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capslocked · 20 days

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PROXIMITY

male reader x chou tzuyu

25k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And her collarbone is out too. Ouch.

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

The problem is, you’ve recognized her immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* Avoid unnecessary physical contact

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

* Do not offer opinions/advice unless specifically asked

* Minimize speaking, just to be safe

* Do not exchange gifts, especially personal ones

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

* Adjust and reframe

* Reinforce

* Remind yourself

* To just fucking think about literally anything else

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh yeah, for the ambience."

"For the ambience," she nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe in, slow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fire pops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm. Sure."

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

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

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

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

"Did I get it?"

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

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

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

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

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

"There," you say, smiling, naive.

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

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

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

But everything starts to sink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, christ-

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

You breathe, shaking your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds like a you problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Swallow," you tell her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu lets herself go slack against your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that is - a vision.

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

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

"A shirt?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right."

"Your favorite past-time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The power goes out early in the morning.

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu opens the sliding glass door to the balcony.

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

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

"Maybe."

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

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

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

"Want to look for it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meaning?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

"My cocksleeve, my good girl, shit-"

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

"Is that what my girl wants?

She smiles, again, so prettily.

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

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

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

Her hips come up off the granite, desperately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have no business thinking about babies.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

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

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

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

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

"My benefit, really?"

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

"Not making this easier, babe."

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

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

Tzuyu nods.

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

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

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

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

"Then you get your turn," you offer.

"Deal," she nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," is all you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes?" you prompt.

"Is it working?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No comment."

"So shy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put your hands on her hips.

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

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

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

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

The days bleed together after the snow.

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

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

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

"I have my limits, princess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's what makes her heart beat. )

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

You continue combing.

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

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

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

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

"If you don't take that back-"

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

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

Tzuyu shudders slightly under your touch.

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

"Sir, don't pretend."

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

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

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

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

"Too bad."

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

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

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

This doesn't have to end, no?

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

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

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

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

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

"Crazy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her legs snap to you quick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you ask:

"What now, doll?"

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

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

"Was the screaming really that necessary."

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

"I," is the immediate reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were right. "This is hell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mnph.” Tzu chokes down a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, fuck, fuck- need to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're not a bad person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

She's at the doorway.

“Us. Being here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gloomy," you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And our usual antics?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A girl like her, kissing so eager for you-

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

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

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

“How is that fair?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#tzuyu smut #twice smut #tzuyu #twice tzuyu smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

1K notes · View notes

seeingivy · 4 months

Text

french toast

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

an: enabled by @babiemay thank her for giving me the BIGGEST best friends older brother sukuna brain rot i've ever had in my life. (ooc sukuna again btw)

**part of my best friends (older brother) fic

previous part linked here

based on the seventeen years that sukuna has known you, he figures that you’ve already worked up some type of overthinking storm in your head when you arrive at his apartment two days later. and he knows for a fact that he’s right, because you’re at his doorstep with a pinched look on your face, clutching your purse like you’re about to get robbed.

“hi pretty girl. did someone make an attempt on your life today?”

you can feel your cheeks burning at the term of endearment, so phased you can barely coherently respond - or understand - what it is he said.

“no?” you respond, nearly sweating under his eye contact as he smiles.

“then why are you looking at me like you think i’m going to eat you?” he asks, annoyed as he gestures for you to walk into the kitchen.

you feel your head run in a spiral, at the implication of his words, as he places his hands flat on your shoulders, and guides you to sit at the stool on his little kitchen island. the entire ordeal - the breakfast, the fact that he’s peeling off your coat and pressing a kiss to your temple, and the lingering touches - they make your skin burn, almost itch with nervousness.

he stands on the other side of the counter, leaning forward on his forearms, as he smiles at you. and you try your best to figure out what exactly it is that’s beaming in his eyes as he leans forward.

“pick your poison.”

you feel yourself pale.

“huh?”

he frowns, as he leans back.

“for breakfast? what did you want to eat?” he clarifies.

you breathe a sigh of relief.

“anything’s okay. don’t trouble yourself. i-i can even help.”

you walk over to his side, pulling up your sleeves and giving him a peachy smile, as he takes the opportunity to step towards you. your back hits the counter and sukuna makes it a point - resting both of his arms at your sides - as he traps you within his hold.

“talk.” he states, almost sternly.

“hm?”

sukuna leans closer, leaning his forehead against yours, as he takes a deep breath. it reminds you vividly, of two nights ago, when he pulled you straight onto his lap. and murmured into your skin that you were his pretty girl. and that he was going to prove it to you.

“talk.” he states, the tone in his voice irritated.

you look up at him, at his eyes razor focused in on yours, and spot no inclination of irritation on his face. despite the fact that you were almost positive that it was dripping from his tone. though, you always found him particularly hard to read.

“now.” he murmurs.

you sigh.

“what are you trying to do right now?” you ask.

he rolls his eyes. there’s the irritation you were hearing.

“make you breakfast.” he deadpans.

“is that all?”

“what are you getting at?” he asks.

sukuna often finds that talking to you is like digging a hole. that it takes patience. because he’s not going to find what he’s looking for forthright. but he knows for a fact that there’s something down there.

it’s aggravating. but he persists.

“promise you won’t make fun?” you ask.

“i will do no such thing.”

“sukuna.” you whine, crossing your hands against your chest.

sukuna finds this part of you endearing. because it reminds him of all the different ways he’s seen you. when you were four and barging into his house to play wii with his little brother, explaining barbie movies at the dinner table, and tagging along on his family vacation when he was fourteen.

and how after all this time, you still have the same tendencies. you bounce your right leg when you’re nervous, tuck your hair behind your ears when you’re finished rambling, and curl your hands into little fists and cross your arms - entirely unable to meet his eyes - when you’re embarrassed.

sukuna clears his throat, as you look up at him. and you know the expression all too well. that he’ll wait all day if he has to.

“no making fun. i’m serious, sukuna.”

“it’s almost like you know you’re going to say something stupid.”

“don’t call my feelings stupid.” you murmur.

“well, i’ll keep calling them stupid until you tell me what they are. i’ll be honest if you let me.”

this is something you can appreciate about sukuna. that he won’t beat around the bush. or say things just to coddle. it’s the same as the other night, where you told him about what happened at the bar, when he didn’t rush to your defense like almost everyone else does. and when it comes to this, you figure that he’ll be straightforward.

“are you trying to have sex with me right now?” you ask.

you look at sukuna, specifically at the way his eyes widen, before he breaks out into a laugh. and not just any laugh, because he’s nearly keeling over with how amusing he finds it. howling even. and it makes even more blood rush to your cheeks, humiliated for even bringing it up.

sukuna grins, lifting his hands up from the sides of the counter and wrapping them around your neck.you can feel your breath hitch in your throat, as you instinctively shut your eyes. he’s going to be straightforward.

“your feelings are stupid.” he whispers, right into your skin.

you pull back, staring at him dumbfounded, as he places one of his hands on your waist. and he’s staring back at you, the expression in his face slightly amused.

“that’s not nice.”

“i’m not a nice person.”

it’s frustrating. the tone that he uses with you. it teeters between placating and teasing you and you find it hard to decide which one exactly it is. and it seeps right under your skin, lets your irritation come to a head faster than it usually would.

“okay, well. sue me! you had no problems doing god knows what in my room the other day. and-and then you were making jokes about how you were going to eat me. the second that i got here. and-and you know how you are-”

“and what’s that?”

you pause.

“what?”

“you said you know how you are. well, i don’t. enlighten me please.” he clarifies.

sukuna’s pleased with himself. because he’s figured out exactly what it is, that’s brewing in that head of yours. and naturally, he has every intention to make you mince your words.

“you-”

you’re not sure how to say this. if there’s a polite way to call him what he is.

“i’m what? a manwhore?” he asks.

“no! you-”

“you think i’m a horny freak, right? that i want to lift you up, take your skirt off, and have you right here on my kitchen counter?”

you feel your eyes go wide, as you swallow hard, and feel the nervousness take residence in your stomach. sukuna senses it fast enough and makes his efforts to diffuse it.

“do you think i would only invite you here because i want you to please me? do you think that’s the only way i can enjoy your company?”

you can feel yourself getting too overstimulated, your head nearly steaming - at the implication, at the way he’s looking at you, and the fact that his lips are a few feet away from yours - and his smug grin crawling underneath your skin and making you twitch.

you cover your face with your hands, feeling the warmth on your palms, as you feel his hands curl around your wrists, prying them off of your face. and when you look up at him, at the soft smile on his face, as you can’t help but frown at him.

“no…”

sukuna smiles.

“are you lying to me?”

you deflate.

“maybe a little.”

sukuna secures his hands around your waist, before fully lifting you up and placing you on the counter. and he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek before he wordlessly starts rummaging through different cabinets in his kitchen and the fridge, fully intent on making you the breakfast you were promised.

you can’t help but watch him, as he muses around his kitchen, slicing vegetables on the cutting board and fruits on the side. at how he entirely discards the conversation you just had like it was nothing.

from two feet away, sukuna is very, very appreciative of you. because you’re not very proud. and despite your first attempts, you’re honest too. because he knows for a fact that your hesitation to state your thoughts is because you don’t want to write sukuna off as something so…lewd. even if you think it’s true. and that of course, any hesitation on your part comes from something deeper than him.

the deep seated distaste you seem to have for yourself. though sukuna’s entirely unsure why it’s there in the first place. he slices a strawberry in half, letting the eggs cook at his side, before he makes a residence standing in between your legs.

he hands you one of the halves of the strawberry, before popping the other in his mouth and leaning into your space.

“i don’t think you’re a manwhore.” you clarify.

“okay. i don’t think you’re one either.” he responds.

you smile.

“but you do think that’s the only reason you’re here?” he pokes.

“no! no, i don’t think that. i just-”

you sigh, placing your hands flat on the fabric of his hoodie, as you crumple it into your fists.

“sorry. i’m not very good at this type of thing. and-and you’re like…you know. reputation. and you obviously have needs! and megumi thinks you’re a womanizer.”

sukuna snickers, as you release his hoodie, and you deflate slightly. mainly at the fact that he’s not offended. and letting you ramble - and say ten different things you shouldn’t - openly.

sukuna doesn’t shy away from what exactly it is that you think of him. or what that godawful sea urchin megumi thinks either. because it’s naturally, quite simple. and somewhat true. because he finds it hard to stay in one place for a long time. and as you very keenly put it, he had needs.

though, that rule, as sukuna was painstakingly reminded of, didn’t apply to you. because again, you transcended any normal guideline that sukuna had. which is why he was keen on making you breakfast two days later, on his day off. and make your favorite, which he specifically remembers from the camping trip.

“i’m not sure what thing you’re referencing. and make no mistake. i don’t talk in tongues like you do. if i invite you over for breakfast, it’s because i want to eat breakfast with you.” he responds.

“you were the one who said you were going to eat me.” you defend.

“you were looking at me like you were scared of me. like how prey looks at a predator before it gets eaten?”

“oh.”

sukuna pushes off the counter as he starts plating the food onto and feels his ego inflate when you jump off the counter and cling to his arm when you realize what exactly it is that he made.

“sukuna. i love french toast!”

“yes. i’m well aware.”

"how'd you know?" you ask.

sukuna looks over at you, the look in his eyes so devious, that you know you've certainly walked into something by stating it.

"you told us. on the camping trip. you've always been my pretty girl. even when you were fourteen."

you barely have time to even stomach what it is that he said as he lifts both plates as he makes a gesture for you to follow, seating the two of you back on his kitchen island. and when you settle in, sukuna gets to pick at your mind, with the questions that have been stuck in his head for the past two days.

“before i divulge my manwhore adventures for you, you have to indulge me first. how many guys have you dated? or talked to?” sukuna asks.

you hate sukuna’s choice of words sometimes. indulge. it’s almost like he knows he’s saying words that make you nervous. that make the sweat accumulate on the palms of your hands.

“where’d you learn how to make french toast like this?” you ask, deflecting.

“i asked first.”

you swirl the eggs around on the plate - moving them from the left, to the right, and back to the left - before you answer.

“i had a crush on this guy named dean from sixth grade to eighth grade. all of the boys in school got dared to slow dance with different girls and he picked me. it was an awkward four minutes of halo by beyonce but i loved him after that. he was funny. and cute.”

“did you date?” he asks.

“oh, of course not. he started liking this girl named kimi in eighth grade.”

sukuna’s not exactly sure if this is the question he asked. but you keep going. and it’s intriguing to him nonetheless.

“in my sophomore year of highschool, i had a crush on this guy named parker. he was kind of nerdy, like the stupid type? my english teacher would always put us in group projects together, and when i asked him why, he said it was because he wanted us to get married.”

“that’s an appropriate thing to say to a fifteen year old.” sukuna bites.

“no! my teacher had this dream to go to two of his students weddings, that met in his class.”

“and what killed that extremely inapprorpiate dream, dead in its tracks?”

“my best friend. we all somehow ended up in the same friends group our junior year. and they kind of started flirting. dated all the way till our freshman year of college.” you respond.

sukuna curbs the question that comes to the forefront of his mind. because it occurs to him that his plausible answer to it, one that he despises, is exactly what’s going to be the answer. that if they liked each other, you were going to let them. despite the fact that you liked him first.

“any more for me?” sukuna asks.

“my first boyfriend was in my senior year of highschool.”

sukuna feigns shock, as you fight the urge to laugh.

“have we finally arrived to a real boyfriend?”

you laugh, as you settle your hand into his underneath the table. there’s something so inviting about him, the way he’s hanging off the ends of your words and listening intently, that makes you continue.

“we don’t speak his name.” you state.

“oh?”

“he’s not a good guy. we dated until….my freshman year of college. december. and we officially stopped talking the summer of my sophomore year.” you state.

sukuna bites the urge to ask every question in his mind. on who this guy is, why you continued to talk to him almost an entire year after, and most importantly, why you haven’t talked to anyone else since.

except for him anyways. for the first time, sukuna finds himself being the exception. in a way that’s favorable to him.

“that’s all of them! your turn.”

sukuna smiles.

“that’s all?”

“mhm! it’s kind of boring, i’m assuming. in comparison to you.”

sukuna concludes one thing. that all three of these men, especially the last, were not deserving of you. in the slightest. and that each one had wrecked a sizeable amount of havoc. he curses himself for not paying attention when he was still there.

“oh definitely. you’d need to stay here all day if you wanted to here that.”

you smile brightly.

“that can be arranged.” you respond.

sukuna leans forward, lips a few feet away from yours, before he speaks again.

“you like to play hard to get, don’t you?” sukuna asks.

“what? what do you mean?”

sukuna places his hands on the rung of your chair, before pulling it flesh with his own. and he tests the waters, by placing his hand on your bare knee, right near the pleats of your black skirt. and he feels you instinctively press your legs together, but make no moves to push him off.

“i didn’t make the list?”

you swallow hard, entirely embarrassed. though, your first real crush you supposed is naturally the one that you’ve denied, vehemently, since you were four years old and yuuji asked you in passing.

because when your eyes lingered on him for too long, after he fixed the wii controls and dutifully handed you both your controllers back - of his wii, that he was letting you play on - yuuji halfmindedly asked the question.

why are you looking at him like that? do you like him or something?

it was a joke, of course. because yuuji just asked so he could start the match of wii tennis while you weren’t paying attention. that in the rush of it, you never got to consider the answer to it in full. though you suppose there’s no better time to answer it than now.

“i have this best friend. his name is yuuji.” you start.

sukuna’s alarmed. so alarmed that he pulls his hand off of your thigh, retreating it behind his back.

surely you didn’t really like yuuji. because that would stop whatever it was that was blooming right now. because he was not his brother, despite their identical pink hair. the farthest thing from it actually.

“i met him when i was four. and i barged into his house because he wanted me to play wii with him. you see, his big brother didn’t really like to play with him so he figured that i was the next best thing.” you state.

“he had greasy hands. so did you. it was disgusting.” he states.

“and yuuji didn’t know how to turn on the game. or-or remember which one it was in. so he called his very cool, much older brother, to help us. i’d never met a six year old before, and naturally if i had, i wouldn’t have thought he was so cool.”

“shut up.”

sukuna desperately wants you to continue.

“seemed like the real serious type. kind of quiet. dark blue shirt, black shorts. the socks that only go to your ankles. i didn’t even know that his name was sukuna until a few days later, when he walked with us to school. he didn’t even introduce himself to me.”

“did you want to know him that badly?”

“and he fixed the remote, obviously. had some six year knowledge we didn’t clearly. and-and he turned to me. gave me a smile before he handed one to me and walked away.” you state, shrugging at him.

sukuna’s satiated with your answer. mostly because, it seems you seem to remember the ordeal in as excruticating detail as he has. that you were wearing a pink dress, gold earrings, and a ribbon in your hair. that your skin was the softest he had ever felt, that you were the first girl who had brushed fingers with him when he handed you the remote, save for his mom of course

sukuna brings his hand back into your hair, feeling the fabric of the blue ribbon in your hair today, matching with the short cardigan that you were wearing. and he wants to keep this one too. yank it out of your hair and secure it to his keys next to the pink one he refused to return.

sukuna looks down at the fabric, at your hair sprawled over your shoulder. he can make out the length of your collarbone from underneath your tanktop and settles his lips right into divot, before pressing a lingering kiss into your skin and feeling you keel over in his arms.

“france.” he murmurs, right into your skin.

“what’s that?” you ask, dazed from the contact.

“i learned to make the french toast in france.”

he kisses up the length of your neck, making no inclination to stop even as you barely stutter your words out. and for the second time, can't resist and places his hands on your waist just to pull you straight on top of him.

"makes sense. that's just-just toast for them." you mumble.

sukuna can't help but laugh. he's never going to tire of you.

next part linked here

taglist: @ghostreadersthings @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks

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sonamytrash · 5 days

Text

Bad, bad boy.

Underground Levi x F! Reader

An: With bad boy out in less than four days, I felt inspired to write some sexy underground Levi.

Warnings: S3x, semi public s3x, dirty talk, alcohol drinking mentioned, smoking mentioned, reader has big tiddies, underground Levi, fem reader, female anatomy described, vaginal fingering, multiple org@sms, creampie, unprotected s3x.

The dimly lit bar, nestled deep within the labyrinthine underground, was a haven for those seeking solace from the harsh realities of their world. The warm glow of amber lights danced across the rough-hewn walls with a haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air like a thin veil.

He'd been nursing his drink for the better part of an hour, lost in thought, when you walked in. Levi glanced up as he felt a familiar presence. Something about you had caught his eye weeks ago - the way you moved, the confidence in your step, your curvaceous figure that seemed to demand attention.

The beautiful woman who had been frequenting his thoughts, and this bar as often as he. Your hair fell in waves down your back, and your eyes seemed to glow in the low light. You were dressed in a form-fitting black dress that hugged your body tightly. You were always a striking contrast to the drab surroundings of the underground. He could feel his heart race as your eyes met, the connection between the two of you almost tangible.

Your eyes adjusted to the light, scanning the crowd for his familiar face. You spotted him almost immediately; Levi, the short, brooding man with piercing blue eyes and a body that could make even the most jaded of women weak at the knees. His gaze was locked on you, and you could feel it like a physical touch, sending shivers down your spine.

You smiled to yourself, taking a step forward. The sound of your high-heeled shoes clicking on the floor seemed to echo through the bar, drawing everyone's attention to you. Levi's gaze never wavered as you sauntered to towards him, feeling more and more confident with each step.

It was true that your mere presence demanded the gaze of everyone in the room. And as often as other regulars tried to court you, it was all in vain. Very rarely did you bother to give them the time of day. Most of these men were filthy, obnoxious, and rude. But there was something about Levi, something you decided was becoming too much to ignore. He was always so well kempt, so aloof. Why not indulge your curiosity? for just tonight.

Finally, you reached the bar and leaned down, your breasts grazing the surface. "Whiskey, please." You purred to the bartender, your voice low and sultry.

Without another word, you slid onto the bar stool next to him as the man behind the counter poured your drink, your knees brushed against each other as you crossed your legs, sending a wave of desire coursing through the both if you.

Levi glanced at you, his expression unreadable. He took a sip of his drink, and then another, as if to steady his nerves. "You come here often, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly. "But you never seem to leave with anyone." He comments.

You smirked, taking a sip of your own drink, "About as often as you." You reply, "and I could say the same, I leave whenever I can manage to slip away, can't a woman enjoy a drink without having to go home with someone?." you continued, raising an eyebrow, your own voice equally husky. He shrugs in response "I'm not judging you, there's fuck all else to do in this shit hole." He says, taking another drink.

"You're Levi, right?" You asked. You weren't sure why you were asking; you already knew who he was. You had seen him here every other night, alone at the corner of the bar. He'd drink a few whiskeys and leave, much like yourself.

The handsome, brooding man in the corner had caught your attention weeks ago, and you knew he was trouble. You had thoroughly enjoyed watching him effortlessly wipe the floor with the owner of the establishment in an arm wrestle. Each and every time you saw one another, there was an exchange of glances from across the room. An unspoken longing that was evident in his gaze.

He nodded, still not taking his eyes off you. "And you must be y/n." he said, his voice rough with desire. "I've seen you here, watching me. I didn't know if you were interested, or just curious...either way, you never try to hide the fact." He smirked.

"Well, I've heard stories about you," you admitted playfully, taking another sip of whiskey. "You're quite the legend, you and your friends, you know that? So I suppose you could say I'm both curious and interested." You tease.

Levi raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" he drawled, his voice laced with skepticism. "And what have you heard?"

You leaned closer to him, your breath fanning his cheek. "Well, I've heard you're strong, fearless, and loyal to a fault," you said, your voice lowering even further. "They say you're reckless, but I think it's just that you don't know how to back down from a fight." You trail your fingers gently over his knee and slowly up his leg, your face closer still until your lips were millimetres away from his ear. "They say you're nothing but trouble,"

Levi shot you a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable. "Funny, they say the same about you." he replies, another sip.

You smiled, feeling a thrill run through you at his words. "They say I'm trouble," you admit, your voice low and sultry. "That I'm always up to something, and that you should stay away from me if you know what's good for you." You rest your head in your hand, tilting it innocently. A playful smile painted accross your lips.

Levi chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your ear. "Well, it seems we've both been given some interesting reputations," he said, his gaze locked on you. "I have to admit, I'm curious. What do you think we should do about that?"

You leaned even closer, your breath tickling his neck. "I think," you whispered, "we should see just how much trouble we can get into together." Your fingers traced circles on his thigh, and he could feel the heat emanating from your body. "Don't you agree, Levi?"

He smirked, knocking back the last of his drink and then set it down on the bar. "I think," he growled, his voice rough with desire, "that we've danced around whatever this is long enough. "

You didn't seem the least bit intimidated, which only served to fuel his curiosity and arousal further as you smirked, standing up and gesturing towards the door.

Without another word, he slid off his stool and followed you out of the bar. The cool night air hit you like a wave as you stepped onto the street. You lit up a cigarette, cupping your hands around it to shield the flickering light. Levi stood beside you, close enough that he could feel the heat from your body, the tip of the glowing red stick illuminating your face in the darkness. Levi took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart as he watched you exhale smoke into the air.

After some moments, Levi followed your gaze, taking in the darkened alleyway to the left. He grabs your arm, leading you down the alleyway, dropping your cigarette in the process. "What a waste." You complain, your lips curling into a wicked grin as he presses you against the rough brick wall. He reaches out and trails his fingers down your cheek, feeling the softness of your skin beneath his touch. "Finally." He purrs before your your lips meet in a hungry, desperate kiss. Your body pressed against his, hands tangled in his hair, your tongues intertwined, mixing the tastes of alcohol and nicotine. Levi revelles in the curve of your breast against his chest. He pushes you harder against the wall, your lips still locked, bodies grinding together in a frenzy of desire.

A low, guttural groan rumbles in his chest as he presses his body flush against yours, his fingers trailing up your sides. His tongue sweeps in and out of your mouth, urgently exploring, as his kisses grow more demanding. Pulling away slightly, he murmurs against your lips, "Fuck, I've wanted this for so long..." His hands slide down to grip and lift your plush thighs, silently urging you to wrap your legs around him.

Levi lets out a shuddered groan as you wrap your legs around his waist and press yourself against his hardness. His grip tightens on your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Fucking tease," he growls, grinding his hips against you. His lips capture yours in another searing kiss, all tongue and teeth.

One hand slides up your body to cup your breast, kneading the supple flesh as his thumb teases your nipple through the thin fabric. "You have no idea what you do to me," he mutters against your lips, his voice a low, rumbling rasp.

"Oh, I do, Levi...." You moan in between kisses, taking his face into your hands, biting hip lip seductively. "I've seen the way you look at me." A moan escapes you as he tweaks your hard nipple through your dress. "You like these, don't you?" You tease breathlessly.

Levi's eyes darken with desire as he hears your seductive words. "You have no idea," he growls, his fingers kneading your breast with more fervour. His hips grind against your core, the hardness in his pants pressing deliciously against you.

With a low, rumbling chuckle, his hot breath caressing your neck. "These tits drive me wild," he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck. He yanks the dress down, baring your upper body to his hungry gaze. A low, guttural groan rumbles in his chest as he drinks in the sight of your ample breasts. "I'm going to enjoy every inch of you." His teeth graze your neck again, eliciting a whimper of pleasure from your lips. His other hand slides down to grip your rear, pulling you up tighter against him. "But you know what I want even more?"

You throw your head back against the wall and moan as you feel his hard cock through his trousers rubbing against your dampened cunt. "Mmmph, I can take a pretty good guess." you say, rolling your hips again against him suggestively, tightening your legs around his waist.

He smirks as his grip on your hips tightens further, his eyes narrowing with predatory hunger. "I want to feel your tight little pussy wrapped around my cock, milking me dry." He hikes up your dress as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside. "Can you handle that?" he growls, his voice thick with desire. His lips crash against yours again, his tongue plundering your mouth as his hands roam your body.

You nod breathlessly. "Even if I can't, don't stop...." You purr.

Levi's eyes flash with dark desire at your breathless response. His fingers tease your slick folds, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips. "Good girl," he murmurs against your skin, nipping at your neck and travelling diwn to take one of your nipples into his mouth. Without warning, he plunges two digits deep into your quivering heat, curling them to stroke your most sensitive spot. His thumb presses against your swollen clit, rubbing in firm, tantalizing circles. "You're so fucking wet for me, I can't wait to bury my cock in this tight little pussy."

You didn't make a habit of hooking up with men in bars, but something about him made you weak in the knees and you were right to follow your intuition. You bit your lip in an effort to suppress a moan.

Levi's eyes flash with wicked delight at your muffled moans. "Don't be shy now y/n, let me hear you," he growls, his fingers picking up pace as they pump in and out of your slick heat. His thumb presses harder against your swollen nub, drawing out more delicious whimpers. Leaning in close again, he captures your lips in another hungry kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure. "You feel so fucking good. I'm going to make you come so hard on my fingers before I split you open on my cock."

"W-what a dirty mouth." You hiss, your eyes rolling upwards blissfully, fingers gripping the undercut at the back of his head harder. He really is as strong as they say, gripping your ass effortlessly and pinning you against the wall while finger fucking you, what a fucking treat.

Levi's lips curve into a devious smirk at your breathless taunt. "Looks to me like you love it," he growls, his fingers curling and thrusting with renewed fervor. "You're fucking soaked. Now come for me, nice and hard." He grinds his palm against your sensitive clit, his piercing gaze fixed intently on your face as he works to bring you to the edge. A man had never made you cum so fast before, Levi's fingers curl and stroke relentlessly as your orgasm crashes over you, your entire body shuddering against him. He swallows your desperate moans with a searing kiss, drinking in every quiver and twitch of your pussy around his digits. "That's it, let it all out," he murmurs roughly against your lips. When your climax finally begins to ebb, he slowly withdraws his hand, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth to suck them clean. "Delicious," he growls, his eyes smoldering with dark desire.

Levi's eyes are fixated on you as he watches you guide his hand to your lips before you lick and suck his fingers clean. A low, guttural sound rumbles in his chest. "Fuck, you're insatiable," he growls, pressing his body flush against yours. His hands grip your hips again, pulling you snug against his straining erection.

"I need to be inside you," he rasps, his hands gripping your hips possessively. In one swift motion, his fingers deftly work to unfasten his pants, freeing his aching hardness. "Hold onto me," he growls, guiding the tip of his cock to your slick, quivering entrance. With a sharp thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. His eyes fluttering shut as your tight, soaking pussy envelops his aching length. A strangled groan tumbles from his lips as he stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his impressive cock, "So fucking tight..."

Levi's hips begin piston relentlessly, driving his thick cock into your sopping pussy with bruising force. Each powerful thrust punched the breath from your lungs, his cock plumbing your depths. The cold brick wall pressed against your back, but it only seemed to heighten the sensation of being so close to him. He grunted and growled with primal satisfaction, his fingers leaving bruises on your hips. "That's it, fucking take it all," he rasped, his voice dripping with lust. "Your greedy cunt is loving this...." His pace grew more erratic as he neared the edge, desperate to find his own release.

Levi's grip on your hips remains tight, pounding into you with deep, relentless thrusts. His breath comes in ragged gasps, mingling with your desperate moans.

Levi's calloused hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he fucks you relentlessly, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the alleyway. His steel-gray eyes blaze with primal hunger, locked on your face as he drinks in every pleasured moan and gasp that tumbles from your lips.

"Cum all over my cock, I want to feel you dripping down my thighs." He states as his fingers find your clit, rubbing it in circles with just the right amount of pressure.

"Levi," You moan breathlessly, arching your back as your body tensed, ready to explode.

Levi felt your muscles clench around him, your walls rippling as they contracted, your breath hitching in your throat. He thrust deeper, harder, faster as he felt the hot rush of your release, the tightening of your inner muscles around him. He groaned into your neck, feeling your body shudder with the force of your orgasm.

Levi's eyes are fixated on you as you convulse around his throbbing length, your desperate cries of pleasure sending a jolt of primal satisfaction through him. With a feral growl, he redoubles his efforts, slamming his hips against yours at a punishing pace as he chases his own release.

Levi leans in, claiming your lips in a bruising kiss as his rhythm begins to falter, his muscles tensing as the thick ropes of his release spill deep inside you. "Fuck... Levi!" you whimper against his lips, his hips grinding into you as he empties himself completely.

Levi's taut frame shudders, his fingers digging into your hips as he rides out the aftershocks of his release. His steel-gray eyes are molten with satisfaction, his usually stoic features etched with unbridled bliss.

You both remained there for a moment, panting, your chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath. The alleyway seemed to swirl around you as you came to your senses. You leaned your head back against the rough brick wall, feeling the coolness seep into your flushed skin.

"So," mischievous glint in your eye, "you ready for more trouble?"

Levi grinned, his gaze travelling up and down your body. "Only if it comes in the form of you."

You smirk playfully, feeling a thrill of excitement run through you. "My place, it's not far from here." You managed to say between ragged breaths. "Lead the way," he said, his voice rough with desire.

You laughed the sound low and husky. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear. "Come on then, you bad, bad boy. Let's go."

