cherry₊˚⊹♡

~

… It's safe to say Mizu is not popular.

Maybe it's the clothes. She usually just wears Eiji’s hand-me-downs, which do look odd on her tall, slim frame. Eiji has often mentioned getting her proper clothing of her own, but she usually just mumbles about being fine with the cast-offs. She swears she doesn't care. And while it is true that she's not bothered by what clothing she wears, as long as it's comfortable … it’s also true that she's afraid–after so long of bouncing around the foster system–that being any trouble at all might get her dropped again. The less difficulty she gives Eiji, the better, in her opinion.

For the same reason, she doesn't tell him about the problems she has with her classmates–particularly that fucking Taigen kid and his cronies. Eiji’s blindness means he can't see the bruises she gets from the constant battles, and it's easy enough to say she kicked a hammer or something if he asks why she's limping.

Even though she's never once picked a fight herself, the very public scrapes with Taigen and the other idiots quickly give her a reputation that comes with a wide berth of avoidance. If they aren't avoiding her out of fear, they avoid her to make sure they themselves aren't targeted. That suits Mizu fine. Especially now that she's of age, she’s only stayed in school at all to make sure she lives up to Eiji’s beliefs in her.

And it's not like she cares about the other people in her class.

She made it through to senior year with no friends. She'll make it through college in a few months. It's just something she has to do to achieve her goals. Friends are an unnecessary distraction. She doesn't want friends.

…

“Watch it, freak!”

Someone’s shoulder knocks hard into hers, and her bag slips from her shoulder. Pencils and books go everywhere. The unmistakable sound of Taigen’s laughter rings through the corridor. Swearing under her breath, Mizu immediately crouches, scrambling to gather it all up. She knows very well how many other assholes might like the opportunity to step on her things.

“Here.”

A pair of knees in clean, well-fitting clothes accompanies a very familiar voice, and a smooth, well-manicured hand offers a handful of her things.

It's you.

You're that girl–the one that doesn't seem to get the memo that Popular girls don't talk to people like her. The one that smiles at her sweetly in the hallway, so that she struggles to sleep the following night. The one with the hair that falls just-so across her cheekbones.

She doesn't look at you, just keeps her head down, face still as stone. “Thanks,” she says shortly, voice cold, and snatches the stuff from you, jamming it back in her bag. She waits any second for you to make some snide comment, or try to knock the stuff back out of her hand for a second round of laughter. Her jaw tightens. She shouldn't care–she should be ready to hit you back.

But she doesn't want to. And that scares her. She should be glad to have her illusions shattered so she can go back to pretending you don't exist.

And then you don't go.

You just stay, commenting positively on her stuff as you gather it up, calling the boys that knocked her down jerks, chatting to her about classes that you share. Being nice. And somehow, that's so confusing that it’s much, much worse.

She knows you weren't the one to hit her, but somehow, anger at Taigen has transferred to you. You’re pretty, and distracting. You're popular, like him. You two aren't friends. Maybe you laughed, too, while she wasn't looking. Maybe you feel bad about that, or you feel bad for her. That thought makes her want to scream. Frustration is reaching boiling point–at Taigen getting one over on her, at caring what you think, at being this close to you and still too trapped in her own head to be social, at being who she is–and she can't help the way her temper rises without control. None of this shows on her face, and you have no way of realizing how close to snapping she is.

Why are you still here, still helping her gather stuff? Why can't you stay out of her thoughts? Out of her life? If she was less stressed, she might have recognized how unfair and reactive this is, but in this moment, all she can think is Why won't you let her have peace.

“This is such a cool book,” you say, suddenly, and she looks up sharply. It's one of the books on smithing Eiji had recommended her, one he had once read before his accident, and it's decorated with many impressive color photos of swords. The sight of it in your small, soft hands makes her flinch–it's like feeling you touch her life directly, like she can feel you leaving your fingerprints directly on her soul.

“Give me that,” she snaps, snatching it roughly from your grip.

“I-I'm sorry, I'm just trying to help–”

“I. Didn't. Ask you to.”

The tension snaps, and she can't stop the words pouring out, not even when she sees you shrink back, your face flushing as people passing by turn to look. “I didn't ask you to yap at me, I didn't ask you to touch my stuff, so leave me alone.”

