I’m 4 foot 1 and three quarters,” Benny explained, as though if this were a competition, he was just a few points behind Rafe, and gaining.

“Nice! 4 '1 is very respectable,” Rafe smiled, deciding it was best to be on Benny’s good side.

“And three quarters,” Benny corrected through gritted teeth.

“Right, sorry, and three quarters,” Rafe put his hands up in defense.

Benny crossed his arms and gave Rafe a once over, as if he was the man of the house deciding if he was allowed to stay. 

Sensing your brother was about to say some other rude thing to embarass you, you stepped in, “Benny why don’t you go show our guest where we keep the air mattress,” you grabbed him off the chair and lowered him to the ground with some difficulty, “and be nice,” you added in his ear.

Benny obeyed but gave Rafe narrow, suspicious eyes the whole way down the hall.

“There’s like a thirty percent chance Benny tries to fight him,” Reese noted as the two of you watched them go.

You chuckled, settling on the couch between your two brothers.

“So who is he really?” Luke asked, still not pausing his video game but at least acknowledging your existence. 

“He’s just a guy from school,” you shrugged. “He’s Brody’s friend.”

“Is Brody here?” Reese asked hopefully. You and Brody had been friends your whole childhoods, and your brother’s were always big fans.

“No, he had an internship or something, but I’d already told Rafe I’d give him a ride, and when we got to his house his family was just, like, gone,” you explained. “They went on a trip and didn’t even tell him.”

“Yikes,” Luke said. “That’s shitty.”

“Language,” you scolded, making him roll his eyes. “But yes, it is shitty,” you added, making him smirk. 

“He’s like Kevin from Home Alone,” Reese quipped. All three of you laughed.

“Honestly? It was kind of exactly like that, only sadder. Like a lost puppy. I mean, who just forgets their kid?” You lowered your voice a bit, hoping it wouldn’t carry down the hall. “I felt so awkward I didn’t know what to do so I said he could come here.”

Your brothers seemed satisfied with your explanation. Even though nothing you said was technically untrue, you still felt like you were somehow being dishonest. You’d never admit it, but it wasn’t all out of pity, there was some small part of you that wanted to bring Rafe home, that was intrigued by him and wanted to see more. But there was no way to explain that to two teenage boys, so you settled for the Home Alone excuse.

Benny came back around the corner, leaping onto the couch and nearly knocking over Luke’s soda.

“Beans, chill,” Luke groaned as he narrowly caught his Mountain Dew before it spilled all over the coffee table.

“Where’s Rafe?” You asked Benny, looking around to see if he’d followed your brother back out.

“He said to tell you he’s going to bed, he seemed kinda grumpy,” Benny shrugged, stealing Luke’s soda when he wasn’t paying attention and taking a swig.

“Oh,” you said, trying to hide the hint of disappointment in your voice. “Okay.”

Down the hall, Rafe snuck quietly into the laundry room as the fading voices of you and your brothers were drowned out by the sound of the water heater, which sat in the cramped space right next to the air mattress Benny had helped him set up.

Your voice echoed in his head, ‘I felt so awkward I didn’t know what to do.’ 

So it was a pity invite. You saw him as some sad character from a 90s movie, not an actual companion you wanted to spend the holiday with. 

He settled on the uncomfortable inflatable mattress. He was in a house full of people, and yet he was beginning to think he might actually feel less lonely all by himself in Tannyhill.

Up before the sun, out the door before breakfast’s done; that’s the way your dad had been your whole life, working a string of manual labor, blue collar jobs that meant he was usually gone before you woke up.

This morning however, you were determined to talk to him before he left, to confront him about the complete lack of Christmas you’d found at your homecoming. You set your alarm at an ungodly hour so you could wait for him to come down the stairs.

Hunched over the counter by the brewing coffee pot, you ran your hands over your face. Your holiday homecoming was nothing like you imagined, the biggest surprise of all being the person you came home with, but you’d figure out how to broach that subject later.

“Hi Gigs.” Your dad’s footsteps were so quiet, you hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen. When you turned to meet him, he flashed you a tired grin.

He’d gotten home after you went to sleep last night, this was the first you’d seen him since your anticlimactic arrival. He looked more exhausted than you ever remembered seeing him. Even more tired than after Bennett was born and he had colic for six months.

“Hi dad,” you approached and gave him a hug before returning to the coffee pot to pour some for him in a travel mug.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked.

“A lot on my mind,” you said, turning to face him. “Made you some coffee. If you stay and talk to me I might just be persuaded to make you breakfast.”

Your dad slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, pulling on and lacing up his heavy work boots.

“No time for breakfast,” he waved you off. “You know that.”

“Dad, what’s going on?” You asked, knowing your window to get answers was closing quickly.

But he didn’t answer, he just sighed heavily and shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

“Just not a breakfast guy that’s all,” he joked. You knew he knew that’s not what you meant.

“You didn’t even hang any lights,” you mumbled softly, feeling a bit childish. “And there’s no tree.”

Your dad sighed again. You wondered if there was a record for how many times someone could sigh in one conversation.

“I’ve been working double shifts, there just hasn’t been time. I’m sorry,” he shrugged. “It’s been a long year, kid.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s gotten so bad? I would’ve come back sooner,” you said, pulling a side eye from him that you read as: and that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.

“I don’t know, why didn’t you tell me about the frat boy in the laundry room?” He countered.

‘Oh, right,” you blushed, feeling like when you were twelve and he found you hiding a stray cat in the garage. “Was gonna mention him but, you know, you were working.”

“Could’ve told me you were bringing your boyfriend home,” he scolded you.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you rushed to explain. “He’s Brody’s friend. He needed a place to crash.”

“Ah, Brody’s friend. That makes me feel so much better,” he rolled his eyes. 

Your dad was never a fan of Brody, too much of a ‘knucklehead’ as he called him. You knew Rafe wouldn’t fare much better in your dad’s good graces, no guy you liked ever did. Not that you liked Rafe. Fuck, your blush was getting deeper. You quickly looked down at your feet, hoping your dad wouldn’t notice. 

Luckily, he was too tired to read your facial expressions, he huffed as he rose from his chair and approached you, digging in his pocket for some cash. “Here, grab a tree and some gifts for the boys -”

“You haven’t even gotten them gifts yet?” You sighed.

“I know, I know,” he nodded, his baggy, tired eyes begging you for a little slack. You’d never seen him look so tired, sympathy overpowering your disappointment. “I’m trying here, gigs.”

“I got it,” you gave him a small, dutiful smile and pocketed the cash.

“I knew you would,” he gave you a side hug and accepted the travel mug of coffee you handed him. “I’m sorry things aren’t exactly what you expected. but I am glad you’re home.”

As he slipped out the front door into the chilly dusk, your mind spiraled. You knew your mom was having a rough patch with her breast cancer, but you had no idea it’d gotten this bad. No Christmas was simply not an option, maybe things would never go back to normal for you, or your parents, but that was adulthood wasn’t it? Your brothers shouldn’t have to grow up just yet, and you’d make sure they didn’t.

Everything felt wrong, off kilter in a way that made your stomach twist with the familiar anxiety that comes with any situation you can’t control. So you did what you always do when things feel uncertain; you made a list.

Pulling a notebook from the kitchen junk drawer, you uncapped a pen and quickly scribbled everything you could think of that needed to be done:

Decorations 

⇢ box in garage? lights working?

Presents for the boys 

⇢ wishlists? budget??

Buy and decorate tree 

 ⇢ Douglas Fir? tree lots still open?

Under each item you scribbled all the steps you could think of, as well as any conflicts you might hit along the way. Maybe if you could just work the problem, you could fix this, save Christmas and by extension, your family.

You eyed the empty checkboxes next to each item with worry. If you were going to pull all of this off in just two days, you’d need to call in some reinforcements. 

The door to the laundry room squeaks if you open it slowly, which you did deliberately, milking it for all the disruptive sound it’s worth. Rafe was sprawled out on the air mattress, which had deflated just a bit in his sleep, making his legs stick up in the air a little higher than his upper body. 

He was snoring away, just like he had in the car, your noisy opening of the door not doing what you’d hoped it would. 

You sighed loudly, he didn’t stir. You cleared your throat, still nothing. You coughed theatrically, he was still out cold.

Finally, you opened the lid to the washing machine, taking off one sock and dropping it in, letting the heavy metal lid slam closed as you started a rinse cycle. At the crash, Rafe shot up, nearly falling off the air mattress.

“Oh good, you’re up!” You chirped, as if you hadn’t caused the sudden awakening.

“What the hell are you doing?” He grumbled at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair stuck up at all angles and he squinted, barely able to open his eyes in his exhaustion. You gave yourself one second to think about how cute he looked before redirecting your focus to the reason you were in here.

“Just doing some laundry,” you told him as he reached around in the dimly lit room for his phone. “But since you’re awake...”

“What time is it?” He slurred, still half asleep.

“I dunno probably like 9,” you shrugged, knowing full well that wasn’t the case.

“I can’t find my phone,” he sunk back into the mattress, making like he was going to go back to sleep. That wouldn’t do.

“Oh, here!” You flicked on the fluorescent overhead light, making him wince and pull the covers over his head.

“Gah! Turn them off please!” He cried out, voice muffled from under the blankets.

“It’s time to get up, we have a big day ahead of us,” you walked over to the mattress, kicking it to jostle him around on the half-inflated plastic.

“I’m on vacation,” he protested. 

“Yes, exactly, Christmas vacation,” you walked around to the end of the bed, grabbing the covers in two hands and pulling them from his body, making him groan and curl up in the cold air like a rolly polly bug. “We have Christmas things to do.”

You tried not to notice the sculpted arms revealed by his grey tank top, and you really tried not to notice how the thin material of his flannel pajama pants was leaving very little to the imagination. He looked up after a moment, blinking his eyes open to catch you staring, his lips twisting in a cocky grin. He opened his mouth to say something smug and flirtatious, but before he could, his eyes caught the clock on the wall behind you.

“It’s 6am?!” He yelled.

“Oh is it?” You laughed, no longer trying to hide your scheme. “My bad, 6s and 9s look the same to me.”

Swiftly, Rafe stretched out his long leg, hooking his foot behind your knee and pulling you toward him, sweeping you off your feet and onto the mattress. A sharp “oof!” left your lips and as you crashed down onto what little air was left in the mattress to catch you. Landing hard, you immediately slid towards him, your body settling square on top of his.

“You wanna talk some more about 6s and 9s?” He grinned at you, his morning voice low and raspy in a way that sent goosebumps rushing up your spine.

“Ugh, you’re a pig!” You smacked him on the shoulder, pins and needles lingering in your hand where your skin had met his, and tried to push yourself up.

Wobbling on the plastic mattress, your attempts to get off of him only had you wriggling further down until your face was hovering over his. This was the closest you had ever been to him, suddenly noticing just how blue his eyes were. The glow of them under the fluorescents actually knocked the wind out of you, freezing your body in place over him as you took them in, feeling like you might drown in them if you stared too long, but letting the waves pull you under anyway.

“Morning,” he lips curved into a smile that was so handsome it almost made you forget your mission.

Grasping at your reason for coming in here like it was a lifeboat, you decided to use the compromising position you had him in to your advantage, leaning a little closer as you said, “I need you.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up in shock, was this really about to happen, right here in your parent’s laundry room?

“Oh yeah?” He flirted, muscles tensing in anticipation beneath you. “What do you need, hmm?”

“Just say yes and I’ll tell you,” you purposefully dropped your voice lower, adding a tinge of suggestion to your words to really bring it home.

“Anything,” he agreed, his mind five miles ahead of you in the wrong direction.

You sat up, straddling him, and pulled the list of tasks from your pocket.

“Great, get dressed, we’re leaving in five,” you smiled down at him, relishing the completely baffled look on his face. “We’re gonna save Christmas.”

“No, we don’t have time to stop, we gotta stick to the list,” you protested as Rafe turned the car off the road and pulled into a drive thru.

After tricking him into agreeing to help you, you’d rushed him through getting ready and out of the house, convinced the stores would be packed as soon as they opened. He dragged his feet the whole way, but somehow you’d managed to wrangle him into the car, insisting he drive so you could look through some catalogs to map out gifts for your brothers.

“If I have to be up at the asscrack of dawn, I’m getting coffee,” he shot you down.

“Okay, fine, but if we get there and all the good deals are gone, I’m blaming you,” you conceded.

You tapped your knee anxiously as the line of cars in the drive thru crawled like a herd of snails. Rafe watched your fingers strum out of the corner of his eye, noticing for the first time the way your nails were bitten down to the beds. He wasn’t paying much attention, but he was fairly sure they weren’t that messed up yesterday.

“What do you want to order?” He asked, unsure why but suddenly only caring about finding a way to distract you.

Without needing to look at the menu, you recited, “venti blonde americano with two extra shots of espresso and a splash, like a really small splash, of oat milk. Actually no oatmilk. And four shots.”

Rafe blinked back at you, your fidgety fingers lifted to your lips as you chewed on your cuticles.

Pulling up to the speaker, he leaned in and said, “yeah grande black coffee for me, and uh, a tall green tea please.”

“That is not what I ordered!” you snipped as he pulled forward to the first window.

“Yeah, I’m cutting you off,” he explained. “If I let you have any more caffeine, you won’t have any fingernails left.”

You dropped your hand quickly, surprised that he had noticed. You were miffed that he was denying you your coffee, but he was probably right. You took a deep breath and sipped your tea as he drove to the first stop on your list.

Somewhere along the highway, the radio jingled the familiar first notes of All I Want For Christmas is You. You sat up, excitedly reaching to turn the volume up.

“If I have to listen to this song one more time, I swear I’m gonna drive the car off this bridge,” he groaned, his hand covering yours to stop you from making his misery louder.

“Oh my god you’re so dramatic,” you raised your eyebrows, giving in and returning your hand to your lap. “She’s the queen of Christmas!”

“Please,” he gave you a pouty lip from the driver’s seat. “It’s killing me.”

“Okay, fine,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at him. “No more Mariah Carey.”

The department store parking lot was swarming with last minute shoppers. You hated that you belonged with them, punished for procrastination. Usually you did things early and thoroughly, now people would think you were one of the careless who pushed things to the last minute. It was a silly thing to worry about, but everything seemed to worry you today. You even made Rafe exchange phone numbers with you in case one of you got lost in the crowd and you couldn’t find each other. Your mind was running wild with worst case scenarios.

Rafe found a spot far from the door, as you walked towards the store’s entrance, you flipped through the catalog you’d snatched from your parent’s junkmail.

“Okay, so I circled everything that’s similar to what’s on the boys’ lists but on clearance,” you explained to him as he grabbed a cart, not fully listening to you. “We’ve got like fifty dollars for each of them, I think we can find a couple good things.”

Once inside the door, Rafe immediately grabbed a bag of chocolates off of the stocking stuffers display.

“That’s not on the list,” you reminded him, jaw dropping when he opened the bag and started eating the candy right there in the middle of the aisle. “And you didn’t pay for that!”

“Relax,” he held the bag out to you, “have some chocolate. Get into the Christmas spirit.”

“Since when are you the expert on the ‘Christmas spirit?’” You eyed him, noticeably not accepting a piece of his stolen candy. “You just threatened to throw Mariah Carey off a bridge.”

“No, I said I was gonna throw myself off a bridge if I had to listen to her one more time,” he placed his hand over his chest as if he was proving his innocence. “Besides, one of us has to have a little joy,” he noted, tilting his head a little to emphasize his point.

He was right, you were stressing a little too much. If Rafe Cameron was out-Christmasing you, then clearly you needed an attitude adjustment. 

“You’re right,” you sighed, accepting one of his chocolates and popping it in your mouth as you looked around the store to map out your shopping plan. “Alright, aisle ten for Reese’s camera lens and then aisle four for Benny’s lego-”

Your sentence was cut short at the feeling of Rafe’s thumb on the corner of your mouth, his face cool and casual as the pad of his finger ran across your lip. Your eyes shot around, there were at least a dozen people in this section, all close enough to see him circling your mouth with his finger.

Before you could push him off, not that you really wanted to, he pulled back. You stumbled a bit, subconsciously chasing the feeling of his touch. He revealed his thumb to you, he’d collected a little glob of chocolate that had smeared around your mouth.

“You’re gonna get us caught for our little shoplifting scheme,” he joked, licking the chocolate off the pad of his thumb as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and not an incredibly sensual action for a fluorescent lit department store at 7am.

“W-we are not shoplifting,” you stammered, fighting speechlessness and praying he didn’t notice the way your cheeks were burning. “You better pay for those.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. I’ll pay for them, I promise. But if I forget, I’m saying you took them.” He dropped the chocolates into the cart before you could protest and wheeled toward the first aisle on your list, making you scurry a bit to catch up with his long legs.

“Bastard,” you mumbled, still feeling flustered.

Somewhere between the frozen food section and the office supplies aisle, you actually started having fun. 

Your cart filled slowly, the rush you were in when you entered the store slowing with every moment that passed walking around the store with Rafe. You joked about the hideous holiday decor, and the cheesy romance novel shelf. You stood on the back of the cart as he wheeled you around, nearly taking out a display of canned goods, and got a stern warning from a stock boy that sent you both into a fit of mischievous laughter. He tried on a series of truly awful hats for you, and even let you snap a few pictures.

As you laughed and shopped together, you couldn’t help but notice the cheery looks of the older ladies that passed you in the aisles. You returned their friendly glances with a blush, wondering, though it made you feel like a silly schoolgirl, if they thought Rafe was your boyfriend.

You’d remind yourself how foolish the thought was as you checked items off your list, seeing as this was not the real Rafe Cameron. The real Rafe Cameron wouldn’t be caught dead shopping for gardening gloves and barbeque tongs for your parents, he’d rather be pregaming a party or kicking the girl from last night who’s name he’d already forgotten out of bed. 

And yet, here he was, pushing the cart while you rattled on about Christmas when you were seven when it snowed so hard the power went out, the last time you remembered actually having a white Christmas. The way he nodded along intently had you actually wondering if it could be real, if being with him could be more than just a distraction from a stressful morning.

Your thoughts spiraled even further when he stopped to point out a his and hers sweater set, one reading “naughty” and the other “nice.”

“As long as I get to be the nice one,” you smiled as he pulled the itchy wool over his head.

He leaned down to tug its partner over your head, his voice low in your ear,  “Only ‘cause I know you like it when I’m naughty.”

Butterflies did pirouettes in your stomach, you snapped a picture of the two of you in a mirror, Rafe towering over you from behind as he smiled for the camera. 

“Yeah, we’re definitely buying these,” he said, tucking the tag into your collar, his knuckles ghosting over the skin of your neck.

After a few more shenanigans, you realized two hours had passed, and you still had several more items on your list.

“How about this? For your brothers?” Rafe asked, pointing out an Xbox in a display case. 

You snorted, “there’s no planet on which my brother’s would think that actually came from our parents. They’re still using an old PlayStation someone gave us years ago.”

“Well then I’ll get it for them, you can say it came from Santa,” he shrugged, as if the astronomical price tag below it didn’t even exist.

“Our Santa brings, like, socks and candy. He doesn’t have a black card,” you pulled his arm, guiding him to a cheaper aisle.

“And what does your Santa usually bring you?” He questioned, a not so subtle way to find out what you wanted for Christmas. 

“I don’t ask him for much,” you brushed the question off. “I just want my family all together.”

Rafe didn’t push any further, watching you out of the corner of his eye, realization dawning that you were serious, you actually didn’t expect to get any gifts for Christmas.

Not noticing his eyes on you, you scanned over everything in your cart, adding it up on your phone’s calculator for the hundredth time. You couldn’t remember a day in your life you weren’t worried about money. Every penny counts now more than ever with your mom not working and your dad unable to find a job that pays enough to keep everyone afloat without completely running himself into the ground.

Without realizing it, you brought your fingertips back to your mouth, biting your nails anxiously for the first time since Rafe had pointed out the bad habit several hours ago.

“Hey you know what?” Rafe said, and you were so lost in worried thoughts that you flinched at the sound of his voice. “Why don’t we split up to get the rest of the list? We’ll cover more ground that way. Also, I think I saw some fake trees on sale back there, so I can grab one.”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling the little bubble of your flirty shopping spree pop. 

He was clearly ready to be done with this little excursion. But you’d had more fun than you thought you would, and there were still several days of break left to enjoy with him. You could feel the walls you’d so carefully built around your heart swaying just a little bit in his wind. The thought terrified and thrilled you all at the same time.

After collecting your half of the gift list, you searched the store for Rafe. You found him in the jewelry section, leaning against the glass display case. You made your way towards him, prepared to tease him for wasting time in a section that wasn’t on the list, before you saw his reason for being there. You stopped short, ducking behind an inflatable Santa to watch with a disappointed glare. 

He was chatting up a pretty sales girl, her store uniform fitted tightly as she smiled down at him, her cheeks rosy pink and pretty smile blindingly white.

Rafe gave her the charming grin you’d begun to hope he only reserved for you, probably drawling some cheeky compliments to cause her to blush in the way you surely did when he talked to you.

The feeling in your chest was unfamiliar, and painfully uncomfortable. Reluctantly, you identified it as jealousy. No, no, you were not jealous over this obnoxious frat boy, you wouldn’t allow yourself to be. That was not how you were gonna start your Christmas break.

Just as you’d resolved not to be jealous, he reached up and brushed his hand against the necklace she was wearing, admiring her jewelry surely just as an excuse to bring his hand close to her chest. She beamed at him, his attempts at flirting clearly working. 

A deep frown settled on your features. He was supposed to be shopping for your little brothers and instead he was feeling up a sales girl? You felt so delusional for thinking you’d misjudged him on the drive down. He was the same guy you thought he was when he showed up at your car yesterday, you should've trusted your gut.

Hoping he wouldn’t catch you watching, you turned quickly on your heel, beelining for check out.

Taking the bag from the sales girl with a wink, Rafe tucked the small item at the bottom of his cart, under the presents he’d collected for your brothers, and began searching for you in the crowded aisles, looking forward to the pleased look on your face when he informed you he’d found everything on his half of the list.

When he found you, you were already half way through checking out, loading items onto the belt and watching with tense shoulders as the total on the screen climbed higher and higher.

“What, were you gonna leave without me?” Rafe joked as he started adding his items to the belt.

“We’re on a schedule, we don’t have time to keep fucking around,” you grumbled. 

Rafe met eyes with the college-aged guy who was working as cashier, both of them flashing knowing smirks as if to say, “chicks, am I right, man?” Their boyish camaraderie made you even angrier. 

Once your cart was empty, you started to help Rafe empty his cart, but he jumped around to the front before you could, blocking your access.

“No, no, I got it,” he said nervously, his body blocking you from reaching into his cart.

Irritation crept up your chest, threatening to take over completely. You suddenly felt so petty and immature, like you were Benny’s age, knowing you were about to say something rude you’d later regret. 

“Fine!” You shoved the cash your dad had given you in Rafe’s hands, “I’ll just go pull the car around then.”

Rafe watched you leave through the store’s sliding glass doors, arms crossed as you exited to the parking lot, which was wet and slippery from the wintery sleet mix that had started falling at some point when you were in the store. You paused and huffed deeply, annoyed by the shift in weather, throwing the hood of your jacket up as you jogged across the lot to your car.

He had no idea what had changed in the thirty minutes you’d been shopping separately. There had been a moment earlier when he thought he’d finally won you over, and now you were back to treating him like he was the bane of your existence.

“This too?” The cashier asked, holding out the decorative mistletoe Rafe had thrown in the bottom of his cart, thinking he could work in some cheeky joke with you and get that perfect eye roll/reluctant smile expression you make that he’d become a little obsessed with.

“Yeah, sure, whatever man,” he agreed with a frown.

As promised, you brought the car around, giving Rafe the cold shoulder as you loaded the gifts into the trunk. When you got to the fake tree Rafe had snagged from the holiday section, you paused.

“What’s that?” You questioned him.

“A tree?” He snapped back. “I told you I was gonna grab one.”

“No,” you shook your head, “we have to get a real tree.”

Rafe looked up at the sky pointedly, the worsening weather causing shoppers around you to duck and run to their car to get out of the misery.

“Are you serious?” He grumbled. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“It just…it has to be real, okay?” You huffed. “I found the last tree lot in the county that still has Douglas Firs, so you can take this one back.”

“Why don’t we keep this one just in case you change your mind,” he suggested.

“Fine, keep it, but I’m not changing my mind,” you threw the box with the fake tree into the trunk and slammed it closed, nearly catching Rafe’s hand in the heavy door as you did.

You stomped around to the driver’s side, leaving Rafe to return the carts to the main entrance, his jaw clenched in frustration the whole way. What had started as disappointment in your change in demeanor had turned into full-on anger. He may not be your favorite person, but you weren’t the only one having a shitty Christmas, and he definitely didn’t think he deserved whatever the fuck this was.

“I’m telling you, it was veer left, not turn left!”

The windshield wipers were working overtime, squeaking against the glass as they tried and failed to keep the freezing rain out of your line of vision. You sat all the way forward in your seat to see through the watery streaks they left behind. You had pulled onto some muddy back road as Rafe read directions from the GPS, trying to find this obscure tree lot several miles outside of town.

“Veer left doesn’t make any sense, I know that road, it’s all factories and empty lots,” you waved him off.

“Okay, well it’s clearly not this road! Is this even a road? It’s like a fucking swamp out here, I don’t know how your tires are even still moving,” He argued back.

“Not everything around here is as nice here as it is in the Outer Banks, Rafe. We’re doing our best, sorry if we don’t meet Cameron standards,” you griped at him.

“Oh my god, that’s not what I meant, just admit you’re fucking lost,” he snipped back.

“I am not lost. It’s probably just taking me on a shortcut. The road will clear up any minute.”

As you said those fateful words, the road got even more unstable, dirt and gravel mixing with the precipitation to make what looked more like a vat of chocolate pudding than a road. 

Stubbornly, you accelerated, determined to get out of this patch of road and prove to him you were right. As you sped up, the steering wheel turned erratically under your hands, your tires skidding on the slippery road, eventually stopping movement at all.

“Hmm interesting,” Rafe quipped sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you try to navigate the situation you’d gotten yourself into.

“It’s fine, I just need to…” you accelerated more, your spinning back tire kicking up mud as it fought for forward motion.

“Stop, you’re gonna - “

POP! The car skidded forward violently just an inch before stopping altogether, the weight of it sinking underneath you as a loud whistling noise echoed from the rear tire.

“- blow your tire,” Rafe threw his hands up in exasperation as the low tire pressure light on your dash illuminated with a little ‘ding!’

You avoided his eyes, hands still clutching the steering wheel as you clenched your jaw in anger. 

“Thanks a lot,” you mumbled.

Rafe blinked at you in disbelief, jaw hanging slack. 

“Me?” He scoffed, looking around the car as if there was someone he could look to for confirmation that you were being insane. “How is this my fault?”

“You’re rushing me! I know how to drive on back roads but you were distracting me!” You were grasping at straws, you knew it, he knew it, but logic had flown out the window when the tire blew. 

Rafe just chuckled humorlessly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s just call someone and -”

But you were already opening your door, booted foot landing with a squelch in the mud.

“What are you doing?” He called after you.

You leaned down to look at him through your cracked door, “never changed a tire before, rich boy?” With a smirk, you slammed the door in his face.

Scrambling in the mud behind you, Rafe tried to reason with you.

“It’s pouring, you’re gonna get sick! Please just let me call someone and we can get a tow home - ”

“We still have to get the tree,” you shut him down, loosening the spare tire from the back of the hatchback.

Rafe threw his hands out in disbelief, “you’re not serious right? You’re still trying to find this fucking farm that, I gotta tell you, I’m starting to think doesn’t even exist.”

“Yes,” you said simply, lowering the tire to the ground and pulling the lug wrench from the trunk.

“You might actually be the most stubborn, ridiculous person I’ve ever met. What is it about getting this tree?” He yelled over the steadily increasing rainfall. 