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi aot #levi x y/n #captain levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi smut #levi ackerman x reader #fanfiction smut #aot smut #underground levi #underground levi x reader

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cas-kingdom · 11 months

Note

Would you write for criminal minds, Spencer and his sister? Something fluffy, brother & sister, I really suck at prompts so hopefully this is enough 🥲

“Did you know there’s actually a phobia of your glass being empty?"

The bustling and noise of the Las Vegas club was no match for Spencer Reid. Sat at a bar stool while he waited for his glass of water, the genius grinned openly as he struck up in a one-sided conversation with the barman.

"It’s called cenosillicaphobia," he continued obliviously, "a mouthful, I know. Breaking it down to the origin; Ceno comes from a Greek word 'kenos', meaning empty, whereas 'sillica' refers to quartz, or glass in this context. Lastly, 'phobia', as you may know, means fear. Putting it all together, you’ll have 'the fear of an empty glass'. Neat, huh?"

As unit chief, Aaron Hotchner was privy to many aspects of his team members that the others weren't. He could usually tell before anyone else when someone would react a certain way, or when a particular case would hit someone the hardest. As he sat at his own stool, partly engaged in conversation with Derek, Rossi, and some girls he couldn't quite remember the names of, and partly with an ear and eye geared towards Spencer's direction, he found himself focusing specifically on you.

As your twenty-first birthday and graduation gift rolled into one, the team had banded together to afford a weekend trip to Vegas. You'd arrived earlier that evening, and after an expensive meal you'd dragged them all to a club. It had gone down well of course, with J.J., Penelope and Emily immediately dancing off the copious amounts of alcohol they'd already drunk, and Hotch, Spencer, Derek and Rossi entertaining their conversations with whichever women decided to walk up to them.

You had flit between both groups, at one point hauling them together in the middle of the dance floor when you insisted the BAU's song—'Ghostbusters', of course—was playing. For the past twenty minutes however, as the clock steadily approached four am and the girls resorted to sitting cross-legged in a corner somewhere, giggling about anything and everything, you had been hovering by your brother and sucking melted ice through a straw. The moment Spencer had started talking, however, you'd edged closer to him, and Hotch had seen it.

His suspicions elevated when the barman handed Spencer his drink with a less than impressed look on his face. "Thanks for that," he deadpanned.

Spencer hopped off his seat with a grin. "You're welcome!" he said before making his way back over to the guys.

Hotch took a sip from his drink as he watched. He ignored Spencer as he rejoined the conversation, instead sidling discreetly closer to you. Like he'd said, he knew his team, and he knew you. He knew how you could be. And he knew—

“Fucking freak," said the barman.

There.

Hotch paused, brows furrowed. The man hadn't said it particularly quietly, causing the people around him to laugh, but Spencer was too engaged in conversation now to have heard it. You, on the other hand...

Hotch watched, unsure whether he should be amused or concerned, as the muscles in your face tensed and you lay your forearms on the countertop. Leaning over, you grasped the man's shirt sleeve none too gently, tugging him backwards before he could turn away.

“Hey, Tim," you said, noting his name badge, "you know...I absolutely love what you’ve done with your hair. Tell me, how’d you get it to stick out your nostrils like that?”

Despite the drunkenness of your, quite frankly awful, insult, the barman bristled. Hotch stepped quickly forward and sent him a look that clearly told him to keep his mouth shut. The barman couldn't resist muttering under his breath, but he turned away all the same. Hotch put an arm around you and steered you back towards your brother before you could cause anymore trouble.

"How many drinks did you have tonight?" he asked. He'd indulged himself, of course, but, as always, had been the one to drink the least, if solely for the reason to keep an eye on everyone else.

You rolled your eyes. "Did you hear that jackass? Why do people insult him all the time, huh? Just because they're not as smart as him." With that, you pushed Hotch's arm away.

"Hehey, there's our birthday and graduation queen!" Derek cheered.

You ignored him, making a beeline for Spencer. "Hey, Spence," you said when you reached him, "what was that you were saying about cenosilliacaphobia?”

Spencer lit up. “You pronounced it right! What do you wanna know? Because personally I think it’s pretty interesting how you can go on to add the Latin word for beer—'cervisia'. In that case, you’ll have cenocervasiasillicaphobia, which is the fear of having an empty glass of beer!”

"That is so cool."

Hotch rejoined the group with a smile. One thing was for certain. A big brother would forever be protective of his little sister in the open, but behind closed doors, it was most certainly the opposite.

Criminal Minds Masterpost

#criminal minds #Spencer Reid #Aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #Spencer x reader #Spencer Reid x reader #reader #reader fic #sister!reader #sister reader #Reid #Reid x reader #mine

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theflashesoflove · 10 months

Text

amuse-bouche

Jan Stevens x f!reader (nsfw)

a/n: i present to you my monstrous love for this woman. you can tell what her voice does to me. i have been writing it for several nights and completely fucked up my stupid sleep schedule. proofread, but there might be some mistakes i didn't catch. perhaps i need to go outside and touch some boob- i mean grass.

warnings/tags: descriptions of an injury, blood and cunnilingus

word count: 5k

💌: @maximoffslovergirl

A loud thud. A wooden stool slipping from under your legs, a mixer falling down to the floor, smearing everything with sweet sticky substance. A bowl of cream tipping over onto your dress, your skin, all over the floors. A strangled cry in pain, a dislocated kneecap. A blood stream flowing down your leg in a perfect straight line, an attempt to stand up- more pain.

Silence.

Your bandmates turned off the hardware, vibration and rustle of your symphony faded out. The first rule of performance: if you mess up, pretend it was intentional. Audience’s applause was a distant noise – standing on all fours, you were dumbfounded by pain, a white veil covering your vision for a split second. Good, they thought that your embarrassing collapse was just the last strike of a chord. The hall became deserted in a few minutes. A few long, unendurable minutes, and not a single person paid attention to you still being on the floor, petrified by pain.

Finally, your bandmates surrounded you, their hands reached out to your shoulders to help you get up, but you waved them away. You knew you couldn’t stand up, no matter how many hands would help you get on your feet. You groaned, falling over to the side to get your weight off your hands and knees. Blood and sweet cream mixed on your skin, making it sticky and hard to tear away from the floor. Fuck, it hurt. Like a fire burning under your skin, the pain streaming down your right knee across your calf and ankle to the tips of your toes. Your other leg was in pain as well, but a different kind of pain. A familiar cramp twisted the muscles of your left calf, turning them to stone. Excellent, both of your legs were nonfunctional. You bit your lip to suppress your cries and blinked the tears away.

The world around you didn’t exist anymore, pain placed you into a vacuum. At that moment, you thought it would be easier to just pass out from it, to come round when the pain was over and your bandmates miraculously delivered your body to Dr. Glock to deal with the injury. Speaking of Dr. Glock, you really didn’t want to see him. So when your bandmates suggested calling for him, you refused. They stepped away and proceeded to pack the equipment and clean up the food from the table. At least you didn’t have to attend the afterparty anymore. Stones scribbled something in his notebook, observing your agony. Perhaps he would bring this situation up during the interview.

You looked at your leg again, the wound still didn’t stop bleeding. Pink patches of blood and cream on your skin were connected with the scarlet river system. Your knee pulsated and swelled, pain capturing all of your senses.

But something managed to sneak in. Something soft, warm, intriguing even, something soothing and yet so very intoxicating. A hand on your shoulder. A flash of white fabric, black fabric, white fabric again, black eyeshadow, the scent of her hairspray.

This woman thrilled you right from the auditions. No one from your band understood your obsession with her, and they jokingly scolded you for getting distracted from perfecting your performance. But you had it all figured out. You’d managed to focus on your performances, but a part of you, a very big part of you, wanted to impress her. It worked like a perfect mechanism, her scrutiny, praise and helpful remarks brought out the best of your performing abilities, which rewarded you with more of her attention. Though you were sure, it wasn’t anything bigger for her. Her attention never meant anything beyond appraising your art, and the older woman was so out of your league anyway. Elegant, statuesque, with mouth-watering curves and dainty fingers. Her signature makeup complimented her soft features, her attires were so very her, quite formal yet with unmatched grandiosity. And you knew that all of it was expensive. That the fabric of her skirts and blouses was pleasant against her body, that no seams irritated her satin skin. However the thing that brought you to the edge the most was her sultry voice. Voice that made you want to crawl out of your body to no longer be limited by the human form and encompass every vibration of her vocal cords, every movement of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, every barely noticeable breath that accompanied her words. No angel choir could ever compare to her giving dinner speeches, to her squeaking when she was enraged, to her reprimanding your bandmates for ignoring her advice, to her guiding your band through the shops practise with her languid tone.

“Jan Stevens,” you whispered, suddenly so very aware of her proximity. And of the unappealing state you were in. You must have looked pathetic. You imagined that she was about to scrunch her nose and snort, but she just looked at you and crouched beside, a worried expression on her face.

Her voice drowned out your pain for a split second, “Poor thing,” she murmured, brushing your hair off your face. “Can you stand up?”

“She can’t,” your bandmate stepped in, but Jan Stevens didn’t even turn her head away from your face to acknowledge them speaking. She indeed heard them, though, and furrowed her brow, alarmed.

“We suggested calling for Dr. Glock. She refuses to see him,” the other bandmate meddled, annoying you to no end. You didn’t want Jan Stevens tut at you being whimsical and hard to deal with. To your relief, she did no such thing.

“I’ll take care of it, dear. Wim!!!” Before you could answer, she called out the institute's technical assistant. When he finally approached the two of you, her gaze still didn’t leave your pained face. “Please, bring her to my house. She can’t walk.” Wim sighed, but didn’t protest. He never did. And Jan Stevens tipped generously, so he scooped you up in his arms, ignoring your hisses.

Jolts of pain stroke you with every step Wim took towards Jan Stevens’ house. You tried not to press yourself into him too much and keep as quiet as you could. Well, you tried not to howl your lungs out, restricting yourself to teary whines. Jan Stevens followed both of you, but Wim had to wait before the front door for the older woman to open it and hold it for him to enter. He found the nearest seat he could settle you in and left, gaining a nod from Jan Stevens.

The woman disappeared somewhere and you tried to sit as comfortably as you could. But no matter the position, it ached, and ached, and ached. You became awfully aware of how sticky your clothes were, covered in stupid melted buttercream you used for your confectionery themed performance. You didn’t mind the feeling for performance's sake, but it wasn’t about art anymore. It was about your clumsiness, your foolishness, and it was suffocating. Squirming, you decided to take your dress off and clean yourself with it, ignoring Jan Stevens’ curious look when she returned to the couloir to see you in your underwear.

She held a small white box in her hands with a bright red cross on its lid, a first aid kit. Kneeling before you, she placed it on the floor, and waited for you to finish dealing with the cream. You hesitated as to where to put your dirty clothes, and the woman took it from you to carelessly drop it to the floor. She licked her lips and focused on your injured knee, tilting her head from side to side to examine it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be observing the afterparty?” you pried, feeling hot at being the centre of her attention.

She shook her head, “I have something more important to deal with. My absence is justified.” Your ears flushed at her words. “Are you in pain anywhere else?”

“My other leg,” you said, “is cramping. It’s… fuck…” Your left leg was stiff, toes unnaturally curled, and the more you focused on that pain, the more insufferable it felt.

The older woman stroked your legs, not caring that one of her hands got immediately covered in gore. Humming, she decided to deal with your cramp at first. She took your left leg and stretched it out, it made you shriek, muscles tightening so hard as though they were going to be torn apart. She bent your knee and pulled it toward your abdomen, leaving faint palm prints on your skin with your own blood. You couldn’t tell if your cramp was relieved at all, because your other knee still ached immensely. Jan Stevens looked at you under her lashes as she moved your leg. She visibly swallowed, tracing the path of your half-naked body with her eyes, and finally settled your left leg to the ground. Your mouth slightly agape, you watched as she turned her attention to your wound once again, her fingers circled around the source of bleeding, barely touching, feeling how swollen your knee had gotten.

Then, she did something you never expected. Jan Stevens leaned closer to your oozing wound, and stuck out her tongue to press it against you. You gasped, your fingers twitched – you had to stop yourself from burying them in her curls to push her away or to pull her closer. She lapped at your sore skin, acting surprised when the sudden sweetness of buttercream hit her tongue. She looked unabashedly satisfied. Your stomach flipped, a sudden gush of wetness covered your sex and you knew that you were doomed. If she had lowered her gaze, she would have been able to see the dark spot spreading on your underwear, exposing you.

"It hurts," you whined, grimacing. Her cool tongue gently swiped across your knee, aggravating. There were so many sharp sensations. And not a single question about her actions. A cramp in your left leg died down a bit, the echoes of the pain flaring up under your skin from time to time. The other injured leg ached, it ached even more now that Jan Stevens’ mouth was pressed against the mixture of your blood and sweet cream, devouring it like the best dessert she had ever had.

“I know, dear. Didn’t you know that saliva had healing properties?” Jan Stevens gave you a sickly sweet smile, but your pained expression made her face twitch in worry that she might have crossed the thin already nonexistent line. “I’ll help you, let me just…” and she caressed the skin of your calf, hands crawling up towards your knee where her mouth pressed against your skin again, making you whimper from strange, uncalled desire and, of course, boundless pain. “Shhh…” she cooed, her fingers grabbing your knee, open mouth pressed against your skin. She wasn’t kissing or licking it anymore, she just sat there, on her knees before you, her face flush against your dewy skin, hands snapping your kneecap into place with one quick motion. You cried out, hands gripping the arms of the fauteuil, nails scratching antique wood, tears splashing out of your eyes. “Oh, sweet girl,” her solacing voice brought you back to reality and you noticed that it was much easier to breathe.

The overwhelming pain gradually stepped away, leaving behind a soreness that was much more bearable. Absolutely crushed in the armchair, you suddenly felt so, so tired. And so fucking aroused. Because Jan Stevens planted one last kiss to your knee and turned to her first aid kit to treat your wound. There was a little bit of blood on her face, almost the same colour as her lipstick. She cleaned your leg, lost in the process, and you just wanted, just needed to feel her mouth again. To see her lips wrapped around your wound, to hiss as her tongue would lap on your injured flesh again. Her soft hands flew across your skin, applying bandages, and once she was done, she sat back on her heels and placed her hands on her lap, looking up at you.

“Better?” she asked, and you nodded, pursing your lips. Smiling, she added, gingerly, “You still must see a doctor, darling. I can arrange for someone else to examine you.”

“Thank you.” You knew that you looked like a mess. Dried tears on your face, dishevelled hair, weakness in your voice. Jan Stevens smiled and smoothed the fabric of her skirt, however she didn’t rush to get up and go on about her night. Her gaze studied you, curious, yet… unsure? She licked her lips, remnants of your blood hitting her tongue. Why did she look so hesitant after just almost drinking from your wound? You didn’t have enough strength in you to stare back, so you busied yourself with observing the couloir, now that your attention was no longer captured by strong pain. Jan Stevens fitted in this environment perfectly, and for a moment you wondered what her bedroom looked like. Was she her startling self even in the privacy of her home? Was she always wearing that makeup? She surely had to take it off at some point in the night, hadn’t she? What clothes did she sleep in? Did she sleep alone or was there someone keeping her warm from time to time? And did she even have a kitchen? It was most likely that she did, but did she use it?

Her voice snapped you back from your thoughts, smooth as silk, “The fall was not planned, was it?”

“Lost my balance,” you replied, not really willing to elaborate.

“You never had problems with it before,” she wondered.

“I just… I got lost in the sound and,” you started, unsure how to put it, “my thoughts lead me elsewhere.”

“Where?” she leaned closer, curious.

“Sometimes I forget that- that art isn’t all about the outcome. It’s about the process… I was carried away with anticipation of the result.”

“Tell me more,” her eyes bore into you. “What result did you anticipate?” And when she spoke like that, you knew you couldn’t withhold anything from her.

You blushed and looked away. “I anticipated… being seen. That once we end our performance, people might get frustrated it was already over. And some of them might… might think of me, even for a second. Might… notice something about me, might be interested in something about me… and- oh, it sounds so silly.”

“And what?”

“And some of them… might want me to be in their life. Some of them might want me,” you whispered, horrified at your own thoughts.

“Don’t you feel wanted?” She sounded almost disappointed.

The question was phrased rather oddly, you contemplated. Like you were supposed to feel wanted, like you didn’t recognise someone’s efforts. The truth was that maybe at that particular moment you did feel wanted. That maybe Jan Stevens’ treatment, and the way she still sat in front of you on her knees, looking deep into your soul, her sultry voice kissing your ears and making your body shiver with every word she spoke, maybe all of it made you feel wanted.

“I… I don’t know. My band needs me, although I’m sure they hate me for ruining the performance. But they can always replace me. And- I don’t want to be replaceable.”

It was too much to ask, you recognised that. Every person was replaceable, after all. Even directors of the Sonic Catering Institute, they had replaced one another until it was Jan Stevens’ turn to take the position. And someday there would be a replacement even for her. No person is truly unique, truly indispensable. There’s always someone else. Someone better, even. Your friend found new friends after you isolated yourself from them, your teacher found a new favourite student after you graduated, the company you worked for found a new employee after you quit. And even after your performance the audience walked away and found some other form of art to admire. They forgot about you – they probably didn’t even memorise you in the first place – until your next performance. But maybe, maybe there was someone who felt drawn to you. Maybe they weren't able to get you off their mind, maybe they attended every performance just for you alone, and maybe they would still think about you even after the residency would be over. And maybe they thought about you at night, and maybe they cried, because they would never be able to reach you, to hold your hand, to kiss you. And maybe you would inspire them to make art of their own. And maybe they would silently dedicate every art piece to you, or maybe they would say it loud and clear. And maybe they would live with a heavy soul their whole life, never having gotten a taste of you. Never having spoken to you. You would leave a trace in their heart, a scar even, and you would be irreplaceable for them until they draw their last breath.

Having such thoughts made you feel guilty. It was hard not to lose yourself in this craving for being special, hell, these thoughts had already made you fall down and bleed and cry in pain.

“This is why you create, to feel wanted?” Jan Stevens’s voice brought you back to earth once again.

“Partly, yeah,” the older woman tilted her head to the side in question and you explained, “I value the process. I revel in the process, but I also… I also crave the unachievable outcome, is it a bad thing?”

“Of course not,” Jan Stevens lifted herself, standing on her knees, and reached her hand to your face to gently stroke your cheek, “It’s better than lying to yourself.”

Fuck, why didn’t she kiss you already? You reminisced her face, contorted with pleasure as she licked the blood off your skin. You reminisced her hungry gaze, the breathtaking blues of her eyes swallowed by the dark pits of her pupils. And she was so close now, she caressed your cheek, and you noticed the corner of her mouth twitch in something she tried to suppress. “Do you do that?” you breathed out, looking her in the eyes.

“Do what?” her voice was sweetened by the amused smile that spread across her features. You wanted to grab her by the hair and bring her lips to your ear for her to whisper, and whisper, and whisper the filthiest of words. You wanted to wrap yourself in her voice.

“Lie to yourself,” your words made Jan Stevens’ expression turn stone serious. Did you upset her? Was she about to throw you out of her home on your broken knees? She slowly rose, your head leaned backwards, following her movements. Her hand grabbed the back of the fauteuil, and after regarding you from her full height for a second, she bent down until her breath tickled your cheeks once again.

“Yes. A lot lately,” her upper lip twitched again, and she breathed out of her mouth, hesitating for a second. “Every year,” she started her revelation, “I dread that there will be someone who catches my eye and I won’t be able to resist it.” She made a small pause, her eyes sparkling dangerously. “But I also secretly hope that among my residents… there might be someone… for me, not for the audience, just for me.” Her intense gaze turned you inside out. “Don’t you feel wanted, Y/N?” the older woman asked again, her tone different this time. “Just like you craved to feel?” And you knew you had to be honest.

“I… I think I do,” your voice trembled, ragged breaths left your mouth as she leaned closer, so painfully closer. She looked satisfied with your answer.

“Good.” And she kissed you. Slowly, although it was clear that she suppressed the urge to swallow you whole. She grabbed your chin and dug her nails into your jaw to keep your mouth open, and she swiped the tip of her tongue across your lips, moaning, the knot inside of your stomach made itself known again. “I could give you it all,” she whispered into your parted lips after tearing herself away. “I could make you feel so, so special.” Jan Stevens shifted to the side and licked the helix of your ear and you whimpered, and you clamped your thighs, the slickness between your legs was audible at this point. “But beware, once I start, I won’t be able to stop, ever,” her mouth captured your earlobe, tongue playing with your tiny earring.

Every word she spoke melted on her tongue like sugar, syrupy sweet syllables, meringue consonants and honey vowels. Her gaze bore into you like a spoon dipping into crème brûlée, and you were finally between her teeth, an indulgence she could never resist. She caressed your torso with featherlight touches, looming over you, her nails scraping your rubicund skin ever so slightly.

“Please,” you begged and spread your legs, instantly wincing and cursing under your breath from the pain. You grabbed her hips and leaned closer, hiding your face in the delicate fabric of her white blouse.

"Do you really think you can take it?” Jan Stevens spoke again, her voice almost dangerous, cutting through you like a knife. But there was something else in her question. It was half playful, half sincere. As if she asked 'Do you think you can handle me? My desire? Do you think you won’t get sick of me the second we finish? Do you think you really want to stay with me?’

“I can,” you said confidently, answering all of her questions at once. “Or do you want me to beg for you to finally fuck my face?” you snapped.

“That won’t be necessary, dear” Jan Stevens uttered and sharply breathed out through her nose. The upholstery dipped under her weight as she climbed onto the fauteuil, it was a tight squeeze, but she managed to fit your legs between her knees, not straddling you, not applying any pressure to your much-suffering legs. She towered over you even in this position, her crotch right in front of your face. She rushed to hike up her long white skirt, exposing her ivory thighs wrapped in sheer black stockings. Your eyes focused on her red lace knickers that looked like a cherry you wanted to catch with your mouth.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, breathing her scent in. You pressed your nose against her thigh, hands squeezing her heavenly flesh bedecked with stretch marks. She peeped at you from above, biting her lower lip in seething anticipation.

Two of your digits dove past the band of her underwear, you coated your fingers with her essence and slowly, carefully pulled them out and sucked them into your mouth. You groaned at the taste of her, tongue ripping the string of her wetness that connected your fingers. Once your fingers were out of your mouth, she tightly fisted her skirt in one of her hands to instantly pull you towards her with her now free hand, an airy moan escaping her throat as soon as your nose pressed against her clit through her knickers.

You lapped at the soaked lace, causing a delightful friction of fabric against her sensitive spot. With one finger, you finally pushed her panties to the side and immediately kissed her slit, eliciting a blissful sound out of the woman. Her hand was still in your hair and she was firmly holding you where she needed you the most.

“Oh, darling,” she drawled out and closed her eyes. Her fingertips massaged your scalp, and you hummed against the slickness, causing her to growl.

With a simmering passion, you lapped at her folds and pressed onward onto her entrance. Eating her out was an otherworldly experience, it seemed like all of your life events led you to this particular moment. Her breathy moans encouraged you to press harder, to grind your nose against her clit and keep worshipping her. At that moment, you thought of the afterparty that was held in the main building, and with a certain smugness you realised how lucky, how special you were to be here, with her, while your bandmates must have revelled in the audience's tribute. The honour of being with her was transcendent, it was the highest praise. A course that you wanted to prolong until her knees would give in, until she wouldn’t be able to release anything other than muffled sobs of overwhelming pleasure.

Her legs trembled above you. Grabbing her ass, you helped her steady herself, squeezing and squishing her plump flesh, and losing yourself, and allowing yourself to lightly slap her cheek to give her more, to give her the diversity of sensations. To show her that you would do anything with her, anything she would like, as many times as she would like, as filthy and rough as she would like, as lovingly and tenderly as she would like. To tell her, I wanted this for so long, and I can’t believe I’m here, and I won’t let you down, and I want all of your eccentricity, all of your ardour, all of your greatness, all of you, all of you, all of you.

I want to sleep in your bed and wake up next to you, and kiss your beautiful face the first seconds of the morning. I want to sit next to you during performances and hold your hand, and stroke your thigh when no one sees. I want to sit near you at dinners, and soothe you, when residents test your patience as they always do. I want to protect you from intruders, hell, I would slash their throats for you to finally feel at peace. I want to walk with you in the gardens and compare your eyes to the clear sky. I want to help you take off your makeup at night and apply fresh eyeshadow in the morning. I want to help you dress, I want to undress you as a night ritual. For I am greedy for you. For you finally, finally gave me a taste of life I missed so dearly.

The agonising aching in your knee never stopped, but you didn’t allow it to distract you from her. When some sudden jolts of pain made you let out a strangled ‘aw’ against her cunt, the older woman stroked your head, comforting you.

Jan Stevens groaned as you sucked on her clit, and you pushed your hand up under the band of her skirt, under her blouse, and you groped her tummy, nails biting into the softness. Her skin was warm, covered in sweat, – god, she must have been very hot being still fully dressed when the air around the two of you seemed so heavy and stuffy – and you kneaded her flesh before reaching even further, fingers crawling to her bra and under it to graze her hardened nipple. Your tongue swirled across her lower lips as you rubbed her nipple between your fingertips and pinched it, causing her to let out a hoarse ‘Y- yes, Yes!’. How enrapturing it was, feeling her come undone above you with the palm of her hand wrapped around the back of your head. Feeling her fingers tangling in your hair, as your digits moved in crushing waves across the skin you could reach, as her pussy fitted in your mouth oh so perfectly. A mixture of her juices and your saliva dripped down your chin and your jaw was on fire already, moving up and down, mouth closing and opening around her. And your tongue dipped into her just right, as far as it could go, and she moved her hips to meet its thrusts.

Eventually you retracted your hand from under her clothes, it replaced your tongue, massaging her sticky entrance in circular motions. Fuck, the way she dripped on your fingers made you groan, and you tried to pull away for a second to admire her form, but Jan Stevens protested and pushed your back right on her clit.

“Ah- f- fuck, don’t- don’t stop, don’t stop, ahh- don’t you d- dare stop,” it came out under her breath, sweet whimpers getting in the way of her words.

Clenching your thighs, you felt so close to your own release. Just a little bit more pressure, just something, something to rut against, just for a second, just a couple of swift strokes, just- oh. Maybe you didn’t even need any of that after all. Maybe Jan Stevens, oh Jan Stevens, rubbing against your face in fast hard motions with your name on her lips was enough to bring you over the edge without any stimulation. You shuddered underneath her and your fingers that previously just applied pressure onto her surface, slithered inside of her and were immediately clenched by her wet walls. She came, shivering so hard it made her slip out of your mouth and from your fingers and smear your cheek with her essence. Her moan rang across the room, you trembled under her, and your clit pulsated, triggered from that sound, causing a whimper of your own. You leaned back on the armchair, sweat dripping down your temples.

Jan Stevens dropped her skirt and gripped the baсkrest with both of her hands, breathing heavily. She looked at you from above, a clouded gaze admiring your exhausted state. Next thing you knew, she leaned closer and kissed you with such urgency it made your teeth clash against hers.

“I have never felt so desired,” you almost didn’t catch her whispering, still coming down from your own orgasm. Her words sounded detached as if she was pondering to herself rather than talking to you, almost surprised, stunned even.

I have never felt so lucky, you wanted to say. And I would give you more, and I would push you down to the floor and unravel you, and I would let you use me again and again and again. I would do all of it, if my leg didn’t hurt so fucking bad. Oh, there was so much she still didn’t know about your feelings towards her.

Soon after her feet met the ground, and she studied your appearance once again. You could see her musing upon something – she must have thought of the ways to help you get up. Without further ado, Jan Stevens scooped you up in her arms, and you let out a mixture of light giggles and quiet grunts from the pain.

“Now, I will tuck you into bed like a doll you are. And I will call a doctor in the morning,” she murmured, carrying you to her bedroom.

“Can I help you take off your makeup?” you muttered, pressing your cheek against her shoulder.

“Oh dear,” she thought about it for a second, an amused smile on her lips. You pouted, awaiting her answer. “Yes, yes you can.”

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

a/n: i can assure you that reader absolutely adored her bunny pyjamas

#jan stevens #jan stevens x reader #jan stevens x y/n #flux gourmet #gwendoline christie

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silvervioletvalentine · 1 year

Text

🦋 It’s been A long time coming 🦋

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Cherrie!

Word count: 10.3k

Summary: in which they’re best friends. He’s in love with her and she couldn’t be any more oblivious if she tried. Cue a mischievous four year old sick of him whining…plans are put into action!

The first thing that Charles was greeted with when he stepped through the front door of his best friends apartment was the sound of a loud, screechy whine coming from the velvet couch .

Then another, longer and even louder groan accompanying it as the four year old seated there, crossed legged and playing with a Nintendo switch in her small hands, caught sight of him coming in her home again.

"Oh no!" She whined , frowning over at him as she watched him take off his shoes and leave them by the door.

Going as far as Sighing dramatically at him "not you again!" She almost shouted incredulously , looking genuinely annoyed with his presence in their home, yet again.

Charles could only look at Star in disbelief , a offended look taking over his face as he walked over to the sassy four year old , who never failed to take him down a peg or two.

She was such a lovely gift for sucking out all of his confidence with just one whiny sentence.

"Hey! What's that attitude about sassy!" He exclaimed in shock, frowning back at her just as much as he made himself comfortable on the puff stool in front of her.

Taking a quick glance around the room and into the kitchen, he couldn't hear or see Cherrie yet. But he wasn't worried, it was only five o'clock in the afternoon and Charles knew that she was no doubt going through the bags and bags of clothes that she had bought herself on their shopping trip that morning.

He had wished that he was able to stay to see her fashion show, greatly enjoying watching his favourite person in the world strut her stuff around her bedroom in new clothes as though she was a supermodel. Twisting and turning in every angle possible for him to see and having him cooing over every single outfit that she tried on.

It was a cute little ritual that the two of them had between them for years now , and Cherrie having a baby four years ago had never stopped that either.

The only thing they changed was that instead of one fashion show from his ridiculously hot and should definitely be a supermodel but hates getting her pictures taken friend, he now also got a even cuter fashion show from her little, sassy daughter too.

Cherrie in the newest trends and Star in her princess dresses and costumes that she was currently obsessed with.

It was moments like that between them that Charles truly loved the most. In his mind, they were his own perfect, slightly deranged and possibly a house full of undiagnosed adhd, but equally lovely , family for him.

The very moment that Charles had met Cherrie when they were only teenagers , he had been enamoured with her. How could he not be? She was this beautiful , way out of his league girl who had the looks, the brains and was so fucking funny , and so fucking confident and not afraid to call anyone out on their bullshit, no matter who they were.

He had been hooked from on her since day one.

Somehow his awkwardness and shyness had managed to make her feel sorry enough for him that she just let him follow her around like a lost little puppy all throughout their teenage years.

Their parents cooing at how adorable they were, making bets between the two family's of when their friendship would finally take a turn , to what they all knew was awaiting them in the future .

Because to anyone but Cherrie, it was so insanely obvious that Charles was in love with her. The kind of love that made people cringe and envious at the same time.

