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auecho · 2 months

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THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY ೀ kafka & blade ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ‘oh girl, don’t hold back - let it out!’

𝓦ARNINGS ֹ ﹒ ୨ৎ fem!reader - threesome - drug use - dubcon [themes] - slowburn - ft. jing yuan - overstimulation - blade has a crush on the reader - cunnilingus - reader is a bit of a pushover - roommate!kafka - ex-stepsister!kafka - sexting - cum eating [?] - creampie - asphyxiation && gagging - praise - grinding - making out - spit - dumbification - kafka is . . kafka - masturbation [f. & m.] - orgasm control - squirting - creampie - mating press - everybody is slightly ooc - not proofread - minors & dark content antis do not interact ! ! !

𝓐UTHOR’S 𝓝OTE ֹ ﹒ ୨ৎ hihii first full fic ^3^ n first post ! ! so welcome 2 my acc,, m name is echo n i’m pleased to meet u 🫡 eek ‘m so excited, i’ve been sittin n workin on this idea for a while so i hope u enjoy it ! i listened to kiss land by the weeknd writing this and i think it fits rly well sooo >_o this is dark content so viewer discretion advised ! please don’t read if not ur taste T_T im posting this later than expected m soo sry :c reblogs n feedback very appreciated cuz the guidelines r gna get mi < / 3 ! !

𝓔CHOES ֹ ﹒ ୨ৎ kiss land , the weeknd - valentina , daniel caesar - fill the void , the weeknd - sdp interlude , travis scott - the worst guys , childish gambino & chance the rapper .

𝓦ORD 𝓒OUNT ֹ ﹒ ୨ৎ 20.7k+

SHE CARRIES A distinct scent with her: cinnamon, champagne…and a twinge of mischief. It flurries in the air and infects your brain like the plague. She had this certain cadence about her: an aura drawn up in a slick figure and even slicker tongue, characterized by a sultry red color. That was Kafka. She's a bombshell, delivering a traumatic shock that you can only hope to forget. You tried to forget — tried to cloud that era of your life to no avail. She kicked down the rock blockade you'd built, welcoming herself into your life again with an impressive amount of effort.

“Elio said she has nowhere to go! She can't stay with him because he moved into a one-bedroom after the divorce! She's about to be couch-hopping at 22 — it’s sad!!” your mother whined. Her emphasis lay on certain words, pathetic tones emanating from the manipulation of her words. You're weak, standing hunched with a backbone made of cotton candy. “But, mom—” “And she begged Elio not to bother us—bother you—but he did it anyway because we’re always family. Family needs each other, family depends on one another.”

She'd pestered a yes out of you, and since the syllable passed through your lips, you've been counting your blessings.

After all, Kafka was an all-devouring curse: blessings were her kryptonite.

Exactly one week later, you bit your nails anxiously and breathed deeply so much so that you got lightheaded. It's been years, she may have changed, you comforted yourself. Your mind worked on its splintering tooth and nail to soothe your wild imagination. Kafka was always going to be Kafka — it was just a matter of whether she developed or if she enabled perversion.

When she engulfed you in a hug you almost passed out smelling her again. Hearing her was another thing, seeing her was even worse. Smelling her — that warm, spicy scent that burns but entices was the pinch to reality you needed. In the flesh, Kafka stood. In all of her menacing glory - ready to flip your world upside down.

“Missed you, little mouse. Ugh, how’ve you been?” you fought the urge to shiver. The nickname and her ever-tickling tone — God, you weren't prepared.

“Good,” is all you muttered. ‘Way better before.’ you wanted to add.

“Mmm, good, I'm glad. I got nervous when Mom said my baby moved out all alone.”

My baby. You could really just…die. She was just as charismatic as before. Possibly even more, given her blatant maturity. You would think it was a play on your age, but truly it was endearment from her: her form of caring for you.

“Who would've thought we’d be living together again? We’re gonna have so much fun!” In the giggle that slipped from her throat, lies mischief. She picks up a box out of the trunk, turning on her heels with the biggest, most Kafka smile ever. She was always…unique in her definitions of fun. One could only imagine the roller coaster you were riding.

When you make your way to your apartment, you just breathe. Breathing is the only thing that can stabilize you. The jumble of nerves that bounce around inside of you relaxes at your exhales. You're not shaking anymore, or feeling your skin heat and clam up, making it easy to lead Kafka into her room.

“Oh, wow. All this space, all alone? You've really grown up, little mouse.” She compliments with a sigh. The box in her hands now sits on the ground. You flush, dusting your hands on your shirt, “Oh, thanks. Mom helps from time to time.” Even though you would much rather have your independence.

She looks around at the space, the room occupied by nothing except a naked bed and an empty dresser. It's an awkward 30-second silence before she breaks it, “Thank you, again. You're really saving my ass,”

And again, you're wrapped in Kafka’s arms, forced to awkwardly pat her back and stare at the wall across from you as if it were to save you. “No problem…again,”

The hug you share births goosebumps on your skin. Her hands glide across the small of your back, nimble fingers dancing lightly across the surface. The tickle is the least of your worries — the blooms of heat that surge in her wake are what blows your eyes wide open. Kafka’s hugs are tight and warm. Almost comforting if it wasn't for the way she ghosted her lips over your ear just right, making you tense. You hate it because it's something you've grown used to. You like it a lot more than you probably should, actively leaning into her touch after a few seconds.

“We should probably get the rest of your boxes…” You mutter. Kafka sighs, pulling off of you slowly. It's almost as if she's savoring the feeling of you in her hands. “I’ll get them. I shouldn't inconvenience you more—”

“—It’s fine. I don't mind helping,” She laughs and squishes your cheeks between her fingers, “You're too cute.” booping your nose for emphasis.

And she couldn't stop saying it. It almost felt condescending the way “You're so cute,” fell from her lips every time you did something. Your out-of-breath huffs or triumphant sighs elicited the remark again and again as you hauled her luggage up to your apartment. You gave up by the last box and stretched out on her floor, and Kafka only laughs harder as she begins to unpack.

“Do you want me to help you?” You groggily breathe out. Moving is exhausting, and you're not even the one moving.

Tucking the sleeves of the shirt as she folds, Kafka shakes her head no with a chuckle. “You can help me by showering. I'll finish up and order some food, ‘kay? Consider it my thanks.”

“But you've already thanked me—” “—And I'm doing it again.” She cuts you off. Your eyes meet and she cracks a smile, “C’mon, up you go. The longer you take, the longer you have to wait to sleep.”

Kafka is someone impossible to argue with. You swipe your tongue over your teeth to fight off a smile…but her gaze is warm. It makes you nervous in the weirdest way, and your lips stretch wide. Defeatedly, you nod, “If you say so.”

ೀ

The sun retired for the night and in an hour, you'd showered, dressed, met Kafka in the living room, caught up with a shot or two slipped in the mix, and dug into the XL pizza she ordered. It was your favorite toppings—you were shocked, to say the least, that she remembered.

“Enough about me,” She grabs hold of the conversation, placing her plate down on the coffee table—and you hide the cringing your face defaults to with a crooked smile and nod. “What about you? How was finishing high school? Starting university? Is Mom still…Mom?”

You awkwardly giggle, placing the plate in your lap. “The answer to the last question is yes. She's never changing, I fear.”

“But…I've been good, really. I keep saying it but it's true; grades are good, friends are good, and Mom is as good as she could get—” more laughter, “—but, yeah. I'm not traveling like you, Kafka. I barely leave my apartment unless it's to go to class. I'm stable, and I'm good. Nothing to tell.”

Kafka eyes you critically as if she's trying to read you. There's nothing to find because as you said, there's nothing to tell. You've always been the stickler goody-two-shoes type: abiding by rules and expectations and never deviating from your white-picket-lined path. It wasn't perfect, and never always good, but it was enough. Enough that you could say with your whole chest that you're okay with being boring…because, well—it’s all you've really known.

She walked into your life as your sister at eleven and walked right back out at fifteen. In four years, you'd been enlightened to a dark side of the world, but you were always too timid. Kafka was a playful cat, ready to paw at her sheepish little mouse until you played back.

Back then, you were too young, and under the palm of your mother to enter rebellion. Now, you're free…somewhat. Kafka was determined to help you spread your wings. She was going to plant the seed in your ear and let it sprout: “It’s your world,” She says. “isn't it about time you live? The way you want to? You're a big girl now — you deserve a story to tell.”

She can tell by the widening of your eyes that the conversation is bordering on too much. “Uhh, I don't know. I'm happy right now—”

“Happiness is temporary. Memories are forever.”

And while she makes a good point…what exactly would you do? How?

Her head tilts and her eyebrow lifts tentatively. She wants to ask how far are you willing to go, but the conversation is far too premature. “It all depends on you, little mouse,” is what she settles on instead. “I’ll be ready to lend a helping hand when you need me.”

The conversation takes a thoughtful pause. Your head seems to fill with thoughts and returning to her now chilled pizza, Kafka pats herself on the back. You're going to spread your wings and flourish, and she prides herself on giving you the route. It's only a matter of time, she thinks. A matter of time before the real fun emerges.

“Oh, by the way,” she interrupts the silence, “do you mind if I have a few friends over tomorrow? They wanna throw me a housewarming party.”

“Um, no, it's fine. My study group is coming over tomorrow after my classes so try maybe before? Or after that—we won't take long.” You miss the deviousness in her smirk.

With a final bite of her pizza, she nods. “Of course.”

ೀ

Jing Yuan is so charming.

He flashes you a Cheshire smile and you find yourself stumbling over your sentences. You palm your face, embarrassed, and let out a shy giggle. His deep chuckle follows and you almost don't want to look at him again.

Fu Xuan kisses her teeth and rolls her eyes. “Lay off the flirting, would you? Can't leave you two alone for a second...”

She joins the pair of you at the end of the courtyard, golden eyes narrowing. There's an awkwardness that creeps up, and you smile nervously while Jing Yuan scratches his neck. He displays a coy smirk that you avoid looking at — opting to rock on your heels and check in the distance for Yukong.

You and Jing Yuan are classmates; friends, even, if he were to agree with that sentiment. Though your crowds don't particularly mix, you find some comfort in one another. Albeit, most of your time is spent tutoring him. It's nice, nonetheless.

You're not opposed to liking him—in fact, you're smitten with him—but you doubt the feeling is mutual. He's Jing Yuan and you're…you.

His question reaches your ears, breaching your train of thought: “Is Yukong still joining us?”

The way he turns to you makes you shy, and you shrug in place of your words. “Umm, ‘dunno. She said so, but something must’ve come up.”

“Well, in any case, let’s just head to yours. She has the address.” Fu Xuan replies exasperatedly. Jing Yuan shrugs, “If that’s okay with you?”

You perk up at his kindness, and Fu Xuan groans, rolling her eyes. “Uh, yeah! Sure!” With your eyes glued to Jing Yuan’s pleased smile, you miss how Fu Xuan mocks you.

“Can we go now?!”

The three of you quickly commute back to your apartment. It's a nice fifteen-minute walk—even nicer when Jing Yuan let you talk his ear off the entire way. Fu Xuan was paces ahead of the two of you, grumbling under her breath about how she should've said no and cursing to Yukong for leaving her with you.

You've been studying together for a while, but you've never brought them over. Your sessions usually take place at the campus library or the local cafe, so to say you're a bit nervous is an understatement.

Not only have they never been over, but you have Kafka. She’s a wildcard and you can only pray that she's on her best behavior.

Your key spins in the hole and you push the door open. Over your shoulder, you mutter, “I think my…sister’s home so she might come and say hi.”

You hope that's the most that she’ll do.

Upon entry, there's a potent, herbal smell floating around the air. It's slightly smoky, and your throat tightens up. You turn around at your guests and cringe at their upturned noses and scrutinizing gazes. “Uhh…”

“Wait right here…um…” you murmur. You don't wait for their responses before speeding toward Kafka’s room.

The stench is stronger in the hallway and her music is even louder. The bass jumps through the floorboards and you doubt she’ll even hear your knocks — but you do it anyway. Knock knock knock.

No response.

You bounce on your heels nervously, peeking out and seeing Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan talking awkwardly by the door. Your nerves overcome you and you hurriedly knock again. “Kafka! I need to talk to you — Kafka!!”

You keep knocking on the door until the music stops and the door swings open. A cloud of smoke hits you immediately and you fall into a coughing fit, waving the smoke out of your face. “Good God…”

“Oh—my bad!” She laughs at you, turning over her shoulder to her friends and sharing the amusement. Her heavy-lidded eyes fall back onto you, and she leans on the door for support. “What do you need, little mouse?”

“Um…” you look over her shoulder and see her guests in her room. A silver-haired girl rests on her bed and types away on her phone, and a black-haired guy sits on the floor - his low eyes on you as he breathes out a cloud of smoke. You didn't know what to expect but you aren't surprised. You're more…uncomfortable. “Um, yeah — my study group is over and it smells like…yeah.”

Her eyes widen and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “That's right now?! Oh, I'm sorry—Silvie and Bladie came over early and I didn't know you’d be back so soon.”

Silvie and Bladie…interesting names.

You nod to her response. “…Yeah…I don't mind you…smoking or whatever but please open a window? It's very strong and it travels and I don't want the landlord to throw a fit.”

“Yeah, of course. Bladie!” She calls out over her shoulder. The guy—Bladie—doesn’t respond, but only perks up. “Crack open the window, yeah?”

And he just…complies. You're almost amazed at how he just listened and pushed the glass open, the cool evening breeze drafting into the bedroom instantly.

Kafka turns around as though it is normal. “There we go,” She giggles.

“Thanks.” You mutter, nodding your head. She winks at you as she shuts the door. You hear her shutting down a remark made by…Silvie and a barrage of laughter.

You make your way to the door where, thankfully, Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan still stand.

“Everything alright?” Jing Yuan asked. He immediately turns to face you, and suddenly your good mood sparks back up. You nod, “Mhm. She has a few friends over too but…I’m sure it won't be too bad.”

You welcome them in, all piling into your living room and crowding around the dining table.

Jing Yuan pulls his laptop out of his bag and sets it on the table. “I did awful on the last test…” he informs, presumably going back to the gradebook. “55%…”

Fu Xuan bursts into laughter. “No wonder you need both of us to help you study! Good lord!!”

You ignore her teasing and pull out your books. “What do you need help with?”

She's quick to cut him off, “Clearly everything if that grade is anything to go by…!”

“Xuan, stop!!”

Her laughter continues, and Jing Yuan waves her off. “The musings of a jealous nobody don't affect me,” and now it's your turn to laugh. “I'm here to get help so I don't mind going through everything. If you're okay with that, of course.”

