── 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 : VI.

genshin men who after cumming so so deep inside you don't pull out immediately, instead they let out the most delicious desperate rumbling growls as they continue making tiny thrusts, desperately trying to get even deeper as they feel they're still cumming, dick pressed tightly against your cervix and the only thing these men have on their mind is to breed you good and not letting even a drop of their seed slip outside♡

DILUC, PIERRO, CAPITANO, AYATO, ITTO, KAEYA, HEIZOU, ZHONGLI, DAINSLEIF, CHILDE

Kiss Me, He’s Watching

fake bf!Heeseung x being stalked!reader - You kissed Heeseung to escape your stalker’s gaze—but the danger didn’t end there. One fake kiss, and suddenly everything is terrifyingly real.

Warnings: stalking, fear, explicit smut, possessive dynamics

-

The fluorescent lights of the subway car flicker overhead, casting an unflattering glow across the half-empty train. It's later than you'd usually be out on a weeknight, but your coworker's birthday drinks ran longer than expected. You check your phone: 11:43 PM. Only three more stops until home.

That's when you feel it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

You glance up from your phone, trying to appear casual as your eyes scan the car. And there he is. Third seat from the door. A man in his thirties, wearing a dark jacket despite the warm spring evening, staring directly at you. When your eyes meet, he doesn't look away. Instead, his lips curl into what might be considered a smile, if it weren't so utterly devoid of warmth.

You quickly look back down at your phone, heart rate accelerating. It's nothing, you tell yourself. Just another weird encounter in the city.

The train slows to a stop, doors sliding open. You remain seated, two more stops to go. From your peripheral vision, you see the man stand up. Relief washes over you—he's leaving. But instead of exiting, he simply moves to a seat closer to you. Your stomach drops.

When the doors close and the train lurches forward, you decide you're not waiting two more stops. You'll get off at the next station, find a busier platform, maybe even grab a taxi the rest of the way home. Anything to shake this feeling.

The next stop arrives. You stand quickly, moving toward the doors. As they open, you glance back—he's standing too. Following you.

Panic rises in your throat as you step onto the platform. It's nearly deserted at this hour, just a few late-night commuters waiting for trains going the opposite direction. You walk briskly toward the exit, the sound of footsteps behind you matching your pace.

That's when you see him—a young man leaning against a pillar, scrolling through his phone. He's striking even under the harsh station lights, with delicate features contrasted by sharp eyes and broad shoulders. Something about him radiates both gentleness and strength. You make a split-second decision.

You approach him quickly, heart pounding in your ears.

"Excuse me," you say softly, your voice shakier than you'd like. "Can you please pretend to be my boyfriend for a minute? There's someone following me."

He looks up from his phone, confusion crossing his face for only a moment before his eyes flick past you, assessing the situation with remarkable speed. His expression shifts to understanding, then determination.

"Of course, babe," he says loudly enough to be overheard, smoothly slipping his phone into his pocket. "I was wondering when you'd get here."

In one fluid motion, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours is startling but comforting.

"He's still watching," the stranger whispers against your hair. "Is that the guy? Black jacket, about five-nine?"

You nod almost imperceptibly.

"I'm Heeseung, by the way," he murmurs, maintaining the charade by playing with a strand of your hair.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper back.

You both stand there for a moment, locked in an embrace that feels both foreign and strangely safe. But you can still feel the stalker's eyes boring into your back.

"He's not buying it," Heeseung says quietly, his breath warm against your ear. Then, even softer: "Want me to kiss you? Might be more convincing."

Your eyes widen slightly, but the footsteps behind you seem to be getting closer. You nod again, bracing yourself.

Heeseung's hand gently tilts your chin upward. His eyes meet yours, silently asking one more time if this is okay. There's something unexpectedly tender in his gaze that makes your breath catch. Then he leans down, pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant—the kiss of strangers playing a part. But as his arms tighten around you, something shifts. His lips move more confidently against yours, and you find yourself responding, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders. For a brief moment, you forget about the man watching you, forget that this is all pretend. There is only the softness of Heeseung's lips and the steadiness of his hands at your waist.

When you finally break apart, you're both slightly breathless. Heeseung's eyes search yours for a moment before he looks past you, his expression hardening.

"He's still there," he says, voice lower now, a protective edge creeping in. "What's this guy's problem?"

The stalker stands several feet away, his stare unrelenting, suspicious. Clearly, your performance hasn't convinced him.

Something in Heeseung snaps. He steps slightly in front of you, shielding you with his body.

"What are you looking at?" he calls out, his voice echoing in the nearly empty station. "You need something?"

The man doesn't respond, just continues staring.

"What?" Heeseung's voice rises, anger evident. "You need more proof? Want me to fuck her in front of you too?"

You grab Heeseung's arm, both shocked and grateful for his protective fury. The few remaining commuters on the platform turn to stare.

The stalker finally breaks his gaze, muttering something under his breath before walking toward the exit. But the look he gives you before he turns away sends ice through your veins—this isn't over.

"Hey, are you okay?" Heeseung asks, turning back to you, his expression immediately softening. "Sorry if I went too far. I just couldn't stand the way he was looking at you."

"Thank you," you manage, suddenly aware that you're trembling. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here."

"Which way are you headed?" he asks, concern etched across his features.

"I'm two stops down, but I think I'll just get a taxi now."

"I'll wait with you," he says firmly. "Or I can ride with you the rest of the way, if you want."

As you both head toward the exit, you feel Heeseung's hand gently rest against the small of your back—a protective gesture that makes you feel safer than you have all night.

Neither of you notice the stalker watching from the shadows as you leave the station together, his eyes narrowed with suspicion and something more dangerous simmering beneath.

-

The taxi ride is quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional direction you give the driver. Heeseung sits beside you, a respectful distance between you now, but his presence remains solid and reassuring. The adrenaline from earlier is beginning to wear off, leaving you feeling drained and slightly embarrassed.

"I'm really sorry about all of this," you finally say, glancing over at him. In the dim light of the passing streetlamps, his profile looks almost ethereal. "I can't believe I dragged a complete stranger into my problems."

Heeseung turns to you, his expression earnest. "Don't apologize. That guy was seriously creepy. Anyone would have needed help."

"Not everyone would have helped the way you did," you point out. "Most people would have just walked away."

He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "Well, I'm not most people."

The taxi pulls up to your apartment building, and you reach for your wallet, but Heeseung already has his card out.

"Please, let me," he insists, paying the driver before you can protest.

"You really don't have to—"

"Consider it my good deed for the day," he says with a gentle smile that makes something flutter in your chest.

You both step out onto the sidewalk, and suddenly you're not sure how to end this strange encounter. A handshake seems too formal after what you've shared, but anything more feels presumptuous.

"I'd feel better if I saw you safely to your door," Heeseung says, breaking the awkward moment. "If that's okay with you."

You nod, grateful for his consideration, and lead him into the building. The elevator ride to the fifth floor is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Standing next to him, you notice he smells faintly of sandalwood and something uniquely his own.

When you reach your apartment door, you turn to face him. "Thank you again. Seriously. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there."

"I'm just glad I could help," he says, and there's a sincerity in his voice that's rare these days.

An idea strikes you. "Wait here for a second?" You unlock your door and rush inside, grabbing a pen and scrap of paper from the entryway table. You quickly scribble your number on it, then return to the hallway where Heeseung waits patiently.

"Here," you say, offering him the paper. "In case you ever need someone to pretend to be your girlfriend." You attempt a joke to lighten the moment, though your heart beats a little faster as he takes the paper.

Heeseung looks at your number, then back at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. He pulls out his phone, inputs your number, and then you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

"Now you have mine too," he says. "If you ever feel unsafe again or if that guy shows up, call me. Doesn't matter what time."

"I couldn't possibly—"

"I mean it," he interrupts, his expression turning serious. "Promise me you'll call if anything happens."

Something about the intensity in his eyes makes you nod. "I promise."

"Good." His expression softens again. "Get some rest, Y/N. It's been a long night."

"You too, Heeseung."

He waits until you're safely inside with the door locked before you hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

-

The next morning, the whole encounter feels almost like a dream. You might have convinced yourself it was, if not for the new contact in your phone: "Heeseung (Subway Hero)."

Life returns to normal surprisingly fast. You're more cautious on your commute, taking earlier trains and staying in crowded cars, but there's no sign of the creepy man. After a week passes without incident, you begin to relax.

You think about texting Heeseung several times. Your finger hovers over his contact information, but what would you say? "Thanks again for pretending to be my boyfriend and kissing me"? "Want to grab coffee sometime when I'm not being stalked"? Everything sounds awkward or presumptuous. He was just being kind to a stranger in trouble. You don't want to mistaken his kindness for interest.

So you don't text him, and the days pass.

Almost two weeks after the subway incident, you're working late at the office. The design project you've been assigned has a tight deadline, and you've lost track of time staring at your computer screen. When you finally look up, it's past 10 PM, and you're the only one left on your floor.

You pack up quickly, suddenly aware of how quiet and empty the building feels. In the elevator down to the lobby, you check your phone and see a notification for an email from an address you don't recognize.

The subject line reads: "I SAW YOU WITH HIM."

A chill runs down your spine. You should delete it without opening it, but morbid curiosity gets the better of you. The message contains just one line:

"I know he's not really your boyfriend."

Your hands start to shake. Below the text is a photo—of you and Heeseung leaving the subway station together that night. The angle suggests it was taken from a distance, from someone following behind.

As you step out of the elevator into the dimly lit lobby, another email notification appears. Same sender.

"You're alone now. Look up."

Your heart nearly stops. Slowly, you raise your head from your phone screen and scan the lobby. At first, you see nothing unusual—just the security desk (empty at this hour), the entrance doors, the row of potted plants along the wall.

Then a shadow moves near the entrance, and you see him. The man from the subway, watching you through the glass doors, that same cold smile on his face.

Without thinking, you step back into the elevator and frantically press the button for your floor. As the doors close, you see him moving toward the building entrance.

Your fingers tremble as you pull up Heeseung's contact. It's been two weeks. He probably doesn't even remember you. But you promised.

He answers on the second ring.

"Y/N?" His voice is alert, not groggy despite the hour. "Is everything okay?"

"He found me," you whisper, watching the elevator numbers climb. "The guy from the subway. He's here at my office building. He has pictures of us. He knows—he knows you're not really my boyfriend."

There's a brief silence, then Heeseung's voice comes through, calm but urgent. "Where exactly are you now?"

"In the elevator, going back up to my office. I don't think he can get past building security without a keycard, but he was right outside."

"Okay, listen to me. Go back to your office, lock the door if you can. What's the address?"

You tell him, surprised at how clearly you remember his address despite your panic.

"I'm leaving now. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay on the phone with me, okay?"

"Okay," you manage, stepping out of the elevator and hurrying down the hallway to your office. You lock the door behind you, then turn off the lights and move away from the windows. "I'm sorry to drag you into this again."

"Don't apologize," he says, and you can hear rustling in the background, the jingle of keys. "I told you to call if anything happened."

"I know, but—"

"Y/N," he interrupts gently. "I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you anyway."

Despite everything, a small flutter of warmth spreads through your chest at his words.

"He thinks I'm your boyfriend?" Heeseung continues, and you hear a door slam shut on his end. "What are you going to do about this guy?"

"I don't know," you admit, sinking down beneath your desk, phone clutched to your ear like a lifeline. "I guess I should file a police report, but—"

Your sentence is cut short by another email notification. With dread, you open it to find another picture—this one of your office building, with a simple message: "I'll wait."

"Heeseung," you whisper, fear making your voice crack. "Please hurry."

-

"I'm five minutes away," Heeseung reassures you, his voice steady despite the sound of rapid footsteps on his end. "Stay where you are and keep talking to me."

You curl up tighter beneath your desk, eyes fixed on the locked office door. The building is eerily quiet at this hour—every distant sound making your heart race. Is that the elevator? Footsteps in the stairwell? Your imagination is turning every creak and hum of the building into a threat.

"Tell me about your day," Heeseung says suddenly.

"What?"

"Your day. What were you working on that kept you at the office so late?" His tone is deliberately casual, trying to distract you from the panic.

You take a shaky breath. "A design project for a new client. They're launching a sustainable clothing line and needed the branding finalized by tomorrow morning." Speaking helps—focusing on normal things makes the situation feel slightly less terrifying.

"You're a designer?" There's genuine interest in his voice.

"Graphic designer, yeah. What about you? What do you do when you're not rescuing strangers on the subway?" You attempt a weak joke.

There's a soft chuckle on the other end. "Music production, mostly. I work at a studio downtown."

"That sounds amazing," you say, briefly forgetting your fear. "Do you work with anyone I might know?"

"Maybe. I've worked with—" He cuts himself off. "I'm at your building now. Is there a security guard?"

"There should be, but I didn't see anyone when I was in the lobby."

"There's no one here now either," Heeseung says, his voice lower. "How do I get up to your floor?"

"You need a keycard for the elevator after hours," you explain, anxiety flooding back. "But wait—if there's no security guard, where did he go? And how would the stalker get in without a card?"

There's a moment of silence before Heeseung responds, his voice tight. "I don't know, but I don't like it. Is there another way up? A stairwell?"

"Yes, but it needs a keycard too—" You stop as another email notification appears. With trembling fingers, you open it.

The message contains just three words: "I'M INSIDE NOW."

"Heeseung," you whisper, terror making your voice almost inaudible. "He says he's inside the building."

"Shit," he mutters. Then, more decisively: "I'm going to try something. What floor are you on?"

"Seventh."

"Give me two minutes."

The line goes quiet except for the sound of Heeseung's breathing and occasional grunts of effort. You're about to ask what he's doing when you hear a distant alarm begin to wail.

"What's happening?" you ask.

"Fire alarm," Heeseung explains, slightly out of breath. "Building security will unlock automatically. I'm coming up the stairs now."

Relief washes over you—until you realize that if the security systems are overridden, there's nothing keeping the stalker from accessing your floor either.

As if reading your thoughts, Heeseung speaks again. "Stay hidden. I'll be there soon. Which office number?"

"705. It's at the end of the hallway on the right when you come out of the stairwell."

"Got it. Almost there."

You hear the sound of a door banging open through the phone, then rapid footsteps. A moment later, there's a gentle knock at your office door.

"Y/N? It's me."

You scramble out from under the desk and rush to the door, pressing your ear against it. "Heeseung?"

"It's me," he confirms. "Open the door."

Your hands shake as you unlock the door. The moment it opens, Heeseung slips inside, immediately locking it behind him. In the dim emergency lighting, you can see he's breathing hard, hair slightly damp with sweat—he must have run the entire way.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, the relief of seeing a friendly face overwhelming in your state of fear. He stiffens in surprise for just a moment before his arms wrap around you, holding you securely.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs against your hair.

You nod against his chest, embarrassed but unable to pull away just yet. His heartbeat is rapid beneath your ear, his body warm and solid—an anchor in the storm of your fear.

When you finally step back, you notice he's scanning the room, eyes alert and wary. "We should go. The fire department will be here soon because of the alarm, but I don't want to risk running into this guy."

"Okay," you agree, quickly gathering your belongings.

Heeseung peers out the office door, checking the hallway. "Clear. Let's go to the stairs—they're closer than the elevator."

He takes your hand as you hurry down the corridor, his grip firm and reassuring. At the stairwell door, he pauses, listening intently before pushing it open.

"Stay close," he instructs as you begin descending.

You're halfway between the fifth and fourth floors when a door slams somewhere below you. Heeseung freezes, pushing you gently against the wall, his body shielding yours. You both listen, hardly breathing.

Footsteps on the stairs—coming up.

Heeseung's eyes meet yours, his expression tense but determined. Silently, he gestures upward. You nod in understanding.

As quietly as possible, you both backtrack, climbing up instead of down. When you reach the eighth floor, Heeseung carefully opens the door, checking that the hallway is clear before pulling you through.

"We'll try the elevator on this floor," he whispers. "The alarm should have reset the security lockdowns."

The eighth floor is darker than yours, with only emergency exit signs providing dim red illumination. Heeseung keeps your hand firmly in his as you navigate to the elevator bank. He presses the call button, and you both watch anxiously as the numbers climb from the lobby.

The distant sound of a door opening makes you both tense. Heeseung positions himself slightly in front of you, his stance protective.

The elevator seems to take forever. Three... Four... Five...

"If something happens," Heeseung says quietly, "run. Don't wait for me."

You're about to protest when the elevator finally arrives with a soft chime. The doors slide open, and you both quickly step inside. Heeseung jabs the lobby button repeatedly, then the door close button.

As the doors begin to shut, you catch a glimpse of a figure at the end of the hallway—a man in a dark jacket. Your breath catches.

The doors close fully, and the elevator begins its descent.

"That was him," you whisper, leaning against the wall for support. "That was definitely him."

Heeseung's jaw tightens, a mixture of anger and concern crossing his features. "When we get to the lobby, we're going straight to my car. No stopping, okay?"

You nod, trying to calm your racing heart.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors opening to reveal chaos. The fire alarm has drawn several security personnel and what looks like the beginning of a fire department response. In the confusion, you and Heeseung slip out relatively unnoticed, his arm around your waist guiding you swiftly through the crowd and out to the street.

"This way," he says, leading you to a sleek black car parked half on the curb—he must have been in a hurry when he arrived.

Once inside with the doors locked, you finally allow yourself to take a deep breath. Heeseung starts the engine but doesn't immediately drive away.

"Are you hurt at all?" he asks, turning to examine you with concern.

"No, I'm fine," you assure him, though your hands are still trembling. "Just scared."

He nods, reaching out to briefly squeeze your hand before putting the car in drive. "I'm taking you to my place," he says, pulling away from the curb. "I don't think it's safe for you to go home tonight."

Under normal circumstances, going to a near-stranger's apartment would set off all kinds of alarm bells. But nothing about this situation is normal, and the safety Heeseung represents outweighs any reservation you might have.

"Thank you," you say simply.

He glances in the rearview mirror frequently as he drives, checking that you're not being followed. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving you feeling drained and slightly nauseous.

"I should call the police," you say after a few minutes of silence.

"Definitely," Heeseung agrees. "But let's get somewhere safe first."

His apartment turns out to be in a secure building with underground parking and a doorman—facts that provide immediate relief. Inside, the space is surprisingly homey: a modern open-concept layout with warm lighting and comfortable furnishings. A keyboard and small recording setup occupies one corner of the living area, confirming his earlier mention of music production.

"Make yourself at home," he says, gesturing to the couch. "I'll get you some water."

As he moves to the kitchen, you sink onto the sofa, the events of the night finally catching up to you. Your phone chimes with another email notification, and you nearly drop it in fear.

Heeseung notices your reaction, returning quickly with a glass of water. "Another message from him?"

You nod, unable to open it.

"May I?" he asks, holding out his hand for your phone.

You pass it to him, watching as he opens the email, his expression darkening as he reads.

"What does it say?" you ask, not sure you want to know.

Heeseung looks up, his eyes filled with protective anger. "He says he knows you're with me now. That you've 'chosen your side.' And that he'll be watching both of us." He sets your phone down. "We're definitely calling the police. This is serious stalking."

While Heeseung contacts the authorities, you sip your water, trying to make sense of this nightmare. How did this happen? One random encounter on the subway has spiraled into a genuine threat to your safety. And Heeseung—a complete stranger two weeks ago—is now putting himself at risk to keep you safe.

When he finishes the call, he sits beside you on the couch, close enough that you can feel his warmth but not touching. "They're sending someone over to take your statement. They also advised documenting everything—all the messages, photos, any evidence of him following you."

You nod, staring down at your hands. "I'm so sorry for involving you in this."

"Hey," he says gently, waiting until you look up at him. "None of this is your fault. And I'm not sorry I helped you that night, even if it means being involved now."

"Why?" The question slips out before you can stop it. "Why would you do all this for someone you barely know?"

Heeseung is quiet for a moment, seemingly considering the question carefully. "I've seen what happens when people look the other way," he finally says. "My sister had a stalker in college. Not as extreme as this, but scary enough. People knew—her friends, her roommates—but no one really did anything. They thought it wasn't their problem." His voice hardens slightly. "I won't be that person. Not ever."

The personal revelation surprises you. "I'm sorry about your sister. Is she okay now?"

He nods. "She's fine. It eventually stopped, but it affected her for a long time. Made it hard for her to trust people." He meets your eyes. "That's why I want to help you end this now, before it gets worse."

His words wrap around you like a shield, and for the first time since you saw that man on the subway, you feel truly protected.

"Thank you," you say again, the words inadequate but sincere.

The police arrive about twenty minutes later—a female officer who takes your statement professionally and thoroughly. She confirms what Heeseung already said: document everything, file for a restraining order as soon as possible, and take precautions with your personal security.

"What about tonight?" you ask as she's preparing to leave. "Is it safe for me to go home?"

The officer hesitates. "We can have a patrol car drive by your residence periodically, but we don't have the resources for constant surveillance. Do you have someone who can stay with you? A friend or family member?"

Before you can answer, Heeseung speaks up. "She can stay here. I have a spare room, security building, doorman. She'll be safe."

The officer looks between the two of you. "That would certainly be safer than being alone," she agrees. "And it might be good to have someone with you for the next few days at least, until we can locate this individual."

After she leaves, a quiet falls over the apartment. You're exhausted but too wired to sleep, and the thought of imposing on Heeseung even more makes you uncomfortable.

"I can take you home if you'd prefer," he offers, reading your hesitation. "Or to a friend's place, or a hotel."

You consider the options, but the thought of being alone—or explaining this bizarre situation to a friend in the middle of the night—seems overwhelming. And a hotel doesn't offer the same security as Heeseung's building.

"If you really don't mind, staying here would make me feel safer," you admit. "Just for tonight. I can figure something else out tomorrow."

"I don't mind at all," he says, and there's such sincerity in his voice that you believe him. "Let me show you the guest room and find you something to sleep in."

The spare room is simple but comfortable, with a queen-sized bed and attached bathroom. Heeseung lends you a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that dwarf your frame but are clean and comfortable.

"Try to get some rest," he says, lingering in the doorway. "I'm right across the hall if you need anything. Anything at all."

"Thank you, Heeseung," you say, the words becoming something of a mantra between you. "For everything."

He smiles—a small, tired smile that still manages to reach his eyes. "Good night, Y/N."

After he leaves, you sit on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed by the events of the day. You should be terrified—and you are—but there's also a strange sense of security that comes from knowing Heeseung is just across the hall. A man who was a stranger two weeks ago has become your shield against a nightmare you never saw coming.

When you finally lay down, exhaustion quickly overtakes your racing thoughts. You fall asleep to the distant sound of Heeseung moving around the apartment, the knowledge of his presence a comfort in the darkness.

-

You wake to sunlight filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the smell of coffee. For a moment, disorientation grips you—until memories of the previous night come flooding back. The stalker, the chase through your office building, Heeseung's rescue, and now... his guest bedroom.

After using the bathroom and attempting to make yourself somewhat presentable, you venture out to the main living area. Heeseung is in the kitchen, back turned to you as he works at the counter. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair slightly rumpled from sleep.

He turns at the sound of your approach, offering a gentle smile. "Morning. How did you sleep?"

"Better than I expected," you admit. "Something smells amazing."

"Coffee and breakfast," he says, gesturing to the stove where eggs are cooking. "I figured you might be hungry."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture catches you off guard. "Thank you. Again."

He waves it off. "Sit. Eat. Then we can figure out what to do next."

Over breakfast, you both discuss the situation more calmly than was possible the night before. You need clothes and personal items from your apartment, but the thought of going there alone makes your stomach clench.

"I'll go with you," Heeseung offers immediately. "And I still think you should stay here for a few days, at least until the police locate this guy."

"I can't impose on you like that," you protest.

"You're not imposing if I'm offering," he counters. "Look, this guy has clearly fixated on both of us now. It makes sense to stick together." His expression softens. "Plus, I'd worry about you being alone."

The admission brings unexpected comfort. "Okay," you agree. "Just until they find him."

After breakfast, Heeseung insists on driving you to your apartment to collect some essentials. The daylight makes the situation feel less threatening, but you're still jumpy, constantly checking over your shoulder. Heeseung stays close, his presence a constant reassurance.

At your apartment, everything looks normal—no signs of disturbance or intrusion. You quickly pack a bag with clothes and necessities for a few days, while Heeseung checks each room, making sure the space is secure.

"All clear," he reports when you finish packing. "But we should let your building manager know what's happening. And you might want to consider getting your locks changed, just in case."

The practicality of his advice grounds you. This isn't just a nightmare to be endured; there are concrete steps you can take to protect yourself.

Back at Heeseung's apartment, you call your boss to explain the situation (leaving out some of the more frightening details) and arrange to work remotely for a few days. Heeseung does the same, rescheduling his studio sessions to work from home instead.

"You don't have to do that," you tell him. "I'll be fine here alone."

"I know," he says. "But I'd rather be here. Just in case."

The rest of the day passes in a strange bubble of temporary safety. You work on your laptop from his dining table while he tinkers with music tracks at his home studio setup. Occasionally, one of you will make coffee or suggest ordering food, and you find yourself settling into an easy rhythm despite the bizarre circumstances.

In the evening, after dinner (takeout from a nearby Thai place), you sit together on the couch, the TV playing a movie neither of you is really watching. Your mind keeps returning to the danger lurking outside—and to the stranger who has become your protector.

"Can I ask you something?" you finally say.

Heeseung turns to you, giving you his full attention. "Of course."

"That night on the subway platform... when you helped me..." You hesitate, searching for the right words. "Why did you believe me right away? Most people would have thought I was crazy."

He's quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "The fear in your eyes was real," he finally says. "I've seen that kind of fear before. It's not something people fake." His gaze is steady, sincere. "And honestly, what did I have to lose by helping? If you were making it up, the worst that happens is I feel a little awkward for a few minutes. But if you weren't..." He shrugs. "Then maybe I could help keep someone safe."

His simple explanation touches something deep inside you. In a world where so many people turn away from others' problems, Heeseung's instinct was to step forward, to protect.

"Well," you say softly, "you definitely did that. Twice now."

A small smile tugs at his lips. "And I'll keep doing it until this is over."

Your phones sit side by side on the coffee table, both silent for now. But you know the stalker will contact you again. And when he does, you won't be facing him alone.

In this moment of quiet, with the city lights twinkling beyond the windows and Heeseung's steady presence beside you, you allow yourself to breathe. The danger hasn't passed, but for now, in this space, you're safe. And that's enough.

-

The following day, a detective calls to update you on the case. Heeseung sits next to you on the couch as you put the call on speaker, his presence steady and reassuring.

"We've identified the individual from the security footage," the detective explains, her voice professional but tinged with concern. "His name is Lee Minhyuk. He has a history of stalking behavior."

You feel Heeseung tense beside you. "What kind of history?" he asks.

There's a brief pause on the line. "I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily, but you should both be aware that this isn't his first fixation. He's been linked to at least two similar cases in the past three years."

"And?" you prompt, sensing there's more she isn't saying.

"And in the most recent case, the situation escalated to physical violence." The detective's voice becomes more serious. "The victim had a restraining order in place, but Minhyuk violated it. She was hospitalized with non-life-threatening injuries. He served eight months before being released on good behavior."

Your blood runs cold. Beside you, Heeseung's jaw clenches, his eyes darkening with anger and concern.

"So what happens now?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear churning in your stomach.

"We're actively looking for him," the detective assures you. "We have units checking his known addresses and places of employment. But until we locate him, you need to take every possible precaution."

"What about police protection?" Heeseung asks.

Another pause. "Unfortunately, we don't have the resources to provide continuous protection at this time. We can increase patrols in both your neighborhoods, but—"

"That's not good enough," Heeseung interrupts, frustration evident in his voice. "If this guy is violent—"

"I understand your concern," the detective says. "Believe me, I do. But the best advice I can give you right now is to stay together, maintain awareness of your surroundings, continue documenting any contact he makes, and call 911 immediately if you believe you're in danger."

After hanging up, you sit in stunned silence. The abstract threat has suddenly become terrifyingly concrete—a real person with a name and a violent history.

"Y/N?" Heeseung says softly, concern etched across his features. "Talk to me."

"I didn't think it would be this serious," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "A violent stalker? How is this happening to me?"

Heeseung reaches for your hand, his warm fingers wrapping around yours. "We'll get through this," he says firmly. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We just need to be careful until they find him."

You nod, but the detective's words echo in your mind: escalated to physical violence... hospitalized... released on good behavior.

That night, despite Heeseung's reassurances and the security of his apartment, sleep eludes you. You toss and turn in the guest bed, startling at every small noise in the building. When exhaustion finally pulls you under, your dreams are plagued by shadows and footsteps and cold, unblinking eyes watching you from dark corners.

You wake screaming sometime after 3 AM, drenched in sweat, the nightmare still vivid in your mind. In it, the stalker—Minhyuk—had broken into the apartment and was standing over the bed, watching you sleep, something glinting in his hand.

Before you can fully register what's happening, the bedroom door bursts open and Heeseung is there, hair disheveled from sleep but eyes alert and searching for danger.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" he asks urgently, scanning the room before rushing to your side.

"Nightmare," you manage, still trembling. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to wake you."

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, but concern remains etched across his features. "Don't apologize," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head, embarrassed by your reaction despite the lingering terror. "It was just a bad dream."

Heeseung studies your face for a moment, clearly unconvinced. "Would it help if I stayed? Just until you fall back asleep?"

The offer is so sincere, so free of judgment, that tears spring to your eyes. You nod, unable to voice how desperately you don't want to be alone right now.

Without another word, Heeseung moves to sit with his back against the headboard. After a moment's hesitation, you lay back down, surprised by how much safer you feel with him there. He doesn't touch you, but the sound of his steady breathing eventually lulls you back to sleep.

The pattern repeats the next night, and the next. Each time, the nightmares grow more vivid, more terrifying. Each time, you wake calling Heeseung's name, and each time he's there within moments, a solid presence against the fear.

The third morning after another disrupted night, you find Heeseung already in the kitchen when you emerge from the guest room. Dark circles shadow his eyes—clear evidence of his own interrupted sleep—but he smiles warmly when he sees you.

"Morning," he says, sliding a mug of coffee across the counter. "Just how you like it. Two sugars, splash of milk."

You're touched that he's noticed this detail about you in such a short time. "Thank you. I'm really sorry about last night. Again."

He waves away your apology. "Stop apologizing. It's not your fault."

"But you're exhausted too," you point out, gesturing to the faint shadows under his eyes.

Instead of denying it, Heeseung reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a colorful box. "Nothing that sugar can't fix," he declares with a mischievous grin, presenting the box of Frosted Flakes with a flourish. "Breakfast of champions."

The childish delight on his face as he pours two bowls is so incongruous with the somber situation that you can't help but laugh. "Seriously? Frosted Flakes?"

"Don't judge," he says, defending his choice with mock seriousness. "Tony the Tiger has gotten me through some tough times."

You accept the bowl he offers, taking a bite and exaggerating your enjoyment. "Mmm, you're right. They're grrrreat!"

Your tiger impression is terrible, and it makes Heeseung burst into laughter, nearly choking on his cereal. The sound is bright and genuine, lightening the heaviness that's hung between you for days. For a moment, it's easy to forget why you're here—that somewhere out there, someone is looking for you.

"So," Heeseung says when you've both calmed down, "I was thinking we could watch a movie tonight. Something completely mindless and happy. No suspense, no thriller elements, nothing remotely scary."

"That sounds perfect," you admit.

That evening, after you both finish work, Heeseung makes good on his promise. He builds what can only be described as a pillow fortress on the couch, complete with every cushion and throw blanket in the apartment. He microwaves popcorn and pulls out an assortment of candy that would make a dentist cry.

"What are you, twelve?" you tease, but you're smiling as you say it.

"Sometimes," he admits with a shrug. "Being an adult is overrated."

You settle into the nest of pillows as he scrolls through options on the TV. He ends up selecting an animated film about dragons that's clearly meant for children but is visually stunning enough for adults to enjoy. As the movie plays, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in days, occasionally stealing glances at Heeseung as he laughs unreservedly at the funny parts.

When the movie ends, neither of you makes a move to get up right away. The comfortable silence stretches between you, broken only when Heeseung reaches for his phone.

"Oh God," he says suddenly, covering his mouth to suppress his laughter. "Have you seen this?"