The kind of love where nobody else existed whenever she was in his view , poor girls getting brushed off without any second thought when they were growing up, unable to take his eyes off Cherrie. His heart was a one way tunnel for her and he was certain that she was his soulmate. His match. His one and only.

He knew this. His friends definitely knew this. His family also knew this too.

The only one that had absolutely no clue about his not so hidden feelings for her, was Cherrie herself.

Because as much as Charles adored her , as much as he would walk the whole of the Earth bare footed and back for her. There was no denying that she wasn't so smart in the matters of love.

He knew that when they were sixteen and he watched his best friend brutally tell a poor guy a casual , oblivious ' thank you' when he told her that he loved her one night at a party. Giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder before leaving.

Charles had got the boy a soda and sat with him as he cried his little heart out to him about how he thought that he and Cherrie 'had something'. Grimacing to himself the whole time as he awkwardly patted his back and tried not to feel like a complete dickhead for feeling so relieved that she had brutally rejected the sobbing guy.

He also knew it when he was seated on the floor of some run down airport bathroom , wide eyed with shock and disbelief as he tried to comfort the love of his life , who had been sobbing her heart out against his shoulder. Unable to take his tearful eyes off the positive pregnancy test in front of them. Finding out ten minutes before their flight to his next race that Cherrie had gotten herself knocked up by some guy she met in a club with her friends while on holiday, not even knowing who he was or even his name.

It had been the longest time that Cherrie and him had been separated and he couldn't believe that the one time that he wasn't there to stop her from doing stupid decisions. She had ended up getting so drunk that she hooked up with some Italian guy, apparently forgot that condoms existed and ended up leaving her girls holiday with a baby growing inside of her instead.

Charles had been livid. And then shocked. And then heartbroken. Unable to believe that his best friend, the love of his life , was going to have a baby and he wasn't going to be the dad like he had always dreamt of being . It had been a tense month between them at first and the two best friends then had their first real fight.

There was screaming and crying (mostly from Charles) before they had to be forcibly separated . But even when they were arguing , he couldn't be without her. She still traveled alongside him to all of his races , still cheered for him and still wore his Ferrari shirt on her back .

And that was when Charles realised that it didn't matter, none of it did. At the end of the day , Cherrie was pregnant and it wasn't his baby. And they were still only friends.

He had no right to be mad .

And it was when he picked up a tiny baby , Ferrari onesie that he realised that just because he wasn't the dad didn't mean he couldn't be there for her and the baby. He could still step into that role that unfortunately couldn't be filled by the real father seeing as Cherrie had absolutely no clue to who he even was.

It was that simple. And Charles had cried as he babbled apology's to his best friend , promising her that she wasn't going to have to face this alone. That he would be there for her , always.

It was just Charles, Cherrie and a little baby too now.

He had went to every scan and every appointment with her , and cried his eyes out when they heard the heartbeat and cried even harder when they found out that Cherrie was going to have a girl.

He had ran around like a headless chicken in the middle of the night to find a tearful Cherrie a McDonald's with extra cheese and unsalted fries. Before running around to every supermarket near them to find her a specific brand of cupcakes that she woke up craving almost every weekend . He had even managed not to judge her when she had him running out to get breadsticks with peanut butter for her to dip them into .

He had been there when her waters had broke during a casual hangout with Pierre and his brothers. Pierre managing to catch him just in time before he could faint right into the puddle of wetness beneath her . Hyperventilating all the way to the hospital and having to be given gas and air , struggling not to be sick while Cherrie just glared at his pale , sweaty face in disbelief , panting and screaming loudly as she tried to push the baby out.

He had been there when Star came into the world at a ungodly hour in the morning. Had also cried his eyes out when he got to hold her tiny little body in his arms , grinning in awe through his tears as he told Cherrie that star had her eyes .

He fell in love all over again that morning.

Charles hadn't thought that it was possible to love anyone as much as he loved Cherrie, until little Cherrie came along and stole his heart too. They were his life now.

Even though he still hadn't found the courage to tell his best friend that he was in love with her, that he would never be fully happy with being called 'just a friend' forever.

But he was too scared to tell her so. Instead he settled for just always being there, hoping that one day his, ridiculously oblivious best friend, would realise what a mess he was for her and tell him that she loved him too.

A man could dream.

For now he had watched the cutest little baby grow up into this sassy, sarcastic and quite frankly , mean toddler who had no empathy for his feelings at all.

She was a ruthless little kid and nobody humbled Charles more than four year old Star did.

It was amazing really. That this child giving him attitude was also the same baby he had spent years changing the diapers of. Just Insane.

"You're always here! You say bye bye at dinner but now you're back again!" Star let him know that she wasn't very happy with his arrival again. Giving him a judgmental side glance that she had definitely gotten from her mother .

It was the same look that Cherrie would give him whenever he showed up to the paddock in his red jeans and Ferrari shirt , giving him a unimpressed shake of her head. Apparently the fashion police.

"Ok! That look-" he gestured to her judgmental little face and grimaced "needs to go! I can only take that from one woman. I don't need you copying it!" He told her , trying to hide his grin at how cute she looked glaring at him in her sparkly princess dress. With a loose eyepatch hanging around her neck, the hook from the pirate costume abandoned beside her on the couch.

The four year old just huffed at him "but you're coming tomorrow too! That's too much Charlie! Too much!" She whined, frowning deeply at him.

Charles was offended "hey! Do I need to remind you who bought you that switch in your hands sassy pants? Don't pretend that you don't love me now!" He reminded her, nodding pointedly to the Nintendo device in her hands. The same one that she had begged him to buy her after seeing Pierre play on one a few weeks ago.

Star just grumbled , blinking her big doe eyes up at him. "I do love you Charlie! But you-why go home if you're always here? You don't live here but sometimes I think you do!" She told him, not mad that he was always there. Just confused to why he even had his own place at all.

Charles was stumped , side eyeing her back because she was totally right. He spent more time at their home then he did his own. But he couldn't help it. This was home to him. Anywhere that star and Cherrie were , was his home. As simple as that. He didn't feel right anywhere else without them.

"I'm-well-" he stammered for an answer. Hating that she knew him so well. The knowing look on her tiny little face making him shift nervously "I'm your mommy's best friend so-of course I'm always here! Best friends hangout all the time!" He thought he saved it with that one.

But he had briefly forgotten what a smart ass , little know it all , that star was.

"Best friends don't make goo goo eyes at my mommy !" She smirked at him , one of her top teeth missing. Making her look even more adorable, even when she was calling him out on his bullshit.

Far too much like her mother, Charles mentally groaned in mortification . He wished that Cherrie had the awareness of her child, maybe then he wouldn't be trying to deny to her baby that he was in love with her mother . When he totally was.

It was ridiculous.

Her four year old daughter knew about his feelings for her but his best friend still had absolutely no clue. It was just his luck really.

"I don't make goo goo eyes at your mama!" He quickly decided, flushing red in embarrassment at how unsubtle he apparently was with his love for Cherrie. Christ!

When he saw her little mouth open ready to argue with him, he shot up to his feet and pointed his finger at her with narrowed eyes.

"-and anyways , I helped raise you! You can't talk to

Me like this!" He reminded her in disbelief , wondering where he had gone so wrong.

He walked into the kitchen behind the couch to get himself a bottle of water for his now dry mouth , still side eyeing the grinning child on the couch as he cut her up a piece of cake for her to eat. Hoping that the sweet treat would shut her up.

"You didn't raise me very high Charlie!" She had jokes how. Giggling mischievously at him "our lamp is taller than you!" There were tears in her eyes from how hard she was laughing. Finding herself hysterical.

Charles could only look at her in silent disbelief , blinking slowly in shock as his mouth fell open at her joke.

Shaking his head to himself as he tried to not laugh, not wanting to encourage her even more with insulting him.

Also from Cherrie. He just knew it. She was always cracking jokes at his expense. And he was right.

He heard cherries familiar laugh echo into the room as she walked into the front room, having caught her daughters joke at the right time. She proudly patted her baby's head, laughing loudly to herself as she looked over at Charles defeated stance.

Hand on his hip as he glared at the both of them , speechless.

"This-" he finally found his voice after a long moment , nodding over to a cheeky star "is your fault! She's so mean! Just like you!" He complained, pointing a accusing finger at ber.

Cherrie just slapped his finger down as she passed him, taking his bottle of water he had been gulping down for herself , sipping from it bedore giving him a innocent smile.

"What? I have no idea what you're talking about! I'm an Angel!" She giggled while leaning in to give him a hug, having missed him in the those few hours he had been gone.

As Charles sighed and folded himself into her embrace , he caught Stars smug face from over her shoulder. The four year old lifting up her hands to make a heart as she mocked him.

"You love mommy!" She mouthed at him cheekily , giggling like the menace that she was.

Charles just flushed and squinted his eyes at her in warning. Lifting his finger to his lips quickly "shut up!" He mouthed back at her before plastering On a innocent smile when Cherrie finally pulled away to look at him again.

Hearing her daughters giggles and seeing Charles red face, she rose a brow in confusion . Looking between them curiously.

"Why are you so red?" She asked her best friend in amusement . Taking a moment to lift her hand and fix his hair for him, his eyelashes fluttering in bliss as he felt her fingers comb through his hair gently.

A pause too long , then Star laughed again "because you're so pretty mommy!" She told her with a wide grin on her chubby face.

Charles went even redder if possible , swallowing when Cherrie just gave him a amused glance.

Smoothing her hands over her tight shirt that was tucked into tiny shorts. Humming to herself , pleased at the compliment she was hearing.

"I know. I look great! My friend literally asked me if I had a boob job when we FaceTimed!" She told Charles casually . Used to telling him everything , no details spaired.

His eyes automatically fell down to her chest, biting down on his bottom lip as he shuffled nervously on his feet. Feeling the familiar heat of attraction rush over him, a feeling he always felt whenever he was faced with her beauty.

"Er-I mean-they do look a little bigger." He admitted to her.

Shamelessly staring now, tilting his head a little to the side as he compared her breasts to how they looked like a few weeks ago. Inhaling a little sharply as he fell into a small daze, not even blinking as he looked at her hardened nipples in the thin shirt she was wearing.

Fuck me. He thought in awe.

Oblivious, Cherrie just grinned happily . "Right! I think my ass has gotten bigger too! I tried on that little black dress that I bought this morning and wheeewww.." she made a impressed noise , smirking confidently at him over her shoulder as she turned around to show him her ass in the skintight shorts she was wearing .

Treating poor , blushing Charles like he was one of her girlfriends that she could gossip too.

"I looked hot as shit! You'll have to fight off the guys next time we go clubbing Charles because damn! I could be on a playboy magazine!" She gushed, proud of how her body looked now.

Meanwhile Charles was just trying not to pass out again , eyes flickering between her big chest and peachy ass. Pulling at the collar of his own shirt and taking deep breaths , trying to calm down his racing heart.

He was definitely not letting her go into any clubs anytime soon . One unexpected baby was enough. And the last time she had looked as hot as this and had been drinking tequila, she wound up pregnant with star.

So, yes. No. That wasn't happening .

No more girls holidays for her. And if she did go out with them bad influences, he would be putting on a wig and a dress and joining their 'girls night' with them!

It should be illegal for her to look this good! How was this fair on his poor heart at all?!

"Yeah.." was all he could breath out, leaning back against the wall . Blinking heavily at her , not knowing what to say. "You look-" he could only shake his head in amazement. There were no English words to describe how beautiful she was, only feelings.

Cherrie just smiled at him when she finally noticed how overwhelmed he looked, A little giggle escaping her as she looked at his red cheeks fondly . Feeling her heart do summersaults in her chest.

"You want to have dinner with us tonight?" She asked him after a moment of just gazing at each other quietly.

Reaching over to take one of his hands in her own, fidgeting with his fingers absentmindedly as she pulled herself up to sit on the dining table. Pulling him to stand between her legs, wanting him to be closer to her.

Charles gave her a shy smile as he gently squeezed her hand three times with his own, nodding his agreement without any hesitation.

"Yes I do want that. Are you making your carbonara again?" He asked her hopefully. Loving when she cooked for him.

Cherrie let out a small giggle, raising a brow at him slyly. "You're not sick of it? I made it two times this week already!" She exclaimed, although flattered that he seemed to love her mediocre cooking so much.

Charles just scoffed, looking at her like she had lost her mind. "Never! I love it because you make it! I love anything you make.." his voice softened as he confessed this small thing to her .

Averting his eyes shyly for a moment , smiling to himself as he felt her hand thread through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp as she hugged his head to her chest with her elbow. Practically cradling him to her as he still stood between her legs . Leaning his weight against her with a content sigh.

"Okay.." she just whispered , overcome with so much affection for him then. She gently kissed the side of his head before their moment was interrupted by a loud voice coming from the couch again.

Charles turned his head to see Star looking at him with a big grin on her face, waving the switch at him with a hopeful look on her cute face .

"You play with me while mommy cooks?" She pleaded with him. Giving him a pout and bug eyes, knowing just how to have him melting in the palm of her tiny hand.

He breathed out a quiet, fond laugh. Giving cherries waist one last, small squeeze before finally pulling away from her. The two exchanging smiles before Charles walked over to the other love of his life, shaking his head at her in amusement .

"What happened to 'why are you always here?' I thought you were sick of me!" He mimicked her earlier whine as he threw himself down onto the couch beside her.

Opening his arm and smiling when Star immediately cuddled up into his side, beaming up at him toothily .

She just giggled at him, snuggling into his chest as she handed him the switch. "Noooo.." she denied while giggling. "I just don’t like it when you leave. If you're going to stay with us I want you to stay forever." She whispered to him so that her mother wouldn't hear . Too busy cooking in the kitchen now.

Charles felt his face soften, gently stroking Star tangled hair away from her chubby face affectionately. Feeling his heart squeeze with nothing but pure love in his chest.

"I'm never leaving okay? You've got me for life." He assured her just as quietly. Pressing kisses into her hair, smiling at her gently.

The four year old sighed contently , content with his immediate Assurance . "Okay." She simply mumbled, already getting distracted.

"Love you Charlie ." She mumbled , yawning.

Charles felt like he could cry, overwhelmed with love for a child that in his own mind, had always been a part of him too.

"Love you more sassy pants." He promised her softly "I love your mommy too." He let her know what she already knew.

Star just giggled and snuggled deeper into his arms, content with being right. Content with him being there. Always.

Star knew that definitely Charles was in love with her mother when she came out of her play room and wandered into her mothers room to see the racing driver knelt at the end of her bed ,with a large bag of things he had panicked bought with him when Cherrie had texted him that morning, to let him know that she wasn't feeling too good.

He had taken one look at the Calander on his phone, and grimaced as he saw the little notification that let him know what time of the month it was for his best friend. Having been tracking her cycle to himself since the first time he had made the mistake of telling Cherrie to 'calm down' one time when they were teenagers , after seeing her hysterically crying over a Disney movie they were watching.

Charles had never felt fearful of her till that exact moment when his loving, beautiful best Friend had slowly twisted her head to look at him with rage in her tearful eyes, calmly telling him through gritted teeth that if he ever, EVER told her to calm down again.. that she would break his knees, unhinge his jaw and shove his head so far up his arse that he would be shitting French for the rest of his life.

Charles had nearly shit himself .

And since then he had never missed a tracking of her period since . Always wanting to know what kind of danger zone that he was walking into and when to overdo it with the affection and sweet treats, in hopes that she wouldn't start sobbing and threatening his life again, every month.

He also liked to warily keep the four year old at arms length from Cherrie at this very delicate time, understanding that she was in a lot of pain and had absolutely no patience for her daughter asking her stupid questions and throwing barbie dolls at her head when she refused to dress up like one with her.

That was Charles job.

So dressed in a tiara , makeup painted horrifyingly over his face after Stars impromptu makeover , he was looking down at Cherrie in concern , lipstick painted lips and chin and all.

Hesitantly Holding out one of her favourite chocolate bars for her , that he had a box imported from Belgium for special occasions like this.

He adjusted the tiara slipping off his head before speaking up "chocolate?" Meekly escaping him, unsure of how to help her as she curled up into a painful , sad ball on the bed.

Sniffling tiredly as she took the bar from his hands , giving him a wobbly smile. Feeling her heart squeeze warmly in her chest from how considerate he was being to her . How he always knew what to do when she was like this.

"Thank you princess." She joked weakly , smiling tiredly as she looked at Charles dressed up like a melted , barbie princess.

A proud and very smug Star climbing onto the end of the bed to sit next to him, grabbing his face in her little hands as she started to pat glitter onto his blushing cheeks .

Charles just sighed in defeat and lowered his head a little so that she could reach better , a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at the four year olds similar princess getup.

"We're practically twins. But I don't know why I couldn't have been a prince instead." He commented in a small whine. Scrunching up his nose at the tickling feeling of glitter being pressed all over his face.

He didn't even need to look into a mirror to know what a horrifying mess he currently looked like, Cherrie and Stars giggling told him enough.

Squinting his eyes over at Cherrie in warning "shut up. You don't look like such a princess either." He muttered smirking .

Before she could even retaliate , Charles gasped in shock when Star suddenly pulled away from glittering up his face, only to slap his shoulder, hard.

Scowling at him unhappily "don't say that to mommy! Mommy is bleeding! Say sorry! Now!" She stressed , glaring at him . Looking like she was ready to stab him in his eye with the glitter brush in her little hands.

Shocked , but mostly amused by how protective the four year old was of her mother. Charles just chuckled and glanced over at Cherrie , to see her looking smugly back at him. Sticking out her tongue childishly at him.

"Okay! Sorry! I was only kidding!" He quickly assured Star , patting the top of her head gently as he gave Cherrie a smile.

"You could never look anything over than beautiful. I promise." He told her sincerely , feeling giddy when she shyly broke eye contact with him, biting down on her lip before burying her face into the pillow with a quiet giggle.

"God Charles.." Cherrie groaned , grinning fondly "you can't say shit like that to me!" She almost whined, not removing her face from the pillow. Not wanting him to see her reddening face from his sweet compliment .

Charles crawled up the bed till he was sat beside her, placing his hand on her back as he gently rubbed where he knew was hurting with his fingers. Seeing the heat packs he had gotten her sticking to her shirt.

Star quickly crawling over to him as well, trying to copy what he was doing. Looking up at him for approval as she placed her little hand on cherries back and rubbed it in small circles.

"Good job beauty." He praised the four year old with a soft smile, getting a pleased beam in return as they both looked down at her mother with matching grins.

"And why can't I tell you how beautiful you are? Why are you getting so embarrassed huh?" He teased her, gently moving her hair from her shoulders so that he could rub at her shoulders comfortingly too.

Her words were muffled from the pillow, still trying to suffocate herself with it as she answered him quietly "I'm not. But ya know..." she trailed off, not knowing how explain the way he made her feel so mushy and so fucking soft whenever he even so much as looked at her these days.

It was weird , it was strange and quiet frankly , she didn't like it. Charles had always been her best friend, so why did she kind of want to snog his face off when he looked at her with that sweet little grin?

Fucking periods. She blamed immediately. How could she be in so much pain, bleeding from her vagina but still so horny for her best friend?

Kill her now. She groaned into the pillow, hearing Charles laugh beside her. His hands burning through her thin tank top as he massaged her carefully.

"No. I don't know. That's why I'm asking." He teasingly replied. Amused with her unusually shy behaviour .

She was always the cocky , arrogant one out of the two of them. He hardly ever saw her flustered. So this was new.

He glanced beside him to see Star grinning brightly, eyes flicking between her two favourite people mischievously.

"I think mommy wants you to kiss her pain better." She told him confidently. Giggling.

Charles froze for a moment , cheeks flushing as Cherrie finally pulled her head from the pillow to let out a laugh at his unsubtle her daughter was being . Shaking her head in amusement to herself.

Seeing Charles red face, she couldn't help but tease him. To get him back for making her all flustered.

"Yeah Charles. You gonna kiss it better?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him. Wincing a little at the sharp pain in her pelvis , just wishing for it to be over already.

Charles just looked down at the love of his life for a long moment before his eyes flickered down to where her tank top was risen up to her ribs, showing her slightly swollen stomach , a little red from the heat packs she had been pressing to her skin.

It was an oppurinty. One he was not going to refuse. So with a mere shrug, he leaned down to lay between her legs, shuffling his body to get comfortable as he gently rubbed his hand over her cramping stomach, looking up through his lashes to see Cherrie had paused. Having not expected him to actually go through with it.

He gave her a smug little smirk and leaned his face down to her stomach, kissing between her hips and across her aching stomach gently.

"Better yet?" He murmured against her belly button as he pressed another soft kiss to her stomach , peering up at her affectionately .

Loving her even more than he did yesterday.

Cherrie flushed , letting out a nervous laugh as she placed her hand ontop of his head, fingernail scratching lightly at his scalp as he continued to happily kiss her stomach better .

"Yeah. Better." She just murmured with a small smile as she watched Charles pull Star into his side , the four year old giggling as she cuddled into him with a pleased grin on her little face .

"Charlie?" Star spoke up a few minutes later into the comfortable silence that had settled over them.

Charles just gently laying his head against her stomach comfortably , his hand gently patting at Stars back in hopes to lull her to sleep with them.

Yawning himself as he answered her quietly , his eyes fluttering from the feeling of cherries fingers pulling through his hair softly.

"Yeah?"

"Did you used to kiss mommy's tummy when I was in there too?" She asked him quietly , trying to keep herself awake . Eyes fluttering tiredly as she leaned her weight against him fully , barely managing to keep her eyes open.

Charles hummed with a soft smile , eyes flickering up to see Cherrie already smiling down at them, her cheeks a cherry red.

"I did." He admitted to her fondly "you used to kick mommy's Tummy a lot. So much so I thought you would come out a messi fan." He told her with a small laugh. Remembering the hours he used to spend muttering to her swollen stomach with his cheek pressed against her bump when Cherrie was pregnant with star.

Usually when Cherrie was asleep and had no idea that Charles was talking to her baby bump at all, telling her stories and pleading for her to stop kicking cherries ribs so that she could sleep some more. It was his favourite thing to do back then too.

Star giggled a little "I do love football." She said.

Charles just smiled "I know you do. Was kind of hoping you'd be a racer though." He muttered, still certain that she would be a future champion herself.

Star giggled again "you take me?" She asked him in a murmur. Yawning loudly, triggering him to do the same.

Cherrie grinned to herself as she looked down at her little family. Charles and Star half asleep on her stomach, in their own little world together. Almost whispering to each other, his arm around her small shoulders, their heads knocking together gently as they talked.

"Karting? You wanna go?" He excitedly looked at her, chest filling with warmth at the thought of getting to take Star to her first ever karting competitions and days with him.

He would teach her everything he knew. He dreamed of it.

Star just nodded her little head tiredly "yeah. With you though. Mommy's other boyfriend wanted to take me golfing." She snitched to him with a scrunched up nose, looking disgusted.

Charles eyes snapped up to cherries with a scowl "boyfriend? Golfing? It better not be Lando or Carlos Cherrie!" He immediately snapped at her unhappily , huffing pissily at the sudden , unwanted news .

Cherrie just rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head as Star started giggling naughtily.

Charles looking at her in confusion, his face dropping when he realised that he was being played. Again.

"Star! Stop lying! Your tongue will fall out! Mamma Mia!" He scolded her, heart rate slowing down again after that sickening scare. "Don't do that to me!"

Star just looked at him mischievously "why you care if mommy gets a boyfriend?" She challenged him.

Charles stuttered at that , cheeks going red as he avoided both girls amused glances. "I-you-she's my best friend-"

"Mommy can have a best friend and a boyfriend." Star stated smugly to him. Not letting him get away with it. As usual . She loved for his embarrassment.

Cherrie snorted, amused at her little shit stirrer. Enjoying Charles looking like a fish out of water as he tried to find his way out of this one.

"I know that. And-I would like to know. Meet the boyfriend before you did." He defended himself weakly. Burying his face into cherries soft stomach , flustered again now.

Because that was a awful side effect of being in love with your best friend. Being absolutely, horrifyingly jealous at the thought of anyone else being with Cherrie in the ways that Charles could only wish to be .

And well, he hadn't been given a book on how to deal with said jealously. Or what to do about the nightmares he had at the thought of her falling in love with somebody who wasn't him.

And sometimes said jealously lead to irrational actions and lack of thinking straight in his part. Because love made him a little crazy.

Something that the mischievous four year old was well aware of . Which was why that following Saturday ,when he came over to their place to hang out, forgetting to text Cherrie to let her know, so used to just letting himself in.

He was met with a frowning Star looking back at him, the four year old plastering on a pout on her face so that he don't see the naughty smile she had on her face when she saw him walking up to their door.

"Hi Charlie." She mumbled to him, swinging her hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her feet innocently .

Charles gave her a smile, eyebrow raising curiosity as he saw a strange look on her cute little face.

“Hi? Where's mommy?" He asked her as he put down the bag of groceries he had bought them onto the counter, wanting to show Cherrie what he had gotten them from the store .

Star sighed dramatically "mommy has a boy over." She told him with a straight face. Sounding sad.

Charles immediately froze. Slowly turning his head back around to look at the four year old with a blank look falling over his face . Blinking rapidly at her.

"Sorry?" He raised both eyebrows at her, feeling his heart rate go up as he slowly glanced down the hallway to where cherries bedroom was. The door closed.

His heart dropped to his stomach when Star just sighed again, nodding her little head in conformation that he wasn't mishearing her.

"Mommy has a boy over." She repeated to him sadly.

Charles let out the Breath he had been holding , eyes glued to the closed bedroom door as he let out a fake laugh.

"Oh really?" Was all he casually muttered before abruptly turning around and stomping over to Stars toy cupboard.

A scowl on his face as he yanked out a nerf gun that Pierre her bought her to torture them with, making sure it was loaded up as he held it in his hands firmly.

"How nice." He gritted out, furious.

He clenched the nerf gun in his hands as he stomped his way down the hall to cherries room without any second thoughts.

“Let's say hello to the little bastard then shall we?" He snapped to himself angrily , jealously clouding his mind and making him miss the way that Star was grinning naughtily behind him.

Quickly following him as she tried to hold back her mischievous giggles, hands clasped over her beaming mouth.

He pressed down on the handle before kicked the door open without any hesitation , throwing himself into the room with the toy gun held high.

Shooting the foam bullets at rapid speed at the poor man stood in her room , the rage making him see nothing but red.

"Well hello assho-" he started to snap at the man, about to make some sarcastic comment to scare him off.

Only to freeze in his place when the man spun around just as Charles shot him again, his eyes widening in disbelief as he watched the rubber bullet bounce off his head .

"Oh no." Fell out of his mouth loudly as he gaped back at cherries pissed off father, dropping the toy gun in a panic. Heart dropping to his ass as well.

"Sergio! Hi! I am so, so sorry!" He spluttered out mortified as he heard Star cackling behind him, her little body falling to the floor in hysterical giggles, tears streaming down her face . Barely able to breath from how hard she was laughing.

Her father just looked down at the foam bullets surrounding him on the floor that Charles had shot him with, pursuing his lips together as he looked at the terrified racer in absolute disbelief.

"You shot me." He stated the obvious. Blinking at him, clearly unimpressed. And so fucking .confused.

Cherrie was also in a heap of giggles on her bed, choking on her own laughter as she and her daughter screeched like birds at his expense. Charles side eyeing her as she kicked her legs out, holding onto her stomach as she almost died of laughter.

Unable to even speak, just pointing at his red face instead , head thrown back as she cackled alongside her four year old daughter who had set him up in the first place.

Charles placed his hands on his hips in disbelief , mouth opening and closing several times as he gaped at her father apologetically .

“I am So sorry." He could only mutter over and over again. Beyond Mortified.

Sending a quick glare over to Star , who was just grinning up at him naughtily, clearly pleased with herself.

"She-star-" he stammered to explain himself to cherries father . A man that he had a fairly good relationship with before he shot him with a nerf gun.

"Your daughter has raised a mean little liar!" He exclaimed with a red face . Pointing at the two of them in blame.

Sergio just let out a long sigh , flicking one of the bullets from his shoulder as he looked back at the embarrassed driver with a small smile.

Shaking his head at him in vague amusement.

"still so guillable?" He simply said to him.

Well aware of how his daughter and granddaughter had poor Charles wrapped around their fingers tightly , and more than aware of how In love with his daughter he was as well.

Sergio had been the one to console a sobbing Charles when he was sixteen , after he had found out that Cherrie had lost her virginity to some guy at a party.

Sergio had to deal with the fact of learning that his daughter was no longer a little girl, and the fact that his daughters, best friend, was also madly in love with her, all in one night.

It had been a long night. One that had him drinking whiskey like water as he awkwardly hugged a sobbing , teenage Charles as he babbled tearfully away to him about how it just wasn't fair. Telling him everything. Including that he was certain that Cherrie was his soulmate. Promising her father that he was going to marry her someday too.

Sergio had also had the privilege of comforting a crying Charles when he had run to him like a snitch after finding out about cherries pregnancy. Crying in her fathers arms all over again, utterly heartbroken.

So it was safe to say that the two of them had become quite close. A certain bond between them that came from watching Charles cry over his daughter all the time, for years on end .

It came from watching a live sick teenager turn into a lovesick man. A strange kind of pride and acceptance coming over her father as he realised that Charles really meant it.

That it hadn’t been a silly little crush. It was love. The heartbreaking kind. The kind that had Sergio rooting for Charles and slapping the back of his own daughters head in disappointment each time she unknowingly broke his poor heart again.

So he couldn't be mad at him really. But he could tease him.

“You'd have thought that you've stop falling for their shit by now Charles." He commented in amusement. Giving him a pat on his back to let him know that it was okay. That he wasn’t going to kill him.

Charles sighed in relief, shoulders sagging as he glared at the still, two giggling women of his life scornfully .

"They’re Such good liars." He breathed out, giving him a embarrassed smile. Cheeks a permanent red now.

“She said you had a boy in your room." He told Cherrie , unable to look any of them in the eyes now. Horrified .

Star just giggled naughtily "grandpa is a boy silly!" She shouted through her laughter, her mother fist bumping her mischievous daughter proudly.

Snorting loudly as she looked at her flustered best friend. "So you were gonna shoot him with a nerf gun?" She laughed in amusement. Shaking her head at him fondly . Wondering how his mind worked .

Charles shot her a unimpressed look, pursuing his lips together tightly . Hearing Sergio chuckle beside him. Only fuelling his misery.

"Yes! I wasn't going to shake his hand was I?!" He exclaimed. Breathing out heavily as he tried to calm his poor, tricked heart down.

They just laughed. Leaving cherries father to pat his back sympathetically, leading him out of the giggling room to get the poor man a beer.

"Still in love with my daughter?" He murmured to him with a smirk as he opened the fridge and passed him a bottle. Getting himself one as well.

Knowing for a fact that Charles would be spilling all of his woes about his daughter to him as soon as they sat down again.

Charles just sighed long and hard, nodding his head pathetically.

“Yes. Very much so." He simply muttered .

Throwing himself down onto the couch beside him in misery. Looking at her father with a small pout on his face , looking like a child who had his candy taken away.