“It’s fine, yeah—I’m fine with that! Um, let me just get my…” You trail off, sifting through your bundles of papers in your folders. You try to ignore the burn his gaze lays on your skin. He props his head on his fist as he leans on your table and God, does it make you feel special.

Fu Xuan bites back at his remark, “I'm not jealous and I'm definitely not a nobody! Watch your mouth, Jing Yuan!!”

And now it's your turn to internally curse Yukong.

“Here we go!” You pull out the review packets you made yourself — something you pride yourself on. You lay them on the table for him, eliciting a difference in reactions from your guests.

Fu Xuan sees the packets and rolls her eyes, “Only you would make your own review packets.”

And Jing Yuan instead muses at the sight, “No—it’s cool. Resourceful. I like that.”

And I like you, you want to say. You decide to keep that to yourself and only smile in response to play coy.

“This one is from the first couple of lessons, these two were for the quizzes, and the rest are for a few lessons in between.” You inform, pointing at each packet. “I also have some flashcards and some annotations; let me find them…”

“Look, all you need to do is read the textbooks. All the information is in there.” Fu Xuan argues, taking one of your packets for herself and flipping through it. “Do you read, Jing Yuan?”

“I read, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, so do I — but that doesn't help everyone, Xuan.” You snatch the packet out of her hand, laying it on the table. “But whatever. Do you think this will help you?”

Jing Yuan nods, gratefully. He takes a packet for himself, flipping through it. “You mind showing me how you use them?”

And with a flustered smile, you nod, immediately scooting closer to direct him.

You show Yuan your method: using his notebook to write down what he remembers, going back and adding things he didn't remember, and working out everything in between with what's in the packet. Your mother taught you the method during your eighth-grade year after your grades slipped and since then, you've sworn by it.

Fu Xuan uses this time to tease and ridicule him, occasionally aiding with her…aggressive technique whenever he stumbles over a particular concept.

You share some laughs and rambles along the way, and you’re given a side of Jing Yuan you never thought you’d get. He's surprisingly easy to talk to, and you don't know if he's actually that funny or if you're just that into him — but either way, you enjoy it. He makes your cheeks hot and your smile wider.

He’s always been your campus crush — but he’s everybody’s. You're not special but the way he's looking at you makes you feel as such. You hope that maybe he’ll ask you to tutor him again and maybe it’ll just be the two of you. Without Fu Xuan’s teasing and complaints.

After about an hour, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s focused and his attentiveness leaves you and Fu Xuan the time to talk.

You drown out her complaints about the sorority not allowing her in to focus on the presence of Kafka’s friend in your kitchen. She stands on her tippy-toes to rummage through your cabinets, groaning and slamming her palms on the countertop. “Uhh…do you need something?”

The girl turns around, “Food! Where the hell are all of your snacks?!”

“Um…” You don't get to respond. She stomps into your living room, shoving her hand into the bag of pretzels Fu Xuan brought. “Excuse me!!!”

She shoves the handful in her mouth, crunching obnoxiously. “Those are so fucking dry…” She complains, turning back into your kitchen and rummaging through your fridge.

Your last Kombucha is taken, popped open, and gulped down right before your eyes. You were going to drink that.

With an unabashed burp, the girl sets the bottle down and turns to you. “Hey, little mouse!”

“That's not my name—”

“Can you order some food, please? I feel like I'm being fucking punished.” And she continues to ramble, “Was I a bad girl? Do bad girls not get to eat?” And she falls into a fit of laughter.

You're uncomfortable. You know Fu Xuan and Jing Yuan must be too. This is just awkward, and embarrassing on your behalf.

“Can you get some pizza? Ooh, no, better yet, chili oil beef stew. Do they deliver that?” No. The answer is no. “Hold on, I’ll get the money.”

She scurries back into Kafka’s room with a heavy slam of the door. The three of you turn to each other, and you nervously laugh. How embarrassing.

“Is that your sister?” Jing Yuan asks. Oh God, he probably feels so uncomfortable.

“No! That's her friend…sorry about that.”

“She needs to pay me for a new bag of pretzels! I don't know where her hands have been and I'm definitely not eating that.” Fu Xuan huffs, crossing her arms and crumpling up the bag. You laugh at how she lightens the mood, but turn your gaze to Jing Yuan who's now focused back on his work. Great. You blew it.

Out comes Kafka’s friend, stomping toward you and shoving some bills into your chest. “Here you go! Keep the change,”

You don't want her change. But you don't protest — instead, you call up Delicacy Pavillion. “Hi, can I place an order?”

ೀ

The walk back to your apartment from Delicacy Pavillion feels like a walk of shame. You're even more ashamed because Jing Yuan decided to tag along and Fu Xuan decided to take her cue and leave. Now you're alone. With him. In the middle of the evening. Picking up delicious food for your ex-step-sister and her friends.

He offered to walk with you—“I don't mind. Besides, what kind of guy would I be if I let a pretty girl like you go out all by yourself?” You're not strong enough to deny his flattery, and so here you are.

Now that Xuan is gone, you don't know what to talk to him about. Or how to talk to him. You opt to keep your mum, humming a song you’d heard in passing lowly to yourself. Five minutes away and this day will finally be over.

“Are you and your sister close?” He breaks the silence.

You turn to him, “Ah, well — she’s not really my sister. Our parents were married for a while but they divorced now. A while ago, actually. We aren't close but…yeah.”

“Interesting…” He comments. “Yeah…”

“I don't mean interesting in a bad way—I’m interested…in you.”

Oh.

“You're interested…in me?” Your heart is practically jumping out of your chest. You can't hide the flattered smile that curls your lips.

He chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pockets and throwing his head back. “Ha, yeah. Of course — how couldn't I be? You're sweet, very smart…” He turns to look at you. Your eyes lock, “…very cute, too.”

It's like he wants you dead.

You immediately avert your gaze, nudging him in the side. “You're just messing with me.”

“If that's what you believe.” He shrugs, a playful grin resting on his face.

Now you don't know what to believe. But you're going to choose to believe that he means it.

“I'm interested in you too.” You sweetly proclaim, unable to wipe the big grin off of your face. His cheeks flush a pretty rose color, and his smile turns coy. The quiet you two fall into is much more comfortable and much lighter, and now you wish that your time with him won't end.

The pair of you make it to your apartment building, and when you stand in the elevator, you avoid his gaze. He watches you through the reflection of the elevator doors, and his smirk grows as he watches you try not to look at him.

He takes a step closer to you and when his hand swings your fingers brush and you almost drop the bag full of food. He knows how to make you flustered and how to make you smiley.

“Cute,” He mutters. He's not the only one who thinks that.

Jing Yuan does the gentlemanly thing and walks you to your door. As soon as you fish your keys out of your pocket, he pulls you into a hug. His arms are big and muscular and so warm — you immediately hug him back and wrap your arms around his waist.

“See you,” He says, rubbing the small of your back. You timidly respond, “See you.”

The smile on your face is prominent even as he walks away. Even as you walk into your apartment, coming face to face with a ruckus you never thought you’d have the displeasure of walking into.

Kafka and her guy friend are planted on the couch, the strong smoke smell clearly following them into the living room. And the girl…she lay on the floor still swiping away — but as soon as you closed the door behind you, she hopped up. “Yes—fucking finally!”

She bolts over to you and steals the bag out of your hand, “Thank fuck!! I'm so damn hungry!!!”

Kafka gets up, her guy friend immediately following. She smiles at you, coming to wrap you in a hug. “Ohhh, thank you, babe.” And she plants a firm kiss on your cheek. You feel the stain of her lipgloss on your skin, and cringe at it, only nodding and smiling as if to say “You're welcome.”

“I’m going to shower and go to bed…so uh, can you keep it down some?” You say, walking in the direction of the bathroom.

They barely hear you and focus on digging into their food. With a defeated sigh, you stalk away.

And with your back turned, the strict gaze on your disappearing frame is missed.

He’ll see you again, though.

ೀ

“I want you to formally meet my friends,” Not even a greeting as you entered the door. A hi, hello, or how was your day? would have been nice.

“Hello to you too, Kafka.” You quip, taking off your shoes and stretching your aching toes.

“Hi, little mouse,” she sarcastically chirps. She places her drink on the coffee table and you try to ignore the lack of a coaster - instead bracing yourself for the embrace she pulls you in. “Mm, you seem tense; your day went okay?”

You nod. Not quite, is the answer you hold on your tongue, swallowing it down and hiding a grimace beneath your smile.

Jing Yuan hadn't spoken to you all day. He didn't even look at you — his attention was focused on Tingyun. Pretty, brown-haired Tingyun with the charming smile and warmest aura…she’s now your competition, and from what you saw today, she’s leagues ahead of you. Hanging off of his arm like it's her lifeline and encapsulating his gaze in the palm of her hand. You almost stormed out of the lecture when her hands brushed his cheeks, her thumb swiping over his beauty mark.

He's just trying to make you jealous. That thought was supposed to comfort you but it made you even more upset. As soon as your professor shut his mouth you were out of there, leaving dust in your wake as you sped toward the library.

You needed to decompress and distract yourself. You were buried in a book when a touch you remembered too well landed on your shoulder. “I was looking for you.” He says.

Looking for me my ass, you think. But the sentiment warms you, nonetheless, and a smile pulls across your lips. “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” The tone of his voice makes you want to rip the hair off of your scalp. He's so sweetly condescending, so sultry and you can just get lost in his melody. He's like Kafka that way—wait. Nevermind…

“Can I take you out tomorrow night?” The suddenness of his question has you jostled, and the substance of the question has you flustered. Jing Yuan wants to take you out???

You're mad at him, though. He can just take Tingyun for all you ca—“Of course—er, I mean, sure. Why not?”

Fuck.

He chuckles at your stumbling, burying his hands in his pockets. His forearms scream at you as they clearly come into your line of sight — the image to be cherished and forever forefronted in your memory. Why is every part of him so attractive? “Great. I’ll text you later.”

And he squeezes your shoulder as he walks in the opposite direction. Fucking hell.

You're just pissed off. At yourself, at Tingyun, at Jing Yuan — you hate that he made you giddy and excited and you couldn't stop smiling to yourself even as you walked home alone.

He asked you, not Tingyun. Surely, if he wanted her, he’d be taking her out tomorrow, not you.

“So, tomorrow at…5? Is that cool?”

What? “Huh? Sorry,”

Kafka sighs, “I want you to meet my friends. It’ll be like…totally chill and just cool so don't freak out and think some type of formal meet-the-parents shit.”

“Is tomorrow at 5 good for you?” You’d be wrong if you said no. Kafka is trying. “Yeah, um, I guess,”

“Yay! This wasn't my idea, by the way — they want to meet you,” They do? “Really?”

She walks back over to the couch and plops down, downing a gulp of her pink Monster Energy. “Mhm. Silver wants to know how we could ever be sisters, and Bladie…” She takes a pause, having a short laugh to herself, “Let’s just say he’s taken a liking to you.”

You're confused by her statement but you don't press further. You're not sure you want to know.

“Um…I’m going out tomorrow, so,” “We won’t keep you long,” She shrugs.

Your subtly doesn’t work well—you mean to decline the offer. “Okay then,”

You begin to awkwardly walk to your bedroom, Kafka’s voice following you down the hall. “Hey, are you hungry?”

“I’m good.” You answer back. As good as you could be.

┄┄

With the nth layer of lip gloss slathered across your lips, you break into a smile at your reflection.

You’re pretty.

All dolled up: not a single fly-away or stray, cheek-housed eyelash, flawless base, and a perfectly ironed outfit describe your appearance. You spent the better half of your afternoon in the bathroom shaving, plucking, exfoliating, and giggling to yourself about your date with Jing Yuan.

You’ve never looked better. You don't think you’ve smiled this much in your life.

“You look so pretty, babe!” Yukong chimes. Her eyes gleam over the pixelated image on your phone. “So, what type of date is it? …It is a date, right?”

“Well, he didn't say it was a date—but he asked to take me out. What does that mean if not a date?” It's all semantics. Date schmate; at the end of the day it's you and him together. Alone. “He didn't…discuss the details. All I know is that he’s coming at 5:30 to get me.”

Interesting…

“It’s kinda…sexy. Like ooh, surprise me.” You add, giggling.

Right…

“If you say so…” Yukong sighs out. You laugh, missing the sarcasm thick in her tone.

“Well, anyway, I should get going.” You check the time: the digital numbers read 5:05. You're early, but, hey— better safe than sorry. “Call you later, love you!”

Yukong smiles and throws up a peace sign and ends the Facetime.

The hefty laughter from the other side of your door bulldozes through your silence, reminding you. Damn it.

Another small smile in the mirror and you get up from your vanity. You grab your clutch and walk out and into an atmosphere of laughter and…blueberries?

You wave the scent out of your face, and as if it were perfectly timed, the chatter died down and heads turned to you. Your hand fell to your side and you immediately made eye contact with her.

“Ohh, little mouse!!!” Kafka squeals, dragging out the nickname sing-songily. She skips to you, a hand nudging your shoulder. “Look at you!! Look at her guys!” She turns to her friends, grinning wide.

The pair raise their heads, faces morphing in opposite ways of one another in response. The silver-haired girl takes a brief puff from her seemingly blueberry-scented e-cigarette, “Woww, would you look at that?”

She turns to the guy beside her with an escaping smile, “You clean up nice, little mouse.” She compliments.

You cringe at the nickname leaving her lips, nodding. “Thanks…”

“What do you think, Bladie?” Kafka calls out, one arm pulling you close to her and the other swiping down in a showcasing movement. He perks up instantly and looks completely uncomfortable. He avoids looking into your eyes at all costs.

You feel bad. You tuck your clutch under your arm and raise your hands in defense, “No, no, it's okay. Kafka…you shouldn't…”

“Nope—it’s only right I tease you like this,” She rebuts. Her grin shortens to a smirk and her hand squeezes your arm, pulling you closer. “Mom’s not here; somebody’s gotta be the one to nag,”

It's a good thing your mother is not here. You moved out to get away from her. You only awkwardly laugh in response, shooting an awkwardly apologetic face toward Bladie.

“Uh…pretty,” He comments. “You look nice.”

It's only now that you realize you haven't heard his voice yet. And, woah. Wow.

“U-um, thank you. Ha…” You stumble out, growing flustered at your stuttering.

Kafka laughs, sending a look towards him that you miss. “Anyway,” she diverts, “these are my two companions: Silver and Blade.” She points at the pair respectively and they each emote.