She glares at you, breathing heavily, and waits. Waits for the anger to come back her way, for you to lash out at her in return, or toss your hair bitchily and say something cutting, something that will finally ruin the allure of the sweet popular girl. Everyone’s eyes are on you. Surely you'll be furious to be so embarrassed in public.

“...okay.”

She blinks. Your face is still flushed as you scoot back a little, out of her space, and then stand up slowly. “Okay. I'll let you be. I'm sorry for … for bothering you.”

And you walk away quietly, just like that. Leaving her staring after you, not even hearing the whispers rippling out around her, the disapproving looks. She's used to those.

Whatever. You'll probably just ask some boyfriend to beat her up later.

She braces for it after school, but there's nobody waiting for her on her walk home, no aggressive shout to challenge her.

Just silence, and the sound of her own footsteps. Just your quiet “okay” echoing in her head.

That night, before sleep, she finds herself staring at the ceiling, and for a moment, just half a second only, she wonders if maybe she was wrong, and you were sincere.

She thinks back over all the time she's spent roaming the same halls, stuck in the same classes. She thinks about all the smiles you've given her, all the friendly greetings.

She closes her eyes, picturing the hurt look on your face, and opens them again, unable to stand it.

Thwack

Her pillow gets punched, hard, before she curls around it and buries her face.

Fuck. Why does she have to be like this.

~

Your friends are furious on your behalf, but you do your best to soothe them. You don't cry in front of them. You explain it away as being too invasive. You did just plop down and start talking to her without asking if it was okay. You did ask a bunch of questions even when she was already stressed.

You did exactly the thing you're not supposed to. You got too cocky, expecting to just be friends; you're not unaware that you're well-liked in school. You got right in the face of a wild animal you didn't know and started cooing to it like it was a pet.

And it bit you.

You should have known better. You've gone to school with her for nearly four years now.

But you just … you couldn’t seem to leave it alone.

You're not sure when Mizu caught your eye first.

You never saw her with anyone. She didn't smile or laugh with friends in the hallways, she was never cuddled against a locker with a sweetheart before homeroom. She didn't fidget with pencils or sneak a game on her phone under the desk, instead sitting quietly and almost supernaturally still.

But she wasn't some shy, shrinking violet. You've definitely seen her hunched outside the disciplinary office more than once, a bruised eye or a swollen lip marring her face. You had wanted to ask her then if she was okay, but everyone that got near her was treated to the same icy glare, and you were too intimidated.

You can vividly recall the first time she made your heart flutter for more than just her looks.

It was early in the morning. You were already focused on her enough to pay attention when you noticed her walking ahead of you by the edge of the athletics field. She always walked everywhere, and she always walked alone, with a faint slouch that still somehow looked graceful, like the prowl of a big cat.

You were watching her closely enough to notice when she suddenly stopped and bent down. You had hung back behind some cars as she straightened up, suddenly feeling strongly that you didn’t want to be seen by her at that moment.

As you were watching, she suddenly turned to the tree nearby, and lunged in a little vault, swarming up the sheer trunk like an acrobat. Wow. She had made it look so effortless. When she reached the first junction of branches, she placed the thing in her hand there delicately, and gracefully leaped down. As lightly as tiptoeing, not a sound or a flicker.

Then she walked away without another look, into the building.

When you reached the tree she'd climbed, you’d looked up into the branches in time to see a bird alight on the nest there, and a tiny beak emerge from it, shrieking its hunger.

That had been the first time you'd noticed her for more than just being a hot mystery girl. You became almost unnaturally aware of her presence, a little prickle on the back of your neck when she was in a room, as though your crush gave you powers of Mizu detection.

Sometimes, you had thought you felt her eyes on you. But every time you'd glance around, she was glaring at her lap as usual.

You wondered if she was ever curious about you the way you were about her. Did she notice the way you watched her? Did she think you were a creep? You should just talk to her …

Well. We saw how that turned out, you tell yourself grimly.

~

You’ve always had perfect attendance, but you take a few days off from school before an upcoming holiday, wanting a little time to regroup and decide what to do. You want to respect her space if she's genuinely not interested, but you also wish you could get a better chance to talk, when she hasn't just been bullied.

Your friends think you're crazy, at this point. Why do you want that girl?, they demand. You could have any girl you wanted. She comes to school in the weirdest clothes, she scowls at everybody, she lurks in the back of the classes like an evil spirit. Even the teachers seem to be a little afraid of her. They never call on her.