He passes you his phone, showing a ridiculous viral video of a cat walking dramatically to music. It's silly and inconsequential, but soon you're both laughing uncontrollably, sharing more videos and memes back and forth, your shoulders pressed together as you huddle over the small screen.

For the first time since this nightmare began, you feel normal. Just two people enjoying each other's company, finding joy in the absurd corners of the internet. The shared laughter creates a bubble around you both, keeping the fear at bay, if only temporarily.

Eventually, the hour grows late, and you can't suppress a yawn.

"Time for bed," Heeseung says, noticing immediately. Something flickers across his face—concern, perhaps, knowing what sleep has meant for you these past few nights.

On the fourth night, after a particularly brutal nightmare where you couldn't scream, couldn't move as Minhyuk approached, Heeseung makes a gentle suggestion over breakfast.

"Maybe it would help if I just stayed in the room from the start," he offers, his voice careful, non-presumptuous. "The guest bed is plenty big enough. I can sleep on top of the covers if that makes you more comfortable."

The idea of not being alone with your fears is so appealing that you agree without hesitation. "Are you sure you don't mind? I feel like I'm completely disrupting your life."

"You're not," he says simply. "I'd rather be here than listen to you suffer alone."

That evening, a new kind of awkwardness creeps in as bedtime approaches. You've never prepared for sleep knowing Heeseung would be there from the beginning. The nighttime routine you've developed over the past few days—brushing teeth side by side at the dual bathroom sinks, moving around each other with careful politeness—suddenly feels different, charged with awareness.

"I'll give you privacy to change," Heeseung says, retreating from the guest room after retrieving what he needs for the night.

When he returns fifteen minutes later, hair damp from a shower and wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, you've already changed into the pajamas you borrowed from him (a t-shirt so large it reaches mid-thigh and a pair of shorts with a drawstring pulled tight). You're sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through your phone, trying to appear casual though your heart beats a little faster at the sight of him.

"I found something," he says, holding up a small bottle. "Lavender spray for the pillows. My sister swears by it for better sleep." He looks suddenly self-conscious. "It's probably silly—"

"No, it's... that's really thoughtful," you interrupt, genuinely touched by the gesture.

He approaches the bed hesitantly. "May I?"

You nod, and he lightly mists the pillows with the fragrant spray. The gentle scent fills the air, surprisingly comforting.

"And I have one more thing," he adds, reaching into his pocket and producing a small portable speaker. He places it on the nightstand and connects his phone. Soft piano music begins to play, quiet enough to not be distracting. "I use this when I can't turn my brain off after a long day in the studio."

The care he's putting into making you comfortable brings a lump to your throat. "Heeseung, you didn't have to do all this."

He shrugs, a shy smile playing at his lips. "I want you to actually sleep tonight."

You both settle into the bed, Heeseung on top of the covers as promised, you underneath them. Despite the physical barrier of the duvet between you, there's an intimacy to sharing this space intentionally, rather than him rushing in after a nightmare has already claimed you.

"Good night, Y/N," he says softly, reaching to turn off the lamp.

"Good night, Heeseung," you reply, the lavender scent and gentle music already making your eyelids heavy.

You sleep better that night—not perfectly, but the nightmares, when they come, are less intense. Heeseung's presence seems to anchor you, giving your subconscious something to hold onto when the fear threatens to drag you under.

The next morning, you wake to find Heeseung already gone, the side of the bed where he slept neatly made. For a moment, disappointment washes over you until the smell of coffee draws you to the kitchen.

"Perfect timing," he says when he sees you, sliding a plate of toast and scrambled eggs across the counter. "I was just about to come wake you."

"You didn't have to cook," you say, though your stomach growls appreciatively at the sight of the food.

"I didn't mind. Besides, you slept past nine. I was starting to worry you were hibernating." His teasing smile makes the kitchen feel warmer somehow.

Over the next few days, a new rhythm emerges. During daylight hours, you share the apartment comfortably, each working on your respective projects but coming together for meals and breaks. You learn that Heeseung is meticulous about some things (the organization of his music equipment) and charmingly chaotic about others (the state of his sock drawer). He learns that you're grumpy before coffee but surprisingly cheerful during thunderstorms.

Small rituals develop without discussion. Morning coffee prepared just the way you like it waiting for you when you wake up. Evening walks around the secure courtyard of his building, his hand finding yours whenever you pass through a shadowy area. Movie nights where neither of you watches the screen as much as you share childhood stories or debate the merits of different ice cream flavors.

At night, you continue to share the bed, the arrangement becoming less awkward with each passing evening. Your bedtime routine evolves into something almost domestic—Heeseung reading a book while you finish an email, you applying lotion to your hands while he sets the alarm, both of you gravitating to your respective sides of the bed with increasing comfort.

One night, as you're both getting ready for sleep, Heeseung emerges from the bathroom wearing a ridiculous sheet mask that makes him look like a cartoon character.

"What on earth is that?" you ask, unable to contain your laughter.

"Skin care is important," he says with exaggerated seriousness, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. "This one makes me look like a panda. There's a tiger one too if you want to join me."

"Absolutely not," you declare, still giggling.

"Your loss," he shrugs, before lifting his phone. "Wait, this requires documentation."

He sits beside you on the bed, holding up his phone to take a selfie. You try to duck away, but his arm catches you around the shoulders, pulling you into the frame. "Say cheese!"

"I am not posing with you looking like that!" you protest, but you're laughing too hard to resist properly.

He snaps several photos in quick succession, capturing your failed attempts to escape and your helpless laughter. When he shows you the results, you have to admit they're hilarious—Heeseung looking serene in his panda mask while you're caught mid-laugh, head thrown back, joy written across your features.

"Delete those," you demand without any real heat.

"No way," he replies, holding the phone out of your reach. "These are artistic masterpieces."

You make a grab for the phone, but he's quicker, holding it high above his head. What follows is a playful tussle that ends with you both breathless with laughter, the momentary physical contact feeling natural rather than forced or awkward.

Later, when you're both settled in bed, lights off and the now-familiar lavender scent surrounding you, Heeseung speaks softly in the darkness.

"It was good to hear you laugh like that," he says.

You turn toward his voice, though you can only make out his silhouette in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "It felt good to laugh," you admit. "Thank you for... all of this. For making this situation somehow bearable."

"You don't have to thank me," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Besides, now I have blackmail material with those photos."

You swat blindly in his direction, your hand connecting with what feels like his shoulder. He chuckles, the sound warming you from the inside.

By the sixth day of your stay, with no word from the police about Minhyuk's whereabouts, your new routine has solidified. During the day, you both work from the apartment, occasionally sharing meals or brief conversations. In the evenings, you watch movies or talk, carefully avoiding discussion of the situation unless there are new developments. And at night, you sleep in the same bed, the space between you a boundary neither has crossed.

Until tonight.

Something wakes you—not a nightmare this time, but some small sound or shift in the atmosphere. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:17 AM. The room is dark except for the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.

That's when you feel it. The sensation of being watched.

Your eyes dart to the window, heart hammering in your chest. The logical part of your brain knows it's impossible—you're on the twelfth floor, the windows don't open more than a few inches, and there's no balcony or fire escape. But in the shadows cast by the streetlights, every flutter of the curtain looks like movement, every reflection like eyes staring back.

You close your eyes tightly, telling yourself it's just paranoia, just your mind playing tricks in the aftermath of so much stress and fear. But when you open them again, the feeling intensifies. You swear you can see a figure in the darkest corner of the room, watching, waiting.

A sob builds in your throat, but you suppress it, not wanting to wake Heeseung again, not wanting to be more of a burden than you already are. Silent tears slide down your cheeks as you stare at the ceiling, trying to control your breathing, trying to convince yourself you're safe.

But your body betrays you. A small tremor runs through you, then another, until you're shaking with the effort of containing your fear.

Beside you, Heeseung stirs. You feel him turn toward you, hear the soft intake of breath as he realizes you're awake and crying.

"Y/N?" His voice emerges from the darkness, heavy with sleep and barely above a whisper. "What's happening?"

You can hear how deeply he'd been sleeping in the thickness of his words, the way he has to clear his throat softly after speaking. The digital clock reads 2:17 AM.

"I'm sorry," you whisper back, voice breaking. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

There's a rustling of sheets as he shifts beside you. Even in the darkness, you can sense him fighting against the pull of sleep, forcing his eyes to stay open for your sake.

"No, s'okay," he mumbles, words slightly slurred. You feel his hand fumbling across the covers, searching until his fingers find yours. His touch is warm, clumsy with drowsiness. "You're shaking," he observes, concern gradually replacing the grogginess in his voice. "Another nightmare?"

You shake your head, though you're not sure if he can see the gesture in the darkness. "Not exactly. I just... I can't stop feeling like someone's watching me. Like he's here, somehow."

Heeseung makes a soft sound of understanding. You hear him yawn, then feel the mattress dip as he pushes himself up to sitting position. He reaches for the bedside lamp, missing it the first time, his movements slow and uncoordinated. On the second attempt, he manages to switch it on.

The warm glow reveals his face, softened with sleep. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up at odd angles. One cheek bears the imprint of his pillow, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, struggling to stay fully open. Despite his obvious exhaustion, there's nothing but patient concern in his expression as he blinks slowly, trying to focus on you.

"It's just us," he says softly, his voice a comforting rumble in the quiet room. "Just you 'n me here. You're safe."

He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, clearly fighting the heaviness of sleep still clinging to him. The gesture is so innocent, so childlike, that it momentarily distracts you from your fear.

"I know it's irrational," you say, wiping at your tears. "But my brain won't stop. I can't turn it off."

Heeseung's eyes drift closed for a moment before he catches himself, snapping them back open with visible effort. He studies your face, his own expression thoughtful despite the sleep that keeps trying to reclaim him. His eyelids flutter, heavy, but he persists, present with you even as his body begs for rest.

"Can I..." he begins, then pauses to stifle another yawn. "Can I try something? To help distract your mind?"

There's such sincerity in his sleepy determination to help you that you find yourself nodding, willing to try anything to escape the endless loop of fear—and to allow him to go back to sleep.

"Close your eyes," he says, his voice a gentle murmur.

You comply, though a small part of you tenses at the thought of not being able to see any potential threats.

"Focus on my voice," Heeseung continues, his tone soothing despite the drowsiness that makes his words flow together like honey, slow and sweet. "Nothing else matters right now. Just this room..." He yawns again, soft and unguarded. "Just this moment."

The bed shifts as he moves closer, his movements languid with fatigue. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, sense his protective presence drawing nearer despite how desperately his body must be yearning to return to sleep.

You try to follow his instructions, concentrating on the low timbre of his voice, the warmth of his hand still holding yours.

"Y/N," he says, his voice closer now. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

Your eyes fly open in surprise, meeting his serious gaze. There's concern there, and something else—a softness that makes your breath catch.

"To distract your mind," he explains quietly. "Give it something else to focus on besides fear."

The idea is so unexpected, so far from anything you'd anticipated, that it cuts through the panic clouding your thoughts. You find yourself nodding before you've fully processed the request.

Heeseung moves closer, the space between you disappearing as he gently cups your cheek with his free hand. "Tell me to stop if it doesn't help," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

Then his lips meet yours, soft and questioning at first, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But instead of retreating, you find yourself responding, your body instinctively leaning into the contact, seeking comfort and connection.

When his tongue traces the seam of your lips, a soft "mmm" vibrates from his chest—a sound so quietly pleased it makes your stomach flip. You part your lips instinctively, and the moment his tongue slides against yours, a low, satisfied hum rumbles from his throat.

"Is this—" you try to speak, but his tongue sweeps deeper, stealing your words, your thoughts, your very ability to form sentences.

His kiss grows bolder, more insistent, and your brain begins to short-circuit with each stroke of his tongue. The fear that had been cycling through your mind evaporates under the wet heat of his mouth. He tastes faintly of toothpaste and something uniquely him, and when he gently sucks on your bottom lip, he makes another sound—a soft "hmm" that shoots straight down your spine.

You pull back slightly, trying to gather your thoughts. "I—" But that's all you manage before he chases your lips, recapturing them with gentle insistence, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into nothing.

"Shh," he whispers against your mouth, his breath hot against your sensitized lips. "Don't think."

And then he's kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding alongside yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. The hand in your hair tightens just enough to send a shiver through you, and a soft groan—"Mmh"—escapes him when you respond by pressing closer.

His teeth graze your lower lip, and suddenly your mind is completely empty, wiped clean of everything except the sensation of his mouth on yours, his hand in your hair, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating from him.

The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you breathing hard. You open your mouth to speak, to try to articulate how effectively he's scattered your thoughts, but all that comes out is a breathy "I—you—" before words fail you completely.

Heeseung's lips curl into a small smile, understanding in his eyes. "Not thinking anymore?" he asks softly.

You shake your head, unable to string together a coherent sentence. Your brain has turned to absolute mush, every thought process suspended in the warm haze he's created.

"Good," he whispers, and then his lips are on yours again, the gentle scrape of his teeth followed by the soothing slide of his tongue making you gasp. He makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan—"Aahh"—when your fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him closer.

Time loses all meaning as he kisses you again and again, each one melting into the next until you're not sure where one ends and another begins. Sometimes gentle and exploring, sometimes deeper and more intense, but always with that same effect—emptying your mind until there's nothing but sensation.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing uneven, pupils dilated in the dim light, you try once more to speak. "That was—" But the words won't come, your brain still offline, thoughts scattered like confetti.

"Did it help?" he asks, his voice rougher now, lower.

You nod, surprised to find that forming words feels like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. "My—" you start, then swallow and try again. "Brain... empty," is all you manage to articulate, gesturing vaguely at your head.

A smile touches his lips, genuine and slightly pleased. "Good," he says simply, his thumb brushing your lower lip, still sensitive from his attention. The small touch sends another wave of blankness washing through your mind.

He starts to move back to his side of the bed, and you make a small sound of protest, hand reaching out to stop him. Again, you try to speak, to ask him to stay close, but all that comes out is a breathy "Don't—" before words fail you once more.

Understanding flickers in his eyes. He settles beside you, closer this time, one arm wrapping around your waist as you turn toward him. The position brings your faces close together, your breath mingling in the small space between you.

"Better?" he asks.

"Much better," you admit.

He kisses you again, slower this time, more deliberate. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. Each kiss blurs the edges of your thoughts more, until your mind is blissfully, wonderfully blank—no fear, no stalker, no danger. Just Heeseung, his lips on yours, his arms around you, making you feel safer than locked doors or security systems ever could.

When exhaustion finally begins to reclaim you, Heeseung presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead. "Sleep," he murmurs. "I'm right here."

And for the first time in days, you drift off without fear, your head tucked against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm in your ear—a constant reminder that you're not alone.

The nightmares don't come again that night.

-

Sunlight filters through the curtains when you wake the next morning. For the first time in days, you've slept through the night without nightmares. The space beside you is empty, but the sheets still hold the faint warmth of Heeseung's body. You stretch, a strange mixture of embarrassment and comfort washing over you as memories of the previous night return—his lips on yours, the way your mind had emptied of everything but sensation, how easily you'd fallen asleep afterwards.

The sound of movement in the kitchen draws you from the bed. You brush your teeth and attempt to tame your sleep-rumpled hair before venturing out, unsure what to expect after crossing such an intimate boundary with someone who was a stranger just a week ago.

Heeseung stands at the counter, back to you, humming softly as he measures coffee grounds. He's wearing a faded t-shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, his hair still mussed from sleep. The scene is so domestic, so normal, that for a moment you forget why you're here—that somewhere out there, someone is looking for you with dangerous intent.

He turns at the sound of your approach, a soft smile spreading across his face. No awkwardness, no regret, just warmth.

"Morning," he says. "Sleep okay?"

You nod, relief washing over you at his easy manner. "Better than I have in days."

He pushes a mug of coffee across the counter—already prepared the way you like it. The simple gesture of remembrance makes your chest tighten with something you're not ready to name.

"Thanks," you say, taking a sip to hide whatever might be showing on your face. "For the coffee. And for... last night."

Heeseung's expression softens, understanding in his eyes. "You don't have to thank me for that."

An almost comfortable silence settles between you as you both drink your coffee, the events of last night hanging in the air—acknowledged but not discussed.

"I thought I'd make us a real breakfast," you finally say, needing to do something, to contribute somehow to this strange partnership that's formed. "Since you've been cooking for me all week."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," you interrupt, already moving toward the refrigerator. "It's the least I can do."

Heeseung watches with amusement as you examine the contents of his fridge. "What did you have in mind?"

"How do you feel about omelets? You have vegetables that need to be used."

"Omelets sound perfect," he says, leaning against the counter as you gather ingredients.

The simple task of cooking is grounding. You wash and chop bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, concentrating on the steady rhythm of the knife against the cutting board. Heeseung moves around you, setting the table, occasionally brushing against you in the small kitchen. Each brief contact sends a small jolt through you—not unpleasant, just heightened awareness.

You're halfway through dicing an onion when a notification sound from your phone breaks the peaceful bubble. Your hand falters, the knife slipping slightly. It's probably nothing—an email from work, a news alert, anything—but your heart instantly accelerates, your mind immediately jumping to the worst possibility.

Heeseung notices the change immediately. "Hey," he says gently. "Want me to check it?"

You nod, hating how easily your calm has been shattered, how quickly fear reclaims its hold. Heeseung picks up your phone from the counter, checks the screen, and his shoulders relax.

"It's just an email from someone named Sarah. Subject line says 'Project Updates.'"

Relief weakens your knees. Just work. Not him.

But the damage is done. Your hands have begun to tremble, and the vegetables in front of you blur slightly as your mind slips back into the spiral of fear. What if he figures out where Heeseung lives? What if he's watching the building right now? What if—

"Y/N." Heeseung's voice, closer now. You didn't notice him move, but suddenly he's right behind you, his chest nearly touching your back. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine," you lie, but the knife trembles visibly in your grip.

Heeseung gently removes the knife from your hand, setting it safely on the cutting board. Then his hands are on your shoulders, warm and steadying, turning you to face him. You expect to see pity in his eyes, but there's only warmth and understanding.

"You're not fine," he says softly. "And that's okay."

"I hate this," you whisper, frustration bleeding through the fear. "I hate that one notification can do this to me. I hate that he has this power."

Heeseung's hands slide from your shoulders to cup your face, his touch so gentle it makes your breath catch. "He doesn't have power over you," he says firmly. "This reaction—it's just your brain trying to protect you. It's not weakness."

You close your eyes, trying to believe him, trying to slow the racing of your heart. When you feel his breath against your cheek, your eyes flutter open to find his face much closer, his gaze questioning.

"Let me help you think about something else," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a register that immediately sends warmth spreading through your chest.

You nod, barely perceptible, and then his lips are at your jawline, not quite kissing, just brushing against the skin there. Your hands find his waist, needing something to anchor you as he traces a path down to your neck. When his mouth settles against the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, a small sigh escapes you.

The first gentle scrape of his teeth against your skin makes your thoughts scatter like startled birds. He follows it with the soothing warmth of his tongue, and your grip on his t-shirt tightens involuntarily.

"Is this okay?" he whispers against your skin.

"Yes," you breathe, tilting your head to give him better access. "Don't stop."

His lips curve into a smile against your neck, and then he's kissing the spot again, more purposefully this time. One hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other rests at the small of your back, drawing you closer until you're fully pressed against him.

The fear that had been building melts away with each press of his lips, each gentle scrape of teeth. Your mind empties of everything but the sensation of his mouth on your skin, the solid warmth of his body against yours, the faint scent of sleep and coffee that clings to him.

When he finds a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, your knees actually weaken. Heeseung notices, his arm tightening around your waist to support you.

"Still thinking about the notification?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

You try to respond, but your brain feels deliciously fuzzy, unable to form words. Instead, you shake your head, managing only a soft "Mmm" that makes him chuckle.

"Good," he says, pulling back slightly to look at your face. His pupils are dilated, lips slightly parted, and the sight sends another wave of warmth through you. "Because the eggs are getting warm and the vegetables are only half-chopped."

It takes a moment for his words to register through the pleasant haze in your mind. When they do, you glance back at the abandoned breakfast preparations on the counter and can't help but laugh. "Oh god, I forgot all about breakfast."

Heeseung's answering smile is bright enough to chase away the last lingering shadows of your fear. "Mission accomplished then."

You reluctantly step out of his embrace, turning back to the cutting board. "Let me finish this before I get distracted again."

"Distracted? By what?" he teases, but he keeps a respectful distance as you resume chopping, though his eyes never leave you.

The rest of the morning passes in a comfortable rhythm. You finish making breakfast together, moving around each other in the kitchen with growing ease. The omelets turn out perfect, and the simple accomplishment of creating a meal feels significant somehow—a small island of normalcy in the storm of the past week.

After breakfast, you settle in to work on your design project, which your boss has been understanding enough to let you complete remotely. Heeseung works on his music in the corner of the living room, occasionally humming or playing soft melodies on his keyboard. The peaceful coexistence reminds you of how it might feel to share a space with someone by choice, not necessity.

But reality intrudes every time you check your email or glance at your phone. Each notification makes your heart stutter, each unknown number that calls either of your phones sends a spike of adrenaline through your system. The stalker hasn't contacted you today, but his absence feels more like the calm before a storm than any true reprieve.

By late afternoon, your eyes are burning from staring at your laptop screen, and the tension in your shoulders has returned despite your best efforts to focus on work. You save your design file and stretch, rolling your neck to release the stiffness.

Heeseung glances up from his keyboard, noting your discomfort. "Break time," he announces decisively. "You've been hunched over that laptop for hours."

"I need to finish this project," you protest weakly, but your body betrays you with another stretch.

"The project will still be there after a proper break," he counters, standing and moving toward the kitchen. "I'm making tea. Then we're going to do something completely unproductive for at least an hour."

You find yourself smiling at his determined tone. "Is that so? What did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking..." he pauses dramatically, filling the kettle with water, "a heated battle of Mario Kart."

The suggestion is so unexpected, so delightfully normal, that you laugh. "Mario Kart? Really?"

"Don't tell me you're scared of a little competition," he challenges, raising an eyebrow as he sets the kettle on the stove. "Unless you don't think you can beat me."

"Oh, it's on," you declare, grateful for the distraction. "I'll have you know I was the reigning champion among my college roommates."

"We'll see about that," he grins, the playful light in his eyes making him look younger, carefree—a glimpse of who he might be outside the strange circumstances that have thrown you together.

The promised hour turns into two as you both get increasingly competitive, shouting good-natured insults at each other when one pulls ahead or drops a particularly well-timed shell. You haven't laughed this much in days—maybe weeks—and the release of endorphins leaves you feeling lighter, the constant undercurrent of fear temporarily pushed to the background.

"That's it, I'm cutting you off," Heeseung declares after you beat him for the fifth time in a row. "You're too good at this. It's embarrassing for me."

You raise your controller in victory. "Told you I was the champion."

"Yeah, yeah," he concedes with a mock scowl that quickly melts into a genuine smile. "Hungry yet? I was thinking we could order in. Maybe that Thai place again?"

"Sounds perfect," you agree.

As Heeseung pulls up the restaurant's menu on his phone, you find yourself studying him—the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, the gentle slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips. The lips that were on your neck this morning, that were on your mouth last night, emptying your mind of everything but sensation. Something warm unfurls in your chest at the memory.

He looks up suddenly, catching you watching him. Instead of looking away, embarrassed, you hold his gaze. A moment of silent understanding passes between you—an acknowledgment that whatever is happening between you isn't just about distraction or safety anymore.

Heeseung breaks the moment first, clearing his throat slightly. "The usual? Or did you want to try something different?"

"The usual is fine," you say, grateful for his tact in not drawing attention to the charged moment.

After placing the order, you both gravitate back to the couch, but with a new awareness of each other. You sit closer than necessary, your thigh just barely touching his. When he reaches for the remote to turn on the TV, his arm brushes yours, and neither of you moves away from the contact.

He finds a cooking competition show that requires minimal attention, and you settle in to watch, the domestic scene surreal in its normalcy. At some point, his arm drapes over the back of the couch behind you, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel his warmth.

"This is nice," you say after a while, the words slipping out without conscious thought.

Heeseung glances at you, his expression softening. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "It is."

His fingers begin to play absently with a strand of your hair that falls over the couch. The gentle tugging sensation sends pleasant shivers down your spine, and you find yourself leaning subtly into the touch. Each brush of his fingers against your neck seems to short-circuit a different part of your brain until you're barely processing the show at all, focused instead on the points of contact between you.

The doorbell rings, startling you both. Heeseung's hand withdraws from your hair as he stands to answer it.

"That'll be the food," he says, but you notice he checks the peephole carefully before opening the door.

The reminder of the danger lurking outside your temporary sanctuary dampens your mood slightly. As you set up dinner on the coffee table, your phone buzzes with an incoming email. You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth, that familiar dread pooling in your stomach.

Heeseung notices your reaction and reaches for your phone. "Want me to check it?"

You nod, setting your food down, no longer hungry.

He scans the screen, relief washing over his features. "It's just a receipt from the Thai place." He hands the phone back to you. "We're okay."

But the moment has been tainted. The fear is back, hovering at the edges of your consciousness, threatening to overwhelm the fragile peace you've built throughout the day. You push your food around on your plate, appetite gone.

Heeseung watches you for a moment, then sets his own plate down. Without a word, he shifts closer to you on the couch, his thigh pressing firmly against yours now. When his hand comes up to tilt your chin toward him, you meet his eyes without resistance.

"He's not here," Heeseung says softly. "Right now, in this moment, it's just us. Okay?"

"Okay," you whisper, trying to believe him.

His thumb traces your lower lip gently, and your body responds instantly to the touch, a pleasant haziness beginning to cloud the edges of your fear. When he leans in, you meet him halfway, your lips finding his with growing familiarity.

This kiss is different from the others—not desperate or distracting, but slow and deliberate. His tongue slides against yours with unhurried confidence, and your mind begins to empty in that now-familiar way, thoughts evaporating like morning dew under the sun.

By the time he pulls back, you've forgotten what triggered your fear in the first place. Your food sits cooling on the coffee table, entirely unimportant compared to the warmth spreading through your body.

"Better?" he asks, his voice lower than usual.

You nod, offering a small smile. "You're getting good at that."

"At what?" There's a playful glint in his eye that makes your heart skip.

"Turning my brain off."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his expression growing more serious. "For as long as you need it," he promises.

The rest of the evening passes in comfortable closeness. You eventually return to your food, eating while leaning against each other on the couch. When you finally head to bed, the routine feels both new and familiar at once—brushing teeth side by side, Heeseung waiting in the hallway while you change, the brief moment of adjustment as you both settle into the bed.

But tonight, there's less space between you than before. He still stays on top of the covers while you slip underneath, but when you turn off the lamp, his hand finds yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining naturally.

"Good night, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep.

"Good night, Heeseung," you reply, squeezing his hand gently.

You fall asleep with his fingers still linked with yours, the weight of his hand an anchor against the night terrors that might come. Your last thought before drifting off is that you've never felt safer than in this strange limbo—trapped by circumstances beyond your control, yet somehow freer than you've been in a long time.

The morning comes too quickly, sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains and painting a stripe of gold across the bed. You wake to find yourself curled toward Heeseung, who's still asleep on his side facing you. In sleep, his face is completely relaxed, all traces of vigilance gone, making him look younger and impossibly vulnerable.

You allow yourself a moment to simply look at him, to memorize the sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the slight part of his lips, the way his hair falls across his forehead. There's a strange ache in your chest at the sight—gratitude mixed with something deeper that you're not ready to name.

As if sensing your gaze, his eyes flutter open, landing immediately on your face. A slow, sleepy smile spreads across his features, unguarded and genuine.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you whisper back, strangely reluctant to break the peaceful bubble around you.

Neither of you moves for a long moment, content to exist in this quiet space between night and day, between danger and safety, between strangers and something more. Then reality intrudes in the form of his buzzing phone on the nightstand.

Heeseung rolls over with a groan, reaching for the device. As he checks the screen, his body goes rigid, sleep vanishing in an instant.

"What is it?" you ask, dread already pooling in your stomach.

He sits up, running a hand through his hair as he reads whatever message has appeared. When he turns back to you, his expression is carefully controlled, but you can see the tension around his eyes.

"It's from the detective," he says carefully. "Minhyuk was spotted near my building yesterday."

The fragile peace of the morning shatters completely. Fear rushes back in with a vengeance, your heart rate spiking so quickly you feel light-headed.

"He knows I'm here?" Your voice sounds distant to your own ears, panic rising like a tide.

Heeseung's hand finds yours, squeezing tightly. "We don't know that for sure. But the detective thinks we should consider relocating, just to be safe."

"Where would we even go?" The thought of leaving this apartment—the only place you've felt secure in days—sends another wave of anxiety through you.

"I might have an idea," Heeseung says, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. "But first, breakfast. And coffee. Lots of coffee."

You nod, clinging to his steady presence as your mind races with terrifying possibilities. The tiny window of normalcy you'd carved out for yourselves is closing, and the world with all its dangers is forcing its way back in.

But as Heeseung helps you to your feet, his hand never leaving yours, you realize something important: whatever comes next, you're no longer facing it alone. And for now, that will have to be enough.

-

The detective's news about Minhyuk being spotted near Heeseung's building leaves you both on edge. Despite Heeseung's attempts at normalcy—breakfast, coffee, casual conversation—there's a new tension in the air, a heightened vigilance in the way he frequently checks his phone and glances at the door.

You try to work on your design project, but concentration is impossible. Your mind keeps conjuring images of Minhyuk watching the building, waiting, planning. By mid-afternoon, you've accomplished almost nothing, your anxiety a living thing crawling beneath your skin.

That's when your phone chimes with a new email notification.

You freeze, looking up to find Heeseung already watching you from across the room, his expression tense. Without a word, he crosses to where you sit, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder as you open the message.

The subject line is blank. The sender's address is unfamiliar—a string of random numbers and letters.

Your trembling finger taps the message open.

There's no text, just an image: a photograph of you and Heeseung standing in his kitchen from earlier that morning, clearly taken through the window of his apartment. The angle suggests it was shot from the building across the street. Below the photo is a single line of text:

"Glass won't protect you forever."

A strangled sound escapes your throat as the phone slips from your fingers, clattering to the floor. Heeseung snatches it up, his face darkening as he views the message.

"That's not possible," he mutters, moving quickly to the windows. "We're twelve floors up."

But as he pulls back the curtain to scan the building opposite, you feel it start—the tightening in your chest, the sudden inability to pull in enough air, the roaring in your ears. The room seems to tilt and spin around you.

"He can see us," you gasp, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. "He's watching us right now. He can see us right now."

Heeseung is at your side instantly, closing the curtains and guiding you away from the windows. "Y/N, breathe. You need to breathe."

But you can't. Your lungs refuse to cooperate, each shallow gasp more painful than the last. Dark spots dance at the edges of your vision, and your hands have gone numb, fingers tingling.

"He's going to—he's going to—" You can't even finish the thought, terror consuming every rational part of your mind.

"Y/N, look at me," Heeseung says firmly, his hands framing your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Focus on me. Just me."

He tries all the techniques that have worked before—deep breathing instructions, gentle reassurances, even pressing his lips to yours in that way that usually empties your mind. But the panic is too overwhelming, the fear too visceral. Even his kiss, which normally blanks your thoughts completely, barely makes a dent in the terror.

When he pulls back, your breathing is still erratic, tears streaming down your face. "It's not working," you choke out. "I can't—I can't turn it off. My mind won't stop."

The helplessness in Heeseung's eyes is devastating. "Tell me what you need. Anything."

"Make it stop," you beg, clutching at his shirt. "Please, I don't care what you have to do. Make me go dumb. Turn my brain off. I can't take it anymore."

His eyes darken at your words, understanding dawning in his expression. "Y/N..."

"Please," you whisper, desperation making your voice crack. "Fuck me until I can't think anymore. Until I can't remember my own name. I need to not be in my head right now. I need everything to just stop."

Heeseung's breath catches, his pupils dilating until there's just a thin ring of brown around the black. You watch the struggle play out on his face—desire warring with concern, restraint battling with the need to help you.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice lower than you've ever heard it. "Because if we do this... I want to help you, Y/N, more than anything. But I don't know if I'll be able to hold back once we start."