“The two most important people in my life. After you, of course,” She informs, fingers nipping at the fat of your cheek teasingly. “What about Elio?”

She shrugs. “Oh, yeah. Him too,” and she and Silver burst into laughter.

Kafka introduces you to them after the laughter dies down, making sure to include “My little sister,”

“Ex-step-sister-now-roommate,” you correct. Silver chortles at your sass and Kafka sends you a narrowed stare. “You're right. My favorite ex-step-sister-now-roommate: my little mouse,”

“Wait, you mean to tell me you have other ex-step-sisters-now-roommates?” Silver jokes, laughing at her own joke. She slaps Blade on his arm to urge him to laugh along — to which he maintains his rigid posture and awkwardly avoids the scene.

Kafka walks the pair of you into the room, toward the couch opposite Silver and Blade. You sense an immediate switch; almost as if you’d changed realities. The air was suffocating in a way you couldn't understand. It was something deeper than awkwardness, something less juvenile than embarrassment. It was palpable: it hurt to swallow when you gulped nervously.

Silver blows another cloud of smoke toward your face, and when the fog dissipates you're met with the mischief on her face, “Sooo,” she drags, “what do you do for a living? This is a nice apartment you got,”

Small talk. You can do small talk. “Um, thanks! I mostly do tutoring and babysitting. But sometimes my mom helps out.”

Her face crinkles up in confusion. “Tutoring pays for all this???”

You laugh, “You’d be surprised at how much people are willing to pay for good grades. I mainly work with middle schoolers who aren't doing too well and their parents are so desperate. They’ll pay just about anything.” You slightly exaggerate the circumstances of your job. There's only one kid you tutor regularly and you've already begun discounting him because of his relation to Jing Yuan. It's a good thing Kafka moved in — the rent was beginning to look a bit dangerous.

“Ohh, interesting. What a hustler,” Silver jokes. Kafka laughs right alongside her, nudging your side with her elbow. “Fitting right in with us.”

The group bursts into a fit of laughter — even Blade spits out a few chuckles — and all you can do is awkwardly laugh along. You feel like a sore thumb: dolled up in your pretty blue outfit while your roommate and her friends are dressed in sweats and assortments of band tees. They laugh at a joke you don't quite understand and share glances that speak an entirely different language from you.

You want the time to speed up. You're waiting for Jing Yuan to save you from this awkward tension like the knight in shining armor he is and whisk you off to the date he planned.

Getting out of here would be so nice. You won't have to hear them poke and prod and tease and you wouldn't be scared to look left. Blade’s gaze is so intense. Goosebumps have risen on your skin from the sheer atmosphere it induces — is he doing this on purpose? He has to be. Kafka must have put him up to it.

It eases you to think that she’s just being herself: her playful, mischievous, dangerous self. In a week she’ll get bored, they’ll stop messing with you, and they’ll find something else to do. That's the way it's always been with Kafka and it helps you to relax.

But it's his stare. The way his eyes shyly rake you up and down again and again. He drinks in the sight of you and doesn't react — he’s committing you to memory and every time he takes a reprieve, his eyes thirst for more and wander right back to you. Kafka notices it. Silver notices it. You notice it. Everybody but Blade can see the way he looks at you: as though he could eat you whole.

He watches your face light up when your phone buzzes and you pull it out of your clutch. Thank the heavens; it’s Jing Yuan.

‘be there in 10. ;)’ He texts. ‘okayyyy <3 see you!’ You text back. Too flirty? Too excited? Oh, God. He hearts your message and your smile grows wider.

Blade wants to say how he wants to be the one to make you smile like that, but it's too early for that. He’ll opt for admiring you, instead, thinking to himself about how pretty you look grinning so wide and how pretty you probably look with his c—

Knock knock knock. That was fast.

You nearly jump off of the couch to answer the door, skirt flaring in the air as you skip to the door. Kafka watches with amusement thick on her face. You're so cute, a guy like Jing Yuan doesn't deserve you.

The door swings open and there he stands. His hair is pushed into a high ponytail and he’s clad in a simple outfit—but God, does he make it look good. “Hey there, pretty girl.”

His greeting awakens butterflies in your stomach. “Hi…” You reply shyly. He smiles at your nervousness and holds his hand out for you to grab, “You ready to go?” You nod almost immediately.

Before Kafka can open her mouth and trap the two of you there, you announce your departure and leave with a wave, slamming the door behind you. The group all share looks, and her smile can't help but get wider. “She’s so cute,”

“Wouldn't you agree, Blade?” Silver teases. Growing embarrassed, he lowers his head. “Oh my God!” She laughs, hitting the couch cushion. “You totally wanna fuck her!”

Blade doesn't respond. Silver turns to Kafka mouth wide, eyes blown, “He wants to fuck your sister, Kaf!” Don't we all?

Kafka sits in between her two friends, placing a warm hand on Blade’s shoulder. He immediately relaxes but keeps his gaze tied to the ground. “It’s okay, Bladie,”

“It happens to the best of us.”

┄┄

“I’m not going to lie,” Jing Yuan breaks the silence, “I didn't have a clue on what to plan. I just knew I wanted to see you again.”

His flattery is out of this world. He has you feeling so special, so wanted—you turn to look at him and just stare in disbelief. The Jing Yuan is driving you in his nice-ass BMW to a date that he asked you out on. Lucky girl syndrome is so real. “It’s okay, I’m not picky.”

“I like that.” He laughs out. “I like you.” His right hand abandons the steering wheel, traveling to your exposed thigh. His touch is light, tempting. He’s testing the waters, and only does he let his hand rest wholly on your thigh when your breath hitches but you don't stop him. He spares you a glance, a smirk drawn on his face when you briefly lock eyes.

“I think you said that before,” You lighten the mood. Your words sound breathless, clambering out of your throat nervously. “Oh, have I?” His hand creeps upward, now sheathing itself beneath your skirt. His fingers tap on your thighs — he’s teasing, waiting for a reaction.

You hum in response, now gluing your eyes to the dashboard because if you look down, you're going to explode.

“Guess I really have to let you know, then.”

“Guess so,” You respond. His hand only lies on your leg, not traveling any further. He pulls into the parking lot of the movie theater. Not your idea of the perfect first date, but maybe he has more planned.

You get out, immediately locking hands and walking side by side into the theater. He opens the door for you, leads you to the ticket stand, and the hold on your hand never falters. He uses it to pull you closer, letting his arm drape around your waist and his fingers tap along your skin. He’s setting you ablaze, burning you with every gesture he does.

You don't even care about the movie—Sky-Faring Commission 8, you think—you’re too focused on Jing Yuan. He drapes you in his jacket and wraps his arm around your shoulder when you get seated. He whispers a joke to you about the previews and laughs into your hair to not disturb others around you. And when the movie gets to a particularly boring part, he finds himself leaning on your shoulder.

His lips are featherlight as he ghosts over your skin. You act as though you don't feel it — gluing your eyes to the movie screen. You couldn't care less about the melodramatic climax on the screen. It didn't matter to you, it didn't register in your mind as important. He was so close, breathing in your sweet perfume and brushing his lips against your skin when he smiled. Oh God, you subconsciously lean towards him, letting out a sigh when puckered lips connect with your neck.

He places another kiss, and then another - readjusting his position to lead a trail upwards. The kisses grow larger distances as he eagerly travels to your lips. His hand reaches over and grabs the side of your face. You couldn't turn to look at him on your own: filled with too much anxiety and nerves to bear the connection.

Your eyes lock - a desire in his juxtaposing with the shyness in yours. He needed you, leaning in swiftly and collecting a kiss.

His tongue abrasively weaves its way into your mouth, sloppily licking around and tangling with yours. He was so powerful: overwhelming and all-consuming. You could only sit there weakly, trying your best to keep up with him.

Yuan is no dummy. He can tell you're not all into it. You sit rigidly and lack any eagerness to kiss him back.

“You nervous?” He whispers against your lips. His hand on your face slips down to your waist with a comforting squeeze in tow. You crack a smile nervously, “Never done this before. Well, like, in this way…”

He's quick to recover from the twinge of annoyance that surges within him. “‘Ts okay. I got you,”

He leans in, hand slipping to your thigh. It's almost cinematic — the movie flickers in deep reds and blacks as an action sequence plays and your silhouettes form on the wall behind you. He's so close, so tempting that you can't help but take in his words. “I’ll take care of you.” He says. And you fall for it.

And he kisses you even slower, more sultry. There's an enthusiastic flame in his kiss — he just wants you to give it up. Let him take you, let him have you. It's not like you don't want it.

As he kisses go deeper, hungrier with teeth sinking into your lip and lips sucking around your tongue, his hand slinks up your skirt. He plays with the band of your panties, feeling the soft material. His fingers roll and entangle in the fabric, feeling the slight jolt of your hips when his touch caresses your skin.

He shoves his tongue down your throat to keep you silent, pushing his hand further onward and cupping your cunt.

Your thighs immediately crush around his wrist. He’s trapped in your heat, feeling the throb of your clit against him. He bites your bottom lip with a smile as he presses his palm flat against you. The applied pressure to your clit has the bud stiffening.

God, you want him. You want him so bad.

You have to stop yourself from moaning and squirming. You’ll literally die if you get caught.

“I want you so bad, baby,” he whispers, pulling away. He kisses your jawline and rubs his hand against your pussy. The feeling is beyond mutual, you think. You can't do this, though. Not here.

You hum in response to him, fearing that any other response may be too loud. Feeling a premature knot gnarl in your stomach makes you panic and grab his arm. You can't cum yet—and definitely not here.

“Too much?” He laughs against your lips. He tries to sink his arm deeper between your thighs and your hips run away. “‘M sorry. How about we get outta here?

Locking eyes with him has you shyly saying yes. You don't have sex on the first date—Jing Yuan or not.

But your body seems to crave him. To want him and in this circumstance, you can be able to bend your rules. “Okay,”

You quickly exit the theater hand in hand with an unimportant amount of time left in the movie. There was a strange feeling swarming in your gut: akin to a thrill with a tickle of unsureness. You chalk it up to butterflies. It's just nervousness because the dream you've held onto ever since you first laid eyes on him is coming to fruition. You've always wanted Jing Yuan. You always wanted to be his.

He drives the car shortly to the parking lot of a shut-down arcade, parking his car and immediately clambering to the backseat with you. It was like he couldn't wait - like he was going to die without you. It's hot.

His hands immediately grab your hips and his lips overtake yours. He slowly lays you against the leather seats, wasting no time. He's making quick and agile movements: hands slipping under your shirt and cupping your breasts and lips wrapping around nips of skin.

You gasp, arching your back into him. “You're so sexy,” He moans, fondling you messily, needily.

“T-thank you…” You stutter out.

He kisses down to the neckline of your shirt, pushing the fabric up and going under to kiss around your chest. His lips replace his hands, the latter rehoming on your thighs and pushing your skirt up. His lips attach and suck around the top of your boob as his hands pry your legs apart, fingers dancing up toward your core.

You moan out softly. His tongue swipes across your flesh and his middle finger walks through your slit. “You’re so wet,” he comments, pressing your clit down with intense pressure.

A weak whimper dances from your lips and he laughs contently.

He continues to rub your clit while kissing your skin, turning your flames up so high that your body burns to the touch. A sticky sound resonates off of the interior of the car, sloshing grossly as your airy moans attempt to compete with it. Your pussy drips, your hole spasming as he teases you further and further.

You never thought you’d be in Jing Yuan’s backseat about to get finger fucked—and as much as you want to, you just - you can't.

His finger circles your entrance, ever so teasingly and you tense up. You pull away almost immediately, snapping your legs tightly shut and beginning to sit up. “Sorry, I’m sorry,”

Yuan takes a seat opposite from you, brushing his fallen hair out of his face with a huff. He gives you time to adjust your clothes, staring out of the front windshield. He looks…bummed, dissatisfied and you feel terrible. “Trust me, it's not a you thing. I just…I dunno. I'm not comfortable with what I don't know,”

“Nah, it's good. You're good.” He sends you a short smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

And you don't want to worry about it, but you can't not. There's an obvious tent in his pants and a frustration hidden beneath his appearance — you blue-balled him beyond measure and made it awkward. He’s probably never asking you out again.

In an attempt to ease the tension, you offer an alternative: “Wanna get something to eat? My treat.”

Taking a look at you breaks a smile on his face, and he nods. “Why not?”

┄┄

The date could have gone worse.

That's what you tell yourself as you ride the elevator up to your apartment, alone.

He had to go, he told you. “Text me before you go to bed, alright?” And that made you feel better, somewhat. He could have told you to delete his number and never go anywhere with him again, so you count this as a win.

You can't shake the tension, though. It's better than whatever the hell you, Kafka, and her friends had floating around, however, it's just as uncomfortable. The elephant in the room is humongous, but neither of you dare step on its toes. You don't blame him for feeling some type of way, but he shouldn't blame you either, right?

“Welcome back! How was your date?” Kafka questions as you walk in the door. Silver and Blade are still here, the latter on his phone and the former focusing on her strawberry crunch ice cream bar. You wave at Kafka, removing your shoes and remembering you still have Yuan’s jacket. You won't leave it out for it to get dirty with the Three Musketeers running around your apartment.

“It was good,” you reveal softly. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. I’m really tired so I’m just gonna go shower and go to bed.”

Kafka nods, waving you off, “Alright; good night, little mouse!”

You get into your bedroom and don't even think twice. Your clothes are stripped off and strewn across your floor but you make sure to place Yuan’s jacket on your vanity. Your hair goes up and your body wraps in your towel, a quick commute to the bathroom across the hall to wash today off of your body.

Warm water splashes over your skin, soapy clouds run down your body as you scrub. You still feel embarrassed — the scene of you quitting on Yuan replays every time you close your eyes. You're mad at yourself because you know you want him, you always have, and you fumbled your opportunity badly. It's embarrassing for you and him. You fear it's an event you can never forget.

Twenty minutes of pouring the stress and dirt and Jing Yuan down the drain and you're finally ready to sleep. Body clean, pajamas on, makeup off, and skin care on, you climb into bed and immediately grab your phone.

‘just heading to bed c:’ You text. You twiddle your thumbs for half a second before you start typing again: ‘i did enjoy our date today btw…hope u don’t get the wrong impression cause i’d love to go out w u again <3’

That’s good. He knows how you feel, you've said your peace and lifted the weight off of your chest. You turn your phone off and rollover. Off to dreamland you go—

Ding!

Your eyes shoot open. Ding! And now you're rolling back over, grabbing your phone, and squinting at the initial brightness.