Your friends eye you skeptically when you defend her; they've never seen any of the sides of Mizu that you have, watching her as you do. But they’re still your friends, and they want to support you. Even if they give each other looks that say they're wondering if they should get you put on a psych hold.

~

You're at the shopping center when you see her next, after the incident in the hallway. She’s with an old man. The sight stops you in your tracks. You watch her hovering anxiously next to him as they cross the parking lot, clearly wanting to help but carefully respecting his autonomy. Her attention is fully on his every word, with a soft look of affection that you've never seen before.

At a quiet word from him, you see her smile for the first time. Just lightly, almost unconsciously.

Oh, you are so fucked.

And also not paying enough attention to notice the gleam of devilment in your friend's expression.

“Heyyyyyy, Mizu!” Your friend calls, before you can hush her, and both Mizu and the man stop dead, turning to look with twin expressions of grumpy confusion. The similarities would have been funny if you hadn't been trying to wrestle your friend to silence.

She jabs you in the ribs and slips from your grasp, running to meet them with you chasing after.

“Friends of yours, Mizu?” You can vaguely hear the old man dryly asking as you catch up.

Mizu’s stare is flat and hostile on your friend, one shoulder between the girl and the old man. She looks about a second away from actually baring her teeth.

She opens her mouth ominously, but your friend gets there first: “We're in Mizu’s class, sir.” At least she's sounding respectful enough.

“Ahh,” the old man says. His tone is mild, but there's a set to his mouth that reminds you of some of Mizu’s more skeptical expressions. He listens quietly as your friend introduces herself–but when she mentions that you're there and introduces you, he cocks his head to the side, eyebrows raising as he repeats your name like he recognizes it. You see Mizu’s posture freeze, but your friend is too determined upon whatever scheme she is cooking to notice.

“We're very sorry to interrupt your day, but I wanted to invite Mizu to my party this weekend,” she chirps. You feel your breath stop as Mizu’s head snaps towards her, eyes narrowing. The old man's eyebrows grow higher.

“Ah, is that so,” he says. He turns his head towards you–and even though his eyes are closed, you get the clear sense that he knows he's facing you directly. “And … you are all going to this … party?”

Your friend confirms this before you can say anything. You're not even sure what you would say. You meet Mizu’s eyes silently, both of you frozen helplessly in place, watching this happen like a train wreck. You hope she can see the apology in your eyes.

“Hmm...” The old man hums, and then puts a heavy hand on Mizu’s arm. “...It would be good if someone socialized more.”

Mizu looks horrified, then resigned. When there's a moment of silence, the old man thumps her lightly on the shin with his cane. She grunts, then says through her teeth, “Thank you for the invitation. I'll … see you there.”

She meets your gaze again, looking thunderous. Your friend beams.

Oh, boy...

~

You were running late.

God damn it. Why were you even trying to look good, anyway? Chances are she won't even show up. How would her father–if that’s who he was, you didn't get to ask–even know?

She clearly hadn’t wanted to go, and she clearly isn't fond of you, so why are you spending so damn long putting on this outfit, or that outfit? Your room looked like a hurricane had gone through it by the time you finally threw on an outfit at random and rushed out the door.

The party is in full swing when you arrive, music bumping, couples already lurking in the dark around the edges of the house. Your friend knows how to throw a good rager that would put the teen movie tropes to shame.

Your eyes scan the dark lawn, the trees, even the roof of the porch, assuming that if Mizu did show, she wouldn't exactly be in the center of the dance floor.

You're not surprised when you don't spot her. It should be a relief–you don't have to care anymore if you look good, since you aren't trying to impress anybody else.

But it isn't.

You shrug off your jacket and open the hall closet, only to quickly slam it again before the absolutely-packed pile of coats and other bits falls on you.

Okay. Different closet then.

As you're opening the next closet down the hall, your friend appears, beaming with delight. “Ohmigod, hiiiiii! You made it, finally. We were so scared you weren't coming!” She hugs you, then pushes the door shut, firmly. “Not that one. Terry puked in there like an hour ago.”

“Eww, really?” You wrinkle your nose. “I couldn't tell at all. Thanks for the warning.”

“I got you, girl! You can use the closet in the far back bedroom.”

“You're the best,” you say thankfully, and your friend smiles, sweetly, giving you another squeeze.

“You know I'm always gonna make sure you got what you need, girlfriend.”