“Because, Rafe, I can!” You dropped the wrench in the mud and turned on him, tears stinging your eyes as you yelled, letting all your frustration out on this boy, who just yesterday was a stranger. “I can’t get my dad a better job, and I can’t buy my brothers the presents the really want, and I can’t cure fucking cancer! But I can get a goddamn Douglas Fir, like we have every year since I was born. So I’m getting this tree! You can call your new friend from he jewelry department to come pick you up, but I’m staying here and changing this fucking tire!”

Standing back, Rafe buried his hands in his coat pockets, nodding along as you let it all out, the loose threads all twisting to finally weave together an explanation for your shift in mood. He spotted the tears as you mentioned your powerlessness over your dad’s job and your mom’s cancer, feeling like he was starting to understand your stubborn insistence to make this cursed Christmas joyful.

Though he knew he should be comforting you, he couldn’t help the little upward twitch of his lips at your comment about the jewelry girl. That explained your mood at check out, and if he was being honest, made his heart leap a little at the thought of you actually being jealous for his attention.

After several moments of his eyes on you, sizing you up as he digested your outburst, you suddenly felt exposed, and a little silly, “what?” you asked him with a burning blush.

“Nothing,” he shook his head with a grin, leaning down to pick the wrench up from the mud, “just didn’t know you were the jealous type.”

Your jaw fell slack, out of all you’d just said, of course he was zeroing in on your comment about the girl in the store. You were somewhat relieved though, glad to have an excuse to move on from talking about all the sad, stressful things going on at home.

“You’re such an ass,” you laughed, the air between you growing a little lighter. “I bet people call you that a lot.”

Rafe knelt down in the mud, beginning to loosen the screws of the flat tire.

“Not everyone, some people go with ‘lost puppy’,” he muttered under his breath.

Your smile fell from your lips, your eyes grew as you realized he was quoting you back to you. He had heard you talking about him to your brothers last night. You replayed all your words in your head with a wince - laughing about how he was like the kid from Home Alone, saying you only brought him home because you felt awkward. God, now you felt like an ass.

“Rafe, I’m…I’m so sorry, that was not cool…”

“It’s fine,” he said, a small grunt leaving him as he used the wrench to loosen a particularly rusted bolt.

“No, it’s not. We shouldn’t have been laughing. I didn’t just bring you home because I felt bad-”

“Why did you then?” He stopped what he was doing, his eyes landing on yours so suddenly, you jumped back a bit, taken by the striking blue, and the vulnerability you were seeing in them for the first time.

Deciding it was time to get your own jeans muddy, you knelt down next to him, hands wrapping around the wrench handle next to his to help him pull, both of you struggling due to the rain making the wrench so slippery.

The bolt still didn’t budge, and you paused for a minute, sitting back on your heels and looking at him.

“Because it’s Christmas,” you answered his question. “And I wanted to spend it with a friend.”

The tips of his ears burned red, he hoped you’d think it was just from the cold.

Going in for a second try, you both tugged on the wrench again, gritted teeth and white knuckles as you combined your strength to turn it as hard as you could. Frosted rain slipping between the end of the wrench and the bolt made it slip, the metal flying through the air. You and Rafe both slipped in the mud under your knees, Rafe trying to catch himself on his hands so he didn’t land on top of you, but not quite in time. His large body landed on top of yours and you both went tumbling down the side of the road, landing side by side in the muddy ditch with an unsettling squelch.

Both of you completely covered in mud, panting and shocked, Rafe turned his head to look at you, “fake tree?”

“Yeah,” you breathlessly agreed. “Fake tree.”

You and Rafe snuck in through the garage,  both of you tracking mud with every step. There was no way you’d make it all the way up to the bathroom without destroying the floors in your wake.

You’d laughed together the entire drive back to the house. What a disaster the shopping trip had turned into, and yet, you were more in the Christmas spirit now than you had been in a long, long time.

“Oh shit,” you yelped, slipping on your own muddy boot and knocking down a pile of boxes as you tried to stabilize yourself.

Rafe’s arms shot out to catch you, your nails digging into his forearms to hold yourself up. You eyed him, still wearing the “naughty” sweater you hoped he’d remembered to pay for.

“Well these are ruined,” you sighed, looking down at your own mud-soaked pullover. “And there’s no way we’re making it upstairs without tracking in mud.”

Before your sentence was even finished, Rafe was hooking his hands into the collar, pulling the sweater up and off with one pull, peeling off the soaked t-shirt underneath it, too. 

Failing miserably to hide your shock at his sculpted form, you bit your lip to silence the gasp that was begging to escape. He was just as built as you expected, if not more. His abs creased in a perfect set of six, sturdy pecs and two thick blue veins running through each bicep. He was somehow tan in the middle of December, and his skin was perfectly smooth apart from the little line of rough hair that ran from his belly button down to the waistband of his jeans. 

He caught you staring, of course he did, and smirked as he flustered you further by unbuttoning his jeans and letting them fall to the floor in a muddy heap, left in only his black boxer-briefs.

Frozen in place, you subconsciously pulled your sleeves down over your hands, as if covering yourself up more could clear the cloud of attraction fogging your brain. Rafe turned and walked towards the door that led into the house.

“Wha-where are you going?” You asked him, snapped out of your trance.

“To take a shower,” he said, like it was obvious. “I’m fucking freezing, but you can stay here and drip.”

He smiled at you expectantly, there was a challenging dip in his voice as he over pronounced the last word. Something competitive rose in your chest, he clearly didn’t think you had it in you to strip down, too. At the end of the day, you were a classic oldest child - you didn’t take kindly to losing.

Keeping your eyes locked to him, you grabbed the hem of your sweater and pulled it off over your head, copying him by pulling the shirt underneath off too until you were standing in front of him in just your bra. Rafe tilted his head as his eyes raked over you, raising his eyebrows when he got to your jeans, just as muddy and destroyed as his had been.

With a hard swallow, you undid the button and zipper with shaky hands, shimmying your hips a little to pull the wet denim over your curves. Rafe went pale and speechless, taking in the little show with a heavy rise and fall of his chest. You piled all of your clothes in the corner, hoping no one in your family stumbled upon them before you had the chance to wash them.

Rafe didn’t even try to hide the way he was drinking you in as you padded towards him in your underwear, brushing past him to get to the door first.

“I mean, damn,” he wolf-whistled at you, quietly so no one inside the house came looking for the sound.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, stepping ahead of him so he couldn’t see your pleased smile.

He followed your tiptoed steps through the hall and up the stairs, stopping at each corner to make sure no one was going to come around it and catch the two of you sneaking around in your underwear. 

Once you made it to the upstairs bathroom, you turned on the shower, excited to step into the steamy water and finally warm up. You were surprised to find Rafe still standing in the open doorway when you turned, sure he’d get the hint that he should wait outside when it came time for you to really strip down.

“What are you doing?” You whisper-scolded him.

“Enjoying the view,” he winked.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, pushing him by his chest so he stumbled back into the hall. “I don’t need your help for this pa-”

Your sentence was cut short by the creaking of wood under incoming footsteps. Panicking, you grabbed Rafe’s wrist, pulling him into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. 

“Woah, is this really happening?” He asked breathlessly, licking his lips before you slapped your hand over his mouth to shut him up, his eyes going wide at your boldness.

“Someone’s coming,” you mouthed, urging him to be quiet as you kept your palm firmly sealed over his lips.

The footsteps in the hall grew louder, their owner getting closer and closer to the door, not knowing you had a half-naked man pushed up against the other side as steam swirled around your bare bodies.

As you both waited with baited breath, your eyes drifted over Rafe’s body, so close to yours in the tiny bathroom. You couldn’t help it, sure that desire was painted all over your features. There was no use in denying it, as the warm steam caused a single drop of sweat to roll down his chest and into the ripple of his abs, you finally allowed yourself to accept that you wanted him, bad.

He felt it too, you were sure of it, his eyes half closed with heavy lids as he looked down over you, drinking in all the exposed skin and soft lace of your underwear set. 

Just as his hand slowly started rising toward your hip, a knock on the other side of the door made you both jump, a little yelp of surprise almost leaving your lips before Rafe threw his hand over your mouth, the tables turned. 

“Hey Gigs?” Benny’s little voice called from the other side of the door.

You tried to move Rafe’s hand from your mouth, but he only allowed you to lift it enough to respond before covering your lips again.

“Y-yeah, Beans?” Your voice cracked in response, Rafe flashing you a teasing grin at your flustered state. You shot him a warning look, praying your little brother couldn’t sense what was going on.

“Can we open the presents you bought us now, pleaseee?” Benny asked.

Normally you’d say no, that they had to wait until Christmas day. But as you were about to reject his request, Rafe pulled his hand from your mouth, letting his thumb tug your bottom lip down as he dragged his fingers to your jaw and brushed the soft skin of your neck. You could tell by his wicked grin he was enjoying seeing how far he could push you, drunk off your blushes and gasps.

“Yes, sure, th-that’s fine,” you told Benny, eager to get him away from the door. Rafe chuckled quietly at your compliance, making you clench your jaw even harder in annoyance at him.

“Sweet, thanks!” Benny called, hurrying back downstairs, clearly not having expected you to give him the answer he wanted.

Once you were sure the coast was clear, you glared up at Rafe, “you can’t do that!”

He threw his head back in satisfied laughter, bringing it back down only to drop his lips close to your ear.

“So, how about that shower?” He whispered.

With a little grin of your own, you leaned in too, “Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“Get out.”

Rafe managed to find his way back to the laundry room without bumping into any of your brothers. He ran his hair under the utility sink faucet to get the flecks of mud out, throwing on some clean, warm clothes before heading to the kitchen in search of a much needed glass of water, his mouth still full of cotton at the thought of you nearly naked in front of him.

As he rounded into the kitchen, he stopped short, surprise flashing across his face.

A painfully thin woman, who he could only assume to be your mother, stood in the middle of the small space, bony hands on the back of an empty kitchen chair. Her bald head was wrapped in a silky scarf, and she smiled an easy grin that reminded him so stunningly of yours.

“You must be Rafe,” she said. “Have a seat.”

(to be continued)

a/n: okay not the single longest post I've ever made on this website. period. thank u for reading!! two more parts w the last taking place on New Year's Eve. merry everything!!

taglist note: the taglist for this series will be posted in replies asap and has gotten very long so it is closed. I'm soooo thankful that ppl want to know when I post you have no idea! but it takes me a long time to do and makes posting difficult, so I am asking that in order to stay on the list for the rest of the series, you interact with each post in some way (reply with feedback, a rb, an ask - anything you'd like!) it really helps me as a writer! thank you!!

if you missed the taglist, just follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs to be first to know when I post!

[luvyeni]

⚔️… ( drabble ) never let you leave ! ୨୧ 一 이희승 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ ヾ

yandere!heeseung・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・fingering , manipulation wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. y/n & heeseung are on a break from their relationship even though hee opposed SOOO to get her to come back he kindof stalks her & makes her feel unsafe so she asks him to come back & protect her .. . ??

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 im a little rusty with yandere i hope you like it !!!

he was too controlling, he never let you be; always calling when you were out with friends, or out at work — or just in general he was always calling. he did this under the premise of “there are bad people out there” or “im just trying to protect you.” you could take it anymore. so you broke up with him, told him you just needed space.

he didn’t take it well at first; and you expected that. he cried, begged you to stay; he said he couldn’t live without you — that probably would’ve worked in the beginning, but you were tired. “i don’t even feel safe with you anymore heeseung, being with you scares me more than anything now.” and with that you left him.

he left you alone after that; you didn’t even see him anymore, in fact you didn’t see him for almost a month after that. his friends said all he did was stay home and play games, which made you sad, but this was for your happiness, so you couldn’t just back down. “as long as he gets the help he needs i wish him nothing but the best.”

heeseung in fact wasn’t getting the help he desperately needed. in fact he was getting worse, he was dying without you; he felt like he couldn’t breathe because he wasn’t near you — well not as close as he wanted to be.

you began to feel it a month later; you let your guard down, and that’s when you began to feel like you were being watched. you tried to ignore it, but it was hard when it was all the time, even in your apartment. you began to close the blinds. but that didn’t work, you felt like you were exposed in your own house.

“it’s heeseung isn’t it?” you friend said, you shook your head, quick to defend the boy. “no jake said he’s getting help.” what you didn’t know is that heeseung was always one step ahead of you, watching you. waiting for you. he saw your every move; even in your home with the cameras he installed.

you couldn’t take it anymore; you felt like you were going insane and nobody believed you, they thought you were just exhausted from work or something. “you just need sleep.” how could you sleep if you felt like someone was watching you!

you began to think maybe heeseung was right, maybe he was the only one that could protect you. maybe the world was too dangerous for you. which is why you found yourself knocking on his door. “poor baby.” he saw your tired state. “you look so tired.” he smiled to himself as you let yourself in. “i can’t sleep, i can’t go out alone, im scared someone will hurt me.” you rushed to say. “didn’t i tell you that?” he said. “you didn’t listen, now look.”

you wrapped your arms around him, and he wanted to hug you back; but he had to teach you a lesson — don’t ever think about leaving him again. “hee im so tired.” you looked up at him with those eyes. “yeah?” he said. “let’s get you to bed then.”

he guided you back to his room, laying you down on his bed. “please don’t go.” he smiled, laying next to you. “im not.” his hand was resting on your stomach. “i won't go anywhere.” his hands now moving. “you can just stay here with me.” you moaned softly. “heeseung.” he kissed the side of your head. “you don’t even have to go out, i’ll make all the money and spend it on you.” he said cupping your heat. “fuck you’re so wet.”

you couldn’t believe you fell for again, allowing his fingers to explore your insides like before. “you missed me?” you nodded. “use your fucking words.” he growled. “missed the the way i held and protected you.” he said. “the way i fucked you?” his fingers curled, hitting the spot that made you moan. “fuck hee please keep going , i need you.” you cried out. “need you so bad.”

he sped up, your hips following his movements. “you’re mine, everything you do is because i give you permission to.” you’d complain if he wasn’t fucking your open with his fingers. “you understand, you’re mines, your body is mine, your mind is mine?” you were desperate, ready to cum. “fuck yes hee im yours.” you screamed. “i’ll never leave again i promise.”

that was all he needed, before he whispered into your ear. “cum.” and it was like your body was finally at peace, your mind too. “hee.” your breathing was heavy from your orgasm, eyes heavy from your long exhaustion. “shh, go to sleep.” he said. “when you wake up we can handle me okay.” he held you softly in his arms. “im fine holding you just like this.” you slowly drifted off to sleep in what you thought was the safest place at the moment — but you couldn’t be far from wrong.

because you in fact were sleeping right in the arms of the reason you were feeling so unsettled and by time you woke up you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it… you gave yourself to him.

you were his now, all his and was never gonna share you again…

©️LUVYENI

[mariasont]

im obsessed with reid’s hands. He’s got gorgeous long fingers its just🫶🏻😩. Id like to request a fic/blurbs whichever you prefer, revolves around that.. maybe he knows the reader loves his hands (especially when he cradles her face-neck and hair pulling).. nothing too spicy tho.. if you dont mind. Love your fics sm🥹

Where Hands Lead - S.R

a/n: i am also a victim to being desperately obsessed with spencer's hands! guilty af! and thank u so much babes i appreicate the love and the request <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: established relationship, hand kink, spencer being a smug little shit, domestic fluff, teasing galore, just two cuties being ridiculously in love!

wc: 1.6k

Spencer Reid's hands were a marvel. You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment you noticed them--maybe it was the day you saw him fiddling with a pen during a team meeting, his fingers deftly spinning it like he'd been born doing it. Or maybe it was the time he'd held out a hand to help you up after you got knocked on your ass after rough case, his long fingers wrapping around yours, pulling you to his feet. Whatever the moment, the realization hit you like a freight train: Spencer's hands were distracting. 

Of course, you never said it out loud. Not at first. How do you casually tell your boyfriend that his hands are your newest fixation? You'd settled for sneaky glances, admiring the way his fingers moved over the keys of his computer or absentmindedly tapped against his thigh when he was lost in thought. 

You thought you were being subtle.

But Spencer was sharper than you gave him credit for... and you gave him a lot of credit.

It started with small things. The way he'd catch you staring and tilt his head slightly, curiosity painting his features. Or how his lips would quirk into the barest smile when he'd reach for something near you and your gaze lingered a second too long. He'd never said anything, but you had the nagging suspicion he was onto you.

Then came the day he decided to test his theory.

It had been a rare quiet evening at his apartment. The team's latest case had wrapped up earlier than expected, leaving you both with an unexpectedly free night. Spencer, ever the perfectionist, had insisted on cooking dinner. You'd agreed easily, not-so-secretly thrilled at the prospect of spending uninterrupted tie with him. He'd shooed you out of the kitchen when you tried to help, insisting that you relax while he handled everything.

You were setting the table when it started. Spencer reached over to hand you a glass, his fingers brushing against yours. You glanced at him quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed the way your breath caught.

He had.

Spencer's expression didn't give away much--just the faintest quirk of his lips as he turned back to the counter. He began chopping vegetables, his fingers expertly curling and flexing around the knife. The movement was smooth, precise, almost hypnotic, and before you knew it, your eyes were drawn to them again.

"Everything okay over there?" he asked casually, not looking up. His voice was innocent enough, sure, but there was a certain lilt to it that made your cheeks heat.

"Fine," you replied, probably too quickly, forcing your attention back to the table. You busied yourself with arranging the plates, trying to will away the warmth spreading through you. 

Spencer, however, wasn't finished with whatever game he seemed to be playing. As you moved past him to grab utensils, he shifted just enough for his hand to brush against the small of your back. The touch was so light it could have been accidental, but it lingered just a fraction too long to be dismissed entirely. The warmth of it sparked along your spine, making your pulse leap in a way you couldn't quite explain.

What was wrong with you today? He was your boyfriend, for crying out loud. Casual touches like this were normal--expected, even. And yet, every brush of his fingers seemed to unravel you more. You cast a quick glance up at him, trying to gauge if he'd noticed your reaction, but Spencer simply smiled, his expression innocent, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

You clenched the utensils in your hand, suddenly desperate to shake off this fixation before Spencer figured out what was going on. The last thing you needed was for him to think you were completely crazy--obsessed with something as specific as his hands. Surely, that wasn't normal. 

 By the time you finally sat down to eat, your nerves were fully frayed. Flustered didn't even begin to cover it. Spencer, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. He moved with his usually calm efficiency, placing food on the table with a soft smile. As he handed you a serving spoon, his fingers brushed against yours once again--warm, gentle, and far too distracting. You lingered a second longer than necessary, and while he didn't say a word, the subtle upward twitch of his lips suggested he notice.

Determined to pull yourself together, you focused on your plate. Or at least, you tried. Every movement Spencer made seemed designed to draw your attention. The way his long fingers curled around his fork, deliberate and precise, made your breath hitch. His index finger tapped lightly against the side of his glass as he considered something. Even the simple act of wiping his mouth with his napkin--slow, measured, maddeningly deliberate--seemed orchestrated to unravel you.

When dinner ended, you were quick to rise, eager to clear the table and escape the tight coil of your own thoughts. But Spencer was quicker. Before you could take a single step, his hand caught your wrist, fingers curling around you with just enough pressure to stop you in your tracks.

"I'll take care of it," he said, thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist before letting go.

Normally, you would argue. He'd cooker dinner, after all--it was only fair that you clean up. But today left you rooted to the spot. You sank back into your chair, wordless, your gaze following him as he moved around the kitchen.

Spencer rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscle of his forearms, and your eyes betrayed you once again, drawn back to his hands. The way they worked was mesmerizing--graceful and efficient as he dried plates, stacked dishes, and wiped down the counters with practiced ease. 

Spencer must have felt your gaze because he glanced over his shoulder, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. He didn't rush, taking his time as he finished tidying up. When he was done, he dried his hands on a dish towel, then set it aside before making his way back to you. His hands were empty now, but no less captivating.

Stopping in front of your chair, Spencer lowered himself to one knee, his eyes meeting yours. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Heat swelled to your face, mind scrambling for something--anything--coherent to say. "I--what?"

Spencer chuckled softly, his hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're not as subtle as you think."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped you.

"Next time," he continued, his thumb moving to brush against your cheek, his touch featherlight, "just tell me. I'd hate for you to sit there suffering in silence."

"I... don't know what you mean."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh, is that right?"

You nodded quickly.

"So you wouldn't mind if I did this?" he murmured, reaching out to cup your cheeks with the utmost care.

The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, his thumb brushing slow, delicate arcs along your cheekbones. His fingers, long and steady, curled around the sides of your face, glueing you in place. Your breath hitched, the air between you thickening as your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. Words failed you, leaving only the rapid thrum of your heart.

"Or this?" he added, voice softer now, almost a whisper. His fingers slid upward, tangling in your hair with a sort of practiced ease that sent sparks racing along your legs. He tugged lightly, just enough to tilt your head and pull a soft, involuntary gasp from your lips. The gentle pressure was intoxicating, and you bit down on your bottom lip, completely undone.

"Spencer..." you managed, though it barely passed a whisper. His name trembled on your lips, a plea and a confession all at once.

"Or this?" he continued, one hand sliding down to rest on your thigh. His fingers curled just slightly. Your pulse quickened, a fluttering sound that betrayed just how completely he had you in his grasp. Spencer leaned in closer, expression smug, lips moving into a smile that left you breathless. 

"And what about this?" he added, voice dropped to a hushed murmur as his hand moved to tilt your chin upward. Before you could respond, his lips found yours. The kiss was slow, purposeful, and impossible to do anything but melt into. His hands moved back to cradle your face, fingers brushing against your jaw and the sensitive curve of your neck, their touch igniting a fire that spread through your entire body.

When he finally pulled away, you felt like all the air had been vacuumed from your lungs, cheeks flushed and heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could here it.

"Yeah, um," you stammered, the words tumbling out awkwardly as you struggled to regain your footing, "I don't think I mind... you could, uh, do it again if you wanted to."

Spencer's lips quirked into a slow, satisfied smile, his eyes sparkling. "Oh, is that so?"

He leaned in once more, capturing your lips in another kiss. This time, it was slower, unhurried, as if he were savoring every second. 

He leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, savoring the moment.

When he pulled back, hands still cradling your face, he chuckled softly. "You know lucky for you, if my hands are your favorite thing about me, I've got two of them and all the time in the world."

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join my taglist here!

[caldella]

SINSMAS SPOILERS AHEAD

Fan theory time!

This part of this episode had me SCREAMING because I hope they're hinting at a headcanon/theory I've had for a long time!

The way this scene was such a DIRECT callback to S1E1 Muder Family, down to looking through a window and one of them being hesitant to go through with the job because there's a happy family?

In Murder Family it was the same situation (murdering someone responsible for a marriage falling apart), but Blitzø didn't think anything of it even though he had done the same with Stolas. Blitzø and Stolas' situationship vs. Stella could've well been a Martha and Mrs. Mayberry situation, if you remove the later knowledge he and the viewers didn't have at first. Mrs. Mayberry as a client could have very well been a Stella if we didn't know the context later in the episode said otherwise. Mrs. Mayberry was more angry that the public viewed Martha as a hero for surviving being shot than anything else.

And the entire Sinsmas mission making Blitzø hesitant, because now he's realizing that he relates to his target? Like, suddenly he's examining that his revenge murder stuff isn't always the best solution, and this might be hurting someone who has been through shit and should be happy? That he could be killing a Stolas or a Blitzø? That he could be ruining a family of kids like Loona and Via who don't deserve it?

That maybe like he's been doing with his personal life, he should be asking some more questions about the impact of the jobs he's taking on, too? Add in the way Blitzø insists constantly that he's an assassin, not a bodyguard, but he is super protective of his loved ones and has proven to be really, really good at saving people...

Incoming IMP revolution theories might mess this up, but I am going to be SO, SO HAPPY if the eventual end-of-show route for IMP is that they transfer from murder to being bodyguards for hire. Like IMP is now Imminent Murder Prevention or something. Blitz is getting over his mentality that he can only make people's lives worse, and what better symbolism for that than his entire company eventually being devoted to protecting/saving people instead of destroying them?

They still get to fight/shoot/kill if needed, but to help instead of harm. The absolute symbolism. The way that would probably be really good for Blitzø's mental health once he makes that connection because he loves helping people he likes or thinks need it. Moxxie might like it, too. Just everything about this possibility.

I would love it SO MUCH.

[eowynstwin]

i’m drooling at ur older bf price (not much else to say except when/if u ever have more thots abt him please share 🙏)

previous

You curl in on yourself after sex, sometimes. It’s a pattern Price has noticed—you’ll finish, then he will, and in the humid moments after, the shutters in your eyes will close. You won’t meet his gaze.

He’s only asked once about it, and it had been so clear that the question disturbed you that he hadn’t pressed. You’d tell him, he reasoned, when you were ready—

(And he could nudge you in that direction in the meanwhile.)

The sink is put back together, cabinet door closed. Your sundress is wrapped and twisted around your midsection, naked breasts wet with his saliva and compressed against his chest as you lay panting on top of him. His shirt is in some far-off corner, thrown aside, and his jeans are around his knees.

“That was nice,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your hair. He makes a home for his fingertips between your shoulder blades, walking the trail of your spine, up and down, slow as a tide.

“Mm-hm,” you say, out at sea. Far away.

He can’t deny that it disappoints him. But it isn’t about him, and he shouldn’t make it so. Even if it is about him, it isn’t actually about him—it’s about something else that has attached itself to him. Things are like that more often than not—deeper, older problems with hooks, the barbed kind that sink in and cling and won’t come out of their own accord.

So he keeps kissing your hair, and he keeps stroking your back. His softened cock hasn’t slipped from you yet, and he makes no move to dislodge it. You nestle closer to him; shift your body over his, a little, just for the feeling of it. He waits for the sigh—the long, steady breath you take after the act, after you’ve found yourself again in wherever it is you go after moments like this.

“This is probably weird to talk about after sex,” you say, and Price’s ears perk up.

“Nothing weird between us, dove,” he encourages. “What’s on your mind?”

You play with his chest hair a little, twirling it around with the manicured ends of your nails. (A manicure he happily paid for.)

“You’re the first man who’s ever given a damn about me,” you mumble into his neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says honestly. He kisses you again, because he wants to, and because he wants it to comfort you.

“You don’t make me feel stupid for not being able to do stuff on my own,” you continue. “My step—my mom’s husband. He used to make fun of me for, for getting confused about changing my car’s oil. Or he’d get annoyed at me. Or I’d need him to change my tires because I can’t do it on my own, and I’d call him for help, and he wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Price comments.

A younger version of himself would have offered to beat the shit out of the asshole. That self’s anger on your behalf sits radioactive in his chest even now—corrosive, roiling, righteous fury, ready to carve your name on whatever offal is left over after Price gets through with him.

But that would be for his own ego, not for you. That has no place here.

“Do you know—” and your voice breaks a little, “do you know how bad it feels when a man who’s supposed to look out for you treats you like you’re an idiot? Like you’re not smart enough to be worth helping?”

“Some,” he says. “It’s an awful feeling. I wish you didn’t know how it felt, dove. I’m sorry.”

He feels something warm and wet drip onto his chest, and your shoulders begin to shake.

It’s not the full-body, wracking cry of catharsis. Just an episode of something longer, something tired. A problem dealt with, over and over again—a wound that reopens sometimes, if it’s pulled the wrong way.

Price gathers you closer, wraps his arms around you tighter. He cups the back of your neck with one hand and murmurs “shhh” into your hair, soothing and quiet, squeezing you against him.

“I’m okay,” you say, a little watery. “Really, I am.”

“I know you are,” he says.

He tilts your face toward his, and kisses the center of your forehead. You meet his eyes with your own, wide and glistening with your tears.

“I’m always gonna help you, dove,” he promises, catching one that falls with the edge of his thumb. “And you can always ask.”

-

No I don’t have daddy issues why do you ask

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 1

Summary: After his death you left everything behind. You're still Bruce daughter but no longer a part of family. You had a new life and everything was fine, until the day someone left a box outside your door...