‘don’t worry abt it haha’ He texts back. ‘it’s my fault, I should’ve asked’

Your fingers press and heart his message, quick to move to the keyboard and begin typing. But before you finish, another text from him rolls in: ‘i’m glad you enjoyed it. it’d be my honor to take you out again’

You silently cheer, kicking your feet under your duvet. ‘i’ll be holding u to that’

no need already planning our next one

whatre u thinking?

that takes the fun out of it if i tell you dw i won’t make you wait long

He's flirting. You're flirting. Even through text, he has you running in circles looking for a response. What do you say? What do you say?!!

good c; don't wanna wait to see u again

‘me neither’ He starts typing, then stops. Is it over already?

The typing bubble pops up again, and in seconds, his blue message fills your eyes: ‘u mind sending a pic?’

Suspicion doesn't address you—instead a feeling of confusion. Where is this conversation going…?

im in my pajamas lol so not sexy

doesn't have to be, you make something sexy plus the kind of pjs a girl wears tells you all abt her

does it?

mhm

Damn it. You crawl out of bed, turn your lamp on, and step in front of your full-length mirror. A loose-fitting shirt and small house shorts. Nothing extravagant or appealing — just extremely comfortable.

Five attempts at a flattering mirror selfie later, you finally land a picture that satisfies you enough. Immediately to Jing Yuan, it goes, paired with the message ‘what do mine say about me?’

You sit back on your bed, criss–cross applesauce as you wait for his response. Three minutes later he likes your message, ‘says you're cute’

that’s it?

He responds quickly. ‘not sure if you wanna take it there haha’

You're not sure either. ‘try me’

It takes him a minute to start typing again — presumably needing to take the time to make a conscious decision before he embarrasses himself…again.

‘Attachment: 1 Image’ You immediately click on the image, zooming in only to be met with his bulge. Black boxers stretched around a fat tent in his pants with his big hand resting on top of his lap.

His next message comes in seconds later, ‘says you drive me crazy and need me there to make you feel good’

And the next one…‘it's hard for me to control myself lol’

i just get so turned on by you

Oh. He's taking it there.

‘me too’ You have to send the text with your head facing the other direction, nearly jumping out of your skin with the confirmation swoosh sound.

‘i don't usually get that wet btw…’ You inform. It's a bit of a half-truth; you haven't slept with that many people to gauge how wet you can truly get but you're almost positive you've never soiled your panties like you have today.

He hearts your message and immediately starts typing.

oh rly? what abt now? still wet?’

If the way your thighs are pressing together is anything to go by, the answer is a very enthusiastic yes.

yeah want u so bad

You don't sext — you've never done it before and you are awful with your words. You're nervous despite the wave of boldness that's overcoming you. This is escalating fast, bordering territory you've never crossed.

You should've just gone to bed and texted him the following morning. You should have kept it innocent and not pushed him further. You've opened a can of worms and now it's time to reap the consequences. Fuck.

let me see

Double fuck. Maybe triple. Possibly quadruple.

How the hell are you supposed to show him???

You immediately hop up and move your mirror, repositioning it to stand parallel to your bed. Should you turn the light off? Maybe you should.

You jump onto the bed in the darkness, slithering off your shorts slowly, giving yourself time to stop and preserve your dignity. God, you can't believe you're doing this, you think, setting yourself in the most awkward position to show the wet spot painted on your fresh pink panties.

Flash on and legs in the air, the camera shutters three times. If you weren't embarrassed before, you definitely are now.

You send two of the three photos, tossing your phone into your pillows.

The ding is still audible, followed by two more that make your heart jump.

shit you're so hot baby Attachment: 1 Video

A shaky thumb presses play on the video, immediately adjusting the volume when wispy curses spill from the device. The video shows his unclothed abdomen and his hand in his boxers, rubbing his dick slowly.

You watch with peeled eyes how his stomach rises and falls, abs gnarling as he bucks into his own hand. Twelve-second video. It's a twelve-second video and it seemed to last for an hour.

He sends more texts:

wish it was you are you touching yourself?

No.

yeah doesn't feel as good as when u did it, tho

You ignore the way your cunt clenches around the air and your panties grow increasingly uncomfortable with the slick pooling and seeping.

pretend it is me Attachment: 1 Voice Message

Oh fuck. You lay down, bringing the phone to your ear and dancing your fingers across your stomach in hopes of soothing your nerves. This is a lot. This is probably worse than letting him feel you up and almost finger you in his car.

“‘M gonna help you feel good, okay?” He starts the voice message. You nod as if he can see you, and close your eyes to take in the full experience.

“Start rubbing your clit—go slowly, tight circles, okay,” he pauses, presumably to let you complete the action. The quiet is filled with an airy gasp from you, sensitivity extremely prevalent between your legs. You part your folds and hear how sticky it is, and it's even worse when you let your finger slip in between your labia and press your clit. You moan so loudly you have to bite your lip.

With your thighs instinctively closing on your wrist you roll to your side, burying your face in the pillow as you start to do as he says: slow, tight circles around your sensitive bud. You can hear him spit—presumably in his hand—and faint slick sounds in the background. He starts speaking, overpowering the background noise, “Feels good, huh?”

“Keep doing that, okay? Keep going until you're about to cum—” He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath, “—fuuuck, baby. I want to fuck you so bad; bet you sound so pretty when you moan…”

He just turns you on more, leaving you to whimper and further push your face into your pillow, attempting to quiet yourself.

It's been a while since you've had any sexual time — oftentimes too tired or uninterested in tending to your needs even though your body screams at you for a release. You're overly sensitive, clit throbbing angrily and hole spasming thirstily. You need to feel good, to reach nirvana — you needed to let Yuan fuck you and satiate the thirst.

He sounds so good talking to you, moaning for you, working you up to your climax, “Put a finger in, baby. I wanna hear you, too,”

You're just horny at this point. You almost waste no time in recording a voice memo, pushing your middle finger into your cunt with a breathy whine, “Oh, God,”

You start at a slow rhythm, really edging yourself. You huff and whine and whimper all into the speaker, letting him hear every voice crack and deep breath. It feels so good, but it's not enough.

“I wanna be filled,” you manage to say. “‘S not enough…need you, Yuanie.”

Send.

You stop your ministrations as you wait for him to respond, letting yourself come down from the impending climax.

Ding!

fuck

Is all he sends, and then your phone starts ringing. Your reflection in the FaceTime camera has you adjusting your position and putting the phone in a flattering angle, answering the phone with knitted eyebrows and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. What a performer you are.

When the call connects you're met with his dick. His hand traverses the length eagerly, an angry tip leaking milky white down the shaft and glistening as he jerks himself off. You see him behind his big cock: hair disheveled and face red.

“Let me see your pussy,” his voice is gritty, deeper than usual. His tone is almost demanding—you clearly don't have the luxury of being shy at the moment.

You lower the camera slowly, pushing your panties to the side and letting the radiance of your phone screen show the glistening mess to him. “Oh fuck,” he comments, throwing his head back.

“So pretty, so perfect. I bet you're tight as fuck,” You decide to show him: slipping your index finger in first with a sweet moan, then following up with your middle finger after a few pumps.

You're definitely fuller, but it's not enough.

Your cunt squeezes around your fingers tightly, spilling out a waterfall of arousal. Your ministrations are easy with how wet you are: fingers slipping in and out with little to no resistance, just narrowly missing your sweet spot.

It gets harder to hold back your moans—sounds now coming out as broken cries as you bite intensely on your lip. “I wanna cum,” you sniffle.

“Yeah? Cum for me—show me how that pussy creams,” So obscene but so, so incredibly hot.

Your hips buck into your hands and your hold on your phone gets weak. You have to change position: set the device up between your pillows, and put yourself on display

Normally, you would never do something this risky. Maybe it's because of Jing Yuan—or a different potential point of interest just mere feet down the hall—but you feel inclined to jump out of your shell now.

So many years in Kafka’s shadow and even more in your mother's palm. You're grown up now, independent and you want to be taken seriously. It's the least you deserve and the most you want. He's going to take you seriously; he's going to see how badly you want him and the lengths you’ll go to to show up for him.

You've made a big leap in your behavior and you're prepared to deal with the consequences. No more little mouse, you're not a baby anymore.

It's time to take the world in your palm and bask in the mature gleam. You let the spotlight burn your skin as you work yourself to an orgasm, moaning so carelessly you're probably the center of conversation among Kafka and her friends. And you’d be right; partially, anyway.

Kafka having dozed off with Silver ages ago left Blade up alone, amusing himself with an average social media feed and remnants of a joint. He tried to ignore your soft moans coming from down the hall, but hey, he has keen ears.

He knows it's probably that douchebag you went out with making you sound like that and he can't even get mad about it. He's almost thankful — it's not every day you get to hear the melodies of an angel.

Neediness and curiosity reach all-time highs and urge him to do something he's 100 percent going to regret.

Blade takes light-footed steps toward your bedroom, the moans, and whimpers of you getting louder as he approaches the source. You sound so pretty; he can only imagine the way your face is knitted up and how wet you must be.

He hates himself for doing this, but he eavesdrops: letting an ear rest on the wood of your bedroom door and taking in the sounds you spew out.

He wishes he was on the other side of this door making you sound like that. He'd probably make you wake the entire apartment building up—

“I’m about to cum—! Ngh, oh my—” A sharp whine cuts you off. He wonders: do you squirt? Can you? Can he make you? There's no way possible that dickhead can do it.

“Me too—oh, shit, baby.” Comes out muffled to Blade, and his eyes roll immediately. Cornball shit, he thinks.

He hadn't pictured you as the phone-sex kind of girl, but with the way that jackass is egging you on, it's no wonder. You're so much better than this, than that guy and all he wants to do is let you know that. Blade is probably no better, but he can try. He can change for you and do right by you—in every aspect.

Your whimpers grow pitchier and you're puffing out deep breaths. You sound…overstimulated. He can imagine your toes curling and thighs trembling as you fuck yourself, squeezing your eyes shut with swollen lips. Your pussy is probably leaking a river, covering your ass, and staining your (probably) dainty white sheets. What he would give to make you feel good, let alone look at you.

“Yuan—!! I'mcummingImcummingImcumming!!!” You squeal, muffling yourself with a hard slap over your mouth.

Blade doesn't even realize he's begun to palm his cock and roll his hips into his hand. “Oh…” he quietly moans, letting his head fall onto your door.

Shit. He has to leave now, hearing you yelp at the sound and shuffle around. No use trying to hide, so he makes an escape: walking fast out of the front door without a second thought. Great—now he has to drive home with a rock-hard dick.

And you gather yourself. Hanging up the phone with Jing Yuan and walking to your door awkwardly due to the mess between your legs.

Cleaning yourself up in the bathroom and avoiding your reflection in the mirror, you think back to that sound. It was a knock, right?

Kafka and Silver lay on opposite ends of the same couch, curled under your throw blanket which is much too small for them. Blade is nowhere to be found…huh. Weird.

“Hey, Kaf,” you shake your roommate awake over the back of the couch. She moans and rolls over, slowly peeling her sleepy eyes open, “hmm?”

“Were you at my door just now?” The red-head shakes her head no, pulling the blanket over her shoulders and away from Silver.

If it wasn't her…“Where’s Bladie?” She questions, noticing his absence.

You shrug. “He probably left earlier.”

Even half-asleep, Kafka has double the brain you do. You can't see what's right in front of you.

She smiles, shuffling again and closing her eyes. “Alright, then. Good night.”

“Night,”

ೀ

With a week left until spring break, you cherish the time you've spent this last month or so living.

It feels like the first time, in all of your nineteen years of living, that you are living. Your smiles are brighter, your days are happier, and you're living every second to its fullest extent in absolute bliss.

Almost every week you're on a date with Jing Yuan. He's practically your boyfriend, but there's no official label so you keep that thought process to yourself.

Lowkey dates with him that slightly escalate have become your norm. You're still holding off on full-blown sex, and you wish you weren't. It causes some tension every time you restrict him from fucking you - but he tells you he's waiting, he's more than happy to wait. That's more than most men are willing to do and you're happy that you're fortunate to have landed yourself someone like you. Spending the tail end of your dates getting your neck marked up and fingered while you jerk him off is as much scandal as you can handle. Nerves are what's stopping you from going all the way. Definitely not Kafka’s hot friend who you can't stop thinking about.

There's synergy in your apartment now. You're not walking into a room with a tight chest and bated breath, just waiting to see what's waiting for you anymore. It's normal now—all of it. From Silver ransacking your kitchen to an obnoxiously loud-smelling blunt, you're used to it. It's not nearly as bad as you feared when Kafka initially moved in.

You sit in the dining hall with Fu Xuan, listening to her angry rambling about her statistics class. She never backs down, always eager to let a piece of her mind fly whether you like it or not.

“Stupidest fucking class ever. And, like, I shouldn't even be in there in the first place because I am wayyy too smart—”

“Hey guys,” thank God. Yukong shows up and sits next to Xuan, saving you from a monologue about how smart and wonderful she is. You love her, but man does she know how to talk.

“Nice of you to join us,” Xuan says snappily. Yukong pays her attitude no mind, sipping her coffee and turning to you with a knowing look.

She shifts the conversation, “Anyway…I came to let you guys know that there's going to be a party on Friday at the sorority. Tingyun said it’s to celebrate the beginning of spring break.”

You can't even remember the last time you went to a party. The smile growing on your face is too strong to fight. “What time?”

“Umm…I’ll have to check. Probably late though, so…”

This can be your first outing with Jing Yuan. Just the two of you with all eyes on you. Right before spring break as well…it could be your first time together—the thoughts alone make your head spin and a flurry of images swarm.

“Hm. Well, I won't be there.” Xuan states, crossing her arms and looking off elsewhere.

Amused, Yukong questions her why. “‘Cause. I'm gonna be busy with burning this stupid campus down!”

┄┄

hii <3 didn’t see u today so i hope ur feeling alright! also did u hear about the party this friday? r u thinking about going? miss u

You send your trilogy of texts to Jing Yuan, drowning out the conversation Kafka and Silver are having in your living room. “Can you back me up here?!”

Silver looks at you for backup, to which you're dumbfounded. What were they talking about again? “Sorry, what were you saying?” You ask, setting down your phone.

“Ugh!” The gamer groans, falling back onto the couch. “Please tell your sister that a Nintendo DS and a Nintendo Switch are not the same thing!”

“They do the same thing, though!” Kafka defends. “Barely! Kaf, I’m on that thing like, twenty-four-seven and you mean to tell me you think I’m playing Cooking Mama?”