~

Mizu has thought about this a lot. She can't not go. You guys found her once, what if you find her again? If this is a set-up to embarrass her, and surely it is, then someone in your group will definitely mention that she ghosted, to get her in trouble. She doesn't care about trouble, but the thought of Eiji’s quiet disappointment is too much to bear.

It's fine.

Mizu has a plan for surviving this nightmare.

It's very simple.

Hide in a closet, preferably one that's empty, so there's no chance of anyone coming in to get their coat. Meditate. Wait until everyone is too drunk to notice you, then sneak out and book it.

It's a pretty good plan, and it's working like a charm, right up until you open the closet door.

“Oh. Hi …”

For fuck’s sake.

~

You stare down at Mizu, frozen for a half second after your instinctive greeting. Words pile up and get tangled on your tongue. Sorry, didn't mean to intrude. Or maybe, sorry, I'll go now. Instead, what comes out is,

“Why are you in a closet?”

Before she can say anything, there's a sudden rustle of fabric behind you and someone shoves you hard on the back. You tumble into the closet with a yelp, and a pair of strong hands catch you before you hit the floor.

Mizu was already on her feet in the time it took you to fall, and for a moment, as she steadies you, you're dizzied by the sudden smell of clean detergent and smoky metal that clings to her clothing. She’s strong, and warm.

“...Alright?” She asks, more softly than you expected, and you nod, rubbing your arm where it struck the wall.

“Yeah. Thanks …” You try the door and it doesn't budge. “Hey!” You raise your voice a little. “What the hell!”

An explosion of giggles and laughter cascade outside the door, and you recognize your friends’ voices.

“Seven minutes in heaven!” They cry out in chorus, before collapsing into more mischievous giggles. Your face flushes in the dark, mortified.

“What the fuck, guys! Let us out, this isn't funny!”

“Chill, it's only seven minutes!” One of them calls back. Other voices rise in confirmation.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine!”

“Maybe this’ll cure your crush!”

“Have fun, lovebirds!”

You slam your shoulder into the door with a frustrated growl, but it doesn't budge. Damn these old houses and their actually-sturdy construction. You hear the sound of footsteps and chatter growing fainter, and then the bedroom door shuts. Despair engulfs you. If she yelled at you about the books, what are you in for now?

“I'm so, so sorry about this, I don't know what got into them…” You babble anxiously, one hand going up to unconsciously try to fix your hair, even though it's dark. You're so frantic that you're shaking.

Mizu has been watching you argue through the door and flail, with very little outward reaction. Now, she reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose, other hand cocked on her hip.

“Your friends are jerks,” She informs you, and you hang your head, defeated.

“I know … I swear, I'm going to kill them.”

She shuffles you aside, again firmly but surprisingly gently, and tries the knob herself, to no avail. She tsks quietly, with a little sigh. Something about her calm resignation steadies you.

“Should have brought my lock picks,” she grumbles absently. But she seems far less irritated than you would have thought she would be.

“I really am sorry, Mizu, I swear, I didn't know–”

“It’s fine.” Her voice is still so oddly mild. As your eyes adjust, you can just make out her expression in the light from under the door. She looks … almost accepting. “I thought there would be something going on.” She shoots you one sharp side-glance. “You're not in on it?”

“No? In on what?” You ask, and the confusion in your voice sounds so sincere that any lingering doubt is gone. She looks down at the doorknob in her hand.

“You know.” Her voice sounds flat. Resigned. “Set up the weirdo with a popular kid. Laugh that they think they have a chance.”

You can feel your heart beat faster at the thought of you both together, but you're also horrified that she'd think you were here to humiliate her.

“What? I wouldn't do that!”

“You know, I actually believe that,” she agrees, grimly. She still won't look at you. “So I guess this is to humiliate you, too. So people think you're with me.”

You can feel your face flush, and pray it isn't visible in the dark. But then you look again at her downturned face, and something constricts in your chest. You're not going to let her think that way, even if it means embarrassing yourself in a different way.

“...That wouldn't be humiliating at all,” you murmur.

She gives a short snort of cynical laughter, and turns her face a little so you can't see it. Clearly the implication of your words has gone right over her head. You're about to push back, but she speaks again before you can.

“I'm– …” she seems to swallow her tongue for a moment on a gulp, before forcing out. “...sorry. For the other day.”

“Oh.” You blink in surprise. You want to blow it off, but it did hurt. You aren't going to lie about that, however, the apology is already more than accepted. “... Thank you. I'm sorry for freaking you out.”