Warning: Physically violence/Choking.

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

“You sure you’re ok?” he asked as she kissed him lightly on the lips.

“I’ll be fine,” she said smiling.

He searched her face for a moment before nodding, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back late.”

As Daniel left, she closed the door behind him and exhaled, her chest tightening. She shook it off, slipping out of her shoes and heading straight for the shower. Maybe hot water would ease the tension coiled in her spine.

The steam filled the small bathroom quickly, clinging to the mirror and fogging the glass. She stepped under the stream, letting the water rush over her skin. It was almost too hot, but she relished the way it scalded, burning away the nerves she carried like an old scar.

She hummed softly, a melody that she didn’t recognize but felt familiar all the same. Her thoughts wandered as the water cascaded over her, but something pulled her back.

A sound.

She froze, water streaming down her face. She strained her ears, her breath catching in her throat.

Nothing.

It was probably nothing. The pipes, maybe. This building wasn’t new, and the plumbing always made strange noises. She shook her head, laughing softly at her paranoia, and returned to her shower.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

She felt it then—the distinct sensation of being watched. Her fingers tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She counted slowly in her head, telling herself she was imagining it, that she was safe. Safe.

The ringing of the doorbell shattered the silence.

She jumped, her heart slamming against her ribs. The water continued to pour over her, but the incessant ringing pulled her focus. It didn’t stop.

“Seriously?” she muttered, cutting the water off and grabbing a towel. Wrapping it hastily around herself, she stormed out of the bathroom, her wet feet slapping against the tile floor.

The ringing continued, grating against her nerves.

“Alright, alright!” she yelled, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. She grabbed the towel, wrapped it tightly around herself, irritation bubbling to the surface. The ringing didn’t stop. Again. Again. Over and over, like whoever was behind the door had nothing better to do than torment her.

“Coming!” she yelled, stomping toward the door, her wet feet leaving angry prints on the hardwood.

No one was there.

Just a box.

She blinked, her gaze dropping to the large cardboard box sitting on the welcome mat. There was no note, no markings, nothing to indicate where it came from or who had sent it.

She sighed, irritation flickering through her. Probably Bruce, she thought, stepping forward and dragging the box inside. She left it by the coffee table, her focus already back on her shower. The towel was damp against her skin, and all she wanted was to feel clean and warm again.

By the time she was out of the shower, dressed in an old sweatshirt and leggings, she’d nearly forgotten about the box. She made a cup of tea, settling onto the couch with the remote, flipping through channels.

Everything was dull. Every show, every movie. Nothing held her attention. Her gaze drifted to the box.

It sat there, innocuous yet somehow foreboding.

She hesitated before setting her tea down and kneeling in front of it. The tape peeled away easily, the cardboard flaps opening to reveal its contents.

Her breath caught.

The first thing she saw was the Batgirl suit.

Her old suit, neatly folded, its colors dimmed by time and wear. Beneath it were other items: a small photograph, trinkets she hadn’t seen in years.

She reached for the photo first.

It was a picture of her and Jason. He was grinning, his arm slung around her shoulders, while she was caught mid-laugh. The memory hit her like a wave. She’d teased him relentlessly that day about his messy hair, and he’d retaliated by messing up hers until they were both in a fit of laughter.

"You look like you just rolled out of bed Jaybird," she said with a smirk, poking fun at him.

Jason rolled his eyes but grinned back. "Says the girl who hasn’t combed her hair in days."

She laughed, flipping her own hair over her shoulder dramatically. And just like that, they’d been caught in a moment of unguarded joy.

Jason, ruffled her hair, making it even messier than before. “There. Now you look like me!” he teased.

She gasped in mock horror, instantly reaching up to fix her hair. “What did you do?”

Her fingers trembled as she set the photo down and reached for the next item. A bracelet he’d made for her—clumsy knots of red and green string. She’d worn it for months until it fell apart.

“You like it?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

“Of course I do,” she’d replied, smiling softly as she accepted the bracelet. It was clumsy, but in that moment, it felt like the most beautiful thing anyone had ever given her.

Then came a note in her handwriting. She remembered writing it, a quick scribble of encouragement before a patrol.

“You’ve got this, Jaybird. Show them what you’re made of.”

“You okay?” he asked, his voice surprisingly soft, a rare crack in his usual persona.

She hadn’t answered right away. Instead, she had sat beside him in silence. The hurt from the night before clung to her like a second skin. She hadn’t expected him to do anything—she didn’t need pity. But then, he did something she would never forget.

Without a word, Jason had wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. It wasn’t some grand gesture, nothing theatrical. Just a simple, genuine hug. His cheek had rested against her hair, and for the briefest moment, she let herself feel weak. She let the tears threaten to spill.

“I’m here,” he had whispered, and his voice had been steady, warm. “We’ll get through it. Together.”

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. She clutched the note tightly, her chest heaving with silent sobs. The weight of everything she’d buried, everything she’d run from, came crashing down.

She remembered the good moments, the times Jason had made her laugh until her stomach hurt. The way he’d always looked at her, like she was the only person who mattered. The trust in his eyes when she’d told him they could make Bruce proud together.

She wiped her cheeks, but the tears kept coming.

Her gaze drifted back to the box. Something else was in there. Something heavier. She hesitated, her hands trembling as she reached for it.

It was a crowbar.

Bloodstained.

Her breath hitched, and the air seemed to leave the room. She dropped it, scrambling backward, her heart racing.

The shadows in the room seemed to shift, and for the first time, she felt utterly alone.

The phone was cool against her ear as she sat cross-legged on the couch, staring at the opened box on the floor. Bruce answered on the second ring, his voice as steady and deep as she remembered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Bruce," she said softly. Her voice cracked despite her best effort to sound normal.

"Y/N." Relief washed over his tone, and she could almost see him leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "I didn’t think you’d call back so soon."

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "I’ve been meaning to. Just... been busy."

There was a pause, the kind that stretched uncomfortably long. Bruce, for all his control, didn’t handle emotional conversations well.

"How’s the family?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Bruce seemed to relax at the shift in focus. "They’re doing well. Dick had taken over Blüdhaven. Tim’s been working on a new case—too much, if you ask me. And Barbara’s focused on her tech projects."

"And Alfred?"

"Still the same. Still trying to make me take a day off. But he missed you. Everyone does." There was a faint smile in his voice now. "How about you? How’s university?"

"It’s good," she replied, twirling a strand of her damp hair. "They say I'm good, if I continue like that I will be a certified doctor."

"I’m proud of you," Bruce said quietly.

Her throat tightened at the sincerity in his words. "Thanks," she murmured. "And Daniel’s great. He’s... he’s good to me."

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, and she could hear the faint hum of the Batcave in the background.

"You’ve built a good life for yourself," he said finally. "But Gotham will always be your home, Y/N. You’ll always have a place here. You’ll always be my daughter."

Her smile faded, and she bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. "I can’t come back, Bruce," she said, her voice trembling. "Not after what I did."

"Y/N..." His voice softened in a way that was rare for him. "It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected you both."

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. "I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself. Jason—" Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard.

"Jason wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt," Bruce said firmly. "Neither do I. You didn’t fail him, Y/N. I did."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. She looked at the box on the floor again, her gaze locking onto the crowbar.

"Bruce," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "That box you sent—"

"What box?"

Her stomach dropped. "The one with my Batgirl suit. And... other things." She hesitated, her voice growing unsteady. "There was a crowbar in it, Bruce. It was bloodstained."

"I didn’t send you anything," Bruce said, his tone sharp now. "Y/N, what are you talking about?"

Her heart began to race. "You’re telling me you didn’t send it? You don’t know about the box?"

"No. I don’t know what you’re talking about."

The sound of glass shattering made her jump, and her head snapped toward the kitchen.

"Y/N?" Bruce’s voice was urgent, but she barely heard him.

"Something broke," she said, her voice distant. "I’ll call you back."

"Wait—"

She ended the call, her hand trembling as she set the phone down. Her gaze flicked to the crowbar lying on her desk.

Swallowing her fear, she grabbed it, the cold metal heavy in her hand. Slowly, she moved toward the kitchen, her bare feet silent against the floor.

The house was eerily quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards under her weight. She tightened her grip on the crowbar, her pulse hammering in her ears.

When she reached the kitchen, she hesitated, her breath hitching as she peeked around the corner.

The window was open, a chilly breeze fluttering the curtains.

Her eyes darted to the broken mug on the floor and the small, furry figure perched on the counter.

A cat jumped down from the counter, its fur bristling as it hissed at her before darting out the open window.

She exhaled shakily, her knees threatening to give out. She lowered the crowbar, leaning against the counter as her heartbeat gradually slowed.

“Just a cat,” she muttered to herself. “Just a stupid cat.”

But the feeling didn’t leave her.

The sensation of being watched lingered, a prickling at the back of her neck. She glanced around the room again, her grip on the crowbar tightening.

“Stop it,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You’re just imagining things.”

She turned back to the box in the living room. Her mind raced with possibilities. If Bruce hadn’t sent it, then who had?

Joker?

No. It had been years. He had no reason to come after her now. But the thought nagged at her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

She glanced at the crowbar again, her stomach twisting. She needed to talk to Bruce.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t over.

She felt it before she saw it. The impact of something heavy hitting her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her vision was distorted, the world around her a wash of blurry shapes and smears. Everything was red—vivid, suffocating red that stained her mind and her skin, pressing down on her like an iron weight.

She was screaming, but the sound wasn’t hers.

She couldn’t breathe. The air was thick, suffocating, and she gasped for it, but it was as if her lungs couldn’t fill. Something—someone—was there, near her. She could hear him, his voice rising above.

His voice.

It was faint at first, but then it became clearer, cutting through the disarray.

“Don’t… don’t… please!”

Jason...

His voice, strained and desperate, barely reaching her through the fog in her mind.

“Please, please don’t... Don’t do this!”

She tried to focus, to clear the haze in her head. But it was so hard. What’s happening? Everything felt so wrong. Was he crying? Was he... begging?

Wait.

Why was he begging? Why was he crying?

His voice broke, and it stabbed her like a knife. Don’t cry, she thought, almost absently. Don’t cry, Jason. It’s not your fault.

He didn’t want her to be hurt.

Her chest tightened at the thought, and her vision flared with red-hot pain.

Why are you crying, Jason?

His voice broke through again, desperate, louder this time.

“Y/N!”

Her pulse stuttered at the sound of her name, raw with agony. She wanted to reach out, but her hands wouldn’t move. The world spun faster, and she couldn’t stop it. The walls around her were closing in.

She tried to focus on him—on his voice—but everything was blurring again. Why was he crying? Why was he… Why was he yelling?

It’s my fault, she thought desperately. I’m the one who did this. I ruined everything.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, everything went still.

She gasped for breath, but her body wouldn’t obey. Her chest constricted, and she tried to scream again, but the world around her was just too far away. The red haze thickened.

And then, everything went black.

She awoke with a start, gasping as though she had been submerged underwater. Her body trembled violently, drenched in sweat, her chest heaving for air.

Her heart pounded in her ears.

What was that?

She sat up in bed, her eyes wide as she tried to steady her breath. She hadn’t had a nightmare like that in so long. She thought she was done with them. But that voice… Jason’s voice, still echoing in her ears. The sound of his crying. The desperation. The guilt.

A soft ringing broke through her daze. The doorbell.

It was raining outside, the soft patter of the storm barely reaching her through the walls.

She stood slowly, wiping the sweat from her brow as she grabbed the crowbar from beside her bed. There was something about the ringing that set her nerves on edge. Something... wrong.

She moved cautiously down the stairs, every step creaking beneath her. Her hand gripped the crowbar tightly, knuckles white. She stopped at the door, staring at the peephole, but saw nothing—just the darkness of the storm.

She swallowed hard and turned the handle, swinging the door open.

Empty.

Her breath escaped in a shaky laugh as she shook her head. She was being paranoid.

Just a mistake. Just the wind. Or maybe a neighbor…

She laughed at herself again, weakly. How stupid could she be?

She started to close the door, her hand gripping the handle, when a sudden force slammed into her.

Her breath was crushed out of her as a hand gripped her throat, yanking her backward with brutal force. The crowbar fell from her hand, clattering uselessly to the floor as she was slammed against the door with such force that the wood shook.

She couldn’t breathe. Her hands flew to her neck, scratching, clawing at the hand that was squeezing the life out of her.

Everything was a blur, her vision fading in and out. But there were two eyes—two wild, unhinged eyes—staring at her through a mask of red. A twisted, maniacal grin was visible beneath the blood-streaked fabric. She gasped, her lungs screaming for air, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t break free. She was weightless now, her feet no longer touching the floor as the pressure on her throat intensified.

She kicked out, her feet uselessly struggling to find purchase. Her vision began to dim, a ringing in her ears drowning out the world. Everything was spinning. The edges of her vision were dissolving into darkness.

Is this how it ends?

Her throat tightened, her eyes burning with the effort of holding onto consciousness.

Is this it?

Her thoughts flickered. The coldness of the hand around her neck, the darkness closing in, everything felt too heavy, too wrong. She had no strength left. Her muscles screamed in protest, but they didn’t obey.

Tears gathered in her eyes, blurring her sight. Her lungs burned with every desperate, ragged breath.

And then, the grip released.

She crumpled to the floor, gasping for air as her vision swam and her chest heaved.

Through the haze, she looked up, but everything was dark, save for the faint outline of a figure standing above her. She could barely make out the shape of a face, the contours of a body, but there was one thing she saw clearly.

Two eyes.

Green.

Tears filled those eyes, glistening in the dim light, staring at her with an intensity she couldn’t understand.

They were familiar.

But she couldn’t place them.

She blinked, but everything was slipping away.

Her mind was going blank, her body growing colder by the second. The last thing she saw was the figure, the two green eyes... and then, everything went dark again.

#Robin & Batgirl: Gotham's Sweethearts One-Shot Especial

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[dollfacefantasy]

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.

[jinniejjam]

Breaking Down Walls

✎ CollegeBand!Bang Chan x nerdyAfab!Reader

✎ Nerdy College AU, Emotional, strangers to Lovers, 18+ MDNI! NSFW, Slight breeding Kink and bulge kink, creampie, cunilingus.

✎ 5,9k

✎ Synopsis: Bang Chan, the campus heartthrob, reluctantly seeks help from Y/N, a no-nonsense tutor who doesn’t trust boys like him. As late-night study sessions turn into something more, their differences blur, and unexpected feelings emerge, challenging both their walls.

A/n : hii guyss, another Chan X Nerdy again loll, i just love this trope so muchh! Enjoyy and please don't mind the typo or the grammatical error^^

— Bae

You stared at the email on your laptop screen, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach.

Dear Y/n,

Professor Lee has recommended you for a special tutoring assignment. The student, Christopher Bang, has been struggling with his coursework and could use your expertise. We believe you are the right person for this. Thank you for your cooperation.

Best,

Academic Support Team

You groaned audibly and smacked your forehead against your desk. Christopher Bang. Everyone on campus called him “Bang Chan,” the lead singer of a campus-famous band. He was the kind of guy who was perpetually surrounded by a sea of admirers, always with an easy grin and a cocky confidence that screamed trouble.

You didn’t have time for trouble.

When Professor Lee mentioned this tutoring opportunity during class, you thought it’d be for someone serious. Someone who genuinely wanted help—not a guy who probably spent more time flirting than studying.

Still, you couldn’t exactly back out now. The professor had personally vouched for you. Besides, you needed the extra credit this gig offered. So, with a deep sigh and a firm resolution to keep things strictly professional, you emailed Chan back to arrange your first meeting.

"Tuesday, 4 PM. Library. Be on time."

It was Tuesday at 4:17 PM, and you were tapping your pen against the library table, glaring at the clock.

Of course, he’s late.

You had your laptop open, notes prepared, and a coffee you’d already drained. The quiet hum of the library did nothing to calm your irritation.

Just as you were about to send him a passive-aggressive follow-up email, you heard footsteps approaching.

“Hey! Sorry, sorry—I got caught up!”

You looked up to see him. Bang Chan, in the flesh. His dark hair was slightly messy, as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and his leather jacket was slung carelessly over his shoulder. He looked every bit the campus heartthrob you’d expected, complete with that infuriatingly charming smile.

“You’re late,” you said flatly, refusing to return his smile.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged. Traffic on the way here was brutal.”

“This is a walking campus,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, unbothered by your sarcasm. “Touché.”

You sighed and motioned for him to sit down. “Let’s get started. I assume you know why you’re here.”

“Enlighten me.” He plopped down across from you, leaning back in the chair with an air of relaxed confidence.

You slid a piece of paper across the table. “Your midterm grades. Let’s just say they’re not exactly... stellar.”

Chan winced as he glanced at the sheet. “Yikes.”

“Yikes indeed,” you said dryly. “If you want to pass this course, you need to take this seriously. No distractions, no excuses.”

“Got it. Serious. No distractions.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you with those annoyingly pretty eyes. “But just to clarify—you’re not a distraction, right?”

Your jaw tightened, and you rolled your eyes. “We’re not here to play games, Bang.”

“Call me Chan,” he said with a wink.

You ignored him and opened your laptop. “Let’s start with last week’s lecture material.”

Despite your initial assumptions, Chan actually seemed... attentive. He took notes, asked questions, and even admitted when he didn’t understand something.

“Wait, so this formula—does it only work for linear functions, or can it apply to quadratic ones too?” he asked, frowning at his notebook.

You blinked. That was actually a decent question. “It’s primarily for linear functions, but there are variations you can use for quadratic ones. Want me to show you?”

“Please.”

As you explained, you couldn’t help but notice how focused he was. His pen tapped lightly against the notebook, and his brow furrowed in concentration. He even nodded along occasionally, muttering things like, “Okay, that makes sense now.”

It was... unexpected.

“So, do you actually want to pass this course, or are you just here because your professor made you?” you asked after a while, unable to hide your curiosity.

Chan looked up, surprised by the question. Then he smiled—this time, it wasn’t the cocky grin you’d seen earlier. It was softer, almost sheepish.

“I mean, yeah. I’ve got a lot on my plate, but I don’t want to fail. Music’s my thing, sure, but I don’t want to let my grades tank either.”

Something about his honesty caught you off guard. Maybe he wasn’t as shallow as you’d assumed.

“Well,” you said, clearing your throat, “if you keep this up, you might actually pass.”

He smirked, the cockiness returning. “Is that a compliment, tutor?”

“Don’t get used to it,” you muttered, trying—and failing—not to smile.

--

The next few sessions followed a similar pattern. You’d meet in the library, Chan would inevitably charm his way through your carefully constructed defenses, and you’d catch yourself noticing more than his academic progress.

It was frustrating.

“Okay, I think I’ve got this,” Chan said one evening, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “All thanks to my amazing tutor.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the warmth rising to your cheeks. “Flattery doesn’t get you bonus points.”

“Good thing I’m not doing it for points.”

Your pen paused mid-sentence. His voice had dipped slightly, teasing, but there was something about the way he said it—soft and genuine—that made your chest tighten.

“Focus, Chan,” you muttered, flipping to the next page of notes.

“Right. Focus,” he echoed, but you caught the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

---

The tension reached a boiling point during one particularly late session. The library was practically deserted, save for the two of you tucked away in a quiet corner.

“Okay, last problem,” you said, sliding your notebook toward him. “Solve this, and we’re done for tonight.”

Chan groaned but picked up his pen. You leaned back, watching as his brows furrowed in concentration. He tapped the pen against his lips—a habit you’d noticed—and you quickly averted your gaze, pretending to check your phone.

“How’d I do?” he asked, sliding the notebook back to you.

You scanned his work, nodding slowly. “Not bad. You’re actually starting to get the hang of this.”

“Wow. Another compliment?” he teased, leaning closer. “You’re spoiling me, tutor.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t get used to it.”

But then, as you reached for your notebook, your fingers brushed against his. It was a brief, almost insignificant touch, but it sent a jolt through you.

You glanced up, and Chan was already looking at you, his eyes searching yours.

The air shifted.

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in that small, quiet corner of the library.

“You know,” he began softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re a lot more fun to be around than you let on.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. “Chan—”

“Relax,” he said, leaning back with a playful grin. “I’m just messing with you. Unless... you don’t want me to stop.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you, burning with heat. “Goodnight, Chan.”

As you packed up your things and left, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted—something you weren’t quite ready to face yet.

---

The shift came unexpectedly a week later, during a particularly bad storm. You’d just finished your last class of the day when your phone buzzed.

Chan: “Library’s closed. Raincheck?”

You sighed, staring out the window at the torrential downpour. Normally, you’d jump at the chance to stay in, but something about the thought of Chan struggling with the material alone bothered you. Before you could overthink it, you replied:

You: “Come to my dorm. Bring your notes.”

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door.

“Hey,” Chan said, slightly breathless. His hair was damp from the rain, droplets clinging to his leather jacket.

“You look like a wet puppy,” you teased, stepping aside to let him in.

“And you’re as welcoming as ever,” he shot back, but there was no malice in his tone—just the easy, teasing warmth you’d come to associate with him.

As the session went on, you noticed Chan seemed... off. He was quieter than usual, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more subdued.

“You okay?” you asked finally, setting your notebook aside.

He hesitated, then sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “It’s just... a lot. The band, school, everything. Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. For all his confidence, it was moments like these that reminded you he wasn’t as invincible as he seemed.

“You’re doing fine,” you said softly, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your tone. “You just need to give yourself some credit.”

Chan looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the unspoken tension between you thickening.

“Thanks,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “You’re doing the work. I’m just here to guide you.”

Chan gave you a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Still... It’s nice to hear. Sometimes, it feels like everyone only sees what they want to see, you know?”

You nodded, understanding more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. People look at me and think, ‘nerdy girl who has her life together.’ But they don’t see the rest—the doubts, the late nights wondering if I’m good enough, or if I’ll ever be more than just... this.”

Chan tilted his head, his eyes scanning your face. “Why would you think that? You’re... incredible. Smart, focused, driven—”

“Boring,” you interrupted with a bitter laugh.

“No.” His tone was firm, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. “You’re anything but boring.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, pressing against your chest.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, you looked away, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. “You don’t mean that. You’re just saying it because... well, that’s what guys like you do.”

“Guys like me?” Chan repeated, his voice laced with curiosity.

“You know.” You waved a hand vaguely. “The popular, charismatic type. Always knowing exactly what to say to get what you want.”

His expression softened, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve got me all wrong.”

You glanced at him, skepticism evident in your eyes. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “You think I have it all figured out, but most days, I’m just trying to keep my head above water. And if I seem like I know what to say, it’s only because I’ve spent my whole life trying to make people happy. It’s exhausting.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and for the first time, you saw him—really saw him—as more than just the confident, untouchable guy everyone adored.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” you admitted quietly.

“Not many people do.” He smiled faintly. “But I feel like... I can be real with you. Like I don’t have to put on a show.”

Something shifted in your chest, a warmth spreading through you that you hadn’t expected.

“Same,” you murmured. “I don’t know why, but... you make me feel like I can let my guard down, too. It’s scary.”

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

“Because... I’ve spent so long convincing myself that people like you and me don’t mix.”

Chan reached out then, his hand covering yours. The gesture was gentle, tentative, as if he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

“Maybe we’re not so different,” he said softly. “And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

You looked at him, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed against the back of your hand.

“Chan—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. His eyes searched yours, asking a silent question.

When you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was hesitant at first—testing the waters—but quickly deepened as you responded.

Your hands moved almost instinctively, one tangling in his damp hair while the other rested against his chest. His heart was racing, beating in time with yours as the kiss grew hungrier.

Chan pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “Is this okay?” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

“Yes,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips found yours again, more urgent this time, and you felt yourself melting into him.

The books and papers scattered across the table were long forgotten as he pulled you closer, his hands resting on your waist, anchoring you to him.

The storm outside raged on, but inside, everything felt still—like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his voice raw with emotion.

Your heart swelled at his words, and you found yourself smiling despite the heat of the moment. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Chan chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed kisses along your jawline, trailing down to the sensitive spot just below your ear, a shiver ran through you, and you tightened your grip on him, pulling him impossibly closer, for the first time, you let yourself stop overthinking. You stopped doubting his intentions, stopped worrying about what this meant. In that moment, it was just you and him, tangled together in a whirlwind of affection and desire, and it felt... right.

The intensity between you grew, as the room seemed to shrink, leaving just the two of you in your shared bubble. Chan's hands trailed gently along your waist, his touch firm but careful, like he was afraid you might dissapear if he pressed too hard.

"Wait," you murmured suddenly, pulling back slightly.

Chan froze immediately, his hands dropping to his sides, his breathing was ragged, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. "What's wrong?" He asked softly, concern flickering in his eyes.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "I just... i need to know this isn't just a game for you."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your question. "What? No. It's not a game. Why would you think that?"

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Because guys like you—"

"Stop saying that," he interupted, his tone gentle but firm, he gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushed lightly in your cheek "I'm not some stereotype, neither are you. I know i've got reputation but that's not who i am—not when im with you."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. Slowly, you looked up, meeting his gaze. There was no hint of the cocky playfulness that he usually do. Instead, his eyes were full of something deeper, Something real.

"I like you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not just for this. For everything. The way you so passionate about what you do, the way you don't take anyone's crap, the way you challenge me to better."

Your chest tightened at his confession, a warmth spreading through you that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I like you, too," you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, seeing him in that vulnerable state make your heart weak.

Chan's lips curved into a soft smile. "Good. Then let me prove it to you."

Before you could even respond, he kissed you again—this time slower, more deliberate. It wasn't just about the heat or the tension, it was about connection, it was about trust.

As the kiss deepened, you found yourself letting go of every lingering doubt. Your hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he responded by wraping his arms securely around your waist.

The storm outside seemed to mirror the intensity between you, thunder rumbling in the distance as the rain pounded against the window.

Chan's hands slip up your sides, his touch leaving a trail of heat in it's wake. His lips moved from yours to your neck, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses along your skin, sucking the skin under your colarbone untill it turn purple, marking you as his.

"Chan," you breathed, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own heartbeat. he reached for the hem of your sweater, his hands firm as he yanked it off with sudden force, sending it flying across the room. The fabric brushed your skin before it landed, discarded in the corner.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire but still full of that same tenderness "Tell me if it's too much," he said, his voice husky but laced with care.

"It's not," you assured him, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Its perfect."

The words seems to spur him on, and he captured your lips again, his kisses grow hungry.

Before you knew it, you were pressed against the edge of the desk, the paper and books scattered around the desk now laying on the floor. He trail kisses from your neck down to your clothed breasts, his fingers brushing against the plush skin, squeezing your tits with his big hands.

Your breath hitched at the contact, and he paused, his gaze meeting yours. "Is this okay?" He asked again, his voice steady despite the beat between you.

"Yes," you whispered, your cheek flushing.

He continue to assault your tits, yanking the bra off to suck on your right nipple, making you let out a loud moan from the feeling of his warm tongue swirling around your perked nipple, he let go of your right nipple to lick and play with your other nipple, giving it the same service, making you squeze his shoulder from the sensation.

His hand trail your curve and gripping your waist, he let go of your nipple with a pop, he smilled—a soft, almost shy smile that made your heart flutter— he leaned in to kiss you again.

His hands were still on your waist, his grip firm as he guided you to stand, before you could react, he was lifting you effortlesly, the next thing you knew, you were perched on the edge of the desk the cool surface hitting the back of your thigh sending a shiver down your spine.

He stepped closer, his breath hot against your ear as his hands brushed the side of your body, pulling you in with a controlled intensity. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, lips still attached to yours— his tongue slipped in to your mouth—guiding you closer until you were flush against him, the proximity sending a wave of heat through you.

He pulled back slightly from the kiss, "Look at me," he murmured, his voice low and commanding but tinged with something softer, something you couldn't quite place. You met his gaze, your breath hitching as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Spread your leg for me baby."