"Still going to marry her one day." He let him know quietly. As stubborn as he was seven years ago when he first promised her father that.

Sergio just laughed and nodded his head "I know kid. Just waiting for the day my silly girl opens her bloody eyes and sees what's right in front of her." He sighed out in disbelief that his daughter could be so oblivious.

He grimaced deeply "she's never been the smartest when it comes to love."

Charles just nodded his head in agreement , smiling softly to himself as he heard Cherrie and star still giggling together in her room. No doubt making fun of him.

"Still love her though. Even when she's acting dumb and stupid." He muttered grumpily . Leaning his head down on Sergio's shoulder as he took a long sip of the beer, letting out another sad sigh.

Her father simply rolled his eyes to himself as he awkwardly patted the drivers head, wondering what he had done in his life to be saddled with comforting his daughters best friend for last decade like he was a little, teary kid.

But her father loved Charles, he did. And he rooted for him everyday. Praying that Cherrie would do the right thing and put poor Charles out of his misery.

It was clear to anyone who so much as glanced at them that the two best friends were meant to be.

As simple as that.

So he sighed and muttered to him encouragingly "it'll happen when you least expect it. Just keep loving her and everything will be alright."

It turns out that it all came down to a lonely Friday night and a ridiculous amounts of vodka shots being shoved down his throat by a equally as drunk pierre.

He didn't even know how he made it home.

Well, he didn't really. Somehow Inbetween his drunk sobbing into his friends shoulder about how 'it just wasn't fair! Why does she hate me?! She's a man eater!'. Sniffling shamelessly into pierres tense shoulder as his best friend grimaced down at him in second hand embarrassment. He had managed to give the Uber driver cherries address instead , because Charles refused to let himself be driven anywhere else but home.

"It is home!" He had almost shouted in frustration to him , wondering why nobody understood him at all.

He loved cherrie. He wanted to be her man and he wanted her to be his woman. And he wanted them all to be a big, happy family! Was that so fucking hard?!

He was still pissed about his shit luck and upset with how oblivious the love of his life was, sniffling to himself as he stumbled into HIS home carelessly , mumbling to himself about how much of a cruel woman she was to do this to him, for years!

"Heartbreaker." He muttered to himself with a hiccup as he stumbled into the front room with a pout on his tear stained faced , bleary eyes glaring over at a blown up picture of Cherrie, from a photoshoot, on the wall.

“S'not fair. I wish she was ugly and green, like a evil witch . Wouldn't hurt so bad then." He continued to mutter to himself in a mood, almost crashing into the wall as he lost his balance , those vodka shots hitting him like a fist to the face then.

He let out a deep groan when the light suddenly flicked on above him, squinting his glassy eyes over to the hallway with a wince .

Groaning even louder once he registered just who was staring back at him in disapproval , little arms crossed over her pyjama clad body as she tutted at him judgmentally.

"And here's the heartbreakers , little, mean spawn!" He blew out in exasperation, eyeing her back with just as much judgment. All rationality gone from his brain.

The vodka making him petty as he huffed at the four year old currently shaking her head at him pitifully.

"Come to make me cry?" He said to her, clutching into the back of the couch so he didn't face plant onto the floor .

Star simply rose a brow at him, cocking a little hip at him sassily. Just like she had seen her mother do whenever charles gave her attitude as well.

"Seems like you did that all by yourself." She remarked back at him, amused.

Clutching a teddy bear to her chest as she walked over to him quickly , hugging his leg with a smile of relief. Glad that he was back. And even happier that she had stayed awake. Despite her mother's warnings for her to go to sleep.

"Why are you crying Charlie? Did you hurt yourself again?" She worried, peering up at him with tired eyes. Yawning loudly a second later.

Charles yawned too, patting the top of her head gently with his hand as he tried not to pass out right there and then. Hating Pierre for shoving those shots at him all night, knowing fully well what a lightweight he was.

Maybe he just liked to see him suffer. Reminded him of someone ...

He sighed loudly "no. Your mother hurts me everyday when she calls me her best friend." He bluntly told the poor four year old.

Continuing to pat her little head like she was a dog, comforting himself with playing with her hair. Drunk as fuck.

Star frowned up at him, rolling her eyes. "You call mommy your best friend too." She reminded him without skipping a beat. Sick of hearing him complain without actually doing anything to make progress .

Charles frowned down at her too "because she is." He muttered.

Blinking rapidly as two four year olds suddenly swam in his vision. Cursing lowly in French as he tried to stay conscious on his feet.

Star looked at him like it was obvious "if you asked her to be your friend then why don't you just ask her to be your girlfriend too?" Giving him a small push towards the hallway where she knew her mommy was doing her ridiculously lengthy skincare routine in her room.

Charles stumbled alongside her without much give, too drunk to see the mischievous look on the child's face, a plan clearly being set in motion by her.

He thought about what she said and suddenly, so many vodka shots in , it did seem that simple.

He smiled giddily "you're totally right my little baby! I'll tell her! I'll tell her now I feel and then-" he hiccuped again "then everything will be okay and I can marry her and we can have a baby-"

Star looked up at him with wide eyes, giggling "you need to tell her first! And- I don't want a brother or sister yet! We still needed to go to Disneyland remember?" She looked at him as sternly as a four year old could. Because. Priorities.

Charles nodded seriously, pointing finger guns at her with a drunken grin.

"Right. Disneyland and then babies." He slurred before tilting his head thoughtfully

“I'll tell her tomorrow-"

Star quickly shook her head, knowing fully well that if Charlie wasn't drunk, he wouldn't be telling her mommy anything at all.

So she gave him another push towards her mother's room with a sneaky grin "no! Tell her now!" She insisted to him mischievously.

“If you wait too long she might fall in love with max-"

Charles immediately looked horrified, eyes going wide with fear .

“Max?! Fuck no!" He almost shouted , missing her naughty little giggle, too busy throwing cherries bedroom door open with a upset gasp.

"You can't love max cherrie! I will die!" He shouted loudly into the room, scaring the absolute shit out of Cherrie , who had been stood by her mirror , rubbing moisturiser onto her face.

She froze in shock , looking over at him in surprise, blinking in confusion as she looked at her swaying , crying? Best friend , and over to her smirking daughter hidden behind him while giggling to herself like a naughty goblin .

"What the hell are you talking about?" She wondered , putting her creams down and approaching him warily. Planning to curse Pierre out for getting him so drunk like this and not warning her before dropping him off either.

Charles frowned at her, upset . "You can't like max." He told her sternly , hiccuping.

"I don't like him? Where is this coming from?" She then looked at Star with a frown "and why aren't you in bed?!" She exclaimed, annoyed.

Her four year old simply shrugged her little shoulders and said sweetly "Charles wants to tell you something mommy." Before hitting Charles in his leg impatiently , nodding at him to hurry up and get on with it. Yawning again. Just wanting to go to sleep

Charles quickly nodded his head, face lighting up as he looked back at Cherrie with a dimpled grin. Giggling like a lovesick idiot as he stared at her with glossy eyes .

“Oh yeah." He mumbled to himself , band reaching lazily behind him to pat star on her head in thanks.

Then he looked straight at a confused Cherrie and smiled happily .

“I love you. And we're going to get married and have babies." He told her so simply , like it was a fact.

Then remembering something, he tilted his head and quickly added. "After Disneyland though."

Cherrie looked at him in shock, mouth opening and closing several times as she let his words sink in. Heart racing a hundred miles per hour in her chest, flushing red.

She cleared her throat "are you-" she stammered, flustered.

Looking at a giggly Charles in disbelief "being serious?" She breathed out. Speechless.

Charles just nodded happily before suddenly throwing himself at her , wrapping his arms around her and burying his face into her neck with a giggle as he swayed them from side to side blissfully .

Cherrie just clutching onto him silently , wide eyes blinking at her grinning daughter over his shoulder in disbelief.

"Yes!" Charles almost shouted. Pulling away to clutch at her face with a love sick grin "I love you so much! You've been cutting my heart into pieces for years! I thought I was going to die from loving you!" He declared it so casually , Cherrie could only nod along as though she understood.

She placed her hand on his waist to steady him, heart in her mouth as she whispered nervously

"Oh no." Then a guilty "I'm sorry." Falling out of her mouth straight after . Wanting to hit herself for being so oblivious.

Charles just squeezed her blushing cheeks between his hands and laughed loudly .

“It's okay! Because it's good now. Because I love you and that's okay because you love me too right?" He rambled.

Before Kissing her nose, making her giggle to herself when he gave into his intrusive thoughts and gently bit the end of it straight after. Giggling to himself when she scrunched up her nose from the feeling of his teeth on her skin , gently pulling him away from her so she that could see him clearly again.

She felt like the biggest idiot in the world. And also the luckiest woman too.

She smiled at him , beaming now . Feeling like her heart was going to burst out of her chest, overwhelmed with the affection she felt for him . Gently stroking his red cheeks, shaking her head at him fondly.

Idiot.

She was an idiot.

Luckily so was he. They could be idiots together she supposed .

"I do." She admitted to him finally "I love you so much. You're my entire world charles." She stroked his hair from his face tenderly . Smiling softly.

Charles nodded along as if he had known it all along. And maybe he had. Both just too scared of ruining their friendship.

None of that mattered now. Love was here to save them.

"After star.. then me." He whispered to her , nudging their noses together gently .

So fucking happy he felt like crying all over again.

“I love you. In every language and in every world." He told her quietly , meaning it.

And Cherrie only had to smile at him , then he closed the gap and kissed her. Finally. Clutching her jaw in his hand tenderly as his eyes fluttered closed, sighing against her lips in relief as he finally tasted the love of her kiss.

Moaning softly against her mouth before he pulled away , only to press several, shorter kisses to her lips again. Both of them giggling like teenagers as Cherrie carefully pushed him away as he pressed his lips all over her face, laughing loudly when he dramatically smacked a kiss over both of her eyes, making her laugh even harder.

Smiling proudly to himself when he heard heard her sweet laugh.

"Okay! Okay!" She giggled , gently steering a beaming Charles over to her bed. Cheeks red as he tried to wink at her, failing miserably.

One small push and he went tumbling straight into her bed. A pleased groan escaping him as he dug his face into her pillow in happiness, beaming like a little kid as he said through a yawn "smells like you." Pulling the covers over him gently after pulling off his shoes and his jeans. Leaving him in his soft T-shirt and boxers, his eyes already fluttering closed as the vodka hit him full force .

She shared a look with her four year old daughter who toddled over to the bed. Giving Charles a pleased , smug grin as he tried to fight off the sleep succumbing him.

"You owe me big time Charlie." She let him know. Expecting payment for being such a Cupid.

Proud of herself for being such a mastermind.

Charles just groaned tiredly , lazily taking her little hand in his , kissing her knuckles gently. Eyes already closed as he muttered "all the candy in the world."

Cherrie could only look at her daughter in disbelief , Star just beaming to herself happily. "Yay!"

Then the both of them could only watch together as Charles crashed as soon as his head hit the pillow. Loud , noisy snores escaping his gaping mouth as he slept peacefully away. Finally resting after causing nothing but Chaos for them.

Cherrie just sighed. Smiling despite herself as she gently took stars little hand to lead her out of the room, flicking off the bedroom light as she went by.

"You knew all along?" She guessed. Amazed by how oblivious she truly was.

Star just scoffed at her. Grinning smugly "everybody knew but you mommy." She told her Matter of factly as she got tucked back into her princess bed.

"Mommy?" She spoke up quietly when Cherrie kissed her goodnight, still in disbelief to how her night had turned so quickly around. Needing a glass of wine and to FaceTime her friends to tell them all the news.

"Yes?" She dared to ask.

Overwhelmed and honestly a little amused at her little mastermind and her poor Charles . She loved them both so much. It was ridiculous.

"Are you going to love Charlie forever?" She wanted to know.

She just smiled, breathing out a quiet laugh. "I am."

"And after Disneyland will you marry him and have loads of babies?" She tiredly asked .

Cherrie paused. Then "maybe." Smiling to herself in amusement "he deserves it doesn't he? Years of loving me while I was being an idiot.." she muttered with a sigh.

Star nodded seriously , drifting off to sleep. "He does. You need to marry him so that he stops whining all the time. We need him." She whispered .

Cherrie smiled softly , flicking off the light. "We do."

And it was as simple as that. There was no better person to fall in love with than your best friend.

It was always going to be them, forever. It could never be anybody else for them.

It was written in the stars. It had been a long time coming.

#f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 fic #f1 oneshot #formula 1 imagine #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc oneshot

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lenoraah · 5 months

Text

𝙩𝙤𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙤𝙨

pairing - dad!daniel ricciardo x mom!reader

summary - early mornings when reader can just sleep in without her girls shrieking and screaming are difficult, however when Daniel is home, he tries his best to let his wife sleep in, which also means making breakfast while trying his best to entertain his kids

a/n - this from a poll 🤍 i’m just going to use the same kids from the last Danny Ric girl dad thing; Adelaide (9), Cherish (7), Briar (5), Marina (2)

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We have to be quiet,”

All four of the kids agree but of course not without quiet laughter. Daniel helps Marina up into the countertop before looking down at his other three daughters looking up at him with widen eyes.

Briar steps forward, motioning for Daniel to lean towards her.

“Where’s Mama?” Marina whispers, making Daniel smile as he starts to explain his plan to the girls.

“We’re going to make breakfast to surprise her.” Daniel whispers back. The rest of the girls nods, agreeing with their father and sister.

The girls settle onto the counter stools with Briar on the counter, swinging her legs. Daniel grabs the eggs, toast and the fresh fruits. He settles them on the countertop.

“Daddy, what are we making?” Adelaide asks, her brown eyes wandering to the berries on the marble counter.

“We are going to make toast,” Daniel grabs the thing of peanut butter, a gentle grin appearing on his face. “It’s simple and easy as one day the four of you can make it for me and your mum.”

As the hour goes on, Daniel and the girls have fun talking and laughing. While Daniel teaches Adelaide and Cherish how to work the toaster, Marina and Briar sort the washed berries by color, not to mention eating some as well.

While Daniel cuts up some of the fruits, the girls run around the kitchen. Shrieking and happily yelling as they begin to jump on the couches.

Daniel shakes his head with a smile on his face as he watches Briar reach out to her sisters. Daniel washes his hands before holding Marina in his arms and walking over towards Adelaide, Cherish and Briar.

“Guys, we have to finish breakfast.” He smiles as the other girls crash into him, hugging him tightly.

“Do you think Mama wants peanut butter or jam on hers?” Cherish tilts her head to the side, eyes flickering between the peanut butter and strawberry jam.

“I think she’ll like whatever you make for her.” Daniel smiles, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Okay,” Cherish hums, nodding as she grabs the peanut butter.

Once Cherish is done with the peanut butter, Adelaide and Briar have fun with berries. They sprinkle them all over the toast and while they’re distracted, Daniel quickly rearranges them to look a little better.

“Can we give it to Mama now?” Cherish whines, jumping impatiently.

“Yeah!” Adelaide, Briar and Marina agree, nodding.

“Okay,” Daniel hums, picking up the plate and putting it on a tray.

Adelaide helps Marina waddle towards the master bedroom alongside Daniel and the other girls. As Daniel opens the door, the girls quiet walk in before jumping onto the bed.

“Mama! Wake up! We made you breakfast!”

Y/n quickly sits up, eyes widen as she realizes that all four of the girls are in bed. Marina crawls into her mother’s lap and the rest of the cuddle around their mom.

“We made you breakfast,” Cherish whispers and Y/n nods, a smile on her face.

“You did, well then let’s see it.” Y/n hums, happily taking the plate from Daniel.

“This looks great, thanks everybody.” Y/n smiles, eyeing the plate of toast piled with fruits and peanut butter.

“I love you, all of you.” Y/n wraps her arms around her daughters and motions for her husband to get closer to her. All of them climb onto the bed, cuddling their mother and wife.

A chorus of I love you toos soon follow. The six of them stay together in bed for a while, happily hugging one and other.

#daniel ricciardo x female reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #original post #original writing

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fushipurro · 4 months

Text

Merry Christmas

☆ Content: sfw (with some nsfw undertones), pet names, established relationship, domestic fluff

☆ Notes: the one who left it all behind and his overwhelming jolliness

"toji, can you hold this part for me, please?"

"do we really need all these lights and shit strung up everywhere?" he scoffed, doing as you asked nonetheless with one hand while the other hovered near your back.

something about you and ladders forms a bottomless pit in his stomach but he won't dare take the smile beaming from your face.

"uh, yeah we do? it's our first christmas together as a couple, i want to make it extra special!"

"it's already special with you here."

you leaned down and planted a kiss on the man's forehead, his ears dusting pink in surprise.

"i love you, toji, but you're going to get a full decked out holiday celebration."

"if it makes you happy, but can you at least let me do this?" he furrowed his eyebrows, watching you move the step stool everywhere there was a blank spot in need of holiday cheer.

"no can do, we'll decorate the tree together but i don't know about your eye for decorating." you teased, looking at the man with a smug expression.

he scowled, but softened when you went back to focusing on what you were doing. toji loved watching you so intently focused, the slight pinching of your brows or the twiddling of your fingers while you were debating options, the smile you made when it worked out.

all of this was a first for him, his own family had no need to celebrate just another day that served no use to them. you were shocked but expected as much when it came to the zenins, but resolved yourself to make the season special for toji.

when it came time for the tree, you had to do everything in your power to not be a bridezilla about it. toji was willing to decorate it with you, sure, but the idea that putting four of the exact same ornaments so closely together was so painful.

you snuck a few around from time to time when he wasn't watching, but still let him be creative in his own way since in the end it doesn't really matter so long as the two of you are happy.

"anything else?" he asked, looking at the nearly empty bin. his eyes led him to a small wrapping that he took into his hands.

"oh perfect, you're holding the last thing we need!"

he unwrapped it to reveal a beautiful stained glass star full of colors. "where does this go?"

"at the very top of the tree, i'll go grab the ladde─" toji's arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his body.

"i have a better idea." he smirked, handing you the star while lifting you up from your hips, allowing your legs to wrap around his own. he moved closer to the tree, giving you the extra height you needed to reach the top, placing the final cherry on top.

"okay, now to just plug this here and... voila!" the tree came alive with lights and colors, brightening up the evening room in a beautiful display. "well? what do you think?"

toji took a few moments to take in the sight, leaning down to your lips to kiss you passionately. "pretty, but still doesn't come close to you, sweetheart."

"toojjjiii, you're so sweet." heat rushed to your face as you hugged the man, admiring the tree together. his hands rubbed your back up and down while he held you, looking down at your eyes that reflected the twinkling lights.

you walked over to the couch, taking the remote in hand, "now we have to watch the best christmas movie ever."

"this isn't going to be some sappy chick flick, is it?" he scowled.

"even better, and i know you'll love it."

toji plopped down on the couch next to you, throwing his arm over your shoulder, "yeah?"

"get ready for some die hard, baby. a christmas classic!"

"who are all these cookies for?"

of course he had to ask, the kitchen counters were consumed with several different doughs, pans and cooling racks covering every free inch.

"for us, but there will be plenty to share with others too. we've got gingerbread, chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, and my family's sugar cookie recipe."

"is that what you're working on so intently?" he asked, looking at the rolled out dough and cutouts in front of you. an array of different colors were displayed in small bowls in front of you.

toji moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on the crown of yours. you could feel the warmth coming off of him, like you were enveloped in a heating blanket that was your lover.

"it is! the icing is my favorite part, i've always loved to decorate them."

he looked down at the snowflake shape you were beginning to drizzle white icing on, "is it supposed to look like... that?"

"like what?" you questioned before quicking realizing, lightly smacking his thigh making him chuckle, "toji! don't be a perv... it'll turn more opaque when it dries."

toji began to adorn your neck with kisses, tickling you and causing the icing to splatter around your work. his fingers easing their way under the hem of your clothes.

you took the snowflake cookie and shoved it up into his mouth, "you can wait for your present, mister, i've still got plenty of baking to do."

he groaned in disapproval, but took the cookie willingly as he snagged a few more from under you. "save some of that icing for later." he winked, pressing his lips to yours before you could respond.

you laughed, "glad to see you coming around to being jolly."

"if it makes you happy, then i'm happy."

you put the bag of icing down and trotted up behind him, grabbing his wrist and turning him to face you.

"merry christmas, toji." you smiled, pointing your finger upwards. he followed your finger to see a mistletoe hanging above the two of you.

toji leaned down to meet your lips once more, pulling you into his body, "merry christmas, y/n."

#jjk #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk toji #toji x female reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji zenin #toji x you #toji fluff #toji drabble

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seonghwaddict · 1 year

Text

★ NEVER SAY NEVER. [ 004 ] rotten lemons.

synopsis. something about the eight most well-known boys of your campus just didn't sit right with you, so you never gave any effort to interact with them. but after a series of... interesting incidents, they can't seem to leave you alone. pairing. college students! vampires! ot8! ateez x fem! reader. genre. fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, vampire au. chapter warnings. blood drinking. word count. 1.7k

　　　　　　　　chapter iii // chapter iv // chapter v

Seonghwa, Yunho and Wooyoung returned to the house at around four in the morning, each carrying two crates. As soon as they stepped through the door, they were greeted by Hongjoong as he made his way down the stairs, blue tufts of hair bouncing on his head.

“How’d it go?” He asked over his shoulder as they followed him into the kitchen and dropped her crates on the countertop.

Seonghwa shrugged and opened the first crate as Wooyoung and Yunho moved to the living room. “The usual. The prices went up though, 300 thousand per five bags.”

With an understanding nod, Hongjoong took a seat on one of the island stools. He reached for a different crate and pulled it towards him, looking through it before pulling out a translucent white bag, a thick red liquid swishing around inside. After taking a look at the label, he snapped his fingers. A thin wine glass appeared on the counter and it didn’t take him too long to open the bag and pour its contents in the cup.

“Did you get some O neg for San? He said he’s running out,” he asked after taking a refreshing sip.

“Yeah, probably enough to keep him satisfied for a few months.”

While they were quite open to drinking any type of blood, they had preferences. Some of them preferred sweeter tastes (usually O or B-type blood as they taste somewhat like the sweetness you’d get from honey) and others preferred more sour tastes (such as A-type blood, a taste that resembled the slight sourness you’d get from a cherry). However, with San, he’d always been in a bit of a tricky situation…

O-type blood, specifically of the negative sort, is considered one of the rarer types of blood. The demand for it can get pretty high, which in turn also makes prices hike up quite a bit. Typically blood vendors wouldn’t have a lot of O-negative stocked which can sometimes be a bit concerning. Especially because that’s the only blood type that San’s body can process.

But, fortunately, they didn’t have to worry about that too much since their go-to vendor always had some of that prestigious type.

Around the country, there were different vendors for blood bags—blood-banks. Unfortunately, the closest one to their house was a 2-hour drive, so it was inconvenient to constantly go and come back with the bare minimum amount they would need for a week. Usually, the bags get stocked and sold to vampires and after a month, anything that wasn’t sold would be donated to local hospitals on behalf of a ‘private blood donation organisation.’

Of course, many vampires preferred to get blood directly from the source (A.K.A. suck it out of people’s necks themselves), since it had a sweeter, fresher taste. But, alas, this was also too inconvenient for the boys living in this lavish mansion. They’d have to consider too many things before sucking the blood directly from a human, so they opted for just buying it in bags.

“That’s more than enough I think.” Hongjoong swirled the blood in the glass one more time before downing the rest of it and wiping the excess on his chin with the back of his hand. “Thank you.”

Once Seonghwa finished moving all the blood bags to the fridge, the two men moved to the living room and joined the rest of their cluster mates. San, Mingi and Yeosang were playing some video game on the TV; Jongho sat in an armchair and read a book, occasionally glancing to see how the game was going; Wooyoung sat on the ground with his head in San’s lap and Yunho sat cross-legged on the couch, narrating the game like a football narrator.

“Yeosangie, did Y/N get home safe?” Wooyoung asked as the round ended and Yeosang passed his controller to Yunho. A fond smile stretched itself onto the blond’s face as he nodded gently, thinking back to the way you had slept so peacefully in his car, light snores filling the silence of the vehicle.

“Who’s Y/N?” San asked, tilting his head down to look at Wooyoung.

“She’s an art student. We were each paired with one to work on a project. She actually came over here a few hours ago so we could start working a bit,” he explained. “I like her, she’s very pretty. A bit stubborn though, I almost had to fight her because we couldn’t agree on something. But I don’t think she’s very fond of me.” He concluded with a pout.

“Jongho also met her before, more or less,” Yeosang added, looking at the youngest as he shifted in his chair, “she works at that bookstore that you go to sometimes.”

The theatre student in question looked up, blinking at the ceiling and tilting his head as he tried to remember. He grimaced “The one that smells like a rotten lemon?”

“No,” Yeosang was quick to deny, not wanting any of the men that hadn’t met her to get the wrong impression. “The one that smells delicious.”

They talked about you for another ten minutes, Wooyoung recounting his experience working with you and Yeosang explained how you two had met. His brothers poked some fun at him, making it sound like he’d fallen head over heels for the girl that regularly ordered an iced latte with triple sugar. He swatted their teasing comments away but blushed the shade of Jongho’s hair when Wooyoung mentioned he’d seen some sketches in her sketchbook that looked an awful lot like him.

“If he liked her I wouldn’t really blame him,” Seonghwa had laughed, perfectly straight white teeth on display. “She’s intriguing.”

So, yeah, they all agreed there was something interesting about you. The ones that hadn’t met you tried coming up with ways to meet you, and the ones that had tried coming up with ways to meet you again. All the while Wooyoung giggled, knowing he’d have to spend the most time with you and loving the fact he could rub it into everyone’s faces.

But, for now, they wanted to spend their weekend relaxing and being lazy without constantly thinking about some cute girl. (That was a lie. Even though they would deny it, Wooyoung couldn’t deny the way his mind wandered to you every hour, wondering what you were up to; Seonghwa thought of you every time he stepped into the kitchen and if he concentrated hard enough—which he did for a single reason—he was sure he could still smell your sweet vanilla aroma wafting through the air; Jongho worked his way through his books faster so he could go to your book store and Yeosang spent his day at work hoping you’d walk through the door.)

You didn’t really question it, but were still mildly confused, when you walked out of the art studio the next Monday and saw Wooyoung standing against the wall, waiting for you. Students ogled as they passed by him and some talked and laughed extra loudly to get his attention, but his eyes remained on you.

Approaching him, you raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up, obviously.” He rolled his eyes playfully, reaching for your hand and dragging you out of the building. “I had another idea. I want to be able to do more for this project, so I’m going to choreograph and film a dance that we could maybe display at the exhibition with, like, a projector or something. You know, so we both contribute to this—equally. How does that sound?”

When he stopped and turned around to face you, he had to stop himself from cooing at your face as you thought. Your face was directed at him but your eyes looked unfocused, lower lip caught between your teeth as you tried to visualise his idea. Finally, you gave an approving hum and nod.

“That actually doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea,” you nodded as he resumed leading you to wherever it is he wanted to go. “Maybe the paintings could be based on pieces of your choreography.”

“Yeah, that’s also a great idea!” He cheered enthusiastically, a bright smile different from the usual mischievous one you see plastered on his lips. “Oh, also!” He stopped again as he remembered something, tugging on the hand that he still held within his colder one to get you to face him. “We’re gonna be hosting a party, you should come!”

Now that was something a bit harder for you to agree with.

“Oh, I don’t know…” The insecurity in your face dwindled as your words trailed off. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Please, Y/N, just this once.” He gave you his best puppy eyes and pleading voice. “The rest of the guys want to meet you, and what better place than a party where you can let loose?”

You decided it was a tempting proposal. After a long, torturing pause, you finally sighed, “Fine. When is it?”

Excitement lit up on Wooyoung’s face and you could’ve sworn his brown eyes nearly started sparkling. “We were planning on Saturday, but we haven’t made the announcement yet so we could always change it if you want.”

The pure joy he felt faltered for a second as your face fell.

“I’m not available on Saturdays, so Friday or Sunday would work better for me if that’s ok.”

Instantly, he began nodding. “Yeah, we could do it on Friday. What do you do on Saturdays, if cou don’t mind me asking?”

Ah, shit. I did not think this far ahead. You smacked yourself mentally, scrambling to come up with a plausible excuse. If he found your hesitation suspicious, he didn’t say anything about it as he awaited your answer. Instead, he watched with interest, loosely swinging your conjoined hands from side to side.

“Oh, you know. I study and catch up on all the sleep I usually miss.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes at you, lips pursed and a contemplative hum ringing from him until he nodded and resumed his walk once again. “Okay. I’ll send you the address later, it won’t be at our house—last time someone broke the chandelier.”

“What chandelier?” Your brows furrowed as you briefly looked up to him. It was then that you realised he was still holding your hand, so as discreetly as possible, you tugged on it and hoped he would get the hint.

“Exactly.”

After a few more tugs it seemed like he finally noticed, his grip loosened and you were able to slip your hand out.

“Do you have any classes for the rest of the day?”

You shook your head after trying and succeeding to remember your schedule. “No, why?”

“Great, let’s go eat!”

　　[ lilo's notes ... ] this one's a bit short. i'm not really amazing at writing scenes that involve more than 4 people, but i've been getting better i think so it should be fine. we finally got some vampteez content in this chapter, hope y'all like that.

　　ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ taglist ... @atinytinaa @marievllr-abg @legohwas @moonsangie @kiss-hwa @cqndiedcherries @ateezourstars @kitty4hwa @hyukssunflower @aestheticsluut @neohyxn @mrowwww @darkdayelixer @itsokaytobedumb00 @hwa-sans @purplelady85 @meginthebuilding27 @stopeatread @mothworked @foliea @euphoric-emily16 @teezers99 @mulletjoonsupremacy @imalildelulu @sunukissed @blehhhidk @ad0rechuu @d1am0ndw0lfxd @strawberry-moonpies @bluehwale-main @lightinythedark @stupefystudies @yandere-stories @skz-enthusiasttt @seongwin @huachengsbestie01 @galaxypox @seongwin @yuyunhoo @kyukyustar @seongfury @moonminji @lilactangerine @lelaleleb @asjkdk @honey-lemon-goose

　　NEVER SAY NEVER　©　seonghwaddict, 2023

#★ NEVER SAY NEVER — seonghwaddict #ateez #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #vampire au #college au #fluff #eventual smut

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lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe · 2 months

Text

Chapter 5 [IKYLHT]

~2.4k Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter

“Officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark…”

“-I still don’t think that was the best they could’ve come up with.”

“Shh, Johnny, I’m trying to hear them.” You mumble with a light slap to the man’s thigh, nodding over to Price and Laswell as they clink glasses.

Simon chuckles from the other side of you as you peer around Soap’s form in an attempt to convince Gaz to relay the conversation word for word. He doesn’t, and part of you regrets not swapping seats with the man beforehand.

Not that you would’ve been able to, what with Simon and Johnny essentially herding you into the bar stool between them.

Sheepdogs, I swear.

“Y’know, I think you owe me, Bun.”