“No, I …” She sighs again. “It wasn't about you.”

“No?”

Mizu drops the doorknob and thunks back down to sit on the floor of the closet, knees to her chest. It's the most ungraceful you've ever seen her.

“...I got asked out once,” she says, so quietly you almost can't hear her.

You crouch down slowly, until you're kneeling in front of her. You're afraid to speak. In the hush of the closet, her vulnerability feels strangely sacred.

She continues to speak to her knees. “He was popular, like you, and older… a senior. He seemed more mature than the others.”

You swallow back your surge of jealousy at the thought, and wait, listening patiently.

“... it was a prank.” She finishes heavily, fingers tightening to fists in the cloth of her pants. “I was supposed to meet him after school, and I got jumped by the whole football team instead.”

“Oh… Mizu…” Your chest aches. You put out a hand, afraid to be shoved away again, but she lets you rest it on her knee.

Her head thuds back against the wall. She glares at the ceiling of the closet. “It’s fine. Whatever. I'm over it. I just thought … maybe you were being nice to me for the same reason.”

Her pre-emptive lashing out suddenly makes so much more sense.

“I would never. He's a fucking idiot.” You say, with unusual venom. It startles her into looking at you for the first time. “He fucked up.”

She gives a reluctant, humorless chuckle. “Well, yeah, he did. I broke his nose.”

“Fuck yeah.” You hold up your hand, and she looks at it in confusion and surprise, before giving you the requested high-five, shaking her head. She looks almost amused. “You're awesome, Mizu. He missed out.”

She goes still, seemingly stunned. “You don't even know me.”

“I know enough,” you say seriously.

Unfortunately for you, she seems to finally be registering some of what's going on. Her gaze settles on you with an uncomfortable level of focus. It feels like your inner thoughts have been written out on your forehead, and she’s scanning over the lines. Slowly, the pieces are coming together.

Into her silent calculations, you decide you would rather go out on your own terms, before you have to see the moment of realization in her eyes probably turn to horror.

“And I think that … they probably didn't lock us in here to embarrass you but because they know … that … I have a crush on you.”

You keep your eyes on her knees. She's silent for so long that your stomach sinks–did you read the room wrong?–and you begin to catalog all the ways that you'll kill your friends for this.

Then, she says very quietly, “I thought they were talking to me.”

For a moment, you don't know what she means. And then like a lightbulb, you clearly hear one voice as it called, maybe this’ll cure your crush.

And Mizu thought … they were talking to her?

“You … D-do you … ?” You're too nervous to keep going.

Her blush is bright even in the dark, matching yours. In a sharp, jerky motion that betrays her nerves, she nods. Suddenly, you feel almost giddy; maybe there's not enough oxygen for two people in here…

“Oh– …” You can feel your face cracking into a goofy grin. “Oh, wow.”

“Shut up,” she snaps, but even you can hear that she's just flustered.

“No way am I ever shutting up about this,” you protest immediately. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

She looks torn between astonishment and amusement at your vigorous tone, but your next words make her freeze in shock. “I've been crushing on you since freshman year.”

Her eyes are wide enough for the dim light around the edges of the door to reflect in them. For a long silence, she processes this. Then, almost adorably, her face sets in sudden determination. She looks from your eyes to your mouth, and you can feel a thrill run up your spine.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Fuck yeah I do,” you say fervently.

Both of you look at the door.

Oh.

Right.

“...It’s definitely been more than seven minutes,” she finally comments.

“They probably met some boys and forgot about us,” you sigh. It is a house party, so you think it's probably likely they might also be tipsy already, You bite your lip, a hesitant smile blooming on your face. “We could … we could just start a little here, while we wait?”

She blinks at you, eyes narrowing as the corner of her mouth lifts. Being the sudden focus of all of that intense stare is making your stomach do flips. “... yeah?”

“That's the game, right?” Your pulse is fluttering, and your smile grows uncontrollably. You giggle, nervous and excited. “When in Rome … ”

“Hmph.” You can recognize the false crankiness in the tone now, versus the real deal. “I guess … an exception … “ she trails off distractedly as she shuffles up on her knees so that she's facing you, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips.

Your breathing is shaking almost as much as your hands as you rest them on her shoulders. Both of you lean in, before hesitating at the first puff of breath on each others lips. You feel as though time almost stops for a moment, registering the warmth of her body so close, finally, and the solid reality of her hands gently finding your waist. This is real. It's really happening.