A sob escapes you, your hands fisting in his shirt. "I don't want you to hold back. I want you to make me forget everything but you." You're openly crying now, beyond shame or hesitation. "Please, Heeseung. Please make it all go away."

Something snaps in his expression. His hand slides into your hair, gripping firmly as he searches your eyes one last time. Whatever he sees there must convince him, because in the next moment, his mouth crashes against yours with none of the gentleness from before.

This kiss is different—hungry, almost desperate. His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, demanding rather than asking. One arm locks around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he walks you backward until your back hits the wall.

When his teeth sink into your lower lip, pain mingling with pleasure, your thoughts begin to splinter. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs, and your mind fragments further.

"Tell me to stop and I will," he says against your mouth, his breathing ragged. "At any point."

"Don't stop," you gasp. "Don't you dare stop."

His eyes meet yours, something primal and protective darkening his gaze. "I'm going to help you forget everything," he promises, his voice a rough whisper. "Everything but this."

Heeseung's eyes lock onto yours, dark with a raw intensity that makes your heart pound violently in your chest. His fingers twist harshly into your hair, pulling your head back sharply, fully exposing your vulnerable throat. His lips crash against your skin roughly, teeth biting deeply, marking you as his own with bruising kisses that send sparks of pain and pleasure shooting through your veins.

Your breathing is ragged, erratic, your entire body trembling beneath him. His other hand moves urgently down your body, gripping your waist tightly, fingertips pressing deep enough into your flesh to leave bruises, marking you unmistakably as his. You arch your body against his, desperate for more contact, craving the harsh intensity that only he can provide.

"Harder," you plead breathlessly, voice quivering with desperation. "Heeseung, please—use me, ruin me. Make me forget everything else."

A dark, feral growl tears from his throat, his eyes blazing dangerously as he claims your mouth roughly, tongue pushing aggressively past your lips. You moan helplessly into the kiss, surrendering completely to his dominating embrace, your nails scratching feverishly down his back, urging him to take you harder, deeper, to erase every lingering thought from your mind.

Heeseung breaks away, his breath hot and ragged as he trails searing kisses down your trembling body, biting roughly at your collarbone, chest, and stomach, each sharp nip igniting fiery jolts of pain and pleasure that tear gasps from your lips. You writhe helplessly beneath him, mind unraveling with each aggressive touch.

"Please," you beg desperately, voice nearly incoherent, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Heeseung, I’ll do anything. Anything you want, just—just make me forget."

A fierce, primal growl resonates from deep in his chest. "Anything?" he rasps darkly, his eyes blazing with barely controlled hunger. "You're going to regret saying that, sweetheart."

He pushes your thighs apart roughly, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze. His mouth descends aggressively, tongue plunging deep and fast, consuming you without mercy. You scream out sharply, hips bucking uncontrollably against him, your hands clutching desperately at his hair, pulling him even closer. Every intense, relentless movement of his tongue drives you closer to a devastating climax.

But before you reach that peak, he stops abruptly, leaving you sobbing in frustration. Your eyes plead desperately for release as you gasp, "Please—don't stop."

Heeseung positions himself swiftly over you, gripping your hips with bruising intensity, plunging deep and brutally into your aching core without warning, tearing a raw scream from your throat. He sets an unforgiving pace, each powerful thrust ruthlessly tearing apart your remaining thoughts, overwhelming you completely.

"Feel that?" he snarls roughly, hips pounding mercilessly against yours. "That's me claiming you. I'm going to fuck every last thought out of your head until you're nothing but mine."

His filthy, possessive words make your entire body shake uncontrollably, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cry out shamelessly for more. His grip tightens painfully on your wrists, pinning them roughly above your head as his hips drive harder, deeper, faster, each brutal thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

"You're mine," he growls harshly into your ear, teeth scraping your sensitive skin. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you choke out weakly, mind fracturing under the relentless assault of sensation.

"Louder," he demands fiercely, slamming even harder into you, movements ruthless and unyielding.

"I'm yours!" you scream, voice cracking from the intensity.

"Good girl," he snarls, rewarding you with deeper, fiercer thrusts, pushing your body to its absolute limits. His hand wraps around your throat firmly, just enough to make your vision blur, enhancing every overwhelming sensation tenfold.

Your body writhes violently beneath him, unable to form coherent words anymore, reduced to sobbing gasps and broken pleas. Heeseung continues relentlessly, his body driving into yours mercilessly until you're utterly consumed, your mind blanking entirely, eyes glazing over, unable to do anything but feel him, hear him, lose yourself completely to him.

"Cum for me," he commands roughly, his voice low and dangerously seductive. "Show me exactly how completely you belong to me."

Your body reacts instantly, violently, shattering beneath him into waves of devastating pleasure that tear through you, obliterating any remaining thought. You collapse, trembling uncontrollably, completely and utterly surrendered to him, mind blissfully empty, lost entirely in the overwhelming force of his claim.

Then his hands and mouth begin their relentless campaign to empty your mind completely, and thinking becomes impossible.

-

Hours later, you lie boneless and spent in Heeseung's arms, your mind blissfully, wonderfully blank. No fear, no anxiety, no thoughts of Minhyuk or danger or what comes next. Just the pleasant hum of your body and the steady rhythm of Heeseung's heartbeat beneath your ear.

He's been silent for a while, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare shoulder. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft with something that might be concern.

"Are you okay?"

You have to concentrate to form words, your brain still deliciously fuzzy around the edges. "Mmm. Better than okay."

His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. "I didn't hurt you?"

You shake your head against his chest. "You did exactly what I needed."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel his lips press against the top of your head. "Your mind quiet now?"

"Completely empty," you murmur, surprised to find yourself smiling. "Mission accomplished."

You feel rather than see his answering smile, his whole body relaxing beneath yours. For several long moments, you both drift in comfortable silence, the world beyond this bed temporarily forgotten.

Until Heeseung's phone buzzes on the nightstand.

The tension returns to his body immediately, but he doesn't move to check it, unwilling to disturb the peace you've found. The phone buzzes again, more insistent this time.

"You should get that," you say softly. "It might be important."

Reluctantly, he reaches for the phone, keeping you tucked against him with his other arm. You watch his face as he reads the message, preparing yourself for bad news.

"It's the detective," he says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "She thinks we should consider temporary relocation—somewhere Minhyuk wouldn't think to look."

The fear starts to creep back in at the edges of your consciousness, but you fight it, focusing on the warmth of Heeseung's body against yours, the lingering pleasant numbness in your limbs.

"She says they can arrange a safe house, but it would take a few days." He scrolls through more of the message. "Or... we could go somewhere on our own. Somewhere only we know about."

You push yourself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "Like where?"

A thoughtful expression crosses his face. "My family has a cabin in the mountains. It's remote, secure. Only a handful of people even know it exists."

"How far?"

"About three hours' drive. Completely isolated." His eyes search yours. "We'd be alone out there."

The thought should be terrifying after everything that's happened, but instead it brings an unexpected sense of relief. Somewhere Minhyuk can't find you. Somewhere you could breathe again.

"When can we leave?" you ask.

Heeseung studies your face, perhaps looking for signs of fear or hesitation. "Tomorrow morning, first light. We'll need to be careful, make sure we're not followed."

You nod, settling back against his chest. "Tomorrow then."

His arm wraps around you again, protective and warm. "Get some rest," he murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead. "I'll be right here."

As sleep begins to claim you, one last coherent thought floats through your mind: whatever happens next, whatever Minhyuk tries, you're not alone. You have Heeseung—your protector, your sanctuary.

Your mind emptier.

-

You wake before dawn, the sky outside still ink-dark. For a moment, you forget why you're rising so early—then memories of yesterday's message flood back. Minhyuk knows where you are. You're no longer safe here.

Heeseung is already up, moving quietly around the apartment, packing essentials into a duffel bag. He pauses when he notices you watching him, a small smile crossing his face despite the tension in his shoulders.

"Morning," he says softly. "I was trying not to wake you."

"I don't think I was really sleeping," you admit, sitting up. "Too much on my mind."

He crosses to sit beside you on the bed, his hand finding yours. "We'll be okay," he promises. "The cabin is safe. My family's owned it for generations, and it's not listed under my name. There's no way he could trace it."

You nod, drawing strength from his certainty. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just pack whatever you need for a week or so. Clothes, toiletries. I've got everything else covered—food, first aid supplies." He squeezes your hand. "And we should get moving soon. I want to be on the road before the city wakes up."

Thirty minutes later, you're both ready. The apartment is locked down—lights on timers to simulate occupancy, mail delivery paused. Heeseung has even arranged for a neighbor to occasionally move his car in the garage to maintain the illusion that you're both still here.

The detective has been notified of your plans, though not your specific destination. "Just tell her we're heading north," Heeseung had instructed during your call. "The fewer people who know exactly where we are, the better."

Dawn is just breaking as you slip into Heeseung's car in the underground parking garage. He drives cautiously, taking a circuitous route through the awakening city, frequently checking the rearview mirror for any signs of being followed.

"You really think he could track us?" you ask, watching Heeseung's vigilant eyes scanning the traffic behind you.

"I'm not taking any chances," he says simply. "Not with your safety."

The city gradually gives way to suburbs, then to open countryside. With each mile that passes, you feel the vise-grip of fear around your chest loosening slightly. By the time you're an hour into the journey, the weight of constant vigilance has lightened enough that you notice your surroundings—the spectacular autumn colors painting the landscape, the mountains rising in the distance, shrouded in morning mist.

Heeseung must notice your gaze, because he reaches across the console to take your hand. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

You nod, surprised to find yourself capable of appreciating beauty after days of seeing only danger. "I didn't realize how much I needed to get out of the city."

His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand. "We both did."

The drive continues, winding steadily upward into the mountains. Cell service becomes increasingly spotty, then disappears altogether. The isolation that would have terrified you days ago now feels like a blessing—a barrier between you and the danger you've left behind.

"Almost there," Heeseung says as he turns onto a narrow dirt road that seems to disappear into the forest. "It's a bit hidden."

'A bit hidden' proves to be an understatement. The road—little more than a trail—winds through dense trees for nearly a mile before suddenly opening into a small clearing. And there, nestled against a backdrop of pines with a breathtaking view of the valley below, stands the cabin.

It's not what you expected—not the rustic, primitive structure the word "cabin" had conjured in your mind. This is a beautifully crafted home of stone and timber, with large windows facing the valley and a wide porch wrapping around two sides.

"Heeseung," you breathe, taking in the scene. "This is..."

"Home," he says simply, a soft smile playing at his lips as he watches your reaction. "At least, it always has been for me."

He parks beside the cabin and comes around to open your door, offering his hand to help you out. The mountain air hits you immediately—crisp, pine-scented, revitalizing. You take a deep breath, feeling something tight in your chest unfurl.

"Come on," Heeseung says, retrieving your bags from the trunk. "Let's get inside before it gets cold."

The interior of the cabin is even more beautiful than the exterior—an open-concept living area with soaring ceilings, the far wall dominated by a stone fireplace. The furnishings are simple but high-quality, clearly chosen to complement the natural surroundings. Large windows frame the valley view like living paintings.

"This is incredible," you say, turning slowly to take it all in. "Your family built this?"

"My grandfather," Heeseung confirms, setting the bags down. "He wanted a place where the family could escape, reconnect with nature. I spent every summer here as a kid." A wistful smile crosses his face. "Haven't been back in a couple of years though. Work always seemed more important somehow."

You move to the windows, gazing out at the panoramic view. The valley stretches below you, a patchwork of golds and reds and deep greens in the autumn sunlight. In the distance, more mountains rise, their peaks ghostly in the afternoon haze.

"I've never seen anything like this," you admit, momentarily forgetting why you're here—not a vacation, but an escape from danger.

Heeseung comes to stand behind you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. "Good," he says softly. "I wanted you to see something beautiful after everything you've been through."

The simple statement, so earnest and thoughtful, brings unexpected tears to your eyes. You turn to face him, finding his gaze already on you, warm and steady.

"Thank you," you whisper. "For all of this. For keeping me safe."

His expression softens further. "You don't have to thank me."

"I do," you insist. "Most people wouldn't have done half of what you have for someone they barely know."

Something shifts in his eyes at that. "I think we're well past 'barely know,' don't you?"

Heat rises to your cheeks as memories of yesterday flood back—his hands on your skin, his mouth on yours, the way he'd made you forget everything but him. "Yes," you agree quietly. "I guess we are."

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken things. Then Heeseung clears his throat, stepping back slightly. "I should get the generator going and check the water. Make yourself at home."

As he busies himself with the practical aspects of opening the cabin, you explore the space that will be your sanctuary for the foreseeable future. Besides the main living area, there's a well-equipped kitchen, a bathroom with a surprisingly modern shower, and two bedrooms—one large, one small. You peek into the larger one, noting the king-sized bed with its blue-and-white quilt, the bedside tables with reading lamps, the large window offering the same spectacular view as the living room.

Your exploration is interrupted by Heeseung's return. "Everything's working," he announces. "Water's running, generator's humming along. We're all set." He glances at his watch. "I should try to call the detective while we still have daylight. The satellite phone works better outside."

You nod, suddenly remembering the reason for this idyllic retreat. "I'll unpack some of the food supplies."

While Heeseung steps onto the porch with the satellite phone, you busy yourself in the kitchen, organizing the groceries you picked up on the drive. The domesticity of the task is soothing—arranging canned goods in cupboards, filling the refrigerator with fresh produce, setting out cooking utensils. For a few minutes, it's possible to pretend this is just a vacation, a romantic getaway rather than a desperate flight from danger.

When Heeseung returns, his expression is more relaxed than before. "Good news," he says, setting the satellite phone on the counter. "They've got leads on Minhyuk. Apparently he's been spotted in the city, which means he doesn't know we've left."

Relief floods through you. "So we're safe here?"

"For now, at least," he confirms. "The detective says to stay put. They'll contact us as soon as they have him in custody."

You lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted as the tension of the day catches up with you. "So what do we do now?"

Heeseung steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with gentle fingers. "Now," he says softly, "we rest. We breathe. We let ourselves feel safe for a while."

"I'm not sure I remember what that feels like," you admit.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. "Then I'll help you remember," he promises.

The first evening in the cabin passes in a peaceful haze. Heeseung builds a fire in the massive stone hearth while you prepare a simple dinner from the supplies you brought. The routine feels surprisingly natural—him pausing to taste the sauce you're making, you passing him logs for the fire, both of you moving around each other with an ease that belies how new this closeness really is.

After dinner, you settle on the comfortable sofa facing the fireplace, a blanket draped over both of you. Outside, night has fallen completely, the darkness absolute in a way it never is in the city. Inside, the fire casts dancing shadows on the walls, bathing everything in warm golden light.

"What are you thinking?" Heeseung asks, noticing your contemplative expression.

You consider the question, surprised by your answer. "That I can't remember the last time I felt this calm."

His arm around your shoulders tightens slightly. "Good. That's what I wanted for you here."

You turn to look at him, studying his face in the firelight—the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the warmth in his eyes as he returns your gaze. Something swells in your chest, a feeling too new and fragile to name.

"What about you?" you ask. "What were you thinking?"

A small smile plays at his lips. "That I've never brought anyone here before. Not like this."

The admission sends a pleasant warmth spreading through you. "Not even your...?"

"No," he says simply. "No one. This place has always been just for family." He pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. "But having you here feels right somehow."

The words hang in the air between you, weighted with meaning. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you both lean in, lips meeting in a kiss that's different from any you've shared before—not desperate or distracting, but slow and deliberate, a question and an answer all at once.

When you break apart, something has shifted between you yet again. The pretense that this is merely about safety, about distraction from fear, has fallen away completely. What remains is something new and uncharted, fragile but intensely real.

"It's getting late," Heeseung murmurs, though he makes no move to pull away. "We should probably get some sleep."

The practical concern brings a sudden awkwardness. There are two bedrooms in the cabin, but after everything that's happened between you, the thought of sleeping apart feels strange, almost wrong.

As if reading your thoughts, Heeseung adds hesitantly, "I can take the small room if you want space, or..."

"No," you say quickly—too quickly perhaps. "I mean, I'd rather not be alone. If that's okay."

The smile that spreads across his face is like sunrise. "More than okay," he assures you.

The nighttime routine you establish feels like an extension of the easy domesticity you've been building—brushing teeth side by side at the single bathroom sink, taking turns changing in the bedroom, pulling back the covers together. When you finally settle into bed, Heeseung's arm wraps around your waist, drawing you against his chest as naturally as if you've been falling asleep this way for years.

"Good night, Y/N," he murmurs, lips brushing the nape of your neck.

"Good night, Heeseung," you whisper back, marveling at how quickly terror has given way to tranquility.

As you drift toward sleep, one last coherent thought forms in your mind: here, miles from civilization, cut off from the world, entirely alone with a man who was a stranger just days ago, you've never felt safer in your life.

-

Heeseung's eyes soften, his gaze lingering warmly on yours as sunlight filters through the window, bathing your tangled bodies in golden warmth. His thumb brushes gently over your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine.

Over the next few days, your intimacy deepens, boundaries dissolving entirely as your desire grows increasingly insatiable. Mornings find you waking to his warm body pressed firmly against yours, his hands already exploring your skin, teasing sensitive spots until you're fully awake, panting and desperate for him.

Afternoons turn into hours spent in relentless pursuit of pleasure—Heeseung pressing you against cabin walls, your bodies colliding roughly, passionately. His hands gripping your hips tightly, thrusting deep and mercilessly, leaving you screaming his name, your thoughts scattering as he repeatedly takes you over the edge. His mouth is everywhere, biting, sucking, and marking you until your body feels entirely claimed.

Late nights, he has you bent over the couch, his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you firmly in place as he drives into you with powerful, possessive strokes, whispering filthy praise into your ear. He loves seeing how quickly he can make your eyes glaze over, leaving you utterly mindless and completely his, each climax more intense, more consuming than the last.

One rainy afternoon, your bodies slam together against the window overlooking the forest, your cries blending with the sound of raindrops hitting the glass. Heeseung lifts you effortlessly, pinning you hard against the cold surface, entering you sharply and deeply, pushing you to the edge with a brutal, relentless rhythm. You cling desperately to him, sobbing from pleasure, your vision blurring as you lose yourself entirely to the sensations he's inflicting upon your body.

In quieter moments, he lays you out on the bed, spreading your legs wide, taking his time teasing you mercilessly with slow, torturous strokes of his tongue and fingers, pushing you to the brink repeatedly until you're begging him shamelessly for release. He enjoys reducing you to pleading incoherence, knowing that only he can unravel you so completely.

One evening, under the flickering glow of candlelight, you ride him slowly at first, then harder, more desperately as your need overtakes you. His fingers dig painfully into your hips, urging you on, thrusting up into you roughly until your body shatters, leaving you trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks from sheer overwhelming pleasure.

"How did we ever survive without this?" you whisper afterward, your voice soft, your body warm and languid against his.

Heeseung smiles darkly, pressing a possessive kiss to your temple. "I don't know," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "But I plan to make sure you never forget exactly who makes you feel this good."

This time, there's no fear driving you together, no desperate need to escape your thoughts. There's only want—pure and simple and mutual. Every touch is deliberate, every kiss intentional. And when you come together, it's with a sweetness that brings tears to your eyes, your mind emptying not from desperate distraction but from sheer overwhelming pleasure.

"That was..." you begin afterward, struggling to find words as you lie tangled together in the sunlit bed.

"I know," Heeseung says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "For me too."

The admission brings a smile to your lips. "How is this real?" you wonder aloud. "two weeks ago, you were a stranger."

He traces patterns on your bare shoulder, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe sometimes life compresses. A week feels like months because we've experienced so much together."

You consider this, watching sunlight play across his features. "I like that explanation."

His fingers continue their gentle exploration of your skin. "Or maybe," he adds more softly, "this was always going to happen, somehow. Maybe we were meant to find each other, even if the circumstances were..."

"Completely terrifying?" you supply with a small laugh.

He smiles, but his eyes remain serious. "I would never wish what you've been through on anyone," he says. "But I can't regret that it brought you into my life."

The simple honesty of his words makes your chest tighten with emotion. You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey without words what you're not yet ready to say aloud.

The satellite phone rings that afternoon—the detective with an update. They've narrowed down Minhyuk's location but haven't apprehended him yet. The news casts a brief shadow over your idyllic retreat, a reminder that the danger hasn't passed. But somehow, it doesn't hold the same power to terrify you anymore.

"We're safe here," Heeseung reassures you after the call. "And they're getting closer to finding him."

You nod, surprised to realize you truly believe him. The panic that has been your constant companion for days has receded to a dull concern, manageable rather than overwhelming.

That evening, a storm moves in, bringing wind and rain that lash at the windows. You build the fire higher, creating a cocoon of warmth against the elements. The electricity flickers once, twice, then goes out completely, leaving you in firelight and shadows.

"Generator must have cut out," Heeseung says, already reaching for a flashlight. "I'll go check it."

"Be careful," you call as he heads for the door, suddenly anxious about him leaving, even briefly.

He pauses, returning to press a quick kiss to your lips. "Always am," he promises. "Keep the fire going—I'll be back in ten minutes."

While he's gone, you add logs to the fire, then gather candles from the kitchen cupboards, placing them strategically around the living area. The storm seems to intensify, rain drumming against the roof, wind howling through the trees outside. For the first time since arriving at the cabin, you feel a prickle of unease, attuned to every sound.

When the door finally opens, admitting a rain-soaked Heeseung, relief rushes through you so strongly that you cross the room in seconds, throwing your arms around him despite his wet clothes.

"Hey," he says, clearly surprised by the reaction. "It's okay. Just a blown fuse—I fixed it, but the power company's out anyway. We'll have to wait out the storm."

"I don't care about the power," you murmur against his chest. "I just... I didn't like you being out there alone."

He pulls back slightly to look at you, rainwater dripping from his hair onto his face. "I'm right here," he says softly. "Not going anywhere."

You help him out of his wet jacket, insisting he change into dry clothes while you make hot chocolate on the gas stove. By the time he returns, you've created a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace, the closest source of warmth.

"What's all this?" he asks, a smile playing at his lips.

"Camping," you declare with mock seriousness. "Indoor version."

He laughs, the sound warming you more than the fire. "I like the way you think."

You settle into your makeshift camp, sipping hot chocolate, listening to the storm rage outside while remaining perfectly safe and warm within. The contrast isn't lost on you—how something that would have terrified you a week ago now feels almost romantic.

"Thank you," you say suddenly, looking up at Heeseung.

"For what?" he asks, brow furrowing slightly.

"For this," you gesture around you. "For keeping me safe. For... everything."

His expression softens. "You don't have to thank me."

"I know," you admit. "But I want to. Not just for the practical things—the protection, the cabin. But for making me feel..." You search for the right word. "Normal again. Like myself, not just someone who's afraid all the time."

Heeseung sets down his mug, turning to face you fully. "You're extraordinary," he says, his voice low and sincere. "The way you've handled everything that's happened—most people would have broken down completely. But you're still here, still fighting."

The earnestness in his eyes makes your breath catch. "Only because of you."

He shakes his head. "No. I may have helped, but the strength was yours all along." He takes your hand, threading his fingers through yours. "Do you know what I thought when you first grabbed me that night on the subway?"

You shake your head, curious.

"I thought, 'This person is brave.' Not just because you asked a stranger for help, but because I could see in your eyes that you were scared but refusing to be paralyzed by it." His thumb traces circles on your palm. "I still think that. Every day."

Emotion swells in your chest, too big to contain. You lean forward, closing the distance between you, your lips finding his in a kiss that tries to convey everything you're feeling—gratitude, yes, but also something deeper, something that's been growing quietly in the shadow of fear.

The kiss deepens, hands beginning to wander, the storm outside forgotten entirely as you create your own tempest within the circle of firelight. Heeseung's lips trace a path down your neck, finding the spot that makes your mind go blissfully blank, and you surrender to the sensation, to him, to the unexpected gift of feeling safe in a world that had become nothing but danger.

The warmth of the fire bathes the room in soft golden light, shadows dancing gently across your intertwined bodies. Heeseung's fingers glide slowly over your skin, tracing sensual, languid patterns that ignite a slow-burning fire within you. His eyes meet yours, heavy-lidded and filled with desire, making your heart race with anticipation.

He gently guides you to move above him, hands firmly gripping your hips, positioning you carefully until you're comfortably settled with your thighs on either side of his face. A thrill of excitement courses through your body, and you tremble slightly at the intimate vulnerability of the position. Heeseung's gaze reassures you entirely, filled with warmth, adoration, and undeniable lust.

"Take your time," he whispers huskily, warm breath teasing your sensitive skin. "I want to savor you."

His hands slowly stroke your thighs, fingertips pressing lightly into your skin as he draws you closer. Your breath hitches when his lips press softly, sensually along your inner thighs, lingering kisses growing hotter, more intense, making your muscles relax as desire pools deep within your core.

You release a soft, breathless moan as his tongue finally makes contact, moving slowly and deliberately, dragging in slow, teasing strokes, sending waves of languid pleasure cascading through you. Your fingers thread into his hair, guiding his movements gently, hips beginning to rock instinctively, chasing the irresistible sensations he creates.

"Heeseung," you sigh, voice thick with desire, body melting under the slow, sinful movements of his tongue. He hums appreciatively against you, the vibrations rippling pleasure deeper into your body, making you gasp softly.

His touch remains unhurried, deliberately teasing, each slow, tantalizing swipe of his tongue pulling you further into a blissful haze of sensation. He explores every inch of you thoroughly, lips and tongue moving expertly, alternating between slow, gentle strokes and firm, demanding pressure, making you whimper and moan his name repeatedly.

"You taste so good," he murmurs, voice deep and rough, eyes blazing with passion as he briefly pulls away to gaze up at you. "I could do this all night."

Your hips move more insistently now, grinding slowly against his mouth, savoring the deep, languid rhythm you've fallen into. Pleasure coils tighter within you, slow-building yet powerful, as he continues to worship you expertly, driving you steadily toward the edge.

Your breathing becomes ragged, body trembling with need, fingers tightening in his hair as the exquisite sensations push you gently yet inexorably toward release. Heeseung senses your closeness, intensifying his efforts, tongue moving deeply, urgently, drawing you over the edge into a languid, shuddering climax that leaves you breathless and softly trembling above him.

When you finally sink back beside him, his arms wrap around you possessively, pulling you flush against his chest, your bodies tangled intimately as he presses slow, sensual kisses along your skin. The firelight flickers warmly around you, creating a perfect cocoon of warmth, sensuality, and unspoken promises.

Heeseung's fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare skin, his breathing slow and even against your hair.

"What happens when this is over?" you ask softly, the question that's been lingering in the back of your mind finally finding voice. "When they catch him and we go back to the city?"

Heeseung is quiet for a long moment, his hand stilling against your shoulder. Then he props himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression so serious it makes your heart stutter.

"Whatever you want to happen," he says simply. "But I hope... I hope we don't go back to being strangers."

The vulnerability in his voice melts something inside you. "I don't think we could if we tried," you confess. "Not after everything."

Relief softens his features. "Good," he says. "Because I've gotten used to this. To you."

"Me too," you admit, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "I can't imagine waking up and you not being there."

His smile is so tender it makes your chest ache. "Then don't," he says, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. "Don't imagine it."

As you drift toward sleep in his arms, the rain pattering gently against the roof, you realize something profound: in running from danger, in seeking refuge, you've somehow found something you weren't even looking for—a connection that transcends the circumstances of your meeting, a sanctuary not just in this remote cabin but in each other.

Whatever comes next—whether Minhyuk is caught tomorrow or weeks from now—that connection remains. And for the first time since this nightmare began, you find yourself looking toward the future with something like hope.

-

The storm rages through the night, wind howling around the cabin and rain lashing against the windows. Despite the exhaustion weighing on your limbs, sleep comes in fitful bursts, each crack of thunder or creak of the cabin jolting you awake. Beside you, Heeseung maintains his vigil, dozing occasionally but never fully surrendering to sleep. The baseball bat remains within reach, a grim reminder of the danger lurking beyond the walls.

Just before dawn, the storm begins to subside, rain softening to a gentle patter against the roof. Through a small gap in the blanket covering the bedroom window, you can see the sky lightening from black to deep blue, the first hint of morning approaching.

"We should start packing," Heeseung says, his voice low and tense. "I want to be ready to leave as soon as it's fully light."

You nod, slipping from the warmth of the bed into the chill morning air. The satellite phone still shows no signal—the storm's aftermath continuing to block transmission. You move through the cabin with careful efficiency, gathering only the essentials, keeping away from windows despite the coverings.

"Do you think he's still out there?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper despite the unlikelihood of being overheard.

Heeseung pauses in his methodical packing, his expression grave. "I don't know. But I'm not taking any chances. We leave in twenty minutes, head straight for the car, and don't stop for anything."

The gravity of his words settles heavily between you. For all your planning, there's still the most dangerous moment to navigate—the brief exposure between cabin and car, when you'll be completely vulnerable.

As the minutes tick by, tension builds in your chest, a familiar tightness that signals the approach of panic. You focus on your breathing, on the practical tasks at hand, on Heeseung's steady presence beside you. When everything is packed and ready, you stand together in the kitchen, the duffle bags at your feet, steeling yourselves for departure.

"Ready?" Heeseung asks, the baseball bat in one hand, car keys in the other.

You nod, swallowing hard against the fear. "Ready."

He moves to the door, checking through the peephole before unlocking the deadbolt with deliberate quietness. The metallic click of the lock releasing seems unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn stillness. Heeseung turns the knob slowly, easing the door open just enough to scan the porch and clearing beyond.

"Clear," he whispers, opening the door wider. "Let's go."

You step onto the porch, the wooden boards still slick with rain, the air cool and misty after the storm. The clearing surrounding the cabin is eerily still, trees dripping quietly, no wildlife sounds yet greeting the dawn. Everything appears peaceful, normal—and that, somehow, makes your nerves stretch tighter.

Heeseung goes first, bags slung over his shoulder, bat held ready. You follow closely, your footsteps seeming thunderous despite your attempts at stealth. The car is only thirty feet away, but the distance feels vast, exposed, each step taking too long.

You're halfway to the car when you see it—movement at the forest edge, a dark shape detaching from the deeper shadows beneath the trees. Heeseung notices in the same moment, his body tensing, placing himself between you and the approaching figure.

"Get in the car," he says, voice low and urgent. "Now."

You fumble with the bag, trying to move faster, but your limbs feel heavy with dread. The figure steps fully into the clearing, and even in the dim pre-dawn light, there's no mistaking who it is. Minhyuk—his face gaunt, clothes dirty and wet from the storm, eyes fixed on you with a terrible intensity.

"Go," Heeseung urges again, pressing the car keys into your hand. "Get inside and lock the doors."

But before you can reach the car, Minhyuk calls out, his voice carrying clearly across the clearing. "Don't bother. I cut the fuel line."

Heeseung freezes, a curse escaping under his breath. You can see his mind racing, calculating options, weighing the truth of Minhyuk's claim against the risk of finding out too late.

"What do you want?" Heeseung calls back, his voice steady despite the tension evident in every line of his body.

Minhyuk takes another step forward, and now you can see what he's holding—the metallic glint of a knife catching the growing light. "I just want to talk to Y/N. To explain things." His voice is eerily calm, almost reasonable, which somehow makes it more terrifying. "You've turned her against me. I just need a chance to make her understand."

"She understands perfectly," Heeseung responds, his grip tightening on the bat. "You need to leave. Now."

A strange smile crosses Minhyuk's face. "Always the hero, aren't you? Playing the protector." His eyes shift to you, somehow both pleading and menacing. "He's not really your boyfriend, Y/N. We both know that. This is all an act."

Fear roots you to the spot, but anger rises alongside it—anger at this man who has terrorized you, forced you from your home, hunted you across counties. "It doesn't matter," you find yourself saying, your voice stronger than expected. "I don't know you. I don't want to know you. Leave us alone."

Something shifts in Minhyuk's expression—the calm facade cracking to reveal something darker, more volatile. "You don't mean that," he says, his voice hardening. "He's manipulating you. Making you say these things."

"No one's manipulating anyone," Heeseung says, taking a half-step forward. "Y/N has made herself clear. You need to go."

Minhyuk's gaze snaps back to Heeseung, hatred twisting his features. "This is between me and her. You're the intruder here."