Johnny’s voice has a playful edge to it, something you so desperately need after the torture endured in that building.

Bloody hands trying to find grip on the cables- anything that’d soften your fall down the elevator shaft and allow you to follow him into that half constructed floor full of soldiers and Hassan.

Bloody hands that found themselves back on their original place, wrapping gauze around Price’s shoulder and pestering Gaz for updates every other minute.

He didn’t have any. You’d opted to try yourself.

“Soap, please.”

You can’t help the desperation in your tone.

He hasn’t answered comms in four minutes.

Something is wrong.

“What is your status? Click the transmitter. Something. Anything. Please, Johnny.”

You hear nothing but the soft Chicago wind in return, shaking hand reaching for comms once more.

“Ghost, do you have a visual?”

It takes him a moment to answer, and you can just barely hear his boots ascending the stairwell in steps of two.

“Negative. Adjusting position now.”

You hate it.

Hate that your view of Ghost is completely blocked from this floor, hate that Johnny isn’t responding to comms, hate that he’s in there alone.

Had this scene not already played out? Had Johnny not already been forced to fend for himself with shivs and rat traps in the streets of Las Almas?

Why couldn’t they get someone in there with him? Where are the Marines? Where is Gaz? Where is Johnny?

I should’ve been there.

I was there. It still didn’t matter.

I still couldn’t save him.

“Fuck this.” You mumble, shuffling back onto your feet, eyes already scanning for the emergency staircase.

I’ll scale the building myself.

Your gun is gone, lost somewhere to the explosion and subsequent shootout. You slide your hand over a spare knife resting on your hip. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.

“Price, I’m movi-”

“Ghost…” Soap’s voice carries through your earpiece and renders your legs damn near immovable.

You don’t notice the way your knife slices open the top layer of skin on your palm, instinctually bolting up and towards the stairs as you hear Ghost reply.

Going down two, three, four at a time- shoulder slamming into the wall as you turn each corner and stumble down the staircase- you’re still unable to see any of what’s happening- eyes unblinking and ears straining to hear Johnny’s next words.

“Watch the window-“

“-Bun, c’mon. I remember hearin’ you make a bet with Simon.”

Blinking, you find yourself back in the bar.

Right. That’s right. It’s over.

It’s all over.

Nodding, more to yourself than to him, you scan the bar and blink the image of it back into the front of your brain.

You don’t miss the way Simon watches the entire thing.

You let a semi-genuine smile grace your lips and nudge him back.

“Which you were not a part of, Sargeant. Direct orders from the captain, in case you forgot. Plus, Si didn’t even agree to put any money on it. No point in betting if there isn’t a cash incentive.”

Glancing around him again, you’re just able to meet Gaz’s eyes as he finally divulges you by mouthing a single word before he’s turning back to Price.

Russians.

“I just think-”

“-Johnny.”

Your tone is what gets him to look up, to pop the bubble he’d created just for you, Simon, and himself. To raise his guard and compartmentalize like he always does.

You can’t blame the man for wanting normalcy for just a little longer. The chance to sit in a dimly lit pub with his partners, nursing a drink and laughing at how awful the men across the bar are at playing pool.

He doesn’t want another assignment. Not now. Not after all they’d been through. He needed a break, desperately, and he needed to get his mind off of work before it consumed him completely.

But you can’t. You just can’t slip into that headspace right now. You can’t let your guard down.

Maybe it was the mission, maybe it was the close-calls, but this inability to just think straight is one you’d only experienced once before.

You can’t remember when they start- the flashbacks, the shifting from present reality to memory. You only remember the looks of your comrades as they steer you back to the current moment.

Price’s voice cuts into the space, deep and low.

“He’s not new.”

He slides the picture over to Gaz, Soap bracing a hand over your leg as it bounces repeatedly.

You’re nervous.

You can’t tell why.

You force yourself to stop, to allow Gaz to study the photo without interruption. You hear him shift, pass the photo over to Soap who holds it up for the two of you.

He nods once, reaching past you to hand it to Ghost.

Shaking your head, you whisper to both men beside you.

“I don’t recognize him.”

Their eyes meet past your shoulder, an unspoken conversation.

“Guys?” You whisper again, eyes darting between the pair.

Still no answer, you look between Price and Kate, the latter looking just as confused as you did.

“Who is he?”

You feel Johnny’s grip on your thigh tighten, hear Simon’s deep inhale as Price turns to answer Kate.

“Makarov.”

“Well, this is me. You can just… knock, I guess. If you need anything, I mean.”

The door clicks behind Simon as you shift to stand awkwardly in the corner of your small accommodation.

His eyes shift over your room, the tiny storage shelf topped with boxes and folders of paperwork you’d need to drop off before the night’s end.

It’s hardly decorated past the beige curtains and yellow lighting that adorned each private room in the barracks.

You distantly wonder if Simon’s room is any nicer. Probably not, since it’s just a temporary until the flight home.

Better than a motel.

He nods once, lets out a little hum of acknowledgment before locking eyes with yours.

“You okay, Tapeti?”

“Me? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just need a nap, I think. Maybe some real sleep once the paperwork is done.”

He hums again.

“Okay. Not what I meant though, love.”

You give a sheepish semi-shrug, a half answer he lets slide with a small sigh.

“Alright then. Gonna go check on Johnny. You comin’?”

You want to, to go and kick your feet up on Johnny’s lap while he doom-scrolls through social media, but your eyes fall back on the box of papers.

“Oh, uh. No, that’s alright. I’ll swing by later. Really gotta desk-jockey it tonight. Text me if he needs anything?”

“Of course, darling.” He says softly, kissing the top of your head through the mask before sparing you one last glance and slipping out the door.

You sigh out, shuffling over to the storage shelf and grabbing the box before plopping onto the chair with a huff.

Casualty Report

Contact Report

Frequency Interference Report

Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Report

Report

Digging your palms into your eyes, you groan out.

It's been hours, according to both the clock and the ache in your lower back.

“They offered me retirement, why the hell didn’t I take retirement?” Exhaling a deep breath, you whisper to yourself as you neatly pile the paperwork. “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job."

Sliding it off the desk and into the crook of your arm, you make your way through the foreign base, dropping off the paperwork to some higher-up's secretary with a content smile.

Not my problem anymore.

A little more pep in your step, you start making your way back to the barracks, giving Johnny’s door a light knock.

There’s no answer.

You knock again.

Still no answer.

With a small roll of the eyes, you dig for the spare key he slipped into your pocket with a wink, unlocking the door.

You crack it open, knock again and whisper as it quietly creaks.

“I swear Johnny, you’re such a liar- ‘oh I never fall asleep first’. I could practically hear you snoring through the- oh.”

His silhouette is dim but unmistakable. His snores are soft, as they usually are.

So are Simon’s.

You turn your head, scan the empty hall once more before really taking in the sight before you.

They’re cute. Snuggled up, cozy under the blanket Johnny will soon kick off, Simon’s head resting over his heart.

It’d be a lot sweeter of a moment if, well… if there was any space for you.

They really are cute together and you know it shouldn’t bother you, but, that was your spot.

It’d always been that way.

Johnny on his back, you on his left side.

Closing the door with a soft click, you lock the deadbolt as quiet as you can before making the trek back to your room.

It’s dark, curtains blocking any pale moonlight and the room is still just as fucking beige as before only now it’s a problem.

The bed is too cold. Too big, too empty, too overwhelming without his body splayed over half of it.

You don’t bother changing into anything comfier, kicking your boots towards the door and burrowing under the covers.

You look to the pillow on your right.

You shut your eyes.

It’ll be better in the morning.

Your descent down the stairwell is rushed, boots clipping the safety grips multiple times and hands flailing to grab the railing beside you.

You find a rifle on the way down, still slightly sticky with the blood of the masked soldier it belonged to.

You could never be too sure.

It clatters against your tac vest uncomfortably, hitting the back of your legs and threatening to launch you down the stairs completely.

You don’t bare it much mind though, hopping off the last few steps and throwing yourself against the heavy metal door with a grunt.

Side stepping and nearly knocking over the surrounding Chicago police, you weave your way through EMT’s and rescued hostages before your path is abruptly cut short by a dark mass with outstretched arms.

“Slow down, Tapeti, he’s making his way out.”

You allow yourself to remain in the man’s arms but don’t halt your hurried steps.

“Then we can meet him in the stairwell, Simon.” You huff out, only partially regretting the way your words tinge with aggression.

He unhooks the back of the strap, grabbing the rifle with one hand and letting it clatter against the sidewalk, not once breaking stride or faltering in pace.

You get one hand on the doorknob of the side entrance, readying yourself to slam bone against metal once more.

You don’t get the chance to though, head on a swivel when you hear a nearby glass door shatter in on itself.

And finally, you see Johnny, tired face holding back a pained smile as he holds the door handle in midair.

“Rabbit-“

“-Johnny.”

You waste no time rushing to him, the impact of your body colliding with his almost knocking you both to the ground.

You feel his shadow guarding the pair of you from onlookers, offering about ten seconds of privacy before Simon is damn near scruffing the back of your neck as he pulls the pair of you into his chest.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny. Don’t ever do that again.” You mumble into Simon’s shirt, pawing at Johnny’s tac vest and trying to find a patch of skin that isn’t covered by work.

It’s a difficult task, what with Ghost barely allowing you ample space to expand your ribs as you breathe, but you manage to slip off a glove and warm Johnny’s hands yourself.

You feel him shift to lay his head on Simon’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around the man’s waist as he speaks quietly.

“You okay, Bun?”

“Are you okay, Johnny? We couldn’t get ahold of you, not a single thing through comms, not even static.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Johnny?”

You move to pat his hand but it isn’t there.

“John?”

You look up but he’s gone entirely.

You spin around, cover your arms over your thin shirt no longer protected by two sets of arms.

“Ghost?”

You spin again but you’re entirely alone on the street.

The cops’ red and blue lights still flash, doors wide open.

The back ambulance doors reveal the inside, the space that held the empty gurney that now sits mere feet away from you.

“Simon?”

The wind howls but doesn’t shake the trees.

“Gaz?”

Your ears ring above the silence.

“Price?”

You feel the hairs on your arms stand.

“Santiago?”

You hear a knock.

“Bunny? You in there, hen?”

Shifting your arms, you feel the stickiness of the sheets beneath you.

He knocks again.

Scrambling out of bed, you kick your shoes out of the way of the door and open it hastily.

“Good mornin’, sunshine. We were knockin’ quite a while. Must’ve been pretty knocked out.”

Your shoulders loosen seeing his smile, no longer feeling the urge to curl in on yourself.

“Oh, uh, yeah I guess so. Had kind of a weird dream.”

You feel Simon’s eyes on you, send him a smile as Johnny brushes past you and into the room.

“Anything in particular?”

You turn back to Simon, motion for him to make his way out of the doorway and into the room as you answer his question.

“Not really, mostly just replaying yesterday. Just cataloging, you know the drill.”

Well, except for the part where everyone vanished and left me stranded in the middle of Chicago searching for Santiago.

Guess I was calling out for two ghosts.

“Eh, as long as it wasn’t the weird armadillo one again. God knows what that one’s about. Anyways, you showering before brek, Bun? You stink.” Johnny smooths the duvet over the damp sheets, laying down with a groan and stretching his side.

“Yeah, I’ll make it a quick one. You waiting here?”

You don’t miss the way it comes out, the tinge of vulnerability towards the end of your words.

Neither does Simon.

Johnny lets out a hum, arms above his head and moving to stretch out his other side.

Simon steps forward, untucks the string of your hoodie.

“Shower, Tapeti.”

He sits on the edge of the bed.

“We’ll be here.”

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

Text

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It's just that... you don't really get along all that well, do you? At least, that's what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers (very vague, im sorry, but you'll see), language, drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: whats up my hot idiots, this is part 2 and I just need you to know that I'm going through a doubtful time writing this BUT I'M DOING IT ANYWAY so, here you go, hope you enjoy!

Wordcount: 3.2K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

You didn't know why it felt like you were going for a job interview, but your stomach was aflutter with nerves. The sweaty palms, tense shoulders, twitchy eyelids type of nerves.

Why were you doing this again?

And why at Joe's house?

For Mark.

You had to actively remind yourself you were doing this for Mark. And for Poppy, too. You definitely could've chosen a more neutral spot for it though. Somewhere out. Not either one of your houses. But Joe'd very casually said he preferred not to be seen out as much, reminding you that you were dealing with an actual celebrity. Gross. But you'd been civil and said, of course. Of course I'll come meet you. At your house.

But on your way over, your mind felt out of your control when it started going over reasons and excuses to cancel on him. How nice did an evening alone on your sofa sound? Snacks, bit of Netflix, comfy outfit... that's the kind of night you wanted. Instead, without any excuse good enough to text Joe, your legs carried themselves over from the tube station to his street, to his house, up his front steps and then, even with your mind screaming to put your hand down, you rang the doorbell.

It took ages for you to finally see some movement through the little pane of frosted glass. Too long. A rude amount of time that made you consider turning around and leaving.

But then Joe opened the door with a tight smile that only worked the lower half of his face, and you kind of couldn't believe what you were looking at. Joe was wearing pressed trousers and a shirt with a tie. And there were actual shoes on his feet. Shoes! Shiny formal shoes, on his feet, in his own house? What the fuck was up with this man? Who was he keeping up appearances for? Just himself?

Fucking hell, you were in leggings. Old faded ones that were pilling around the crotch. What a way to start the evening entirely off-balanced.

Like you were expecting anything different, though.

"Hi," Joe narrowed his eyes for just a second to sell the smile, but it quickly fell.

"Hey," you had to try your very hardest not to frown at it, and managed to force a smile of your own.

"Come on in,"

Joe invited you in like you were about to have a business meeting. Cordial. Polite. Sort of friendly, but, tense. Always so distant and a little awkward, like you hadn't actually ever met before. But he lead you into his house, gestured towards the coat hanger that you passed as you followed him to the kitchen.

"How do you take your coffee?"

Joe almost sounded like he didn't want to make you any to begin with, but just said it because it was the polite thing to do. Like you were strangers just meeting for the first time.

"Oh, no thanks, if I have coffee now I won't sleep later,"

And for a second you awkwardly hovered in the kitchen not really knowing what to do with your hands, and you looked around. Everything looked clean and shiny, everything all in its place. Like no one actually lived here.

"Tea, then?"

Joe'd already flicked the kettle on.

"Some water's fine,"

And he flicked it off again before he moved to retrieve a glass for you.

With forced familiarity you sat down at one of the stools by Joe's kitchen island. You didn't know if Joe had planned for you to sit down and talk anywhere else in his house - maybe he had a weird conference room up in a room somewhere, a massive office for you to have an actual work meeting - but you decided that acting casual, like hanging out with Joe at his house was normal, was the way to go about this.

Because you knew each other, didn't you? Had known of each other for years. This didn't have to be so odd. It definitely was odd, but you thought maybe if you pretended that it wasn't, perhaps it wouldn't be.

Like that time that the four of you had gone for dinner and the entire night you and Joe hadn't spoken directly to each other. The conversation had flowed just fine, you reacting to Mark and Poppy, Joe reacting to Mark and Poppy, the both of them reacting to the both of you... but you and Joe? You'd hardly made eye-contact at all, and you had felt so weird for it throughout that whole evening. When you said something about it to Mark after, he acted like you were insane, so you'd let it slide.

Or like that time when you'd ran into each other on the tube and both of you pretend not to have seen the other. You were just as guilty as he was, but, you know, if Joe had said hi, you definitely would've acted as if you'd just noticed him and would've said hi back. Would've smiled. Would've asked him where he was headed. But no. You'd seen each other and then both pretended you hadn't and why were the two of you like this?

It was exhausting.

"So," you took in a deep breath and nodded at Joe with your eyebrows raised high, gaze open. "Maid of honour," you gave a small nod.

"Best man," Joe replied and for a single second you thought you could see an actual sparkle of joy in his smile as he placed a glass of water down in front of you.

"You think you're ready for the job?" you asked as you opened the Pinterest app on your phone. Joe shrugged as he remained standing on the opposite side of the island. Kept his distance, literally. He seemed unbothered, like he thought everything would work itself out fine without much of his interference.

That wasn't how these things worked.

"What do you mean," you asked and copied his shrug, asking him to explain the air of nonchalance.

This was a big deal. Mark and Poppy were important people to you. There was no room to be nonchalant.

Joe looked at you a second before he let his eyes dance over the marble countertop and, fucking hell, it was so annoying how Joe would always take too long to think. He was always biting back his initial reaction, seemed to take a couple of seconds to go over what would be smart to say, and then would hardly say anything of value. Would hardly contribute to the actual conversation.

Wasn't communicating his job, essentially? Why was he so bad at it This man had real problems communicating with you, and for what? You were nice. Hadn't been anything but nice. Your unconfrontational nature had really been the sole reason you and Joe hadn't clashed yet, you thought.

You frowned slightly and decided to try something. See if you could skillfully let him know that this needed actual work to be put in.

"How long have you known Poppy, if you don't mind me asking?"

You knew they'd been friends from childhood, but you needed Joe to remind himself of the fact.

"Since we were about... I don't know, nine?"

"So you must know what she'd want for her bridal shower, then... and her hen do,"

You mentioned the bridal shower because you thought maybe Joe didn't even know that this was going to be something he was going to have to organise. Carefully dancing around what you actually wanted to say.

"Sure,"

That stupid little half shrug again.

"And you're going to go with her when she goes shopping for her dress?"

"Yea, why not?"

Joe unbottened a cuff and started slowly rolling up a sleeve and that shouldn't have been as distracting as it was. Joe had nice hands.

Big.

"What do you mean, why not? These are the things that a maid of honour does..."

You were about to giggle a little at the fact that you called him a maid again, but then Joe's fingers moved onto the other cuff. The other sleeve. Shit. You weren't going to admit to anyone, not even yourself, that this was doing something to you.

"Poppy's not... don't worry about it, Poppy's not into all the, I don't know, traditional things,"

"Hmm," you mused, "Risky thing to assume,"

"I don't assume, I know,"

With both forearms now on display, Joe reached a hand up to loosen his tie. What the fuck was he doing? Fully undressing himself in front of you?

"Yea, all right, sure," you kept your composure as you questioned Joe's claim and turned your gaze back to your phone screen which had now gone black. You picked it up for the face ID to let you back in.

"You don't know Poppy like I do," Joe said it like there were secrets he knew that you'd never find out about her, no matter how good your friendship with Poppy was. And you were sure he was right, but the arrogance was making your skin crawl.

"You're right, I don't, but I'm a woman, which in this case does really count for something,"

A little smirk appeared on Joe's face as he also got his phone out, and you hated it.

"Like you know the first thing when it comes to being a best man,"

"I do, actually,"

This little chit-chat was turning more hostile by the second.

"I'm sure you do,"

You'd gone into this evening already thinking about how much Joe wouldn't love hanging out with you, but he was really making sure you felt it radiate from his entire being, Jesus Christ.

"I do! Stag do, speech, get everyone into their right outfit and to the ceremony on time," You listed off on your fingers.

"That's it?" Joe's eyes flicked up from his phone to look at you.

"That's it. The best man really gets the better deal on this one, I'm afraid,"

"You forgot about the rings,"

Fuck.

You could practically smell Joe's ego swell. But when you looked, it seemed like he pretended that he didn't just embarrass the living daylight out of you.

And it was almost worse. Because taking the high road by not being a dick somehow made him seem more like one.

"... and, the rings," you added on a fourth finger, but the damage had been done. There was no saving yourself from this one.

"You know what you're doing for the stag do?"

"Yep. Nothing too overboard. Fancy meal, stupid pub crawl – easy going,"

Joe kept quiet for a second and scrolled through his phone a bit. You copied him, and then he asked, "You're just doing an evening?"

It felt like Joe was backing you into a corner.

"The girls and I are doing a full weekend,"

The girls?

"Oh man, just a few hours for the stag do," Joe clicked his tongue and hissed through his teeth. "And you're going to forget the rings too? I thought you and Mark were friends."

Oh, fuck him.

"Seems like being a best man really is a man's job after all,"

You tried so hard to not let anything show in your face. You took careful notice to really keep your face as plain as you could. No eyebrow movement. No jaw clenching. Joe didn't need to actually see that he got to you. But he did. A little. So, instead, you opted to just bolt. Get out of there. If this was how Joe was going to be, you didn't need to be around him.

You'd met up because Mark and Poppy deserved the best - you both agreed they deserved the best. You'd met up because you needed to find options for dates, so the hen do and stag do would happen simultaneously. You'd met up to discuss plans. Help each other out. You definitely could help Joe with a few things. And, sure, you'd listen to Joe if he had any tips for the stag do.

But you weren't going to listen to Joe talk to you like that. Let him test your limits. He hadn't reached them, not by a mile, but you refused to even let him try to get close.

You were adults and Joe could fucking act like one.

You swung your knees to the side and got up, swiping your phone from the counter and sticking it straight into your pocket as you started moving towards the door.

"No, come on," Joe released a nervous laugh and backtracked immediately.

"I'm sorry! I was joking that was a joke,"

You stopped right in the doorway, eyes looking down the hall where they fell on a framed picture of Joe and Poppy. Beautiful black and white photograph, you knew the photo well. Knew exactly where it was taken. What event they'd been at. What you'd been wearing. What Mark had been wearing. Because the photo was a cropped version of one of the four of you.

And it wasn't that you needed Joe to hang a picture of your face in his house. Of course, not. But to blow up a photograph he literally cropped you out of to hang up in his home - not to mention in a location he passed every day - only hammered home how much Joe didn't need you in his life.

"We're not doing a full weekend, I wasn't– I don't know why I said that, I'm sorry," to his credit Joe took full responsibility of saying the wrong thing, with the wrong tone, at the wrong time.

"Can I just... can I just say something?" you started, looking over your shoulder with your back still towards Joe. "I know you've never... you've never quite warmed to me– don't argue,"

Joe was about to interject but let whatever he was about to say escape him in a breath. Instead, he pushed both his hands into his pockets and you could see his shirt flex against his chest.

"We're not friends, even though, our friends are getting– they're getting married. It's not like we can just... pretend the other doesn't exist, like, marriage is meant to be a life-long sort of deal, so..."

Something empathetic shone from Joe's eyes, but you saw his jaw clench. He seemed deflated, but underneath you sensed some sort of wary apprehension.

"We don't have to be friends, you don't have to actually like me, but... we could at least try to... I don't know, pretend,"

Joe blinked a few times before looking down at his feet. Quiet. Milling over thoughts, not sharing the initial ones that popped up, because he never did.

"Couldn't we?"

"Yea," Joe snapped his head up. "Yea, no, of course,"

"I'm nice," you said, and smiled to prove it. As a reply, Joe just gave you another one of his tight-lipped smiles before he rounded the corner of the island towards where you'd sat on one of the stools.

Joe could've agreed with you. Could've said, yes, of course you're nice. You're the nicest. But he didn't. Instead, he sort of skipped over it and it was like you hadn't ever even said it in the first place.

"Let's," Joe said before sitting down on the seat next to where you'd sat before. One foot still on the floor, one foot up on the footrest, and legs spread wide. "Let's get our calendars out and actually plan some things,"

Okay, good.

This was why you were there.

To get shit sorted.

Walking over to sit back down next to Joe was weirdly challenging with the way he was leaning into his shoulder with an elbow placed onto the counter, turned to face you, absolutely man-spreading. But, you managed fine. Sat down and opened your phone's calendar and pretended you couldn't feel Joe's breath on your arm as he placed his phone down next to yours.

You found two optional dates that you both thought could work for Mark and Poppy and also worked for you and Joe. It took some time, but you got there eventually.

You showed Joe how Pinterest worked, so he could at least ask Poppy to pin some things so he could get a feel for the vibes she was going for. For the bridal shower, for the dress - for the whole wedding.

Joe didn't interject, didn't make snarky comments, hardly said anything if you really thought about it, but it was fine. The boy listened and seemed to take whatever you were telling him seriously.

When eventually you carefully asked if a fancy meal and a long pub crawl seemed like a good stag do, Joe was quick to say that that's what he would've done had he been in your shoes. It kind of made his earlier comment sting more. He had really just said that to get under your skin, and you hated that it had worked, too.

"Okay, so, to go over it one more time–" you started, rounding off the evening, but Joe interrupted, "I think we've got it."

Had you not had that weird moment of almost leaving, you could've sworn Joe's comment was meant maliciously. Now, after spending an hour sat next to him staring at phone screens, it felt a little warmer.

On your way out, Joe followed you a little, but not all the way to the front door. Like suddenly distance was needed again. You put on your coat and looked back to see Joe leant into the doorway, both arms up high where his hands touched the doorframe. His shirt was fighting to escape his trousers, and you couldn't stand that you noticed that.

"We're good, yea?" you asked, referencing the plans you'd made for Mark and Poppy.

"Absolutely, yea,"

A moment passed where you just looked at Joe, unsure of how to say goodbye, and he was gracious enough to grant you a solid second of eye-contact before you saw him look at his front door behind you.

You got the hint.

No stalling. Get out of his house. You'd been over long enough.

Just before you stepped out and were about to call a goodbye over your shoulder, Joe said, "And I do think you're nice,"

It stopped you in your tracks.

When you turned your head back, Joe wasn't even really smiling, which made it worse.

"From what– you said earlier, that you're nice?"

Joe... don't be so fucking awkward, you thought, but didn't say.

"You– I just, I know you are, Poppy says it all the time. Mark too. I just, I though you should know that they do, and that I do. Think you're nice, I mean."

It was only when you smiled that you realised you'd been looking at him like you were worried he was in actual pain, struggling through his words.

"Thanks,"

And this was when you both should've gone, "Bye," and "See you later!" and "Get home safe!" with kind smiles and little waves.

But instead, you shared a last look and then slowly closed the door behind you whilst neither of you said anything, or really even moved at all.

What the fuck was that?

---

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsbower @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #To Have And To Scold #part 2

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avastrasposts · 1 year

Text

The Pilot and his girl - ch. 6 **

It took me a bit longer to write this chapter but I finally got it where I wanted - we've got some smut (so if you're a minor, leave), some sweet Frankie fluff and no angst. We're all gonna be wrapped in warm, fuzzy feelings here ❤

Word count: 7.1 k

Chapter 1 (If you wanna catch up from the beginning)

Chapter 7

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer

It was Frankie’s stomach that eventually dragged the two of you out of bed. With a loud grumble it made its intentions clear and made you collapse giggling against Frankie’s chest as his cheeks turned pink.

“It always has the worst fucking timing,” he groans as you try to to contain your laughter. He looks down at you, your shoulders shaking as you fight back the giggles, and shakes his head in feigned disappointment. “It’s your fault you know, you promised dinner and then you drag this poor, hard working pilot to your bedroom before he even gets a chance to get his strength up.”

“You didn’t seem to be missing much strength, Frankie, to be honest,” you smirk at him as you push yourself up to sit on your heels on the bed.

“You don’t know that, maybe I’d still be going if I’d had dinner, now you’ll never know.” he shrugs his shoulders, “could’ve made you come at least four more times.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and tries to tickle the soft swell at the apex of your thighs.

You swat his hand away, “Four!? Bold words, Francisco!” you tut at him. “Gonna make you prove that, you know.”

Frankie’s eyes narrow with mischief as he pushes himself up to sitting in one swift motion, wrapping his arms around yours, pinning them down before you can jump off the bed. With a surprised squeal you find yourself flat on your back again with Frankie on top, looking sly.

“I’d love to, I’d love to make you - “ his words are interrupted by another loud growl from his stomach and you dissolve into laughter as Frankie rolls his eyes.

“It’s practically Pavlovian at this point, Frankie,” you gasp between fits of laughter as his stomach gives another thunderous rumble and Frankie gives up trying to wiggle between your legs again.

With a mock sigh he pulls you up from the bed, “We’d better feed the beast, cariño.” ��

…

Dinner was a bit later than planned but as far as you were concerned it didn’t matter as long as you could have Frankie sitting on one of the stools by the island, reaching out and trying to grab you every time you moved past him. It turned into a little dance, you’d side step past his outstretched hand or jump out of the way when he tried to grab the hem of your shirt, his shirt, teasing as he missed and giggling when he caught you and his hands slipped up and grabbed your breasts or pulled you down for a wet kiss. He was in his boxers, leaving his jeans on the floor of your bedroom, and it was hard to not continue to kiss him when he caught you in your little dance.

You fed him pieces of parmesan as you cooked the risotto you’d planned and grilled a few pieces of salmon.

“Speaking of fish,” you said, turning round from the salmon sizzling in the grill pan, “why do your friends call you ‘Fish’? Pope called you that yesterday in the supermarket and I’m sure someone yelled ‘Go Fish!’ when I kissed your cheek outside the bar.”

Frankie chuckles and looks a little embarrassed, “It’s short for ‘Catfish’. It’s a stupid name, but it’s my call sign from the army, so it kinda stuck with those guys.”

“Oh, that makes sense, kinda.. And Santiago was ‘Pope’ in the army I guess?”

“Yeah, santo means holy in Spanish so I guess ‘Holy Pope’ turned into ‘Pope’.” Frankie makes a swipe at your ass but you side step him with a giggle as you put wine glasses on the small kitchen table.

“Too slow, ‘Catfish’,” you tease and he smirks.

“Just testing your reaction time, cariño, just you wait, you gotta come back this way,” he’s sitting between you and the stove where the risotto is bubbling and he’s got a mischievous look.

“If you make me burn dinner, you’ll be hungry, Frankie,” you warn as you try sidling along the opposite counter. He winks at you and then catches the hem of your shirt with an agile lunge and pulls you in.

“Too slow,” he mimics you with a grin and slides his hand up and gives your nipple a quick pinch, making you gasp at the thrill it shoots through you.

“Francisco Morales, you are a nuisance,” you scold him with mock annoyance and he smiles, tugging you down for a kiss before you wiggle free and he lets you go back to the risotto.

…

After the dinner, Frankie, true to his word, fixes dessert by pulling out a container from the overnight bag he’d left in the hall. He turns his back to you and tells you not to look while he sets something on two dessert plates on the counter. With an exaggerated flourish he shakes a can of whipped cream and decorates the plates.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, you do as he says and he sets something down in front of you on the table, “now you can look.” You open your eyes to a slice of a homemade brownie, a swirl of whipped cream and a small twig of lemon balm on top. Frankie’s looking at you with an expectant grin, looking very pleased with himself.

“You made this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows in surprise. Frankie came across as many things, home baker was not one of them. But he nods proudly and sits down across from you with the other plate.

“My mom used to make them all the time, it was our weekend treat, and I learnt the recipe by heart, watching her make it so many times,” he says and looks at you eagerly as you take a first bite.

“Frankie, kudos to your mom, this is delicious!” you exclaim, “I never expected you to be such a master baker!”

“It’s the only thing I know how to bake, so don’t get your expectations up, cariño,” he smiles but you can tell by the way his dimple deepens, he’s feeling pretty proud.

You take another bite and let a moan escape at the taste, it’s really gooey chocolate in the middle with crunchy edges, Frankie’s given you a corner piece, the best piece in your opinion.