Then, like the decisive person she's always been, she pounces.

You let out a severely undignified squeak to find your lips suddenly under attack. Now those trembling fingers are twined tight around her neck, clinging in for life. She kisses like she fights; hard and fast, decisive–not afraid to get dirty.

Your skin feels suddenly hypersensitive as chapped lips work firmly against yours. Her hands are hard, gripping tightly before sliding to your hips. Her tongue presses hungrily at the seam of your mouth, a slick glide across your lower lip, a hint of teeth revealing her impatience. You part readily for her, shuffling a little closer. The fingers at your hips go bruisingly tight at your eagerness, a sharp breath sucking in through her nose. Quickly, the closet is full of heavy breathing, and the soft wet sounds of her invasion into you. Her tongue against yours is feverishly hot, teeth sharp where they sink into the plushness of your lower lip. It's like being devoured, or overrun–with every forceful flick, your mind melts further away. In the span of only a few moments, every coherent thought is being replaced by Mizu. Her scent is drowning you, while you float on the drugging taste of her.

One hand slides up to press between your shoulder blades, then up from there to the back of your neck, tangling her grip in your hair. In the same moment, she tugs you easily by the hips with one hand until you both tumble backwards and you land into her lap. Fuck. You can't resist a little moan. You're in her lap. And she moved you like it was nothing at all. Your noise prompts another sharp nip of teeth, and a husky groan that goes straight to your core.

The hand in your hair tugs your head to the side. God. She's so urgent for you that she's rough, and you're just as desperate. Your voice has gone high and breathless, uncaring of the setting, nails leaving red marks on her shoulder blades even through her thick shirt layers.

Everything between you is such molten heat that you're sweating in the tiny space. You barely notice. You've never realized arousal could feel like this. It's like an ache down to the very joints of your fingers, a need between your thighs that burns so white-hot you feel like you could die of it. Everything but Mizu could cease to exist and you're not sure you would ever notice.

~

Your friends did indeed forget about you, briefly. It's a party after all–and they played a long line of good songs for dancing, all in a row!

But they don't actually want a pair of suffocated bodies to deal with, so they eventually trail their way back to the bedroom, whispering and giggling, morbidly curious as to what's going on behind that door.

Maybe by now, you'll finally see that there's nothing in Mizu that's worth the effort. Maybe after sitting in silence and staring at each other for so long, you'll even want to hang out with them and talk shit about her.

But when they reach the door, they're surprised to hear sounds coming from inside, even through the thick wood. Not Mizu shouting, or even you shouting. Not a conversation.

The girls all turn to look at each other in confusion. Finally, the girl who lives in the house inserts her key, and the rest crowd around to watch as she slowly cracks open the closet door.

As the gap widens, a strip of illumination falls directly over Mizu’s face where it's buried in your neck. Blue eyes crack open under darkly furrowed brows. In the light, her icy gaze blazes with a possessive fury at the interruption, teeth still gripping the soft flesh at the base of your throat.

She says not a word, but the glare she levels them with snarls get out in no uncertain terms.

They gasp, stumbling backwards and falling all over each other. The door swings loosely as they all flee, too genuinely shocked and confused to even whisper to each other.

~

Mizu releases your neck.

“Door’s open,” she rasps throatily, and you open your eyes slowly, in a haze. It takes you a moment to recall how to speak. You turn your head to look around uninterestedly, then back to her.

“ … uh?”

God damn. Mizu nearly throws caution to the wind at the sight of you; perfect hair mussed to complete chaos, makeup smudged, eyes heavy-lidded and blown nearly black with lust. And you're looking at her, reaching for her, all but begging for even a crumb more of her touch. The sweet popular girl, putty under her touch.

She could just fuck you here…

But. No.

No more interruptions.

So, despite her own kiss-swollen lips and inky-blue eyes, she jerks her head at the half-open door. You look at it again, with a dazed frown of confusion. You're so far gone that it's adorable. How did that get open …? You can barely remember why it was closed.

A pair of strong arms bundles you close again; she can't resist nuzzling in under your jaw again, savoring your eager sigh, and the way you arch up against her. Your eyes close immediately as you surrender to her touch.

“Wanna get out of here?” She asks again, voice lower this time, a hungry playfulness in her tone.

You can only offer a whimper of assent as she nips again at the mark on your throat. You're not sure your legs will support you.