"Heeseung," you whisper, terror clawing at your throat as you watch Minhyuk's grip tighten on the knife. "Please."

The tension stretches between the three of you, the clearing silent except for the dripping trees and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Then Minhyuk moves—a sudden lunge forward that sends panic surging through your veins.

Heeseung reacts instantly, pushing you toward the cabin. "Run!" he shouts, raising the bat as Minhyuk charges.

Time seems to slow and accelerate simultaneously—Minhyuk closing the distance with terrifying speed, Heeseung bracing to meet him, the sound of your own ragged breathing as you stumble backward. You want to run as instructed, but can't bear to leave Heeseung alone, your feet refusing to carry you to safety while he faces danger.

The two men collide with violent force. Heeseung swings the bat, forcing Minhyuk to dodge, buying precious seconds. But Minhyuk is fueled by obsession, by a deranged determination that makes him reckless and unpredictable. He feints left, then strikes right, the knife slashing through the air.

Heeseung avoids the worst of it, but the blade catches his arm, tearing through his jacket. He doesn't cry out, doesn't falter, swinging the bat again with controlled precision. This time it connects, striking Minhyuk's shoulder with a sickening thud.

Minhyuk staggers back, but doesn't fall. The injury seems to fuel his rage rather than slow him down. "You think you can protect her?" he snarls. "You think you deserve her?"

"This isn't about deserving," Heeseung responds, voice steady despite the blood now visible on his sleeve. "This is about her choice. And she didn't choose you."

The words seem to strike Minhyuk more powerfully than the physical blow. His face contorts with fury, and he charges again, knife held high.

You're still rooted to the spot, terror paralyzing your limbs. But as Minhyuk rushes toward Heeseung again, survival instinct finally kicks in. Not for yourself—for Heeseung. Without conscious thought, you grab the nearest object—a large rock dislodged during the storm—and throw it with all your strength.

It strikes Minhyuk's back, not hard enough to injure seriously, but enough to distract him, to disrupt his attack. He whirls toward you, eyes wild with betrayal and rage.

"You," he hisses, changing direction, now advancing on you. "After everything I've done to find you..."

Heeseung doesn't hesitate. He lunges forward, tackling Minhyuk from behind before he can reach you. Both men go down hard, grappling in the mud and wet grass. The knife glints in the growing light as they struggle for control, a deadly variable in the chaotic fight.

You search desperately for another weapon, anything to help, when a new sound cuts through the terrible sounds of combat—sirens, distant but approaching. Relief floods through you, followed immediately by renewed fear. Will help arrive in time?

The sound reaches the fighting men as well. Minhyuk freezes for just an instant, his head turning toward the road—and in that moment of distraction, Heeseung strikes. His fist connects with Minhyuk's jaw, a powerful blow that sends the stalker sprawling backward. The knife falls from his grip, landing on the wet ground between them.

Both men lunge for it simultaneously. Your heart seems to stop as they grapple again, the knife now the focal point of the struggle. Then Heeseung shouts in pain, and you see a flash of red—blood, his blood—and terror unlike anything you've ever known seizes your heart.

But Heeseung doesn't falter. Despite the wound, he manages to knock the knife away, sending it skittering across the clearing. Then, with a final surge of strength, he pins Minhyuk to the ground, his knee on the stalker's chest, one hand gripping his throat.

"It's over," Heeseung says, his voice ragged with exertion and pain. "Do you hear those sirens? It's over."

Minhyuk struggles for a few more seconds, then goes still, the fight seeming to drain from him as the sound of approaching vehicles grows louder. Heeseung maintains his grip, not trusting the sudden compliance.

The sirens grow louder, then headlights appear through the trees, illuminating the clearing with harsh white light. Police cars—three of them—bumping down the rough access road, followed by what looks like an ambulance.

"Here!" you shout, waving frantically. "Over here!"

Everything moves quickly after that. Officers pour from the vehicles, guns drawn, shouting commands. Heeseung carefully backs away from Minhyuk, hands raised to show he's not a threat. Minhyuk is immediately handcuffed, his expression eerily vacant now, the manic energy gone.

You rush to Heeseung, heart pounding violently in your chest as you see the blood staining his sleeve, another patch rapidly spreading across his side. His jacket is torn open, revealing a deep gash that makes your stomach lurch.

"You're hurt," you cry out, your voice breaking as tears immediately flood your eyes. Your hands hover over his wounds, afraid to touch and cause more pain but desperate to help. "Oh my god, you're hurt. You're bleeding so much."

"I'm okay," he assures you, though his face is alarmingly pale, his breathing shallow with pain. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Don't say that!" Your voice rises with panic, tears now streaming freely down your face. "Look at you! This is all my fault. You're hurt because of me."

Your hands tremble as they finally settle on his face, cradling his cheeks as if he might shatter. "You're my baby and you're hurt," you whisper, the words tumbling out without thought, raw with emotion. "Please, you need help right now."

His eyes widen slightly at your words, a softness passing through them despite his pain. He tries to lift his hand to wipe your tears but winces with the movement.

"Don't move," you plead, becoming more frantic as you notice how the blood continues to seep through his clothes. You turn toward the approaching paramedics, desperation in your voice. "Please hurry! He's losing too much blood!"

You turn back to Heeseung, pressing your forehead gently against his, uncaring about the mud and blood. "Stay with me," you whisper fiercely. "I can't lose you. Not now. Not after everything."

Paramedics approach, guiding Heeseung to sit on the steps of the cabin while they examine his wounds. You hover anxiously nearby, unable to tear your eyes from him even as a female officer gently questions you about what happened.

Across the clearing, Minhyuk is being loaded into a police car, his vacant expression finally shifting as his eyes find yours one last time. There's something in his gaze—not remorse, not exactly, but perhaps the first glimmer of understanding that his obsession has led him to ruin.

"He'll be going away for a long time," the detective says, appearing at your side. She looks tired but satisfied. "Attempted murder, stalking, violation of restraining orders—the list goes on. He won't hurt anyone else."

Relief makes your knees weak. You look to where Heeseung sits, enduring the ministrations of the paramedics with stoic patience. When he catches your eye, he manages a small, reassuring smile despite everything.

"You should go to him," the detective says, following your gaze. "We can finish the statements later."

You don't need to be told twice. You cross to Heeseung, carefully sitting beside him on the cabin steps. The paramedics have cut away his sleeve to reveal a long gash on his forearm, already partially bandaged. Another wound at his side has been dressed, though blood still seeps through the white gauze.

"How bad is it?" you ask one of the paramedics.

"He'll need stitches," she replies. "But no major arteries were hit. He was lucky."

Lucky isn't the word you'd use. Brave. Selfless. Incredible. Those come closer.

"We need to transport him to the hospital," the paramedic continues. "Would you like to ride along?"

"Yes," you say immediately, your hand finding Heeseung's uninjured one. "I'm not leaving him."

Heeseung's fingers tighten around yours. "It's over," he says softly, just for you. "Really over."

As they help him onto a stretcher, you remain by his side, your hand never leaving his. Behind you, the cabin stands silent in the growing daylight, its brief role as both sanctuary and battleground now complete. Around you, police officers document the scene, take photographs, collect evidence. Minhyuk is driven away, the police car disappearing down the access road toward a future of concrete and steel bars.

In the ambulance, as paramedics hook Heeseung to monitoring equipment and start an IV for pain medication, he keeps his eyes on you, as if afraid you might disappear if he looks away.

"You saved me," he says, his voice slightly slurred as the pain medication begins to take effect. "With that rock. You saved me."

Tears fill your eyes as you shake your head. "No. You saved me. From the very beginning, you saved me."

His lips curve into a tired smile. "Maybe we saved each other."

As the ambulance begins its journey down the mountain, you hold tight to his hand, to that simple truth. Whatever comes next—hospital rooms, police statements, the eventual return to normal life—you'll face it together. The nightmare is over. Minhyuk can no longer reach you, no longer control your life with fear.

For the first time since that night on the subway platform, you feel truly, completely free. And despite the trauma of the morning, despite Heeseung's injuries and the lingering shock, there's something else growing beneath the relief—hope. Hope for what comes after fear. Hope for a future neither of you expected to find in the midst of danger.

A future together.

-

Three months later

The afternoon sunlight filters through the café window, painting golden patterns across the table between you. Heeseung sits across from you, absently tracing the faint scar on his forearm—a permanent reminder of that morning in the mountains. You reach across the table, your fingers covering his, interrupting the unconscious movement.

"You're doing it again," you say softly.

He smiles, turning his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. "Sorry. Habit."

It's been exactly twelve weeks since Minhyuk was arrested. Twelve weeks of healing—both physical and emotional. Twelve weeks of rebuilding what had been so violently disrupted. Twelve weeks of discovering who you are together when fear isn't the foundation of your connection.

The legal proceedings had moved swiftly. Minhyuk pleaded guilty to all charges, perhaps finally recognizing the gravity of his actions. His psychiatric evaluation revealed a disturbing pattern of obsessive behavior dating back years before he ever saw you on the subway. The judge had been uncompromising in his sentencing: fifteen years with mandatory psychiatric treatment. You'd attended the sentencing hearing, Heeseung's hand tight around yours as you faced your stalker one final time.

"Whatever made him fixate on you wasn't your fault," the detective had told you afterward. "Some people just break in ways we can't understand."

Those words had helped, as had the therapy sessions you began shortly after returning to the city. But what helped most was Heeseung—his unwavering presence, his patience as you worked through lingering fears, his understanding on the nights when you still woke gasping from nightmares.

"What time is your appointment?" Heeseung asks now, bringing you back to the present.

"Four o'clock," you reply, glancing at your watch. "Dr. Kim says this might be our last weekly session. She thinks we can move to bi-weekly."

Pride flickers across Heeseung's face. "That's great. You've come so far."

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I have a good support system."

His thumb traces circles on your palm, his eyes warm with an emotion neither of you has put into words yet, though you both feel it. "Are you still okay with dinner at my parents' place tonight? We can reschedule if you're tired after therapy."

"I want to go," you assure him. Meeting his family had been a major step—acknowledging that what began in crisis had evolved into something lasting. His parents had welcomed you with genuine warmth, never asking too many questions about how you met, somehow understanding that those details weren't what mattered.

"They like you, you know," Heeseung says, as if reading your thoughts. "My mother keeps asking when you're coming back."

You laugh, the sound still feeling like a small victory each time. "She just wants someone to appreciate her cooking more than you do."

"True," he concedes with a grin.

The waiter arrives with your check, and Heeseung reaches for it automatically. You let him, having learned to pick your battles. Some protective instincts run too deep to challenge—and if you're honest, his devotion is something you've come to cherish rather than resist.

Outside the café, the early autumn air carries just a hint of the coming cold. Heeseung's arm slips around your waist, a gesture that has become as natural as breathing. You lean into him briefly, savoring the solid warmth of him.

"I'll walk you to Dr. Kim's office," he says. "Then I need to stop by the studio for an hour before dinner."

Your paths have settled into a comfortable rhythm over the past months. You returned to your design firm, picking up old projects and beginning new ones. Heeseung resumed his work at the music studio, though he now keeps more regular hours, prioritizing evenings with you. You still have separate apartments, but most nights are spent together, switching between your spaces with easy familiarity.

The walk to your therapist's office takes you past the subway station where it all began—a route you initially avoided but now traverse without the surge of anxiety it once triggered. Progress, Dr. Kim calls it. Reclaiming your city, your life.

"I'll see you at my place around seven?" Heeseung confirms as you reach the office building.

"I'll be there," you promise. "Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself." He pauses, then adds, "And maybe pack an overnight bag. My parents usually insist we stay late, and I don't want you taking the subway alone after dark."

Once, you might have chafed at the protectiveness in those words. Now, you recognize it as care rather than control. "Already packed," you admit. "It's in my work bag."

He smiles, leaning down to kiss you briefly. "That's my girl."

As he turns to go, you catch his hand, pulling him back for a moment. "Hey," you say softly. "I've been thinking."

"Dangerous," he teases gently. "About what?"

You hesitate, then take the plunge. "My lease is up next month."

His expression shifts, a cautious hope lighting his eyes. "Is it?"

"I was thinking maybe I shouldn't renew it."

The implication hangs between you, clear but unspoken. Heeseung's hand tightens around yours, his voice dropping to match your quieter tone. "Any particular alternative in mind?"

You hold his gaze, your heart beating faster but not with fear—with anticipation, with certainty. "Your place is bigger. And you have that spare room you're using as storage that would make a perfect home office for me."

A smile slowly spreads across his face, transforming his features with such joy that it takes your breath away. "I think that could be arranged."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely." He pulls you closer, public setting forgotten as he kisses you properly this time, his hands cradling your face with the same tender care he's shown since that very first night.

When he pulls back, you're both slightly breathless. "Go talk to Dr. Kim," he says, reluctantly releasing you. "I'll see you tonight."

You watch him walk away, struck by how far you've come from that terrified person who grabbed a stranger on a subway platform. The journey hasn't been easy—there are still moments when fear creeps in, still days when you check over your shoulder more often than necessary. But those moments are becoming rarer, overshadowed by new memories, better ones.

As you turn to enter the building, your phone buzzes with a text. Heeseung, already missing you:

"Just realized we never used the small bedroom at the cabin. Maybe we should go back someday. Make some better memories there."

You smile, typing your reply:

"I'd like that. As long as you're with me."

His response comes instantly:

"Always."

A promise that began in crisis, tested by danger, and now—finally—has the chance to unfold in peace. You pocket your phone and head into your appointment, ready to talk about the future rather than the past.

A future with Heeseung. A future without fear.

A future that began with two strangers on a subway platform, and against all odds, became home.

fin.

-

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo

car sex with vi ୨୧ ♡

18+ minors dni, vi is a random u js met, use of strap, pet names, lowk a breeding kink + reader is pretty hyper feminine in this take it or leave it cs idc

‘ look so gorgeous like this, this what you wanted ? ‘ she kept her eyes fixated onto your body, watching the way you struggled to bounce on her strap, urging to fuck up into you, but she only observed. ‘ feels so good. ' you nodded at her question, panting on low breaths and giving in all your effort. the friction of her strap against her from your movements made you earn a hiss from her as she tossed her head back onto the head rest.

her hands roamed all over your body, your thighs, your waist, your perked tits that spilled out of your skimpy shirt, to the fat of your ass. vi latched her mouth onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking and swirling as the quietest whimpers escaped your mouth ever so often. you pink charmed nails digging into her chest, if there was a pain she liked, it was this. ‘ fuck i— i cant do it. ‘ you confessed, feeling the lack of movement you began to have as you looked at her worriedly.

‘ shh i’m right here, i got you, angel. ‘ she whispered before pecking your lips, marking some of your gloss onto her plumped lips. she grabbed ahold of your ass and quickly drilled into you from underneath. her cock punching your spot, each nudge against your cervix causing your breath to stutter and your stomach to tighten. ‘ oh my god .. ‘ you mewled, vi looked up at you to see you with furrowed eyebrows and shut eyes.

‘ such a pretty girl, shittt— wanna take you home with me, treat you so good. you want that ? ‘ she groaned, hearing your heavy breaths. you nodded in no hesitation, making her chuckle, you were so cute. ‘ i wanna cum .. pleaseplease— ‘ you beg as one of her hands travel to your cunt, her fingers brushing your puffy clit. ‘ aw fuck— look at you.. that it ? could you imagine it, being able to you up ? make you mine ? you like that sound of that ? ‘ she quizzed, watching your expressions as you were close.

‘ yesyesyes, please. want you to fill me .. make me full— ! ' you blabbered all kinds of words, wanting her to breed you if it were possible. she wastes no time in plowing into you, hips snapping up faster and faster at a pace and force that she’s certain could’ve shattered your hips if you weren't human. you felt yourself clench around her again, this time tighter than before as you both felt yourself at your peak, your tiny moans doing it for her. ‘ don't stop, ohmygod. ‘ your mouth fell open.

‘ i won't, princess. cmon, give me all of it, ‘ vi encouraged. it makes you flustered up again, the fact that someone as attractive as her is taking pleasure in you, when it was the least you ever expected. a large cry rips free from your throat with her thrusting into you and rubbing on your clit. ‘ fuckkk— needa make you mine forever. ‘ she spoke into your ear. vi felt herself closer and closer, your cunt drenching her strap as you came with her. surprisingly, wetting her abdomen.

you both can barely breathe as the only thing being heard between you were pants. remained buried into you, she furrows her brows and rests her forehead against you for a moment before her thumb wipes away your rolled down tears, then you're looking down at her with lidded eyes.

‘ you okay, precious ? ‘ she questions gently before pressing a kiss to your nose. ‘ was it too much ? ‘ she looks at you concerned. you widen your eyes as you shake your head with a reassuring smile ‘ god no, not at all, promise. it was perfect. ‘ she laughs in relief, mirroring your joy before bringing you into a kiss, reveling in your quick bubbly state.

‘ taking you home with me, ‘

masterlist

rushed sorry bout it

𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀ׁ⠀ㅤ  𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐥, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 . ⠀ ༊·˚ 𓊇ྀི

#are you leaving? are you leaving me?

—how would they react if you stormed off after an argument (for the first time) and they thought you were leaving them for good? 

CHARACTERS. Aether, Albedo, Ayato, Childe, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gorou Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Thoma, Venti, Xiao, Zhongli; gn! Raader

THEMES. Angst; Hurt (no or with) comfort; can be reversed comfort too; has varying intensities so there are others that has fluff/crack (im looking at you heizou and kazu)

WARNINGS. may emphasize venti’s drinking on his part 

NOTES. I was supposed to post another one but I really can’t stand not answering this request so good luck with two consecutive angst everyone~ I’ll post the other one next week! 

ZHONGLI would look rather calm, no matter how big the argument was. He normally would not let the argument go further, but today was rather stressful, even for someone like him. With all the arguments at work and also to those who would ask for his help even when he was just on his way home, and now, everything piled up and he… maybe he needed a bit of rest. 

“Let us discuss this tomorrow, beloved, I-”

However, all he heard was the sound of the doors closing, and there was no sight of you in the room.  

He sighs heavily, thinking that you probably had only gone out of the room to calm down. Of course, he only realized he was the only one in the house when he woke up and there’s still not a sight of you beside him. Startled, he stood up and found himself scavenging the entire house—could you have left him?—this thought was all in his mind but as soon as he turned to the living room, there you were, sleeping so peacefully on the couch. He heaves out a sigh immediately, kneeling in front of you, taking your hands to his and bringing them to his lips. He had never in this life felt so anxious—it had been awhile, he thinks, but maybe this was more…-

“Zhongli?” He heard you call for his name by then, but before you could fully comprehend what was happening, he was hushing at you, whispering so slowly to not awaken you any further. 

“There’s no need to wake, my love.” It’s going to be alright. 

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

XIAO and you had been arguing for the whole week. Actually, he only showed up today after being gone for three straight days. Three! And now he expects you to pretend that everything is okay? 

Keep reading

— drunk confessions.

kazuha x gn reader

part 1. part 2.

warnings: golden apple event spoilers(?), cursing, alcohol, fluff, slightly suggestive

“Venti, what was in that drink??”

“Err, he might’ve drunk one of my cocktails..?”

Your face felt hot as a very drunk Kazuha clung onto you, giggling randomly and cooing your name while leaning uncomfortably close to your face.

“Y/nnnn~ hic- look at meee,” he whined tugging on your shirt while turning his head to try to catch your eyes. You felt as if you were about to burst from all the affection.

“Heh, seems as if you don’t mind Kazuha’s drunk antics though,” Venti giggled, eyeing your arms wrapped around Kazuha’s waist, while he clung onto you.

“Oh my archons, Venti! Guess what?”

“What, Y/n?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, face hot with embarrassment. Your other friends giggled, as Venti feigned being hurt.

“Y/nnn~” Kazuha drawled, tracing your lips with a finger.

Fuck.

You could hear snickering coming from the others as you shot a glare at them.

“What is it?” you sighed, finally looking into Kazuha’s eyes, though you almost immediately regretted it.

His eyelids were drooped as he stared intensely at your lips, almost hungrily. Glancing up at you he giggled and puckered his lips.

“Kiss!”

Oh my archons. He’s too cute…

“Hehehe, you heard him Y/n, give the big baby a kiss!” Paimon cooed while you dug your face into Kazuha’s neck, hiding your expression from the teasing looks being sent your way.

“Kissss- hic- k-kiss,” Kazuha pouted.

“Shut up Kazu, you’re drunk,” you mumbled into his neck. You could hear your friends resuming their conversation about the island and such as you looked up again.

“Y/n…”

“What now, Kazuha?” You sighed glancing at his flushed face.

His hands cupped your warm cheeks as he leaned closer to your face, staring deep into your eyes. You gulped as he leaned dangerously closer to you.

Softly, he brushed his lips against yours, kissing you for a beautiful moment, a moment where everything and everyone froze, a moment where it was only you and Kazuha, and a moment that didn’t last long enough. Kazuha leaned back and giggled with red hues decorating his beautiful face. Fuck, you were burning up. The lingering feeling of his soft lips stayed, your hand reaching up to brush your lips tentatively, feeling the tingling of a few seconds ago.

You can’t take this anymore.

Abruptly standing up, you dragged Kazuha to the stairs, feeling him stumble beside you as ooo-ing could be heard behind you.

You led him to the balcony, opening the door and then closing it behind you, inhaling a breath of cool air. “H-hic- Y/n…?” You turned to face Kazuha, then pulled him towards you, smashing your lips together once more. Your lips tugged and melded against each other, panting and soft hums being heard from both persons.

He bit your bottom lip, tugging and rolling it softly between his teeth. Your breath hitched as your mouth opened, allowing Kazuha to slip his tongue inside. Your tongues intertwined sensually as you continued kissing each other hungrily, as if you could never get enough.

You wove your fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling at it, making Kazuha release small mewls into your mouth. Unfortunately, you had to part for air, as the two of you panted, your foreheads pressed together in a comfortable silence.

“Y/n..” He whispered, tilting your chin up, directing your gaze into his eyes. “Hm..?” You hummed.

Ah, he was too beautiful, his messy hair strewn over his shoulders, ponytail having fallen apart moments ago from your tugging. His eyes, like crimson jewels staring into your own with such emotion it could make you overheat on the spot. His lips, the soft pink lips that easily sang words of poetry, the lips that captured yours so easily, bringing you into a hopeless love filled daze.

“I love you.”

You hoped it wasn’t just the alcohol in his system making him say these things, because you just couldn’t resist whispering the confession back, letting the walls fall down, letting vulnerability slip out.

—

“Damn, what took y’all so long?” Xinyan wiggled her brows as you sat down, Kazuha back to clinging onto you. “Needed to get fresh air,” you said dismissively. “With Kazuha?” Lumine pointed out teasingly. “Shut up,” you flushed.

Kazuha giggled and started pressing kisses all over your neck and face. “Mine, mine, mine~” he sang in between each kiss. You grumbled, heat once again rising in your face.

“Oh??” Venti smirked at the lovesick birds, noticing the change in your demeanors.

“All of you, shut up.”

power struggle | v.a

18+ mdni

switch!violet x switch!reader

contents/tw: angry sex, jealously, kissing, tribbing, check ins during sex🤭, strap-on, dirty talk, stanking, degrading, modern!vi??, handcuffs, name calling, praise.

an: stream of consciousness wrote this in a day. Hope you enjoy!!!

She pissed you off. Bad. Watching the trees passing by outside the window of the car you turned your back from her. Violet could feel the anger radiating off of you. Arms crossed and knee bouncing in an attempt to distract yourself. Her eyes flick from the windshield to you. She was trying to find something to say but you stop her when you make eye contact. Shooting her a dirty look.

“Don’t.” You huffed and look back out the window. “Honey I’m sorry I told you I didn’t know that’s what she was doing.” She tried to defend herself and she was being truthful but you couldn’t care right now.

“You’ll be real sorry when we get home.” Violet gripped the wheel tighter hearing your words. She’s be lying if she said she wasn’t excited. “Is that right?” Violet challenges you, your head whipping in her direction. You watch a small smirk spreads across her lips. She was making fun of you.

“You can do that shit with the girl from the bar not me.” You spit back at her sinking further in the seat starting to seeth. “If I knew she was flirting with me do you actually think i would’ve entertained her.” Violet tried consoling you but the fire was already lit.

“I don’t know Vi she seemed pretty entertained either way.” You thought back to how the girl oh so innocently bumped into your girlfriend and started talking to her like you weren’t even there.

“Oh cut the shit. You know I’d never do that.” Vi looks at you with annoyance. You don’t respond only shrugging which makes Violet increasingly more upset. Now here you are quiet in the car both silent and angry. When you finally get home Violet makes a show of going around the car and open your door huffing and puffing.

It was stupid really, but you still said “thank you” giving her the same attitude. The both of you quickly walk to the door, and as soon as it’s closed your pushing her up against it roughly kissing her. Vi obliges holding onto you just as roughly. You fumble trying to rip her jacket off and undo the buttons on her shirt. Your tongue dominating her mouth making her moan and pull at your hips.

You pull down her sports bra and pinch her hard bud between your fingers. She hisses at the stimulation. “You wanna fuck around and make other girls giggle like some whore?” Your tone was degrading and annoyed. Vi searched your eyes with hers, her lips parted and swollen and completely dazed. “How disappointing.” You say looking down at her breast as you toy with her meanly. Frustration bubbled in Vi’s chest at this “disappointing?”. She thought to herself were you being fucking serious.

She grabbed you by the back of the hair bringing you to look at her. “Maybe I fucking will seems like you get off on it sweet stuff.” Vi spit back at you as you look at her coldly. That was only half the truth and she could see it in your face. You liked feeling jealous it only made you want to claim her more. She lets out a low chuckle. Using the grip she has to pull you flush against her. “How slutty is that?” You wanna wipe the shit eating grin off of her face.

“Fuck you.” Now embarrassed you pinch her nipple harshly again, she twitches. She looks down at your hand and back at you her tongue running over her teeth. “Yeah fuck you too.” Vi attacks your mouth kissing you rougher than before letting out a growl. She scoops you up and walks you to your shared bedroom throwing you down on to the bed.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and furrow your brows. “Take that shit off.” You demand her nudging your head in her direction. She wasted no time to remove the rest of her clothes before pulling your top over your head and yanking down your pants. Vi hovers over your naked form going in to kiss your neck. You flip her over so she on her back and straddled her. Quickly grabbing both of her hands and pinning them above her head.

She lets out a struggled breath in surprise. You were quick but she could easily slip out of your grasp. But she’ll let you believe you have her just for now. “Babys upset isn’t she?” She tries agonizing you. Throwing a pout and bucking up her hips bouncing you to get a rise out of you. You grab her cheeks smooshing her lips together. “Babys fucking pissed.” You let go and smack her cheek softly. “I’m gonna use this pretty pussy and help you remember who you belong too.” You don’t talk to her like this very often so she absolutely gapping at you right now.

“Since your little slut brain seems to forget.” You let go of her wrist but she doesn’t move she just watches as you spread her legs apart and place yourself over her. You grind down at the slow pace pulling a whimper from her before speeding up and not giving her time to adjust. “Y-your so f-fucking ah- mean.” She’s straining to keep it together as you pound yourself into her, her abs flexing and chest heaving. Lewd noises fill her head. She tried to grab at your thigh and you smack her away.

“And who’s fault is that?” Violets looks at you like your crazy when you can’t help but let a smile slip. That same frustration she felt earlier clouded her senses again. She uses her strong arms to lift herself and restrain you. Slipping out from under you and pressing your face to the mattress. Grunting and whining in anger as she pulls both of your arms behind you. “Drop the fucking attitude. We both know you’re not winning this.” She leans over you her crotch pressed to your bottom. She was warning you, but you weren’t finished.

“What are you gonna fuck me like you wanted to do to that girl.” You struggled under her grip and she lands a hard smack to your cheek jolting you forwards. You let out a painful sob. “Ughh! Violet!” You screamed to her and she did it again. You stopped squirming trying to catch your breath instead. She places her hand next to your head leaning down again next to your ear. “Are we calmed down now?” All you do is huff in response and she rises laughing to herself in awe of how bratty you were being shaking her head.

When she starts rubbing the stinging skin getting ready to spank you again you speak up. “I’m calm!” You exasperated in a frustrated tone. “I’ll let you try that again sweetheart.” Vi wasn’t playing with you anymore. It takes you a second to actually calm yourself down to speak and Vis actively raising her hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m calm now. Please.” You pleaded with her speaking softly.

She puts her hand down and lets go of your wrist. She peppered kisses on the red raised skin sweetly. “Normally I’d feel bad but you deserved that.” She spoke to you between kisses finishing with a pinch to your thigh. You groaned at the pain. Violet maneuvered you into your back placing her hand under your head hold you, getting your full attention. “I’ll let you be on top anytime you want but if you ever talk shit like that again, I’ll make sure you know your place.” The stern look in her eyes had you captivated nodding and biting your lip.

“Do you understand.” She spoke slow clear caressing your cheek sweetly. You nod again. “No I want words.” It feels like your sinking into the bed her with the way her eyes are boaring into your soul. “Yes ma’am.” You said meekly only feeling a bit better when she drops the stern expression and kisses your forehead. She gets up and you watch her move around the room going to your shared drawer of toys and accessories.

She pulls out a pair of cuffs and you whimper. “Come on V-“ You try to negotiate but you were quickly cut off. “I’ll bend you over my knee. I know you hate these that’s why I got them.” She was being cold towards you and you probably did deserve it after what you said. But still not getting to touch her was cruel. You furrow your brows as she cuffs your arms to the head board. She looks at your annoyed face looking up at your restraints. Laughing softly, “Fix that face sweetheart.” she says casually as she yanks your legs apart and throws one over her shoulder.

Her large muscular thigh spread on top of you. She sinks down slowly her pace painfully slow. “God your so wet. Being a pain in my ass really gets you off huh?” She smiles mischievously her eyes half lidded and head tilted to the side. You wish you could take a picture. The way she was grinding into you her abs flex with each motion of her hips. Slow languid rolls of her hips. You pull on your restraints yearning to feel her.

She watched as you throw your head back in pleasure and close your eyes the smile on her face growing wider. She speeds up leaning back to get just the right angle where your clits are bumping each other. “Oh- ngh f-fuck.” Your lips part as you pant. “Yeah? Is that good brat? Like when I fuck you like a whore?” You want to reply to her but she somehow she speeds up her thrust even more. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head tits bouncing. “V-Violet!” Your legs shake as she keeps her brutal pace. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Her shit head comments don’t even stop when she’s out of breath clit twitching against yours.

“It’s t-too ah- much.” You mumble hips stuttering. “It’s ok baby you can- fuck, take it.” Vis words were sweet but her tone told you you were going to take it whether or not it kills you. The knot in your tummy was tightening at an alarming rate threatening to snap at any moment. Your breathing accelerates as it washes over you; letting out a high pitched moan. Vi was wasn’t done with you just yet instead abusing your poor overstimulated clit until she came too. Leaving you shaking and whimpering until she was finished mumbling to herself. “G-god I love this p-pussy.”

Violet falls to the side of you wiping sweat off her forehead. You lull your head exhausted closing your eyes. “I’m not finished with you.” Vi says not even looking at you at this point she’s walking to the drawer. Stopping to pick up a miscellaneous shirt to wipe the sweat off her chest and abs. You let out a sad whimper watching her pull out the strap and secure it to her hips. “Don’t worry I’m taking the cuffs off.” She smiles like she doing you a grand gesture. “Oh goody.” You reply to her half annoyed half relieved.

“I’m gonna let that slide.” Vi says with a smile on her face most likely pussy drunk and desperate to feel you anyway. She unlocks the cuffs letting your hands free. You grab her and hold her to you just laying like that for a beat she wraps her arms under you nuzzling your neck. “You okay?” She asks kissing up your neck. “I’m sorry I said that.” She stops, giggling at your words. “Did I knock some sense into you?” She kisses your cheek and continues.

“It’s not gonna happen again right?” She’s back on you her hands slipping from out under you her arms caging you in. She looks down at you her hair falling in front of her. “No it’s not.” You tell her honestly. “Good.” With that she’s kissing your neck again biting and licking over the skin. She moves to the side of you and pulls you onto your side. Grabbing your leg, she hikes it up and presses herself against your back.