Chan’s eyes flickered with something dark and unreadable as he waited, giving you a moment to decide. The tension in the air was almost unbearable, and the quiet hum of the room felt louder than anything.

You could feel the heat between you two growing, the closeness undeniable as his fingers lightly traced the inside of your thighs, his touch a contrast to the urgency in his eyes. Slowly, you shifted, obeying the unspoken command, spreading your legs just enough for him to move closer.

He leaned in, his breath fanning over your lips, but he didn’t kiss you right away. Instead, his hand found its way to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his, searching your eyes for something—permission, reassurance, understanding. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, his gaze softening for a brief moment.

“You’re sure?” His voice was barely a whisper, the weight of his question settling between you, the intensity in his eyes matching the tension in your body. His hand was still on your thigh, but there was something so much deeper in his touch, as if he was waiting for you to guide him, to tell him you were ready.

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat. You didn’t need words anymore. The pull between you two was magnetic, and you knew that despite the hesitation in your chest, there was no turning back.

He smiled softly, his lips brushing against yours for a brief moment, the kiss slow, tender, before his lips parted from yours, trailing down to your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers through you. As his hands slid further up your body, his movements were deliberate, almost teasing, drawing out the anticipation.

He move his hand to cupped your aching core, "So wet already, hm? So eager aren't we?" Your heart pounded louder now, the room seeming to close in around you. Every touch, every breath felt amplified as you finally let yourself sink into the moment, unable to resist the pull of everything that had been building between you.

He paused again, his gaze meeting yours, that soft, unspoken understanding passing between you two. And then, as if to confirm the depth of what was happening, he murmured, “I’ve wanted this... wanted you... for so long, you have no idea what you've done to me" he said with a hoarsh groan falling from his lips, while his hand still drawing small sircle around your bundle of nerve making you squirm and moaning mess for him.

"Mmh chan, please." You were not even sure what you were begging for, but you just need him to ruin you into a complete mess with his touch.

He chuckled, low and deep, a sound that sent shivers down your spine making the wet spot on your panties even more visible.

Chan didn't stop swirling your clit watching you squirming under his touch, chasing your pleasure like a cat in a heat.

"Sshh sshh, patient kitten, patient." He said, stopping his finger movement on you, leaving you whining in the lost of contact. But not too long after, Chan lowered his height, pushing your knees to spread your leg even wider for him, displaying your damp panties.

You moan to the sight, him kneeling between your leg, spreading you open like that was never on your bingo card. Chan look up to you, drawing a small sircle on your inner thigh, asking for your consent once again, you nodded eagerly, you already so wet it literally drenched. "Please, Chan" you whine, feeling so desperate for his touch.

He chuckled, seeing you so desperate like this is so cute but also turning him on, Chan hook his finger to move your drenched panties to the side, displaying your glistening pussy clenching around nothing. He mutter "Fuck—" from the sight, "You're leaking baby, holy shit" your pussy is so wet—drench even— he bet he could slide right in right then and there, but he didn't want to rush, he wants to take this moment slowly, savoring every inch of your body, worshiping it, he wants to make love to you.

He began to run his finger up and down your slit, teasing the clit with his thumb, brushing it slowly making squelching noise from how wet you were. "You hear that baby?" He said, looking up to watch your fucked out expression, lips swollen from how much you bite it to muffle your sound, eyes looking down at him, you look so pretty like this—he thought.

Seeing you enjoying his action, Bang Chan started to get bold, he lick a fat stripe along your fold making you let out the most pornographic sound that you don't even know you could. "Ahhh Chanh fuck" eyes rolling back to the back of your head, the feeling of his warm tongue on your pussy is top notch, you never feel this good before. He continue his action, licking your cunt skillfully leaving you breathy and a moaning mess, hand fall to his head, gripping his hair for the overwhelming pleasure, that sent a shiver down his spine, the sound that u made is enough to make him rock hard and trying so hard not to bust in his pants.

"Fuck baby, keep moaning my name like that mmhh you taste so sweet" he said while giving your clit a kitten lick, making you feel a knot bubbling in your lower belly, a strange feeling that you've never experience before.

Your moan getting louder in each flick of his tongue, Chan knew that you were so close, he try to elevate the pleasure, he insert 2 finger into your hole, making you scream and tug his hair harder, the painfull stings on his scalp sending a rush right in to his throbing cock making him moan onto your pussy, the humm create a buzz who made you clench on his digit, making the knot inside your belly tighten, you are so close.

"Chanh i–i nghh fuck" the words die in your throat, he chuckle, quicken his finger pace, pumping his finger into you faster, curling it in the right spot where you can see the star.

"Cum princess, let go, cum on my mouth like a good girl you are" he keep hitting that certain spot with an unbelievably quick pace, making you break and cum on his mouth, your orgasm washes over like a tsunami, leaving you breathless from the intense orgasm you just had.

Chan sit up from his position, licking his lips clean, your wetness spreading all over his chin, the sight is blissful making you blush so hard, heat rushing up to your cheeks seeing him covered in your cum.

His smirk grew wider as he leaned in, his fingers sliding down to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You’re blushing, darling,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, dripping with mischief. “Did I make you shy, or was it the way you screamed my name?”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words sending a wave of heat rushing through your entire body. You tried to look away, but he caught you, gently pressing his forehead to yours. His scent enveloped you—warm, intoxicating, and entirely him.

“Don’t hide from me now,” he whispered, his nose brushing against yours. “I want to see every bit of you like this. All messy, all mine.”

His lips found the corner of your mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss that sent sparks racing through you. Then another kiss, softer, right below your jaw. Each touch was deliberate, leaving you breathless and clinging to his shoulders for balance.

“Chan,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice shaky but laced with yearning.

He hummed against your skin, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with you, "Say it again," he murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip. His gaze was dark, filled with something unspoken yet undeniable.

Your lips parted, and before you could even utter another word, his mouth was on yours— hungry, claiming, leaving no room for hesitation. His hand reaching to the waistband of your panties, sliding it down to your ankle, leaving you bare for him, the cold air hitting your core sent a shiver all over your body, making you gasp from the contact. His hands sliding back to your waist, pulling you flush against him, grinding his rock hard cock on your bare pussy.

The contact drew a chorus of moans from both of you, the raw pleasure sparking between your bodies like fire. “You feel that, baby?” Chan groaned, his voice thick and ragged, hips grinding against you with deliberate force. “Fuck… look what you do to me.”

His lips parted, his breath shallow and uneven as he took in the sight of you beneath him, flushed and needy. It was enough to snap the last thread of his patience. Without wasting another second, his hands moved with purpose, fingers fumbling slightly as he unbuckled his belt. The sharp clink echoed in the heated air, sending a thrill down your spine.

His gaze never left you, dark and full of promise, as he freed himself, his cock springing to life in his hand. “I can’t wait any longer, can i baby?” he murmured, the desperation in his tone making your heart race but the way he still asking for your consent is making you melt, you nod eagerly, muttering a soft "Please," that makes Chan groaning in return.

Your breath hitched as his hand returned to your waist, steadying you as the tip of his cock brushed against your entrance. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you, and your fingers instinctively gripped his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“Relax, baby,” Chan murmured, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “I’ve got you.”

Slowly, he pushed forward, the stretch making you gasp, your body adjusting to the delicious intrusion. His low groan vibrated against your skin as he buried himself inside you inch by inch, his head falling to the crook of your neck.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispered, his voice shaking with restraint. “So tight… so warm… just for me.”

Your nails dug into his back, your mind hazy with pleasure as he finally stilled, letting you catch your breath. He pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, his hands stroking your sides soothingly, grounding you in the moment.

“Tell me how you feel,” he urged, his lips brushing against your ear.

You couldn’t find the words, overwhelmed by the fullness and the way your bodies seemed to meld together. Instead, you let out a shaky moan, tilting your hips slightly in response. That was all the encouragement he needed.

Chan began to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in, slow and deep. The sensation was maddening, each roll of his hips perfectly measured to drive you wild. He set a pace that was both tender and commanding, as though he wanted to savor every second while still unraveling you completely.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice rough but filled with affection. You opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze. The way he looked at you—with unbridled desire and something much deeper—made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, punctuating his words with a deep thrust that left you gasping. "And i'm going to show you exactly what that means."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone making your core tighten around him. Chan groaned at the feeling, his control slipping as he snapped his hips harder, pulling a cry from your lips.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his hands gripping your hips as if anchoring himself. “You’re taking me so well, baby. So good for me.”

Each thrust seemed to claim you further, his movements growing more desperate as your moans filled the room. The sound of your bodies meeting was intoxicating, mixing with the broken gasps and groans that spilled freely from both of you.

“Chan, please,” you whimpered, your body trembling under his relentless rhythm.

“Please what, baby?” he teased, though his voice was strained, his forehead damp with sweat. He slowed his pace just enough to drive you insane, his cock dragging against your most sensitive spots with every deliberate stroke.

“Faster,” you pleaded, your nails digging into his arms. “Don’t stop.”

His smirk returned, though it was softer now, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting kiss. “Anything for you,” he murmured.

With that, he adjusted his grip, pulling your legs higher around his waist as he slammed into you, deeper and harder than before. The angle was devastating, and you cried out, your body arching into him as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned, his voice rough and full of pride. “I can feel you, baby. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “You’re gonna take everything I give you, aren’t you? Let me fill you up, baby. Let me make you mine in every way.”

The heat pooling in your stomach surged at his words, the thought pushing you even closer to the edge.

“Yes,” you whimpered, your voice trembling. “I’m yours. Always.”

“That’s right,” he growled, his pace quickening, each thrust hitting deeper. “Gonna fill you up so good. Gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he said, and his palm pressing to the buldge visible on your lower belly, where his cock going in and out.

The tension inside you snapped with his words, a wave of ecstasy crashing over you as your walls clenched around him. You cried out his name, your body trembling as pleasure overwhelmed you.

Chan cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering as your release pulled him over the edge. He buried himself deep with a guttural groan, his warmth spilling into you as he held you close, his grip on your hips unrelenting.

“Fuck,” he panted, his forehead pressing against yours as he caught his breath. “You’re perfect. You were made for me, baby.”

As the intensity of the moment passed, the room fell into a quieter, more peaceful rhythm. Chan pulled out slowly, carefully adjusting you so that you were no longer perched on the desk but supported against him, still breathing heavily. His hands gently cupped your face, his touch tender and reassuring.

“Hey, baby, are you okay?” His voice was soft, the previous urgency replaced by a genuine concern. His eyes searched yours, his gaze warm and comforting.

You nodded, still catching your breath, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your hands gently brushing his chest as you let your head rest against him.

Chan let out a breath of relief, his hand sliding down to your back as he pulled you closer to him, his warmth grounding you. He held you against him, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft kiss.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “I’ve got you, alright? Just breathe, take your time.”

His hands continued to move gently over your skin, tracing circles along your back and shoulders as if he were trying to erase any tension that might have lingered.

After a few moments, you met his gaze again, your heart still racing but feeling safe and cherished in his arms. “Thank you,” you said softly, your voice trembling just a little. “For being so gentle…”

He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Anything for you, baby."

Chan leaned in and kissed you again, slow and tender this time, his lips soft against yours. When he pulled back, he continued to hold you close, his hands never leaving your body.

“You’re perfect," he said, giving your lips a light peck.

The air was still heavy with the aftermath, but now it felt like a calming silence, the love and care in his words washing over you like a warm tide. You stayed close, letting the quiet moments stretch out between you, savoring the feeling of his presence.

[meazalykov]

yapper

barca femeni x reader

summary: you always had something to say

warnings: angst, online hate

you've always been the one to fill the quiet. 

if the locker room was silent, you’d throw out a joke. sometimes so bad it would have everyone laughing just because of how ridiculous it was. your teammates loved you for it—or at least you thought they did. 

you didn’t want anyone to sit in nervous energy before a big game. you wanted everyone to feel at ease, to smile, to believe they could take on anything since this was literally barcelona– of course the best club in the world could handle anything. 

“why are you so loud?” mapi teased one day after you cracked a pun about her tattoos during a media day. 

you grinned at her. 

“because someone has to keep this team awake. what would you do without me? shit, i don’t know how you survived without me for long.”

“probably enjoy the peace and quiet,” she shot back, but the grin on her face told you otherwise. 

you knew mapi got all the credit for being the talker of the group, but you easily topped her in that department. kika often joked that you had a built-in microphone, always on and ready to broadcast. 

yet, despite all the jokes, you never felt like it was too much. not until recently. 

training sessions at barça were something you relished, even on your worst days. being surrounded by alexia, kika, and esmee—your closest friends on the team—always made it feel less like work. 

alexia was like a big sister, always ready to listen. kika was your partner-in-crime, teasing you relentlessly, but never crossing the line. esmee? she was your rock, her quiet presence balanced your constant energy, grounding you in ways you didn’t think anyone could. 

after a long training session one evening, you found yourself alone on the practice pitch. penalties were your weak spot, and you wanted to fix that. you lined up the ball, took a deep breath, and sent it toward the net. it hit the post.

“what are you doing here so late?” alexia’s voice startled you.

you jumped, clutching your chest dramatically. 

“you scared me! i could’ve died.”

she smirked, arms crossed as she walked closer. 

“you didn’t answer my question.”

“what are you doing here?” you tried to deflect.

“i asked first.”

rolling your eyes, you motioned to the ball. 

“penalties. i suck at them.”

alexia raised a brow. 

“you’re not even one of the main takers.”

“exactly! that’s why i suck! i need to be better in case i ever have to take one, you know what if you frido or ewa are not available?” you rambled, launching into an explanation of all the ways penalties terrified you. 

alexia didn’t interrupt, just watched you with that calm, almost maternal expression she always had. 

“you’re overthinking it,” she finally said, cutting through your spiral. 

“just keep practicing. you’ll be fine.”

her reassurance helped more than you wanted to admit. alexia had that effect on people, like she could carry all your worries on her shoulders and not even flinch. 

a few days later, you stopped by esmee’s apartment, where she was curled up on the couch with her girlfriend, dani. the sight of them together tugged at something in your chest, a reminder of what you used to have with emily. 

“finally over her,” you announced as you plopped down beside them, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on esmee’s lap. 

“who?” danielle asked, clearly out of the loop. 

“emily,” esmee filled in. “her ex.”

“oh, good for you,” danielle said with a smile through her dutch accent. 

“it’s about time, right?”

you laughed, nodding. 

“yeah, it only took me almost a year.”

however, later that week, you saw something that made your chest tighten all over again. scrolling through instagram, you stumbled upon a photo of emily with another girl, their smiles wide and carefree in north london. 

it shouldn’t have mattered. you were over the woman three years your senior. however, it stung in a way you didn’t expect. 

then came the champions league quarterfinal against bayern munich. the mistake was small—a misplaced pass, a missed mark—but pernille made you pay for it with a screamer that tied the game. 

1-1. 

after the game, you did your best to shake it off, smiling for the cameras, joking with alexia and frido. you thought you’d done well hiding your disappointment. 

the internet didn’t let it slide. 

“y/n talks too much. maybe she should focus on her game instead.”

“doesn’t she get tired of hearing her own voice?”

“the team probably wishes she’d shut up for once.”

the comments were harsh, cruel, and loud in your mind. you tried to brush them off, but the words stuck, clinging to you like thorns. 

the next day at training, you were different. quieter. focused. when kika asked if you were okay, you only nodded, too afraid that anything you said might annoy someone. 

“you sure?” she pressed.

you nodded again, forcing a small smile. 

“weird,” she muttered under her breath, walking away. 

alexia and aitana exchanged glances, both noticing the shift. esmee tried to pull you into a conversation during a water break, but you only offered short replies, your usual energy gone. 

that night in the locker room, after everyone else had left, you stayed behind, the weight of it all finally crashing down on you. in the showers, the tears came hard and fast, your shoulders shaking as you tried to keep quiet. 

though the locker room echoed, and when you emerged, changed and ready to leave, alexia, kika, esmee, and ellie were waiting for you. 

“we heard you crying,” kika said softly, her eyes full of concern. 

“what’s going on?”

you hesitated, swallowing hard. 

“nothing.”

“don’t lie,” alexia said, her voice gentle but firm. 

“i don’t…” you trailed off, taking a deep breath. 

“i don’t want to annoy you guys.”

they all looked at you like you’d grown a second head. 

“annoy us?” esmee asked, incredulous. 

“i talk too much. i saw what people were saying online, and… maybe they’re right.”

“y/n,” alexia started, stepping closer. 

“we love you. all of us. you make this team better, not worse.”

“you think we don’t look forward to hearing your ridiculous jokes every day?” kika added, her tone light but sincere. 

“you’re the reason we laugh half the time.”

“is that mistake against bayern bothering you?” ellie chimed in. “it happens to everyone. it doesn’t define you.”

their words broke through the wall you’d built, and before you knew it, they were pulling you into a group hug. 

“promise us you won’t let those comments get to you again,” alexia said, her hand on your shoulder. 

you nodded, sniffling. 

“i promise.”

“good,” kika said, grinning. 

“now, what were you going to say about the athletic club match?”

and just like that, you found yourself rambling again. they listened, laughing and teasing you like always, reminding you that this was where you belonged. 

masterlist

[heyyallitssatan]

The Justice League were on a planet they didn’t know in a galaxy they couldn’t be bothered to remember, at least they were fairly sure they were still in the universe they were before they left Earth.

They had just arrived and were looking at the charging army of a species they vaguely recognised from the rather threatening video call they received before jumping into hyperspace.

They heard and ship land behind them, and as they turned to look they had one collective thought: oh, Batman’s here, we’ll be okay. Because if they were being perfectly honest with themselves they didn’t have a plan before jumping galaxies, well that’s not entirely true, they had something of a plan, ask them why they had a large laser pointed at Earth, okay maybe the video call and threats were made in retaliation to their equipment being destroyed, and then probably beat the crap out of them.

Honestly, it wasn’t the worst idea they’ve ever walked into battle with. But Batman probably had a better one, and he was here now.

When they watched him step out of the ship by himself, well they went from reassured to down right relieved. He was alone, that meant he had a plan, knew how to execute it, and expected to be home in time to snag one of Alfred’s cookies before the kids got a hold of them.

Batman stepped off the ships runner, and stopped. He just stopped, about a foot from the ship and probably 20 from the league. He was only standing stock still like that for a moment, before the league all watched Robin follow down the runner and stand beside his father.

Alright we’ll Robin’s fine Bats probably just brought him to give him a little more off world experience-

Oh shit is that Red Robin too?

It was, he was typing away on his little wrist screen and without look up came to a stop perfectly aligned with Bats and Robin.

Ok, we that’s not great but they’ll still probably be fine- Oh god fucking dammit!

Signal and Spoiler spill out after them, and the League knows better than to expect anything but the worst case scenario at this point. So when Nightwing flips out after them they weren’t surprised, maybe a little disappointed though.

A few of the more hopeful members still had their fingers crossed when Black Bat and Red Hood stepped out together.

The entire league visibly deflated as the last bats stepped off the platform, they were fucked now, absolutely, definitely, indubitably (that’s a big word for Elmo) fucked.

Suddenly, with moves only speedsters and Diana probably could have tracked, the bats were standing next to them, a one to one ratio of bat to leaguer. They stayed themselves there for just a moment, to watch the army changing at them, before they flipped and flew off, charging back like they weren’t seven kids in spandex running at armed guards numbering in the thousands.

It was another moment of terror induced stupor before the league heard a new voice in their ear.

“Hello,” a voice they knew they knew spoke into their comms, no, not their comms, their minds. The voice was speaking directly into their minds. When none of them jumped at the intrusion they noted they were slightly grateful for J’onn tendency to forget himself and not use words.

“Hello? Can you hear me? Please don’t say anything, just nod your heads.”

They all slowly nodded while glancing around, looking for a body to place the discorporated voice in their minds. Nothing.

“Great,” so the voice saw them, “these aliens have mind controlling powers, but they can only be activated if they hear your voice.”

“So if you speak at all for the remainder of the mission we will be forced to consider you compromised and deal with you accordingly.”

She was terrifyingly calm, some would say almost cheerful, while telling the justice league about how they had to play quiet place during the battle or risk being violently silenced by a colony of bats, because there was no way this voice wasn’t a bat.

“So if any of you don’t think you’ll be able to fighting without your voice please head back to the ship and await instruction.”

No one left.

“Alright then, I’ll patch you through to the rest of them, please standby.”

Noise exploded in their ears, minds? The bats, who they had finally turned their attention back to, were flipping around the battlefield taking out enemies and carrying out near impossible stunts and trick shots and combos. They could be compared to a well oiled machine, if the machine produced murder and quips.

Quips and moves being called out we’re interspersed with calling points, and chirping?

Yup, chirping, they were chirping at each other.

“If you’re just going to stand there can you go ahead and head back to the ship?”

That seemed to snap them out of their daze and into action.

“They’re psychic powers are intense and impressive, but their bodies are frail. Their armour is focused on their chests and heads, they don’t have joints but their limbs are mostly uncovered, their hearts are in the little purple pockets on their backs, where the armour bulges just beneath their heads. The amour is primarily tin so it shouldn’t be hard to get through, avoid the spears though, they’re poison tipped, it shouldn’t affect Martian Manhunter or Wonder Woman but everyone else should be careful, especially…”

She continued rattling off information about their foe and the league finally jumped into action, staying pointedly silent and targeting the points they were told too.

Superman was the first to break.

The battle had been going so well, everyone was working well together and the ability to communicate mentally seemed to curb the need to speak verbally, until Clark got hit with one of those spears and it actually cut him, damn not having a yellow sun here, and he shouted, “OW”. Everyone immediately felt Superman being cut off from the link, so fast some members of the league hadn’t even realised he had spoken.

The more disturbing thing was realising that the line had gone nearly silent, because the chattering bats had gone dead quiet. In the moment it took them to notice the bats had disappeared from the link, Batman, Nightwing, and Robin and snuck up on and incapacitated the man of steel, and he hadn’t noticed.

A little drone flew out to them, strapped superman to it, and flew off back to the bat ship, to be “handled”, whatever the fuck that terrifying word meant.

After that they fell like dominoes, each lasting only a few minutes after the prior hero had fallen.

But the time the army was defeated and a few soldier had been sent back with an official request for diplomacy, written in their language, and the bats were rounding each other up and heading back.

Everyone sitting in various restraints in the bat ship, being carefully looked over by Batwing, was more than a little peeved when they woke up on the ride home. They’re all pretty sure they weren’t mind controlled, that would have meant being conscious long enough to make the connection, so they were rather kissed about being knocked out and restrained.

After they woke up, and answered a battery of questions to Batwing satisfaction, they were released and allowed to roam the ship.

Clark, the first out and first up, went to find Bruce.

“So you brought the kids?” because as irritated as he was, he understood why they did it.

“Of course, I know they can fight silently.”

“And you didn’t trust us?” Clark chanced a smile, trying to show he wasn’t angry.

“Of course not, you’ve never trained to do it, they have, it was a clear cut decision.”

“Yeah… maybe we shouldn’t start running some of those training programs at the watchtower you were talking about.”

“Yes, we should, glad you came around.”

That sat together in a sort of pleasant silence for a minute, before “I’ll bring the kids, they could always use the reminder, and they say the best way to learn is to teach.”

He nodded as he walked off deeper into the ship to find his children and announce their next family trip to the watchtower.

Of the league was fucked.

He heard Red Hood then, in the distance of the ship, “Oh fuck yeah, we’ll show ‘em how to be quiet, right Cass?”

So very very fucked.

I bet the JL has a “how fucked are we” metric that’s literally just how many of Bruce’s kids are there.

Like if he pulls up to the alien invasion or whatever with just Robin, then everything’s fine. More than fine, actually, because Bruce feels comfortable enough to bring his eight year old along for the ride. This battle will take approximately fifteen minutes and they’ll all get shawarma after. Not fucked in the slightest.

But if Red Robin shows up too… hmm, okay, this is getting somewhat serious. Tim is one of Bruce’s most trusted partners; he’s the smart Robin, the tactician, the loyal one, and so if Batman brought him along then it means he’s at least a little bit worried about shit hitting the fan and wants one his advisors around. But the combined brain power of Bruce and Tim is pretty much unmatched (DC plot armor for the win), so everything will be fine, basically. Superman might take a hit, but everything’s going to be fine. Just keep calm and you’ll all make it home in time to Door Dash some Panda Express before it closes. So not that fucked.

It starts to get serious after that. When Signal and Spoiler roll up the scene, shit has definitely hit the fan. Batman’s worried enough to call in reinforcements and he’s probably doubting the League’s ability to listen/obey his orders, so he needs a backup plan in case things go really south. But with Signal’s abilities and Steph’s superpower of turning anything into a joke, chances are you’ll be okay. Maybe impaled or something, but okay. But still, fucked.

When Nightwing shows, the JL knows it’s starting to get dicey out on the field. See, Nightwing’s got his own team, his own issues—the fact that he set that all aside to help out his dad is cause for concern. On a scale from 1-10, they are at a 7. Above moderately fucked.

And… oh God. Black Bat? Most of the time the JL doesn’t even see her, but once she makes herself known and starts fighting alongside her siblings, they all start to silently freak out. Black Bat is a fucking machine and if she’s breaking a sweat trying to fight the Big Bad, things are definitely not going to go well. They start praying that Batman figures something out. They freak out. They are intrinsically fucked.

But God Forbid you catch sight of the Red Hood. The prodigal son is a legitimate killer, and if Batman’s letting him blow out brains then the JL knows he’s desperate. And a desperate Batman is not good. At all. They are definitely fucked.

[alllgator-blood]

'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

[nichuuu]

Dinner & Diatribes: Analogous

Shin Yuna x Im Nayeon x M reader

Word count: 14k+

“A younger girl… And I’m talking much younger. Eight years younger than me I think.”

Normally, it feels like you’re worlds apart from Nayeon in her bed. You’re just her toy, her plaything, her doll.

Tonight though: it feels like she’s in the same world as you. She feels here — emotionally and physically present as her nails trace circles on your bare chest. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe even classic manipulation, but she feels like more than just someone who you fuck on the weekends.

“And you won’t be jealous?” you ask, indulging yourself and playing with her hair a little. She scoffs.

“You talk like we’re dating.” She shifts so that she has a cheek on your shoulder. A relationship with her wouldn’t really fly: she’s not gonna let you take care of her when she loves control more than anything. Still, it’s nice to dream about holding her hand sometimes. “I have no reason to be jealous, so why would I be?”

(It’s a question you’re asking yourself too honestly.)

“Dunno,” you muse, admittedly a little disheartened, “maybe it’s cause you’re kinda freaky… Just a thought.”

She smirks. “Trust me. A younger girl in this thing we’ve got going on isn’t gonna affect anything.” She starts tapping her nails against your chest. “Besides… You know you’re mine.”

Oh…

(Not sure how to feel about that last part.)

***

Last you checked: you weren’t expecting a guest today. 

“Uh,” you can’t help but mutter past her lips as you stagger back into your own apartment. She lifts her lips off yours out of consideration, and she takes a few moments to soak in the look of mixed emotions that has made its way onto your face. You don’t mean to be rude when you point at the other girl and ask, “do you wanna perhaps wanna, you know, fill me in on what’s going on here?”

Im Nayeon turns, looks over her shoulder, smiles. She turns back, cups your cheek with her hand. 

“Thought I’d bring some company tonight, just to spice things up.” Nayeon tells you, turning your head in a way that lets you get a good look at the younger girl standing at the door to your apartment. “Hope you don’t mind.” With her other hand, she makes a come hither motion, and tells the girl to close the door on her way in. The girl does as she’s told, and when she’s next to the both of you, Nayeon takes her by the hand and pulls her closer. 

“Introduce yourself sweetie,” Nayeon instructs—firm yet almost saccharine. Nayeon lets her thumb rub over the girl’s knuckles, a deceivingly sweet smile playing on her lips. “Tell him what we’ve rehearsed. Go on.”