“I’m so impressed,” you say, looking over at him, “and now I’m curious about what other hidden talents you have.”

“I think this is pretty much it,” he grins, “and the only reason I got good at making them is because I had to repay Pope somehow when he let me crash on his couch. He’s a sucker for brownies so I made them for us several times a week. Had to stop eventually, when I had to open two new holes in my belt,” he chuckles and pats his soft little belly.

“Yeah, they taste too good to be healthy,” you say, scooping up another bite with some cream. “My college roommate made ‘special’ brownies but they were always dry as cardboard. If they’d been as good as these I'd have been permanently high.”

“Hang on, cariño,” Frankie says and captures your chin with his fingers, leaning forward, “you’ve got cream on your lip.”

“I could just lick it off, you know,” you smile as he bends close to your face.

“I know, but it’s more fun if I do it,” he smirks and laps at the corner of your mouth with the tip of his tongue, catching the small blob of cream and moving to the other corner, placing a soft kiss there.

Once he’s thoroughly made sure there’s no more cream on your lips, you’re both out of breath and Frankie’s hand has found its way under your shirt again, grabbing hold of your hip.

“I think we’re done with dinner, hermosa,” he mumbles against your lips. “Do you wanna watch The Shining or have sex?” You can hear him smiling and when you look up at him his mischievous eyes are crinkling at the corners.

“You brought the dvd, didn’t you?” you ask and he nods, his smile growing wider. “So you're offering your favourite horror film or sex with you?”

“A pretty sweet offer I think,” he winks.

“For you, I’m not sure what I’m getting out of it,” you pout as he tugs you up from the chair and pulls you towards your living room.

“You get the special edition Francisco Morales commentary track to The Shining, complementary wide shoulders to hide behind, and as an added bonus, I’ll throw in extra cuddles,” he pushes you down on your couch with a pleased grin as you try to hide your smile, rolling your eyes at him.

“Or we can watch something else, cariño,” he says, “really, we don’t have to watch The Shining if you don’t want to, I know you don’t like horror films,” he’s crouched down by the couch and he’s looking at you earnestly, “But The Shining is really special.”

“Well, how can I say no to the special edition commentary track and extra cuddles?” you laugh and Frankie beams, standing up again.

“I’ll just get the dvd, it’s in my bag.”

He comes back after a detour to the kitchen, bringing in the brownies and the whipped cream, and puts in the dvd. You hit play as he settles in the corner of the couch, his long legs outstretched across it, and makes you scoot up so that you can lean against his chest. He wraps an arm around you, bending down and pressing a kiss on your cheek as the opening credits begin to roll.

…

It’s Frankie’s quiet shuffling across your bedroom that wakes you up early next morning, you see his naked butt tiptoe across the floor as he slips out through the door, towards the bathroom. Rolling over, you stretch out, feeling the ache in your limbs from last night’s activities. The movie had been just as scary as you’d anticipated but Frankie’s warm presence behind your back, and his running commentary, made it less so and you’d only jumped twice, much to his amusement.

And as the movie ended he’d made good on his words about extra cuddles that soon turned to heated kisses on every patch of skin either of you could find. You felt the burn in your thighs this morning, a memory from riding him on the couch, and you know you’ve probably got bruises on your hips from where he’d gripped you, guiding you up and down over his cock.

“Hermosa, did I wake you?” Frankie whispers in a low voice when he sees you awake, laying down again and pulling you in towards his chest.

“Yeah, I heard you get up but it’s fine, I woke up to a nice view of your butt,” you smile and wrap your arm around his hip, grabbing a handful of his buttock. You’d spent some time admiring it yesterday, much to Frankie’s embarrassment, he didn’t seem to think he was much to look at, too unfit now compared to his twenties and to some of his younger friends. You’d made sure to show him how wrong he was by sucking a mark into his cute butt while holding him down on the couch, Frankie yelping and giggling under you. He’d returned the favour, flipping you over and sinking his teeth into your plush flesh, you can feel it now as his hand smooths over your back, sliding down over your buns. He is giving you a sleepy smile, still not fully awake, and your heart clenches at his ruffled curls and bed creased cheeks.

“You look a little bit like a dandelion head,” you smile and push your fingers through his hair, scraping your nails along his scalp. He immediately closes his eyes as he sighs contentedly and leans his head into your hand.

“Keep doing that,” he hums and you drag your nails across his scalp again. “I’m never leaving your bed, cariño.”

You smile and keep caressing him, “You don’t have to, Frankie,” you whisper, his soft moans letting you know he’s slowly slipping back into sleep. Your own eyes start to droop as his soft curls slip under your fingertips and soon you’re asleep again with your head on Frankie’s arm.

…

When you next wake, a couple of hours later, it's to a very different sensation. You’ve turned, or been turned, and now Frankie’s arm is wrapped around your waist, his chest against your back and the very distinct outline of his hard on lined up along your butt. He’s very much awake, and doing his best to wake you too with gentle kisses along your shoulder, moving slowly up the side of your neck. The sensation of the tip of his tongue touching your skin, a small taste of you, before he presses a mellow kiss on the spot, has you sighing before you’re fully conscious.

As his warm palm starts smoothing across your hip, you shift your weight and turn your head towards him, opening your eyes and seeing his unruly dark curls, his lips still pressed to your neck.

“Morning, hermosa,” he mumbles, moving up to press kisses along your jaw before he reaches your lips. His hand caresses down over the soft swell of your stomach and glides up, cupping one of your breasts in his large palm, he can feel the nipple hardening as he strokes across it.

He pulls back from your lips and gives you a smile, “You felt so good, I got a bit excited,” he says, looking a little bit sheepish, “I couldn’t keep myself from kissing you.”

“It’s definitely my new favourite way of being woken up,” you stifle a small yawn and reach up to cup his cheek, feeling his scruffy beard against your hand as he bends down and kisses you again. His tongue dips into your mouth, the sensation making your thighs clench together involuntarily and push against his back. His hand is still caressing your breast, moving from one to the other with slow fingertips circling each hard little pebble until you moan, his lips still on yours. His hips are gently rocking into you, seeking friction for the hot length of his cock pressed between you both and you feel a wet heat spreading between your legs.

“Frankie..” you mumble, pulling away from his lips a little, “touch me, please, I wanna feel your fingers inside me.”

“Anything you want, hermosa,” he whispers and places a last kiss on you. Turning his head he watches his hand slide down the gentle swell of your stomach and take hold of your thigh, helping you lift it over his hip, opening you up so that his fingers can disappear between your legs as his palm cups your pussy. The gentle touch pulls a low sigh from you and you push your hips back, spreading yourself more for him.

He watches with dark eyes as his index finger caresses your slit, gathering the silky liquid that’s already leaked out, slipping in between your folds without resistance. It’s warm, almost hot, and the more he lets his fingers slide along every inch of satiny surface, the more your breathing becomes laboured, your head leaning back against his shoulder. He’s moving slowly, slowly building you up, dipping in, circling lazy patterns around your clit, slipping out again and it’s all making you whimper lightly. He lets a finger slip all the way inside, curling up and flexing against that delicate spot just inside and when you gasp and push against his fingers, he lets a second one slip in, his thumb finding your clit. He rubs tight little circles around it while his fingers slip in and out, moving faster, matching your rhythm as your hips start bucking against his hand.

You turn your head, leaning back, so that you can reach his mouth and kiss him, taste his tongue that he slips into you at the same time as he slides a third finger to your slick pussy. The stretch of his thick fingers makes you cry out against him, his hand moving faster in and out, tension rising rapidly in your muscles as you contract around his fingers. Frankie’s mouth leaves yours as he presses himself to the sensitive spot just under your ear, the tip of his tongue slipping across it, searing marks into your skin with his mouth.

“Come on, beautiful girl,” he whispers against your throat before pushing himself up so that he can look down at you, “open your eyes, hermosa. I want to see when you come. I can feel how close you are.” His fingers dip in and out of you, curling and rubbing against every nerve in your pussy while his thumb increases in speed over your clit, adding pressure and friction to the very spot all your tension seems to be focused on.

“You’re so wet and tight around my fingers, cariño,” Frankie moans, “I wanna feel you grip my cock with this snug little pussy, I can’t fucking wait to drive my cock deep inside you again.” His hips are rocking firmly against your back, his cock smearing wet marks on your skin, trying to ease some of his own tension. The sensation of his fingers in your pussy and his hard cock jerking against your back makes you convulse, your thighs shaking and a whimpering escapes you as your climax hits, fighting to keep your eyes on Frankie’s dark gaze as his words push you over the edge. You cry out for him as he relentlessly continues to push his fingers in and out of your hole, working you through the orgasm, dragging it out, watching you with hunger as your eyes roll back and you whine incoherently under him.

As you start relaxing, Frankie gently pulls his fingers out of you and lifts down your leg from his hip.

“I’ll be right back,” he says in a tight voice, the tension in his cock making moving difficult, “I just need to get a condom, they’re in my bag.”

“Frankie,” you reach out and take hold of his arm, “if you’ve been tested you don’t have to, I’m on birth control and I haven’t been with anyone since my last check up.”

Frankie draws a deep breath and moves back towards you, “Cariño, got tested regularly after…are you sure?” “I want you to come inside me, please, Frankie,” you plead and you see his eyes shift into something desperate, something greedy, and it translates into how he fits himself behind your back, grabbing hold of your leg and pulling it back up over his hip again, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh.

“Anything you want, hermosa,” he echoes his words from earlier, a strained edge to his voice, and you feel the head of his cock push against your opening. You’re wet and slick and he slides through the silky folds with one impatient thrust, making you writhe against him when he stretches you fully with a loud growl. From behind his cock drags along new nerves inside you and the sensation makes your muscles tighten around him, making Frankie stutter as he tries to pull out.

“Fuck…I can’t fucking move, your pussy is holding onto me so tight, cariño,” he lets out a breathless chuckle, the grip on his cock feels like a firm, hot vise.

“Frankie, baby, please move,” you plead, pushing your ass back against him and forcing your muscles to relax a little around him. With a groan Frankie drags the head to the edge of your opening and pushes back in, one hand holding onto your hip, the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him. He sets a hard pace, short, fast thrusts, no patience left in him at the thought of coming inside you, feeling it fill you up and seeing it drip out when he’s done. And he tells you as much as he grinds his hips into your backside.

“You don’t know…what you do…letting me come…inside you,” he pants in staccato as his cock buries itself deep inside, making your hands fist anything it can reach as the blinding ecstasy starts building up inside both of you. “Let me…let me fuck…let me fuck you…full…hermosa…” He’s getting close, his hips moving faster, slapping against your back. You reach down and let your fingers slide over your clit and Frankie moans as he watches your fingers rub over your sensitive bundle, making your body spasm and arch against him.

“Make it feel good, baby,” he breathes into your ear as you whimper, your breath becoming ragged, and he feels the first erratic convulsions of your pussy clamp down on his cock. With a strangled cry you tense up, your fingers rubbing faster on your clit as Frankie tries to hold his own climax at bay, working you through your own. But when you start whimpering his name, “Frankie..oh, fuck, F…F…Frankie, please,” he looses it. With a hoarse shout he slams his cock as deep as he can, grinding down, his release starting to spill out, filling you up as your pussy clenches and trembles around him. He holds onto you like a man drowning, his arm around your waist pulling you as close as he can as he groans and pumps himself deep, emptying inside you.

Frankie’s hot body is pressed so close to you as you slowly start coming down from your high, his heavy breathing next to your ear. He’s groaning in a low deep voice, still tightly wrapped around you.

“Never letting you go, hermosa,” he mumbles, moving his arm up so that he can cup your cheek and gently tilt your head towards him.

“Don’t, Frankie,” you smile and his soft, brown eyes give you a drowsy one in return. He presses a sweet, small kiss on your lips and lets slip a contented sigh. You slide your hand into his curls and relax against him. You can feel his seed slide out of you as Frankie pulls out with a hiss and fits himself against your back again.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he mumbles, “I’ll clean us up in a little bit.”

“No rush, just stay close to me, Frankie,” you whisper back and wrap his arm tighter around your torso, you can feel him bury his nose against the back of your neck and breathe in.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever met, Frankie,” you say after a while, turning your head so that you can look at him, he raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

“You’re only saying that because I just made you come twice,” he replies with a small smirk.

“Not true, you’re really the best man I’ve ever met, the many orgasms are just a bonus,” you gently tap the tip of his nose with your finger and he smiles, kissing you, soft warm lips against your own.

“You’re so generous and smart, Frankie, and kind and funny,” you say as he looks down at you again. “And that’s only what I’ve got from knowing you for less than two weeks.” You smile as you see Frankie’s cheeks turn pink in a way that has nothing to do with the heat of the sex you just had. “You’re really amazing, Frankie, and I don’t want you to let me go.”

Frankie’s shy smile makes your heart tighten as he leans in and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “I don’t even know what to say, cariño,” he mumbles, “I like how you make me feel when I’m with you, you make me all those things.” He presses a kiss to your neck before he pulls back up, his cheeks flushed, “I want to be better when I’m with you, be someone you deserve, so that I’m good enough for you.”

“Frankie, sweetheart,” you coo, “you’re already just as good as I’d ever want you to be, you could never not be good enough. You make me feel so good when I’m with you, I feel like it’s just easy being with you, and that’s all you, just you.”

Frankie stares at you for a few seconds, the blush still creeping up his neck, and then he pulls you around so that you’re nose to nose with him, your chest pressed against his. He grabs your face, cupping your cheeks with warm hands, and kisses you fervently. Pulling you close until he can just roll you over and he’s on top, pressing you into the bed with his hands still holding your face. When he finally pulls back an inch, looking down at your open mouth, your flushed cheeks and closed eyes, the words are on the tip of his tongue, almost spilling out. He feels it, his chest expanding with the enormity of it, his mouth hovering over the first syllable as his heart pounds under his ribs. He’s right on the precipice, ready to jump, hoping you’ll jump with him.

But his nerves fail him, when you open your eyes and look up at him, he chokes on it, remembering all the times he’s messed up in his life. He bites back his words, fighting against his instinct, and when you brush your fingers along his patchy beard, that damn beard he can never grow, and asks if he wants breakfast, all he can do is nod.

“I can make you breakfast here but there’s also a really good breakfast place a few minutes away,” you say, “they do one of those English breakfast plates that’s insane and keeps you full for like the rest of the day.” You look up at Frankie and he has an odd look on his face, “You ok?” you ask, pushing back the hair that’s fallen over his forehead.

“Yeah, I just…just got a bit, I’m a bit mind-blown over how much good you think of me, cariño, I guess I’m not used to..to someone thinking so much of me.”

"I'm sorry if it was too much, I just -"

"No no, it's not that!" Frankie interrupts you, "it definitely wasn't too much, I want to be all of those things for you, I just hope I can, that I…" he flounders, searching for the right words. "I...just really like you, and I think it's easy being with you too, I just don't wanna fuck it up." He smiles, looking down at you with soft eyes, hoping you'll understand what he’s saying even though he can't bring himself to say it yet.

"I really like you too, Frankie, so…I like you, you like me?" you say, returning his smile and making his heart flutter. “And I don’t think you’ll fuck up, really, I don’t. I was the one who freaked out last Friday and ran off, you fixed it, in case you didn’t notice. So it’s really one point to me on the fuck up score board,” you reach up and kiss him as he smiles.

“You can never fuck up, hermosa.”

“Famous last words, Morales,” you snort, as he lets you push yourself up from underneath him, but he pulls you in for a kiss and you wrap your arms around him, sitting on his lap.

"Breakfast," you say, "full English or PB&J?"

"Full English, definitely, I think I know the place you mean," Frankie replies, "but I need a shower first. Wanna join me, cariño?" he grins, grabbing hold of your butt and standing up, making you squeal as you take hold of him to stop yourself from sliding off him.

…

It's definitely closer to lunch when you finally make it out of the house, Frankie taking advantage of shower time to show you exactly how good he is with his tongue.

"That's four so far today," he smirked as he held you up, your legs threatening to fold under the weight of the orgasms he'd just coaxed from you.

You could only give him a weak smile, catching your breath as the blood pounded in your ears.

…

Frankie’s truck is parked in front of your apartment building, the English all-day-breakfast restaurant is a short drive away and he soon pulls into the parking lot up front. As you climb down from the wide bench seat your stomach grumbles, making you giggle as Frankie puts his hand on his chest in a mock scandalised gesture before taking your hand.

"Really, cariño, it sounds like someone made you come four times before breakfast?," he says, raising his eyebrows before cracking a wide grin, "Oh yeah, that was me! I did that!" he chuckles proudly as you give him a playful slap across the chest, making him laugh louder and pull you into his arms, kissing you as he walks you backwards towards the entrance of the restaurant. He looks up to guide the two of you past an elderly couple crossing the lot and comes to a sudden stop.

"Oh, fuck…" he groans as he spots two men grinning at him through one of the big windows. You look up and turn your head to see what's changed his mood and see the two men smiling and waving for you to come inside and join them.

"Who are they?" you ask, looking up at Frankie who is looking annoyed, "Do you wanna go somewhere else?"

"Yes, and no," he grumbles, "I really want the English breakfast." He looks down at you, "They’re old friends from the army, they were at the bar with Pope when we met. Maybe we can just say hi and then get our own table?"

"Oh yeah, I recognise them now I think. To be honest, I wasn't paying much attention to your friends that night," you smile at him, "but I don't mind just meeting them or having breakfast with them, I’m fine with whatever, Frankie.”

“Alright, we’ll say hi and they can get their jokes in,” Frankie opens the door to the restaurant and you’re met by a stressed looking hostess.

“Hi folks, table for two? I’m afraid we’re completely full right now but I might be able to seat you in like an hour if you’d like to come back?”

“Umm…I don’t know,” Frankie says, looking at you, “what do you want to do, cariño?”

“Hey, Frankie! Imagine seeing you here!”

An overly cheerful voice cuts over Frankie’s question as a big blonde guy slaps Frankie on the back and grins at you.

“Hi, I’m Benny Miller, nice to meet you finally!” he puts his hand out to you and you can’t help but smile at him as you shake his hand. He’s got the energy of a golden retriever.

“Hey, Benny,” Frankie says, giving the man a, maybe slightly harder slap than necessary, on the back.

“They seem pretty swamped, why don’t you join us at our table? They can do that right?” Benny looks at the hostess who nods, seeming relieved that she’ll have two less guests to worry about.

“What do you say, cariño? You ok with that?” Frankie’s slightly worried look makes you take his hand and squeeze it lightly.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. Thanks Benny,” you say, turning back to the blonde guy who’s still grinning ear to ear.

“Great, follow me!”

Benny leads you over to the booth by the window where the other blonde guy you remember from the bar is sitting. As you get to the table he stands up and gives Frankie a quick hug before holding out his hand to you.

“I’m Will Miller, it’s nice to meet you but I hope we’re not ruining your date or anything? My brother got a bit excited”

“Shut up, Will,” Benny says while sliding back into his seat, Frankie sitting next to him and Will offering you the seat next to himself.

“No, we’re just getting some breakfast, the place is packed so it’s lucky you guys were here

or we would’ve been waiting an hour,” you say, giving Benny a grateful smile.

“Breakfast date or morning aft- ” Benny looks between Frankie and you with a wide, shit eating grin.

“Ok!” Frankie says loudly, cutting across Benny’s question, “did you guys order yet?” We were gonna get the full English breakfast plate.”

“Yeah, same,” Will says, “we’re just waiting on the waitress, we got here and had to wait at the bar for a bit.” He scans the room and spots a waitress and gives her a wave and soon enough you’ve placed your orders while you field questions from Benny. He’s going through them like you’re at a job interview and it doesn’t take Frankie long to slap the back of his head.

“Cállate, pendejo, give her a chance to breathe,” he says, giving Benny a stern look that makes you giggle as Will shakes his head next to you.

“I apologise for my brother, but we’ve been pretty curious about you, haven’t seen Frankie this excited about anyone in, well, ever really,” he says, “I know you guys only just started dating and I’m guessing Frankie was gonna wait a bit longer before he sprung all of us on you.”

“Like two to three years…” Frankie grumbles.

“And I hope we don’t scare you off, Frankie’s our brother, and we wanna see him happy.” Will ends his little speech with a sincere look at you and you feel like you want to hug him.

“Thanks Will, that’s really nice,” you smile, both at Will and Frankie, who’s looking pretty uncomfortable. “I really like Frankie, so I’m sure I’ll be able to put up with your brother, if I have to. Are you very attached to him?” You turn a very serious face to Will with a questioning look as Benny widens his eyes and splutters a protest but Will laughs and hooks his arm around your shoulder with a grin and looks over at Frankie. “I like her, she’s a keeper.” he says and Frankie chuckles, “Yeah, she’s a keeper alright.”

You know Will probably catches the quick wink Frankie gives you but it doesn’t matter. You smile at him and feel how his happy face makes you feel warm inside. You fight down the urge to reach across the table and touch his sweet, scruffy beard, instead you smile at him again and hope he can feel how good he makes you feel just by being himself.

“Food!” Benny suddenly exclaims as he spots a waiter walking towards your table with a big tray. Four huge plates are set down and extra dishes in the middle, the Miller brother’s had ordered extras of almost everything and the table practically groans under the weight of all the platters as the waiter pours coffee for you all.

You all tuck in to the spread and soon everyone is groaning and picking favourites. You proclaim the little sausages to be the best thing ever and when you look away Frankie sneaks his last sausage over onto your plate, earning him a drawn out “Awwww…” from Benny.

“So what do you two do, are you still in the army?” you ask Will as you load baked beans onto your toast.

“No, we left around the same time as Frankie, we all realised there was nothing left for us there.” Will shakes his head and Benny chimes in, “We all sort of knew it was heading in the wrong direction, and…” he looks over at Frankie, “well…we saw how you were doing, man, and it was a wake up call, at least for me.”

“Yeah, pretty much the only good thing that came out of it,” Frankie says, stabbing a piece of bacon.

“So the irony is, that I’m a motivational speaker, for the army,” Will says with a crooked smile.

“And I kick the shit out of people, legally,” Benny quips, I’m an MMA fighter.”

“And Pope runs a private security firm,” Frankie fills in.

“You’ve met Pope?” Benny asks, helping himself to more fried bread.

“Yeah, I ran into him and Frankie at the supermarket on Thursday,” you reply. “And I know he made a bet with Frankie to get my number,” you smile.

“Yeah, he was pissed when he had to pay up!” Will laughs, “You know it was for a hundred dollars right?”

“What?!” you exclaim, “a hundred? I thought it was for like twenty of something. We should’ve gone to a fancier restaurant on Sunday, Frankie.”

Frankie chuckles, “I still have money left from it, I’ll take you out tonight, cariño, make him pay for both dates.”

“He must’ve been really certain you wouldn’t get my number.”

“More like, Pope really wanted Frankie to get some,” Benny says and you practically choke on your coffee, trying hard to not laugh out loud. Frankie folds his arms over his head, cap and all, and hides his face against the table as Will throws his hands in the air.

“Jesus fucking christ, Benny! Filterless much?!”

“What?” Benny blurts out, “it’s true! Frankie’s a great guy and we’ve been saying for months he should start dating. And now he’s met a beautiful woman, thanks to a little encouragement from Pope! And as an added bonus, she likes him too.”

“I’m going to the fucking restroom,” Frankie groans and gets up, giving you a pained look that makes you giggle.

“I would’ve given you my number without the bet too,” you smile at him and he bends and gives you a quick kiss.

“Thanks, hermosa,” he whispers before he walks away.

“I’m gonna go too,” Benny says and follows, leaving you alone with Will at the table. He looks at the two men as they retreat across the restaurant and then turns, twisting in the booth so that he’s turned to you.

“So, while Frankie’s gone and I won’t embarrass him,” he begins, “in all seriousness, Frankie is a really good guy, one of the best. And I know he’s told you about what he’s been through and you’re great for giving him a chance. The women he’s dated long enough for me to meet, they’ve run a mile the second he mentions the coke, or his daughter. So, thanks for not doing that to him,” Will gives you a grateful smile.

“Honestly, I got really scared when I saw how violent he is capable of being, I panicked, totally,” you confess, “but I like him, Will, I really like him, and after he was brave enough to tell me about what he’s been through, I don’t feel worried about giving this a try.”

“Yeah, he’s been through some tough shit but he’s still a great guy and although he is sometimes a bit of a dumbass, he won’t ever willingly hurt you, or anyone he cares about.”

Will looks over at you, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “You’ve got to know that Frankie’s already serious about you, really serious. Pope saw it at the supermarket, I talked to him yesterday, and I’ve seen it here, just the way he acts around you, the way he looks at you. Pope’s never seen him like this before, and neither have I, you’re special to him, already. And once Frankie’s committed to someone, friend, family or girlfriend, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe and happy. He would die for his little girl and I’ve seen him risk his life for me and the rest of the guys more than once. We all owe him our lives, one way or another. And now you’re one of Frankie’s priorities too, and he will do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

Will’s eyebrows knit together in a serious look, his eyes on you, “I don’t know you very well yet but I’m telling you this, he will do whatever it takes to make you happy, don’t make him regret that.”

“I can’t promise a happy ending, Will, but-”

He shakes his head, “No, no, I don’t expect you to promise you’ll never leave, or never break up or something like that. I just want you to know that I can see how special you are to him and that if this doesn’t work out, just be honest with him.”

“I can at least promise that, to be honest. And for what it’s worth, Will, I think he’s very special too and he knows I think that, I told him this morning,” you smile at Will, his loyalty and love for his friends evident as he looks at you with sincerity and nods.

“Alright, then I’m just gonna get off my stage and keep my fingers crossed for you kids,” he cracks a smile, “I bet I know exactly how Frankie reacted when you told him you think he’s special. He blushed and didn’t believe you, probably didn’t want to take credit for it.”

“You really do know him very well,” you laugh, “that’s pretty much spot on.”

“Yeah, the only compliments Frankie easily accepts are the ones that compliment his flying skills.”

“What about my flying skills?” Frankie says, suddenly appearing next to the table with Benny in tow.

“I was saying you’ve got really good flying skills, gotten us out of some pretty tight spots over the years.” Will lies smoothly, shooting you a quick grin.

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to get you guys out of trouble when shit goes sideways,” Frankie mutters, taking your hand and making you sit down on his side of the booth. “You sit next to Will now,” he says to Benny who slides in next to his brother while Frankie wraps his arm around shoulders, pulling you into his side and kissing your cheek.

The waiter comes over to take any orders for dessert and to your astonishment Benny immediately orders two desserts.

“For the table,” he grins when he sees your surprised look.

“Benny has hollow legs,” Frankie explains to you, “practically a bottomless pit.”

“Says the guy who I’ve, on multiple occasions, seen demolish twelve carnitas at El Chibiski.” Benny shoots back grinning. “That was once, and I’d been flying for eleven hours straight,” Frankie snorts, “don’t believe a word this guy says, cariño.”

“To be fair, Fish…” Will begins and Frankie throws him a murderous look that makes you laugh out loud.

“I’m gonna get all your secrets from these guys, Frankie,”

“Not if I have a say in it,” he grumbles but he’s smiling when he looks at you, and you reach up to press a kiss to his soft looking lips, not caring what Will and Benny says. Frankie tightens his grip on you and kisses you back more than you expected, a long, wet kiss that leaves you slightly breathless and makes Benny groan dramatically.

Over your shoulder Frankie gives him the finger as he continues to kiss you, not letting anything get in the way of showing you how much he wants this, how much he wants you.

Chapter 7

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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Blood Bound Part 9

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️Leander Prewett

MC escapes the shadows she must walk through in the arms of her Auror, whilst Sebastian takes matters into his own desperate hands.

14.3k words. Tags: NSFW / angst / crime ring / murder / death / blood / fighting / mentions of torture / anxiety / violence / sexual tension

Chapter Master List and Ao3

Reading tag list at the end, let me know if you want to be added ❤️✨️

Nine: Revelio

The shadows were her friends. They were her cloaks through the crooked nooks and paths of Knockturn Alley, and she made use of them, slinking through the night like some kind of nocturnal wraith as she maintained a watchful eye on the Ashwinders. With each night that passed, she became more comfortable with being outside of four walls, although the cloying smog of London was still something to suffer after the fresh, sea air of the Cornwall coast.

Standing across the street from the Black Rose pub, MC pulled her robe a little closer about her slender frame to ward off the chill. The nights were now colder as October moved them towards winter. She eyed the crooked door of the notorious drinking hole, debating the wisdom of entering. She had seen Rosier around a few times, watching him from a safe distance after their run in a week ago. She had seen Carrow, too, his face like a mask fit for nightmares. These were hard witches and wizards who frequented this place, and she needed to be sure of herself before entering their midst.

As much she hated to admit it, she needed Sebastian, and it surprised her how much that thought grated along her nerves. An unsettling strain of resentment had buried itself in her chest, the few times she had glimpsed him made her stiffen as she thought of the endlessly long hours she had spent locked in darkness whilst he roamed free. Free to be whatever he wanted, and he had chosen the path of darkness. He had put himself in the bed of the enemy.

The thought of approaching him after all this time filled her with confusing emotions. On the one side she longed for it, her fingers caressing the scar on her palm with the same reverence she always had, but there was another side that filled her with trepidation. She wasn’t sure how it would feel to have his eyes on her again, the fear that she would resent it made her tremble more than the night air. Putting it off was only prolonging the inevitable, and yet she hung back, lingering alone in shadows still while he roamed as he pleased.

She needed to make the first move, get it done, rip off the bandage and maybe start the healing process. If there could be one. Her emotional scars were deep and twisted, and she suspected she would never be the girl she once was. That girl died in Azkaban, and now she needed to figure out what was left.

Drawing upon her well practised shields, MC stepped from her shadowed corner and walked slowly towards the door of the Black Rose, her heart thumping with erratic flutters as she reached out and pushed against the old wood. This was madness, and yet her legs carried her smoothly over the threshold, her face an indifferent mask and her eyes glittering with hardness as she entered the smoky bar room.

The dark haired man behind the bar waited with a curious gaze as she approached, her hood still up and casting a shadow across part of her face.

“A pale ale, if you would be so kind,” she said quietly.

With a nod he turned to meet her request, and she swallowed, risking a glance around the room from beneath her hood. Nobody was really paying her much attention, the bar often saw strangers come and go she supposed. As a tankard was placed on the bar before her, she drew out a coin and placed it down beside it, proud of how she refrained from trembling as she did so. “Thank you.”

Taking a sip of the cool ale, she perched herself on a bar stool, her ears and eyes alert to her surroundings. The comforting press of her wand at her hip reminded her that she had the power to protect herself now. She was stronger than she looked. With her ancient magic, she could devastate this entire room in one move. The thought almost made her lips twitch with a smile, but she kept her face carefully indifferent.

Just when she thought she could manage this little adventure without interference, a figure approached her with a confident sway of hips, blonde curls framing her beautiful face. Up close, MC could see the delicate dusting of freckles across Luella Rookwood’s nose, and the look in her eyes that suggested self assurance. She eyed MC curiously, her head tilting slightly as she tried to get a better look under the hood of her robe.

“I’ve not seen you here before,” she said, her voice laced with a French undertone. She leant casually against the bar. “What brings you here tonight?”