You let out sweet noises from her kissing your neck gently holding her head. She teases you with the tip of the dildo dragging it along your slit. You hum feeling her line herself up. “This what you want pretty girl?” She speaks softly into your ear and you nod. She inserts herself slowly and you hiss slightly at the sting of being stretched open. Violet kisses your shoulder, “I know, I know.” She let’s you adjust before giving small thrusts.

Her lips are relentless as she kisses every square inch of she can reach. “My pretty girl.” She whispers into your neck giving an experimental harder thrust to see if your ready. You moan in response when she hits that gummy spot inside of you. She’s smiling into your skin keeping the pace. Pushing back on her she get excited. “Yeah that feel good?” She pulls your leg higher laying deeper inside you.

You watch her bicep flex as she holds you up. “R-really good.” Turning your head back you capture her lips with yours. She groans into the kiss her softer lips contrasting the deep quick thrust she’s pounding into you. Your orgasm builds slowly violet getting the tell tale sign of your legs shaking. It fills her with insurmountable pride every time. She pulls away from your lips and you groan at her pouting. “I just wanna watch sweetheart.” Violet says oh so innocently as she send you over the edge falling apart on her.

You twitch and whine vi observes you with a awestruck look on her face. Hips helping you through it. Once you’ve come down she’s stroking your hair and pulling out slowly. You wince from being so sensitive and she gets up to drop the harness to the floor before coming back to bed to scoop you up and cuddle you.

Your half awake at this point curled up on her chest. You listen to her heartbeat eye fluttering open and closed trying not to fall sleep. She lays with you quietly before speaking again. “Lets go take a bath.” She whispers lips pressed against your head. “Uh uh.” Mumbling back you nuzzle into her further. She’s going to carry to you the bath either way but she’ll let you rest for now.

Thank you for reading!!

ೀ spoiled. ( part one )

📞🕯️🎀 ₊˚⊹♡ “ baby , can you call me back ? i miss you … it’s so lonely in my mansion … “ 🧸🪽🍬

pairing: ellie williams x rich fem!reader

synopsis: the mansion you live in is getting too cold , the silence is way too silent , and not even reruns of sex & the city can help … long story short , you’re feeling lonely . wonder if you can think of someone in your contacts that can help and warm you up , a certain classmate perhaps ?

warnings: girly reader , kind of desperate loser ellie , bratty spoiled rich reader so don't read if that annoys you , allusion to smut , actual smut will be in the second chapter , this is dirty so mdni as usual !

an: i wrote this such a long time ago and it wasn't supposed to be two parts but well now it is !! i will start writing the second part if u guys want to so don't be shy in my inbox. not proofread unfortunately ♡

A perfectly manicured hand rests on the fluffy white and silky smooth duvet. the Egyptian cotton, to be exact, is nothing but lavish, a sanctuary of indulgence in the realm of your own private luxury. Then, you tap your nails atop it, and the fabric crinkles. You gently sigh, but it's more so a grumble, and reach over for the ‘Dunkin’ cup standing on your wooden bedside table. It perfectly matches every single one of the furniture in your extravaganza of a walk in closet, and the bed-frame as well. You take a slow, indulgent sip out of the icy cold drink, take an ice cube out with a straw, and gently suckle on it. You place the drink back on the table, shifting your gaze back over to the flat screen television.

Carrie forgave Mr. Big again, and now she’s seen frantically pacing around the streets of New York City in her shiny Manolo Blahniks. You arch your brows, humming in high pitched amusement. you have the exact same pair!

Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda always seem to bring you a sense of comfort. Usually, your bed brings you a sense of comfort as well, and so does an icy drink with specifically eight cubes of ice. Your room smells like French vanilla, a tinge of cinnamon, and the sweetest pie you’ve never learned how to bake. Most of the time, you’d bask in the scent and feel nice, and cosy, and your nose would scrunch and your nostrils would flare out, then you’d open your favorite food delivery app and order a nice ol’ package of nine chocolate chip cookies. Then, you’d pop open a bottle of champagne and indulge yourself in the sweets deliciousness.

But your appetite is less existent than snow in the middle of August.

You’re also freezing cold, fuzzy socks and all — goosebumps rising on your skin and feeling sharp like Japanese knives.

Your best friend of a white home cat, Toodle, elegantly extends his supple frame, his lithe form gracefully ascending to nestle within the cradle of your neck. His bell gently dingles, he yawns and mellifluously meows. Right now, it sounds more like an old mans groan.

“I know, Toots… m’bored too. And cold, Jesus…” you mutter towards Toodles, who, in his usual aloof manner, closes his eyes and surrenders to the soothing hum of his purring. You puff some air out of your mouth, brain wheels turning as to find out what’s the cause of this blue mood. The air conditioning is completely turned off, you’re sure of it, and the fireplace crackles with warmth. Your entire moisturized body is covered up by a ridiculously expensive thick blanket, and it’s not the short VS nightie that makes you feel freezing, you’re convinced of that. For some reason, the frosty sensation persists. You smack your lip-glossed lips before bumping your head against your mountain of pillows, emitting a low grunt of exasperation.

You don’t know the reason for your boredom, or for this bum mood, because albeit you’ve seen this episode about a gazillion times, it never fails to entertain the shit out of your brain.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re entirely alone (except for Toddles, of course, can't forget him) in a 10,000 square feet mansion. or perhaps it’s because the only lit room inside the mansion is your own.

But then you roll your eyes, because your parents are always away (at St. Tropez this time), so feeling alone isn’t a new and strange concept.

Alas, being alone isn’t the same as being lonely.

Your face twists at the depressing thought, ew. You’re not lonely, just… bored, and unamused, and the icy drink isn’t sweet enough and Carrie’s getting on your last nerve, and the 1,000 dollar blanket is starting to itch the hell out of your hyper-sensitive skin.

Which is why you get up from the bed in a moment of eureka, landing your feet against the fuzzy carpet and slide them into your Ugg’s. “Uh huh!” you chirp, you finally got it.

You’re experiencing an old friend of a feeling called (drumroll…) — anxiety, over your unfinished chem project! It must have masked itself in the form of frigidness and discomfort and loneliness.

But the project isn’t even due till next week, and you rarely get stressed over college stuff unless they’re due the next day and you’re sitting, staring down at your laptop screen, trying to communicate with it through telepathy or something of that sort.

Somaybeit’snotanxiety and maybeyou’rejustloney.

You shake away that uneasy and irritating thought, and sit your pretty butt down on the rolling chair. You click your shiny glittery pen (that always sheds some glitter onto your hand) and open up the thick as brick textbook.

You read the first question out loud.

The correct formula for aluminum nitrate is…

Valentino’s Lòco Toile Iconographe shoulder bag in hot pink?

Nope.

You shake your head, you have got to focus. You place your chin atop your palm and click the pen once more.

Al(NO2)3? or maybe it’s Al(NO3)3…

or maybe you’re so far off you need to close the book shut and throw it out of the window. You’ve always sucked at chemistry.

Which is why you were assigned to be tutored by that auburn haired, green eyed, slightly sullen, tatted up girl who went by "Ellie" — or "El", but you didn't know her like that.

Ellie, is the one who stuttered out your name as she realized you weren’t paying attention to her tutoring, as you had your gaze fixated on the black ink etched on her forearm, a half-covered flannel and a canvas of delicate veins. A bug, adorned with intricate botanical details, unfurled its wings across her skin.

“S’uh… A moth, with ferns around it n’stuff. It’s kind of faded now though”

Her voice was raspy and husky, and she stuttered out your name. Usually, you’d hate it when people got nervous around you. It made you feel odd, ostracized, and you always insisted — you were so damn sweet, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You wore sweet perfume, sweet as goddamn cherries and cupcakes, and your voice was soft and you always smiled brightly, and so what if your purse cost more than a college tuition?

But her nerves didn’t annoy you. In fact, you found them charming, and you found her sweet. You found that all of her “Uhhh” ‘s, and her “Mhhm” ‘s, all of her stammering and her lack of ability to keep eye contact with you to be… infatuating.

Then there was that rich voice, and those eyes, that smile, those hands, those damn toned arms, those biceps and the haircut, the way two short strands of hair always framed her face perfectly and her scent — that you could tell was just a cheap cologne, but mixed with her unique fragrance, proved nothing short of intoxicating.

It was also the fact that she seemed to damn know everything — and that she was always ahead of you, and that her face always bore that coy little smirk when you got a question wrong (which you seemed to get more often than not), and that she would grab your Swarovski pen out of your hand and scribble down the answer for you, just to explain it in detail later.

The way she licked over her bottom lip and bit as wrote down.

With her long fingers and all.

When she spoke, her breath smelled of mint and the faintest tinge of weed, which made you think of how lovely it must be to be able to transform into a damn joint just so she could place you in her mouth and suck —

now you’re sticky, and god now you really are distracted, and not by a cute purse or the sound of rain pouring down on your window. Toodles stretches his tiny limbs and you hear his bell faintly dingle again. He climbs down from your princess bed and jumps up to sit at your lap. You caress down his white fur and he purrs.

You wonder if Ellie likes cats.

You know she likes pussy.

You have got to get a grip.

You massage your temples, attempting to focus on the written down questions again, but the words and the numbers seem to mix into a cacophony of odd symbols and letters, and you’re still so goddamn cold.

Albeit your eyelids droop down slowly, eyes spazzing out of focus, the assignment must be done today.

“Just, finish the damn work and go to sleep. Yup.” You mumble to yourself, a habit you picked up as a result of being alone for most of your childhood, and having to opt for the help of imaginary friends to keep you comfort. Alas, you’re older now and only have yourself to talk to.

You try and follow your command.

The problem is, you don’t know jack shit.

You wish Ellie was here, with her hair sticking to her forehead and your pen in her hand and her old chuck’s glued to her feet, as she sits down on the spare chair aside you with her jaw resting on her knees.

You wish you could hear her faint chuckle as you get another question wrong.

As a tutor, of course.

Not even as a friend, because she’s not.

Definitely not as a lover, obviously, because that would truly be so far fetched from reality — although… right now, you can’t help but think of the way her eyes fall down to your chest as a crimson blush creeps up her cheeks.

And you keep thinking about the time you purposely let your bra strap cascade down your shoulder, just because you wondered how she’d react — Which was with averting her gaze to the side and clearing her throat. Now you think of the time you wore an extra short mini skirt, not that different from the rest of them although a bit tinier, and how you kept rubbing your thighs together just to see whether she’d notice or not, which she did…

You groan and slap your palm against your forehead.

Then, you stare at another question and then at your phone. Toodles chimes in with a high-pitched meow.

“Oh my gosh Toots, so true! I should text her the questions, duh”

You’re not delusional at all, by the way.

So you send her your address.

In the meantime, you make sure your studying environment and your room are as tidy as possible. You grab your sparkly pink pen and place it near the textbook, and you grab a matte black pen for Ellie as well, a thoughtful gesture.

You also apply some strawberry scented moisturizer on your body, and spray your sickly sweet perfume on your pule points.

You slip your feet out of your slippers, and you wear your favorite heels. However, you keep your little nightie on. You’re supposed to feel comfortable, this is your house after all, and the heels — are just a courtesy, you are expecting company, and opening the front door with house slippers is entirely rude, and the silky robe… It’s long enough and proper. Ish.

You stare at your reflection down the mirror, and for some reason, you feel utterly nervous. You’re all dolled up for a person who isn’t a stranger, but who also isn’t a friend. When you coat your lips with some minty gloss, Toodles stretches his tail upwards and meows.

“Psh. Do not judge me, Toots. This is normal, I do this all the time”

Which again is a total and complete white lie, because if it was a regular friend coming over, you wouldn’t have even bothered to fix up your makeup, and you’d barely even get up from the comfort of your own bed.

As a matter of fact, not many people come by your house at all. You have your fair share of friends, but you’d much rather hang out by the mall or at one of their mansions, yours always feels just, utterly suffocating — as giant and spacey as it might be. And sure, you’ve had hook ups before, but you always went rigid when they tried to slip past your panties, and you were always… dry, as an autumn leaf.

Ellie makes you feel anything but dry.

Physically — you shake your head and try getting rid of the thought by giving yourself some good old whiplash.

You find yourself pacing around your room, until you manage to cascade downstairs as soon as you hear the bell ring. With each step you take, your heel taps the lavish ceramic pavement.

“Stay”, you gesture towards your fluffy feline companion, who responds with a squinting of his eyes. “Don’t freak out our company”

You look at Ellie’s face from the intercom’s shiny screen. You look at it so hard you nearly forget to press on the button that’s purpose is to let your tutor-guest in. A couple of strands of her auburn bangs stick to her forehead. Ellie scratches her eyes with the back of her hands and she straightens up her spine. As she waits for the gate to open, she puffs some air from her cheeks. She attempts to fix her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers, and seems to be murmuring something underneath her breath.

You’re not the best at lip reading, but your gut tells you she just whispered a “Hi”, and added your name, then — “Hey” adding your name once more.

It’s absolutely impossible for her to not be aware of how stupidly and irritatingly cute she is.

You press on the button and clear your throat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t practice your greeting in front of a mirror as well. Your robe cascades down your shoulder, you fixate on it and contemplate pulling up the fabric.

Toodles meows once more.

Yup. You should keep it down.

It takes Ellie a good five minutes to walk the full distance from the front gate to your huge white door.

Then she knocks three times on the wood, and you squeak like a mouse although you really were fully prepared.

Your tutor wears a blue flannel with a white undershirt tucked beneath. The first button is opened, revealing a tiny piece of her pale skin. Below, her legs are covered with tight skinny jeans with a tear on the knee (you’re not sure if she fell or if it’s done purposely so), and to your surprise — no Chuck’s, but Doc Martens.

Noted. She has more than one pair of shoes.

When you greet Ellie with a cheerful — yet ever so relieved and breathy “Hi”, you kiss her on the cheek like you do all of your friends, and you can smell that cheap cologne again.

Amber, citrus, musk, lavender.

There’s a hint of actual Ellie in the mix as well — smoke, herbs, sweat… did she run here?

When you hug Ellie you focus on her scent.

When you hug Ellie she focuses on absofuckinglutely nothing — Her body goes rigid and stiff and she doesn’t hug you back until two way too long seconds pass, and she finally manages to place her hand on your waist.

But she doesn’t hug or squeeze, she rests it there.

Then she coughs.

“Hey”

You take a step back and you can tell she’s a bit flushed, or flustered — but you take it as her just running. You lean your hand against one of the thick pillars. Her orbs travel frantically from your eyes down to your… legs, that are completely bare and smooth and shiny, then they run down to your feet, which are covered with heels…

You think she might say something about it, about you, how ridiculous you look, so you’re washed up with self consciousness and shyness which is something you rarely get to feel, unless you’re with that damn girl for some reason.

Then her eyes hyper-focus on… the ceiling?

You grant Ellie a half smile and you really yearn to break the silence — but she’s ahead of you. Again.

“It’s… you have a really high ceiling” she says, then immediately glues her eyes on to the floor.

“Uh, shiny floor…” she chuckles so freaking awkwardly, grazing the bottom of her left legs doc’s on the floor so it squeaks. Immediately, Ellie apologizes.

“Shit, sorry, my shoes fuckin’ muddy. I uh, ran here”

You gingerly smile and furrow your brows. You theory has been proven correct. “You ran?”

“Walked, like, not ran ran”

There’s the tiniest droplet of sweat on Ellie’s forehead, which she wipe’s swiftly and clumsily with the back of her hand when she notices your eyes scan it. Oh, she ran ran alright. You do feel a little bad, picturing Ellie’s shoes hitting below her ass as she runs through the streets of your city, with a packed and awfully heavy mauve backpack — smacking against her back with every step she takes. You almost pout, you’re still leaning against the pillar and you smack your lips together — gloss and all, out of habit.

“Could’a given you a ride, y’know” you light sweetly. Ellie’s scarred eyebrow arches up in response. “You have a license?”

You so want to shove her shoulder playfully, but you’re convinced it’ll make her go absolutely rigid again. Physical contact bricks her up — noted.

“Why is that such a surprise?” you flash her a teasing smile. She smiles back at you.

“S’just, thought you’d have a personal driver. Can’t really imagine you driving that monster of a Rover back there —“

You nod in complete amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Ellie teases, followed by a throaty chuckle. “Plus, took you more of a passenger princess type of girl”

And that sentence shouldn’t make you stutter the way you do next. It shouldn’t, but it does. You back away slowly and Ellie follows your footsteps.

“T-that’s, awfully presumptuous” you chirp. Her boots stomp on the floor and your heels click clack. “Plus, I don’t drive that Rover. My car’s in the garage with the rest of ‘em” you say matter-of-factly.

Ellie scoffs impishly behind you. You walk up the stairs and she follows suit. She’s confident when she teases, you think, which is a tad different than her usual awkward self, but if only you knew she nearly slipped down one of the steps as she noticed the tiniest, delicious, most precious piece of your flesh that was just exposed behind you as a result of your incredibly short nightie.

“Psh, so presumptuous”

As you walk towards your room, Ellie walks behind you although she has more than enough space to walk besides you. You get the feeling that she's nervous, even after her teasing and all, and you don't have to wonder why too much. Your house is huge, intimidating, filled with strange sculptures and paintings by obscure artists regular people have never even heard of. You don't have just one living room, you have three, and in each and every one of them stands a different technology piece of some sort. Also, your heels cost more than her outfit, could be more worth than the entirety of her damn closet, and most importantly — you're walking with a pink robe and some heels on.

When you reach your room, Ellie awkwardly smiles and straightens her muscular back. Then, she holds on to the straps of her backpack.

"First of all" you sigh, and now it's your turn to feel coy. "Thank you for coming over so late. I know it's like, absolutely ridiculous, and you know, you don't get paid for this so...", you flash Ellie an endearing smile, the apples of your cheeks rising sweetly as a humble thank you. "And, second of all... jus'... brace yourself?"

Ellie's brows arch up, but before she has time to ask — oh.

You both step into your lit room. Toodles follows by closely, entering the room as well, whilst rubbing his furry back against Ellie's calves.

"Yup..."

Ellie's fingers instinctively clasp onto the straps of her backpack once more, her eyes widening ever so slightly, but she fights to seem as unsurprised as she can — she fails miserably, because she gasps a little.

Your room is nothing but a... cotton candy dream world. A wall that's painted in pretty dusty pink, a princess bed that's nothing but a regal centerpiece. Above the bed, a canopy of gossamer silk drapes from a custom-crafted wrought iron frame, And the final sophisticated touch, a grand crystal chandelier, suspended from the ceiling. There are also clothes everywhere, empty water bottles, used sheet masks, a stack of books — some half-read, others forgotten, teetered precariously on a random corner. Ellie sticks out like a sore thumb. She stands out like a neon sign in a library, a skateboard at a black-tie gala.

You like it.

She clears her throat, stepping further into your room. "I take it black is your favorite color?" she titters sarcastically.

You giggle.

"Mhm, also I'm clearly very organized, and I hate clothes" you murmur and point out the pile of dresses haphazardly bunched in the corner of your room.

She should feel out of place. She should probably laugh, even sneak a pic — tell all her "cool" friends about how mindblowingly ridiculous the prissy rich girls room is. Instead, she thinks about how cute you must look cuddled up in a bed this big, how adorable it'd be to see your bed-head poking through the sheets at 8am, how sweet it must be to watch you skip around your room, trying on your shitload of clothes, throwing them in the air and huffing like a medieval brat of a princess. She wants to place a fucking tiara on your head. She sees your sticker collection from the corner of her eye, your vinyls, your candles, your crystals and Toodles' sofa.

And she likes it.

You take a deep breath. You shouldn't even care if she likes it or not, you shouldn't be bothered by it at all — you rarely are, but something inside of you yearns for... something.

"It suits you" she murmurs.

And that's certainly good enough, because it does.

You gesture Ellie to sit on the rolling chair next to yours, and her eyes still roam over the space of your room. “My room looks exactly the same, by the way… same uh, size too… n’stuffed animals… Shit, I like the elephant one”, she sarcastically remarks as she sits on the chair and hunches down, manspreading as she often does. Your eyes can’t help but roam down, because her damn thighs flexed under those jorts and you heard her, but you also kind of didn’t.

Ellie clears her throat and narrows her eyes. Jheez, she thinks, you must be absolutely exhausted since your eyes don’t seem to be able to focus.

“Huh?” you say, startled. You’re still standing up on those heels. Ellie sniffles and chuckles and her voice goes all quiet.

“Said pink nauseates me, that I hate those stuffed animals and that your elephant doll’s ugly as shit”

You roll your eyes and your tongue swipes over your glossy bottom lip. You bite it and you sit down on the chair. Ellie’s eyes scan over your chest and she averts her gaze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hate you, chem tutor” you huff, resting your head on the palm of your hand. Ellie doesn’t maintain a second of eye contact but she chuckles and it’s cocky.

“You need me, and you need an A in chemistry”

You like that side of her.

You let your eyes blink lazily at her, a cheeky little smirk forming on your lips. When you open your mouth again, just to smack it on your glossy lips, you brush your leg ‘accidentally’ against hers, and rigid she goes. “Mhm, I definitely need you, Ellie…”

The apples of Ellie’s cheek shine in bright crimson and her hand flexes. She grabs her pen and clicks on it once. You didn’t mean it like that, she so obviously knows or believes, but it matters nonetheless. You like that side of her so much more.

You cross your pretty legs and let the tip of your heel graze her chair. “So, you want a drink before we start studying?”, you’re way too damn close, she nods — but she doesn’t need a ‘drink’ she needs a damn water fountain that directly flows onto her mouth and satisfies that damn drench. Is it possible for her damn knee to feel hot? Why is her knee feeling hot?

“Anything specific?”

“Jus’ waters fine” Ellie manages to murmur, lips forming a teeny tiny, shy, crescent smile.

“I was thinking more… like, wine? I have a wine cooler n’my room… if you wanted water i’d have to like, go downstairs and… It’s so lonely in there” your voice is saccharine, delicate, and it and coaxes Ellie’s mind.

“Wine’s perfect, I love wine” says Ellie.

She hates wine.

“Mhm, red or white?” — Your question comes when you lift your butt off the chair and walk slowly towards the cooler.

“Uh, r-red. S’much… richer” Ellie falters, remembering vaguely the time Joel had mentioned white wine’s for pussies. When she tried a red one, she gagged.

“Impressive” you note.

Ellie rolls the chair with the help of her heavy Doc's, and watches as you pour the red liquid into two delicate glasses. Your leg, she notices, is clad with a shiny, delicate golden piece of jewelry. Her eyes scan upwards, towards your bare thighs — the flesh is glistening, almost appearing as if it's covered with oil. Her mind drifts elsewhere, to a world in which your nightie is nothing but nonexistent, and those thighs...

Her stomach grumbles, she firmly holds onto it. Why NOW.

"Hungry?" you place the glass on the table, slightly nudging it towards Ellie.

She's starving.

you flash her a devilish smirk, cocking your head to the side.

"Oh, uhh... nope"

Famished.

HELLO!! :D Can I request a Bully Sukuna x Bratty reader? Like every chance he gets to encounter Reader, he can't help but slut shame her cuz he thinks her body is absolutely perfect. So like one day when you're just trying to eat ur lunch, he annoys the FUCK outta y/n then y/n loses her temper and slams her food into his face (which he doesnt like) THEN WHEN THEYRE ALONE IN A CLASSROOM SUKUNA PUTS HER IN HER PLACE AND LIKE SHE DOESNT TRY AND RESIST BECUZ SHE WANTED THIS TO HAPPEN TOO

Hatred

Bully!Sukuna x Reader

A/n: I really enjoyed writing abt this because im a bit on the curvy side myself (big tittle supremacy) so I was blushing the whole time >///< But I hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: Virgin!Reader, body shaming, reader has big boobs, body praise, bullying dub-con, groping, fingering, titty sucking, rough fucking, cervix fucking, slapping, breeding kink, cum kink, orgasm denial, dumbification

Word count: 2.5k

Synopsis: In which you had enough of sukunas shit so you finally retaliate, and Sukuna does not like that.

Check out pt.2! ✽ If it isn't rough it isn't fun (Bully!Sukuna x Reader)

~

You hated Sukuna.

You hated how he’d call you a whore infront of all your classmates even though you haven't even lost your virginity yet. How he'd ‘accidentally’ trip you in the hall way or spill his drink all over you. How he’d only refer to you as “stupid slut” and make all of his lackys call you that too. How he’d steal your book bag when you left to go to the bathroom and you'd find it floating in a fountain near by later. 

But most of all you hated how he made you feel.

You must be a masochist or something because even through Sukuna’s relentless torment, you just cant help but slips a finger under the hem of your panties to the thought of him popping your cherry. You cant help the way your heart beats faster when he purposely bumps into you, thinking about how you could smell his musky pine scent with how close he was.  

And it makes you furious. 

~

It all come to a crescendo one day in the cafeteria where your in line for lunch, metal tray in hand, humming to some random tune in your head. As you sit down to eat, a shudder racks your body when you feel someones hot breath dance along your neck.

“Well if it isn't everyones favorite slut.” 

You dont even bother to turn your head to know who that deep voice belongs too, simply clenching your teeth and continuing to look down at your food. A maniacal grin spreads across sukunas face as he takes a seat next to you.

“Oh so we’re a mute now? What happened to ‘go away’ or ‘leave me aloneeee’” He mocks in an annoying high pitched whiney imitation of your voice. 

Your face is hot, so hot its making you dizzy. You dont respond, instead choosing to focus on the loud chatter of your classmates around you to no avail. 

“Aw come on I at least liked it when you put up a fight angel.”

Your breath hitches at the pet name and you grab your spoon to scoop a bite of chocolate cake on your tray, hoping, no, praying it would distract you from how impossibly close Sukuna was. 

“Oh you dont need to eat that, what are you trying to do, gain weight? I mean I guess all your fat goes to your ass anyway...”  Sukuna chuckles and you dont even register the large hand that slipped under your skirt until you feel it  squeeze your plush skin. 

That was when the line was crossed. That was when embarrassment turned into pure unadulterated rage. 

Anger clouds your vision, and you dont even fully become aware of what your doing or why your standing up until your grabbing the metal food tray and smashing it on sukunas head with all your might, the sound of metal against bone echoing through the room, bringing all voices to a complete silent. The first thing that comes to mind is to yell, to scream “why can’t you leave me alone,why humiliate me? Why did you give me these feelings?!!” But instead, all that comes out is a loud “FUCK YOU SUKUNA!”

There is a moment of thick silence as you watch food and a trickle of blood slide down sukunas pink hair, and onto the bridge of his nose, where your e/c eyes met his sharp vermillion red ones. Fear racks your body as your take in Sukunas face; how his tattooed skin is crinkled in a seething sneer and his eyes seem to gleam ‘murder’. You quickly pull your self together, mumbling a silent sorry as you bow in apology before grabbing your bag and running off; the sound of your school uniform loafers clacking against the floor echoing through the room. 

~

You spent the whole day avoiding Sukuna, arriving to class late so you’d be the only one using the hallway and even hiding in the bathroom on the periods you did share with him. Sukuna never got physically violent with you but you weren't sure if that would remain true any longer, and you defiantly weren't about to risk it. 

Finally the bell rang, signaling the end of school and you watched as the teachers and students poured out of the class, leaving you behind to clean the room. You were on cleaning duty today, and as much as you wanted to scurry home to the safety of your bed, skipping would mean a visit to the principle office, and that was something you couldnt afford. 

As you mindlessly began to sweep, you watched the sunset blossom upon the cloud, casting the room is an orange goldfish hue. Suddenly you hear the loud bang of the door slamming behind you, interrupting your thoughts and almost making you drop your broom.

“Found you bitch.”

You quickly turn around to face Sukuna, holding your broom tight to you as he walked closer toward you. 

“S-stay back s-s-sukuna” Your voice betrays you at how absolutely scared shitless you were, your own timidness making you blush.

“Or what? You’ll hit me with a broom?” Sukuna chuckles. His hair is damp, probably from using the school gym showers, and he was getting closer, caging you in and preventing any chance to escape.

 He's now right against you, your boobs inches away from his chest. Your breathing has become irregular now, and your starting to over heat; hype aware of his breath on your skin or how he just absolutely towered over you.

“You do it on purpose dont you.” Sukuna says lowly, and you have to look away to your side in order to just breath. 

“Look at me when I talk to you bitch.” A large hand comes to grab your face and roughly force you to turn to Sukuna. He keeps you there, but its not like you'd pull away either; your too enraptured in his deep red eyes. 

“I-what?”

“Dont play stupid slut, ive seen the way you bend over in front of me or how you walk around in the school swaying your hips like a fucking whore, you practically asking me to fuck you” Sukuna seethes.

Did you just hear him right? 

Your in disbelief, your virgin mind running circles at this point. Your breath hitches when you realize that one of his hands had dropped underneath your skirt and was now sliding too long fingers in your underwear. 

“Look at you, you're not even resisting, I knew you wanted this. Your even dripping.”

You hated how much he was right, but you couldnt deny the pool of arousal growing at the base of your underwear.Slowly, Sukuna slides one of his long finger inside your wet cunt, your pussy instantly squeezing at the foreign intrusion. You whine when he curls his middle finger to his palm; hitting places you could only dream of hitting yourself. Two trembling hands grab onto Sukunas uniform to keep your self steady as you grind your hips on his hand; despretly trying to get more out of the pleasure.

Blood rushes to your ears when you feel him start to unbutton your white uniform t shirt, opening the clothing up and diving one of his hands into your bra to pull out a breast.

“Fuck your so beautiful.” Sukuna mumbles, just low enough so you can hear and you can feel his hot breath on your skin before he attaches his lips onto your hard nipple. His tongue flattens, rolling your peak and swirling around your areola, fast and rough until you’re whining.

"Ah~ Kuna!"

Your back arches immediately at the stimulation from your breasts and the pleasure of Sukunas finger massaging your g spot; his palm rubbing nicely against your clit. You can faintly hear the sloshing noises down your sex from Sukunas ceaseless fingering.It was warm, everything was warm; your face, your tummy, Sukuna's hands and wet mouth on you. Your legs were trembling and you could barley stand, but just when you where about to fall of the edge, Sukuna pulled away and stoped all ministrations from your body.

Fat hot tears clouded your sight and started to spill down your flushed red face from the pleasure that had been snatched away from you. "No no no no please I-i-i'll be good please dont s-stop." You attempted to grab Sukunas hand and pull it back to you but he quickly swatted it away.

"You think I'll make you cum that easily when you pulled that shit back there?" Sukuna spat, making you sniffle and bite your lip in shame. Your too busy wiping your tears away and sniffling back the snot that threatened to flow down from your nose to notice that Sukuna had started to unbuckle his belt. Your brought back by the sound of metal clanking to the floor and you immediately grow silent as you watch Sukuna lower down his pants and boxers enough for his dick to spring out.

Your imagination didnt do him any justice. Sukunas dick was big, winning in both length and girth. A thick vein decorated the side and the top was adorned with an angry red tip that leaked precum.

Its then the realization hits you like a bomb shell, shattering your haze

Oh shit im gonna lose my virginity. In a classroom.

"Sukuna i-i dont know if this I-i-is a good idea I-" Your trembling voice is cut off with a gasp when Sukuna reaches under your skirt and rips your panties in half; the frilly material landing on the floor.

"Too bad, turns out I dont care." Sukuna voice comes out in a faux empathetic voice, and he is already aligning his mushroom tip with your dripping pussy. Just the pressure against your hole is exhilarating and if it weren't for the two strong hands on either side of your hips keeping you in place you would've squirmed your hips away.

Suddenly Sukuna pushes in with a grunt, and before you can let out a scream one of his hands flys to tightly cover your mouth, muffling your voice.

"S'tight, loosen up a bit would ya?" He chuckles and continues to push in until your flushed against his pelvis. You jump when you feel something press against what feels like a wall inside of you, what surely must be your cervix. The stretch of your gummy walls around his dick knocks the wind out of you, and Sukuna groans at the way your pussy tightens in an attempt to push out the foreign intrusion.

Sukuna's about to pull out to move when he notices a trickle of blood from your pussy drip down his balls, the realization of what it meant making him grin.

"Shit your actually a fucking virgin aren't you."

Your too lost in the pain and slight foreign pleasure to register the question, and he takes the silence as a yes.