She’s an eye-catcher for sure—the other girl, not Nayeon. Not that Nayeon isn’t already turning heads when she walks just about anywhere, but more that the other girl is just a rather far cry from what you're comfortable with. You’re so used to Nayeon’s gentle, piercing eyes that can probably break you with a look from her; those small, plump lips of hers that kiss you with precision and passion; those bunny cheeks that you love pinching so damn much that it probably should be considered an addiction. But this girl brings something new to the table, and you have to admit that it’s refreshing. 

Smoky, kinda innocent eyes that have a whole foot in the territory of doleful and another foot in the realm of entrancing; luscious long black hair; a face that could make just about anyone melt. Nayeon’s guest is certainly a few years younger than her, and certainly less lecherous than her senior at first glance. You don’t really know where or how Nayeon could pick up a girl that looks as sweet as this, and you certainly want to find out how a girl that looks like the textbook definition of ‘smoking hot’ could ever end up in a place like this. She’s clearly nervous, but you give her credit for being able to stand perfectly still with Nayeon’s hand starting to roam up her arm. 

“I’m Yuna… But you can call me whatever you want.”

The sentence has Nayeon’s fingerprints all over it, and you can assume with full certainty that she’s had this idea stewing in her head for at least a week or two. The smug grin on Nayeon’s face tells you that things are going according to plan, and her fingers latch themselves around Yuna’s forearm. 

“She’s a fun one to play with.” Now she’s directed her attention to you, looking right at you as she pulls the younger woman even close to the both of you: till you can literally feel Yuna’s breath in your ear. “A young little slut to spice things up.”

Nayeon takes her attention away from you, and with gentle hands on Yuna’s cheeks, she pulls the younger girl in for a kiss. It’s simple—no tongue or anything—but it’s enough to make the younger girl squirm a little where she stands. Nayeon’s clearly taking pleasure in this. Even with her lips locked with a girl younger than her, you can clearly see the whisper of a cheeky smile playing on the corners of her lips. You wonder if she’s gonna get more joy out of this than you at the end of the day.

The younger girl is released from the fierce lip-lock. She looks dazed, like she just took a hit of a blunt. Nayeon admires her craftsmanship for a moment, taking in the look on the poor girl’s face as she chuckles softly to herself, “oh my… Someone wasn’t quite ready, was she?”

Yuna’s at a clear loss for words. She tries to speak; her words fail her. You can’t exactly blame her though. Nayeon just kinda chooses when and where to be a bit of a minx, and you just have to roll with it. It’s fun, kinda hot; but not when you’re in a horrible place to get it and she decides that she just wants to blow you at some restaurant that you’re at. It’s a bit of a handful really, and you don’t quite know what to do with her sometimes. Wonder how Yuna fares?

“It’s okay,” Nayeon assures her, “you’re in good company now, though you're free to just watch if you’re still shy.”

The younger girl looks at her senior, then at you, then back to her senior. “I think I’d like to join in on this.”

Nayeon beams, her smile almost sweet if it isn’t for the fact that she’s quite literally happy to see a younger girl get it on with you and her. “That’s the spirit.”

And it’s confusing really: figuring out which of them is gonna make the first move. Yuna’s energy gives her an air of uncertainty, but you can sense some mischief within her that resonates at the same frequency of Nayeon’s. Yet there’s something a little different about her that you can’t quite place your finger on. Her youth is a breath of fresh air; there’s that young energy in her smile towards Nayeon that tells you that she’s eager but somewhat cautious. You would call her a mirror of Nayeon as they start discussing how she wants it, but you pick up on a bit of pickiness in her voice  that strays from Nayeon’s attitude. The older girl before you will take it however she likes, fuck herself on your cock till she cums and kinda leave you high and dry. Yuna on the other hand has some grungy ideas of where she wants you to cum and how she wants it to happen.

Okay, let’s return to home base and consolidate: they're similar but different; kinda conflicting yet go together like dinner and diatribes on a family reunion. There’s reason to believe that they are somewhat two sides of the same coin, yet simple observation contradicts the notion. Bottom line – it’s confusing.

“You know what?” Nayeon has a finger twirled in Yuna’s hair as she casts a glance at you. “How about we get you naked first… Then we figure out what we can do?”

Yuna seems to enjoy the proposal. The two women look at you, and Nayeon gestures with her head to come closer. As your feet land on the wood floor, Nayeon goes at a slower pace of walking as she rounds Yuna and stands behind her. She’s shorter than her by a considerable amount, but it doesn’t make her any less imposing as she pokes her head out from Yuna’s right side.

“Go on. Unwrap her,” Nayeon whispers, running a hand up Yuna’s stomach. “Let’s see what she has in store for us…”

And Yuna is more than glad to lift her arms up for you as you pull her sweater off her body. The girl has an amazing body – you’d give her that. Slim waist, wide hips, hourglass figures so defined that the sands of time would be jealous. A body to die for really, and the appeal only increases as she reaches behind her back and unclips her bra. Nayeon smiles as she tosses her article of clothing aside. 

“Tight and forthcoming?” The older woman muses. “Looks like we have quite the toy on our hands.”

Yuna’s gaze is almost searing as you step up to her. Her breathing is kinda unsteady, but you can’t exactly blame her. She’s half naked in front of two older people, with one of them running her hands along her smooth skin while the other cock their head and examine her from head to toe. If you were in her shoes, your blood would be racing and boiling fast. 

“Do what you want with me,” she whispers. She reaches forward and grasps your crotch through your pants. “I’m yours to take.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did Nayeon teach you that?”

“Nope.” Speak of the devil and she doth answer on the younger woman’s behalf. “I only told her how to introduce herself, didn’t tell her what to say after,” Nayeon explains, a glint in her eye as she stares up at Yuna’s face. “Is it kinda fucked up if I wanna see her suck your dick?”

Yuna glances at her senior, then returns her gaze to you. “A little… But we can make it happen.”

Another point of difference – 2 actually: she doesn’t play around with her words and she’s pretty proactive. You like that. 

It’s a mess as you fumble with clothes, but it doesn’t take long for you guys to rid Yuna of the rest of her clothing and have her on her knees in the living room carpet. Her hands are delicate as she pulls down on the waistband of your boxers and frees your cock, and their even more so when she grips your throbbing shaft with both hands. On the chair that Nayeon pushed you onto, you watch her eyes as they survey what she’s working with.

“Wow…” she mutters, looking over to the right where Nayeon’s lounging on the sofa. “You had this all to yourself?”

Nayeon’s lips slant at an angle. “I know right? Better than any dildo you can find on the market.”

Yuna takes a moment to really look at the cock in her hands, eyes full of lustful wonder as she takes it in from all angles. She lets her mouth hang open for a little as she processes what she’s seeing, then she asks, “how does she even walk the next morning? I mean… This thing is girthy as fuck. Would probably split me open if I’m not careful.”

“It won’t,” Nayeon answers rather spontaneously, tapping her finger against a cushion as she watches Yuna pump your shaft with her lanky fingers. “It’ll fill you just right,” she leans against the handrest of the couch, watching intently as you push away some hair from Yuna’s face, “though I think it’ll look the best in your mouth.”

Yuna gets the gist. Her cheek presses itself against the inside of your thigh as she lifts your shaft and kisses it at the base, and she works her way up to the tip while one hand keeps your twitching cock steady. She gets to your head, and her lips take the sensitive part of you about halfway in, making sure you're looking (and you mean, like, really looking) as she lets her tongue lick the precum off from your leaking tip. Once she’s certain that she has your fullest attention, her jaw slacks and her shoulders rise; she takes a breath, closes her eyes.

There’s the hiss of an inhale — from you — as your head tilts back against the backrest while your cock enters the warm wet tavern of her mouth. She’s almost methodical in the way she takes you in, stopping halfway to adjust the angle of her head so that she can push forwards and down and drive the rest of your meat into your mouth. Her hands steady her, resting against your thighs as she tears a little. She’s a little more patient than her senior, waiting for a bit before she starts moving at a steady pace. Spit’s starting to drip down to her chin – will probably ruin the carpet if you cared enough (and you don’t). Nayeon’s been meaning to change this damn thing anyway. It’s seen too many juices and some dog piss in it from when her pomeranian was over those few times.

“Jesus,” is all you can hiss, through closed teeth of course. The young girl is nothing short of heavenly; she’s almost perfect at taking your dick as she starts to bob her head. The gurgling is kinda loud; spit flows like a stream down your shaft, only to be collected by that fastidious mouth as it traces a path – up and down and up and down. You wonder if there’s some make-up to be ruined.

“Won’t you look at that?” And you don’t even need to look over at the couch to know that Nayeon’s playing with herself. The squelching tells you lots, but the way her speech is kinda breathy tells you more than you need to know. She’s probably really turned by the sight of a younger woman taking cock into her mouth, riled up at the sight of tears flowing down her youthful cheeks. It’s borderline voyeuristic, pretty fucking freaky but also kinda hot. That’s her whole brand anyway. “She’s fucking taking your dick. My god…”

Yuna gurgles on your dick – probably some reply she’s trying to give but fails to because she has dick in her mouth. The suckle of her lips; the slide of her tongue against the base of your shaft; her throat kinda convulsing as she struggles and struggles – you don’t know if it’s all gonna be a bit too much, but now you’re really focusing on not trying to hurt her while your hands grab a handful of her hair in a fist. You’re assisting—or maybe forcing… Low-key goes both ways when there’s a very, very fine line between the two in this context—her, pulling her into your crotch and pushing her off just to pull her in again. It’s a vicious cycle – kinda doubling on the meaning while also butchering it: harsh and repetitive but there’s not a fucking instance where this produces a detrimental result.   

She comes up for air, your shaft pretty much dripping with spit as she takes a moment to gather herself. The gasping is hot, and so is the way she wipes her spit towards her mouth with the back of her hand. “God this is… Fuck...” she mutters, licking her lips while her fist is in constant fluid motion. Bruce Lee would be proud: she is like water.

“Keep it up darling,” the motions of Nayeon’s wrist have gotten quite sharp, sudden and lacking interval. Okay, maybe not sudden, but more… Desperate. It’s not like she isn’t gonna get her fair share of cock or anything, but she hasn’t been over for a while. There’s only so much that a vibrator and her fingers can do; she kinda needs to see it and revel in it for her to actually get off properly. You don’t know if watching a young girl take dick into her mouth is softening the blow dealt to her senses, but you kinda know that it’s still doing a number on her because she’s completely hiked up the hem of her dress to fuck herself with her fingers. There’s not much thought behind her actions, but she’s definitely letting herself go a little wild for the night. She is being indulged after all. 

“Am I doing good?” Yuna inquires, and it’s a question directed to both of you really. You give her a nod; Nayeon’s answer is verbal: Keep that up and you’re gonna make two people cum in the next five minutes. The young girl is pleased. She lets her tongue swirl around your tip, lick the cock before her from base to tip and sneak in some scissoring flicks of her tongue. Your hand finds itself on her cheek, thumb massaging the bone just above the flesh as she giggles and tosses her hair.

“You’re a doll,” you tell her. She smiles.

“That’s one of the many names I’ve been called,” she replies, letting your spit-covered head rub against her cheek. “Though I like the name cumslut the most.”

Oh.

Your grip on her cheek becomes more firm. “Okay then,” and your pushing her to the left so that her lips are in line with your head. “Open wide you fucking cumslut.”

The enthrallment in her eyes is apparent. Obedient, subservient, forthcoming, whatever; she parts her lips and lets her tongue hang out. Her eyelids flutter shut. You pull her forward. Nayeon cusses.

You're unbelievably hard in her mouth, and your member is ever so sensitive to every movement inside those cheeks of hers. The softness of her tongue, slickness of her drool, warmth of her cheeks… Too much to focus on with so little space for appreciation. You settle on fixating on the suction, the sweet vacuum her lips form around your length as she quite literally lets her mouth get used. Two hands around her head – pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing. A hot rhythm, not quite a dance but kinda cyclical like a routine. More perverse than any street jazz choreo you’ve seen though.

“Yuna,” you mutter, “ you’re so – fuck I – ugh… Your mouth.”

Somewhere in her throat, there’s space for a hum. Her hands are behind her back, locked in place by her own accord as she lets you fuck her mouth with no qualms. It’s smooth, almost natural till she gags a little on your dick and has to blink a bit. Slip n’ slide; front and back – she just takes your cock like an obedient little slut. It’s amazing, kinda dark, but still amazing nonetheless. The gurgling and the sound that comes from her throat that’s almost like swallowing; your fingers grasping the silky strands of her hair; eyes meeting hers. Fuck. 

You're desperate for a taste of heaven. You pull her down harder, faster. 

She gags, chokes, sucks a little harder. 

“Fuck this,” Nayeon hisses. “I’m joining in.”

And she straddles you before you can even blink, kissing you fiercely like she’s gonna die the next day and this is the last time she’s seeing you. Somewhere along the way, she’d shed her clothes. Now she’s nude and kissing you, jabbing her tongue into your mouth and exploring the feel of your teeth. Your cheeks are hers to hold, your mouth hers to own. 

She breaks the torrid kiss, “Yuna,” she drawls, playing with your hair as she speaks to the girl while looking at you. “Don’t ruin him too much. Leave some fun for me.”

The vibrations sent down your shaft make you tingle from head to toe – a product of Yuna’s attempted reply. You can’t see her anymore, but you can continue to just flow with the movements of pulling and pushing against her hair as Nayeon dives between her legs to get back to work. The older woman lets a sigh escape from her lips, pushing her fingers a little deeper. You can feel the heat against your crotch. Her hands move a little faster.

“Do you have any idea,” she whispers, her voice kind of striking that middle frequency between the gurgling and the squelching. “How fucking pent up I was in that damn dorm?”

Through your teeth, you reply. “No,” and you kinda twitch a little in Yuna’s mouth. “Do tell.”

She leans in, moans into your ear for good measure. “I was dripping every other day,” she reports, a lilt in her voice as she continues her work between her thighs. “Didn’t help that Momo was bringing a guy over and I could hear them fucking through the walls… My vibrator almost died that week.”

“Well…” you shudder as you speak, a familiar tingle building up from the base of your shaft. "You’ll have to wait your fucking turn.”

She smiles, quite sadistically you might add.

“That’s alright,” she tells you. Her forehead pressed against yours. “Just leave a load for me.”

And you have to hit her with an honest reply. “I’ll always have a load for you.”

“That’s what I thought.” She straightens her back and looks down at you. “I own this dick,” she announces to her audience of two. “Now cum in her mouth. I’m gonna get her to fucking swallow your load.” The orders are barked, not said. “I wanna watch.”

And she turns her toned back to you, leaving you with the view of the delicious curve of her back as she arches it while slicking her fingers with her own juices. You’re trying to hold on, desperately, but there’s only so much you can do when the mouth around you and the two women before you are this hot.

You don’t get to see it when it happens, but you can hear it and kinda imagine it when you cum right into Yuna’s mouth. You bet it’s kinda messy, but you’ll never know. Nayeon’s ass blocks the view – a trade off: view for a view. You hear the older woman hiss her commands—“Swallow. Fucking swallow you filthy little whore”—envison the sight of the young woman struggling to down your load as it pumps ito her wet hot mouth. A groan spills from your lips; a long-drawn sigh filters from Nayeon’s chest; Yuna gulps as she takes it all.

Your dick pops out of her mouth, all messy and slick with juices. Nayeon grabs it, pumps it, and without warning – shoves it into her cunt. 

And all at once it becomes too much: your over stimulated member twitches wildly in the grasps of her slick, hot walls as it begs for a break. The pleasure is horribly abundant, so much that it almost hurts. There’s no time to process the tight heat around you, voice your need for a break. Nayeon starts bouncing on her knees.

“Oh fuck yes.” Her hands shoot behind her, the left one failing to catch the handrest the first timebut gripping it tightly on the second attempt. Her knuckles go white. “I needed this. I needed to be filled by this fucking cock of yours.”

It’s too much; another load surges forth almost instantly. The hot semen paints her walls, shoots up from your already over-sensitive head and flows down her cunt. It leaks out; the squelching gets louder. Yuna’s tongue laps up the mix of juices that flow. Nayeon continues to ride.

Your fingers dig into the flesh of her waist, desperate to assist you in grounding yourself in this seemingly unreal reality. There’s a lack of words that can really describe your predicament, and if you’re to actually bring it across in a coherent sentence, it’ll probably something along the lines of “fuck” repeated at least a million times. You’re stuck in the chain of entry and exits of her pussy, a bundle of nerves beneath Im Nayeon while she mercilessly fucks herself on your cock. Right now: your dick is nothing but a mere toy for her to get off on, and she made that very clear from the moment she started throwing herself down onto your dick.

“Nayeon…” you heave. It’s an effort to even breathe.

“Shut it,” she hisses, not even casting a glance behind her. “I’m cumming on this cock one way or another and I don’t care how many fucking loads you give me.”

Yuna crawls around to the side of the chair. You hazard a glance at the young girl. She’s messy, sweaty and has residues of cum and drool at some areas around her mouth. She reaches out into the chair and takes you by the hand, squeezing it tightly in hers as if she knows that you’re fucking fading by the second. Every slam of Nayeon’s crotch against you is a mix of pleasure and pain, her moans almost like animalistic grunts.

“Fuck… You’re really filling her,” Yuna muses, watching the older girl take her liberties with your dick. “She must be so fucking tight right now.”

You swallow. “Yeah… It’s… Fuck…”

Yuna chuckles. Watching you struggle must kinda humour a little. She gives your hand a squeeze, encouraging you to hold on to what grasp of this world you have left. Her eyes sparkle, almost envious as she sees her senior bouncing on the dick she was taking into her mouth just a few moments ago. Her other hands snakes between her legs, flits circles of respite. Two girls getting off before you, similar but different.

Go ahead. Call this shit Tuesday.

***

“Be nice to her when I’m gone.”

You aren’t sure why Nayeon would need such a huge suitcase for a 10 day trip with her family. There’s no doubt in your mind that there’s probably tonnes of products in there that she wants to bring along for the fuck of it, but the damned thing looks like it was harbouring a small child. Not that Nayeon would ever do that, but it does help to paint a clearer picture of the sheer scale of her luggage. The airport X-ray is about to have a field day with this.

“Of course.” You’re kinda obvious about your ogling from the doorway as Nayeon does her hair with nothing but her leggings on. Yuna is still fast asleep in the room that you’d prepared for her, but you still kept your volume down just to play it safe. 

Nayeon smirks at you through the mirror. “I’m sure she’ll feel right at home with you.”

“Is that sarcasm I’m hearing?”

“Take it however you like. My eyes are up here by the way.”

You chuckle and walk up behind her. “Guilty as charged mademoiselle,” you apologise, though you're not all that ashamed of th fact that she’s caught you in th act of fucking her with your eyes.

Nayeon hits you with a scoff, a rather aloof one that screams ‘got you. Thought you were slick huh?’ even though it was within your fullest intentions for her to catch you looking. She had to be fair to you in this situation — kinda hard to look at anything else. Or maybe you’re misjudging her, maybe she knows full well that you were (and still are) catching a good look at those firm, perky mounds that sit proudly atop her chest. They fit perfectly in your hands, quite like a glove—OJ Simpson would hate that it fits that well—and a nicely-fitted set of bed sheets. What the fuck does that even mean? Frankly, you can’t quite put an explanation to it yourself; you’re kinda listing things that sound and feel right to you — things that give something enjoyable that little kick it needs to become something more congenial. 

(That sort of encapsulates her whole personality honestly. She’s already something to relish, cherish; the type of girl that makes other guys say ‘she’s a keeper’ even though they don’t have the slightest idea of what she really was like beyond cameras and public appearances. Kinda horny all the time, but also wants to cuddle you to sleep and call you all sorts of pet names after you’ve blindfolded and fucked her against three different flat surfaces – maybe breaking some expensive furniture in the process. Dominant, a little stubborn and a little pissy. Need you say more?)

“But for real: make her feel at home,” she says, setting down the curling iron and switching it off. She leaves it to cool down, puts on a sweater while she waits. “Poor girl’s been through enough. I promised her a safe haven, so try to make it one.”

The context behind her request is a little baffling. Just this morning Nayeon told you of Yuna’s falling out with an alleged highschool sweetheart, and she's taking shelter with you guys till legal matters are dealt with and she’s safe and sound. Guy started stalking her apparently, threatened her once or twice too. Fun times we live in.

Helping her hook the clasp of her necklace, you assure Nayeon that only your best effort would go into creating a safe space for her younger companion. Not to brag, but you’re pretty good at making friends—trust me. We’ll be tight before you even know it—with strangers. It’ll be like walking the dog; easy peasy. You get the idea right? Kinda running out of sayings. Nayeon seems pretty pleased with your promises.

“If you guys have fun, do send some videos,” she tells you, opening her drawer to pull out a pair of jeans. “I’ll be missing out on a lot if you don’t. That girl has a body even I wanna ravage.”

“So cock is not enough, huh?” you tease. She flicks her eyes to the mirror.

“Who said it wasn’t enough?” She cocks her head and makes eye contact through the mirror. “I literally ride you till you’re sore. Yuna’s just… an add-on. Like a side dish if you will.”

You chortle. “And I’m the main course?”

“Nope,” she giggles, unfolding her jeans. “That would be me.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“If you want an admission of my wrongs, you’ll have to fuck it out of me.”

And she meets your eyes in the mirror. You smile, knowing that she’ll probably let you get away with this one.

“It’s really a shame…” you sigh. “These leggings were, like, really nice.”

***

Couple minutes later you’re giving her a kiss on the cheek as she hurries for the taxi that arrived five minutes ago. In the midst of the commotion, Yuna emerges from her room dressed in one of your shirts – just in time to wave goodbye to her senior before Nayeon slips away. You're not too sure if she’s fully registered the fact that she’ll be stuck with you for a full week, but hopefully once the realisation sets in, you’d already have made her comfortable. 

You turn. The way you meet her gaze is kinda awkward. She has a look of intrigue on her face as she rubs her arms and gazes back at you with those doleful eyes.

You clear your throat. “You uh… You like omelettes?”

***

On your phone screen, Nayeon just kinda stares back at you with a hundred-yard-stare type of look. Hotel wifi has her video freezing at a rate that would make Elsa proud, and she’s barely a human through all the pixelated fuck-what that clouds in front of her.

“I feel like we're focusing on vastly different things here, Nayeon.” You’re hoping that she can hear your voice over the roaring silence of shitty network bandwidth. “Not even a day too… I’m pretty sure the poor girl’s scared shitless of me.”

And while Nayeon’s video and audio buffer, it’s a good time to remind yourself of your mistake. Not that you forgot it or anything, but you just gotta make sure that everything that you tell Nayeon is accurate.

So it turned out that Yuna and breakables don’t really go well together. Nayeon seems to have forgotten to ask you to read some fine-prints, and you basically went in raw when you witnessed  the young girl’s clumsiness. Quite the butter-fingers: she broke a mug and a plate in one slip of her tray from her hands. The sound of shattering porcelain jarred her, and as she attempted to move out of her mess, the Dad in you spurred you to cry out in panic. Don’t move! you practically roar. Poor thing flinched like she’s being held at gun-point, started shivering a little as you rushed over to clear up the shards. You don’t quite know how to comfort her, and so you just tell her to just eat in her room if she’s uncomfortable. She took you up on that, and that ended the first non-sexual interaction you had with her.

Way to go… You deserve a star.

By the time you’re done pacing the room and have thrown yourself onto the bed, Nayeon reconnects back to the call. She’s in a bathroom, wearing airpods and sitting in what looks like a bathtub. From the fact that she's wearing a robe, you’ll bet good money on the really (and you can’t stress this enough) high chance that she’s wearing nothing else beneath that.

“Five star hotel and I get two bars of wifi everywhere except the damn toilet,” she huffs. Guess you were right about what the two of you were focusing on. No prizes for being right though; life’s a bitch. “Anyway, don’t think too much about it. She’s clumsy but she’s not unaware. I’m sure she’ll understand where you’re coming from.”

“Honestly”—you slide under the covers and heave a huge sigh—“I think I might find my thirteenth reason if she hates me tomorrow.”

Nayeon rolls her eyes. Yes: she’s painfully aware that you certainly won’t kill yourself over the fact that you may or may not have made a girl re-live her trauma, but the knowledge of that doesn’t stop her from expressing her disdain towards your little joke.

“Sleep on it. You’ll be fine tomorrow,” she assures you, now in full resolution and crystal clear audio and image. She segways into something else, “By the way, check out the link I’m sending you.”

Toilet wifi is truly doing her wonders cause you get the link in question right after she says it. And you aren’t sporting a fedora when you confidently identify the source as a Reddit thread, but it feels like you should be heading online to buy one and get it delivered via next-day delivery. (Ugh… You can feel the word m’lady threatening to burst forth from your mouth already.) Yuck.

Clicking on the link brings you to a community you’re no stranger to. You’ve heard of it once or twice, but never really had the time or energy to delve into the posts. Nayeon seems to have done some homework though — you’re taken to a very specific post, a clip that kinda blew up when it debuted. 

It takes no Oppenheimer to draw the conclusion that the post addresses Nayeon herself, and she’s clad in that all black bodysuit from that one Talk That Talk performance that hugs her figure and really makes all the curves on her body pop. You’d know: you fucked her in this outfit; railed her on the bed from the back with a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs on her wrists if you want specifics. And if you want even more details: she didn’t let you cum till she’d came 3 times. Fun.

It’s a stunning outfit, and the appeal of the wonders it does to Nayeon’s body is only emphasised by how she runs her hands up from her hips, tracing the hourglass shape of her figure before she flips her hair. A pretty good Gif. Seems to have all 1410 commenters on their knees.

Now mind you: you’re on speaker phone with her right now. With that in mind, it sure as hell feels like Nayeon’s in the room with you as low sighs and salacious squelching starts filtering through Nayeon’s microphone and into your ears. A quick glance at the call window (that’s so helpfully converted to a small rectangle at the top right-hand corner of your phone) confirms 2 things while surprising you with a third find:

1) She’s very much naked under that robe. A bit of a no-brainer

2) She’s playing with herself – legs wide open and one of them (you can’t be arsed to really say which one) propped up on the rim of the bathtub as juice-slicked fingers work themselves between flushed folds.

3) The whole reason you can see the stuff in 2) is attributed to the fact that she's somehow leaned her phone against something in that bathtub to give you an almost artistic view of her. Emphasis on ‘almost’ because the close-up of her pretty, pink pussy is foreground to an even more sordid display of her half-lidded eyes and parted lips — baseness personified really.

Yuna becomes a secondary thought. “So… Has anyone told you that you’re kind of freaky?”

“Hey. I’m just a girl,” she muses, the look on her face a strong contender for the symbol of pure depravity. “Read the comments would you?”

“Twitter’s a much better place for this if—”

“Just stop being a smartass and read the fucking horny comments.”

You’re not intimidated by the aggression behind her voice for once, and it’s probably because she isn’t here to edge you if you don’t shut up. You take a moment to admire just how good she looks in this seemingly sempiternal display of what looks like lust itself, the Gif looping at least 3 times while you’re at it (and it’s like, the best 14 seconds of your life). The sun hits her at just the right, illuminating the best parts of her while shadows further define the shape of her curves – bringing forth the swell of her hips while making her tits and ass look bigger by a rather generous amount. Frankly, she looks good in just about anything really. Clothes on or off; hair tied up or let down; lingerie or fancy dress; lace or solid, she is the embodiment of sex.

“Hurry the fuck up,” she hisses, and it’s dripping with lethal lust and desire like venom from serpent fangs. Okay… There’s some mutual interest here with you and Nayeon. You’ll oblige.

“How nasty are we getting?” you inquire, all while you work the waistband of your pants down past your crotch so that your cock can spring free. You enlarge the window of the call, silently hypnotising yourself with the sight of Im Nayeon’s hand busying itself between her legs. “Are we going from the tame ones and progressing or…”

The look on her face tells you that she doesn’t give a shit; and she’s about this close to ending this filthy call and getting off on her own. Better conscience guides you to pick a random comment from the middle and get going with it.