“I don't know what you play. You never let anyone try and join you.”

“Because you all suck! Every single last one of you is dead weight and it makes me look bad.” Kafka scoffs, turning around and looking at you with an exasperated look. You lock eyes and share a similar smile — as much as you claim you and Kafka are total opposites, you get each other in ways not understood.

She turns back around and shuts Silver’s yapping down and at the same time, Blade emerges from the hallway. He looks good. Really good.

His long, dark hair is disheveled and tossed into a low bun, making you gain a newfound appreciation for man buns. His black “wife-beater” tank snugs onto his frame tightly—every ridge and curve of his solid abdomen pressing through the fabric and leaving little to the imagination. Staple gray sweats make you immediately avert your gaze, awkwardly making eye contact with you.

He caught you staring, and you caught him.

As if it were divine intervention, your phone buzzed on the counter behind you and you went straight for it, hiding the flustered look on your face behind your phone. You don't do a good job, though. Kafka notices.

hey baby accidentally slept in this morning but I’m alright heard abt the party but idk if I’m gonna go. not rly feeling it

A frown stretches across your lips as you disappointedly text back.

ohh okay feel better <3

Read.

It's fine—you're fine! You’ll just go with your friends and have a great time and you can see him after break.

You want that to be comforting but your gut tastes the bitter truth. It's not time to have that conversation with yourself so you table it, leaving your phone on the table and joining Blade on the second couch. Kafka and Silver monopolized the other one and you had to fight the urge to wiggle your way between them.

“So, what are we watching?” You make conversation, hiding the shake in your voice by focusing on the TV. Some random show plays, something so stupid you’d never waste your time on this.

“Dunno. Blade picked it.” Silver shrugs, slamming buttons on her Switch.

He turns to you. “Uh, it's the adaptation of the book ‘Verdict’. About Imbibitor Lunae.” He informs shyly. His voice is so gritty and deep—every time you hear it you swear you feel the depth reverberating in your bones.

Blade makes you so nervous. With his intense stare and even more intense aura, he's overwhelming and nerve-wracking. While you've grown to be comfortable with Silver and Kafka, Blade is the only one you walk on eggshells around.

And he feels the same way. He wants to breach the wall and get to know you. He wants to sit on this couch with you with his arms wrapped around your frame and you in his lap and relax. He's so tense around you, so stiff out of pure fear that if he makes the wrong move or says the wrong thing, he’ll scare you off. Blade likes you. And when it comes to girls like you and guys like him, it doesn't take much for things to go wrong.

You like that he reads though. “Ooh, interesting. I’ve never read that book,”

“It's pretty old and short. Most people of our generation haven't heard of it, I bet.”

“Yeah, 'cause you act fifty years old!” Silver sneers, earning a slap on the leg from Kafka. He pays her no mind, instead watching how you laugh at her teasing.

Your eyes get so bright when you smile: full of joy, full of light. It's so cute.

“What episode is this?” You ask him. Clearing his throat, he checks with the remote, “Episode four.”

“Mind catching me up?” Are you doing this on purpose? You’ve got to know what you're doing to him.

Heat drives up his neck and he has to create distance, sitting all the way back on the couch and replying to you with a nod.

You gulp, watching the way his legs naturally spread and how his arms flex. Insanely attractive, almost criminally so.

“So, it’s basically about that guy,” he points at the screen, a graceful-looking man with horns displayed, “called the Sinner—”

“That guy’s a sinner? He looks like an angel,” You comment. You take another look at the screen and Blade fights a smile.

If only you knew.

He continues to break down the lore of Verdict to you, going very in-depth and getting seemingly passionate as he goes on. Kafka scrolls on her phone and takes it in with pride—Blade should thank her. Never in all of her years of friendship with him does she think she's ever heard him talk this much, let alone to someone he’s interested in. It's pure proof of what you do: the best sides of people come out because of you.

You listen to him intently, chiming in with reactions and questions every now and then and completely abandoning the show you're supposed to be learning about. You just like to hear him talk. His rough voice softens up as he continues explaining the story to you and in turn, your body language softens. You can relax and lie on the couch, keeping your eyes on his face as you lean your head down on your wrists.

Details you hadn't noticed before on his face stand out to you — like how clear and supple his milky skin is and how his chapped lips are tinted ever-so-slightly red. You notice how his thick eyebrows wiggle and knit together when he’s thinking, and his awkward, canine-heavy smile when you make a comment. Blade is dorky and surprisingly, a history enthusiast.

He goes from detailing the fabled betrayal of Imbibitor Lunae to the Ambrosial Arbor to everything before, after, and during. From the unusual silence exuding from Kafka and Silver, he realizes just how much he's been talking. Even you have started to drift off, your eyes are heavy as you listen to old Xianzhou tales.

Upon realizing that he’s effectively talked everybody to sleep, he takes the blanket draped on the armchair and covers you, making sure to be as cautious as possible. He doesn't know what he’d do if you woke up and caught him.

As weird as it sounds, he likes seeing you sleep. You look so peaceful like your dreams are full of cotton candy and rainbows. Knowing you, they probably are.

“You’re staring, Bladie.” He turns around to see Kafka, her smirk overtaking her groggy expression. He doesn't even try to refute the claim or defend himself. If there's anyone other than himself that knows him well, it's Kafka. She probably knows him more than he does himself at this point.

“You’re cute, making moves on her and stuff,” He naturally follows her as she makes her way to the kitchen. The blush on his cheeks dusts lightly, and his eyes find comfort in staring at the floor. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” She reaches into the fridge, pulling out the last can of Mung Bean Soda.

She pops the can open and takes a short swig, “so what's your plan?”

Blade shrugs. Kafka sighs, placing the can on the counter. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

ೀ

If Jing Yuan wasn’t going to come to the party tonight, you were going to make him regret it.

You dressed in the shortest, tightest dress you owned: an off-the-shoulder white mini-dress with the prettiest shine to it. You bought it impulsively after your mid-term breakdown freshman year, thinking retail therapy would make you feel better. (It didn't–another breakdown ensued when you realized you just wasted money on shit you didn't need.)

You did your makeup the best you ever have. Perfect highlight, sharp and even eyeliner wings, balanced lip combo—cosmetology school should have been your first choice with this type of beat.

Yukong told you to come at 9; the time on your phone reads 8:58. A little late, but fashionably so.

The jacket Yuan had given you still resides in your room due to your forgetfulness. If you're going to this party, why not make a statement?

You slip on the bomber jacket, the bulkiness of the fit aiding the aesthetics of your outfit. It gave off comfy but cute—“in my boyfriend’s closet” vibes. Surely, Tingyun or whoever the hell else competing with you will take the hint with this. Nobody will have to guess whose jacket it is when there's a white lion embroidered on the right arm. If this isn't a soft launch, you don't know what is.

Grabbing your essentials you walk out to the usual scene in your living room: Kafka, Blade, and Silver seated on different couches engaged in a conversation. Their heads turn to you, and you immediately let your gaze fall to Blade. He almost looks away instantly — too much. You're too much and he knows that it's for that guy. The one who doesn't deserve you but gets to see you cum and receive your attention…unfair.

“Wowww look at you! Little mouse is stealing someone’s man tonight!” Silver whoops, snapping her fingers. You roll your eyes at her, brushing stray strands of hair back.

You walk to the door, “Don’t wait up!!!”

Oh, but they will. Some more than others.

┄┄

Yukong’s sorority house is huge but it feels so small with this many people present. The invitation was extended to the entire campus, presumably, and sure enough, they showed up and showed out.

Pulling up was a nightmare — cars and people backed up for what seemed like miles. Your Uber driver huffed and puffed the entire time trying to find somewhere to let you out, and you could only extend apologetic woes and smiles. Walking up to the house was better, but you suddenly woke up from your dream world and realized that people could see you. They could perceive you and form preconceived notions about you just from how you carried yourself. You became conscious of what the hell you had on—immediately regretting the short dress when you had to squeeze between some randoms smoking on the stairs, your bare thighs rubbing against their bodies. Ugh.

The music was loud, seemingly traveling through the floorboards and it felt incredibly unstable to walk in your heels. You searched for Yukong, spotting your best friend off to the side with Hanya.

“Woaahh, look at you!” She exclaims. You give her a spin and laugh. Through your joy, you miss the way her face crinkles up when she eyes the jacket you sport. “Do you want a drink?”

You nod, “Only like, one or two. I'm trying to stay sober; I want to remember tonight.” You send her a look that means only one thing: you have something planned for tonight. What that thing is…well, Yukong isn't sure she wants to know.

She asks Hanya to fetch you a drink, taking up a conversation with you in her place. “How’s the sister situation?”

You hadn't updated Yukong on the status of things in a while. Should you tell her about Blade?

Wait. Tell her what?

As if there's anything to tell…

“It’s actually good. Surprisingly. I thought I’d be begging my mom to take her by now,” you joke. Hanya returns with a red solo cup, handing it to you. “It’s something tame.”

You're not a fan of the taste of alcohol. You can't understand how people willingly get shitfaced—this shit is nasty. You cringe and shudder at the taste. Whatever juice base is added does not aid the taste one bit.

“Her friends are around often. Like…every day. I wonder if they have jobs but I haven't asked,” Yukong takes a sip of her drink as well.

“Did they help this transformation occur?”

And suddenly, the reality of how you look hits you again. “Ha ha, very funny. I wanted to try something new, something sexy.”

“It worked!!” A random girl replies as she and her friends walk toward the kitchen. The face you give Yukong says I told you so, and she rolls her eyes.

“Let’s dance!” You exclaim, grabbing onto your friend with the sudden shift in the music.

Reluctantly, she follows you to the sea of gyrating bodies. Everybody dancing and talking forms a cocoon of heat—you’re encapsulated the moment you breach the area.

Sip, dance, laugh. Sip, dance, laugh. Sip, dance, laugh. You keep this up for a good twenty minutes, breaking on the couch every now and then. It may be only you and Yukong — and the occasional appearance of Hanya — but you're having fun. Fun like you said you would with or without Yuan—

He’s here???

You spot Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye. He daps partygoers up at the door, making his way through the jumbles of people clearly in search. Of you?

You almost call his name and wave but he walks straight toward Tingyun. His hands slide around her waist instinctively and her arms wrap around his neck tightly. She giggles as he lifts her up, and she gives him her cup when she's put back down. They don't break eye contact the entire time he downs the remainder of her cup, and as soon as he's finished, the cup is replaced with her hand and she's guiding him up the stairs.

Did he think you wouldn't be here? Or did he not give enough of a fuck regardless?

Whatever the case—it hurts. You take the jacket off and toss it to the ground, not realizing the stray tear that streaks down your face.

Tingyun is going to give him something that you couldn't. He’s going to give her something you can't have. You feel slighted like the rug has been torn from beneath your feet and you’re doomed to a fate forever on your ass. You look stupid. So so so stupid, but you have enough dignity to wait until you leave to bawl your eyes out.

Ignoring Yukong calling your name, you walk outside and begin calling yourself an Uber. The early spring chills make you even madder. Fuck this stupid dress, this stupid party, that stupid Jing Yuan—“Hey!!! You didn't hear me calling you?”

Yukong comes following after you, her face concerned as she comes into view. Seeing your tears, her eyebrows furrow, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

A sad laugh escapes your throat and you look up at the sky, attempting to hold back the sudden rush of tears. “Yuan is sleeping with Tingyun,”

Her face is full of indescribable expressions. She has many things she wants to say, but she chooses the safe option. “Huh?! How do you know?”

“His lying ass just showed up and threw himself all over her. Then they went upstairs and you and I both know they aren't up there talking.”

You poor, poor girl. “I shouldn't be sad…what was I thinking? I should've known that he was an asshole.” You should have, but Yukong won't blame you.

The last romantic attention you had was from Dan Heng: your kinda-sorta-ex-boyfriend who took your virginity senior year and broke up with you a month later because you were going to different schools. You crave a change in the way people perceive you. Jing Yuan was the closest thing to a fever dream you had in university, and he turned it into a nightmare. What was supposed to be your rebranding - an age of confidence and maturity was overtaken by his pushiness and exclusivity.

“It doesn't matter, I don't care. I just wanna go home,” You hope Kafka and her friends are on their best behavior tonight. You're not in the mood for any shit.

“Are you sure?” Yukong doesn't know how to comfort you. Anything she has to say will make it worse, she's sure of it.

You nod, wiping the string of tears off of your cheeks. The buzzing of your phone lets you know that your Uber is approaching shortly, so you give Yukong a smile that’s meant to comfort her - but it only worries her. She won't push you because the only way this’ll end is messy if so.

She offers you a comforting smile of her own, pulling you into a soft hug. “Call me later, okay?”

She reluctantly pulls away and heads back into the party, head swiveling over her shoulder to make sure you don't jump in front of a car. You're not going to — if anyone needs to, it's that asshole, Jing Yuan.

Your Uber pulls up and saves the day, the warmth in the car settling goosebumps on your skin from the juxtaposition. “Long night?” The driver asks, peering at you through the mirror.

Is it that obvious?

With a sad smile, you nod, “It's only gonna get longer.” You laugh. Imagining the annoying amount of questions and pep talks Kafka is going to give you when you step through the door irritates you. You lay your head against your seat, and then your phone buzzes.

Flipping the device over, you see three notifications from ‘Yuan <3’. Ugh.

Looking at it is going to make you do or say something you’ll completely regret. You regain composure through a deep breath; placing your phone face down on your lap and watching the world blur through the window.

You're trying not to feel humiliated. There's a burn in your chest because every time you close your eyes, there's a scene of you and him together. You're stupid to think he actually liked you. His longing gazes and lingering touches and sweet words were tactics to get into your pants — and it almost worked. There's a reason your mother treats you like a baby: you are one and can't handle the real world. You hate that you had to come to this conclusion like this, but you're not ready.

Thanking the driver, you pull yourself out of the car, trudging begrudgingly into the building and in the elevator. And you can't stop fucking crying.

Stray tears keep escaping and no matter how many times you wipe them away or vigorously blink, it doesn't stop the flow. Why are your feelings hurt this badly? Why did you like him so much?

These same questions cycle as you open your front door, being hit with the same atmosphere you just escaped.

You’ve got to be kidding me, you think. Of all nights, tonight Kafka decides to throw a damn party???

Not wanting to spend another second in this atmosphere, you weave your way through the partygoers — an exceptional amount of people, given the space of your apartment, if you may add.

Trying to escape to your room gets you caught by your roommate, and your name gets called across the party as a result. She maneuvers her way to you, “What’re you doing back here so early, little mouse? I thought we shouldn't wait up?”