"Good."

You let out a scream when he pulls out and thrusts back into you. To be fair a part of sukuna told him to go slow, to be kinder on you since this was your first time. But from the way your hot sticky walls sucked him in, and how you looked at him, how you looked at him like you needed him, made him loose control.

It was dizzying, the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls everytime he backed his hips up. The friction is incredible and it made pain quickly turn into pleasure. He uses you like his personal cock sleeve, shapes your insides and bruises your cervix until your entire body jolts with sensitivity. his balls slap against your ass with every thrust and he retracts his hips until the tip pokes out to admire the sheen dripping to his base before fitting himself back into your snug walls.

I-kuna,” you hiccuped, the tears falling freely from your eyes from how overwhelming good you felt. At this point your legs where trembling and you didnt know how much long you could stand up but your thoughts were too clouded to form words

Luckily Sukuna got the message, chuckling at your inability to speak.

"Jump" he commanded, catching both thighs as he slammed you on the opposite wall, your legs wrapping securely around his waist. Its then sukunas eyes caught how good you take him - the fat of his head have a hard time popping out with how greedy your cunny is being. He lets out a delicious moan at how hot you are on the inside. The new position has you keening, his dick now thrusting up harder into you, touching a spot you never felt before.

"Found it didnt I" He breathes through a smile and pummels into you with vigor. And your about to disagree with him, insist that the feeling is too new and foreign to feel good when all of a sudden your body begins to shake and your head starts to feel fuzzy

And suddenly—you feel it. What you've heard about from friends or seen in porn.

Its like all your bodies energy centers are activating at once and your left utterly helpless to the feeling of tingling ecstasy wrapping your brain and stomach.

You dont know how to tell him that something is happening, not when the pleasure is too immense your barley breathing full breaths. But he understands once again the words you tried to desperately to communicate.

"Do it slut. Cum. I'll fill you up, and if it spills ill fuck it back into you."

Your brought back to reality when you feel a pair of lips on yours, enrapturing you in a messy hot kiss. His first taste of you is hungry and messy and desperate — his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.The kiss broke with a sinful sound, a wet pop from between your lips, breaths heavy and chests rising and falling after it. The realization that Sukuna just kissed you was quickly pushed away by the feeling of your stomach twisting into a tight knot until the heat is unbearable. Its consuming you driving you over the edge so fast that you can’t put a stop on it.

"Sh-Shit, shit, fuuuuck~" He chuckles into your ear, choking over his words as his hips sputter inside of you, hot cum fills you as much as you can hold inside of your stuffed cunny. Its such a tight fit that a mixture of your cum and his own collects at the base of his cock in a ring.

“Huuh… Feels good…. So warm….” The warmth of his cum fills your stomach, its so addicting that you wish the feeling never goes away. Slowly, Sukuna pulls out of and sets your on the floor. Your a fucked out mess, eyes glazed over from your orgasm and two fingers midnlessly playing with the mixture of sticky hot cum that leaked in pool on the floor.

"Shit, fucked you stupid didnt I."

A/n: Im too lazy to write an ending

15 ways Gojo annoys you

introducing the best worst boyfriend ever 

1. Will roll on your side of the bed and throw his whole body on top of yours. And when you literally try to pinch him to get off of you, he snores even louder in response, sneakily peeking one eye open and quickly closing it before you could catch him.

2. Is the type to harass you when you’re in the bathroom. Will burst in and go into a full on conversation while leaning against the counter, ignoring the way you’re glaring daggers at him as you sit on the toilet, or he’d slide notes underneath the door that say things like “Do you like me 🥰? Circle yes or no.” Also will pour flour/excessive amounts of shampoo on your head if you’re in the shower just to prank you.

3. Never on time to pick you up. And when he actually is there on time, he makes sure that his music is on full blast and it’s something really embarrassing or vulgar. You look mortified as he slowly pulls up in front of you, rolling the passenger window down with a smirk on his face.

4. Takes pictures of you while you’re asleep with your mouth hung open and slob dribbling down your chin. He poses next to you with the peace sign and a huge smile across his face, posting all the pictures he took on his story and tagging you so you’d have a surprise for when you woke up in the morning.

Keep reading

❝𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝚰𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝚰𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑.❞

ghostface!bestfriend!ellie ✗ fem reader

❝𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝚰 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔.❞

⚠︎︎︎.ᐟ ⌞warnings ⊹ cw⌝ ﹕ approx 20k words. (ik im sorry im always yapping too much.) headcanons!! mention of blood/murders, drugs usage. childhoodbestfriend!𝑒, perv!𝑒, ghostface!𝑒, switch!𝑒, v light knife play (𝑒!receiving+giving), handcuffing ghostface😊, oral/fingering, strap-on sex (r!receiving), extremely jealous/obsessive!𝑒, ellie gets off to eepy reader and they get off together on the couch yummyy... i think that's it?? ps ignore that ugly ass edited pic pls😭

.ᐟ.ᐟ ⌞author's note⌝ ﹕ this isn't like the movies, it's a 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 story. proofread by @sapphichotmess!!

#.ᐟ ⌞taglist⌝ ﹕ @aouiaa @kaykeryyy @whoucallingalesbian @taylormarieee @co0kiemuncher @myathegoat @joordynn @iamhellagae @hearts444olivia @ion-news @broskideedle13 @ladyofcain @cheyisagirlkisser

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

˳·˖𖤐 During her childhood, Ellie had a stern and intimidating demeanor that unintentionally scared other kids away. They’d be too scared to approach her, let alone play or talk with her, which left her in solitude most of the time. She got used to playing by herself and spent her recess in the corner of the playground. During lunchtime, she would eat the dino nuggets that her dad had meticulously prepared for her while sitting alone at the lunch table (being picky about food, she only ever had dino nuggets and was firmly convinced that regular nuggets did not taste as good). She seemed to find solace in drawing and would spend hours sketching in her green notebook, lost in her world of imagination.

˳·˖𖤐 Maybe, just maybe, the kids’ fear toward Ellie wasn’t unmotivated. She loved to cause chaos and conflicts among the other kids. She would start small fights, encourage others to fight, push kids off swings, or even break their toys. Even more concerning was that she seemed to get a kick out of other people’s misery and would laugh at their distress and discomfort, which was why many feared and avoided being near her.

˳·˖𖤐 Joel would often find himself rushing to his daughter’s school, trying his best to convince the school officials that his sweet little girl could never do anything to hurt other kids. Despite being smart and quiet, Ellie would sometimes find herself in trouble for things she claimed she didn’t do. She always stood her ground, insisting that if she ever did start something, it was only because another child had done something to her first. And, of course, her father always believed her and would go to great lengths to defend his baby girl.

Once, Joel was called to the principal’s office. When he entered the room, he saw the principal sitting behind his desk, looking stern and serious. Joel's heart sank, he could sense something was off. “My daughter would n—” Joel tried to speak, but the principal cut him off without missing a beat. “The teacher saw her. She pushed Jason off the swing and kicked him,” the principal stated, his tone firm and authoritative. Joel's eyes immediately darted to his sweet little angel, who was crying and pouting, giving him doe eyes as she shook her head to dismiss all the accusations. “No, Dad, I didn’t, I swear. He hit me first,” she said, trying to defend herself. “Heard what she said? She didn’t do it.” Joel always fell for that little dotted face. He would still stand by his beliefs no matter what the teachers or other kids' parents said. His baby girl would never hurt anyone. He couldn’t imagine her doing anything wrong.

˳·˖𖤐 You were never really scared of her—the quiet, introverted girl. In fact, you were quite intrigued by her. She always seemed to be the odd one out, sitting in the corner of the classroom or standing far away across the playground, watching everything and everyone so intently. What really fascinated you about her was her attention to detail. She never missed a thing and could remember every single detail of everything, almost like she had a photographic memory or something. 

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was fascinated with you. Ever since you helped Ellie pick up the pencils she had accidentally dropped, she couldn’t help but notice your gentle and soft smile, and from that moment on, she found herself unable to take her eyes off you. She’d just sit across the room, sipping on her apple juice box as she studied you curiously. To her, you were a delicate and pretty little girl, reminding her of a flower. She had always thought other kids weren’t as bright as her and weren’t good enough to be her friends, which led her to isolate herself from others. She thought of herself as better than everyone her age, and it was also why she would beat them up, finding them too stupid to put up with. But you were different. There was something about you that stood out to her, something that her childish brain couldn’t quite put a finger on. It wasn’t just your kindness, although that certainly played a big part in it. There was something more that made her feel like she wanted to be your friend, your close friend.

˳·˖𖤐 Even as a little kid, Ellie had always been a strategic and calculated person.

One day, she saw you playing in the sandbox and felt the urge to approach you, but she needed an excuse to do so. So, she concocted a plan. She told another kid that you had said something mean about him, knowing that he would confront you about it—Jason was a little of a troublemaker from what she noticed, so she was certain it would work. In fact, when the little boy confronted you, and you denied it, he quickly became angry and pushed you, causing you to fall into the sand. The sand got all over your beautiful frilly clothes, making you feel embarrassed and upset, your bottom lip wobbling. Ellie saw this as her chance to approach you and comfort you. She walked over to you and pushed the other kid, causing him to storm off. She quickly helped you up and offered you a slight smile, “You can’t let other kids treat you like that.” You nodded in agreement, grateful for her help, and threw yourself in her arms, hugging her tightly. “Thank you so much,” you uttered. She nodded and squeezed you, rubbing your back. “Maybe we can watch each other’s back from now on,” she suggested with a shy smile, the one that always fooled her dad as well. You were beyond ecstatic at her offer. You had long admired her from afar, and the idea of being friends with her was something you had dreamed of for a long time, but your shy nature had always caused you to keep to yourself. Even to you, she seemed smarter compared to other kids. “Can you be my friend?” you asked with a toothless grin on your face, batting your lashes at her. “Yes, I would love to,” followed by “Can I show you my dinosaur collection?” From that day on, you and Ellie became close friends, and her strategic and protective nature was always there to help you when you needed it.

˳·˖𖤐 You and Ellie have been inseparable, going through all the ups and downs of school and puberty together. She has been a constant source of support, always by your side through your best and worst days. You have shared countless memories and experiences over the years, and she has always been a true friend in every sense of the word. She was always there to protect you and stood up for both of you in any situation. You did everything together—you laughed, cried, and confided in each other like you were the only two people in the world. You shared all your first-time experiences, like getting drunk for the first time, going to parties, and even sneaking out of your house at night just to see her or hang out. Her father quickly became like a second dad to you, someone you could look up to and trust. You have always felt like a part of their small family, spending time together, sharing meals, and celebrating holidays with them. Your friendship has only grown stronger over the years.

˳·˖𖤐 During middle school, Ellie’s behavior remained consistent. Even in the new environment, she continued to find ways to get herself in trouble. She had a habit of talking back to teachers, getting into physical fights with other students, and arguing with pretty much everyone, almost as if she couldn’t contain herself; causing trouble was second nature to her. It was evident that she found pleasure in disrupting the peace wherever she went, which often landed her in serious trouble. Not that she cared, of course.

“Miss Williams, get your shoes off the desk. You are not at home, and you cannot do as you please,” The middle-aged teacher, who appeared to be in her late fifties, scolded her with a stern voice, her eyes narrowing with disapproval as she spoke. Her wrinkled forehead was furrowed with a frown, and her thin lips pursed tightly together. The teacher’s glasses, once perched on the bridge of her nose earlier, now hung from a chain around her neck as she continued to chastise the auburnette.

With a mischievous smirk on her face, the copper-brown-haired girl replied, “You can bet your wrinkled ass I’ll do as I please,” causing the whole class to erupt in laughter.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger when Cassie, a girl from math class, called you stupid. You were her best friend, and she couldn't bear the thought of someone insulting you like that. She wouldn’t let anyone walk all over you. So, that same day, she approached Cassie after class with a fake calm demeanor and explained that her comments were hurtful and disrespectful. She initially tried to remain ‘polite’ to make you happy, but the situation quickly escalated to a physical fight. Unfortunately, this resulted in Cassie ending up in the nurses’ office with a broken bone. But she couldn’t help it. She had to look out for you, and Cassie fucking deserved it.

˳·˖𖤐 It was always just you and Ellie hanging out together. Other kids weren’t allowed to join you. Everyone in your school thought of you two as weirdos, but you didn’t care, both preferring each other’s company over anyone else’s.

˳·˖𖤐 You spent everyday together, either at her place or yours. Homework, video games, comics, and movie marathons filled your time, but the one thing that truly brought you together was your shared obsession with horror movies. You’d watch a new one each day, feeding off the adrenaline of jump scares and twisted plots. Ellie seemed to devour every film, but her favorites were always the slasher flicks—especially the Scream series. The thrill of being scared out of your mind became your thing. Soon, though, it wasn’t just the horror movies that captivated Ellie. She developed a deep fascination for true crime documentaries, and afternoons blurred into nights as the two of you sat in her room, binging tales of real-life terror, lost in your macabre little world together. You both would sit there, transfixed, eyes glued to the horror playing out on the screen, completely enthralled by the spine-tingling and mysterious events unfolding before you. The chilling stories on the screen drew you in, and your fascination with the morbid and the inexplicable would lead you to spend countless hours online reading creepypastas. 

˳·˖𖤐 You were each other’s first kiss.

One Friday night, you went to Cassie’s house for a small party—yes, the same Cassie that Ellie beat up and broke her arm. You guessed she had invited Ellie to get on her good side, considering their last fight. The poor girl was tired of fearing Ellie, but Ellie didn’t like her one bit and never would. Your best friend was reluctant at the idea of being surrounded by too many people, but you convinced her to go with you, saying it might’ve been fun to do something different for once. They kept teasing you, insinuating that you were more than just best friends. You were always around each other and touchy in ways that made them suspect that you were girlfriends. They noticed how you frequently held hands, hugged, and even kissed each other on the cheek. So, during a truth-or-dare game, they dared you to kiss your best friend. You looked over at Ellie, feeling shy and uncertain. You were waiting for her to say something to stop you from going along with the dare, but to your surprise, she didn’t. In fact, she had a small smile on her face, which made you feel more nervous for some reason. Feeling hesitant, you finally mustered up the courage to ask her, “Can I kiss you?” Your cheeks heated up as you spoke. The freckled girl rolled her eyes, trying to make you feel like you were being dramatic, “It’s just a game.” Finally, you leaned in and gave her a soft peck on the lips. Everyone in the room giggled and clapped their hands, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something had changed between you and Ellie, yet neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie had always been very open about her attraction to girls. She never cared about what other classmates might have thought about her preferences. Even though they were not always accepting, they never dared to say anything negative to her face, fearing Ellie’s reaction to their comments. She openly rejected guys who showed interest in her, saying that she was not interested because she was a lesbian. Always commenting about pretty girls—and man, if that didn’t make you jealous. You’d often feel this intense jealousy inside you every time she talked to other girls or whenever other girls would approach her, even if she always rejected them, 99,9% of the time.

˳·˖𖤐 Why 99,9% and not 100%? Well, because another girl named Cat entered the picture. From the very start, it was clear that Cat was head over heels for Ellie, and how could you blame her? She’d blush every time Ellie glanced her way, always laughing obnoxiously at your best friend’s puns, even when they were terrible—and that was, like, all the time. She would also go out of her way to shower her with small gifts, all of which Ellie would accept with a sly grin that you found infuriating. She’d get her snacks and pass her cute little notes during classes, and the worst part was that your friend began to reciprocate Cat’s feelings, and the two of them grew even closer. You tried to accept their ‘friendship’ but found it increasingly difficult; watching them together became too much to bear, and you knew you had to take care of it. You never liked sharing, not even as a kid, so why start now with the most important person to you?

As the lesson dragged on, you grew more restless, your thoughts tangled in a knot of anxiety. You needed to have a little chat with Cat. Urgently. Unable to focus any longer, you raised your hand, asking the teacher if you could go to the toilet. When he gave you a nod in response, you hurried out of the classroom, your pulse quickening as you slipped through the quiet hallways. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a small Post-it note, your fingers trembling slightly as you scrawled a quick message:

“Meet me in the bathroom after third period. — Ellie :)  ”

You carefully folded the note and slid it into Cat's locker, hoping she would see it soon. The next few hours felt like an eternity. You kept checking the clock, counting down the minutes until the third period. Finally, the bell rang, and you made your way to the bathroom, hoping Cat would be there. As you entered the bathroom, you saw her standing there with a big smile. The same smile that faded in an instant as she saw you instead of the girl she liked. You greeted her with a mischievous grin and asked her if she was waiting for Ellie. “Yeah, she told me to come here after third period,” the raven-haired girl responded, looking puzzled. “Did she, or did I?” you giggled. Cat took a small step back, suddenly feeling creeped out by the way you were looking at her, almost as if you were planning to hurt her. You had never started fights in school or caused any sort of trouble, though Cat feared you. Maybe it was the endless rude comments you threw her way at any chance you got or the little things you did when Ellie wasn’t watching to make her feel threatened. “Is this some sick joke?” surprise flashed across her features before a more terrorized look replaced it. “Stop seeing her, don’t come near her, stop talking to her, don’t even look her way,” you demanded. Your tone was firm, almost possessive, as you stepped closer. She backed away with each step you took. “Wha-” Cat tried to speak, but you cut her off. “I catch you lookin’ at her again, I won’t be as nice.” you threatened. “I won’t—I’ll stop talking to her,” she stammered nervously, her voice trembling. A few sniffles escaped her before she ran off, mumbling her sorrys on her way out. “I hope you mean it.” She was already out of the bathroom, but you were sure she had heard you loud and clear. And you weren’t even gonna feel bad. She deserved it. How dare she come near the most important person in your life? What was she planning to do? Take her away from you? You sure as hell weren’t gonna let that happen.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was struggling to understand why Cat had suddenly started ignoring her like a deadly disease. It was almost perplexing that the brunette wouldn’t even look at her, and whenever Ellie tried to approach her to talk, Cat would leave the conversation abruptly, only briefly glancing over at her. It was particularly puzzling to the redhead as she could not recall any misunderstanding or disagreement between them that could have caused such a drastic change in Cat’s attitude towards her—for once, she was nice to someone who wasn’t you, and this was the result? She felt confused and soon enough began to harass the girl, making sure her life was a living hell at school. How dare Cat ignore her? She wasn’t even that smart or pretty. Ellie only ever liked the attention she'd get from her; she was there just to boost her ego, and now she was ignoring her?

˳·˖𖤐 As you both entered high school, you remained inseparable, sticking to the shadows for the first few years, trying to blend in and avoid unwanted attention. Neither of you joined clubs or sports teams, preferring to keep to yourselves and steer clear of socializing. But by junior year, the routine started to feel stifling, and restlessness set in. You both realized you wanted more—something bigger than just being on the sidelines. Your best friend took the leap first, joining the soccer team, eager to break out of the monotony and possibly make new friends. She thrived there, quickly falling in love with the game’s intensity and the adrenaline that came with it. She never lost that sense of superiority, though—deep down, she believed she was different, better than the people around her. She stood out, and she knew it. You, on the other hand, joined the cheerleaders team. Dancing and performing had always been a passion, and it seemed like a perfect way to get involved. But as you spent time with other girls, you couldn’t help but notice how wrapped up they were in things that felt trivial to you—obsessed with popularity, looks, and gossip. It was hard to feel like you fit in, knowing damn well you didn’t. While your best friend thrived on her sense of superiority, you were left feeling like an outsider, trapped in a group you didn’t belong in.

˳·˖𖤐 Ever since you joined the cheerleading team, you stood out from the crowd. Your undeniable beauty did not go unnoticed, and soon enough, boys began to show interest in you. Every week, a different guy would try to catch your attention, hoping to ask you out or make a move on you. But Ellie was fiercely protective of you, claiming that none of these guys were good enough for you, whether it was a potential friend or partner. She would always find a way to scare them away, making it clear that you weren’t interested, always there reminding you that you were way too amazing for all of them and that no one could ever understand you like she did, even if they tried. She did not want anyone she deemed unworthy of your time to come close to you, and you liked it that way. To you, that was your definition of love.

“—so he just fell in front of the whole class, he couldn’t even-” You were interrupted by the sound of your name being called from across the room. Your best friend was out sick, missing all the juicy details, but before you could finish the story and turn to see who it was, the auburn-haired girl beside you spun around first. Her brows knit together almost instantly, and you could see the flicker of jealousy in her eyes. Her expression darkened as she processed the moment, clearly thrown off by the sudden attention directed your way. A kid you knew from theater class was walking toward you with a nervous smile, carefully holding a flower, making sure not to prick himself on the sharp thorns of the beautiful red rose. “Hey, I just wanted to ask you if-” He didn’t even need to finish his sentence—she was already prepared to go off on him as if he’d just insulted her entire family. In reality, he hadn’t even noticed a fuming Ellie standing right beside you. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, eyes locked on him with an intensity that made you sure if looks could kill, he’d already be dead. You opened your mouth to say something, but Ellie quickly raised her hand in front of you, silencing you instantly. She was going to handle this, just like always. “What makes you think she would ever go out with a loser like you?” Ellie hurled venomous words his way, leaving the poor guy stuttering and stumbling over his response. His face flushed bright red as if all the blood had rushed to his cheeks. He stood there, frozen in shock, his mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air. His eyes darted nervously between you and the girl at your side, clearly unsure what to do next. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words to express himself, his expression desperate as if he was silently begging for a reaction from you, anything. But before he could even get a syllable out, Ellie cut him off again, shutting him down before he could speak. “Heard what I said? She is not interested,” she repeated, but this time, her voice was tinged with impatience. “I’m sorry, I just—take this.” He handed you the flower, looking utterly defeated. As soon as it was in your hands, he turned around and walked away hastily, like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. She watched the guy walk away, her leaf-hued eyes fixed on him, unwilling to let go of the sight. Her face was slightly scrunched up in annoyance, her mind clearly racing with thoughts as she seemed lost in her world. After a while, she finally tore her gaze away from him and glanced at you briefly as if snapping back to reality. She let out a small ‘tssssk’ under her breath, trying to collect herself and shake off the jealousy lingering in the pit of her stomach. “Jesus, El. You’re evil,” You let out a small giggle and brought your hand to your mouth to cover it up. “Might have to kill half the school just for you,” She suddenly joked with a grin. She snatched the rose out of your hand and threw it on the floor forcefully. Red petals scattered on the ground as you both continued walking. Ellie made sure to stomp on the flower. She always had a very dark humor, which sometimes left you wondering if she meant any of what she said. She always spoke in such a serious tone, but maybe it was just her sarcasm being that way. Her words were often laced with a hidden meaning, and she had a way of making you question your interpretations, but you laughed at her joke anyway.

˳·˖𖤐 So, were you surprised when a few students started going missing? 

˳·˖𖤐 The leader of the cheerleaders that always gave you a hard time? Gone.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was your biggest fan, always showing up to watch your cheerleading practices.  Manspreading on the benches, her gaze never left you, not daring to miss a single move. The sight of you, all sweaty with wisps of hair escaping your ponytail, only made you look cuter in her eyes. She loved seeing you in that little cheerleader uniform. Whenever you smiled and glanced at her, her heart would thunder in her chest. It was as if her whole world revolved around those fleeting glances and spontaneous smiles you’d throw her way. You were awfully adorable.

What Ellie found far less adorable was how the head cheerleader constantly picked on you, always putting you down. What frustrated her even more was that you just let it happen. In her mind, Amanda wasn’t better than you—no one could even come close to you. To Ellie, you were perfect, and she wished you could see it too. When she saw you walking toward her, she quickly set aside the leather-bound journal she had been scribbling in, placing it on the empty spot next to her as she greeted you with a warm smile.

“You’re doing great, beautiful,” She turned to grab her backpack, which had been thrown carelessly on the empty benches behind her. Her tattooed arm reached inside the already unzipped, worn-out bag. “Yeah, you say that, like, every single time.” You sat on the bench next to her, sweat beading on your forehead as you let out a slight huff, feeling winded after your practice. “‘s true though.” She pulled out a small towel and handed it to you with a gentle smile. She was always considerate, constantly looking out for you and ensuring you were taken care of. She expressed her love for you through these little gestures, like bringing things she thought you might need in her green backpack. Her obsession with you was apparent in how she hovered over you, but you couldn't deny that it was comforting to have someone care for you so deeply. That was love—real love—and you had never experienced that from anyone else.

“Goood, you’re so perfect,” you accepted the towel from her outstretched hand and began to pat your forehead, feeling some relief from the heat. But a little towel wasn’t the only thing she brought for you—she also handed you a refreshing bottle of water to quench your thirst and a cherry-flavored lollipop as a little treat. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of that beloved childhood candy in your hand. A soft smile spread across her lips when your words reached her ears, and she looked away, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. Her shoulders lifted ever so slightly in a subtle shrug, “Oh, I know” her elbows propped up on her knees as she leaned forward. She was deep in thought, and her hands were intertwined. You took a few sips of your water and unwrapped a lollipop, both of you fell silent, completely focused on watching Amanda, who was the target of Ellie's intense gaze, she was studying her. “She’s a bitch” the freckled girl next to you muttered under her breath. You hummed in agreement, savoring the sugary goodness. “Why do you even let her speak to you that way?” she shook her head in disapproval, you could feel her gaze on you even if you weren't looking at her. “What do you want me to do? She’s the leader, El. She’ll throw me out of the team if I confront her.” You reached up to your mouth and pulled the lollipop out with a loud smack noise, feeling a sense of defeat wash over you. Ellie expressed her disagreement with a small scoff that barely registered on her plump lips, almost imperceptible. She picked up her journal once again and resumed whatever she was doing, and the silence between the two of you fell once again, punctuated only by the sound of the pencil scratching across the page. When you looked down at her journal, you couldn’t help but notice a drawing she was making of Amanda. The drawing portrayed Amanda in a rather disturbing manner, physically harmed with a knife in her chest. The details of the drawing were quite graphic, and you could tell she had put a lot of effort and passion into it. “Oh, well...that's detailed,” you commented, still sucking on your lollipop, savoring the sweet taste in your mouth. You noticed a small curl of her lips as if she felt proud of her drawing skills. “But that’d be too messy,” you added, her head shot up to look at you. “Yeah? How would you do it then?” she asked, almost challenging you to come up with a better idea for the hypothetical scenario. “The bitch’s allergic to almonds,” Your eyes were fixed on Amanda, who was laughing with her friend. Ellie raised her brows at you, an amused smile appearing on her lips. “That’s it? A good ol’ accidental allergy reaction? Where’s the fun in that?” you shrugged at her words. “No blood, no traces, it’d be harder to get caught,” you explained, proving your point. It was logical and more calculative than her hypothesis. “True but stabbing her to death seems funnier, I dunno.” She inhaled deeply, leaning back into her bench, her back pressed on the benches behind her. “Hearing them beg for mercy, scream in pain, and the look in their eyes…” She went on, entirely absorbed in her twisted narration. As she spoke, the details grew darker and more grotesque with each word. You watched her, bewildered, struggling to tell if this was still just a “what if” game. When Ellie finally realized you hadn’t responded, she looked over at you—the familiar warmth in her eyes had drained away, leaving something sharper, emptier, a chill that made you feel as though you were staring into someone else entirely.

“And where would you hide the body?” you asked.

She smiled sadistically, almost as if she already had an answer ready for that question. “I know the perfect place for that kind of thing.” she put down her journal, her emeralds back on you as she told you about the place she had in mind. “No one would ever look there,” You agreed, giving her a nod, the cherry taste of the candy lingering as you let the sweetness melt off your tongue, an amused grin playing at the corners of your mouth. The plan was actually well-thought-out—impressively so.

“I told you,” she said softly, her gaze darted between your lips and the lollipop. “Oh? Want some?” you teased, holding the lollipop just a breath away from her. Slowly, you edged the glistening, saliva-coated candy toward her, and she parted her lips, wrapping them around it, savoring the artificial cherry taste with a quiet hum of satisfaction. Her fingers replaced yours on the stick, her fingertips brushing lightly over yours, lingering just a little too long. She held your gaze, her eyes softened, almost entranced, though the depth of that look was something you couldn’t quite place. In reality, she was gazing at you enamored, her pupils wide open, but you were completely oblivious to her feelings and failed to pick up on her infatuation. Shortly after that day, Amanda was gone. Disappeared into thin air, nowhere to be found. You knew it wasn’t adding up, especially when you asked Ellie about it. She’d be so nonchalant, like she had nothing to do with her it. But you knew she was lying. Did you care about that stupid cunt being gone? Absolutely not. You soon became the leader of the cheerleaders, and everyone looked up to you.

˳·˖𖤐 The girl who was grinding on you at Daniel’s party? Found dead the morning after.

˳·˖𖤐 The first few months of college had set in, and you were already drowning in a sea of assignments and deadlines, feeling overwhelmed and stressed out. To stay close to you, Ellie took the bold step of enrolling in the same college as you. She even went as far as to choose the same major─Psychology─just to be in the same classes as you, ensuring that you both had the same schedule, did the same assignments, and even hung out with the same people. 

˳·˖𖤐 It was ironic, really, how someone as anti-social and apathetic as her would pursue a field that involved studying human behavior and emotions. But she did it anyway because the mere thought of being away from you for even a second was unbearable to her. She didn’t want anyone else to get closer to you or share the dorm with you, so she followed you and moved in with you because no one could take care of you better than her. You both decided to get an apartment together to share the bills and responsibilities of living independently. Your parents were more than willing to support you financially, making sure that you had everything you needed for college and the apartment. You were attached by the hip, and wherever you went, she was there with you, and whenever she wasn't, you became nervous and anxious, wondering what she was doing and if everything was okay. It was as if you had become too dependent on her, and the thought of being alone scared you. But the dependency was mutual; she needed you just as much as you needed her.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was not a fan of parties and preferred staying home, indulging in horror movies while getting high with you. However, when you told her about Daniel’s Halloween party, she knew she had to accompany you to ensure your safety and protect you from any potential creeps. You had been eagerly waiting for Halloween, your favorite holiday, and Ellie didn't want you to miss the opportunity to dress up and have a good time. Despite her initial reluctance, she was somewhat excited, not for the party itself but because she finally had a reason to wear the ghostface costume that had been sitting in her closet, untouched and unused. 

Ellie was already ready, her costume simple but somehow annoyingly perfect—but that was the price that came with being effortlessly beautiful—and her Ghostface mask thrown lazily on her shoulder. She stood at the bathroom entrance, arms crossed, eyes unwavering as they followed you. You slipped into the tight black dress, pulling it into place with a little struggle as it hugged every curve. You, on the other side, loved taking care of every little detail of your makeup and costume, ensuring your appearance was always on point. “I hate these things,” she muttered under her breath, brow furrowed, though her gaze was anything but annoyed as it lingered on your body. With her hip pressed against the doorframe, she watched as you adjusted the neckline, her head tilted to the side, eyes scrutinizing each inch of skin exposed. “Why’d you have to pick something so revealing?” she asked, voice low, almost a grumble. You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s Halloween, Ellie,” you huffed out, “I can wear whatever I want. Don't be such a buzz kill.” “I meant for Halloween parties. Last year, you were that damn sexy nurse. This year, it’s a tight dress. What’s next? A slutty bunny?” the freckled girl quipped, her lips curling up into a wry smile as she raised an eyebrow at you, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She let out a light chuckle, the sound echoing softly in the small bathroom. “And you’re here complaining,” you retorted with a mischievous grin as you reached for your high heels and effortlessly slid your feet into them. You took a few confident steps towards her, giving her a complete view of your stylish outfit. Her eyes roamed up and down your body. Your dress hugged every curve, revealing just enough skin to accentuate her drool. She licked her lips, imagining what she could do with you in that skimpy outfit, but she had to keep her hands to herself, unfortunately.  “You look fucking amazing.” 