“This one’s a thought provoker,” you preempt, scanning through the rather raunchy statement left behind by some undoubtedly turned-on user. “It says, ‘I wonder what she tells her stylist when she has to wear such outfits. It's like she must be really asking: I want something that will reveal my whole curvy figure. Nayeon is really the best girl’.”

“Mnph…” — she tilts her head back and lets out a gasp – an implosive suction of air that’s sharp yet so pleasing to your ears. “Curvy and… What was that again?”

“Best girl,” you reiterate, watching with a half-parted mouth as your hand matches the pace of Nayeeon’s fingers pumping in and out of the wet mess on the screen, “looks like someone’s got an eye for details.”

“They’d better. I think I looked fucking hot in that thing.”

You could second that opinion, though it was probably in your best interest to keep reading. This is basically your equivalent of putting fries into bags. You’re kinda okay with it, but you’re struggling to read this next one because of its horrible grammar, “her pussy must feel like heaven. With a tight body like that, she must know how she’s draining balls around the world.”

In the bathtub, she twitches. Her ring and middle finger are drenched when they’re removed from her pussy, but they don’t rest and find solid ground on her clit. They rub circles into Nayeon’s swollen nub, no doubt applying just the right amount of pressure onto the area while Nayeon is breathing all shaky and sounds like she’s been winded. In your books: this is basically her doing a backflip over the fine line between freaky and kinky, and basically exposing you to some new kink that she’s probably picked up from Sana.  If any of these commenters ever really had a sliver of an idea of what she’s really like behind the scenes, you doubt that the comments would be as merciful as this. Anyway, next.

“I bet she likes it raw. She probably loves being a good little fucktoy who takes unprotected dicks into that tight pussy and letting load after load fill her. I mean” —Nayeon starts to shudder a little, quaking and sighing as you get to the more explicit section of his comment—“she’d probably like it if I just ripped that dress off her body and spread her legs. She’ll moan like a slut when I put it in her and just start doing her raw. Imagine the way her tits will bounce. Fucking slut, she was made to be bred.”

She lets out this moan – inexplicable and undescribable. She urges you to keep going. You do just that.

“I want her mouth so bad. Bunny has those dick sucking lips that are made for cock, probably gives mad head and is so fucking sloppy with it. I bet she’ll let the drool drip from the corners of her mouth while she takes me in all the way, and she’ll probably thank me with her eyes when I grab her by the hair and start fucking her throat. I’m gonna destroy that pretty little face so bad, leave her so fucking messy and ruined that she’ll have to stop singing for at least a week. When I cum, I’m gonna make sure it goes down her throat and get some on that slutty face. She’s earned it.”

You’re watching her, pumping your fist around your cock while she lets her jaw slack and lets her moans sort of tumble from her mouth in batches. “More,” she pleads, fingers trembling as she lets her free hand slip beneath her robe and start giving attention to her tits. You’d kinda kill to see them now, but this view will have to do. “Read more. I want to hear it.”

“They're getting nastier,” you inform her. “This whole thread of comments is just 3 guys discussing how they want to share you in a gangbang.”

“Fuck yes. Please…”

She never finishes the sentence, but you get the gist. You persist. 

The next one is kinda paraphrased, partially because you’re projecting your own fantasies while simultaneously deciphering what this guy is trying to say across 5 separate comments. 

“I want nothing more”—and it’s getting really hard to breathe while Nayeon’s fucking herself senseless halfway across the world. Maybe if she hadn’t worn those damned airpods, you wouldn’t be hearing every single sordid little sound she makes (gasps, sighs, moans and a bunch of phonetic mish-mash that began with the letter ‘o’). You can’t tell if she’s already lost to the haze of pleasure, and even if she hasn’t she’s probably holding on by a thread thinner than hair; on the way there and probably reaching within the next five minutes—“than to pound her little pussy raw and give her a fat load.”

“Oh my fucking god…” she’s descending a little further into her own head, sinking beneath the sheer thrill of masturbating while her partner reads out all the perverse things that people would do to her. Her breaths are almost desperate – earthy and kind of like a product of raw emotion; akin to a groan or maybe even a grunt. At the same time, it’s like she’s struggling to take in the air she needs, fighting to find a reason to take a breath and distract her from this debauched world that she’s dived into. It isn’t just her mind that’s twisted here, but the minds of others too.  “Keep going. I need to know how they’re gonna ruin me.”

You’re trying to memorise the next line so you can watch, watch the subtle twitch in her right leg and the grunt-moan hybrid that’s produced from that pleasure stricken throat; the way she becomes a bundle of nerves like you and just starts losing it; the way her fingers go from rubbing to fluttering small circles of heavenly release into her body; the way the round breast that’s slipped out of the robe ripples with each movement from her shoulder. You’re more than happy to watch really; be a witness to the act of her bringing herself to the point of no return as she practically brims with pleasure and bliss that she’s bringing herself. You’re reading is like an add-on, some sick twisted DLC if you really think about it (you’re not really thinking much, but it’s a fun thing to consider). It’s quite like making a drink, albeit a little bit butchered – she’s pouring herself a glass while you wipe the rim with a lemon. The alcohol can spill on your fingers for all you care, you just wanna watch her make it overflow. 

TL;DR: you really wanna make her cum.

“I’ll fuck her mouth while you take her pussy”—this one is read word-for-word, verbatim, letter-for-letter. You like how it’s phrased, not quite poetry but beautiful in its own way—“make her gag on this cock till she’s ruining her mascara. We cum together. Give this little slut the spit roast creampie of her life.”

She half-sigh-half-moans – the type of noise she’d make when she’s on her back and being fucked into the mattress. She shifts, undoes the knot holding her robe together and lets the thing part from the middle and falls at her sides. Leaning back against the end of the bathtub, her pleading comes in the form of whines, soft ones that kinda float around the room while she endeavours to work her fingers a little harder. A free hand kneads her breast. Your breath hitches, cock pulsing in your fist as she arches her back and starts to gasp. You read the next lines, the boner-fueled words of some guy who probably had his cock in his hand while typing this out.

“I want her ass. I’ll make her ride it while she takes it up that bubble butt, then you guys an still fuck her pussy and mouth. She’ll be so messy, probably dripping from her pussy and her mouth while three dicks fuck the shit out of all three of her holes. You know what? I bet she’ll enjoy it. The slut flaunts her body like it’s a fucking prize. She’s asking for it.” 

There are like 2 more comments, but you never quite make it to the next parts. With a cry, Nayeon leans forward in the bathtub. She digs her fingers back into her slit, restarts the squelching and lets your speakers flood with a sordid symphony; squelch after squelch after squelch feels like music to your ears.  “Your cock.” It’s a demand, really raunchy, kinda racy and really (and you really mean really) fucking raw. Can’t quite figure out which part of her strips her of the filter that takes away the pure intoxicating venom that coats her words, but you couldn’t really give more of a shit right now. It’s hot, like, really fucking hot. “Show me your cock. Let me see you stroke it.”

And it’s almost at once that you switch back to the call and flip your camera around. You’ve been going at the same tempo for some time now, and you hope Nayeon can see the utter mess she’s made of you – precum leaking from your tip and your head all swollen and red. She moans, slips another digit inside of her and starts working all three of her fingers harder inside of her. 

“Ngh… I really wish that I could be filled with your cock right now,” she drawls. You’re not too sure if she knows that she’s projecting a shared desire right now. It’d be great to feel those warm walls wrapped around your shaft, slicking it with her juices while she rides you at a steady pace. Fuck… She’s ruining you, isn’t she? “With me baby. Cum. Make a mess for me.”

Her words are a little jumbled, but coherence doesn't really matter when she’s spitting pure filth from her lips. It doesn’t take long for either of you to get there, but you like to think that you meet her where she already is and kinda just go from there. At least that’s what you tell yourself as she convulses and is marred by her orgasm, and your cum leaks down your shaft and flows over your knuckles while you watch Your respective cameras capture it all – witnesses the mess you make at the hands of each other (and yourselves). You have to take a second, sit in the warm puddle of your own mess. It’s pooled on your stomach; cleaning up’s gonna be a chore.

“God…” Nayeon breathes. “Always wanted to try this.”

“Guessed as much,” you reply, sitting up in your bed and looking around for tissues. You spot a box of them on your desk. Great.

“Gotta go. Be in touch soon.”

She leaves you in the darkness of your room. From the corner of your eye, you spot a set of eyes watching you from the ajar door. You make out Yuna’s features before she closes the door, no doubt fleeing the scene. You aren’t sure how much she saw, but you hope that whatever she did see hadn’t scared her shitless.

Anyway, there are larger issues at hand.

***

It’s somewhere on the third or fourth night where it happens. For the record: you don’t go to her. She comes to you.

Weather forecast predicted hail, and for once they’re actually correct. It’s pissing it down – the glass on your room not left unscathed from the assault of hail falling from the sky. It’s awfully noisy, helluva hullabaloo. Hard to sleep in this weather really. You warned Yuna—who seems to have gotten a little more comfortable around you—about the horrid weather that you guys were about to be blessed with, and you can’t help but wonder if she’s fairing alright.

The knock on your door comes around a quarter after one. Yuna steps into your room, her silky nightdress kinda glowing in the low light as she sort of just stands there awkwardly. It’s quite like a child entering their parents room in the middle of the night to inform them that they’ve shat the bed. You look at her from under the covers for a bit, and when she continues to be a deer in headlights, you sit up in your bed. “You okay?”

“I’m um…” she begins, fiddling with her fingers as she speaks. “I-It’s noisy… And…”

You understand what she’s attempting to convey. You move to your right in bed, open the covers and pat on the space you’ve left for her. She smiles, grateful. When she settles into the space where Nayeon usually sleeps, you tell her to holler if she needs anything else. You leave her with that, and your back faces her when you—by the grace of some divine powers—drift off.

You wake up again in the early morning. The sleep wasn’t bad – kinda peaceful and dreamless and you want to close your eyes and drift back off. Unfortunately (actually kinda fortunately in this case), Yuna’s legs entangled with yours snaps you awake. You’re worried that you might have rolled into her while you were asleep (you really didn’t want to fuck up again), but her arm around your torso tells you otherwise. She’s cuddled up to you, head against your back and hugging you like you’re her personal soft toy – the usual kind of cuddling. Frankly, you’re at a loss for words. What happens in between is kind of a blur. You remember her stirring, and you remember turning around as slowly and gently as possible. What you don’t quite remember however, is how she ends up with a hand on your cheek. You vaguely remember her asking for some sort of permission, but your heart is beating so loudly in your ears that you can’t really hear or process much. She’s in the most vulnerable of positions right now, and the worst thing you could possibly do is fuck up. Your mishaps from the first day have you on edge.

And now you’re running through the events again in your head, doing your best to pick up on critical exposition that probably would explain the situation you're in. Words fail you as Yuna’s thumb traces a path across your cheek, sweeping back and forth languidly with the smallest of smiles on her face. Her eyes—those hypnotic doleful eyes—stare into yours, and you’re sniffing out some longing behind that gaze. 

“Nayeon put in a really good word for you,” she whispers, letting her gaze wander across your face. “She said that you were a trustworthy man… Someone who’ll take care of anyone because you can.”

You’re happy to hear of Nayeon’s positive appraisal of you, but it doesn’t stop your bad habit of cracking a joke in tense situations. “And what’s the customer’s review?”

You’re glad that she laughs. If she didn’t, you’d have to expand your list to include a 14th reason. 

“She told me to trust you and that I can feel safe around you,” she reports. She takes a moment to bring her eyes back to yours. Her smile grows wider. “I’m happy to say that I do… Largely.”

And all at once: a two tonne weight around your chest feels like it just dropped a twenty-story height. You aren’t sure if Yuna’s giggling because of the fact that you’re visibly relieved or because you heaved the loudest sigh of relief of your career.

“Man… I thought I’d completely fucked up after the first day,” you admit to her, relishing the feeling of your body relaxing in bed. “Never quite got to apologise for that.”

“And you don’t have to”—her smile is quite soothing to be honest, puts you right at ease after looking at it for a second or two— “I was just kinda shocked… And I kinda have a bad experience of being yelled at. Working on it though.”

Huh. Guess Nayeon was right about her.

“Still though,” you raise, rubbing your eyebrow. “I’m sorry.”

Yuna chortles. Her lips slant at an angle. “Forgiven and forgotten. Happy?”

You smile in response to the progress. “Hey. You go girl.”

She graces you with a wink. A moment of silence follows. 

“Did Nayeon ask you to be touchy with me?” you can’t help but inquire. It’s out of the blue, but hey: a burning question is a burning question. “I mean… It’s not everyday that a cute girl just pulls up in my bed and caresses my cheek.”

“She said that you’ll be fine”—she retracts the hand on your cheek. The two tonne weight starts rising to the 5th floor—“and are you flirting with me?”

(Two tonne weight falls. Phew… What a workout.)

“Maybe.” You don’t really like being blunt cause there’s always some merit in a bit of playing around. Now that you think back on it, you may or may not have picked this up from Nayeon. Damn girl is ruining you. “Take it how you want, just don’t think I’m being sarcastic.”

Yuna smirks a little. “Nayeon did say you like to play around with your words,” she lifts a finger and points away from the bed, “not sure if she influenced you,” she points towards you,  “or if you influenced her”.

“What if we’re both a little guilty?”

“Then I’ll be the outlier. Can I kiss you?”

And it feels like time stops. For the seconds that you stare at her in silence, one brain cell exerts maximum fucking effort to process the weight of her words. You wouldn’t have been as hesitant if she’d just kissed you directly, but now that she’s asking for consent first, you’re high-key at a loss for words. The sun’s starting to rise and the room’s being filled with this sorta radiant glow… Or maybe it’s just her.

“Woah,” you can’t help but muse. Of course, you’re exaggerating by quite a bit. “You are… Super blunt.”

“Figured you could use a change of pace.”

Then Yuna closes the distance between the two of you. She hesitates for a little, hovering over your lips for a bit before she finally decides to press her lips onto yours. It’s kinda sweet; her lips feel amazing and she’s really going down on you. You comb your hands through her hair, let the smell of sweet shampoo kinda intoxicate you a little while she tugs at your lower lip with her teeth. Unlike Nayeon, it feels like she’s kissing you because she wants to. The older girl sometimes makes it feel like she’s doing it for the sake of it, and then proceeds to tear through your clothes to get to your dick. Yuna takes her time, lets her hand on your face get familiar with the structure of your jaw as fingers graze them gently; introduces her index finger and thumb to your chin as she tips it to deepen the kiss a little.

“Hey,” she calls once the kiss is broken. She’s glowing in the light of the room, the smile on her face pretty fucking adorable. “Did Nayeon ever tell you that I look the best when I take it from the back?”

Again: super fucking blunt.

Clothes are never a hassle when you’re kinda in a rush, and Yuna’s night dress slips right off her body like the plate she dropped from the tray. You have her on her back, kinda half-mewing-half-keening as you catch a nipple in your mouth and suck on on it. The toned muscles on her stomach tense and relax, the rapid ebb and flow of pleasure in her system making her body move in all sorts of sensual ways as you palm her other breast.

And here’s the thing you like about Yuna: she lets you take her time with her, really revels in the sweetness of the moment while your trailing kisses down to her crotch. She moans for you – sweet music that tells you yeah that’s the spot while you acquaint and familiarise yourself with her body; she shifts herself accordingly – rolls to her side when you were kissing her plunging collarbones and opens her legs for you when you get to that pretty, pink pussy. It’s like she’s wired to please you, responding to your every move with a move of her own like you’re locked in a dance with her. It’s a welcome change of pace from having to fight and dirty talk your way to even get the chance to fuck Nayeon.

(In case you’re wondering: you do eat her out, but you kinda get lazy to really put into words. All you need to know are these few key points:

Firstly, she’s delicious, sweet and salty and kinda tangy. A bit of a subjective taste but you like it.

Secondly, her moans are really fucking adorable. They’re not even, like, purposefully made that way. She just kinda lets them flow from her mouth – choked-up cries of pleasure while warm thighs wrap around your ears. 

Lastly, when she cums, it’s fucking amazing. It’s like she brings heaven down to earth with her cries and makes sure you get to touch it as much as she can. Her body is fucking riveting – arches deliciously when she arrives and makes you twitch in your pants.

Bottom line: she’s really fucking hot, quite like Nayeon in the way she tries you on sometimes but patient and actually giving you the chance to talk dirty with her. Damn… She really is a change of pace.)

And so: reaching between your bodies with her on all fours, you grasp your cock in your right hand, slipping it between Yuna’s legs. The young woman spreads her thighs as best she can – readies herself for entry. Your head pushes between her lips, waiting for only a moment, before you thrust hard inside her, filling her to the hilt with your cock. She’s awfully tight, really fucking wet and God is it hot in there. You almost think molten iron seems to be brewing in her core.

“Tell me,” she huffs, a sly smile on her face as she props herself up on her elbows. “Am I better? Or is Nayeon still the best?”

You caress the swell of her ass. “Baby… I think you’ll be the best fuck I’ll have in a while.”

It’s almost cruel: the way you kinda just start thrusting without any warning. She likes it though, and you only know because she possesses the bluntness to do so.

“God you’re fucking big.” And her ass ripples with each thrust you deliver into that slick little pussy of her’s. “Fuck… How does Nayeon even manage you?”

(The thing you like about her is how she asks a question like it was some sort of objective statement – not a rhetorical question, just something for you to respond to.)

You fuck her harder in response to that, kinda push yourself all the way into her. The tip of your cock slams against her cervix and her cries ring throughout your room. Your room fills with the sort of visceral sound one would associate with skin slapping against skin. There are definitely some more words to be shared during sex – the girl has a little more things she wants to get off her chest, but what the whole exchange boils down to is a back and forth of her gasping and crying out and saying you’re the best dick she'll ever get and you telling her you love the feel of her little cunt.

(It's really not like you're trying to prove something by being super rough. Yuna just happens to really, really like the feel of a thick cock pounding into her. Maybe Nayeon was right – her taking it from the back was a good idea.

Or maybe she's just a slut.

Who knows?)

"Yeah," you growl. You reach forward and grab a handful of her hair, pull her body against yours. "Take my cock baby."

"I can take it," she gasps, the breath knocked out of her. Her fingers curl against the bedsheets and she's just taking your cock. She's a lot easier to please than Nayeon – less stubborn about being in control, but also much, much more willing to please. "Oh God, fuck me, please..."

You slam deep inside her. Her body jerks forward and the sound that comes from her mouth is a mix between a cry and a gasp. "Please what?"

"Fuck me harder," she says. She's practically begging for it. "Make me cum. Please, please make me cum!"

Taking up her request is all you really wanna do. She didn’t need to add the multiple pleads, but you took some pleasure in hearing it.

You grab ahold of her shoulders, pull her close till she's almost upright. "You're gonna cum around my dick," you growl. You start a series of rapid, hard thrusts and her body goes limp in your arms. "And you're gonna make a mess of yourself."

She nods frantically. She's a mess already, all sweaty and red. The sounds that leave her mouth are incoherent. With two fingers pressing hard and directly against her clit, you start circling on it, making her a complete fucking wreck in the middle of your room as you really try to get her off. There's a sweet spot you find after a moment – the pad of your digits slipping around the nub and her knees give, almost making her buckle until she's flat on her stomach on the bed, crying and shaking as you use her like a toy.

"Please... Fuck... Don't stop, oh God don't stop!" Her cries are like a prayer to you. You've never heard anything like it. You fuck her right through it, watching as her back arches and her legs twitch, until she's almost completely gone. There's only a little bit more left. She just needs a little extra push.

So you decide to go a little hard. You hold her by her hips, keep her legs shut, and thrust directly down onto her pussy with a force you'd only reserve for someone like Nayeon. Her eyes roll back in her head as you really take her like you've wanted to ever since you started; it's almost animalistic how you really try to get her to cum as hard as she can. You can almost feel her orgasm build up in her body. Her breathing grows shorter and more erratic and she's mewling in her throat – so close. You can taste it.

"You like my cock don't you?" You reach around, give her tits a squeeze. She almost cums from that.

"Yes," she whimpers. You know she's not playing the part – she genuinely wants your dick. "Please... Let me cum on your cock..."

(You don’t admit it verbally, but you like it when girls beg. Nayeon never does, and it’s a novelty now that she’s doing it.)

You hold her down with an arm on her lower back. Her head's to the side, hair plastered to her skin with sweat as you fuck her from behind. She's panting and whining, begging you for more; “please please more”. You like that. It's cute. You wanna hear it. So you go harder. She screams into the sheets, but the sounds are muffled, but she's pretty loud nonetheless. It's good to see her let go like this, really let loose and not hold anything back. There's a fire that she ignites inside you. "Fuck..."

It's like a little fire that ignites and grows bigger, burns brighter with each thrust. She's so tight and so fucking wet; the wet sounds that accompany each thrust really turns you on. Your body feels so hot. There's this warmth that spreads across your entire body with every passing second. She moans and cries, whimpering as you nail her into the sheets.

Then there's this moment of clarity that hits her, and she looks back at you – she smiles, eyes half-lidded and she whispers something to you.

"Cum inside me," she says. She's shaking. "Please..."

Your rhythm grows sloppy as you edge closer and closer to the climax. Your cock feels like it's growing harder, bigger – there's this throb in it and your body's all tensed up. It feels like something inside you is going to snap, break loose and make you cum. It's not the best feeling in the world, but the way it grows stronger and stronger really makes your toes curl and your skin tingle.

And she's so beautiful like this: spread out for you, skin sweaty, cheeks red, and ass in the air as you fuck her. It's the best way you can ever imagine her – she looks like she belongs to you like this, her body a playground for your lust, and she wants it just as much as you do. There's a mutual feeling between the two of you.

The pleasure comes and it hits you like a train. It feels like something inside your balls tighten and then snap and then there's this euphoria that envelopes you. You feel your cock pulse with every burst of semen that spurts from the head. Yuna cries as her pussy gets filled and filled, until it's running out and dripping from her cunt, but you can't stop fucking her. You want to feel that sweet, sweet release, to see how long it will go, to really enjoy this moment. She feels amazing, and your heart pounds and you want her so badly. You need her.

She cums — It's a hard, shuddering orgasm that wracks her body. She cums and she screams for you, and she makes a mess of herself as promised. It's really fucking hot – the way she completely loses her composure and her legs shudder violently as you pound her pussy through it all, soaking in the perverted pleasure she brings you while you fuck her freshly-creamed pussy till your hips kinda give. You collapse on her, panting and grunting on top of her while she struggles to breathe.

In this moment. She isn’t like Nayeon in the slightest.

She’s a welcome change of pace. 

***

“Thinking back… There were signs in highschool that I probably ignored.”

And the water sloshes around as Yuna shifts a little in the bathtub. She’s found it to her liking to prop herself up against you, let her head rest against your shoulder while you hold her close to your chest. You’ll admit that it’s a bit of an awkward arrangement, but there was no way you could just not indulge her after she asks to take a bath with you. 

“The worst part is that they weren’t even, like, subtle,” she tells you, just sort of staring out into the distance while she talked.  “He’d punch things when he got angry, even slapped a referee after he lost a game… Love is blind huh?”

You held her a little closer to your chest. “It’s okay. We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah, well, my mistakes left me with no physical scars but the emotional ones are plenty.”

You hope she can’t see you grimace. It’s hard to recover from these types of things, especially if you realise the stupidity behind your decisions.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” you tell her, and you really mean it. “It must be difficult… You know: recovering.”

The front of her lips curve up. “Thanks. I try not to let it weigh me down too much but… Just kinda happens to come out every now and then.”

You get it, you really do. Not that you’ve been in an abusive relationship like hers before, but you understand what it’s like. It’s sad really: being unable to break out of a cycle that hurts you the more you try to stay and change it. You admire the young girl’s strength, envy her courage for finally breaking the cycle and freeing herself for good. 

“You’re safe now,” you whisper, moving some wet hair out of her face. “I will never hurt you. I promise.”

She smiles at that. “Thank you,” she says while pinching your cheek, “that means a lot to me.”

Then you bask in the silence for a little, taking in the smell of the bath salts and the feel of Yuna’s soft skin against yours. It’s a pretty romantic moment till Yuna’s bluntness breaks it.

“I’m, like, really wet,” she announces, gazing up at you from her position on your shoulder. You laugh. 

“Didn’t you just cum?”

“Good things come in threes.”

She fixes you with a look, like she knows that you’re gonna give in.

(And you know what? She’s absolutely right. Can’t say no to a pretty girl.)

***

“Well hello to you too.”

Nayeon sounds almost angry on the other side of the video call. On your end, you have your phone’s back camera pointed to the current situation: Yuna atop of you, thighs locked around your cock as her hips rock up and down steadily. Her thighs are warm, pillowy; makes you grit your teeth while she moves languidly.

“Nayeon!” Yuna exclaims, almost too saccharine as she keeps her eyes locked on yours. “We were just thinking of you.”

She isn’t lying. Just moments before her call came, you two were making a joke about how she’d never let you get away with as much as Yuna did. It was a pretty humorous conversation, almost comedic if it wasn’t for the fact that Yuna was tugging your sweats down your thighs. 

But, there she was, still moving in your lap. Yuna leans forward, hands planted on your chest as she continues to rock her hips, ass bouncing a little against your thighs.

You can hear a scoff from Nayeon.

Yuna turns her head to the screen, eyes looking at the phone but her hands still pushing on your chest, fingers flexing. "We really were," she whines, lips jutted into a pout. You watch her as her lips curl into a small smirk just a second later, her teeth peeking out, and you can feel your face grow warm when she looks back at you.

"Tell her what we were talking about," she orders, her voice soft but firm.

"Um...we were just, um—" you stutter out, and your throat goes dry as her hips keep going, her thigh muscles clenching around you.

"Go on."

"We were...just, uh, talking about how you're not here," you finally manage to get out.

"Aww, baby...” Nayeon is smiling. It’s sarcasm by the way; she's enjoying this as much as Yuna is.

Yuna's pout returns. "See, Nayeon?" She continues to roll her hips against you. "We were thinking of you,” she reiterates, making sure she has your eye contact while she fucks you with her heavenly thighs, “I know it's not fair that you aren't here, but he’s just so fucking hard… Someone had to do something about it.”

Nayeon gives a snort. “You two are lucky I’m not alone in my room right now.”

“And what would happen if you were?” Yuna challenges. You don’t recall her being this daring.

“Playing with myself, obviously,” the older girl replies. “You think I’d just watch you get him off with your thighs? I barely let that boy dominate me.”

Yuna chuckles and smiles your way.

“What a horrible situation,” she whispers, moving a little faster. “Luckily I’m here to pamper him.”

“And he’d better enjoy it while it lasts,” Nayeon smirks. “When I’m home he’s–”

Yuna cuts her off by hanging up. You stare wide-eyed in shock as she tosses the phone aside. “Too noisy. I can’t multitask,” she explains. “Call her back later. Let’s get back to it.”

With that, Yuna leans over you, her chest pressed to yours as she gives a slow grind in your lap, her hips moving in a figure eight. Your head rolls back, and you release a loud, drawn-out groan. Her thighs are so smooth against your cock, so warm, so soft. You wish you could bury your face in between them. The way her hips move is incredible; she knows what she wants, knows how to work you.

You try to sit up, but Yuna pushes you back down by your chest. Her lips curve into a smile, and she shakes her head.

"Stay down," she whispers, "you don't wanna ruin this, do you?"

"No."

"Then stay still. I'll make it quick."

Quick is an understatement. She's barely rocking her hips in your lap, but with how soft her thighs are, and the way they grip you like a vice, you know it'll probably be over sooner or later. You make a note to try and make this last for as long as you can. Yuna leans over you again, hands on your chest as she gives a rough buck of her hips. Your head snaps back and you let out a loud groan. She continues to grind against you, slowly, making sure to hit every sensitive part of your cock. You reach up to grab her hips, but she slaps your hands away.

"No touching," she tuts. "Let me do the work. You relax."