The sadness you wear is so prominent. Your face is dropped and your lips quiver when she asks her questions. You stare at the floor to not let the tears fall. “Hey…what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I'm just gonna go to sleep, so can you keep the noise down?” You try to brush her off. Kafka doesn't let you slip away, grabbing your arm and keeping you in place.

The rim of her cup nudges at your chin in place of her hand, forcing you to look up at her. A black headband pushes her plum-colored locks out of her face, straight strands flowing down her back. When she tilts her head pitifully at you, her hair swings to the side, falling over her shoulder and at this moment she looks so approachable. “What’s wrong?” She poses the question again, her tone softer than before.

You almost break down in front of her and she immediately extends her arm around your shoulders, pulling the side of you into her chest. She hands you her cup and you immediately down the liquid with no second thought. Her hand rubs your arm comfortingly and she guides you toward the kitchen, “C’mon, let's talk in here.”

The kitchen is surprisingly unoccupied save for a few hungry stragglers, leaving the two of you to sit on the stools. She refreshes your cup, getting a new one of her own and finishing off another bottle of tequila.

Kafka can tell by looking at you that this upset is caused by heartbreak. No words have to be spoken for her to understand, and now it's her job to take care of you. The way you deserve.

“What’d he do?”

The look on her face is all-knowing. You can't help but break a small smile at her intuitiveness. “I’m sure you can imagine…”

Of course she can. It was clear as day that he wanted only one thing. Everybody but you could see that a mile away.

“How’d you find out?”

“The asshole definitely wasn't trying to hide it.” You state, taking a big sip of your drink and cringing at the bitterness. Yuck. “He told me he wasn't going to come to the party, but I'm there, dancing, and here he comes. With a big wide-ass smile he walks straight to Tingyun and they waste no time in going upstairs.”

You don't normally swear, but you're so irritated that the words just soar from your lips. It’s almost amusing to watch your angry rambling. “Not even accounting for the fact that I was there and somebody could have told me. It was right in my face—right there and it was like I was invisible!!!”

Her eyes travel up and down your body. You're definitely not invisible. Jing Yuan just doesn't know what to do with you.

“He didn't deserve you; I hope you know that.” She comments, sipping her drink slowly. You finish off yours with bigger gulps, immediately hopping off of the stool and searching for a new bottle. Pouring another full cup, you nod, “I do now.”

“And then—he had the audacity to text me!” You sit down, taking off your heels. You're ready to get comfortable and let everything rip. Kafka’s eyes widen, “Oh, really?”

You hum to confirm, picking up your phone and checking the notifications. A few texts from Yukong and Xuan join his messages, but those don't matter. You hand the phone to Kafka, “I didn't even read them. I should block him, right?”

hey baby, i’m at the party wya

just talked to Yukong…can we talk? I wanna explain don’t be like this. at least let me explain?

Double yuck. You absolutely should block him…after this, though.

“He wants to explain himself to you. Classic,” She sneers. You laugh through your sipping, sitting the cup down. “He must take me for an idiot.”

There's a short silence that breaks with you changing the subject. “What’s the occasion?” You question.

She shrugs, placing her cup down. “Just felt like partying.”

Kafka tells a bit of a half-truth. While she did feel like having fun — her idea extends beyond getting sloppy drunk and into territory thus far unexplored. There's one objective she has tonight and it can't be completed unless her two moving pieces are pliable and cooperative. In terms of a checklist, she's halfway there.

Low-lidded eyes narrow at you, as if to tell you her intent wordlessly. You don't pick up what she's putting down, instead feeling heavily nervous under her gaze. “Anyway. Why don't we…”

She trails off, her finger tapping her chin exaggeratedly. “Wanna dance?”

You suck in a breath, holding up your hands. “I think I'm gonna call it a night, actually. It’s kind of late and all that crying made my head hurt…” You laugh. That’s partly true—you just want to escape whatever trap she’s set, if you're being honest. And frankly, after tonight, you have slight trauma from dancing.

“It’ll make you feel better.” She sings, wiggling a finger at you. “Come on; just one dance!”

Your face crinkles. You're not convinced. “Silver’s on the aux, we can ask her to play whatever you want.” She tries to bribe. “No sad-girl depressed shit, though.”

She keeps asking, offering deals and propositions that sound all the more appetizing as she continues. After a series of unabashed begging, you finally agree. “One song,” you sternly declare, hopping off the stool and grabbing ahold of your cup.

Her hands are in the air defensively, a cheshire smile stretching across her lips. “You lead the way,”

You've never partied with Kafka before. Your time spent as step-sisters consisted of you mostly lurking and watching, earning your nickname ‘little mouse’ because you were quiet, swift, and moved at night. You saw her sneak people into the house while your parents slept, throw parties while they were out, smoke in your backyard, and do other wild activities — but she never let you join. Your age was your main roadblock, being deemed too young and too cute to join her and her friends. Dancing with her now, smelling the strong mix of scents in the air and the bass of the music jumping in your bones, you understand why now.

Maybe it's the alcohol or the fact that your heart is broken, but the atmosphere is heavy. There's a lingering feeling that seeps through your pores. It has you dancing with her, letting her hands lie on your waist and your hips sway together.

Your bodies generate a fountain of heat that consumes you. You can't help but just dance: feeling the beat in your very core. Mixed with your surplus of liquid courage, your body sways and gyrates, lighting a flame you won't be able to put out in Kafka. Her smile is wide and her eyes flicker toward the couch, meeting an intense amber gaze.

Blade is entertained…more so intrigued with how you can live freely even after your heart weighs you down. The smile on your face doesn't falter — it only grows and gleams and he can't stop watching you dance.

Should he take Kafka’s place? He wants to take Kafka’s place.

It should be his hands on your waist, his lips on your ears, his words making you laugh—“Ah, I’m exhausted,”

You plop down beside him with an exasperated groan. He almost jumps out of his skin when you appear, and looking up at Kafka who towers over the pair of you, he can tell this is only the beginning. Her smile is warm but all-telling: whatever idea she has brewing in her head is coming to fruition tonight.

“I’ll be back. Take care of her for me, Bladie,” she shoots him a wink. He almost doesn't know what to do. Should he talk to you? Take you to bed?

“Blade?” Your voice is so small, so cute. You're quiet beneath the jumble of sounds crammed in your apartment but he can pick you out amongst the masses. He's never heard you address him before and the way his name leaves your mouth…he’s always going to replay it in his head forever. “…Y-yeah?”

He doesn't stutter but fuck, you make him nervous.

Breathing out airily, you turn your head to him. “…Do you and Kafka date?”

“No.” His answer is straight and immediate. Must be a sore subject…

“Oh…” “Why do you ask?” He knows why you ask. The same reason everybody else does. “Dunno. You guys just seem…close.”

“She’s not my type of girl.”

“Oh?” You perk up, now intrigued. “Then, what is your type of girl?”

You. He picks at his nails and almost avoids your eyes. How does he answer this question without freaking you out? Ah…fuck it.

“…You.” He’s dying on the inside but at least you're drunk—you’re not going to remember this so it won't be that bad. “Really?”

Your tone pitches up as you adjust your position. You lean your head against your hand now, opting to look him in his eyes. His attention feels nice and hearing that somebody insanely attractive wants you. You make him nervous, making him twiddle his fingers, and his cheeks dust rosy. That's a type of flattery that you can't make up.

“Yeah,” he says matter-of-factly. As if it's so obvious that he likes girls like you.

“What about me do you like?”

“Oh, uh, I don't know…” he trails off. He suddenly remembers the solo cup he abandoned earlier in the night and picks it up off the floor. He’s going to need a serious buzz to bear his dirty laundry to the wind. “…everything?” He poses it like a question — as though your reaction would gauge the validity.

Your face was brighter and painted in a flustered manner. “Thank you,” is all you can say without word-vomiting.

“What are you two talking about?” Kafka breaks up your tension, handing you another full cup and weaving her way onto the couch. She takes a seat right behind you, effectively spooning you. She takes a look at Blade over your shoulder, noticing the blush that paints his cheeks and the refusal to look in your direction.

Downing big swigs of your mystery drink, you shake your head. “Oh, nothing…” You sing, giving Blade an obvious reassuring wink that Kafka laughs at. “Guess I should leave you two to it, huh?”

“To what?” You ask coyly. You giggle bubbly, hiding your grin behind your cup. Kafka gives you a look, “I’m interrupting, aren't I? It’s okay to push me away.”

“We didn't do anything yet!!”

“Yet?” Kafka and Blade exchange glances - a series of looks that only mean one thing.

You slap a hand over your mouth, laughing into your palm drunkenly. Your mind is hazy and covered in static. That's not what you meant to say— “Well, I mean…”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean? You playing to run off with Bladie later?”

While that would be great and you aren't completely unopposed…“We were just talking.”

Kafka shrugs, dropping the topic. You’re determined to preserve the privacy of your conversation until the very end. Well, anyway, there are other methods of getting the show on the road.

Her brief time away from the pair of you was spent curating a queue of songs on Silver’s phone — songs she knows you like, songs she knows Blade likes, and songs she knows your inebriated bodies will like. Full of bass, full of sensuality, full of dirty innuendos that get your core filled with butterflies and your head filled with fantasies. She took it upon herself to mix up a concoction strong enough to wipe out a village of Pilgrims and your inhibitions.

From the moment your mother mentioned staying with you, Kafka thought of you. You’re a staple goody-two-shoes, held down to Earth with a strict upbringing and a perfectionist mindset. You were always eager for more, wide eyes watching as she and her friends explored all types of realms unbeknownst to you.

It’s her way of setting you free and paying you back. All those times you covered for her, all those times you took care of her after a long night out, and even now, taking her in when you have no reason to — it’s her way of saying thank you. Giving you the release you’ve been clawing for since she met you; giving you the release you deserve.

Blade is perfect for you. He's the type of guy to send your mother into cardiac arrest but the type of guy to love you right. He's not a man of many words but of many actions — a crafter, a creator, a provider, a carer. What you need is stability, something in scarce supply ever since your parents split up; but you also need someone to fix. That can't be Kafka, it won't be her.

She's going to hand you the tools to set you free, but it's up to you to forge your way out.

This box of safety you guard yourself in is coming down tonight. The burden of finding the perfect, golden guy, being the perfect, golden girl, and living a perfect, golden life is shriveling by the minute, each alcoholic sip you take singeing its weight.

The sultry beat of the next song punches through the atmosphere. The vibe of the party seems to slow down: the chatter lowers itself to background noise, bodies move longingly and languidly, and the lights seem dimmer. Your body feels heavier too, slumping forward on the couch to where your forehead collides with Blade’s knee.

His hands are quick to slip under your arms, helping you sit up straight. Kafka rubs a supportive hand in circles on your back, “You alright, little mouse?”

You look at the man in front of you, his silhouette slowly coming into focus. With his hair freed down his back and toned body dressed in his usual comfortable loungewear, he looks good. So fucking good with the worried look on his face.

“Hey, I got you,” he states.

In a second your strength is replenished and you muster the courage to lean in, stealing a kiss from him. It’s unexpected, sloppy, and tastes a whole hell of a lot like liquor…but, fuck, does it feel good.

He doesn't know what to do with his hands, choosing to remove them from beneath your arms and rehome them on your waist. The initial shock dissipates and his body naturally leads into your kiss, his eyes closing after taking in the image of an amused Kafka.

You whimper into his mouth, eager to climb onto his lap. Your hands roughly tangle in his hair, pulling his face unimaginably closer as if you were trying to consume him whole. The feeling of his slightly chapped lips against your glossed ones is like heaven - even better as he gets to re-slick them with his tongue.

It’s like the world around you doesn't exist anymore. Time could cease to exist and it wouldn't faze you because you have everything you need beneath you. The warmth of another person, the kisses of pure desire, the hands of desperation…it all rests in Blade and he delivers it unto you. It's all that matters right now, all you could ever wish for — forget Jing Yuan, your mother, whatever stressors have been weighing you down. It's insignificant, it doesn't matter, not when Blade sucks your tongue and his hands grab the fat of your ass.

It doesn't take much to escalate the situation with the amount of alcohol and stress in your body. It needs to all come out.

“Alright, lovebirds.” Kafka practically pulls you two apart, holding your hand and hoisting you to your feet. “Let’s get you to bed,”

You grumble like a petulant child, holding your other hand out for Blade to grab. He’s quick to slip your hand into his. “I don't wanna go to bed…”

Leading you through the myriad of people, Kafka laughs, “Don’t worry. We’re not going to sleep.”

You giggle at her words, the meaning not fully processing in your hazy head. You miss her innuendos the way you always have, focusing on Blade. His arm wraps around your waist to stabilize you with Kafka’s hand locked in yours. It’s intimate, it’s nice, and though you can't see the heat burn in his skin in this darkness, you can feel it with how close he is to you.

Kafka leads the three of you into your room, flickering your light on and closing the door behind you all. She locks it while you basically drag Blade to your bed.

You're more abrasive when you're drunk: grabbing Blade by the fabric of his shirt into another sloppy kiss. It’s amusing to watch, Kafka’ll give you that. But that's not the image she had in mind.

“Easy tiger,” she purrs, sitting behind you on the bed. You both catch your breaths, looking at each other with small smiles. There's a spark of desire in the room, latching onto any and everything and setting it ablaze. It’s hot and palpable and you need to set it out. “Let’s take our time, yeah?”

It doesn't register what she meant by that until her hands are fondling your chest and her chin rests on your shoulder. “Mmh…” she moans, feeling your nipples harden through your dress, “We’ve been waiting a real long time for this, haven't we, Bladie?”

He finds himself at a loss for words, swallowing thickly and keeping his eyes trained to you. “Yeah…”

“Why don't you come show her, then?” Kafka instructs, fluttering her eyes up to him. He doesn't need much encouragement to catch your bobbing head with his palm, leaning in and taking the lead in your kiss.

Under his behest, the kisses are softer, tamer, but filled with just as much—if not more—fire as before. He takes his time in carefully traversing your mouth with his tongue — completely contrasting from the kisses you gave him previously. You were taking a page from the book of Jing Yuan, using how he kissed you as a guideline for the basis. But that's not what you wanted. What you wanted from the very beginning was for him to take his time: to savor you down to every detail until your lips bruised and swelled, then move on to the rest of your body with passion.

Blade’s kisses were heavy with passion and need - as if he, too, was holding onto a package full of burdens.