Dislike, thick and searing, coursed through MC as she stared at Luella’s pouty mouth and glowing skin. Healthy and strong, beautiful, and close to Sebastian. Any misgivings MC may have felt about her connection to the boy from her youth seemed to vanish under the cold twist of envy that claimed her stomach. It made her shields thicken, and her gaze turned icy as she fixed it upon Rookwood’s daughter.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she said coolly, placing her tankard down unfinished.

Luella’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Careful, now. You’d be surprised what my business is around here.”

MC smirked and slowly slid back her hood, revealing her full face and hair to the room. People were starting to take notice now, and she stood so that she was on a level with the far too confident witch. Luella’s eyes widened slightly, her pretty mouth parting as she stared.

“Oh, I know what your business is, Miss Rookwood,” MC said, allowing her inner darkness to form behind her eyes, the slightest flicker of blue and white glowing as she glared at Luella. “Perhaps it’s not me who should be careful.”

“So, the ancient magic witch finally shows her face,” Luella said, recovering quickly, but she was rattled. MC could see it in her eyes.

MC smiled, cold and hard on the outside, whilst inside she was screaming and wanting to run. “We finally meet, Miss Rookwood. I hear your father wishes to speak with me. Do tell him I dropped by,” she said, turning for the door.

Pausing, a wicked gleam lighting her eyes, she glanced back at Luella. “Oh, and while you’re at it, say hello to Sebastian for me. Now, there’s a handsome face I look forward to seeing again. Our reunion is long overdue.”

Luella stiffened, her face rigid as her eyes almost bulged. MC felt a sweet satisfaction as she stepped out into the street, her heart hammering at her own audacity. Before anyone could dare approach her, she pictured a destination firmly in mind, the practice of Apparation becoming more and more familiar to her now. In the blink of an eye, she became a swirl of darkness and then vanished, her boots hitting the floorboards of a small living space lit by a single lamp.

Pressing a hand to her tight chest, MC took a steadying breath, still surprised at herself for goading Luella like that. She wondered if the smug bitch would actually say anything to Sebastian. Had Rosier? These small steps into the vicinity of the Ashwinder group were leading her deeper into trouble. She just needed to keep her head and not blow the cover. Not just because bringing Rookwood down would be satisfying, but she didn’t want to let Leander down either.

Her eyes moved slowly about the small living room of the London flat, everything neat and in its proper place. The fire had burned down low in the grate, but the room still clung to some warmth. She stepped quietly across towards the bedroom. The door was ajar, and she slipped quietly inside. Leander had fallen asleep whilst reading, his book open and face down upon his chest. His face was soft and peaceful, and she was reluctant to disturb him, so she lingered beside the bed watching him for a moment. It scared her how attached she was becoming to him, the lines of his face so familiar to her, his scent and warmth meant safety and comfort in a way she had not expected.

A few days ago, he had brought her to London and invited her into his private home, allowing her to come here whenever she wished. He didn’t have to do this for her. He was just a probation Auror that she had to report daily to, and by rights she should have found herself somewhere to stay by now, and yet she kept coming back to his flat. This was more than a job. Whatever it was between them had deepened into something that was heavier than just friendship, but they were not a courting couple. They couldn’t be. Looking at him now as he slept, remembering all the ways he had helped her with kindness and respect, she knew she was far too dark and damaged for the likes of him.

Leaning forward, she carefully lifted the book from his chest, his long fingers languidly moving as he shifted in his sleep. Making sure to bookmark his spot, she placed the book on his table, glancing back towards him to find him blinking sleepily.

“You’re here,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after ten,” she said quietly, slipping her robe from her shoulders and placing it on the chair. “It’s alright, you can go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He watched her through sleepy eyes as she continued to remove her clothing, piling them on his chair until she was in just her chemise as though she had every right, an unspoken agreement that she would be sleeping here seeming to exist between them.

“Did you see anything interesting tonight?” He asked, his cheeks turning pink as she climbed up on the bed beside him.

“I had the misfortune of meeting Luella Rookwood,” she said, her mouth twisting into a sour smirk. “Don’t worry, I resisted the urge to cast an Unforgivable on her. I was actually rather polite.”

Leander’s expression was rather sceptical as she slid herself under the blankets, making herself comfortable in the welcoming warmth beneath. “What did you say, exactly?”

“To tell her daddy I said hello. Oh, and I reminded her that Sebastian and I were due a little reunion. I thought she was going to hex me for that little comment, and so I took my leave. Let her stew over that for a while.”

A slight frown appeared on Leander’s brow as he settled back down into the bed beside her. MC lay on her side facing him, seeing the way he was fidgeting with a button on his pyjama shirt, his teeth catching at his lower lip. He was thinking, perhaps about the unspoken situation that was building between them. She had mentioned Sebastian, something she usually avoided because it had the potential to lead them towards some rather loaded questions.

“You are going to come face to face with Sallow at some point, probably sooner rather than later now that you are spending time near his haunts,” he said quietly.

“I think I am going to need him,” she sighed. “He will be able to help me infiltrate the gang, I’m just a bit uncertain about how that will play out depending on his allegiance.”

Leander turned to look at her, his eyes glittering in the almost dark of his room. “You sound unsure about it, MC. Are you worried about seeing Sebastian again?”

Her fingers absently sought out her scar, the niggling worry that her inability to turn against Sebastian might prove detrimental to their plan if he really had chosen the dark side. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, reminding herself that she was in a safe place here.

“I don’t know,” she said, dropping her gaze to the mattress. “Seeing him the other night just seemed to remind me that he has spent the last four years living a life I know nothing about. There was a time when I thought it would be me and him against the world, and now I’m not sure I even know who he is anymore.”

“I don’t think he has changed all that much,” Leander said, turning fully towards her, their faces mere inches apart. “I have my own very selfish reasons for wishing that you never had to see him again, but I know that, despite everything, he is someone important to you. I’m sure you are still someone important to him, too.”

Meeting Leander’s gaze, her heart squeezed at his noble and generous spirit, her fingers reaching to touch gently at his temple. Stroking lightly towards his hair, her hand cupped against the strong lines of his cheek. Perhaps he underestimated just how important he had become to her, slowly weaving a web of complex feelings around her that left her confused and scared, as well as curious and alive. She didn’t want to hurt him, but couldn’t seem to stop running back to him despite knowing that things were not going to end with rainbows and roses. It never did with her.

“I can’t imagine you ever being selfish, Lee,” she whispered, her fingers sliding over freckled skin.

His hand settled over her hip, fingers grasping gently. “Yes, well, sometimes you come across something that you just don’t want to share with anyone else,” he said, his usual soft voice darkening into something unexpected, his grip on her hip subtly tightening as he closed the gap between them.

This spark of possessiveness sent her confusing feelings spinning madly, her pulse quickening as she realised they were crossing lines that were becoming more and more dangerous. Her gaze dipped to his soft, full mouth.

“I should stop coming here, you know…” Her lips captured his mouth, despite her weak protest. “It’s becoming a rather dangerous habit…” She kissed him again.

The hand on her hip grazed feather-light touches down towards her knee, his fingers splaying as he slid his palm up her thigh in a slow, deliberate caress that ignited the fire in her blood. “So, stop,” he murmured against her mouth, stealing a firmer kiss of his own in retaliation.

Opening her mouth to offer up a sassy comeback failed as he swirled his tongue past her lips, her words dying in her throat as her eyes closed and her hands urged him closer. Apparently, she couldn’t stop. She was sliding down a slope with no idea what awaited her at the bottom, but she was going down there with him anyway.

Leander

Friendly chattering, and the soft glow of the lamps inside the bar room of the Leaky Cauldron made for a cosy atmosphere, the tension of a day tracking a band of poachers through the New Forest beginning to ease from Leander’s shoulders as he wrapped his large hands around his tankard of ale. The poachers were a part of the Ashwinder network, and whilst his attention had been mostly focused on MC’s infiltration into their midst, there was plenty of field work to wade through on top of all that. A beer and a catch up with an old friend seemed the ideal way to spend his evening.

Across the table from Leander sat Garreth Weasley, his sandy red hair curling and flicking outwards from his freckled face, his brow creased in concentration as he wrote inside his small order notebook. Pausing, he twirled his quill, brushing the delicate feather against his lips as he raised emerald eyes to Leander with a mischievous twinkle.

“So, restoring potions, essence of Dittany, your regular healing tonics, and a restock of the old faithful contraceptive potion,” he listed, his eyebrows lifting in a teasing wiggle. “It’s been a while since you ordered the baby blocker brew, Lee. Something you want to tell me? Sounds like you’re getting lucky.”

Just like that, Leander’s shoulders hunched with anxious tension as his cheeks flooded with heat, his eyes glancing up around the bar as he twisted his tankard on the table top. “Shush, Garreth, for Merlin’s sake,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat. “I don’t want the whole pub to know.”

Garreth brightened with curiosity, leaning towards him over the table top. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, mate. So, who is the lucky witch? Anyone I know?”

“I…I…” Leander faltered, cringing slightly as he realised that telling anyone about sleeping with MC could prove dangerous, no matter how much he wanted to boast to Garreth about it. That information could end up being whispered into the wrong ears and jeopardise the mission. He frowned and shook his head. “I’m just being prepared, that’s all.”

Garreth gave him a long, considering look between narrowed lids, his lips widening into a grin. “Alright, then. Keep your secrets,” he winked. “Aside from your mysterious bedroom adventures, how’s the Auror life treating you? Working on anything exciting? Oh yes, I saw in the Prophet that our murderous school hero was released. I bet that caused a little stir in the office.”

“Don’t call her that, she has a name you know,” Leander muttered, his blush darkening. “And you know I can’t talk about work stuff outside the office.”

Garreth slowly put his quill and order book away, giving Leander a careful look. “After all this time, you still carry a soft spot for MC,” he said, tilting his head. “Doesn’t it bother you, what she did?”

“It’s all very well listening to idle gossip, or reading whatever the Prophet deems print worthy, but not everything is as it seems, Garreth,” Leander said, fiddling with his tie. “You shouldn’t judge without knowing the whole story.”

“And, you do know?” Garreth lifted his brows with interest.

“I couldn’t possibly reveal Ministry information,” Leander said tightly.

“You’re rather twitchy and full of secrets this evening, Lee,” Garreth said, a slight crease appearing on his brow. “Is everything alright?”

Leander sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, Garreth. I’ve been working on a large case, and it’s a really important one. I guess I’m a little stressed, hence the beer.”

He lifted his tankard with a tight smile, taking a sip and licking his lips. It was so easy and almost cliche to blame his tension on work, a convenient get out clause to avoid talking about the real anxiety that had a choke hold on his emotions. As he gazed across at his old friend, he wished he could admit how deeply he had got himself into trouble over a girl, not just any girl either. The murderous school hero who was sharing his bed, an ex-convict with a notorious ex lover she was bound to by a dark magic pact.

Garreth was a light hearted, lovable chap. Life was simple in his corner of the world, and Leander wondered if he would have any wholesome and useful advice to give him. No doubt his response would be to keep a distance between himself and MC, and Leander didn’t want to hear that. It was likely to be the best advice, a warning his family would no doubt impress upon him, too.

But, it was her. MC had slowly embedded herself under his skin, staring into the endless possibilities her eyes held, he was drifting on a tide he felt powerless to swim against. Behind that tough exterior there had been flickers of fire, a warmth as she lay in his arms and brushed her fingers through his hair. Deep down, he knew it was doomed to end one day, she would get up from his bed one morning and it would be the last time. She would slip out of his reach, and he would have to let her go. But, for those precious hours when she did slide in beside him, pressing her body against his in a silent plea, he savoured every moment.

Garreth took a drink from his own tankard and considered Leander. “I hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard, mate. I know how much your job means to you, but don’t lose yourself along the way,” he said, placing down his tankard with a smile that was rather serious for him. “I understand that you can’t talk about specific details, but if there is anything you do want to talk about, then I’m here if you need to, alright?”

Leander bit his lip, the words balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he felt the presence of his Auror badge in his pocket. The weight of it carried the responsibility of the oath he took, an oath that he had already betrayed more than once since taking this Ashwinder case on. MC must remain his secret.

“Thanks mate, I appreciate it,” he said, nodding. Leaning his elbows on the table top, he fixed a smile on his face. “So, what do you think of the latest Chaser signing for the Chudley Canons?”

Garreth’s face lit up at the mention of Quidditch, and their conversation switched into much lighter tones, a distraction that Leander most definitely needed.

….*….

The briefing room was already rather full with Aurors when Leander arrived for a meeting the next morning, his cheeks flushed from his mad dash here after being held up, the intoxicating warmth beneath his bed covers making him reluctant to rise and ready himself for work. He had left MC in the comfort of his bedroom, her tousled hair spread across the pillows, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before Disapparating out.

A mug of tea was thrust into his hand by an assistant, Leander smiling his thanks as he took a seat next to Odessa, her delicate perfume teasing at his nose.

“Good morning, Prewett,” she smiled, crossing her trouser-clad legs elegantly. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“Sorry, I slept in. Late night,” he blushed, dipping his gaze to sip at his tea.

“You weren’t having fun without me, were you, Prewett? I’m still waiting for that date.”

Saved from having to answer that question by Harrington calling for their attention, Leander gave Odessa a quick smile, before fixing his gaze on the elder Auror who was leading this case. Harrington was dressed in his suit, his greying hair neatly combed, and a serious expression darkening his blue eyes.

“Good morning, folks. Time for our weekly update on Rookwood and his Ashwinders,” Harrington said, getting straight to the point. He flicked his wand towards the hovering blackboards, arranging them behind him in a row, each board containing case notes and highlights. Using his wand as a pointer, he moved towards the first board. “Good progress on the poaching ring yesterday in the New Forest. It seems the Sweetings are tracking a potential Golden Snidget nest, although our Aurors on location have acquired the assistance of a Magizoologist in order to help protect these endangered creatures.”

Leander rolled his shoulders, still feeling the effects of tracking through the forest yesterday in search of the poachers camp. He sipped some more tea, avoiding Odessa’s gaze as Harrington continued.

“Unfortunately, there has been another theft of a valuable and rare item,” Harrington sighed, moving to the next board. He pointed towards Rookwood’s name written in chalk at the top. “We know this bastard enjoys collecting rare and beautiful things, and the scene of the crime suggests that Ashwinders were behind this particular theft. Annoyingly, the Muggle Royal Family is involved in this one.”

“What was stolen?” Odessa asked, leaning forward, her eyes lit with curiosity.

Harrington grimaced. “The bastards looted Hever Castle in Kent, entering the secret vault hidden beneath the castle from prying Muggle eyes. They took some gold and spell books, but the most valuable item they pilfered was the famous pearl necklace worn by Anne Boleyn.”

Soft murmurs of surprise were uttered around the room as Andrew Larson stepped forward with a parchment, holding it out towards Harrington. Leander recognised the image printed on the parchment as Harrington held it up. It was a portrait of the English queen who had lost her head in The Tower in the 1530s, heralded as a witch and a traitor to her King and country. She was innocent of being a traitor, but the Wizarding World knew her as one of their own.

“We all know this portrait of Anne Boleyn. The original hangs proudly in the halls of Hogwarts, and she is wearing the very necklace that was stolen this week. It’s a string of pearls with a gold charm in the shape of the letter B,” Harrington said, his gaze roaming around the room. He paused on Leander. “I want eyes peeled and everyone on alert for a sighting of this piece of jewellery so that we may return it. Needless to say, Buckingham Palace is keen to see it in their possession. It has been held in secret for hundreds of years, and they do not want to see it in the wrong hands.”

Leander nodded, making a mental note to mention this to MC. Harrington moved on to his next board, updating everyone on the recent sightings of various gang members. As Andrew Larson passed Leander’s chair, he paused, bending to speak near his ear.

“Come and see me afterwards, Prewett,” he whispered. “I have something for you.”

Leander met his gaze and nodded, a look of understanding passing between them. Anticipation flooded through Leander at the prospect of what Andrew had found in the archives regarding MC.

Pulling out his notebook, he tried to focus on Harrington’s voice, jotting some points down as he tried not to fidget in his chair.

“How are things with our little spy?” Odessa asked as they stood, the meeting over. “Is she behaving herself?”

Leander tucked his notebook away and fiddled with his tie. “MC is fine,” he said, holding back his smile. “How are things with you? Did you manage to track down that lead at the port of Dover?”

“Indeed, I did,” she nodded, smiling as he held the door open for her. “The shipments coming in from Norway seem to be of particular interest to the Ashwinders, I’m not sure why yet, but I intend to find out.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle at the challenge and he smiled as they walked along the corridor towards their cubicles. “I’m sure you will. You strike me as the determined type.”

Her smile was incredibly feline and she touched her hand to his arm, her eyes lit with a teasing twinkle. “Maybe one day you will find out just how determined I can be,” she murmured, leaning slightly closer. “Especially when you take me for that drink. Friday, Prewett. You and me, The Leaky Cauldron.”

Leander’s mouth worked, words failing him as a blush stained his face. He couldn’t possibly agree. It wouldn’t be appropriate considering he was sharing a bed with someone else. “Odessa…”

She was already strolling towards her desk, throwing him a cheeky wink over her shoulder. “See you Friday.”

….*….

Leander took the file from Andrew, flipping it open to see the neatly inked words within. “You found this rather quickly,” he said, impressed at the amount of information enclosed.

Andrew shrugged, his smile a little bashful. “It’s surprising what you can find when you really get into the search. Once I found one record of ancient magic, I found a trail that led to others. This is what I have uncovered so far, but what’s most puzzling about the trail is how fragmented it is. If I’m not mistaken, I would say some information has been deliberately left out.”

“That’s what MC was expecting, I think,” Leander said, frowning as he noticed a parchment with more recent information written down. He studied the page more closely, his eyes widening when he saw MC’s name and a date that could be her birthday. “Are these MC’s birth records?”

He lifted his shocked gaze to Andrew. MC’s file had no details of her birth or blood relatives, only her records from the orphanage in London where she had been raised. Andrew nodded, his eyes hesitant. “I don’t know her that well, Leander, but some of the information I found about her might change a few things if people were to discover the truth. I promise I won’t speak a word of what I found, and if I were you, I would keep that file under lock and key.”

Leander swallowed, his eyes dropping back down to the page, scanning the details further. “No way,” he gasped, eyes darting back to Andrew.

Andrew nodded, his look pensive. “Yes. I was shocked, too. You might want to break the news to her gently.”

Leander sank slowly into the nearest chair, reading over the information again, just to make sure his eyes had not deceived him. Shock numbed his limbs, the implications of this information sending his thoughts scattering in all directions. His hands actually trembled as he closed the file and gripped it tightly on his lap. Somehow, he was going to have to hand this information over to MC, and he wasn’t sure how she was going to react.

“Are you alright, mate?” Andrew asked, putting a cautious hand on Leander’s shoulder. “You’ve gone rather pale.”

Leander looked up at Andrew, nodding with uncertainty. He licked his lips and smoothed his hand over the top of the file. “I’m not entirely sure how she will take this news, but I’m glad I will be the one to tell her.”

Andrew bit his lip, his hands slipping into his pockets as he regarded Leander. “You er…you have grown rather close to MC since working on this case,” he said awkwardly, scuffing the floor slightly with the toe of his smart shoes. “I could sense the familiarity between you the last time you were here, and your request was not your regular Auror request. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fascinating. I just hope you know what you are getting yourself into.”

“I’m just trying to help her, Andrew. She doesn’t have anyone else, at least I didn’t think so,” he said, glancing down at the folder on his lap. “This file rather changes all of that, doesn’t it?”

“That really all depends on what she chooses to do about it,” Andrew said with a shrug. “Whatever she decides, just be careful, Leander. Don’t get yourself hurt.”

Oh, he was already in far too deep to climb back out now. Taking a deep breath he got to his feet, reaching out to shake Andrew’s hand. “I appreciate your help, Andrew. I owe you one.”

“You’re welcome,” Andrew said, shaking his hand firmly. “I will keep looking through the archives when I get a chance. There might be more to discover. These Keepers that MC mentioned have me curious. I’ll let you know what else I dig out.”

As he left the Auror Office, the file hidden with a vanishing charm in his possession, Leander pondered how he was going to hand it over to MC. He would have to do it tonight when she returned from her nightly spying on the Ashwinders. He didn’t want this lingering over his head, not something this big. Plus, MC had a right to know where she came from.

Sebastian

The cool air was thick with the scent of old paper and leather, rich tones of wood, and a lingering pinch of dust. The quietness settled over Sebastian like an old cloak, and he savoured the familiar and comforting feel of being inside a library. Walking slowly through the huge stacks, he gazed at the laden shelves, his eyes scanning the titles as he pondered how different his life could have been had things worked out differently. Perhaps he could have found contentment working within the safety of bound knowledge, pursuing his thirst to discover and learn. That life felt so far out of reach that he couldn’t even call it a dream. Those you could chase, and he didn’t think he would ever get the chance to make that idea a reality.

Pausing at the section he was searching for, he ran his fingers against the spines as he chased down the particular book he was after, a text recently published that he had heard about that might prove useful, no matter how far fetched. The author, Nora Treadwell, had undertaken research about the renowned wizard Merlin, and the curious puzzles he had scattered around the Highlands of Scotland. Sebastian had spent many hours helping MC solve some of those puzzles when they were kids, and they had speculated about their creation after MC noticed traces of her ancient magic around them. Not one to pass up the prospect of delving deeper into lore, Sebastian wanted to see what Nora Treadwell had to say on the matter.

Finding a copy of the book, he tucked it under his arm and found a quiet spot to sit and read The Trials of Merlin, his unruly hair falling across his forehead as he bent over the pages with a frown of intent.

….*….

Dusk was drifting over London, the sky deepening into the glow of the autumn sunset as Sebastian strolled through Knockturn Alley, one hand in his pocket, and the other settled close to where his wand sat ready in its holster. One could never be too careful at the best of times, let alone when the shadows were beginning to lengthen. As he walked, he let his gaze wander carefully over the cloaked figures he passed, appearing nonchalant in his manner, but ever mindful that MC could be hidden behind any corner. He didn’t want to miss her a second time.

As he approached the turn that would take him to the Black Rose, he met with Rosier who was leaning against a brick wall as though waiting for him, his handsome smile as charming as ever as he nodded towards Sebastian.

“Evening, Sallow. I wondered when you were going to show up. You’ve been gone most of the day.”

“Just gathering some information,” Sebastian smirked, pausing beside him. “Did I miss anything?”

Rosier gave him a knowing look as he took a drag on his cigarette. “I’ve not seen any sign of your pretty witch, if that’s what you mean,” he said, shaking his head. “Not much else has happened either. Unless you count Marvolo hexing that aggravating poacher that keeps playing the dodgy hand at cards.”

Amusement curved Sebastian’s mouth as they began to walk again, making their way towards the pub. “I’m surprised it took him this long, to be honest. She was blatantly cheating. Any news on Rookwood?”

“Funny you should ask,” Rosier said, his eyebrows lifting. “I hear he will be making an appearance this evening. It seems his little friend, Black Dahlia, has crawled out of the woodwork.”

Sebastian’s face darkened with a scowl at the mention of Rookwood’s informant, his dislike of the shifty witch blending with fury and mistrust ever since she had sent him into the horror of that prison and he had come out empty handed. There was something about her that made his skin itch. Devious and smug, her eyes still bothered him. Whatever enchantments she used to disguise her face didn’t work on her eyes, and he knew he had seen them before somewhere.

“I wonder what she could possibly be telling him,” he muttered, his stomach clenching with apprehension. If Black Dahlia was about to blow MC’s cover, then that could put the kneazle amongst the jobberknolls.

Rosier shrugged. “You know Rookwood. Everything is on a need to know basis, but I think he will be meeting with her tonight given his impending arrival.”

Deep in thought as they entered the pub, Sebastian considered the possibility that Rookwood might still allow MC to enter the gang despite knowing what she was really there for. She could be walking straight into a trap that would end with her ancient magic being extracted from her, and absorbed by Rookwood himself. The very idea made his spine feel like ice, his fear like claws around the back of his neck.

An idea was forming in his mind, and it turned his stomach if he had to be honest about it, but he just couldn’t risk MC walking into danger. No matter how powerful her magic could be.

“There’s something I need to do,” he said, patting Rosier on the back. “I won’t be long.”

“Anything you need some help with?” Rosier asked, a curious look in his eyes.

Sebastian shook his head, his face lighting up with one of his confident smiles despite the twisting feeling in his gut. “Nah, I’ve got this one.”

Stepping out of the pub, Sebastian didn’t think Rosier would even believe him if he told him where he was going. Moving into the deepening shadows, he pictured the fine house he had checked out a while ago down near the Thames, and Disapparated with a swirl of black.

The lights were lit inside the house giving a welcoming, warm glow from the windows, so somebody was at home. Sebastian climbed the neatly swept steps and eyed the fancy brass knocker, wondering if it would be the pretty wife who answered the fine front door as he knocked. Footsteps sounded from the other side, and when the door swung open, Sebastian grinned.

“Just the man I was wanting to see. Good evening, Andrew,” he greeted, with a nod of his head.

Andrew Larson frowned, a tinge of pink flushing across his cheeks as glanced nervously back over his shoulder. “How the bloody hells did you find me, Sallow?”

Sebastian tapped his finger against the side of his nose and winked, his cockiness shielding the true twist of his emotions as he faced the straight laced Ministry worker. “I can’t be revealing all of my secrets now, Larson. Don’t worry, though. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Then, why are you here?” Andrew demanded, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his very smart waistcoat.

Sighing, still not entirely believing that he was actually going to do this, Sebastian fixed Andrew with a serious look. “I need to get an urgent message to Prewett. You can either tell me where to find him, right now, or promise me that you will get word to him immediately.”

Andrew looked irritated, his blush deepening as he shook his head. “I’ve told you before…”

“This is urgent,” Sebastian insisted, cutting him off, “It’s about the case he is working on with MC. If I don’t tell him what I know, then MC could be walking into a trap.”

Andrew stilled, his mouth parted as he considered Sebastian’s words. Swallowing hard, he nodded, pushing his fingers through his blonde hair. “Alright,” he conceded. “I will send a message. What is it you need him to know?”

Sebastian looked up towards the sky above his head. For once, the stars were visible, the smog had cleared for a while. It wasn’t quite the glorious, open display he was used to seeing as a boy, but it was enough to give him some hope. Bringing his gaze back to Andrew, he took a breath and set his look to one of determination.

“Ask Prewett to meet me in one hour. I will be at the Floo point near Gringotts. He must come alone, and tell nobody. He can’t risk the snitch in his office finding out. I hope you understand how important that is.”

Andrew paled. “Merlin’s beard,” he muttered. “Of course. I’ll send the message right away.”

Leander

Arriving home, the file feeling heavy in his pocket, Leander unlocked the door and entered to be greeted with a strange burning smell. He closed the door and MC turned to him from the little stove, a sheepish look on her face.

“I tried to cook dinner,” she said, grimacing as she gestured towards the pot on the side. “It didn’t go well.”

Pressing his lips together, Leander moved further into the room, trying to hide his amusement at the forlorn look on her face. A glance into the pot revealed a charred looking mess, and he wrinkled his nose. “What was it?”

“Beef hot pot,” she said, folding her arms, her chin tilting upwards defensively. “You said it was one of your favourites.”

The simple gesture of trying to cook for him had his cheeks turning pink with pleasure, no matter that she had probably ruined his cooking pot in the process. Touched at the thought behind it, he slid his hand along her jaw, gently cupping her face as bent to press a slow kiss against her forehead. “You are adorable,” he murmured, a smile curving his lips.

She wrinkled her nose and playfully shoved him. “Hardly,” she scoffed, but a blush was staining her cheeks. She looked down at the ruined dinner and sighed. “I guess we shall have to find something else for dinner.”

She rarely smiled, but tonight her face seemed softer, her lips teasing at one as he looked down at her. The file sat in his pocket like an exploding snapper waiting to go off. He hesitated, his hand lingering near his robe, ready to take out the file and hand it over to her.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her face dropping. “Are you upset I ruined your pot?”

“No, no, of course not,” he assured her, his hands slipping about her waist. He held her close, their gazes meeting, his pulse flickering. “Let me fix us something to eat before you go out this evening,” he suggested.

“Or, I could stay in tonight?” She suggested, her teeth catching at her lower lip.

His gaze dipped to her mouth, his pulse picking up even more speed. As he was about to lower his mouth to hers, a loud tapping noise came from the window, both of them turning to see a gorgeous snowy owl on the ledge with a letter.

“That’s Andrew’s owl,” Leander said, frowning. He released MC and moved to open the window, the owl relinquishing the letter and nudging his hand for attention. Leander fed her a treat, scratching affectionately under her chin before she took off over the London rooftops. Tearing open the envelope, he noticed MC had moved closer towards him to have a look.

Gryffindor,

SS found me, he has an urgent message regarding the young lady you are assisting. She may be in danger. He wants you to meet him by the Floo outside Gringotts at 6.30pm. He also requested that you go alone, and tell nobody who might alert loose lips. Be careful.

Ravenclaw.

Leander read the note twice before lifting his eyes to the clock on his mantelpiece. He had 45 minutes until the meeting time.

“I’m going to assume this is about me,” MC said. He turned to her, his stomach sinking at the next words out of her mouth. “Who is ‘SS’? It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Sebastian.”

He nodded. “I think we can safely agree that it's him, yes.”

Her face hardened, the earlier softness disappearing. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” he said firmly, tearing the parchment in two and throwing it into the dying flames of the stove. “If he sees you with me, he will be suspicious. We can’t be certain where his loyalties lie. Besides, this could be a trap.”

MC huffed, moving to keep herself in his sight. “All the more reason that you need back up,” she insisted. “Let me help you. That’s what I was let out for, right?”

“I will have some back up,” he said, thinking quickly as he glanced at the clock again. “I’ve got time to speak with Harrington first. He can come along, hang back and keep watch while I see what Sebastian wants.”

MC folded her arms, planting herself firmly in front of him, her gaze determined. “If you think I’m going to sit here like a good little girl, you can think again. This is about me, and I’m coming. I’ll hide if I have to, I’ve been doing a lot of that this week whilst creeping around Knockturn Alley.”

The fiery determination that flared in her gaze was one of the traits about her that drew him in. Staring at her now, he found himself weakening under that look, ignoring all the sensible parts of his brain and his Auror training, because he found it so difficult to refuse her. Rubbing his hand against his forehead, he sighed.

“Fine, you can come along,” he relented, catching the flicker of a satisfied smirk on her lips. He wasn’t completely foolish, though. “You can wait with Harrington while I speak with Sallow. At least you won’t get into any trouble that way.”

Now, it was his turn to smirk as she grimaced, her arms falling to her sides as her little hands curled into tight fists. He took her robe from the coat stand and held it up for her, his expression clearly implying that it was this way, or not at all.

“Fine,” she huffed, thrusting her arms into the soft, black robe. He adjusted it on her shoulders, smoothing his hands over them and down her arms before spinning her to face him.