Your lips open to protest. She shushes you with a finger. 

"Own me later," she whispers, sliding the finger down to the point where your collar bones meet. "Let me take care of you now."

You gulp, nodding.

Yuna's hands settle back on your chest, nails dragging across your skin, making you shiver. She's looking at you with those doe eyes, those pretty pink lips curled into a smirk as her hips pick up pace. The friction is incredible; Yuna's thighs feel like silk wrapped around your cock, warm and soft; the way they're clamped around you has you seeing stars. Your breath hitches in your throat when Yuna moves faster.

(And another thing about her: she’s so fucking good at pleasuring you that she always makes you lose your ability to think.)

"Fuck..." You moan, throwing your head back. "Feels so good..."

She smiles at that, giving a small hum of approval. "Does it?" She asks. "Good."

You look up at her, watching her roll her hips. She's really putting in work, moving in all sorts of ways to make sure you're feeling the most pleasure. It's not lost on you; she's an angel, and you thank every god there is for having her. Your cock throbs between her thighs, aching. The head is flushed red and leaking precum, which smears all over Yuna's thighs as she keeps moving. Your toes curl in the sheets, fingers gripping the fabric as she rides you.

Yuna continues to roll her hips, giving a few rough bucks when she feels like it. You're groaning and moaning under her, letting out all kinds of sounds that make her chuckle. She's having fun teasing you, getting you close to orgasm only to slow down and watch your face contort with pleasure.

"Don't cum yet," she says softly, running her hands over your chest. "We just started."

"I-I know," you reply, breathless. "But I...fuck..."

Yuna giggles. "That good?"

"Yeah. Fuck… don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it, baby."

You throw your head back, your hips twitching under hers. Yuna chuckles, keeping her thighs locked around you. Your cock aches, throbbing between them as she moves; precum drips onto her legs, which only makes the slide easier for her. You're starting to sweat; your body's temperature rises with each passing moment, the feeling of her thighs overwhelming you. Yuna's so warm against you, so soft and pliable; you can't help but imagine her underneath you, moaning and writhing as you fuck her. The thought has you bucking your hips up into her, causing her to gasp.

"Someone's eager," Yuna teases, running a hand through her hair. "What's going through your head?"

You groan in response, your hands sliding down her sides to grip her hips. "Nothing," you lie.

She snorts, knowing full well what's on your mind.

"Liar." She rocks her hips forward. "What are you thinking about?"

You gaze at her for a moment. "If I said you... Would you believe me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Wouldn't put it past you," she stops moving for a bit to give you the attention. "What are you doing to me in your head?"

"I never said–"

"Please," she interjects "We both know you want to bend me over the nearest fucking surface and fuck my brains out right now."

Her thighs start moving again. Your head falls back and a moan escapes you.

"Can you blame me?" You say. She smiles.

"No, not really. I am pretty hot anyway."

(There’s that little bit of Nayeon in her.)

You nod. "You're so fucking good to me." You manage to get out.

Yuna chuckles. "Wanna know something?"

"What?"

"I love the way you feel between my thighs," she tells you. "And I love how you sound when I'm making you feel good. I want to hear more of it."

With that, she leans forward, pressing her lips to yours. Her hips keep moving, rolling against you at an agonizing pace, causing you to moan against her mouth. She's quite literally giving you everything you want, injecting some mischief here and there that makes it feel like Nayeon possesses her sporadically. She's more gentle though, more kind and more caring too. Okay, not that Nayeon doesn't care, but she's kinda ruthless when she's horny. Yuna's much more caring, and a lot more willing to be a pillow princess. She likes being pampered. She likes being loved on and adored. She wants to be fucked and she wants to be taken care of. It's a mutual feeling between the two of you. You'll worship her, and she'll love you for it.

Yuna pulls away from the kiss, moving to your neck. She gives it a few open-mouthed kisses, nipping at your skin. You sigh, letting your head fall back. She continues to rock her hips against yours, grinding down onto your cock. Her hands slide up your chest, nails digging into your skin, eliciting a gasp from you. 

Yuna chuckles, kissing up your neck to your ear. "You're so big," she whispers. "So fucking thick... Feels so good."

You groan, fingers gripping her hips.

"You like that?" She asks. "Like me talking about your cock?"

You nod.

"I love it," and she talks with a purr. "Love how it feels inside me... How deep it goes... How hard it throbs..." She whispers—no. Moans all this right into your ear. "Fuck... I really want this thing inside me right now."

"Later," you quickly propose. "Please?"

She laughs — sweet and melodic. "Never said that I would put it inside of me," she reminds you. "Now, you zip up and make a mess for me, okay?"

You moan in response, nodding your head. You can't deny her, not when she's making you feel this good.

Yuna keeps moving against you, her thighs clenching around your cock. She moves slowly, her hips rolling at an agonizing pace. Your cock is aching; you can feel yourself getting closer to your climax with each passing second.  Your eyes are glued to her thighs, watching them move. She looks so good on top of you. Her hips are hypnotic; your mind spins as she fucks you.

Your eyes move up to her face. Her eyes are closed, lips parted slightly as she focuses on her movements. Her hands are still on your chest, fingers flexing. Her breathing is heavy, warm breath fanning over your skin. You take in her beauty, letting it consume you. She's so fucking perfect, so angelic. Hard to believe how much of a slut she can be.

"I'm close," you manage to get out. "Yuna..."

She smiles. "Go ahead, baby."

"Don't wanna make a mess." You say.

Yuna giggles, her hips picking up pace. "Too late for that."

That's what sends you over the edge. 

You cum; it’s fucking messy. 

Cum fills the space between your dick and her thighs, slathering and flowing and spurting onto everything it can possibly get on. It slicks the insides of her legs; gets on her ass a little and pools beneath her crotch. Yuna hums in satisfaction, a smile on her face as she turns behind her to survey the damage.

“Clean up on aisle four,” she mutters, reaching back to wipe some cum off her ass. She sends her fingers into her mouth – makes a big show of sucking them clean. You can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight.

“Hey,” you call her, your hands reaching down to grope her ass. “I’m planning to change the sheets tomorrow.”

She gives you a look. “Are you saying that cause you’re actually going to? Or because you just want to fuck me right now.”

Oh and she’s perceiving you almost too accurately. You won’t admit your answer, even to yourself. 

“I dunno,” you shrug. “Either way: we’ll have to change the sheets.”

Yuna matches your game.

“Call Nayeon back,” she instructs. “Let’s show her what she’s missing.”

***

Again: Nayeon just kinda chooses when and where to be a bit of a minx, and you just have to roll with it really.

The decision—for today—was made somewhere halfway through the drive to fetch Yuna. You were just talking about how Nayeon had picked that girl up, and her voice trails off as she passes the exit sign. She just keeps on driving while pretending to look like she’s in the right. The GPS doesn’t lie though: it keeps on promoting her to U-turn at every opportunity that’s available to her. She ignores it of course, kinda tunes it out even though the instructions are really getting annoying now (and not to mention it sounds like it’s demanding her to go back this instant, like a mum who just can’t get her kid to listen). It’s like how she ignores you lately.

“She’s probably gonna think we crashed or something,” you muse, lurching in your seat a little as she takes a left. “We’re like, what, fifteen minutes late or something?”

“Nah,” Nayeon quickly refutes. She stops to let a BMW swerve around the corner before she gently taps on the gas. “She’s probably still packing her things,” the turning signal clicks at a steady tempo, stops after she takes the 3rd exit on the roundabout, “maybe even settling a bit of her make up or whatever.”

This is the most she’s spoken since her return.

You hazard a glance at the GPS. The blue line leading you back to your intended destination only grows longer, sometimes glitching a little as the turn of Nayeon’s car gives it the illusion that you’re heading back when she’s really just turning into a one way street. You can’t tell if she knows where she’s going or if she’s just throwing out random bullshit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbles, casting a rather nasty glance your way. “I’m just taking a shortcut. That’s all.”

(Is it not painfully obvious where this is going?)

And a few minutes later, she’s got you gritting your teeth in the backseat of her car. No smug remarks from her — she has your balls in her mouth and she’s getting real sloppy in some alley she’s parked in. You don’t know where to begin, where to find solid reasoning for what you’re witnessing and feeling right now. It’s pretty fucking asinine (and she probably knows that it is) and damn straight goes against all branches of logic. In no world does she have a valid reason for being this horny at 11am on a Saturday.

(Actually, there’s one reason: she just feels like it.)

“You do know that we’re both astronomically fucked if anyone so much as glances our way.” You’re ashamed to admit that this actually has you hissing, partly out of annoyance and partly out of pleasure. “You’re fucking ridiculous. I hope you know that.”

Nayeon spits on your cock. Her hands close into a fist around your shaft, her eyes almost empty as she spreads her saliva in a close to even layer over you. “Are you quite done?” She asks. The emptiness in her voice is kinda scary. It makes her sound exasperated, like she’s sick of your reasonings. “You know, you talk an awful lot for someone who literally writhes when I quite fucking literally touch your cock. Don’t act tough on me. We both know who you are. We both know you’re my toy.”

Figuring out if this is part of the bit is the hardest part of your predicament. She plays too much as of late: with her eyes, her tone, her facial expressions… Sometimes it makes you wonder if she really keeps you around just to satisfy her cock cravings or if she really wants you around. Ever since she’s gotten back, it feels like she’s been fucking you and Yuna with nothing but pure hate. You feel it in her eyes, in the violent buck of her hips when she rides you or even in the way she spanks Yuna with a little too much glee. It confounds you; admittedly: you’re petrified of the possibility that she’s straight up jealous of how your relationship with Yuna’s been going since she roped her into this mess.

You can’t help it. You need to know.

You grab her by the wrist, a little harder than you’d like but it’ll have to do. “Stop,” and you don’t mean to be assertive, but it’s all you can summon now. “I need you to answer me honestly.”

In the passenger-side seat, Nayeon fixes her gaze on yours. She tries to struggle from your grasp; you keep a firm grip.

“What are we?” you ask, straightforward; direct. You’ve been with Yuna enough times to know that this’ll elicit an honest response from her. “Cause it just feels like I’m just your piece of meat to fuck and own. We don’t talk, you don’t even look at me when we go to sleep… What are we Nayeon?”

And it makes her freeze. Your sincerity is scary to her — ropes her into your thoughts more than you usually do. She’s silent, face blanker than paper. Her fingers on the hand that you’ve got in your grasp curl a little. “We’re just fuck buddies… That’s all.”

You just stare at her for a second, soak in the weight of that statement. “Then why does it feel like you’re jealous of Yuna?”

“I’m not. What are you even…” You can tell she’s surprised — her eyes do that thing where they widen, and then she blinks. Your question is loaded to her: it catches her in a place where she’s made privy to the fact that her emotions are more out there and perceptible than she’d like.

You raise an eyebrow. “Come on… We both know that’s not true.”

Her plump lips purse. She looks away for a moment.

“And what would you do if I said I was jealous?” she raises. “Kick her out? Stop fucking her?”

She raises a valid argument. Frankly, you didn’t bring this up with the end goal of sorting this out. You just wanted the older girl to accept her emotions, maybe acknowledge that it’s a little petty and then kinda just move on. Of course, nothing with Nayeon is ever really that simple.

“You’re the one that brought her into this,” you remind her, partly because you feel like she isn’t acknowledging her fault in this situation and partly because you have nothing else to say.

She rips her hand away. “So it’s my fault then?”

“What?” you sit up a little in your seat. “No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Her eyes sear your soul with her frustration. This hurts her more than you think. “I’m saying we’re both a little guilty here,” you clarify. “We both have a part to play in how you feel, so maybe we should just talk this out.”

She goes quiet. Too quiet considering the circumstance.

“Later.” She decides. “I think better with a load inside of me.”

***

So to reiterate: they're similar but kinda different. 

“Jesus… Did you really have to get it on my dress?” Nayeon’s clearly pissed. The wet wipe in her hand rubs at the stain of her dress furiously, as if the aggressive motion will kinda just get it out magically. Yuna retires into your arms, her sweat-matted hair sticking to your chest a little. The syntax behind how you got to this point is more complicated that you’d care to elaborate on, but let’s just say: Nayeon was happier a second ago…

(Okay but to be fair: her dress was in the way when you pulled out. So it’s like, half your fault, but you like to play the victim.)

“Relax,” Yuna assures her senior. “It’ll wash right off.”

Nayeon clicks her tongue in annoyance. “You stop defending him. He knows what he’s done.”

Yuna giggles. She smiles up at you. “Yeah… He does.”

They don’t know it, but they’ve got a pretty good dynamic going: Mother-daughter; Spicy and Sweet; Sour Cream and Onion. They contrast, diverge; but they compliment each other almost perfectly. 

(It’s no family reunion; but it’s dinner and diatribes from here on out.)

—

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Hope you will be full of joy and fulfill your dreams next year!

Anyway! This is lokwey the start of a series where I just kinda explore more filthy and complicated things, stuff that’s just not quite right but somehow works. I won’t be following the same idols and people, so this isn’t exactly an interlinked series. Hard to explain but you guys can just come to your own conclusions really.

~Nichu

[trammellesstangent]

For the other main character in the comic (named Pitch):

1. No. They don’t really sleep, but wouldn’t have any toy or object even if they did.

2. Theoretically they could, but they see no reason to. They do not want a pet or a child.

3. This character is also ace. (Honestly I didn’t feel like writing romance and the idea of being in a relationship seemed out of character for both of them anyway)

4. Red makes them stand out, but not in a good way.

5. Also no. Actually the other character is more likely to give a speech than them. They’d probably at least consider shooting someone to get out of it.

6. They will usually at least think about what their friend (again, neither of them would admit that they’re friends) suggests. They do not take advice from almost anyone else.

7. They are a sarcastic blunt asshole. They’d say the same.

8. Both? They like puzzles and using logic to figure things out, but they also usually dislike problems they can’t just fight their way out of.

9. Kind of. Not that they think these objects have feelings, but they know what it’s like to be treated as an object so it brings up uncomfortable memories and emotions for them.

10. They don’t age in a normal way, so the question doesn’t really apply.

11. I don’t know. I’d need to think about that a bit more and it’s currently eleven past midnight.

12. They like tv dramas, but are disgusted by sex and the more physical, biological side of relationships.

13. They don’t have parents.

14. Sort of. They watch soapy tv dramas, which they’re not ashamed of, but they don’t exactly broadcast it either because people generally see them as intimidating and they want to stay that way.

15. Pretending to be something you aren’t. Apologising for your nature. Being nice purely to make others more comfortable.

16. High quality, plain looking clothes that are tailored specifically to them and probably have some kind of high tech built in armour or something.

17. They have mixed feelings towards children, but they don’t interact with kids often anyway.

18. They would be horrified if you asked them this.

19. No

20. I don’t know ask me later

21. N/A

22. They hate pet names, but kind of use insults in the same way. If you called them a pet name they’d probably be irrationally angry but recognise it as an attempt to get under their skin so they wouldn’t react.

23. Stability in theory, novelty in practice.

24. Honesty.

25. They’re unsure

26. They’re also unsure

27. Vengeance

28. N/A

29. As I said they don’t really sleep, so they don’t dream. N/A

30. Absolutely anything to make sure the people they care about are not put in harm’s way.

oc asks that reveal more than you think

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Do they look good in red?

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

What age do they most want to be right now?

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Name one thing their parents taught them.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Do they like children?

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

What do they like that nobody else does?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Stability or novelty?

Honesty or charity?

Safety or possibility?

Talent or effort?

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Would they date a fixer-upper?

What recurring dreams do they have?

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

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[vifilms]

tattoo artist!vi who takes notice of just how beautiful you are the moment you step foot in her shop. it’d be the most difficult task in the world to not notice just how insanely breathtaking you are. it’s clear by the smirk on your glossy lips. you know just how good you look. caitlyn, being the woman she is, tries to jump in first. you’re just her type. violet would know, cait’s dated the anti-thesis of her since the moment you broke up. caitlyn kiramman loves pretty girls. anything she can do to be underneath them, she’ll find a way. you fit her bill. violet tried not to take offense of the ways your eyes light up taking to her ex-girlfriend. maybe you’re just nice. that’s it, right? two minutes, someone who is almost as gorgeous as you walks in and then violet forgets about you as her next client walks in. she tries to at least.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t stop thinking about you. it’s new york. there’s plenty of pretty girls she can drown herself in. well, if she could figure out how to ask someone out without her crippling anxiety suffocating her. she knows she’s somewhat attractive but her lack of knowing how to efficiently communicate it without sound like the weirdest fuck who has ever lived gets lost in translation. she doesn’t like how sure cait is of herself when she talks about you though. violet doesn’t even know you but seeing the glint in those aquatic-blue eyes make her want to punch something. it’s hard to even tell if it due to her budding crush or that it’s her ex. probably both but she ignores it.

tattoo artist!vi who likes to frequent bars on her days off. it’s when she doesn’t feel alone. it’s fun to bug her sister, powder. she’s always been more of a free spirit out of the two of them. an artist, a wanderer, someone who choses to bartend a couple nights out of the week just because she liked meeting new people, learning their story, what makes them tick. are they a mean drunk, happy, or will they burst into tears when you ask them how they’re doing? vi isn’t either really. she’s quiet, calm even, but tonight part of her wants to cry. she feels lonely, lost, and even a little bit upset caitlyn is your first choice. she only knows your name because of the clientele list and that just feels pathetic. violet’s never been the smoothest of talkers, she knows that more than she feels the blood coursing through her veins. she isn’t the girl and she’s perfectly fine with it. perfectly. fine.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t even enjoy work anymore. three months in and you’ve been cait’s girlfriend and the feeling only gets worse. it’s cliché. a little fucked, but being in love with her ex’s girlfriend? it doesn’t get any lower than this. she let it slip days ago, only to powder, thank fucking god. if violet knew one thing, she didn’t wanna deal with caitlyn’s wrath. according to maddie, she’d been a dog with a bone when it came to you. so protective it nearly turned into possession. she wanted everyone to know that you were hers and not anyone else’s. it wasn’t new to violet, cait didn’t like being runner up to anyone. it’s why their relationship ended in the first place, especially when the girlfriend feels inferior to the sister. when powder comes around to the shop, cait can’t help but wear her disgust all over her face like a poorly concealed mask. vi thinks it’s silly. the both of them are nearly the same it’s almost sickening. if only the other took the time to know the object of their disdain, they would see two peas sitting in a pod.

tattoo artist!vi who hates a messy shop. when personal items are left behind or someone’s station isn’t properly sanitized and clean. it’s why she’s here, alone on the sunday, the only day the shop is closed. it’s been too long since she did a deep clean, just a week or too, but that’s long enough for her. she’s always been proud of what she’s been able to accomplish her. even if she didn’t have much, a girlfriend to love on, or if her father was on the other side of the country, she had this. violet ink. it was her name out on the sign over seeing the street, the luminous violet led lights kissing the downtown street. she made it this far and she couldn’t let anyone run her off from something she fought so hard to build from the ground up. it’s why she was surprised when she saw you. your face free of makeup, your hair in it’s natural state, and you appeared more laid back than you ever were — in her shop. it feels like a fever dream she never wishes to wake up from. cait must have given you a spare key to the shop which she would have a discussion with her about that later because what the fuck? but it’s hard for her to stay mad when you’re standing there looking like a million bucks in the most casual pair of sweats she’s ever seen. it feels different to who you usually are. shredded of the image you maintain, stripped back, there’s just a softer version of yourself and vi can’t help but contemplate if this is the side you’re so reluctant to show.

tattoo artist!vi who stutter how some stupid joke, trying to break the ice and it should have made things more awkward than they already were but your laugh full of symphonies just makes violet smile. in her best efforts, she craves to conceal it from you but it’s impossible when you’re looking at her. she can’t help but smile — so she does. desperately, violet tries not to act nervous when you’re looking at her designs on the wall, not saying a word, just inspecting. there’s a chill in her bones she feels, a need for her work to be loved because if it isn’t? it eats her up from the inside out. maybe it’s embarrassing but she needs her work to be loved. what’s the point if it isn’t? it’s always been an extension of her soul, her life, and if someone doesn’t like it? all they say is they don’t like her. it may be the silliest thing in the world, but she needs to be adored. from a complete stranger, from the people who she’s permanently tattooing, and especially from the beautiful women violet can’t stop daydreaming about.

tattoo artist!vi who blushes when you tell her how much you love her designs. there’s a soft touch to her shoulder, your thumb lightly tracing circles in her sturdy bicep. it feel innocent enough but vi doesn’t give herself much time to think about it. painfully, she takes note in how your eyes soar when they make contact with her designs. even if it makes her cocky, violet knows she’s good at her job. clients flying in from all over the country, just to get tattooed by her. with your undeniable charm, you’ve convinced her to do a custom design for you but you wanna discuss it on sunday’s, alone. if anything, she should know this isn’t a good idea. you’re charming, gorgeous and the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. she should be afraid of caitlyn’s wrath, of what would happen if she found out, but it’s innocent…right? she’s a professional. no matter how much she’s attracted to a client, it’s never been an issues and she certainly won’t make it one now. vi nods and the second she does, you’re leaping in her arms, into her space. you smell of lavender and lilies, like spring in the beginning of march. a sun-kissed marvel aching for the shine of summer, for one breath of fresh air. it’s really all she wants, a moment to be in the sunshine with you, if only for a moment at least she could tell the moon about it. her best kept secret and she would cherish every bit of it. 

tattoo artist!vi who tries to keep her head down low as the weeks carry on. even when you try to make more of an effort to speak with her, the last thing she needs is caitlyn to take one final look at her and realize just how much she likes the attention. maddie already made one comment, even if it was light-hearted — it’s enough to keep her on edge. with the design being complete, all she needs is to tattoo but violet’s been avoiding you and what’s worse? you knew it too. in her true avoidant style, violet failed to go to the shop the last two weeks on sunday. the tidiness and damn right organization of her shop was suffering but she still had plans of avoiding it. rather avoiding you, but in her forest fire of a mind, it comes all the same. all of this is so trivial, so stupid, so tragic. it’s kiramman’s day off and violet and sevika are the only artists on hand today which means she’s overworked. the both of them are tired and violet just completed her last session of the day. she sneaks to the back enjoying the cigarette she’d been itching to have. violet’s on her second one when you corner her into the brick wall she’s leaning on. you’re too close. dangerously close, almost as if the fire you’ve created in violet’s lungs might cause her to burn from the inside out. it’s chilling how silent you are until you aren’t. you’re loud about the way you caress her exposed biceps, tracing the lines of her intricate tattoo as it crawls up shoulders and so do your hands. with a sharp graze, you scrap your nails across her skin as if you want to leave a reminder that she was in fact here. should she even even be here? letting you touch her in the way you are? but it’s not like vi has much of a choice when you push the hem of her tank top up to her ribcage, showcasing the flexing abs on her abdomen. it may be faint but there’s a happy trail, one violet wants to see your lips on but she’s scared to say anything, to move, to breathe. “caitlyn said you were ripped underneath. i wanted to see for myself.” then your touch is gone and you are with it. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t show up on sunday…for the first couple of hours. violet thinks of that night, the way you touched her, like you knew exactly what to do before she even could think of what she wanted next. how on earth did you manage to paralyze her with a mere flick of your wrist? when your nails clawed at her toned abdomen, violet felt the stickiness in her boxers and you’d done all of nothing. she had to put an end to things, the private session, violet couldn’t do it. she didn’t want to be caught in some weird and perversed love triangle with her ex. in the back of her throat, violet feels the lump she constantly has to swallow. the only reasonable explanation is that this, you, is all some weird fantasy of caitlyn to get the last laugh. to fully degrade her in a way she couldn’t, not when you’re the person who gets broken up with. it’s not a secret caitlyn’s ego had taken a hit. to anyone, not being the first choice stings but to cait? it might as well be a death sentence and certainly it wouldn’t stand. 

tattoo artist!vi who isn’t one for confrontation but in the need to savor some of her salvation in her dignity, she walks in the shop. you’re still waiting for her. two hours later, you’d hoped she’d show. ”violet, you came.” it’s endearing but violet also sees herself the night before tangled in her black sheets, vibrator on its highest setting as she applies pressure to her clit, fingers nestled so deep inside her cunt as she hears your voice, thinks about your irresistible lips. violet wonders what you sound like when you come and suddenly the thought sends her hurling towards the edge. the smile you offer is almost like you can see right through her, like you know vi came to the idea of you just the night before. 

with a slender smile, you make your way over to her and suddenly the internal dialogue she created to put an end to this arrangement died on your tongue when she shrugs vi’s leather jacket off. she’s only wearing her wrap to cover her chest, not intending on staying for a long time. definitely not enough to finish the beautiful design she created for you. she’d get cait to do it. their styles were similar to it. your girlfriend has to do this. but you’re touching her bare skin. vi is losing focus as she feels the control slip into your greedy fingers. 

“i know what you’re gonna say.” 

“and what’s that?” 

“you wanna stop this, meeting me here, you feel like you’re betraying someone you love and you have too much integrity to keep seeing someone you so obviously want to fuck.” 

“i can’t—” but the words die on violet’s tongue. 

“sense won’t get to you, that’s something caitlyn didn’t understand. you think with your heart of gold. when it drips for someone, you’d let it bleed out if it meant you were saving someone.” you take a pause, slipping off your shirt as your pierced nipples are exposed. violet nearly begins to drool, her eyes unable to look away from your perfect nipples, the swell of your breast how perfectly they fall on your chest, she’s nearly salivating to be offered a taste. “my girlfriend doesn’t understand you’ve found someone else to be loyal to.” 

“this is not, um, i didn’t—” 

sweetly, you kiss her cheek. “it’s such a bitch isn’t it? your heart wants whatever the fuck it yearns for, no damn mercy on who it hurts.”  

violet can only think of how much she wants to be suffocated by your tits, forever trapped in this venus fly trap you’ve caused her to succumb to. with her best foot forward, she wants to tell you to go to hell, that you’re wrong about her — she would never do something like this — until she does. it’s all tongue and teeth, vitriol and lust spills into her mouth as violet pushes you on the bench, ripping your skirt to shreds with her bare hands. only to find nothing underneath. 

bent over the table, ass up in the air, violet wastes not a single moment and stuffs her face in your fat ass. with a gratifying need, she splits your folds on her tongue as she slaps your ass making you whimper and cry out for her name. it’s beautiful, violet thinks. someone needing her to bring them to the edge, and god, you aren’t shy about it either. never has she heard anyone be so loud and proud about sex. so goddamn confident in each moan you let fall from pornogrpahic lips, it’s damn invigorating. the first one comes easily, you spill over vi’s tongue as she moans back into your weeping pussy, liquid gushing over her face violet never wants it to end. the second time violet fucks you with her fingers, stuffing and fucking until there isn’t any part of you that isn’t undeniably shaking. the third time, you’re on top of her, the two of you finding comfortablity on the cot in the break room as violet lets you fuck her. 

exactly what she expects it to be; hot, rough, fast. slippery pussy rubbing against hers until you collapse on top of her, breast pressed against her binded ones. you have a feeling they are there for a reason and you don’t push, for once in your life, you let yourself succumb to sleep as you fall asleep in her arms. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t see you for three months after she had the best sex of her life. even if it does sting, vi knows it’s for the best. six months in and you’re still with caitlyn despite your best efforts. surprising everyone, but violet for different reasons, you admit your slip up to cait but she forgives you. maddie and sevika make a game of it, trying to guess who make you cheat and when violet’s name comes up jokingly, caitlyn’s words leave an unsettling pit in her stomach. 

c’mon, what is violet going to do? look at her. she’s as loyal as a trained dog and i have you trained. don’t i, cupcake? 

tattoo artist!vi who focuses on her work, like a trained dog, she falls back into her routine. sunday’s aren’t as pleasurable as they were with you, or one sunday she should say, but she dismisses the thought altogether. pushing it to the deepest parts of her mind becomes the only viable option. she uses other forms of entertainment to get her mind off of you. powder thinks it’s a good idea to be here but she refuses to step foot in here with her. this is where my path ends, sis. i’ll be just up the hill when you’re ready. a not so subtle wink has her cringing and flipping her off blue-haired braided sister off in the process. this is such a good stupid idea but violet doesn’t manage to convince herself out of this situation she’s conducted for herself. anyways, it’s one night? no one ever has to know. from the moment she steps into the strip club, she knows she never should have been here. she keeps to the bar as she changes songs from the jukebox a few times. this has never been her scene nor will it ever. as she finishes off her class of neat whiskey, the familiar voice whispers into her ear, never thought you’d be here but i guess we’re both full of surprises.