As he moves down your jaw and neck, Kafka’s hands travel down to the hem of your dress, slipping under and gripping your bare sides. Her hands are cold and you flinch at the feeling, but it soon feels nice as her hands slide to cup your boobs under your bra. Your head falls back on her shoulder, allowing Blade more access to the expanse of your neck.

Your hips pathetically gyrate against the bed, receiving minimal friction that aids you in no way. It only makes you needier.

Blade pulls away to let Kafka pull your dress over your head, revealing the pretty, matching white set you have on underneath. You so obviously wore this with Jing Yuan in mind, and it irritates Blade that he was ever worthy enough to you to warrant such an ensemble. It was never right, never fair — but he has you now, and he doesn't plan on letting you go.

Kafka takes the initiative and unclips your bra, tossing the undergarment to the floor alongside your dress. You're pushed flat onto the mattress where she takes a moment to remove her crop top, leaning over you in her black lace bra.

She places a chaste kiss on your lips leaving your eyes to widen — watching with blown pupils as she lowers herself to your chest and darts her tongue toward your pebbled nipple. You drawl out a whine, your body curling up in response. She swirls the nub, dragging her teeth lightly on it and leaving you hissing and whimpering. All the while, Blade strips down to his underwear, tossing his long hair to the back and palming the tent in his pants.

You turn your head to your left and spot him, your face cringing in pleasure. You stretch your arms toward him and he complies, letting your hands find the sides of his head and pull him in for another kiss.

An agile hand slithers beneath the thin band of your panties, a slender finger slipping between your labia and running through your folds. You moan out into Blade’s mouth, hips jerking away and legs kicking into the air. “Your sensitive pussy’s all wet…” Kafka observes. She lays her head right below your boob, focusing her attention between your legs.

“‘S making a mess through your panties.” She laughs when you moan out again, her finger traveling down to your entrance and prodding.

“Kafka…” you moan, pulling away from Blade.

“Let’s see how long it takes to make you cum,” it’s so obvious that you're not going to last. Your cunt is soaked and only gets wetter by the minute, and her teasing ministrations have you moaning like a bitch in heat.

She adjusts her position, peeling down your panties and leaving them around your ankles lazily. The draft in your room whistles against your soaked folds - a chill runs up your spine as a result. She spits onto her hand as if it's needed, diving straight toward your clit. The sensitive bud is attacked mercilessly: heavy pressure weighing on it as Kafka draws figure-eights. There's a sticky clicking sound that arises and it makes her smile, taking a look at you and Blade over her shoulder.

You suck on his thumb, his left hand rubbing from your neck to your chest. Your whimpers are contained behind his digit, but your watery eyes say all. “You hear that?” She suddenly speeds up her actions, making your back arch and voice sing out around Blade’s finger.

And like a professional, she slows down, inching her finger back down to your hole. It slips in with ease and she sighs. “Dunno if she’s gonna be able to take you, Bladie,”

She pushes her middle finger in knuckle-deep, twisting her finger as she slithers her ring finger in beside it. Blade’s finger in your mouth does nothing to pacify you any longer - her fingers in your cunt bringing out the sweetest moans they’ve collectively ever heard. “She’s so tight…squeezing around my fingers.”

You writhe around in Blade’s hold and your arms brush over his hard-on every now and then. He winces and hisses, bucking into your touch. He needs to preoccupy himself before he cums in his pants—deciding to aid Kafka. His hand tentatively crawls toward your clit, rougher, thicker fingers pinching your bud. It has you huffing out a wail, balling your fist weakly on his thigh.

They keep up a steady pace in tandem, building up your orgasm with ease. Your body is reactive and receptive to their touch: falling apart when your core gets tight and even hotter.

“C’mon, little mouse…let it out for me,” Kafka encourages. She places sparse kisses against your thighs, the print of her lips faintly left in the color of her lipstick. “I can feel it. You wanna cum so bad,”

“Do it,” she murmurs between kisses, “let it out.”

It’s like your body is under her control. Your orgasm builds and crashes in a matter of seconds. Your hole spasms around her fingers but she never stops scissoring them inside of you, rubbing against your sweet spot and effectively overstimming you. You wail heartily, wrapping your arms around Blade’s arm and stopping him from continuing.

Kafka doesn't stop finger-fucking you until you come down from your high and endlessly whimper. She smears your release all over your pussy, bringing her coated fingers to her mouth.

Exaggeratedly, she sucks your juices off of her fingers, making sure to rock her hips against nothing and moan at the taste. “Mmfh,” and with a pop, she removes her digits from her mouth.

She hovers over you trying to catch your breath, capturing your face in her hand and squeezing your cheeks, forcing your lips to part. She lets her saliva drop from her mouth to yours, backing up with a smile. She stops you from swallowing: “Share,” she says.

You and Blade’s lips meet, smushing and mixing yours and Kafka’s spit. It gets messier, sloppier, and it's completely inefficient due to your awkward position but you comply nonetheless.

When you part, Kafka is making quick work of you and flips you over to your stomach. You yelp and giggle, looking over your shoulder and meeting her wide smile. Her index finger boops your nose and she turns to Blade, presumably signaling for him to get up. He stands up, hands grabbing your ankles and adjusting you perfectly.

Kafka slaps your tailbone softly, using her other hand to brush your hair out of your face. “Ass up,” she instructs, and you listen.

You wiggle your butt in the air with a laugh, laying your head on Kafka’s lap. Her pants are pretty comfortable and you find yourself becoming relaxed — while behind you Blade is pulling his boxers down and freeing his dick.

The last time you had actual sex was months ago…as in the middle to end of your freshman year. It was a forgotten one-night stand you met through a dating app - but he’s no match for Blade.

He presses the tip to your entrance, just teasing. Your heavy eyelids fly up, and you immediately brace yourself. You barely felt him, but he's big. You know it.

“Fuck…” he hisses. He wedges his cock between your folds, feeling your wetness smear against him. You feel his width, his length, his weight—he’s a lot less girthy than what you felt with your hands with Yuan, but he makes up for it in length.

If he keeps dragging his dick between your folds he’s going to cum. He has to physically stop himself, sucking in a deep breath because it's now or nothing.

Pressing the tip in you both gasp — and your sounds only drawl out until he completely bottoms out. He's so deep, and you're so wet. He's so big, and you're so tight. Dribbles of your previous orgasm and endless arousal seep out around him, and he nearly moans at the sight.

Getting a good grip on your ass, he spreads your cheeks, pushing you forward while pulling out. It’s a languid motion, edging you for the heart-stopping drop he imposes when you're filled fully again. Your moans come out with every collision and they're full of air. Your chest is tight and all of your air is flying out of your mouth. He's rendering you breathless, but it's nothing compared to how you're making him feel.

Blade begins to gradually increase his pace to satiate this intense hunger. He fucking needs you.

Now that he has a taste of you, his head is clear and his body is in nirvana. His strokes are precise and sharp. He pistons out of you with control, deep grunts skipping out of his mouth. It’s like your pussy is made for him: squeezing him just right in a tight hug and drooling endlessly.

Splat splat splat! The wet sound echoes from your collisions, battling against the barrage of moans that escape your mouth. “Oh, f-f—” you stutter over the curse, clawing at Kafka’s legs. She coos at you, rubbing your face. “You can take it, you got it. Good girl,”

“C-can’t! ‘M gonna cum!” You sob, burying your face into her leg.

Your body hasn't recovered from your previous orgasm, still reeling and the added pleasure Blade stacks on doesn't help. You feel like you're going to explode, wailing and drooling all over the place as your hips gain a mind of their own, fucking back against Blade and chasing your release.

“Think you can squirt for us?”

Oh, hell yeah. If there's one thing Blade wants to do for you, it's to ruin anybody else for you. He wants a monopoly over your body — he wants you to know him as your main source of Heaven on Earth and if there’s one way to do that…

In three swift movements, you're flipped back onto your back, legs on his shoulders. He slips back in with ease, wasting no time in pounding your cunt. He’s fiercer, more determined: drawn up with furrowed brows and his bottom lip snatched between his teeth, Blade becomes a different person.

There's more need, more fervor, an insatiable feeling that’s driven by your warm pussy around him and the idea of being the first person to make you squirt—the only person to make you squirt.

Kafka wraps her hand around your throat, squeezing the sides, and watches with pure amusement as your eyes grow foggier and your sounds grow choppier. They're just using your body, pushing you to the very limit and it's working so well.

A new fire has been lit under your ass and you feel alive — you're on top of the world and nothing but a grand finale can bring you down.

“G-got tighter…” Blade grunts out. Kafka turns to you, seeing how even though your eyes and mouth spill over, you still manage to curl your lips into a toothy grin. “Think she likes it,”

“You like this, huh? Being choked out while getting fucked silly?” God, yes. You love it—you’re on cloud nine.

In this position, Blade can fuck you deeper. He’s effectively digging you out, the slight left-leaning curve of his cock hitting your g-spot again and again. Quakes rack through your body again; it’s coming.

They both can tell and it's getting sloppy. Blade is holding back from blowing his load deep in you, and Kafka? Well, Kafka’s happy to play the supporting role - now letting go of your neck and wedging her head between you and Blade.

With her ass in the air, Kafka dives into the perfect arch to let her lips wrap around your clit, taking the neglected bud into her warm mouth with a long moan. The vibrations jolt through your body and you nearly scream out, thrashing above them.

It's too much, your body can't handle it. You start to crumble: your stomach gnarling and tears streaming down your face. “IcantIcantIcant—” Your hands frantically try to push Blade away but to no avail.

His grunts grow more animalistic as he puts all of his body weight into his thrusts, slowing down. He goes harder, making your body jostle with each grind of his hips. His face is knitted in pleasure, his porcelain skin damp with sweat and blemished in a crimson brushing. Kafka abusing your puffy clit with her tongue has you and Blade losing your minds, collectively falling apart.

This is it. This is pure, unadulterated bliss.

White hot heat surges through your body as you shake. Your thighs quiver on Blade’s shoulders, and Kafka can feel the stiffness of your clit. She slithers back to her seated position, her eyes never leaving the passion-filled affair occur.

Words you try to form only come out as broken squeaks and even Blade can't hold back any longer, letting out a string of blissed-out curse words as you clamp around him. The orgasm that begins to pour out of you is paired with a force that’s all but pushing him out.

You sob and he moans out — one last thrust breaking the floodgates. A clear stream shoots from between your legs, spurting at his abs. All the while, his orgasm comes over him, filling you with all his heavy balls had been storing.

You can't even move. Your chests heave for big breaths, unable to catch them.

It’s a high you can't come down from — filled with a surplus of electricity, liquor, and desire. You needed that more than anything, you needed him more than anything.

┄┄

A small yawn leaps from your mouth when your eyes begrudgingly open. What time even is it…?

You swing your arm over behind you in search of the device — but you're instead met with flesh. You're suddenly wide awake, sitting straight up only to realize you're completely naked. You turn to your side and there lays Blade, snoring softly into your pillow.

What the hell happened last night…

You jump out of bed, find something stray to throw on and feel an incredible ache between your legs. Clearly, you had quite the night. You can't concisely remember what happened last night and right now is definitely not the time to rehash your decisions.

You're not completely opposed to doing whatever you did with Blade because…well, he's Blade. He's always been attractive to you, and at least he’s willing to treat you like a person.

You're not going to wake him up so you leave him a note: scribbling your number on a random piece of paper and scurrying out of the room.

You need to find your phone and get some air—“Good morning. Took you a while to get up, huh.”

Kafka sits at the bar, stuffing her mouth with a spoonful of cereal. Does she know that you and Blade…

“Oh, yeah. Hey. Good morning…” you awkwardly puff out. Your voice is hoarse and you cringe at the sound, placing your hands on your chest with concern. “I’m gonna go um…get some food,”

“I made some eggs earlier if you want some—” “—I’m good. I could use the air, anyway.”

Kafka shrugs, turning back to her cereal. You rush out of your apartment in a blur, slamming the door and leaving Kafka in a brief silence.

Moments after you left, Blade emerges from the hallway. “Morning sleepy head. How’d you sleep?” She teases.

He nods, rubbing his eye. He takes a seat next to Kafka, holding up a piece of paper between two fingers. “Woke up to this,”

“The hell is that?” Kafka questions, spinning her spoon around in her bowl.

He flips the paper over, “Her number.”

A smile breaks across her face and she slaps his arm playfully. “Look at you!”

Blade fights off a coy smile, twirling the paper between his fingers. He waited so long, so patiently—and it was all worth it. He would do it again and again. All just to make you his.

459 notes · View notes

phyrestartr · 3 days

Text

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.3)

W/C: 3.1k #SFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, ABO elements, mentions of death, yuuji has entered the chat, gojo has entered the chat, idky this got sad tho lol

A/N: This bit made me very sad please suffer thank you!!! Also the main story will be wrapping soon (I think next part will be the last part?) and then after that, it'll probably be drabbles! There might be a 'sequel' that touches on the culling games tho because b r u h they've got some down time during that arc so hfhfhfhfhghghf imagine what I could do--

tags: @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah

A strict no-contact order had been placed on Yuuji, and, subsequently, Sukuna. Neither were to come into contact with you while you recovered, and neither were to be alone with you considering the control-slip incident.

Still, the curse had been rampant in the young man’s mind, constantly pacing back and forth just behind his consciousness, waiting patiently as a predator should for Yuuji's guard to go down. Granted, even if Yuuji was caught by surprise, it'd still be near impossible to overtake the peppy twenty year-old. Sukuna didn't have an explanation, but it was what it was.

He would have gladly seized control now, when you'd somehow managed to slip away from your recovery prison and get comfortable in Itadori Yuuji's bed. Sukuna would have slaughtered everyone at the academy for a second to touch you again, to breathe you in.

But the brat finally realized something was off, and woke to find your head tucked under his chin, his arms slung across your waist. Your breath fanned across his collarbone, tickling the sorcerer's touch-starved skin and feeding the fire burning in his cheeks–Sukuna, though, didn’t seem pleased his host was the one touching you. Yuuji counted that as a victory.

Suck it, dickhead.

Hm? A stranger’s voice rippled instead of the king's.

Yuuji jolted, his blood growing cold for a second before recognizing that voice–it came from that tidal wave of memories. But it didn't tick him off the way Sukuna's did. It was…nice.

Uh…you can hear me? Yuuji wondered. He tried to envision his voice as loud and clear as possible to help it reach you.

Your brows twitched in your daze. Yes, I can hear you. There's no need to shout.

Oh. Sorry. Uh, how'd you get in here?

The door.