The time was drawing ever closer to her reunion with Sebastian. Watching him from a distance was one thing, but being in his company was quite another. The little glimpses of softness she was offering to him were lodged firmly behind his ribs, the endless depths of her gaze his inevitable downfall. He really wasn’t sure he was ready to lose all of it, but at this moment, it felt as though she was about to slip through his fingers.

He cupped her face, her eyes widening slightly as he dipped his head, claiming her mouth in a firm kiss. She stilled, but then responded, kissing him back, her fingers grasping his arms. When their mouths parted, she looked up at him. “What was that for?”

His smile was almost sad as he tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s go.”

Sebastian

He barely felt the prick on his finger tip, the blood welling up swiftly into a ruby orb before he smoothed it over the surface of the old compass. Closing his eyes he muttered the charm, aiming his wand towards the location device and bonding himself to it. Relaxing his pose, Sebastian picked up the compass, the needle spinning erratically at his close proximity to it. Whoever held this in their possession would be able to track him for the next 12 hours or so.

He didn’t particularly relish the idea of giving someone that much power over him, but if it meant he could help MC, then it was worth it. Tucking the compass safely into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled on his black coat and envisioned the Floo point outside Gringotts bank before Disapparating away to meet with Prewett.

Diagon Alley was dark and quiet, the lamp lights reflecting off the slick cobbled street after a recent shower of rain. Sebastian avoided the patches of light, lingering in the shadows as he waited. There was a bite to the air this evening, his shoulders hunching as he rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. Nerves tingled down his spine and he frowned, adjusting his collar as he reminded himself that he could take Prewett if he had a need to. He still couldn’t believe he was here, willingly about to assist an Auror.

The sound of approaching footsteps had him on alert, his hand smoothing over the familiar feel of his wand as he withdrew it. The tall frame of Prewett appeared out of the darkness, his robe swaying softly in the light of the street lamp as he walked towards the Floo point. He had his wand in his hand, his profile cutting an impressive line against the backdrop of the street. Sebastian stepped from his dark spot, moving in a casual but ready stroll.

“You made it, then,” he drawled, spinning his wand. Leander turned to face him, nodding once in greeting. “I did wonder if you would come.”

“You said it was urgent,” Prewett said, not moving too close as they sussed each other out. “What did you need to tell me?”

Sebastian glanced up and down the street, no sign of anyone else nearby. “Where is she, then?” His eyes narrowed as he studied Prewett, checking for any tells as he huffed and shook his head.

“How would I know? You said to come alone, and I’ve not told anyone. So, come on, out with it. Some of us have got work to do.”

Twirling his wand slowly, Sebastian suspected that Prewett knew more than he would admit about MC. Ominis had found them together at the Ministry, even hinting that there was something almost friendly between them both. It made Sebastian’s skin crawl with envy to think of her smiling at Prewett, the very idea that this insufferable goody-two-shoes could make her happy made him want to smash something.

He had no choice but to rely on Prewett, though. If they had anything in common, it was their affection for MC. Prewett wouldn’t be here if he didn’t care about her.

There didn’t appear to be anyone else nearby, but that didn’t mean anything. Anyone could be hidden, watching this scene play out. Another Auror, perhaps, to back him up. What was to stop them getting their information and then arresting him on the spot? He had to be quick and careful, suggest his idea before anyone could get too excited with a wand. Sebastian stepped closer, holding up his hand as Prewett raised his wand.

“I know you have a snitch in your office,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s a woman, but she disguises her face with a charm. I don’t trust her. She told us details about MC at Rookwood’s request. He is up to something, and I don’t like it.”

He had to be so careful what he said, not revealing too much, but letting slip just enough to gain some trust. He could see Prewett thinking over his words, his teeth worrying at his lip.

“We know there has been a leak,” Prewett said, keeping his wand at the ready. “What is Rookwood up to? You said MC could be in danger.”

Sebastian couldn’t resist a sly smirk, baiting Prewett about MC was just too easy. He could see the worry in his eyes, in the tone of his voice. “Rookwood wants her power, Prewett, and he is using the snitch to find out what he can about MC,” he said. “He is meeting with her later this evening. She goes by the name Black Dahlia. If you’re willing, I can lead you to them.”

“Why would you do that?” Prewett narrowed his eyes.

“Because you are not the only one who cares what happens to MC,” Sebastian said simply, taking the compass from his pocket. “Here, take this.”

Tossing the compass forward, Prewett caught it easily, turning it over in his fingers as he studied it. “A compass?”

“It’s been charmed with my blood. It will follow me,” Sebastian explained. He slipped his wand back into its holster as Prewett held up the compass, his eyebrows lifting as it clearly pointed towards Sebastian. “Track me to the meeting point, and you will have your snitch.”

Prewett turned the compass over in his hand thoughtfully. “What’s in it for you?”

Sebastian shrugged, not really willing to unload the thoughts in his head to a man that could easily be classed as an enemy. He dared not say too much, slowly backing up away from the tall Auror. “You can owe me one,” he smirked. “Follow the compass, and catch your snitch. If you see MC, tell her I miss her, and that I am looking forward to seeing her again.”

He caught the subtle tightening of Prewett’s mouth, the downward turn of his brows. The tug of war between them over MC was nothing new, something that had begun in their school days, and now continued as adults. The stakes were higher now. Life outside of Hogwarts was darker and more dangerous, no professors to watch over them. Sebastian cared not for the authority of the Aurors, and he knew how to play dirty if he had to.

MC was obviously watching him, turning up outside the Black Rose that night, appearing in the bar itself a few days later. If she truly was planning to infiltrate the gang and spy for the law, then it was only a matter of time before she was within his reach again. He just needed to be patient.

Despite this, he couldn’t resist having a dig at Prewett, his smirk devilish as he disappeared into the shadows before Disapparating swiftly to The Black Rose.

The breeze cut sharply across the back of her neck, making her huddle under the soft material of her robe as she peered down into the street below. Perched on the rooftop of a Diagon Alley shop, MC could see Leander as he stood near the Floo point, talking to a stocky figure that was partially hidden by shadow. Both men were holding their wands, and she could only imagine the kind of taunts that Sebastian was throwing Leander’s way. The slow creeping worry that this was a trap hadn’t left her, and she held her own wand out ready. It would burn her blood to cast against Sebastian, but she wasn’t about to see Leander get hurt on her account either.

“What are you thinking, little bird?” Harrington asked quietly. He was crouched down nearby, keeping watch on the men below alongside her. “I hear you’ve been stretching your wings and keeping an eye on these bastards. Do you think lover boy is setting a trap?”

MC shifted slightly, pulling her robe closer around her with her free hand, but she kept her gaze fixed below. The term ‘lover boy’ could now be applied to both men down there, but Harrington couldn’t know about her and Leander. It was their secret. “Why do you think I insisted on coming along? You may be skilled Aurors, but I can bring down an entire room in the blink of an eye, and Sebastian knows that.”

“He doesn’t know you’re on our side, though, does he?”

MC shrugged, her eyes glittering as she threw a glance his way. She didn’t like him, not one bit, and it was clear the feeling was mutual. “That all depends on how loose the lips are on your snitch, doesn’t it?”

Smirking at Harrington’s frown, she returned her attention back to the street, and realised Sebastian was backing up. “It looks like they are done. That was quick.”

Leander waited for a few moments before Apparating, appearing on the rooftop beside them with a pop. He shifted into a crouch, holding out a worn compass and filled them in on what Sebastian had told him.

“The snitch is a woman?” Harrington said, scratching his chin. “Smart to use a disguising charm, I must say, but bloody annoying when it comes to identifying her.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Leander asked, studying the compass. The arrow spun a few times and then settled, pointing in one direction. Leander followed it with his eyes. “If this really is tracking Sallow, then he is in Knockturn Alley.”

“Let’s follow him and find out,” MC said, a restless feeling settling over her.

“You’re not going anywhere, little bird,” Harrington said, firmly. “I indulged your request for this meeting, but you need to leave the Auror business to the Aurors.”

“Are you kidding me?” MC scoffed, an irritated frown darkening her face. “If you were doing such a good job on your own, you wouldn’t have needed to release me from Azkaban to do your dirty spying for you. Plus, I’m more powerful than the two of you put together.”

Harrington’s face darkened with a flush as he raised an authoritative finger up at her. “Now listen here…”

“Enough!” Leander hissed, holding his hands up at both of them. “There’s no point bickering amongst ourselves. MC, if you’re seen with us, then the game is up. They will know not to trust you.”

She wasn’t going to back down, folding her arms and tilting her chin upwards, her eyes flashed with determination. “I know how to stay hidden,” she said stubbornly. “If this is about me, then I want to be there. I particularly want to lay eyes on Rookwood if I can. I still find it hard to believe that the bastard is alive.”

She may have seen it in Leander’s pensieve memories, but she needed to see it with her own eyes. She turned her attention to Leander, knowing that he would be easier to persuade. Guilty of using his affections for her, she softened her gaze slightly, and she saw his resolve waver.

“You really think you can stay back and not get involved if things become difficult?” Leander asked, earning a huff from Harrington. “You cannot blow your cover, not even for Sebastian.”

Harrington’s gaze narrowed on her and she shifted slightly, but her resolve to accompany them remained. “I won’t blow my cover,” she agreed. “However, you had best make sure you aren’t on the receiving end of any curses so I don’t have to.”

“Is that so?” Harrington asked, his gaze narrowing even more as he glanced between the two of them. “How touching.”

MC felt her cheeks burn and she bit her lip, resorting to sarcasm. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not living up to my super villain persona?”

Leander rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I could go alone.”

“No!”

Both MC and Harrington had spoken at the same time, the pair of them glancing at the other in surprise. MC immediately stiffened her spine as she got to her feet, the two Aurors following suit. Leander held out the compass, the needle still pointing towards Knockturn Alley. “Sallow doesn’t seem to have moved yet,” he said.

MC moved closer towards him, linking her arm firmly around his. “And when he does, I’m coming with you.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Harrington said, sighing as he looked at them both.

“What other choice do we have?” Leander asked. “This could be our only chance to catch whoever is leaking out information. The danger of MC’s cover being blown is higher because of the snitch more than anything else.”

“Alright, fine. We will do it your way,” Harrington said, waving a hand in resignation as he settled back down against the rooftop ledge. “I guess all we have to do for now is wait.”

Leander met her gaze and she gave him a small smile, her eyes softening as she gave his arm a subtle squeeze. She wasn’t about to let him go, not even when he moved to sit down as Harrington had done. Huddled together on the rooftop, she leant against Leander’s solid frame, telling herself it was to keep warm as they waited.

It wasn’t too long before Leander gave her a nudge, her head lifting from where she had almost dozed off against him. He held up the compass. “Sallow has moved,” he said, looking over at Harrington. “It’s time.”

Sebastian

The distant rumble of a muggle train echoed down the tunnel, the atmosphere tight with tension as torch light flickered against old stone. Rookwood stood calmly checking his fingernails, wearing his usual long coat and top hat. He seemed unconcerned, and yet Sebastian was bristling with apprehension. Black Dahlia could reveal MC’s plans to spy on the Ashwinders, blow her cover and place her in even more danger than Sebastian already suspected she was in. The nagging worry about the magic extraction still played on his mind, and now he had handed over a tracking device to an Auror that placed himself in a rather dodgy situation, too. What was to stop Prewett barging in here with a horde of Aurors and hauling them off to Azkaban? If the Dementors didn’t get him, then Rookwood would in revenge.

“Why are we meeting her in the tunnels?” Sebastian grumbled, shifting his weight to his other leg as he glanced down towards the entrance again.

“Why indeed?” Rookwood smirked, dipping his hand inside his coat pocket and pulling out a very old looking wooden box. He smoothed his fingers over it with reverence. “Demanding a higher price means higher stakes, Sallow. I chose the meeting point this time.”

Something that felt suspiciously like anxiety began to creep over Sebastian as he eyed Rookwood and the old box. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

There was a gleam in Rookwood’s eyes as he held it up. “This old thing?” With a slow smirk, he creaked open the lid. “Just some old necklace a Queen used to wear. I doubt she will miss it seeing as she no longer has a head.”

Sebastian recognised the string of pearls and its pendant immediately, his eyes widening in shock. “You’re not going to give Anne Boleyn’s necklace to Black Dahlia are you?”

Rookwood gave him a sly look. “Why am I not surprised that you recognise it? The goons I sent to steal it had no idea what it was, the fools,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t think our little friend has earned a treat, then?”

“No,” Sebastian huffed. “I don’t trust her one bit.”

Rookwood only smiled, the box disappearing back into his pocket with a subtle turn of his hand. “That makes two of us, my dear boy. Why do you think I insisted you accompany me this evening?”

The tension in Sebastian’s shoulders tightened, but he kept his face as neutral as possible as he shrugged indifferently.

“If Black Dahlia doesn’t tell me what I want to hear, then you get to make use of those delectable Crucio skills of yours, Sallow. I don’t like to be disappointed, and should she let me down, I want to hear that bitch scream before I decide how to punish her. Down here, there is less chance of her being heard.”

“What is it you want her to say?” Sebastian fought back the bile trying to rise in his throat, the memory of almost losing himself the last time he cast the torture spell crowding into his thoughts.

Rookwood smiled that irritating, smug smile of his as he adjusted his coat, standing all expectant as though waiting for something pleasurable to arrive. “Let’s just say I’ve asked our little friend to do some deeper digging about our elusive prisoner. I’m hoping she is as good at finding buried treasure as she is at clever disguises.”

The effort to maintain the tight control over his emotions was almost strangling as Sebastian stood there beside Rookwood, his eyes tight and adrenaline kicking in something fierce, as they waited for Black Dahlia to arrive. If she had pleasing news for Rookwood, then he was going to need to think fast, because under no circumstances could he allow her to say it.

All of that with the potential for an Auror ambush weighing him down, and all Sebastian could do was wait. Whatever happened, Black Dahlia would not be walking out of here with that necklace, not if he had anything to do with it.

It struck her as a little ironic that she was stalking Sebastian Sallow with two Aurors cloaked in the very spell he had taught her to hide herself. She clung to the shadows still, her presence barely a shimmer as she remained a few feet back from Leander and Harrington while they followed the path of the tracking compass. Sticking to more traditional methods and walking, MC felt the tiredness creeping into her legs, not used to so much exercise. It didn’t help that they appeared to be wandering in a circle, and she sighed as Leander paused, frowning as he glanced around the street and back down at the compass.

Harrington leaned forward to get a look. “It’s just spinning erratically. Where the bloody hell is he? I knew this was a bad idea. Sallow is a trickster, make no mistake.”

Disappointment flooded through MC as she bit her lip, fearing that Harrington was right. It worried her that Sebastian had gone too far and she wouldn’t be able to pull him back. It made her fear that she would fall into darkness, too.

She dared to creep closer, pausing beside Leander as she watched the arrow spin. “He should be right here,” she whispered. She glanced up at the buildings around them. “Do you think he could be above us?”

“Bloody hell, you’re a genius,” Leander said, his face brightening. “Maybe not above us, but what about below. In the tunnels.”

Harrington clapped him on the shoulder, nodding firmly. “You’re right, lad,” he said. “Time to go back underground again. Stay close, little bird, and stay out of sight.”

Both her arms and legs were aching now as she climbed down a ladder, shivering as her hands grabbed at the cold iron. Leander had gone first, checking the lower tunnel out as she descended, Harrington waiting above. Descending into a dark tunnel didn’t exactly inspire much excitement, if anything she was pressing down on tendrils of dread, flashbacks of dark stone and the distant crashing of waves making her chest tighten. She was near the bottom when she felt warm hands grazing against her thighs, gently sliding upwards to cup her hips and help her down. This time her shiver wasn’t because of the cold.

“Careful, there is water down here,” Leander murmured close to her head.

“I’m surprised you could see me,” she whispered, turning to face him, only the barest glimmer suggesting she was even there.

“Lucky guess,” he smiled, his hand caressing up over her waist. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. Staring up at his face, she allowed some of her guard to slip knowing he couldn’t see her expression, her face soft and her eyes burning at the feel of his hand at her waist.

Anxious about what might happen down here, to him, to Sebastian, worried about herself being discovered too soon by Rookwood, she took this stolen moment before Harrington arrived to savour being this close to Leander before she had to step away. She reached up, her fingers ghosting across his jaw, her thumb grazing his lower lip.

“Don’t get hurt, alright?”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” he whispered, his eyes searching the space where her head should be as he placed his hand over hers. “Leave the worrying to me, MC. I’ll be fine.”

The ladder shuddered behind them, and they moved away, parting from each other as Harrington huffed his way to the tunnel floor. MC moved back from them both, her fingers grazing against Leander’s once more. She did worry for him, it tightened her chest, the fear of losing him so very real as she stared down the length of the tunnel. She hated to admit it, but she agreed with Harrington. She had a bad feeling about this.

Sebastian

Black Dahlia and her brown eyes remained the same irritation as ever, her face a vague and plain visage that made him blink with uncertainty if he tried to focus on it for too long, but he could make out the smug smirk that twisted her lips as she stood before them. Rookwood had offered a glimpse of her prize, those brown eyes igniting with greedy excitement before he had snapped the lid shut again, the box vanishing into his coat before she could make any move.

“So, what do you have for me?” Rookwood asked, holding out his hand with a flourish.

Black Dahlia shifted, bowing her head slightly as she cleared her throat, almost rivalling Rookwood in the dramatics department. Sebastian watched her carefully, his stomach tied up in knots and his hand at the ready to aim his wand. There was a tension in the chilly air, he could feel it, tight and hot at the back of his neck.

“As far as any official records go regarding MC, there are very few,” she began. “She lived as a muggle until her arrival at Hogwarts when she was 15.”

Rookwood rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes, yes, we know all that. Get on with it.”

“Well, that’s just it, Mr Rookwood. There are no other files, unless they are buried deep within the archives, or they are inside the Department of Mysteries. I do, however, have some interesting information from the case that will benefit you. Perhaps that will be enough?”

Her eyes dipped greedily to his jacket where the box had disappeared, and Sebastian wrapped his fingers around the handle of his wand. This bitch was about to blow MC’s cover, and all for the hunger over a piece of jewellery she had no damn right to.

“What kind of information?” Rookwood asked impatiently.

She stiffened, her brown eyes darkening as she fixed them on Sebastian. “You dare to draw your wand on me, Sallow? Interesting…”

Sebastian could feel a bead of sweat trickle down behind his ear, his heart thudding double time as he stared at her. The flicker of a memory flashed behind his eyes, an office with paperwork scattering through the air…adrenaline pumping thick and fast, a pair of brown eyes, determined and feline.

“You’re an Auror,” he said calmly, recognition sweeping through him.

She chuckled, waving off his words with a delicate shrug. “Oh, Sebastian. Always trying to outsmart everyone, aren’t you?”

Risking a glance at Rookwood, Sebastian could see the hesitation, the first glimmer of suspicion as he watched them both carefully. Realising exactly who this bitch was, a plan began to form in his mind, especially if Prewett was on his way here. He withdrew his wand fully and aimed at Black Dahlia.

“You’re an Auror,” he said, firmly this time. “You chased me through the warehouse in Glasgow and attacked Miss Rookwood. How do we know there aren’t more Aurors lurking back there in the tunnel waiting for us?”

“Preposterous!” She scoffed, but a flare of panic lit her eyes. She even took a subtle step backwards.

Sebastian stepped forward, his confidence showing on his face. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he taunted. “It was you, wasn’t it. You found me in that office and chased me down the stairs.”

Black Dahlia shook her head but took another step backwards, her eyes turning to Rookwood. “I think your guard dog is losing his Gobstones,” she said, attempting another laugh. Her hand dipped slowly into her robe, clearly going for her wand. “Call him off, or I won’t tell you a thing.”

Before she had a chance to make a single attempt with her wand, Sebastian hit her with a basic cast, hitting her on the hand. She yelped, her wand clattering to the stone floor. As if they had timed it perfectly, Prewett and Harrington appeared in the tunnel behind her.

“Aurors,” Rookwood hissed, his icy eyes narrowing in hatred as he glared at Black Dahlia. “Do what you do best, Sallow.”

In a swirl of black, Rookwood was gone, and Black Dahlia paled as her gaze flicked from Sebastian to her wand on the ground. A slow, and dangerous smirk curved Sebastian’s mouth as he fell easily into a duelling stance. It was time to play.

Leander

Everything seemed to happen so fast, and yet any movement appeared sluggish as though slowed down. Harrington was running, his wand out, Sallow’s name on his lips as the first spells lit up the bricked curve of the tunnel. A woman in a heavy robe had rolled across the ground, snatching up a wand to fire defensive spells towards Sebastian. Leander hesitated for a few seconds, watching in fascination as Sallow attacked her with ferocity, his face livid with hatred. The speed of his movements, and the skill of his accuracy was something to behold.

Harrington cast against Sebastian, but he blocked it easily, firing off a lightning quick Stupify that sent Harrington crashing rigidly into the wall. That unstuck Leander’s feet from where they had been rooted to the spot, and he took off at a run, wand out.

The blast of Sebastian’s next spell lit the tunnel in bright red, the shooting blast cutting through the space with deadly accuracy as it hit the robed woman in her chest. Her cry echoed off the walls as she was thrown backwards, arms and legs flailing outwards, her robe flaring wide before she slammed into solid brick with a sickening crack.

Leander skidded to a stop, his pulse roaring in his ears as he stared, her body dropping to the ground like a ragdoll. She rolled, one arm slipping down into the gurgling rush of water that ran along the side of the tunnel, blood pooling thick and fast under her head and running down to swirl in the dirty stream. Gasping in a breath, he turned to Sebastian.

“What the fuck did you do?” He asked. The question was useless, but it was taking a moment for his brain to catch up with what he was seeing. “Is she…she’s dead.”

“It was going to be her, or me, and I don’t like losing,” Sebastian said, pushing a hand through his hair. He shook his head and shrugged. He gestured towards the dead woman, her glassy eyes staring up at nothing. “There’s your snitch, Prewett. I guess there won’t be any leaks from your office where she is concerned. You might want to check if your colleague is alright. I tried not to hurt him too much.”

Leander glanced at Harrington who was frozen rigid on the ground, but his eyes were pulled back towards the dead woman, a crease appearing on his brow as her face began to change. He moved closer, his palm sweaty around the handle of his wand where he was gripping it too hard. Her brown eyes, frozen in death, looked familiar, her nose moulding into a pretty little curve, her cheekbones becoming graceful and her jawline delicate. Everything being revealed was painfully familiar.

For years, she had worked alongside him, right through their training together, and then taking the desk next to his back at the office. He knew the scent of her perfume, could pick out her laugh in a busy room, and had looked into her eyes on so many occasions when she had indulged in her playful flirting with him. That girl had been vibrant and alive, crackling with energy and so skilled with a wand. This girl, laying on the cold, hard ground, was empty and lost as she stared upwards into the dark.

“No,” he said softly, beginning to shake his head. “No, it can’t be…it just can’t.”

Shock made his breathing turn ragged, his eyes blinking as he tried to deny the familiar face that was emerging from the disguise now fading after her death. He couldn’t deny the truth that was sprawled on the ground at his feet, her blood flowing into the dirty water, her face already pale and lifeless. It was Odessa. She was the snitch. This whole time, she had been playing her game, and he had been the fool to fall for it.

Sebastian

Guilt was a strange creature. He had felt it many times over the last few years, the bone gnawing horror of it, the sickening pull that made you nauseous, the tormenting dreams that came to taunt you in the small hours. Everyone always said that the first one was the worst, and his first killing had been a horrific, heart wrenching incident that had torn his family apart. It had almost destroyed him, taken his girls from him, and he still woke up sweating from nightmares. There had been others since then, his arm a decorated memorial to lives taken by his hand, and it really didn’t get any easier. Those who said that it did were liars.

The tunnel was eerily quiet, the trickling rush of water a constant sound that was occasionally accompanied by the distant rumble of a train. He could hear the thud of his own heart pulsing in his ears, that cold sweat on the back of his neck making him shiver as he watched Prewett see the unveiling of their office snitch. He wouldn’t say he had ever cared much for the tall Gryffindor, but the expression on his face brought a lump to Sebastian’s throat regardless. Clearly, he had known her. Maybe he was even close to her. The betrayal on Prewett’s face was heavy and painful to witness.

Looking down at Black Dahlia, her face now revealed exactly who he had suspected her to be. It was the Auror that had chased him in Glasgow. He wished he could regret killing her, but despite the guilt and the new mark he would need to brand into his arm, it was for the best. He had stopped her from spilling any information about MC, and Rookwood was none the wiser for a while longer.

Leander turned, his freckled face flushed red as he made a furious grab for the front of Sebastian’s coat. “What is it with you, Sallow? You always have to go too far, don’t you? You didn’t have to kill her! Look at her!”

Sebastian wouldn’t look, he didn’t need to. He would never forget her face, he never did with the ones he killed. He grabbed at Prewett’s wrists, surprised again at how strong he was as they struggled against each other.

“If you’re looking for an apology, you’re going to be very disappointed,” he said, grunting as he found himself being forced backwards, his boots scraping on stone. “I did you a favour, Prewett. She was a dirty snitch.”

“Bastard,” Prewett hissed, shoving him hard and making him stumble.

Immediately, Sebastian aimed his wand, but gasped in shock as two hands clamped around his arm, fingers digging in like claws. A shimmering shape began to solidify, his eyes widening and his lips parting in disbelief as a familiar face came into view.

Healthier than the pensieve memory he had seen, but still pale, MC glared up at him with eyes blazing. He knew those eyes, he dreamed about them all the time, and now she was finally here before him. He stared at her, the fight draining out of him immediately.

“MC,” he croaked, a dizzying and overwhelming rush of joy sweeping over him.

“Don’t hurt him,” she warned, her mouth set in a familiar, determined line.

Time seemed to dip out of existence as they stared at each other. It was hard to believe that she was actually standing there, that those fingers gripping his forearm were hers. Sebastian couldn’t tear his gaze from her. He was too scared to in case she disappeared.

He slowly lowered his wand, his eyes devouring the lines of MC’s face, sweeping down over her slight frame that was hidden by a long, dark robe. He opened his mouth to say something, but his mind had gone blank, he couldn’t find the words, and a simple ‘hello’ just didn’t seem right given the circumstances. His hand lifted, reaching out as if to touch her, but she let him go and stepped back.

Was that a flicker of fear in her eyes? She recovered herself quickly, her face becoming almost indifferent as she made to walk away, but he had seen something that almost crippled him.

This wasn’t how their reunion was supposed to play out. He had imagined this moment for years, ached for so long to be this close to her, and yet she felt further away than ever.

“Wait,” he begged, his hand grasping at her sleeve. She paused, that flash of vulnerability there, and then gone again as she stared at him.

“You should have stayed hidden, little bird,” Harrington said, shaking off the effects of being stupefied as he came to stand beside Prewett. “Step away from Sallow, now. He’s going down for murder. Quite the pair you two make, taking out Aurors like it means nothing.”

Both Aurors had their wands at the ready, and Sebastian was a wanted criminal. He had taken down one of their own right in front of them, no matter that she was a dirty snitch. He had still killed her. He tightened his grip on MC’s sleeve. Nobody was going to take her away from him. Not again.

“I know I should have stayed hidden,” she said, her chin lifting in that stubborn way of hers. It felt so good to see it, he almost smiled.

Prewett held out his hand towards her, and to Sebastian’s horror, she moved forwards. Refusing to let her go, Sebastian tugged her back, her gaze swinging back to him in alarm. Panic seized him. Why would she go to Prewett so willingly?

“Let her go, Sallow,” Prewett warned, a desperate edge to his voice.

MC turned to look at Prewett, her face softening in a way that Sebastian yearned for. “It’s alright, Lee. He won’t hurt me,” she said.

Sebastian felt that curling, hideous twist of envy solidify in his stomach as he watched them both. The look that passed between them was far too intimate for his liking, and he most certainly didn’t like the way she had shortened Prewett’s name. That screamed familiarity, and it sent a shard of ice through his chest.

“I would never hurt you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice hoarse. The haunted look she gave him tore him to shreds.

“Let her go, boy,” Harrington pressed, his eyes determined as he aimed his wand.

Four years ago he had been a broken teenage boy, and Harrington had come for MC, tearing her from his arms and dragging her away in nought but her nightgown. He hadn’t been able to stop it, and while he might still be that broken boy deep inside sometimes, his outer layers had become thicker and stronger over the years, and he had promised to himself that he would never let anyone take those that he loved away from him ever again.

This time, it was him Harrington wanted, but the stakes were the same.

Pulling MC towards him, he wrapped his arm firmly about her waist as her back hit his chest, her breath leaving her in a gasp. He saw the panic flare in Prewett’s eyes, the desperate way he reached out for her, but MC was his, she always had been. He held her tight and fixed a destination in mind. In a blink, they were gone from the tunnel, Prewett’s protest ringing in his ears.

They hit the dirt and rolled, cold night air stinging his face as he winced at the impact, but he didn’t let MC go. He felt as well as heard her gasping breaths, her body tiny and frail under the press of his arms, but she caught him by surprise. Her hands flailed and she bucked against him, slapping out at him wherever she could land a blow.

“What…did you…do?” She wheezed, thrashing like a wildcat. “Bastard!”

Her hands continued to hit out, but they were like tiny birds against the firm bulk of his chest. He scrambled to catch her arms, grunting in surprise as her fist landed with a smack against his jaw. As she hit him, she screamed through gritted teeth, her eyes wild and rolling as though she was in pain. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he feared that if he let her go, she would Apparate immediately, and he did not want that to happen. Grabbing her wrists, he rolled them both, pinning her arms above her head into the carpet of dirt and leaves.

“Will you stop? I’m not going to bloody hurt you,” he snapped.

Looking down at her, a jumble of emotions burst through him, pride at the fire she still possessed, joy at the sight of her beautiful face, and burning desire to feel those lips crushed against his. He had fucking missed her!

“Let me go,” she hissed, lifting her head and kicking her legs against the ground.

“No,” he said simply, his mouth curving into a smile. “I’ve waited a long time to see you, darling. If you think I’m going to let you go so easily, then you’re mistaken.”

He should have been ready when he saw the way her jaw tightened, the barest glimmer of her ancient magic searing the edges of those gorgeous eyes. Her knee slammed upwards and he groaned, relinquishing his hold on her and slumping sideways. She shoved him to his back and was instantly on him, her knees straddling his waist, her hands wrapped around his thick neck.

The little minx had winded him, his ribs expanding as he tried to catch his breath, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. Even though he felt the tight grip of her hands around his throat as he tried to swallow.

“That’s better,” she said, puffing from the exertion of their tumble. Her eyes roamed over his face and that flicker of vulnerability appeared in her eyes again, just before it was shielded with fierce determination. “You and I need to have a little chat, Sallow.”

He stared up at her, trying to remember the last time he had felt this happy. He didn’t even try to remove her hands from his throat. He lifted his arms above his head, hands open in a move that was uncharacteristically submissive. His mouth curved into another smile that reached his eyes.

“I’m all ears, sweetheart.”

To be continued…

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#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #leander prewett x mc #leander prewett #blueraineshadows #blood bound

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