You gave her a soft smile, turning toward the mirror and reaching for your makeup bag on the countertop. “Just need to fix my makeup, and we’re all set,” you informed her, pulling out your favorite berry pink gloss and a tube of mascara, both essentials for tonight. Ellie let out a low chuckle from the doorway, fingers tapping lazily on the frame. “You’re gonna make me want to commit murder tonight,” she joked, eyes flicking over you as you leaned in closer to the mirror. Without looking away from your reflection, you rolled your eyes, your long lashes nearly brushing against your brows. “Oh, shut up. You’ll survive,” you replied, carefully gliding the gloss over your lips. She sighed, tipping her head back against the doorframe. “Honestly, I don’t know why we’re even going. It’s gonna be full of drunk assholes, all crowding around like moths.” “C’mon, El, it’s gonna be fun,” you insisted, catching her eye in the mirror. She rolled her eyes, exhaling dramatically. “Oh, yeah, can’t wait to watch people hitting on you,” she drawled, her voice heavy with sarcasm. You snorted, giving her a smirk as you grabbed your mascara. “Well, thank God I’ll have you by my side, scaring them all away.” “Damn right,” she shot back, and you both chuckled. Finishing up, you turned on your heels to face her, your eyes locking with hers. The two of you were only inches apart now, close enough to share each unspoken word in the air between you. “So, what do you think? How do I look?” you questioned, seeking her approval, though you knew the answer already. Ellie’s gaze drifted over you, her lips twitching into a scoff. “You already know you look hot,” she murmured, unable to hide a small smirk. She seemed momentarily lost as she looked at you, her green eyes flitting from your lips to your eyes, drawn in despite herself. You felt a pulse of satisfaction at her reaction, the way her attention lingered on you. “Ellie…” you murmured, leaning a bit closer, your voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. She licked her lips almost instinctively, her gaze dropping to your glossy ones, and the air between you grew thick, the energy snapping with tension. “...Yeah?” she breathed, her voice barely audible. Her breath hitched as you inched closer before coming to a halt. You smirked, tipping your head to the side. “Can I be your helpless victim?” you teased, catching her off guard with the unexpected line. Ellie’s face contorted into one of confused disbelief, and before you could hold it back, laughter escaped you at her expression. In response, she gave your shoulder a playful shove, rolling her eyes as she fought a smile. “Fuck you,” she groaned, a hint of laughter in her voice, and she ducked out of the bathroom, completely flustered, leaving you grinning after her.

When you arrived at the party, your best friend was glued to your side. She didn’t want you to be alone for even a moment, telling you that she’d stay sober to keep an eye on you in case you decided to drink. However, despite her best efforts, she lost track of you for just a few minutes. When she finally found you, she swore she felt her whole organs sink. You were dancing with a girl. Everything seemed to slow down, and jealousy and pure rage quickly built up inside her as she registered that girl’s hands guiding your hips as she ground on your ass and her lips devoured your neck. When your gaze met hers, you couldn’t help but notice the striking green color of her eyes had turned into an intense, almost ominous shade. Her jaw was tightly clenched, and you could feel a sense of discomfort creeping up on you. It was like you had crossed an invisible line and were now doing something you shouldn’t do. Almost instinctively, you pushed the girl off of you, and before you could give the drunken girl an explanation, Ellie was already walking toward you.

“We’re going back home,” She spoke with a harsh, demanding tone. She grabbed your wrist tightly and forcefully pulled you away from the girl you were dancing with. You didn't even have a chance to say goodbye or explain the situation as she dragged you away.

“Why are you acting like this? Can’t I make friends?” Your words were slightly slurred, the tipsiness settling in as you tried to pull your wrist from her grip, but Ellie’s hold was firm. You didn’t want to leave the party yet; the night had just started and had been so much fun, and her urgency to get you out only made disappointment grow. The music and chatter gradually faded as she dragged you both toward the exit.

“Didn’t look like a friend to me,” she muttered, voice sharp with an edge that cut through your drunk haze. “Looked more like she wanted to fuck you right there in front of everyone—in front of me.” She cast a glance back at the party, the girl long gone already. “Besides,” she added, “—you have me. I don’t see why you need her.” There was an ache in her tone as if she felt betrayed by your actions, a hidden desperation she was trying to keep under wraps. Couldn’t you see? She was right there, ready to be everything you needed, the one person who knew you better than anyone else. You narrowed your eyes, pushing her, testing her. “So what if she did want to fuck me? What are you, my girlfriend?” The words came out in a perfectly thought-out taunt to poke the emotions she preferred to keep hidden under the surface. You couldn’t deny that you’d thought about it too—what it would be like to actually be with her. Her green eyes darkened, shifting from their usual warmth to something intense and possessive, jealousy sparking in the depths. It was rare for you both to argue, but this time it felt like there was something deeper brewing beneath the surface, something that had been sitting there gathering dust, waiting for the right moment to bubble out like scorching lava. There was a palpable tension in the air, more-than-friendly feelings in your eyes. Even a fool would’ve been able to see the unspoken feelings and desires that neither of you could express aloud. Perhaps it was the fear of rejection or the uncertainty of how the other person felt kept you both from taking that step. “I just don’t want you getting hurt or taken advantage of.” She lied, her words sharp, unyielding, and tone laced with frustration and anger. That wasn’t a complete lie, but it was still not the whole truth. She took a slow, deep breath to calm herself down. Gradually, her tense body relaxed, and her previously sharp tone softened. “You’re all I have.” As she spoke again, her eyes, which had been stern, took on a gentler expression, and you could sense vulnerability in her voice, suddenly yearning for ‘reassurance’. “I’m sorry for being rough. It’s just… seeing anyone else with you just… fuck, I don’t know why it pisses me off so much.”  Ellie wanted you to believe she was reacting out of fear because she didn’t want to lose you. But her motives were more complex than that. While it was true that she was afraid of losing you, her actions were purely driven by a sense of selfishness. She strongly believed that you were meant to be together and that it was only a matter of time until you realized she was the one for you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “No one could ever replace you, and I hope you know that.” With a gentle tug of her costume, you pulled her close. Your arms wrapped tightly around her, and you could feel the weight of her body press against yours as she leaned into you. As you held her, you could feel the tension slowly start to melt away, replaced by a familiar sense of safety that usually came with being in her arms. “No, you’re right. I’m not your girlfriend, you can do whatever you want—fuck whoever you want.” Her voice quivered with hesitation, and her heart felt like it was weighed down by a heavy burden. She almost sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anything, the words tasting sour on her tongue. She knew it wasn’t normal to be so possessive of your best friend, no one acted this way toward their friends. So what was she supposed to do? Lock you up in a glass cage and never let you go? Although the idea was tempting she knew she had to set you free─free enough to find someone at least, even if it felt extremely wrong. What were the chances it would last?

˳·˖𖤐 Despite her promise to let you go, to let you be with whoever you wanted, the girl you’d danced with that night was found dead the following day, her body left in a state so brutal it was as if every ounce of someone’s anger had been carved into her. The pieces didn’t quite fit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to confront it—not yet. Maybe it was all just a coincidence, a horrible coincidence.

˳·˖𖤐 And yet, every time the news flashed across the screen or a passing conversation brought it up, her casual comments made your blood run cold.

“Oh, what a shame,” she’d murmur, not a hint of genuine sympathy in her tone.  “Guess this is what happens when you hoe around,” she’d remark, her voice steady, an almost imperceptible smirk ghosting her lips. “Hm… sucks. ‘s not even her best picture,” she’d add, a detached sort of amusement glinting in her eyes.

˳·˖𖤐 When you tried to confront her and ask questions that had been gnawing at your mind, her responses were so calm—too calm, too controlled. Her voice was smooth as she answered, almost as if rehearsed as she tried to make you feel ridiculous for even asking.

“I was with you last night. What are you implying?” she’d say, her tone just soft enough to make you question yourself. “You sound crazy right now,” she’d whisper, eyebrows raised in concern. “Maybe all these murders going on are messing with your head.”

With every word, she seemed to pull you deeper into self-doubt, her gaze softening, her voice laced with an almost painful sweetness. “Are you listening to yourself right now? I love you, but… you’re scaring me. You’re being paranoid.”

˳·˖𖤐 Her words lingered, a shadow in your mind until you couldn’t tell if it was your sanity or hers that was starting to slip.

˳·˖𖤐 The third person to disappear into thin air was your boyfriend.

˳·˖𖤐 Shortly after that heated argument with your best friend, you got into your first relationship. She gave you a little more freedom to talk to people, to socialize, but her jealousy flared whenever she saw you with him—or anyone else, for that matter.

God, why him? she’d ask herself, the question gnawing at her each time she saw the two of you together. He wasn’t exceptionally bright, his style was awful, and, to her, he wasn’t even remotely attractive. Whenever he was around, she’d mock him or throw out casual, biting jokes. She always seemed to be the only one laughing. Strangely enough, her snide remarks never fazed him—he never seemed intimidated by her like other guys who quickly fell away, discouraged or unnerved after a few seconds of her scrutiny. But not him. He stuck around, seemingly immune to her attempts to chase him off. So she took care of him. You were left with nothing but a single message, his name lighting up your screen in a sudden, unexpected end. He said he had to break things off because he was moving out of town, needing a “clean break,” a “fresh start.” The words felt hollow, calculated, and as you read through the message, your emotions twisted—hurt, anger, betrayal, all swirling within you. It was your first relationship, and he had chosen to end it over a text message without any explanation or warning. You felt like you meant nothing to him, and the fact that he disappeared from your life without as much as a goodbye added insult to injury. You were upset, not because you were particularly in love with him, but because you hated the feeling of being rejected. You had always been in control, the one rejecting people, so it was a blow to your ego to be on the receiving end of a breakup. 

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie, of course, had been there for you, providing support and care during this difficult time. She had to be here, because what kind of friend would she be if she wasn't there for you for something she had caused?

She squeezed you tighter, those strong, toned arms wrapping around you with an unbreakable and relentless grip. Her breath was hot on your neck as she murmured against your ear, lips grazing your skin with a smug smirk. “I told you this would happen,” she’d mutter, words slipping out with that intoxicating blend of annoyance and affection. She’d let her slender, cold fingers trace your spine in a way that left a shiver behind, and her hand would possessively rest on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “No one—no one will ever love you like I do. No one knows you like this. He could never do what I can.” “You should’ve known better, angel.” There was a dark satisfaction in her voice, almost sounding like she was taunting you, leaning in just close enough for you to feel the heat of every word against your flesh. “Told you he wasn’t the one for you, baby girl.” 

˳·˖𖤐 Not only did Ellie ensure that your boyfriend would never come anywhere near you, but now she seemed to be spending more time than ever clinging close to you, cuddling with you, and sharing the bed with you—all under the guise of offering you comfort. 

˳·˖𖤐 Your friendship had always been intense and boundaryless, it had never been anything but healthy. And it had always been increasingly clear to anyone looking in from the outside that your relationship was more than platonic. Ellie had always been obsessed with you, and her love for you had bordered on devotion. But while others could see this, you remained oblivious to her true feelings, always wondering if she liked you back.

˳·˖𖤐 And that’s when things started to change. Maybe it was the fact that you now lived together and got to spend every second with each other, or maybe it was the fact that your stupid boyfriend was out of the picture─you weren’t sure, but you didn’t mind, and neither did she. Slowly, it was back to just you and her again. Your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, and there were no other distractions. It was just the two of you like it always used to be.

You were leaning back on the couch, a joint held between your lips, your eyes heavy and red as you focused on the big TV in front of you. It was Friday night, a time when everyone else would usually go out, but for you, it only meant one thing: movie night with Ellie. The living room was dark, except for the light cast from the TV, making your faces glow in the darkness. You let out a throaty chuckle, taking another hit before sinking deeper into the couch and passing the joint back to her. You were rambling about random stuff as the movie went on, just filling in the background noise at first. Neither of you was really focused on the movie, too high to pay attention to what was happening on the screen. Your mind was wandering to other places, and it was easy to lose track of the scenes as they unfolded.  But then, a steamy scene suddenly caught both of your attention. You could feel the heat rising from the joint and maybe something else; the smoke filling your lungs and a fuzzy feeling spread throughout your body, filling you with a sense of relaxation and mellow contentment. But there was still a tiny fluttering sensation in your stomach, even though you knew it shouldn't be there. It was a strange feeling, like a soft and unexpected rush of excitement, and it made you feel both giddy and nervous all at once. As you watched the steamy scene playing out in front of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of Ellie licking her chapped and dry lips, her green, dilated eyes fixed like a laser on the screen. Her breathing was slightly faster, and you could feel her body tense up as she watched the scene. She didn’t take her eyes off the screen for a second, as if her life depended on watching it. “Y’know, you were my gay awakening,” she spoke suddenly, her husky voice breaking the silence and snapping you to attention. She stared at you, her eyes lingering on every part of your body before settling back on your face. It was a bold confession, coming out of nowhere, and suddenly, you felt your heart beating faster. A dry chuckle slipped out of you, catching in your throat. Even though you were high and a little out of control, her admission had you feeling speechless. “Is that so?” You ran your tongue across your bottom lip, trying to wet it as your throat suddenly felt parched and your pulse thrummed in your ears, hard and loud. “Hmmm-mmmh,” she hummed lazily in response, sounding almost like a low purr in your ear. Her hand rested on your bare thigh, squeezing gently, her touch delicate but firm. Heat pooled in your stomach almost instantly. “Always thinking of you when I touch myself.” “Show me.” You challenged her with a sultry tone.   Ellie scoffed, her scarred auburn brows lifting in disbelief. Had she heard you right? She swore she was hallucinating. “What?” “You heard me. Touch yourself,” you commanded, your voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. The corners of your lips lifted into a smirk, the confidence in your gaze obvious.

“And you’re just gonna sit there and stare like a creep?” She shook her head slowly, an amused smile on her face as if she wasn’t sure whether to take you seriously. But the soft chuckle and the way her eyes stayed locked on yours hinted that she was not entirely opposed to the idea. “Maybe, maybe not.” You shifted on the couch, turning fully to face her, now closer than ever. Practically in her space, watching her, you could almost feel her heart about to explode. Those little pajama shorts you had on had her captivated. Her eyes kept slipping down, caught on how tightly they hugged your curves, tracing every inch of your legs and hips. She tried to keep her gaze on your face, but it was impossible to stop glancing lower.  “If you do it, I’ll do it too,” you added, your voice dripping with temptation as her silence stretched out. And with that, something in her snapped, a fuse blowing in her mind until the only thing left was pure, raw need. No hesitation, no questions—just her fingers reaching into her waistband, spurred on by that hungry look in your eyes. You both sat there, legs spread, your hands slipping inside your panties, each of you putting on a show for the other.   Ellie’s breath hitched, and her fingers moved with fervor, sending shivers down your spine. You couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized by how her parted lips let out shallow breaths, quiet gasps escaping as her hand worked. She moved with purpose, fingers gliding through her wetness, quickening her pace to get you to keep up.  “Do what I do,” she groaned, her voice low and rough. You obliged, your fingers following her frantic rhythm.  “Fuck, Ellie,” you moaned, biting back the whimper that her every move pulled out of you. 

She didn’t miss a thing, loving how you trembled and squirmed under her gaze, your body aching, practically begging. Her wildest fantasies were unfolding right in front of her, and she was greedy, wanting every sound, every gasp, every moan.   “You like that, yeah?” she rasped, her voice so rough it made your walls clench. The empty ache inside you was unbearable, your fingers slippery and soaked as you followed her every twist and stroke. You nodded, desperate, moans spilling out without restraint, each one making her move even faster. The sight of her, her touch, her ragged breaths was dizzying. She wanted to own every second, to make you crave her as much as she craved you. Your needy voice rang out, soft and breathy, “Mmmhh… need more, El.” You sounded so desperate, so whiny, it made her heart race. You were just so fucking pretty, and she couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel to have her fingers inside you, feeling every desperate pulse, every needy clench around her as you milked her fingers deliciously. Before she could even process the thought, you slid your other hand down, sinking two fingers past your folds with a soft sigh, filling yourself as deep as you could.  The sight made her breath hitch, a low moan slipping out as she watched, knowing that this image would be carved into her brain forever. She could already feel herself getting off to the thought of this moment, over and over again. Your fingers moved in sync, one hand teasing and torturing your clit while the other pumped inside, stroking that perfect spot that made your thighs tense and shiver. Ellie watched, her brows knitted, barely able to tear her eyes away from your sadly still-covered cunt. “God,” she gasped, her chest heaving as she took in every pretty little expression, every sound slipping from your lips as you finger-fucked yourself. She was beyond turned on, completely mesmerized by how good you looked, and couldn’t hold back any longer. With her hand still buried in her boy shorts, she flicked her clit faster, fingers rubbing in desperate, frantic messy circles as she got swept up in the sight of you. “So fuckin’ needy,” she taunted, her voice low and hoarse.

“Gonna...g’na cum,” you whined, eyes squeezed shut, breaths coming out in short, shaky bursts. In a move that sent a shiver down your spine, Ellie reached out and gently tugged your hand away from your shorts, intertwining her fingers with yours.  “Me too—wanna cum with you, need you close,” she gasped, her words breaking into soft moans as her own high built. She squeezed your hand tight, needing the contact as her hips jerked up, chasing her release. Your other hand kept moving, your fingers hitting that perfect, spongy spot again and again until— “I’m coming!” you cried out, your moans reaching a pitch that filled the room, echoing through the walls, your fingers slamming into yourself as you came, waves of pleasure crashing over you. 

“Ooooh fuck!” Ellie groaned, her hips bucking as she rubbed herself faster, her hand squeezing yours hard as she climaxed, her voice hoarse and breathless. 

You sat there, chests heaving, bodies still trembling in the aftermath, catching your breaths in silence as the euphoria slowly faded. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, gradually, reality seeped back in as you both glanced at each other, feeling completely blissful. Her lips pulled into a soft smile, cheeks flushed as her thumb absentmindedly stroked the back of your hand.

Feeling a rush of warmth, you leaned back, wiping your fingers on the soft fabric of your pajama shorts, a quiet contentment settling over you. Ellie tugged gently at your tank top, silently inviting you to come closer. You obliged, sinking into her embrace as she wrapped her arms around you. She pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering in her dazed, dreamy voice about how perfect the moment had been, dropping little words of affection she’d usually never say out loud. With the weed still buzzing in her system, it all slipped out way too easily.

You drifted off in her arms, her warmth and steady breaths lulling you to sleep as the TV murmured softly in the background.

˳·˖𖤐 It was as though her infatuation with you intensified after that night, if that was even possible. She couldn’t get you out of her mind, and her focus on every little detail of your appearance became more and more pronounced. You were all she could draw, your lips, your nose, your brows, your eyes. She was convinced that she was the only one who truly appreciated your beauty. She believed that everyone else was too superficial to appreciate you for who you really were. To her, no one else deserved you─not like she did. You were the center of her world, and she couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were like a drug to her, and she craved you more than anything else, her mind was consumed with thoughts of you.

˳·˖𖤐 There was this sick habit of hers, one that she’d never admit out loud but couldn’t shake. Every night, she watched you as you slept, eyes glued to how your oversized shirt barely hung onto your curves. It was like she was waiting—no, hoping—for that shirt to ride up just a little bit more, enough to give her a full view of those soft legs and the tiny slip of fabric that barely covered you. 

You always seemed so relaxed, so at ease around her, never thinking twice about what you wore, especially when you two shared a bed. You’d just crawl under the covers, no pants, no bra, just that soft, baggy shirt. And every time, it drove her wild. Part of her wondered if you knew exactly what you were doing, the way you’d stretch and twist, giving her those little glimpses that made her pulse race—and to answer her silent dilemma, yes, you were doing it on purpose.  She couldn’t look away. Her hand would slip under her waistband, touching herself as her eyes roamed over you, desperate for more than just a view. She couldn’t resist ever since she admitted she’d been touching herself to the thought of you for as long as she could remember.  Even you could feel the tension every time her eyes lingered on your body or lips. Every time she shifted closer, her fingers grazing your thigh just a little too long just to pull away again, chickening out. All you wanted was for her to close that painful gap, to stop playing around and just touch you the way you knew she wanted to. Every night was a silent invitation, a wordless game where every move you made was another way to get her attention, pushing her until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Ellie licked her lips, her eyes glued to the sight beside her. Watching you sleep like this always turned her on─it was the combination of ‘innocence’, vulnerability, and sheer beauty that did it. The slight roll of your shirt had exposed just enough skin to make her heart race, her mind filled with naughty thoughts. You were never aware of how much she wanted to feel you and touch you inappropriately, but she knew it might ruin your friendship, and she couldn’t risk it.  Feeling her arousal increasing with every passing second, she slipped her hand under the covers. She knew it was wrong; she shouldn't be doing this while you were asleep next to her, sleeping peacefully as she came all over her fingers at the sight of your half-exposed body─but that didn’t stop her from doing it anyway. The temptation was too strong, and it was impossible to resist you. “Fuck... You’re killing me…” she thought to herself, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was late at night, and she couldn't resist anymore.

Without hesitation, she slid her hand into her shorts and started playing with herself. Her green, concentrated eyes never left your body, studying every curve and dip hungrily. Calloused fingers brushed against her sensitive nub gently, her hips slightly jerking away from her hand. She was so sensitive; you had her pussy throbbing like crazy, and the worst part was that you didn’t even do shit. It was her fault, her perverted and filthy mind's fault. But good lord, if she would sell all her organs to touch you. “The fuck are you doin’ to me…” she murmured under her breath as she played with her wetness, feeling how messy you made her. When her fingers returned to her clit, circling it gently, her breath hitched. She knew she had to be quiet; you were occasionally a light sleeper, and she couldn't risk getting caught. She parted her legs further apart as she kept teasing her clit slowly. “God…” She whispered, her breath coming out in short, shallow gasps, causing her voice to be soft and sultry as she rubbed herself with increasing tempo. There was no hesitation or inhibition, just raw, unadulterated desire dripping from every fiber of her being. So fucking nasty. She wondered what your reaction would be if you woke up and caught her in the act, but, yet again, there was something exhilarating about the risk, about the idea of you seeing her in the middle of her filthy act. Her face flushed as she imagined this, her mind filled with naughty scenarios as she rubbed herself harder and faster.  “Mmph... so beautiful…” Her eyes never left your body, even while touching herself. For some reason, it felt so good knowing you were just inches away, unaware of what she was doing. She couldn't help but fantasize about you pleasing her—she needed your fingers, you, and she also fantasized about reciprocating the favor.  “Can't wait to taste you... touch you…” She mumbled, lost in her fantasies. Her body trembled slightly from anticipation, she was close. “Mmm... fuck... gonna cum” Her voice was strained, increasing the pressure on her throbbing clit. It was becoming challenging to stay quiet, and she just hoped you wouldn't wake up to this.

When she did come, she pulled her damp and sticky hand out of her boxers, sucking her fingers clean before turning her head slightly to look at you, admire you. You laid there sleeping like an angel, your hair cascading down your face. She watched you with mixed emotions. 

Ellie’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she breathed, and her forehead was damp with sweat, her red-brown hair sticking to her freckled lush skin. Despite the guilt she knew she should be feeling, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She promised herself she wouldn’t do it again, but deep down, she knew it was merely the first of many more. 

˳·˖𖤐 The more she did it, the more confident and bold she became, convinced that you’d never catch her.

˳·˖𖤐 One night, you had a bit too much soda before falling asleep. As the night wore on, you began to slowly wake up, feeling the urge to go to the bathroom.

She was so caught up in the moment that she didn’t notice the slight shift beside her. Your eyes fluttered open just wide enough to catch a glimpse of her hand moving under the covers. Her pale face was flushed, a blush covered her cheeks and her cute nose, her skin coated with a light sheen of sweat. She was biting down on her bottom lip, her eyes tightly shut, trying to keep herself quiet, while her tattooed arm was stuffed deep inside her boxers. Her toned abs tensed up subtly as her perky tits peeked through her black t-shirt, jiggling with every tiny movement she made. Fuck, what a sight. You thought you were dreaming. Hell, you were sure of it. Why would she even do that next to you? You knew you should’ve done or said something, but the sight of your best friend pleasuring herself right beside you only made your pussy throb madly, and the way she dirty-talked to herself to make herself cum. God.

You squeezed your thighs together, pretending to be asleep. Her soft moans made you feel indescribable things, and you felt yourself getting increasingly wet; it felt like torture to lay there and pretend to be asleep while she pleasured herself like that, but at the same time, it was addictive.  So, instead of confronting her, you decided to play along. Wearing slutty thongs to bed became your new routine, and of course, it didn’t take Ellie too long to notice. Some nights, you could feel her lifting your beloved oversized shirt up just a bit to take a better look at your body. It was hard to suppress a smile, but you managed.

“A fucking thong, really? God.” you could hear her mutter quietly.

She’d mumble random shit like, “Wanna fuck you real bad,” when she was close to her orgasm. 

You’d often shift a bit too close to her to make her freak out, interrupting her imminent orgasm. It was entertaining hearing her panic and freeze. The little sigh of relief she'd let out when she looked over you to make sure you were ‘sleeping’ was even cuter to you.

˳·˖𖤐 One day, while doing the laundry, your eyes caught a flash of red fabric peeking out of her sweatpants, tucked deep inside the pocket. A brief moment of recognition made you realize it was your thong, one that you had lost long ago. And you remembered vividly how you had always wondered where it had gone. You knew Ellie had something to do with it—indeed, you were not wrong. “Perv,” you let out a breathy chuckle as you withdrew the thong from her pocket and tossed it inside the washing machine. 

˳·˖𖤐 Though you couldn’t say shit. You weren’t really in a position to, not when you had stolen her boxers—the very ones she had made a mess of the other night, getting off to your ‘innocent’ form in that thong, all sprawled out for her eyes only. Unlike her, you had tucked it away, ensuring she’d never find it—in your bottom drawer, buried beneath a pile of neatly folded clothes.

˳·˖𖤐 Everything had been rainbows and roses since your boyfriend was out of the picture, leaving Ellie with you all to herself, just as she liked it. She’d half-expected this wouldn’t last forever, but she didn’t think it would unravel so soon, too soon.

After your shower, wrapped only in a towel, you realized you’d forgotten to grab fresh clothes. Too lazy to trek back to your room, you decided Ellie’s closet would do just fine. “El! I’m borrowing your clothes!” you called out, already swinging open her closet door without waiting for a response. The woody, warm scent of her filled the small space, mingling with the crisp smell of laundry detergent.

Your gaze drifted downward, catching on a gym bag lying half-zipped. The black fabric looked dull under the dim light, but something about it drew you in. There were dark stains on the shirt peeking out—a rusted, dried red that had you swallowing hard. Right next to it sat a Ghostface mask, its hollow, grinning face staring up at you, taunting you, like it knew something you didn’t. 

Just then, Ellie’s voice cut through the silence, a little too rushed, a little too panicked. “Wait, I’ll get it for you!” You heard her footsteps nearing, but by the time she appeared in the doorway, you were already crouched down, inspecting the items, your fingers clutching your boyfriend’s shirt—now stiff with dried blood—and a stained knife in the other.

She froze, her already pale face drained of color as your eyes met. She didn’t say a thing, didn’t try to explain or reach out. She simply stood there, like a deer caught in headlights, waiting for you to make the first move.

“What the fuck?” you choked out, anger tangling in your throat. Your voice cracked, but you didn’t let it stop you. “Why do you have this, Ellie?!” The words were sharp, edged with accusation, and your fingers tightened around the shirt, clinging to the blood-soaked fabric like it was proof of a reality she couldn’t deny. 

Ellie flinched, cursing herself for not getting rid of that piece of evidence. Maybe it was the procrastination, or perhaps she was just too wrapped up in you—you had that effect on her. Her expression flickered between panic and something else, something guarded, as if she were mentally scrambling to find the right lie to feed you.

“I swear, it’s not what it looks like.” Her voice was low, almost eerily calm, meant to keep you from losing your mind and freaking out even more, but it was doing the opposite. “Sit down. I can explain. I promise.” She inched closer, coaxing you back toward her bed, trying to control the situation, as if talking you down would make all of this disappear. But you stepped away from her, backing toward the closet instead.

“Then fucking explain,” you demanded, your voice rising, heat flooding your cheeks as your pulse hammered. Your eyes trailed down to the Ghostface mask lying on the floor, and you kicked it toward her. “What the hell are you doing with all this shit? With my boyfriend’s shirt?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected you, as if that made a difference in the moment. But she cared enough about it to not hold her tongue. You scoffed in disbelief at her correction, and your stern look only prompted her to keep talking, desperate to answer your question. “I found it in the trash,” she began, her tone too smooth, her words practiced. “I was going to take it to the cops.” But you both knew that was a shitty excuse. The explanation hung in the air, feeble and hollow, cracking under the weight of your inquisitor glare.

“That’s a fucking lie, and you know it,” you spat, tightening your grip on the knife, its sharp tip now aimed right at her. 

“Just sit down, please. I’ll tell you everything.” Her words spilled out, each one more frantic than the last, thick with desperation as she inched closer, hands reaching out like she was steadying herself—or preparing to corner you.

You held your ground, pressing your back into the cold closet door, “No, fuck that!” you snapped, refusing to let her control the moment. Her jaw tightened, and in an instant, she lunged forward, catching your wrist and forcing it up against the wood, pinning the knife-holding hand in place.

“Listen to me!” she growled, her voice growing louder, almost vibrating with a tension that rippled between you, making you quiver. Her face was close, too close, so close that her warm breath hit your face, and her eyes locked onto yours, wild verdants unwavering, staring into your dilated pupils.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you shouted, fury shaking the air between you as you pulled at her iron-tight grip. But it was useless. You were sick of her lies, of her half-truths. All you truly desired was for her to lay it all bare for you ‘cause you weren’t fucking dumb, and deep down, you knew it. You had known all along. Her grip only tightened, her knuckles turning white against your skin as her breaths came fast. This Ellie was raw, untamed—a far cry from the girl you had around every day. But in this harsh intensity, there was something real, something you’d been craving for.

“You wanna know the truth? Fine!” Her voice rose, each word bitten off, hard enough to make you flinch. She gazed down at the bloodstained shirt sprawled across the floor, her face hardening, “Yeah, that’s his. And yeah, that’s his blood. He deserved what he got.” 

“What the fuck, Ellie, you had no fucking right—” She slammed her other hand against the wooden surface of her closet door, inches away from your head, causing you to cut off your words before they could be fully uttered.

“He was cheating on you!” she interrupted you, her voice rough with anger, her face flushing red. “I saw him, alright? With that girl from the bar—the one you were always paranoid about. I fucking saw him with her. So yeah, I followed him, and things got… out of hand.”

You scanned her face, searching for any hint of regret or guilt, but all you found was a complete lack of remorse, an expression that only seemed to scream she’d do it all over again if she could. But it was exactly that thing in her eyes that pulled you in even more. “Then why not just tell me?” 

Why couldn’t you fear her? Why weren’t you grossed out? Shouldn’t you have had a typical reaction to her revelation, like screaming or crying over the brutal murder of your boyfriend? Instead, here you were, feeling oddly fascinated, giddy even.

“I wanted to,” she admitted, her voice a little raspier, her eyes glistening with what looked like tears—fake ones. The sudden empathy felt odd, something that didn’t belong to her, and you knew her too well for this shit. “But then I saw you, finally free, happy without him dragging you down. I thought I’d done you a favor. And then I just… couldn’t say it.” 

You pressed yourself harder against the closet door, staring at her like you were seeing her for the first time. You shook your head, “You’re lying,” you stated flatly, watching her mask drop.

“What? You think I’d lie?” she shot back, trying to twist the situation, like you were crazy for even suspecting her. But you knew better. Psychology classes were really paying off.

“Yes, Ellie, you’re lying.” you leaned in, and her jaw clenched as you continued. “You did it to Amanda and that girl at the party? You think I don’t remember that night? Just admit it!” You practically yelled, and a shadow passed over her face like an ominous cloud, her expression hardening again, her eyes growing cold, dark in a way that caught you off guard. One thing was for sure—there was a certain beauty in the way her captivating jade orbs effortlessly switched between the deceptive facade and the cold, calculated gaze of a serial killer. 

“Admit what?” her tone was mocking, like she was daring you to say it.

“That you—” The words stuck in your throat, your gaze slipping to the Ghostface mask on the floor. That’s when she ripped the knife out of your hand, her grip firm as she held it close to you, not quite pressing it into your skin, just close enough to see if it’d rattle you.

“C’mon,” she murmured, leaning in with that daring, dark smile, “say it.” Her eyes flashed with an edge of mania like she was enjoying this, feeding off your reactions, like some sick parasite.

“You killed them all.” you managed, voice barely a whisper, and she threw her head back in a laugh that sent chills down your spine.