Oh. Cool. Yuuji shifted a little. I'm not really supposed to, y'know, make contact with you or–

But you're warm. Your nails lightly dragged across his back, leaving trails of tingly pinpricks dancing across his skin. Yuuji swallowed a moan. God, why did the littlest touches feel so nice?

Y-Yeah? My grandpa used to say I ran hot. Like a furnace or somethin’.

I agree. You burn like firewood. And you smell warm. Like cedar and honey. You stretched languidly, and the younger stayed put, not strong enough to pull away from your praise and touch. Your teasing fingers raked through his hair daintily, and this time Yuuji did moan. Just the slightest bit before he snapped his mouth shut and bit his lip.

You leave me wondering how you taste.

“What?” Yuuji squawked. Your eyes lazily opened a crack, seemingly put off by the sudden break in room silence. It gave the sorcerer an opportunity to admire the golden glints of divinity hidden in the hue of your iris.

But he found fear in that moment, too. Yuuji knew what most didn't–the curse sealed inside of him thought you to be his equal. You were the only beast Sukuna would bow before, the only one whose attention he craved and sought in his reign.

You were, in a way, a king yourself.

Do you think I'll eat you, Yuuji?

“I–uh–you–well–” Yuuji fumbled exceptionally, choking on flustered words. “I just--Sukuna ate people, right? So, uh. Maybe you did too?”

You looked him over for a moment. Your gaze traced the cute curve of the younger's nose, the petite fangs worrying at his bottom lip, the caramel swirl of his eyes. He looked so much like Sukuna. It made you wonder.

I've eaten humans, yes, You agreed, nonchalant. Do you want me to eat you?

“Eat me?” Yuuji deadpanned, unsure if he should feel just bothered or hot and bothered. “I, well–”

No. Sukuna’s voice cut like ice through Yuuji’s mind. For a second, it scared him. It reminded Yuuji of what exactly Sukuna was. What he’d do.

So what would you do?

“Hey,” Yuuji started, suddenly calm, serious. “Why’re you on Sukuna’s side? You don’t seem like a bad person.”

You took a deep second to think before sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. Your tails curled weakly around your clothless frame, swallowing up any spot a young man’s curious gaze might wander in the secrecy of night. Maybe you’d been in this situation before.

“‘Good.’ ‘Bad.’ We all have different definitions.” Your voice rattled and scraped out your tired throat, yet you didn’t look perturbed in the slightest. “I do what pleases me: garden, sew, eat. Sometimes, I may cause harm in the process. I care sometimes, and I don’t others. Does it make me evil to choose what I care about?”

Yuuji’s head started to ache. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up with your fancy, archaic way of speaking, but he was sure as hell gonna try.

The younger sat up, too, and ruffled up his hair. “I mean. Don’t you wanna try to, y’know, not hurt people? Not cause harm, ‘n stuff?”

“Is fire wicked? Or does it simply exist?” You posed. “In the control of man, it is sacred. It cooks food, illuminates the dark, cloaks you with warmth. Yet it burns down trees. Swallows homes. Devours crops. Kills.”

You looked at Yuuji, rose-wrapped eyes resentful of something the sorcerer could not know. “Man regards fire as a blessing when controlled, yet it is a curse when it runs free with nature–existence, the black and white of the world, is in the eye of the beholder.”

Yuuji didn’t like how much that made sense to him. Objectively, Sukuna was bad. He killed. He murdered for fun. He ate people–

Yet your words, your pretty way of speaking and philosophies gave Yuuji pause. It didn’t click, despite igniting grim sparks in the cogs hidden far behind his eyes. He already made his mind up about good and evil, yes and no, white and black, and yet–

You poked him in the forehead, between his eyes, and Yuuji blinked.

“It’s merely food for thought, Yuuji.” Why did you know his name again? “Don’t burden yourself with making decisions or anything of the sort. I suppose my answer was long-winded in regards to your question.”

“Yeah, kinda,” he laughed, rubbing his cheek. “But, uh…it helped, I guess.” Yuuji pulled your hand down from poking him. “You don’t think Sukuna’s bad,” he concluded.

“I think he was a force of nature.” Your head tilted. Your eyes softened. “A monster to some, a god to others.”

“‘N to you?”

Your eyes caught the morning light, iris reflecting with waking embers.

“He was everything.”

Gojo thought you were pretty in the same way Getou was pretty; you were handsome with fine features, you radiated with odd power, and you spoke with unmatched poise and purpose it almost made the man’s ego swoon.

But you looked tired as Getou had, too. Skin void of blushing warmth, eyes distant and hazy, dark circles pulling your gaze away from him. He didn't like it. It made him remember that cold hand ripping his heart to pieces.

“Look who’s awake!” Gojo cheered as he sauntered toward you, hands in his pockets and a smile adorning his face. “Hungry? I could getcha some–”

“You were listening, were you not?” You wondered, running your bony fingers through matted fur systematically. Your split nails picked and clawed through tangles and knots thoroughly, as though it’d make a difference in your beat-up appearance.

Gojo tilted his head before settling down in the seat beside your bed. “Hm? Me? Listening? To–”

“Yuuji and I.”

“Ah! You mean the night you snuck out to do some naughty, naughty things with my student?”

You deadpanned fiercely, looking at him the way someone else used to. “Ha. Hm. Surely you jest.”

Gojo waggled his brows as much as he could, hoping they’d peek out over the top of his blindfold. “Hah, you think I don’t know what my sweet, precious Yuuji does behind closed doors? I know everything! I’m–”

“You misunderstand,” you cut him off, looking more and more concerned with each passing second. “You are a teacher? Why? How? This does not seem ethical.”

Gojo died. Rather, his pride did. Which was essentially his lifeforce.

“What are you–okay, I’m just gonna chalk it up to you being cranky after getting woken up, alright? I’ll give you a pass. Just once!” Gojo nodded as a benevolent creature should. “You should thank me.”

“I’d rather not.” You sighed and returned to your grooming. “If you wish to interrogate me, I require food first. Tofu, specifically”

Gojo laughed. “Man, you are one high-maintenance god. Alright, you want normie tofu, or agedashi tofu?”

You blinked and looked at him, curious.

“Agedashi tofu?”

You really liked agedashi tofu. You liked the little sauce it came with, you liked the other random shit Gojo bought to try and win over your compliance–well, honestly, he also just wanted an excuse to shower someone with the food and snacks he liked. It’d been a long time since he’d had the privilege to.

“So,” Gojo said as he popped the marble into the ramune bottle for you and handed it over, “About you and Sukuna.”

“Mhm?” Your eyes glittered in fascination as you took the drink and examined it from all angles, carefully tilting it here and there to watch the blue bubbles rise to the top as the glass ball rolled and spun in its tiny prison.

Gojo almost lost his train of thought watching you, but he reigned it in quickly.

“Seems like you were close.” Were was important. You'd referred to the menace in past tense when speaking with Yuuji–clearly, you didn't realize the curse resided within the young sorcerer. Best to keep it that way.

You pursed your lips in thought for a moment.

“I suppose. Why?”

“I'm just nosy!”

“I know that already. But there exists intelligence behind your annoying behaviour.” Your gaze slid to him, staring through the veil of fabric and straight into his eyes. “You're a monster like he was, aren't you?”

“Hah?! Rude!” Gojo whined, but regained composure just as fast. “Seems your intuition is pretty good, huh?”

“It's simply an understanding of nature.”

“Is that what pulled you to him? His nature?”

“No. I was given to him. As a gift. By a clan of sorcerers.”

“Huh. A gift.”

“Yes. The harvest festival required as much. He was revered as a godly creature. Something to be feared.”

“And so were you,” Gojo guessed, and you frowned and looked away, instead picking through the treats and snacks brought to you.

“The people saw us very differently.”

Sukuna didn't walk through the city below often–not until you decided you liked it down there.

Finding out that you walked through those streets alone sent a trill of something unpleasant up Sukuna's spine; knowing you were alone, vulnerable and under the eyes of so many that so often cursed Sukuna and wished him dead made him…uneasy, maybe. You could handle yourself. Sukuna simply couldn't handle the disrespect.

But things weren’t as he assumed.

You walked through town, and the people revered you as they would Amaterasu incarnate. Most didn't address you, but all saw and accepted your presence with grace and kindness, nodding or flickering small smiles as you passed by with the king trailing behind.

Sukuna could understand; you'd become something astoundingly breathtaking. Lush, full tails dipped and swayed as you walked with the poised elegance of royalty, the feeling only enhanced by the careful, intricate way you presented yourself in your attire. Sukuna knew you felt beautiful. You were beautiful.

“It's (Name!)” A child cried, and Sukuna fought the urge to punt the little shit into the restaurant across the road when the tiny human grabbed at your clothes.

But you smiled. You actually smiled when you patted the girl on the head and said your sweet hellos before ushering her along after her mother. The corners of your eyes crinkled for once, showing that, yes, you'd aged and felt joy and become so perfect because of it. And when you cooed sweet farewells to passing little ones, your fangs flickered against the colour of your lips, just for a second.

Your gilded gaze caught his carmine stare, and you tilted your head.

“Sukuna.” You held your hand out to him, and he took it. He had no choice. He was only human, and you were God. Walking through a city of mortals.

He let you lead on, wandering to the shops where you bought thread and fabric for your stupid little projects with money he didn't even know you had. You could have just taken everything you wanted, especially with the king stood right by your side, but you eased the shopkeeper's nerves with kind words and ample pay.

Sukuna all but picked you up and launched you both back home the second you were done meandering. He had a job to do; he had to fully commit to siring a runt.

Now, Gojo didn't need to know all that, but it didn't stop your mind from wandering to that night; it was the first time he looked at you like that. It was the first time he decided against lording his power over you, instead holding you close and taking things slow. You missed it. You yearned for the night he stopped seeing you as a toy and saw you as you. The night he finally learned your name.

“They viewed me as something divine,” you continued, digging out of the warmth of memories. “Perhaps because I walked alongside someone like him.”

“Well, only gods can walk through a volcano and come out unscathed, no?” Gojo smiled a bit as you looked away, embarrassed.

“That's a poor analogy.”

“Eh?”

“How would one walk through a volcano? None would even think to get close enough to do so.”

“W-Wait–”

“You would be underground, would you not? With limbs melted, oneself ablaze? And one would not walk but wade through lava.”

“It's just a metaphor!” Gojo wailed.

“A poor one.” And you continued to pick through snacks, unbothered that you'd just destroyed the strongest man alive as you munched on cheese-flavoured rice puffs.

Gojo laughed, though. “I can see why he liked you. Supports the theory he's not the one who put you in the coffin.”

“It wasn't him,” you snapped. Your ears flattened against your skull as you shrunk in on yourself. “At least…not directly.”

Oh? Gojo leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as he laced his fingers together.

“Then who was it? What happened?”

“I don't fully understand it myself,” you confessed. Your voice was a whisper, cold and lonely like a far North winter.

“Maybe I can help.”

You looked to him and back down again.

“There was a man. A sorcerer. I don't know his name–I never cared to learn it. He was odd.” You tore up little bits of hi-chew wrappers as you spoke. “He asked me if I would sacrifice myself for Sukuna.”

“And?” Gojo prodded.

“I would not,” you said. “Sukuna would never need my sacrifice, he'd never need my aid. He was the strongest.” A light frown tugged at the corners of your mouth. “That creature thought otherwise. He mentioned something about additional wombs, but I don't know what that means.”

Fuck. Gojo nodded politely. “Gotcha, gotcha. What'd this guy look like? You remember?”

“Unremarkable, save for the odd sutures across his forehead.”

“Oh? Interesting. Alright, last question, my cute little kitsune–”

“(Name),” you cut in. “Address me as (Name).”

Gojo sparkled. “Waaah, I think our relationship just leveled up to A-tier! One more level and I can romance–”

“Please do not make me hurt you.”

The white witch whined and deflated against his chair. “Boooring.”

You huffed and flicked your ear. “Ask your question, goblin.”

Gojo took a breath before he spoke.

“Are you with child right now?”

The world changed suddenly. Seal papers coating the walls drowned in bones and flowers as the pungent sweetness of orchids and decay curled around Gojo. Around you, a cage began to rise, jutting out from the earth and encircling you like thousands of rigid arms holding you in an embrace. And your eyes–they shone with abhorrent divinity, outshining even the nine, pristine tails breathing with blackened fire.

But there was screaming. Two voices intertwined. Little and distant, warped and outraged at–at something. Maybe Gojo? Maybe his accusations, his questions?

Just when the sorcerer was about to act, your clasped a hand over your stomach, and you whispered with the thrum of a thousand voices:

“Be still.”

It all moved slowly, then. The phenomenon–the apparent domain expansion–reversed, sinking back into the floors and walls with the soft sound of chittering and cooing taking the place of wicked screeches. You, too, cooed back to the twin voices, placating them with maternal ease.

Your divinity faded with the last shreds of the illusion. Now, your colours faded further, painting you in desaturated tones of exhaustion and worry. Gojo hated that palette. It'd been used too many times on too many he doted on. God was stupid like that, creating such sad, worrisome colours.

The sorcerer took a deep breath in the silence of the room. He didn't know what to say, or how to say it. He was never good at this kind of thing. His other half was much better at this.

But he had to try. The look on your face told him he had to try.

What would he have done?

Gojo’s hand reached out as he leaned forward, and he caught your scarred, bony hand in his own. You didn’t pull away, you didn't fight him, you instead curled your fingers around his and held your breath while your gaze became unseeing, your heart ceased beating just as your breathing had. For a moment, you died.

“I'm sorry,” Gojo whispered. And you nodded. Somehow, he knew it meant, ‘me too.’

It was then, touching you, that he could feel the negative energy thrumming beneath a shell of divinity. Two different un-lives coiled inside of you, filled with bitter hate for man and undying love for their mother. For you. It wasn't unlike the bond shared between Yuuta and Rika, but this was not as simple.

“Your ilk did not approve of Sukuna siring children,” you murmured. Your grip on his hand turned poisonous. “If you try to take them from me–”

“What'll you do?” He asked, knowing they'd never be born.

“--I will turn everything to ash. Set fire to the skies. Just as I have once already.”

“Good.” Gojo smiled. “You'd be a good mother.”

“I hope I one day can be.”

The masked menaced nodded again as he idly soothed his thumb across your knuckles. “Never say never, yenno? We'll figure something out for you. If you can do something to help the school–”

“I can give gifts. Once I have the energy.” You didn't sound like you did. Gojo wasn't sure if you ever would.

“Yeah? Like what?” He asked anyway.

You looked at him, weak and defeated, yet still clinging to life.

“My divine favour.”

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