[ylangelegy]

unknown / nth ⭐ minghao x reader.

your boyfriend gives you a language lesson before bed.

★ minghao x translator/interpreter!reader a.k.a the lost in translation couple ★ word count: 1.9k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, conversation about mandarin (my reference). takes place post-lost in translation! not entirely necessary to have read the fic prior to this. title is from hozier's song of the same name. not proofread. ★ footnotes: minghao did a brief weibo live and i've been missing lost in translation for quite some time now, so i jammed this out really quick 🚬🦆 may write more for/about this couple in the near future, so take this as the first of many! ♡

“I think Cold Love really represents me well. It’s probably because I’m an INFJ.”

You press your palm to your mouth to stifle your laugh. Minghao doesn’t react visibly, but his hand waves at you off-camera. A wordless reminder of Be nice. 

The two of you are across the room from each other— him, perched on the couch of his hotel room, while you’re already tucked in bed. Minghao had promised his fans a quick Weibo live to discuss his most recent EP, leaving you to your own devices for the next hour or so. 

You didn’t mind. It was one of life’s simple joys, listening to your boyfriend talk. 

He spends the next thirty minutes or so discussing his creative process and answering fans’ questions. You don’t bother him, knowing you’ll have all the time in the world later to tease him for some of his remarks. Like his indignance at growing taller or his jabs at his age. 

As you busy yourself with mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you relish in the familiar sound of Minghao’s Mandarin. It’s probably your favorite version of white noise, really. The mellow tone of his voice contrasts the rapid, sharp way that he speaks. Despite being well-acquainted with the language, there are still some words that elude you. You make a mental note to ask Minghao about them later. 

Less than an hour has passed before you hear Minghao beginning to wind down. “Good luck on all of your exams. To the people working, keep working hard! Make lots of money,” he says hurriedly. “And good luck with love, too. I hope you all find someone who loves you back so you can experience all sorts of feelings.” 

He’s never been the type to drag out his goodbyes, so you’re not surprised when— after a final heart sign and wave to the camera— Minghao is finally clocking out of his live. 

Immediately, he slumps back onto the couch like the whole thing had drained him. Sure, lives weren’t necessarily one-sided, but he did have to hard carry when it came to the talking part of the affair. You flash him a sympathetic smile as you sit up in bed. 

“Done, xīngān?” you call out. 

Minghao doesn’t respond right away. You don’t hold it against him. He sometimes needed a moment, needed a minute or two to pull himself together. 

After staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, Minghao lets out a shuddering exhale. “Done,” he responds, and he’s moving before you can register it. 

He gets to his feet and crosses the room in a few, quick strides. Once he gets to the bed, he wastes no time in reaching for you. His knees sink in the mattress; his hands dart out. 

You let out a slight squeal when Minghao tugs you into him. 

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. This had been a premeditated act. You can tell in the way his arms immediately snake around your waist. 

You let out a defeated sigh against his chest, but make no move to pull away. “Tired?” you ask, your hands resting on the small of his back as you return his embrace. 

He hums a quiet ‘mhm’. “I’m not built for this anymore, xīngān,” he whines. 

The two of you know that’s a bold-faced lie. Still, you indulge your sulking boyfriend lest he begin to pout even harder. “My poor baby,” you coo, running your hands up and down Minghao’s back in a show of comforting him. “Gonna blame it on being an introvert?” 

“Shut up.” 

You let out a small laugh. You can’t see it, but you swear you can feel the curve of Minghao’s smile as he presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head. 

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a moment of comfortable silence. “It means a lot.” 

A part of you wants to insist that it’s nothing. It’s not every day that you can steal away to his hotel room, though. In between your own work of interpreting for the boys and working on subtitles for videos, there’s also the added layer of keeping your relationship on the down low. 

Tonight, Minghao had just tried to asked. Texted a couple of hours ago that he wanted to see you. And you could never really deny him anything, not even on your best days. 

“Anything for you,” you respond as you stroke the short hair at his nape. 

Minghao buries his face in the crook of your neck, his smiling mouth warm as he mumbles against your skin. “Don’t give me that much power,” he warns. “I’ll abuse it.” 

You chuckle. “I don’t doubt that.” 

The two of you lapse into another bout of quiet. This had always been your way, even back when the two of you were friends: Comfortable silences, unspoken agreements. Your new relationship had only given you two the carte blanche to be a little more touchy during your shared moments of peace. 

You’re fairly sure that Minghao has fallen asleep when he speaks up again. “How do you think I did?”

“With the live?” 

“No, with cuddling. Yes, with the live.” 

“Ask nicely.”

“Please?” 

You put Minghao out of his misery by returning his earlier gesture— leaving a quick kiss, this time to the line of his jaw. “Stellar as usual,” you reassure him. “I didn’t pick up on everything, though.” 

“That’s new.” Minghao shifts around on the bed until he can prop himself up on one elbow. He rests his chin in his hand but doesn’t stray too far. He stays hovering over you, his free arm remaining around your waist. 

He goes on to goad, “Your Mandarin must be getting rusty.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “How can it be rusty,” you retort, slipping into the language as if to prove a point. “When you’re always insisting that we use it?” 

No matter how many times that you speak to him in his mother tongue, Minghao always seems momentarily startled. The surprise always fades into affection, evident in the fond way that he gazes down at you. 

He matches your code switch without missing a beat. “I’ve told you, haven’t I? I love it when you speak Mandarin,” he says, punctuating his words with a quick pinch to your side. 

You swat his hand; he giggles down at you.

“Which parts did you miss out on?” he asks. 

It takes you a moment to recall the terms and phrases you’d wanted to question him about. “撒娇?” you ask, the unfamiliar word sounding almost hesitant on your tongue. Sājiāo.

A thoughtful ‘ahhh’ escapes Minghao. “Think of it like aegyo,” he offers delicately. “It’s— often in the setting of a relationship. Acting cute to be endearing.” 

“Like when you gripe about me not responding fast enough.” 

“Examples aren’t necessary,” he says wryly. “But, yes. Like that.” 

You flash Minghao a grin before snuggling a little closer to him, entangling your legs. The added touch makes his expression softens in the way it only ever does when it’s you. 

“Anything else?” he prompts. 

It’s not everyday that Minghao gets to play the ‘teacher’ role in your relationship. In the beginning, you had been his Korean tutor. In the longer run, you had helped him translate and transpose words that he couldn’t reach. Every so often, you would run to him for some Mandarin help, and you could tell that he relished in the shift in dynamic. 

The thought pushes you to keep asking, even though the words are inconsequential. “You used the term 暖男,” you note. “What was that one?” 

“Nuǎnnán,” he echoes, correcting your intonation. You repeat the word as he said it, and he gives a small smile of approval.

“It’s our version of ‘nice guy’,” he explains. “But it’s rooted a lot in culture. A nuǎnnán is a man who can be considered inherently warm-hearted in an otherwise patriarchal society. And no—” Minghao’s tone takes on a more chiding quality when he sees you about to interrupt. “Do not try to call me a nuǎnnán.” 

You jut out your lower lip slightly. “Why not?” 

The arm that Minghao had around your waist rises, just enough so he can tap the tip of your scrunched nose. “Don’t pull out sājiāo on me,” he scolds. 

It’s not necessary for you to act cute. Your boyfriend would be endeared by you either way. 

You chuckle at being caught, and Minghao’s sternness mellows. “One last.” You hold up a finger as you try to nail the phrase that had first caught your attention. “裸婚?” 

There’s a flicker of surprise on Minghao’s expression. “That was from a fan making a joke,” he warns before repeating the word himself. “Luǒhūn translates to— hear me out, okay?— ‘naked marriage’.” 

The sight of your raised eyebrow draws a sharp laugh from Minghao. “It’s another one of those cultural things,” he says. 

When he doesn’t add onto his words, you shoot him an incredulous look. 

“What?” he asks with feigned innocence.

“That’s it?” you prod. “You’re not going to explain what ‘naked marriage’ means?” 

“You have access to the internet, don’t you?” 

“Xīngān.” 

“That’s me.” 

At Minghao’s continued evasion, you merely huff and give up. It’s getting late, anyway, and he has to be up early in the morning for sound check. Come tomorrow, you’ll have to slip away before anyone can come looking for either of you. The boys aren’t privy to your relationship yet, and God forbid any of the other staff find out.

“Fine,” you say, unable to resist the urge to just be a little haughty. “Let’s go to sleep.” 

Minghao is undeterred by your contempt. If anything, it only makes him smile a little wider, gives him an excuse to pull you into his chest. He goes to cradle the back of your head, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair. 

You lean into his touch, burying your face into the front of his shirt. There it is again. Those few, precious moments where the two of you can just bask in each other’s presence. 

The silence stretches on this time. You’re properly drowsy by the time Minghao speaks up, his words quiet as he mumbles them against your shoulder. 

“No house, no car, no fancy ring,” he murmurs, his tone contemplative and sleepy. “Luǒhūn.” 

“A naked marriage,” you respond mid-yawn. 

“Mhm.”

“Nothing but love.” 

“You got it.” 

The conversation feels like it’s teetering on the verge of something consequential, something of value. But with the two of you already halfway asleep in each other's arms, there’s not much you can do besides exchange some light pecks and mumbled words.

“I think I’d want at least a house before getting married,” you say. “Or, like, an apartment.”

“What, you wouldn’t live out on the streets with me?” he teases lowly. 

Your eyes flutter close. “You would have to convince me,” you shoot back. 

Minghao responds with a lingering kiss to your forehead. 

“How long will it take to convince you?” 

It’s a little too early in your relationship for the topic of marriage to be seriously brought up. It’s fun to dream about, though. To talk about in hushed tones, to toy with in Minghao’s mother tongue. 

To imagine a time where this might be your every night— falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

“Might take you years and years,” you answer, a giggle rising from the back of your throat. 

Minghao’s arms shake as he laughs. His lips stay on your head, almost like he can’t bear to peel away from you for a minute too long. 

“I don’t mind,” he says as the two of you begin to succumb to sleep. 

The last thing you hear is his affectionate, soft promise of, “I’ll start working on convincing you, xīngān.” 

[madebycloud]

Make it Special

violet "vi" x female reader �� 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: vi's birthdays are usually quiet, but this year? the whole family is doing their best to make it special. (requested by twinklestarslight) warnings/themes: fluff, birthdays, found family, modern au words: 3.6k notes: THIS IS SO LATE IM SO SORRY BUT BELATED HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THIS WOMAN!!

Vi's birthday was, like most of her other birthdays, uneventful. Vi tended to keep to herself. The day usually passed with more than a quiet “happy birthday” on everyone's lips. However, this year will be different. This year, Vi will find out just how loved she was and just how much she meant to the people she cared about.

“There's streamers in the cabinet, if you could help me hang those up,” Vander says, giving you a nod as you go to grab a chair to reach the ceiling. From there, you make yourself busy decorating—streamers along the walls, lanterns to dim the lights a bit.

“You think she'll like it?” Silco asks, leaning on the counter. He has a cigarette in his hand, but he's doing his best to keep the smoke away from everyone else. “Think she'll be mad?”

“I don't think she'll be mad,” you say, “she'll probably be shocked or confused, but not mad.”

Benzo is setting up the tables around the bar, taking chairs from the barstools and setting them around. He's been helping with decorations since Vander asked him, and he's been trying his hardest to keep the place neat. He even got a box of party hats, hoping to find a way to talk everyone into wearing one.

Claggor and Mylo are messing around with the music, trying to find a station that plays punk rock or heavy metal, which they know Vi likes. The first song that plays when they finally get the right station is punk rock, and the two look at each other, a smirk spreading on their faces.

Ekko is bringing down plates of food from the kitchen. There's cake, which Powder bakes earlier, sandwiches, cupcakes, and various snacks. Anything that can possibly satisfy any of Vi's cravings.

Sevika is at her usual spot by the bar. She's not doing much decorating wise, but she's there, and she's helping with the more heavy things like the tables and chairs.

Benzo nudges you when he's all set up, motioning over to the box of party hats. He's already put his own on. It's black and pink, with hearts on the sides. “You think I could get Vi to wear one?” he asks with a chuckle. “Or y'think she'd try to knock it offa my head?”

“I'll try to convince,” you say, putting down the streamers you just hung. “Maybe if we all wear one, it'll seem more welcoming.”

“Maybe she'll say yes,” Ekko says, passing by and stealing a chip off the plate on the table. “Not a guaranteed one, probably a ten percent chance.”

“But,” Claggor starts, walking to help Ekko with the food. “It is a small chance, so you might be able to get her with it,” he says. “She's a sucker for you.”

—

You still need to get Vi's birthday gift, which, admittedly, should've been done a lot earlier, but decorating the bar had come together so fast, you barely had enough time to think, let alone pick out something for Vi.

Now, you stand outside the animal shelter, shifting nervously as you look up at the sign. Vi has been thinking about getting a dog for a while now, and you know this shelter is one of her favorite places to visit, even though she has never gotten a dog of her own. Maybe it's time to change that.

You push the door open. The shelter is mostly empty at this hour, and you make your way towards the front.

The lady at the desk greets you with a smile. She's an older woman, and she's wearing a jacket with various cat hairs on it. “How can I help you?” 

“I'm looking to adopt a dog, actually.”

“Oh, how nice,” the lady smiles, setting the paperwork she was working on aside and giving you her attention. “We have a lot of dogs available for adoption. Any breed you're looking for in particular?”

“Do you have any huskies for adoption right now?” You look around the shelter, trying to look for any cages that might have a dog inside.

The lady nods. “We do have a few, actually. Would you like to see them?” she asks, standing from her chair.

“I would, yes.”

She leads you down a hall that's lined with cages. Different breeds of dogs of different sizes and coat colors are barking and yelping when you walk by, trying to get your attention. if only you could adopt all of them. Impossible. But still, if you could, you would.

The lady leads you down another hallway after the first, and you stop in front of a cage. Two huskies. They're curled up together and asleep, but they lift their heads when they notice the two of you stop in front of them.

One of the huskies perks up, getting to its feet and moving closer, wagging its tail as it looks up at you with wide eyes. The other follows suit, looking up at you through squinted eyes, as if it has been woken up from a deep sleep.

“They're siblings,” the lady notes, crouching down to pet the closer of the two, smiling as it nudges her hand, tongue lolling out of its mouth. “They're still only pups, about one month old,” she continues. “A young couple dropped them off a week ago. They couldn't keep them. They didn't have the time for them anymore.”

It sucks, people giving up on animals like this. Huskies need a lot of care, a lot of attention, and a lot of time spent training. They're not dogs made to be stuck inside or alone for the whole day. You know most of the people who gave up huskies—or any dog for that matter—did it because they didn't know what they were doing. They couldn't take care of the dog, and they had to give them up. It's hard, for you and for the animal.

The lady continues to pet the puppy in front of you. “Are you thinking about adopting one of them?” she asks, looking up at you.

“They're siblings,” you repeat, looking down at the two dogs. They're still focused on you, wide eyes looking at you. And, god, that look. You can't leave just one, they'll miss each other, they're siblings. “I'll take both of them.”

“Oh.” It takes the lady a second to process that, but then she smiles, standing up to her full height again. “That's… nice of you to take siblings. Not many people want to take siblings,” she says, walking over to the cage door. “I'll get you the paperwork, it's in the back. Make yourself comfortable, they don't bite.”

She leaves you to the cage with the dogs, who seem to have gotten even more excited, their paws scraping against the cage as they stand on their hind legs, putting their front paws on the edge. They're both panting, their tongues lolling in the same way as their tails wag back and forth, hitting the side of the cage. The lady comes back quickly and pulls out a clipboard, setting it on a table outside the cage door.

The lady goes through a bit of paperwork with you, questions regarding whether or not you're able to actually take care of the dogs if you have the time and the money to take care of them. That sort of thing. 

She talks to you a bit, gives you advice on how to take care of them, and then she gives you a crate, one for each of the dogs (but of course, you'll keep them in one crate, no reason to keep them separated), and now, with the crate in your hands and the dogs inside it, you're on your way back to Vander's bar.

You push the door of the bar open, hearing the quiet footsteps of everyone inside, the sound of the music turned off and silence having replaced it. You can hear Vander shushing everyone, and-

“HAPPY BIRTH-” the light snaps on suddenly, and they pause, looking you up and down with confusion... and the crate on your arms. 

“...day?” Mylo continues, awkwardly.

Vander shakes his head. “So, it's not Vi,” he starts, walking closer to the crate. “What's in there?”

“It's for Vi,” you reply, holding the crate closer to your chest. “She's not here yet?”

“Nah,” Ekko answers. “She's still hanging out with Powder. We thought it's Vi when you entered though.”

—

Everyone has their own party hats. The last thing to be done is hide the gifts, and everyone does. Vander puts the presents in the back room. Everyone scrambles for their spots. Mylo, Claggor, and Ekko hide out near the table, while Silco, Sevika, and Benzo are next to Vander behind the counter.

You hear the door creak open, the sound of footsteps entering the bar.

“Thanks powder—oh god, it's dark.”

There's just a moment when everything is silent, the bar silent, and then the light snaps on—all the party supplies go off as everyone around the room yells, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Vander leads the chorus, with everyone jumping from their spots, some popping the confetti poppers they had, others just yelling the words.

Powder walks to the table, picking up the cake she made. Bright pink frosting and a plethora of multicolored icing dots decorate the cake. Everyone around screams and rushes towards Vi, pulling her in the middle to join them.

You grab another one of the party hats off the table, setting it atop Vi's head, your own hat still perfectly secure on your own. “Happy birthday,” you mutter, pecking a kiss on her cheek. She looks up at you with a smile that makes you melt. The others let out an OOOO sound, clearly trying to embarrass her.

Vi flushes, looking back and forth at everyone. She punches the nearest person (Mylo), telling them to “shut up.”

Vander walks up to her, pulling her into a hug and a pat on the back.

“Happy birthday,” Silco hums, giving her a nod, smirk sitting on his lips.

Everyone else joins in, pulling her into one large group hug, wishing her a happy birthday, and making remarks to tease her. Mylo is getting another punch to the arm.

Powder walks over, carefully making her way through everyone to stand in front of Vi, holding the cake in front of her with a grin. “Make a wish.”

Everyone else backs up some, giving her space to think of one. Vi looks around the room, looking each person in the room in the eyes, everyone who showed up for her, her family before her eyes land on you. When she turns back to the cake again, a smile tugs at her lips, and she blows out her candles.

The group cheers, and everyone smiles. Mylo and Claggor are both nudging each other and whispering to each other, grinning widely. Even Vander's eyes are a bit misty, but he blinks it away before Vi can notice, putting an arm around her shoulder.

“The cake better be good,” Mylo mutters, rubbing his hands together, wanting a piece of cake. 

“Obviously,” Powder tells him, giving Mylo a dirty look. “I made it, the cake will be fine.” Powder sets the cake on the table, pushing it out of reach from Mylo, who tries to get a piece right then and there only to get his hand swatted at by Powder.

“Behave,” Silco scolds him. “It's her birthday, not yours.”

Mylo groans. Vander pulls out the cake knife, looking at Vi. “It's your birthday, you get to cut the cake first.”

Vi takes the knife from him, walking forward and staring at the cake. It's a pretty big cake, enough to feed everyone. 

Mylo stands behind her with his mouth practically watering, looking over her shoulder and trying to get a good look at the cake itself, ignoring everyone's protests and telling him to stop breathing down her neck. Everyone crowds behind Vi as she starts cutting the cake, with Mylo making a comment about wanting bigger pieces than everyone else, which he gets a quick shove and a scolding from everyone.

Eventually, after a bit of bickering, the cake is cut up and everyone gets their piece, save for Mylo, who only gets a small slice. “And you get what you asked for,” Vander says, smirking at his pouting face.

Everyone starts eating their piece of cake, complimenting Powder on how it turned out. It's delicious, of course, and the first slice is always the best. Vi sits beside you as she eats, and she nudges you with her shoulder. When you look at her, there's a forkful of cake up to your lips. “Say ahh,” she teases. You can hear Mylo fake gagging.

“I already have,” you hold up your plate as well as the fork still filled with cake.

“Still,” she says. “Pretty please?” she presses, pushing the fork closer to your lips. You can hear Mylo fake gag again, Powder telling him to shut up.

You open your mouth and let her feed you the cake. She waits until you swallow it before setting the fork aside, and she watches to make sure you like it as you chew.

“Ahhhh,” Mylo mocks. Powder kicks his shin, causing Mylo to yelp.

“It's good,” you hum, earning a smile from Vi.

The conversation continues around you, and while everyone else talks and eats, Vi pulls you closer to her, putting an arm around you and resting her head on your shoulder while listening to everyone, her thumb rubbing against your side.

Mylo and Claggor are now bickering, and you can never really tell over what, so you don't question it. It's not your business either way, and you don't care all too much. Silco is watching the two bicker, rubbing his temple, and Benzo is eating his cake, nodding along. Sevika is watching Mylo and Claggor fight, a smirk on her lips.

Vi absentmindedly traces her finger on your forearm, the cake in her other hand long forgotten. 

Everyone continues to eat, and the cake gets half eaten until everyone is satisfied and full. Mylo is complaining that he should've gotten more cake, Powder tells him again to shut up because it wasn't his cake to begin with, and Vander is trying his hardest to keep the peace.

Vi pulls away from you as Silco clears his throat, gathering everyone's attention. “Alright,” he starts. “Who wants to give something to Vi first?”

Everyone looks around at each other, as if trying to figure out who should go first. Claggor nudges Mylo into motion, and the two start to banter while Vander walks over to Vi with a box, setting it on the table in front of her.

Vi looks at the box, eyes trailing over the wrapping paper, and then backs up at Vander before taking the box delicately from the table. She takes the time to slowly unwrap it, not tearing into it too quickly, instead slowly taking the wrapping paper off one corner at a time.

Once she gets the paper off, she starts opening up the box, taking the lid off, and looking inside at the contents inside of it. It's a framed picture of the two of you. The picture is of a Christmas party with everyone at the Last Drop. All grouped up in the picture, surrounding her with smiles, and Vi has her arm wrapped around you, smiling as well.

“Oh,” she starts, trailing her finger down the glass, pausing to tap on your face in the photo. “This is amazing.” 

“There's more,” Vander says, “look at the back.”

In the back of the frame, Vi finds a picture. She pauses when she sees herself, Powder, and her parents. Her eyes linger, fingers stroking the picture. She's so much younger, so much smaller. They are smiling so wide as if they didn't know how things would change soon.

Powder sits down beside her. She rests her head on Vi's shoulder, watching her look at the photo, and she reaches out to take Vi's free hand, squeezing it in support.

Vi's eyes are glossy as she looks up, a faint smile on her face. “Thank you,” she mumbles, looking back down at the photo in her hand and at the faces of her parents. “This really means a lot.”

Vander nods, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I know you miss them,” he murmurs, low enough that it's just the two of them. “Thought you might like that.”

“We all love you, Vi,” Powder says, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah,” Mylo agrees. “You're stuck with us forever, don't forget that.” It earns him a jab in the side from Claggor and a look from Silco, but Vi snorts at him.

—

Everyone else has given Vi their presents. Some smaller, more simple, some more pricey than others.

Silco gifted her a few bottles of alcohol, with the advice not to drink it all in one go. 

Mylo gave her a new set of punching gloves that he saved up for, black and pink with ‘VI’ on the wrist. 

Claggor gave a new brass knuckle set, along with a nice pair of red leather gloves and a new beanie for the winter, since he had noticed hers was old and falling apart. 

Sevika gave a new leather jacket, black and lined with deep red, with silver zippers. She puts it on right away, getting some “ooo's” and “ah's” from everyone upon seeing how she looks with it on.

Benzo brought her a blanket. He explained that he didn't know what to get her, so he walked into the store and looked for the softest blanket they had, thinking it was the only thing that made the most sense.

Ekko gave her a painting. On it was a detailed, almost perfect looking Vi, complete with her tattoos and everything.

Powder gave a whole handmade care package. She made her favorite snacks, made her a book full of scrapbooking items and stickers, made her a bracelet with a few different colored beads, and made a cute mini scrapbook of the two of them and everyone else together. She got a few tears for that one and a tight hug.

Now, there's only one gift left for Vi. You hold the crate in your hands, the crate that holds the two sibling huskies.

The dogs are finally awake and squirming around inside, making noises as they try to greet everyone. You set the crate on the floor and let the pups run out, watching Vi stand up to come over to see the dogs. She kneels down to pet them, scratching behind both of their ears. She smiles as tears form in the corners of her eyes. She scoops both up into her arms, petting its fur and burying her face in its fur, just to take in the fact that she finally has a dog herself, and it's with her favorite person.

Powder grins. “Can I hold the other one?” she asks, and Vi nods her head, adjusting the dog in her arms to give Powder a better opening, allowing her to scoop the other one up, which starts nuzzling against her hand.

Vi turns to look at you. “Do they have names?” She strokes the puppy's fur.

“They do not,” you reply. “I figured you should be the one to name them.”

“I'll have to think of a good one.” She looks back down at the pup in her arms. “Maybe a matching name for them?”

“What about Mylo and Milo?” Mylo suggests, earning another elbow from Claggor.

“Ha ha,” Vi jokes back. “No.”

“That's so corny,” Powder mumbles. “How about a matching 'M' name?” Powder suggests. “like Mandy and Mack.”

“A dog should have a more badass name like Spike!” Mylo says.

Everyone throws out ideas. Some are better than others. Some are more serious, some are funnier, but none of them really stick. Vi listens to everyone's ideas, occasionally humming or shaking her head “no” to the suggestion.

Mylo even suggests one named “Mylo Junior” in a desperate attempt to include his own name, but gets shut down once more. Powder is getting annoyed, and even Ekko is trying to get Mylo to stop. 

Powder keeps suggesting names, and while there are some that seem like good suggestions, Vi doesn't quite agree with them. Claggor throws out a few names, each also being denied, though they are much better than the names Mylo suggested. Sevika even pitches in, the names that she suggests are a lot more serious and more mature sounding.

In the end, Vi still doesn't feel 100% on any of the names that have been thrown out, until she looks back up at you. “Any ideas? You haven't said anything.”

You look over at the dog on Vi's arm and the one on Powder's, looking back at your girlfriend. You're silent for a second before you suggest, “Bacon and Biscuit?”

“Bacon and Biscuit?” Mylo groans.

Sevika gives him a look, her eyebrows raised. “Odd but interesting.” 

“It's kind of cute,” Benzo agrees.

“It suits them, actually,” Silco nods next to him.

Vi thinks about it, looking at the pups as if considering the name. “Bacon and Biscuit,” she says, testing out the sound of it. “Bacon and Biscuit,” she repeats, and a smile creeps on her lips. “You guys like that?” she asks the dogs, as if expecting them to answer her.

Everyone nods their heads, even if they find it corny, it suits the puppies—or at least it suits them at that moment.

“Bacon and Biscuit,” Powder coos, scratching one of the dogs behind the ear.

“It's not the worst thing we've heard,” Mylo admits. “But Mylo Jr. is way better,” and this earns him a punch in the arm again.

She looks back up at you. “I love it,” she says, looking back down at the dogs. “Bacon and Biscuit,” she repeats once more, loving the way it sounds.

“The names are set, then,” Vander says. “Now that that's settled, let's continue with the birthday party, shall we?”

notes: i do NOT know how to name a pet so....