“God, do you hear yourself? You sound pathetic,” she chuckled darkly, her knife tracing a line along your cheekbone, slow enough to make you shiver, close enough to cause goosebumps to erupt on your skin. Your chest tightened, your heartbeat loud in your ears as her lips curled in that contorted smile. ​​Your breath hitched as she leaned in, her gaze piercing through your irises, capturing every fleck of color.

“What? Gonna kill me now?” you breathed, your words almost taunting, a faint smirk pulling at your lips as her eyes narrowed.

She tilted the knife against your throat but still put no pressure. You felt yourself leaning into it, letting the thrill course through you and that familiar excitement growing in your tummy. “Gonna make me?” she whispered, voice thick and low, and for the briefest moment, her composure cracked—just enough for you to see her desperation, like she was hanging onto a thread. She needed you to stay, even after all this. She couldn’t live without you.

“I just want the truth,” you uttered, your voice soft, never breaking eye contact. And if you did, it was only to let your eyes drop to her lips, she was so tantalizingly close that it was impossible not to. “Drop the mind games. I want the truth.” You didn’t know how the hell you could still want her, adrenaline tangling in your chest, but you did. Maybe even more than before.

Her brows rose in mock surprise as she cocked her head. “You want the truth?” she echoed, lips parting in a cold smirk. “Fine. Yes, I killed your stupid fucking boyfriend. He died like a pussy,” she sneered, anger flashing as she clenched the knife, thinking of his hands on you, touching what had always belonged to her.

“Why?” you whispered, watching her like you were peeling away her layers, seeing her stripped of all pretenses.

“Why do you think?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes like it was obvious.

The words that tumbled from your mouth after her revelation left her almost astonished.

“How’d you kill him?” then, with a morbid fascination you added, “What did it feel like?” your head tilted slightly to the side. 

˳·˖𖤐 The more she went on and on about the macabre details, the more it turned you on. She was taken aback by your enthusiasm and curiosity, the specific questions flowing from your lips with an unsettling calm that she struggled to comprehend. It was almost as if you were savoring every twisted word that came from her. She couldn’t wrap her head around how her dark confessions had led to this moment—both of you naked, with you perched on top of her.

Ellie was gorgeous—way too gorgeous to be a serial killer, or a psychotic person. She was even more gorgeous beneath you, auburn strands of hair splayed across the pillow, messy but not as messy as her dripping pussy. Her breath hitched as your fingers tightened around the handle of her switchblade, the cold metal gliding from her neck down to her chest, drawing lazy white scratches all over her alabaster skin.

A low, frustrated groan escaped her lips as you drew lazy circles around her areolas with the sharp point of the knife, watching with satisfaction as her pink nipples hardened, standing at full attention for you, as hard as rocks and begging to be tortured. You could feel her grow restless beneath you—her hips bucking in a desperate attempt to grind against your pussy, but you lifted yourself ever so slightly, just enough to deprive her of the friction she craved.

“Desperate?” you mocked, your bottom lip jutting out in a cruel pout. Ellie’s eyes flicked up to yours, glazed with lust and frustration, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. A cocky front, even now. But it was just a front, she was so fucking weak for you.

“Yeah,” she rasped, her voice betraying her need, but her eyes showed a glint of defiance. She couldn’t resist trying to fight back. “But you’re dragging this out like a coward.”

You hummed sultrily, letting the blade press just a little harder against her dotty complexion—not enough to cut, but enough to leave faint red marks across her flesh. “Oh, you think you’re in a position to talk back?” you spat, your free hand pinning her wrist above her head as she squirmed. “You’re fucking sick, Ellie.”

“Like you’re any better,” she sneered, though her voice trembled as the tip of the knife traced down her sternum toward her stomach. Goosebumps rose on her sun-spotted skin as her breathing became more erratic, her hips lifting in vain again to seek the friction you kept cruelly out of her reach.

“Not the one going around killing people, am I?” you snorted, the blade now grazing and lingering just below her belly button.

Ellie’s defiance cracked, her voice weaker, more fragile as she muttered, “I did it for you.” it made your heart skip a beat or beat faster—you really couldn’t tell from all that adrenaline clouding your rational thoughts.

“You’re trembling,” you noted with a sly smirk, her cocky grin faltering as the knife inched lower, closer to where she needed you most. Ellie bit her lip hard, a needy whimper slipping through despite her best effort to stifle it.

“I need you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, one hand reaching up to rest on your hip. Her touch sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t help but lower yourself closer, pressing your body against hers. 

A wicked smirk tugged at your lips, pride swelling in your chest at the sight of her—the usually cold, calculated killer, reduced to this. All because of you. Seeing her this weak for you truly made you want to do the unholiest things to her, things you knew she would never forget about. You tossed the switchblade aside, forgotten as soon as your lips descended on her neck, sucking dark spots on her soft flesh. You let your teeth sink in, biting just hard enough to get a soft sound out of her. The auburnette was so desperate and sensitive that everything seemed to make her moan—every brief touch, every kiss, even your breathing fanning over her skin. She was already half-gone, and you were barely even getting started.

Her skin flushed beneath your lips as you kissed your way down her body, taking your sweet time, savoring each second of her squirming beneath you. Her breaths grew more ragged, her thighs twitching as you moved lower. Ellie’s body was a temple, and right now, it was all yours to worship.

She’d killed for you, it was the least you could do. So, was romance really dead?

˳·˖𖤐 You’d never imagined Ellie would care that much, never thought she’d be capable of that level of obsession. And you didn’t mind it one bit. No, quite the opposite. The realization only made your pussy throb madly, heat pooling between your thighs as your mind replayed her confession over and over like a broken record, focusing on the brutal details she had given you. It wasn’t just the idea of her killing—it was that she did it because of you, because she couldn’t let anyone else have you.

Every single muscle in her body tensed, her legs trembling as you hovered right above her hairy mound. You could see it—the way her wetness coated her folds, her pink clit, swollen and impatient, her pussy practically begging for attention, and it only made you want to tease her more. Your thumb teasingly drew tight, gentle circles on her aching nub, making her whimper almost exaggeratedly.

“Aww, look at you…” you purred, retracting your hand, your voice low, honed in sweet mockery. You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over her sensitive skin. “Soaking wet, desperate for me to touch you. Gonna start begging now?”

Your words made her whine, her resolve crumbling more with each passing second—not that there was any left. Her body betrayed her, hips lifting toward your face, her need palpable. But you weren’t done playing with her yet. You had all night ahead.

Your arms curled around her toned thighs, pulling her closer as you knelt at the edge of the bed, your face mere inches from her pussy. You could see how wet she was, how desperate she had become—there was even a dark wet patch on the sheets beneath her. You smirked up at her, eyes locking with hers as you lowered your mouth to her slick folds. With the tip of your tongue, you spread her moistened lips, and it was enough to make Ellie’s entire body jolt, a choked moan tearing from her throat as you tasted her, her sweet juices coating your lips as you lapped at her with slow, deliberate cat licks.

Ellie’s head fell back against the pillow, her hands gripping your hair with white-knuckled desperation as you ate her out, tongue flicking over her clit every now and then with just enough pressure to drive her mad. You sucked, your lips closing around her swollen bud, and Ellie’s back arched painfully off the bed, her thighs trembling around your head.

“Fuck… fuck…” she gasped, her hoarse voice scratching her already dry throat as her hips bucked uncontrollably and you held her down, refusing to let her squirm away from the relentless onslaught of your mouth.

You smirked against her, the vibrations of your giggle only making her moan louder. “Look at you, El,” you teased, your voice muffled between her thighs. “So sweet ‘n perfect f’me,”

You didn’t wait for a response, diving back in, your tongue swirling around her clit as you slipped two fingers inside her, curling them with brutal precision, finding that sweet spot that had her toes curling, her breath catching in her throat. Her gummy walls clenched around your fingers, and you could feel how close she was, her legs shaking violently.

Ellie’s moans grew louder, more frantic, her hands tugging at your hair hard as she tried to ground herself, grinding against your tongue. But you didn’t slow down—if anything, you fucked her harder, your fingers pumping into her fast and deep, your mouth never abandoning her needy clit, your nose buried in her trimmed bush.

“Beg me,” you commanded as you pulled away to breathe, her core swallowing every inch of your fingers greedily. All those years of plugging her fingers deep inside her wet cunt imagining they were yours instead were so worth the wait.

“I—fuck—” the green-eyed girl’s breath caught, her body shaking uncontrollably, her voice barely a whisper now. “Please… please…” She couldn’t even fucking function; you had reduced her to a broken mess.

“Can’t hear you,” you prompted her, your fingers plunging deeper, harder, until her back arched off the bed, a cry of pure need tearing from her throat.

“Fuck! Please, I need it—I need you—fuck, I’m so close!” she sobbed, her voice cracking as her orgasm crept closer, promising her to see stars, but you weren’t about to give her what she wanted—no, not yet.

You grinned wickedly, pulling your fingers out of her soaked pussy just before she could. A strangled, frustrated sob escaped her plump lips as her body writhed beneath you, her orgasm stolen, leaving her aching and needy.

“Aw, you’re not so smart, are you? You really thought I was going to let you come?” You leaned in, pressing your lips to her ear as you whispered, “Oh no, El… we’re just getting started. You’re not going anywhere.”

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie’s eyes widened with a mixture of frustration and confusion as you told her you’d let her come after you were done using her. You reached for your favorite strap-on, adjusting the harness until it sat snugly around her hips. Her wrists were bound securely to the headboard, the cuffs’ soft, fluffy lining pressing firmly against her skin. Her breath caught in her throat as the realization dawned on her, her eyes darting between the toy and your wicked grin. 

Her pupils were blown with lust as she watched you lower yourself onto her, the thick silicone toy sliding in with ease after you’d teased your throbbing bud with its tip. Her hands twitched, desperate to reach out, to touch you, but she couldn’t do much with the handcuffs keeping her wrists locked to the bed, the soft restraints holding her firmly in place. She watched with wide eyes as her cock stretched your needy, wet heat, sliding in and out. At first, your movements were slow and teasing, letting her take in every inch, but it didn’t take long before you picked up the pace, your body already accustomed to its size, moving with a frantic, eager rhythm.

“Fuuuck…” you panted, rolling your hips against the toy, your breath hitching as that familiar feeling built in your stomach. Ellie’s gaze was glued to you—your bouncing tits, your parted lips, the way your body moved smoothly above her. She wanted to touch, to feel you, but all she could do was watch as you used her, as you fucked yourself on the strap like she wasn’t even there. It was cruel, truly. Her body trembled with need as she watched you lose yourself in the overwhelming pleasure, her pussy throbbing with unmet desire as yours seemed to suck the toy deeper, and for a moment, she swore she could feel your walls tightening around her—perhaps it was the desperation playing a sick joke on her. She couldn’t help but let out a moan.

˳·˖𖤐 She had tried begging but she’d only be met with things such as:

“Cry about it,” you sneered, your voice cold and mocking as you watched her squirm restlessly beneath you.

“You’re such a fucking crybaby,” you murmured, fingers gripping onto her chin and forcing her to look at you as if her desperation was nothing more than a joke to you.

“I’m putting up a whole show for you, and you’re still complaining,” you chuckled darkly, a twisted satisfaction curling at the corners of your mouth as you looked down at her, reveling in her helplessness, your wetness dripping down the harness, making a mess on top of her.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice cracking as she thrusted up. Mewls slipped out of your soft lips as the tip of her silicone cock hit your cervix, desperation written all over her flushed face. “Please let me touch you... let me do something...” Her voice hitched as she choked on a sob, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her glassy eyes locked onto yours, her cheeks streaked with the remnants of her pleas. “Fuck, I can’t—” she cried out, voice breaking again, her head tilting back as she tried to hold herself together. Her gaze flickered back up to you, trailing to your chest, lingering there hungrily. Bushy brows furrowed with longing as she licked her chapped lips.

But you weren’t listening. You were too lost in the pleasure of fucking yourself on her, your head thrown back, sobs pouring from your lips as the strap-on hit that perfect spot against your cervix. Your movements grew more frantic, hips slamming down harder, faster, the toy sliding in and out of your slick folds with ease. The wet sounds of your arousal filled her room, mixing with the desperate, needy gasps that escaped Ellie beneath you, her fingers curling into fists as the cuffs dug into her velvety skin, promising bruises she’d feel long after this was over.

Her eyes glazed over, chest rising and falling rapidly as she watched you ride her with reckless abandon. The sight of you, your body glistening with sweat, pretty tits bouncing with every thrust, was too much for her. She was on the edge, teetering, her body aching to release, but you wouldn’t let her. You wouldn’t let her do shit.

Ellie groaned, frustration and lust mixing in her voice as she bucked her hips uselessly beneath you, trying to gain even a fraction of relief from the sight of you fucking yourself senseless. “Please… please, I’m begging you,” she whimpered, her voice hoarse and broken, and god if it nearly made you squirt. “I need it—I need to come, please…”

You smirked down at her, not stopping, your hips grinding harder, riding the strap with everything you had. You leaned down, your breath hot against the shell of her ear as you whispered, “You’re not coming until I say you can. You’re going to sit there and watch me get off, and there’s nothing you can fucking do about it.” Cruelly pressing damp and sloppy kisses on the column of her neck, kisses that had her gasping pathetically.

˳·˖𖤐 And it went on and on, her eyes locked on the sight of your milky cum dripping down the thick, black strap, each drop making her bite back a groan. She wished she could taste you. Every time she tried to move or squirm too much for your liking, you’d smack her hard across the face, or switch to a new position just to tease her even more, making sure you were giving her the best view. It was only after the fifth—or maybe the sixth—orgasm that you finally uncuffed her.

The moment her wrists were free, she flipped you over, quick as lightning, giving you no time to react. She pinned you beneath her with a mischievous glint in her eyes, you looked up at her, panting and spent, your brows knitting together in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. She just smirked down at you, spreading your trembling legs apart with ease, her grip firm and unyielding.

“Oh fuck, no—” you gasped out, trying to squirm away as she wrapped her hand around the slick toy, guiding it right back to your abused entrance. She knew she could probably come right then, grinding against the back of the strap, but the thought of pushing you past your limits was far more thrilling. 

“You’re not stupid enough to think I’d let you go so easily, right?” she repeated your earlier words, her voice low and dangerous as she lowered herself over you, your sweaty bodies pressing together. “Didn’t you wanna be my helpless victim, babe?”

The redhead pushed in relentlessly, forcing your pulsating walls to swallow every inch, your back arching as she made you hold on just a little longer. Before long, your legs gave out beneath you as she pounded into you from behind, each thrust deep and brutal, your cheek pressed into the soft mattress. Her hand came down hard on your ass, leaving a sharp sting that burned like a bitch. The smacks kept coming, over and over, until your skin was bruised and your body was shaking with overstimulation. “This is for leaving me high and dry,” she hissed, her voice rough with frustration and desire, slapping the same bruised spot again and again, until you knew you’d be sore for days, unable to sit down.

˳·˖𖤐 When it was finally over, the two of you laid tangled together, breathless and sticky. Ellie’s chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing, but a question lingered in her eyes—one that seemed to claw at her even now, despite everything you’d done to show her you weren’t running, that you weren’t disgusted by her nature. You had never been, for the matter, even when you were kids.

“You’re not gonna tell on me, yeah?” she rasped, her voice rough, her grip tightening possessively on your hip while her other hand gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. Her touch was surprisingly tender, contrasting with the weight of her words, like she was scared to hear your answer. It made your heart swell knowing she feared losing you so badly.

But you were so drunk of the overwhelming contentment that you barely registered the tension in her voice. Instead, a sleepy smile tugged at your lips, and you blurted out, “Wanna be my girlfriend?” The question slipped out before you could think, your gaze locked onto her freckled face, admiring every angle and curve, the way the warm dim light softened her expression.

Ellie blinked, caught off guard, before a playful smirk curved her lips. “I am your girlfriend,” she gave your hip a gentle swat that made you chuckle softly, the sound mixing with the quiet hum of the fan.

“Y’know…you’re right,” you mumbled suddenly. Her hand drifted to your back, scratching lightly, soothing you as your body relaxed into hers. You turned your head, meeting her soft eyes again, while something darker flashed in yours. “He fucking deserved what he got,” Your voice was low, carrying a finality that made Ellie’s breath hitch. It was all the reassurance she needed. A wide grin spread across her face, her eyes lighting up with something almost feral, a giddy kind of joy. It was a smile so genuine, so purely her, that it was impossible to resist leaning in to kiss her, your lips meeting hers in a messy, heated kiss. 

“But yeah, if you leave me I’m gonna tell on you.”

˳·˖𖤐 She had gotten clingier and more eager after that night, always looking for an excuse to touch you, to keep you within reach. Whenever you went somewhere, Ellie trailed right behind you, like a shadow that wouldn’t leave your side. And honestly, you loved it—you thrived on bossing her around, enjoying how she would drop whatever she was doing just to be with you. If the two of you were inseparable as friends before, it had only gotten worse. Not that the obsessive, morbid love wasn’t there before, but now you both let it show, with no boundaries left to be set, no rules, just whatever twisted thing you both had become together.

˳·˖𖤐 Time flew by, and soon Halloween rolled around again, your favorite holiday. Ellie knew it, too, and she didn’t even try to say no when you convinced her to tag along to a party you’d been invited to. It was supposed to be a small, “close friends only” type of thing, but you dragged her with you anyway, making it clear you weren’t going to take no for an answer. Plus, you’d been at each other’s throats lately, bickering more than usual, and she didn’t want to risk making you any angrier. It was either coming along without putting up a fight or dealing with the idea of you going solo—knowing she’d just end up following you like the little creep she was, lurking in the shadows, making sure no one even dared to touch you.

˳·˖𖤐 The party turned out to be better than either of you had expected. A few drinks in, and you both started to loosen up, Ellie sticking close, practically attached to your side with some invisible rope. It was like she couldn’t let you out of her sight, even for a second, her hand always finding its way to your back or waist, keeping you close. You danced together, swaying in the colorful, pulsing lights, your bodies brushing intimately against each other. Her eyes stayed glued to you the whole time, like you were the Holy Mary herself, and she just couldn’t get enough. You reveled in her devotion, the way her grip on your hips would tighten as you moved. It was such a turn-on.

Eventually, the party began to wind down, and it wasn’t long before it was just the two of you left with Allison and her boyfriend, Lucas. The four of you gravitated toward the kitchen, where Ellie leaned against the counter, elbows propped up on the cold granite. She played with the knives, her fingers casually tracing the handles, sliding them in and out of the block absentmindedly.

Allison scrolled through her phone, her brown eyes squinting at the screen’s dim glow. “Another guy went missing,” she announced, her voice wavering as she scanned through the article. “I bet Ghostface has something to do with it.”

“Tragic,” Ellie muttered, her tone devoid of sympathy. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. You watched her, catching the unsettling indifference in her voice. When she noticed your gaze, she raised an eyebrow in mock innocence, daring you to question her. Instead, she shrugged. Allison went on and on about how creepy it was that Ghostface could be literally anyone, her voice holding a mix of fascination and fear. 

“I mean, think about it,” she said, eyes wide as she gestured dramatically. “It could be your neighbor, your friend, even someone you totally trust! Just wearing that mask and knife in hand, ready to strike any moment. It’s so fucked up!” As Allison thought about the countless times she had passed by potential killers, she couldn’t help but shudder in fear at her luck. How many times had she walked down a dark alleyway, taken a walk alone at night, or even trusted the wrong person? The thought of her mortality sent a chill down her spine and made her wonder how long her luck would hold out.

“Yeah, it’s scary,” you hummed, but then the conversation shifted back to the guy who had gone missing. 

“You’ve got to be dumb to get killed like that, though,” Ellie scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. “Came all the way from Michigan just to end up dead? Pathetic. Guess all those muscles didn’t help much.”

Allison frowned at Ellie’s lack of empathy, but she shrugged it off, scrolling through her phone for more details, her thumb flicking faster across the screen. “That’s… awful,” you murmured, chewing on your bottom lip as you glanced over at Lucas, who seemed unfazed by the conversation.

Lucas noticed your look and mistook it for unease. “You okay?” he asked, genuine concern in his eyes. “Want a drink or something?”

You nodded, playing into his kindness. “Sure, thanks.”

He leaned over, pressing a kiss to Allison’s head before heading to the kitchen, leaving you, Ellie, and Allison alone in the dim living room.

“Wait—” Allison’s brows knitted in confusion, her voice soft but growing with unease. “How’d you know he was from Michigan? It doesn’t say anything about…” Her voice trailed off as she continued scrolling, her eyes flicking back and forth over the screen, trying to make sense of what Ellie had just casually dropped.

Ellie’s smile barely flickered. “Just a guess,” she replied smoothly, her gaze icy and unbothered, creeping Allison out.

You chuckled at the exchange, and Allison turned to you with a confused look. “C’mon, cheer up, Allison! We’re just messing with you. Can’t you take a joke? It’s Halloween!”

Allison’s frown deepened as she glanced between you and Ellie, her eyes clouding with suspicion. She let out a nervous laugh, trying to shake off the unsettling vibe. “You two are… really something,” she said, brushing it off, not wanting to overthink it. Maybe paranoia was just doing her dirty. Oh, if she only knew.

Ellie smirked, she leaned forward, her voice dropping low. “Oh, you have no idea,” she whispered, her tone laced with something dark and final, a warning the girl didn’t quite catch.

Lucas handed you the drink, his face lighting up with an easy smile, completely unaware of the exchange. 

“You guys wanna play a game?” you asked, grinning at Allison and Lucas. The suggestion hung in the air, deceptively playful. Allison exchanged a look with Lucas, her unease melting a bit, as if convincing herself she was just imagining things.

She forced a smile. “Sure. What kind of game?”

Ellie’s grin widened, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “How about something… fun?”

˳·˖𖤐 Maybe it was the thrill of the game or the intoxicating rush of chaos, but after a few questions were answered and it was your turn, your eyes widened in shock as the blade pierced your stomach. Time seemed to slow down as you locked eyes with Ellie, and what you saw there sent a chill down your spine—your girlfriend’s eyes were empty, devoid of emotion—not even guilt shone in her eyes. It was like staring into a void. 

Blood poured from your mouth, warm and sticky, and panic coursed through you. When a week ago she had suggested trying something new, never did you think that would lead to this—her knife buried deep inside your insides, and blood pouring out of you like a crimson-tainted waterfall.

“W-why…?” you choked on your own blood, the words barely audible but with the stillness of the room, they seemed to echo louder. 

Allison and Lucas stood completely frozen, utterly speechless, their bodies rigid with shock as they watched the horrific scene unfold before their eyes, feeling useless and not knowing how to stop it. The crimson blood pooled out of your wound, soaking the fabric of your shirt, while Ellie’s gloves gleamed with a sinister shine. The red wasn’t so visible against the darkness of her attire, but it was there, unmistakable. 

“It was the wrong answer, babe,” Ellie whispered, her words dripping with a sickening sweetness that made your skin crawl, and the innocent faint smile on her face made Allison want to rip her hair out. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Allison screamed, her voice laced with disbelief, her eyes wide as she took a shaky step back.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Lucas followed, his voice tinged with a mix of fear and anger, trying to process the madness unfolding in front of him.

“YOU’RE A FUCKING MONSTER!” Allison yelled, her voice cracking as she cried, her hands shaking.

Your body hit the floor with a heavy thud, and through half-lidded eyes, you saw the panic set in as Allison and Lucas before you stopped breathing entirely. They scrambled for the door, nearly tripping over themselves. Allison’s frantic, manicured hands rattled desperately the knob, her voice shrill as she screamed for help, but the door wouldn’t budge. Locked. 

And she hadn’t locked it. She was sure she hadn’t.

Lucas, desperate to protect her, grabbed a vase from the entry table and hurled it at Ellie, the glass shattering against her shoulder with a harsh crack. It staggered her for a moment, just long enough for them to dart in separate directions, fleeing up the stairs. 

Ellie grinned, her eyes flashing with excitement as she took off after Lucas, her steps heavy but steady, savoring the thrill of the chase, like a cat chasing a mouse. She looked over her shoulder at you before she raced up the stairs. Allison stumbled into the guest bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The auburnette could hear the blonde girl breathing heavily, panicked, the creak of the floorboards giving her away as she backed into the room.

But she decided to take care of Lucas instead, having labeled Allison as the weakest between the two. She successfully cornered Lucas at the end of the hallway. He threw open the door to the master bathroom, eyes darting desperately around for anything he could use to defend himself. He grabbed a towel rack, ripping it off the wall and wielding it like a bat as Ellie advanced on him, her face lit with a twisted satisfaction. A stupid towel rack wasn’t going to stop her, and honestly, it excited her. She loved how people fought for their lives, no matter how fucked up the situation was. It was fascinating to watch, like a wild show of survival instincts kicking in. The panic, the desperation on their faces and in their actions—it was what got her heart racing and made her feel alive.

“You… you’re insane!” Lucas stammered, brandishing the metal rod with trembling hands.

He was taller, bigger, stronger—details that only made the auburnette’s grin widen, her attentive eyes narrowing with anticipation. To her, he was nothing but a challenge, one she was all too eager to take on. Ellie chuckled darkly, her eyes never leaving him as she took one slow, measured step forward. “Only now figuring that out, huh?” She took another step, her shadow looming over him as he shrank back against the tiled wall, his breaths coming in panicked gasps. He swung the metal bar, catching her arm with a glancing hit, but it only seemed to amuse her more. She couldn’t feel pain—not even the faintest pulse of her own heartbeat, completely drowned out by the surge of adrenaline flooding her veins. She felt invincible.

With a swift, practiced precision, Ellie caught his wrist, twisting it sharply until the rod clattered to the aquamarine floor. “Nice try, Lucas,” she hissed before shoving him backward, hard enough that his head cracked against the tile. He slumped to the floor, groaning, his vision swimming as Ellie towered over him. But he fought nonetheless, his hands trying to stop her from sinking the sharp knife into his throat, but it didn’t last long. He didn’t last long.

“That was stupid,” she panted, standing over his corpse, her look sharp and full of disdain. Her face was scrunched in anger, but the adrenaline flooding her veins felt incredible—like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. The thrill of it. A loud noise snapped her from her thoughts. The old wood creaked under her black boots as she headed toward the room where she’d last seen Allison hide.

˳·˖𖤐 The guest bedroom door was slightly ajar, and she shoved it open with a firm kick. Her eyes locked onto Allison, sprawled lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around her still body. Her face was frozen in horror as if she’d seen a ghost in her final moments. Her gaze drifted up—to you, standing just a few feet from Allison’s lifeless body.

“Hey, babe,” you said with a crooked smile, giving her a little wave, clearly nervous but with a spark of excitement in your eyes that made her stare in awe. She remembered that feeling all too well—the jitters, the high that followed her first time. And here you were, cheeks flushed and grinning ear to ear like the fucking Cheshire cat, looking so damn giddy as you took it all in—like a kid who had just discovered their new favorite toy. 

Trying new things had definitely been the right move, and Ellie didn’t regret it for a second, because you were practically glowing. For the first time, you felt truly alive. It hit you then, just how much emptiness you’d been carrying all these years, how you’d learned to live with that hollow feeling. But this? This made you feel whole. Euphoric. Alive in every possible way.

“How’d I do?” you asked, almost childlike, looking up at her with eager eyes, fishing for approval—her approval. It was all you needed, and it felt like trying to impress a middle school crush all over again.

“Pretty good, my love. You did great,” she praised, a hint of pride sneaking into her voice.

“Yeah?” Your eyes lit up, a satisfied grin spreading across your face.

Her gaze softened briefly, a low, amused, throaty laugh slipping from her lips as she pushed a stray lock of hair back with the back of her blood-stained glove, leaving a smudged streak of red across her cheekbone. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she took in the mess you’d created. “You know, for a second there, I didn’t think you’d go through with it. Look at you now.” Her tongue darted across her bottom lip as she looked at you up and down, ready to pounce on you any time now.

You blushed, a bit sheepish, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the floor. “What can I say? Guess you’re a bad influence,” you smirked, shrugging it off like it was nothing.

She tossed the knife aside, and you mirrored her every move, watching as she peeled off her gloves and stepped closer. Her toothy smile widened as she pulled you in, her thumb brushing softly across your cheekbone, still warm from the adrenaline rush, while her other trembling hand rested on your waist. “Oh, yeah? Gonna start blaming me now?”

“Maybe,” you shot back, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

The freckled girl leaned in, pressing her lips against yours, soft and warm and she tasted so sweet.

“Your performance down there was flawless, and your technique…” she trailed off, her eyes trailing down to Allison’s body, “Not bad for your first time. A little shaky on the left stab, but hey,” she shrugged, lips curling into a teasing smirk, knowing damn well that even the gentlest dose of constructive criticism would get under your skin, “we’ll work on it.”

You scoffed and swatted her hand away, but Ellie just giggled, her laugh soft and breathless. “Can’t believe you got that question wrong, though,” she reached up to cup your face, her thumb brushing your cheek again, she couldn’t keep her hands off of you. That familiar smug smirk tugged at her heart-shaped lips as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a more playful one, her breath warm against your heated skin. “We’ve only watched the first Scream movie a hundred times together,” she said, almost mockingly offended, her green eyes bright with mischief, the ones that told you exactly what she had in mind. And she swore she was falling deeper for you, you had her in a chokehold.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “I only watched it because you were obsessed with it and I thought you were cute,” you admitted.

Her eyes sparkled with delight, and she raised her scarred eyebrow at you. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling her hand drift lower to your waist, pulling you closer, you cupped her cheek, your thumb caressing her blood-stained cheekbone lovingly, staring at her enamored.

Her lips brushed against your ear, voice low and teasing. “You know what I'm really in the mood for?” Her hand slipped lower and lower until it was resting on your plush ass, giving it a suggestive squeeze.

You chuckled, pretending to think. “Pizza?”

She let out a soft laugh. “I was gonna say you, but…” She gave you that crooked, lopsided smile, shrugging playfully.

You snorted, “Oh, well, that too. I just didn’t know killing works up your appetite.”

Her smirk deepened, revealing that dimple on her left cheek you loved so much, her infatuated gaze lingering on your lips almost as if she wanted to swallow you whole. “My bad. Should’ve warned you,” she murmured, then backed you toward the bed behind you, her hands rough but confident, pressing you down as she crawled on top, her breath hot and insistent against your supple skin.

Before you knew it, she was buried deep inside you, slender, calloused fingers curling and pressing against that spot that had you whining, and your legs trembling. Her other hand gripped her switchblade, cool metal tracing up to press it against your throat, and she could feel you squeeze her fingers. “Awwhh, baby,” she taunted, voice dripping with mockery. “You keep squirming like that, and it’s gonna cost you your life.”

You choked out a laugh, though it came out breathless and shaky. “You’d cum at the sight, wouldn’t you?” You bit your lip to stifle a moan, body struggling to hold still as she kept up that relentless rhythm, her fingers stretching and curling deep inside you, making your whole body shudder. You couldn’t help but trap her arm, a weak attempt to slow her down because you knew you wouldn’t last. Not with her pressing a knife on your throat. “Fucking psycho.”

“But you love me.” She said it so matter-of-factly, her lips curling with satisfaction as she watched you nod, helpless and needy, your eyes fluttering shut as your walls clenched around her, drawing her in like you couldn’t get enough.

“Yeah, I love you! F-Fuck…” you gasped, grinding down on her fingers, desperate, craving that friction your hungry clit needed. 

Her smitten gaze drifted to the lifeless body sprawled across the room, a proud smirk tugging at her lips. “So proud of you. You did such a good job. Look at her.” She tilted your face, forcing you to take it in. “Your work.” And in her fucked up mind, she truly believed it—your work deserved to be worshiped, just like Picasso’s after he was gone. A masterpiece, painted with every kind of brutal emotion.

You let out a shaky breath, almost dazed. “Yeah, I… I did that,” you stammered, voice breaking, caught somewhere between a whimper and a sob, you could feel it, you were close already and all that praising surely wasn’t helping.

“That’s right,” she murmured, nodding as her eyes roamed over you, taking you in like she was seeing you for the first time, it made you melt. “You’re so fucking hot, god. Made just for me. Perfect for me.”

˳·˖𖤐 Maybe she was right. You felt it deep down, a truth that clung to you. A match made in hell. And as long as you had her, you’d be more than fine.